The Journal of Keledrial Nightstar

by Azurielle

Elven wizard and elven berserker, Keledrial's life has gone through one change after the next. How will he handle it all?

1. Default Chapter

Note: This story is mine, begun in the year 2002, and is currently unfinished  as of September 2002.  Not all of the characters are mine, for example, Elaith Craulnober and Brian.  Those characters belong to Wizards of the Coast, and the writers of the forgotten Realms novels in which they appear.  The original characters, like Keledrial, Ranon, Hank, Calvin, Tobias, Lita etc. are mine, however, and are not to be used without my permission.  Some of the plots may seem familiar, as they were based on adventures published in the Dragon magazines, and dungeons and Dragons material put out by Wizards of the Coast.  The rest of the plots are mine.  This story was written for purely entertainment purposes and not to make any money.  Thank you, and I hoped you enjoy it. And please note that the story does deal with some unpleasant subject matter, like rape, insanity, and death…and unlike my previous story, Raine the Banshee, it may not have a happy ending. Thanks, Azurielle.

The Journal of

Keledrial Nightstar

So I begin.  It has taken me long to gather enough materials to start this…years since the day the idea first came to me…I no longer know exactly how long…though I could probably find out if I wished to.  On Ruathym, you see, there is no parchment on which to write on, no quills or ink with which to write with.  What I now have has been scavenged…blank pages from the backs of stolen books, torn bits of scroll, and even white cloth.  The ink I have made myself, using grasses and berries, and the rare bits of ink that I find left in the ornate inkwells that my foster father, Brander Windreiver, brings home as plunder from raids.  I write this now with the bone from a seagull's wing that I found on the beach.

       I do not know why I write this now…yet I have many reasons for doing so.  If my handwriting seems rough, or if there are mistakes, it is because I write this in secret, by the dying light of the evening fire, and the light of the moon.  If my script is even and no longer as precise as it once was, it is because my hands, now used to the feel of a sword and the axe, falter at this once familiar task.  The calluses on my fingers are from physical work and not from the delicate scratchings of ink on parchment.

       I write to remember, for I fear the longer I stay here, among the Ruathen folk, the further my memories will erode.  Even now, once familiar faces are unclear, and only in deepest reverie can I recall them again. 

       I write for myself, but also for others, in the vain hope that if I do not survive, that these words might someday be found and conveyed back to my people, that my true fate be known.  I know now that I shall be here until I find the strength and knowledge to find my own way home.  Home is far from here, in a place that no Ruathen that I know will claim to have heard of.  I shall speak more of that later.

       I write this in secret for my foster parents would and do not understand.  They, themselves, cannot read nor write their own language.  Such learning is for the shamans and the priests of the isle alone.  They would not like to know that I can both write and read the words of my own language…a language which I am now forbidden to speak aloud.  Though I sometimes whisper to myself the bittersweet words of the language of the people, I fear that the day may come that the harsh, coarse language of the Ruathen may become far too familiar for my liking.  I can only hope that my foster father does not find where I shall hide these papers.  In Ruathym, books are only useful for kindling fires, and the price of the valuables they are bound with will bring.

       I will start this tale at the beginning, for I have surely confused you by now.  All tales must begin somewhere, yes?

       I was born on the isle of Evermeet, the sacred retreat and home of the people.  It is a verdant jewel of an island.  The great trees grow down to the very water.  The land is criss-crossed by streams, and bisected by the great river Ardulith.  The shores of the sea are covered with the purest white sand.  The water is always calm, and so deep a blue that no stone or dye could compare.

       My home city is Leuthilspar.  I could spend all of these pages in a description of it, and yet never truly capture what it truly like.  Leuthilspar is the greatest of all the surviving cities of the people, situated at the mouth of the Ardulith.  The buildings are of stone and wood, all living and not harshly torn from the earth and violently shaped, like the buildings on Ruathym.  Crystal towers stand beside huge trees-homes, grown with great magic, growing still.  The streets are of crystal, smooth and beautiful and shining, yet not treacherous. In Leuthilspar one finds all that is best in the civilization of the people.  And above all, is the heart of the city, Moonstone palace.  The vast building of gleaming white and gold and silver rises over the city, and is home to our beloved rulers, King Zaor and Queen Amlaruil.  I was often at the palace in my youth, and I have met and spoken with the King and Queen.  This may seem like a great thing to some, but for me, it was common.  After all, I am the heir to my house, and it makes sense that they would want to make certain that they knew me well.  I have always thought that King Zaor was the greatest of all people…a warrior of great strength and skill…a fair and wise ruler…everything that was good.  I wanted to be like him…idolized him.  I still do, though I wonder if I shall ever see my king again. 

The Queen is the fairest woman in the world, I am certain of it.  Her hair reminded me of the rarest fire opal.  Short of my own mother, there is no woman higher in my regard, nor any whom I could love more than my Queen.  Yet I digress…there has probably been written one thousand and more descriptions and sonnets of the royal family of Evermeet…my meager words cannot compare, only that describing them helps me to remember…and makes my heart ache…for I am not on Evermeet.

       I was born in my family's home, a large building crafted of stone and a living trees, melded together in perfect harmony.  I am…or was, Keledrial Nightstar, 1st born son and only child of my mother, Saelihn Nightstar and my father, Valorian Hawksong.  Perhaps you think it is strange that I carry my mother's family name, and not my father's…yet it was his choice.  My mother, along with her twin sister, Halaema, are the only living children of my grandfather Cefwyn Nightstar. As such, they are the heirs, and when grandfather returned to the mainland he left my mother and aunt in charge of the leadership of our house.  I am the firstborn grandchild, and as such I am the heir to that leadership, the family home on Evermeet, and the Nightstar moon blade…or at least I would have been when I came of age.  Had I taken my father's surname, I would have been heir to nothing, save his name.  My parents always wanted the best for me, so I am Nightstar and not Hawksong.

       The night I was born was the twentieth of Nightal, Midwinter's eve to be exact.  Some of my inherent skill with magic has been attributed to the fate of my birth day, seeing as my parents are neither renown for any great skill in magic.

       I was born into two noble houses.  House Nightstar is one of the few who escaped the fall of Myth Drannor, though we have begun to recover from the decimation we suffered with the fall.  House Hawksong is well renowned for producing great musicians, and riders for the royal air-army of pegasi and eagles.  My grandmother, Tiatha Hawksong is a distinguished leader and guardian of the Gem of Clarata. Now as such a noble, I knew from a young age that I was important, and that much would be expected of me.

       Still, I was a very indulged and doted upon child.  I never doubted that I had the love and attention of my parents.

       I was a very bright child, from the very first, and have always learned things quickly.  I have also been told that I was a happy, "sunny" baby, with such a smile that I brightened a room with my mere presence.  That smiled faded when I grew older, however…and I think no one would say the same of me now.

       I was considered fair at the first, as well.  My hair is a melding of my father's sapphire locks and my mother's silver tresses…a pale silvery-blue that is rare, even among the moon-elves.  My skin is much like my parents' as well, so pale as to be almost white, with blue highlights along my ears and cheeks.  Among the Ruathen, they say my coloring makes me look as though I were drowned.  With so much blue, one might've thought that my eyes would be of a similar shade…but they are not.  Not blue, but rather a startling, intense shade of dark green that, if you look closely, have tiny flecks of shiny gold in the irises.  They are my grandmother Tiatha's eyes, so I am told, for both my parents have blue eyes. 

       However, while my coloring is dramatic and my intelligence extraordinary, my physical strength was lacking from the very first breath I drew.  I was always smaller and weaker and frailer than the other children.  I could not run very fast or for very long without losing my breath.  I was prone to the few rare illnesses that affect the people.  My bones broke more easily…my fair skin bruised at the slightest bump or scrape.  I was so weak that I cannot remember a year in which I was not ill, did not have some broken bone or other ailment.

       I know my parents loved me, but they feared for me as well.  Many were the times that I heard them speaking of their fears that my poor health was somehow their fault, that I would not live to grow up.  I always wished there had been a way I could reassure them…but I was a child.  They did not want me to know that I knew they were afraid.  Parents are supposed to be strong and all knowing to their children…so that is what I let them be. 

       Now, with my physical weakness came an emotional weakness as well.  I was not stoic about my frequent injuries and illness…I did not handle adversity well.  The lightest rebuke from my parents, or the smallest injury was enough to make me cry.  I was also termed "painfully shy."  I never had a problem playing outside, but I preferred to play alone.  My parents thought this was because I was shy, but the truth of the matter was that I hated the other children.  They did not like me…I was not fun to play with…as I said, I cried far too easily and injured even more easily.  I could not stand up to any sort of rough games, and my tears only caused them to further upset me with their taunts.  The other children preferred far better to tease and torment me, rather than try to be my friends.  I do not suppose I encouraged them much, though.  I can still remember the names and faces of each child who called me names, played horrible pranks on me, or hurt me in some way.  I will not list them, or bore you by recounting them, though.  It is a pity that the memories that are fading do not seem to include those particularly painful ones…only the ones that I most wish to keep.

       Needless to say, with such "friends," I chose the better companions of books and solitude.  Though there were always the times that my parents would be upset at seeing my alone so much, and force me socialize.  The only times I did not mind so much were the times when they took me to the palace.  At least there I could speak with the older folk, who would be amused at my youthful speech, or at the very least, polite to me.  They were nobles, after all, and as such, knew how to put up a pleasing façade no matter what they might have thought of me.  Probably pity…and at the time pity was something I did not mind. 

I was always fondest of the Prince, Lamruil and his sister Princess Amnestria.  Though they were both much older than I, they treated me with respect, and like a child worthy of regard…not the frail sickly thing I was.  I never knew if they were so kind to me because they had been told to be so, or because that was they way they were…since I doubt I shall ever see either again, I prefer to think the latter rather than the former.  Many were the times that Lamruil drew my laughter from me with his antics, especially his commentaries on the silliness of the other nobles during some terribly important and serious moments.  The Princess was like her mother, in that I thought her beautiful and fair and wonderful.  She could bring forth my smiles, which had begun to grow rarer as I grew older.  They made me feel normal, and for that I will always treasure their memory.  I wonder if perhaps the Princess Amnestria is even now wed to her beloved, Elaith Craulnober?  Do they remember me at all, or have I faded from their minds, even as they begin to fade from mine?

       I know that I digress, but these are the things I think, and which are in my heart at the moment.  Yet I shall continue, for my tale is not yet told.

       With my frail constitution and my fondness for books and the written word, it was no surprise that my parents thought I would do well in the field of magic.  So at a fairly young age…I think I was barely twenty…Laeroth Runemaster, the Grand Mage of the Towers of the Sun and the Moon came to Leuthilspar to test children for magical talent.  I'm told that I amazed him, for I had more affinity, untrained, for the weave than did most of the current students, and even a few of the fully trained high magi.  The elder did not understand why, for great magical talent was not a thing that ran strong in either house Nightstar, or Hawksong.  My mother was a warrior and my father a musician…granted she knew a few magical tricks, and he was one of the rare spellsingers…but neither of them had anywhere near my potential.  That is why many thought that my ability might have had something to do with the night of my birth…still others thought that my affinity was perhaps part of the reason I was so frail…that physical strength had been sacrificed for magical aptitude. 

       Whatever the reason, I was still several years too young to begin training at the towers.  However, the mages of the towers began to send me books and scrolls to read…information on history and magical theory and whatever else they thought might interest me, and entice me to join them when I was old enough.

       Naturally my parents hinted that such a choice on my part could only be good for me.  They did want the best for me, I know, but as nobles, both of them, they perhaps had ulterior motives as well. I was almost certain to be appointed to high-mage training if I went to study at the towers…and having a high-mage in the family was a source of pride for any family …especially a noble house.  They also saw it as another way, I think, to protect me from the world outside Evermeet. In fact, they rarely told me of anyone of anything beyond Evermeet, except old histories of the people, and tales of the horrors caused by other races.  They did not want me to leave…afraid that to leave Evermeet would mean my death. As a high-mage, naturally, I would never have a reason to leave, for high-magic no longer works beyond the boundaries of Evermeet.  They never would have forced me to decide…still, I was their only and beloved child…I think they would have done anything to keep me safe.

       It is that lack of information about the outside world, which now keeps me trapped here on Ruathym.  I do not blame my parents, though, but my own lack of curiosity.  In the whole world, the only names I know to go to are Evermeet and Evereska…the homeland and refuge of the people, respectively.  These names are unknown to the people of Ruathym…and there are none of the people here to show me the way.  I do not even know where in the world I am…or what directions I must take to find my people again.  I am lost…and shall remain so, I fear, for a long time to come.

       When I was 20 years of age, my cousin Sylthas was born to my Aunt Halaema and her husband, my Uncle, Arient Rumithamal.  It was considered a "great event," for elven children are rare, and this was another child born to the leaders of house Nightstar.

       I did not like Sylthas much, I confess.  My parents did not understand this dislike…after all Sylthas was my first cousin.  Here would be a playmate for me who would not tease me, they said…but I knew the truth.  Sylthas was born healthy and hale…when he grew up, he would be like all the others…he would be as scornful of my weakness and prideful of his own strength.  Yet, it would be worse with Sylthas…so my "peers" informed me.  After all, I would be the only one in the way of Sylthas becoming the heir to the house Nightstar's leadership and all that came with it…he would know how "strong" I was…and it would not be unexpected if I died.

       I suppose I was unfair, in that I never gave Sylthas a chance to prove himself different…I merely ignored his presence.  It was easy because he was so much younger than I.  By the time he was old enough to care…to speak intelligent conversation, I was already immersed in my magical training…and so had no time for my unwanted cousin.

       At that time my studies in magic were the most important thing for me.  I had been accepted to the towers earlier than was usual, but it had not been unexpected.  I was quickly accounted as one of the best students, for I had a quick mind for magic and the skill to match. I focused completely on the use and theory of magic and elven history as well.  The latter was for the reason that the histories of the people and magic have ever been intertwined, and to fully understand one, one must learn the other.  I had little care for anything outside Evermeet, as my parents wanted.  Other cultures and histories did not interest me, although, in my defense I was rarely given the opportunity to learn of them.  I curse myself now for my lack of interest…had I only looked once at a current map of Faerun…thought even once to see where Evermeet lay in accordance to the rest of the world I might know where to go from here…but I am, and ever was a fool when it comes to common sense…another of my curses.

       I focused on my studies with a single-minded determination.  If I could but excel at magic, as my teachers assured me I would, that at least would make up somewhat for being born so weak.  And I aspired to be the high-mage they thought I could be…if only so that the others…my peers…would no longer make fun of me.  No one would trifle with a wizard of such power…not when such wizards have, historically, the power to create and destroy by will and skill…a power to defend the island even greater than the armies.

       Had things gone as my parents and I had planned I never would have left home and never would have wanted to.  But things that are so planned have a habit of going awry…or perhaps they go the ways that the gods wish, and not as we mortals do.

       Shortly after my 42nd year my received word from Evereska.  My grandfather, Cefwyn Nightstar had been injured in a battle, along with his wife, my grandmother.  She had been killed…he survived yet, but had been wounded and was unable to travel.  He did not expect to stay much longer in this world, and as such he called his family to him.  My mother, her sister, their husbands and children…myself and Sylthas.  There was never any question of our going…

       Aunt Halaema, Uncle Arient and Sylthas left immediately…my parents and I were forced to wait a week though, for I taken a fall and broken my leg and it would take that long to finish healing.  This delay proved to be shattering.

       We left on a ship out of the port of Leuthilspar.  I kept to my cabin as much as possible, immersed in yet another tome on elven history, this one an accounting of the Fall of Myth Drannor.  If I close my eyes, I can still see the words on the pages as though the book were still in front of me.  I only knew that we were going to Evereska to be with my grandfather.  The hows and whys were not anything that were important enough for me to ask.  I merely hoped that we would not have to take horses to get there…I rather dislike horses…even moon horses.  They all seem to have a penchant for knowing how nervous I am when riding one…and it was through a horse's efforts that my most recent injury had occurred.

       We were out in open water, with no land in sight when the storm struck.  It was swift and sudden and hit with the force of a hurricane.  The sailors were prepared for rough water, but nothing like this.  The wind shrieked and howled like some mad thing, and snapped the mast.  Huge waves battered the hull, filling the ship with water.  The sailors tried their best, I am certain, but the ship began to founder.  It was too late.  A call went out to abandon ship…though how they though we would survive the tempest any better in small lifeboats than we did in the larger ship was beyond me.  My parents and I gained topside, just in time for the wave that would be the ship's deathblow to strike.  The wave loomed over the ship, and crashed down on the deck with such force that it seemed like something solid had fallen on us.  I heard the tortured screech, as the timbers of the deck were ripped apart.  The ship turned completely on one side, and water from the ocean rushed up to meet us.  Sailors were swept away, screaming into the water.  The waves took ripped me from my parents' arms, and swept them away.  I had no time to be shocked, for trying to stay alive; afloat in the raging sea required all my focus.  I managed to catch hold of a board that had been torn from the ship…it kept me afloat, even as the waves tossed me about.  I swallowed water, and had trouble breathing as I was pulled under, then surfaced, again and again.  Lightning flared overhead and the last I saw was the wreckage of what had once been a grand ship sinking…being pulled into a watery grave.  I prayed to Corellon to protect my parents…but I knew that they had probably been killed.  I prayed to Deep Sashelas to save me.  Had I known what saving me would entail, I might've have wished for him to take me under, for then at least I would now be among my people.

       I tried, but after a while, I could no longer remain conscious…when I closed my eyes that day, I fully expected it to be for the last time on this world…that I would wake in Arvandyr. 

       What memories I have best are strange and unclear…I can remember calm…being underwater…arms around me…strange noises and sounds that almost sounded like language…and then finally, waking on a stony beach on the island of Ruathym…though that part was not know to me at the time.  I was so tired and weak I did not even have the strength to rise and seek aid.  I had nothing left of who I had been…my belonging were now at the bottom of the ocean…the waves had all but torn my clothes from my body…what was left was little better than rags.  It was on that beach, belong the village of Rylonar, that the Windreivers found me.  They frightened me when I first saw them, for they were as different from my people as a tree is to a stone.  They had pale skin, but with shades of red and pink…not blue or gold like the people.  Their hair was coarse and yellow, tangled from the wind and salty air.  They were huge and big, with rounded faces…Brander with hair covering his chin.  They made strange noises at me, speaking in their barbaric tongue.  Yet, even for my fear, I was glad to see anyone living.  They took me up the cliffs, back to their home. 

       My first days in their home are blurry and unclear as well.  I was terribly ill from my ordeal…I took with a fever and lay unresponsive for many days.  Ingrid, Brander's wife, worked tirelessly to keep alive.  She saved my life as much as whatever had drawn me from the sea and left me here.  During the time that I was ill she took to calling me the name Airk, after her deceased father…I suppose because she did not know my name, and needed something to call me. 

       When I finally awoke again, and recovered, I was needless to say, terrified.  Here I was in a strange place with people, the likes of which I had never seen.  I cried…constantly…for many, many weeks.  I wanted my parents…my family…anyone from home…but they were not here.  I suspected that my parents were dead, for I understood that I was the only one that had been found…that there had been no debris from a wreck…which meant that wherever the ship had gone down, it had been very far from here.

       Ingrid comforted me as best she could.  She seemed a nice enough woman, but strange to me.  I had no idea, at first, where I was…only that I was alone on an island full of huge, fair-haired people…I suspected that they were humans…but I could not be certain.  I had never seen a human before, only read about them in books.  I did not understand the language and their ways were different from everything that was familiar to me.

       Fortunately, though, I have always been a swift learner…and I began to pick up the language after only a few weeks.  It was a far simpler, and less refined than elven…a harsh coarse language that seemed torn from the throat, rather than smooth and flowing like the language of the people.

       I quickly learned several things…the most important was that I would not be going home anytime soon.  No one seemed to have heard of Evermeet or Evereska.  Even if they had, the Windreivers had no boat of their own…and there was nothing that I would have though strong enough to get past the defenses of Evermeet, anyhow.  I learned that Brander and Ingrid Windreiver were childless…and that they intended to keep me.  They are good people, I suppose…better than I might have wound up with…for there are people in this village that are cruel…and some that I would even term evil.  I learned that I was on Ruathym…an island of humans, as I had thought.  Ruathym is a cold, isolated place, completely surrounded by near-freezing waters.  There are deep inlets here, called fjords, sharp rocks and reefs in the water…the landscape is rocky and barren as well, with only a very few forests left.  The few trees here, in the seaside village of Rylonar, at the southern-most end of the island, where I live, are twisted and thin, clinging to rocky, dry soil, tortured by the strong winds that rise up from the water.  The people of Ruathym are not farmers…but traders…and they do not produce their own goods…for there is little to be found on Ruathym but water and stone and a few forested areas, further inland…many here raid for their trade goods…stealing from people who live on the mainland, and south, on the people who live on an island chain called the Moonshaes.  My new "father" Brander was such a raider…a warrior, and also skilled in crafting weapons and armor…all made from metals that were taken by force. 

       Unlike Evermeet, among the people, where men and women are equals, I have learned that among humans, woman are considered second-class…weaker and less intelligent than men.  Some men here consider women to be of less worth that their boats, or a beast of burden…they see wives as little better than slave labor, there to cook and clean, and bear children. They are not warriors, and never hold positions of power. What I saw with Brander and Ingrid was rare here, though.  They seemed to be truly in love with each other…it was the reason they had chosen to stay together, even though they were childless…even though they might have found a better life, or had the children that they both so wanted, with another.  Brander did not treat Ingrid like a slave, but seemed to appreciate her efforts…spoke to her of his day and listened to her words as well.  This was not something unfamiliar to me, for it had been so with my parents…but I quickly learned that Brander and Ingrid were considered "odd" by many of the other people in the village.

       As time went on, and I learned more, I forced to resign myself to the truths of my situation.  My parents were gone...dead.  I would not likely see them again in this life. That thought made me cry often…and still saddens me greatly even today…but I know that my parents would not want me to give up.  They would have wanted me to move on with my life. I am trapped on Ruathym…it is as though I am on a different world, it is so different.  Even if I left, it would only be to another place that I did not know…with people who did not know me.  At least here, I had the Windreivers…they wanted me here…wanted me to be the son they could not have.  Already I feel Ingrid's love for me.  I had nowhere else to go…not until I can learn my way home.  So I moved on. 

       I learned the language, taught by my new, foster mother Ingrid.  I learned to answer to the name Airk Windreiver…my new "parents" had trouble speaking the name "Keledrial"…and since, in a way, I am no longer Keledrial anymore, it seemed appropriate that I put away my old name, as I was being forced to put aside my old life as well.  As soon as my command of the language was strong enough, Brander forbade me to use my old language…for my own good, of course…it did not do to dwell on the past he told me.  So I did what he said…I treasure my memories and my past…but I do not dwell on them.

       The people here knew of what I was, though.  They called me "alfar," and I soon learned that this was their word for "elf."  I gained many stares from the other Ruathen, for many thought of the "alfar" as a myth.  Some thought that I was interesting, a thing to be watched, but those same people seemed to think that I possessed little intelligence, and spoke about me as though I was not there.  Other claimed that my coming was a bad omen, and blamed me for any misfortune which came about.  Ultimately, though, the novelty of what and who I was began to wear off.  I was not truly accepted, but the Ruathen of my village began to accept my presence, and accept that I was the Windreiver's adopted son.

       To distract myself from the pain and terrible loss I felt, I threw myself into my new role with a single-minded determination.  I became Airk Windreiver …no longer Keledrial, an elven youth in training to be a wizard…but Airk…a Ruathym child.  Even had I wanted to continue with my study of magic, it would have been impossible.  Here on Ruathym, magic is not taught, or spoken of…the people here fear and distrust magic…the only ones with power here are the shamans…those whose spells come from the divine powers…not the weave.  I have learned not even to speak of the subject of magic, for my foster father gets angry if I do.

       Brander is a good man…but he is a demanding one as well.  After it became apparent that I was well again, and past my sickness…that I learned the language enough to understand him, and to accept that I was now his "son," Brander informed me that I was going to "regain" my strength.  I tried to tell him that I had no strength to begin with…but he either did not care or did not understand.  I quickly learned that weakness is not tolerated on Ruathym…had I been an actual child of the Ruathen humans…born the way I was, I would probably have been left to die.  They cannot afford to have anyone among them without strength enough to survive in this harsh place. 

       So, Brander told me that I would be accompanying him to forge, where he worked, and working along side of him.  I began to cry at the thought of having to do so much work…of how the effort would cause me to lose my breath, and how I would inevitably hurt myself somehow.  Brander slapped me.  I had never been actually hit before.  It was a terrible shock. It startled me so much that I stopped crying even before I had begun.

       "Never cry!" Brander ordered me.  "Only women cry, Airk.  For all your pretty hair, you are no girl.  Crying is a weakness.  You are my son now, and I never want to see you crying again. Do you understand me? "  I nodded, mutely, my hand to my stinging face, the last of my tears drying on my cheeks.  I do not cry anymore, as Brander ordered me.

       My foster father, as I've said, is not a bad man…only a hard man.  He knows what it is to survive, and he passes these lessons on to me, as his son.

       In the time I've been here, things have changed drastically for me.  I went to work with my foster father, as he said he would.  And a strange thing began to happen, and is still happening to this day…I've no reason for it.  The work I had fully expected to kill me made me stronger, as Brander had said.  I did not feel so weak as time passed…my breath stayed in my chest…I still bruised…but only that…no more breaks.  I can't help wondering what it is on Ruathym that causes this change in me. 

       So, I've learned these years to be as the Ruathen are.  I 've learned to walk and speak like the Ruathen…all though I speak far slower and more deliberately now, so that the people here can understand me.  I have a strange accent, they say, and I speak too quickly to for them to comprehend…so I slow my speech down, and even now, I work on trying to relieve myself of my "troublesome" accent. 

       I wear my hair as the Ruathym do, in braids, with barbaric adornments, like feather and stones…in that they remind much of the Sylvan people.  The clothing they wear is warm, but simple…usually made of wool or leather, and other sturdy materials that hold up well against the weather.  Things that they can trade easily for… I eat their food…also plain, without the rich sauces or spices I knew from home…yet the food still tastes well enough, for my foster mother is a good cook.  And it is filling and strengthening, or so she tells me.  I tried their "sleeping," but I find that reverie is still more restful.  Yet, I have learned to wait for reverie until the deepest part of the night, so that my foster parents do not see. It bothers them, and so I must wait until they sleep.

       I began following Brander around much, to other villages to deliver his goods, sometimes even as far away as the mountains, which bisect the island.  I have been with him to the city of Ruathym, which is, in truth, hardly a city.  It is the largest town on the island, however, and home of the First Axe, who is considered the leader of the Ruathen…even though the people here hardly seem to  have a leader.

       I have heard that, somewhere in the town of Ruathym, there is a place called the Green Room, and that it is a place where many stolen books are kept.  It is more of a treasure room for the people here, for as I said, they care nothing for the knowledge that can be found within the pages.  For a short while I sought to find this place, but my foster-father forbade it, seeing no reason why I should go there.  He would not speak of it further, and I was unable to ask any questions to others.  The latter was because Brander was always with me, for I was still a "child," and also because the people in Ruathym, who were not used to me, as were the people of my village, stared and pointed and whispered, and seemed so amazed that I could speak, when I did, that they never answered my questions, merely marveled over the questions themselves.

       As time had passed, so too have the traces of the frail sickly boy that I was.  I do not know what it is here…be it the air, or the water, or the magic that I can feel, thrumming and strong within the very earth of this island…but it has made me stronger.  Last year, my foster father began to train me in the ways of a warrior of Ruathym.  He says that I have grown big enough to learn, and that someday, when I am old enough and trained enough to past the tests, I will go raiding with him.  I cannot say whether or not this makes me happy.  True I will have something more to do with my days than merely hammer away and work the bellows in my foster father's forge, and run errands for I am quick.  But the raiding part…I cannot say I like the idea of having to do such…or even that that is where my father gets the money and goods for us to live here. It seems a dishonorable trade, though honor hardly seems as important among the Ruathen as it does among the people.  But I will learn whatever they have to teach me here…some day, if I survive this…and as time goes on, I begin to think that I might…I will return home to my people…and perhaps they will benefit from what I have gone through. 

       But now, the night is ending, and the morning draws closer.  I have not had reverie this night, and I shall be tired in my work.  Besides, I am nearly out of ink, and parchment as well.  So for now, I will put what I have written away.  When I have supplies again, time enough, and things to say I shall write again.  Until then, I pray that Corellon watches over my family.  I know he cannot watch over me any longer…in Ruathym only the god of battle, Tempus, the goddess of the water, Umberlee, and the goddess of cold and winter, Auril, have sway…and may Corellon forgive me for my praise to Tempus…I say it to please my foster parents…and to keep myself alive…I would not be accepted were it known I still follow my "heathen" gods…as though I were the barbarian on this island, and not the humans who dwell here.  Until next,            Keledrial Nightstar

It has been long since I last wrote anything…I think perhaps five years…but those pages are not here…my foster father awoke whilst I was still penning them and burned the pages.  He is ever fearful of my doing things that will keep me from being accepted...not that I will ever truly be Ruathen …I am still too much an alfar…still too different from them, no matter how much I have changed.  So I suppose that I should say it has been nigh onto 14 summers since the last pages here.  It has been 18 since the shipwreck and my consequent arrival here.  It has been 3 years since I underwent the rites of passage into Ruathym society.  I am now considered an adult among them, and a warrior as well.  I will not speak of the things I underwent in the rites, for they still haunt me…the times I was closest to death…the things I did…they haunt me, and yet I am proud of them.  I passed the tests, all rigorous…tests involving my physical strength, my endurance, my dexterity, my knowledge at arms, my stealth.  The hardest to pass for me was the test of faith…for they meant faith to Tempus…and while I have come to know the religion, and understand that Tempus, while a god of battle, is a strong, honorable god.  Yet my in my heart I am still loyal to Corellon first and foremost, and I still feel guilt each time I cry out to Tempus, when it is to Corellon I should call out to.  I wonder, perhaps, if Tempus saw this, and accepted my decision, even if that decision is to remain loyal took my potential worship from him…or perhaps it is just that Tempus does not wish an elven follower.  In either case, I passed the tests.

  Things have changed greatly.  I have changed.  I am no longer what I once was…and only in this …my ability to write…which I confess, has grown rusty with disuse…this, and my reverie still reminds me that I was Keledrial Nightstar once.

I have become Airk Windreiver.  To that name I answer.  I am a warrior of Ruathym…more than a warrior, but a berserker as well.  My father was so proud the day I went into my first rage.  I was sent to Holgerstead to train to control the battle rage the very next day.  I have trained hard ever since.  After all, it would not do to have a berserker who could not tell friend from foe in battle.

It has been very hard for me, for many of the other berserkers training in Holgerstead did not accept me as a warrior.  I was too small, too frail, and an alfar, as well.  I suppose that they thought that only humans, such as themselves could be among those who rage.  I pray, though, that I will remain what I am, and never become hamfariggen, as many of the greatest berserkers are.  To be such, is to take the shape of a great animal when enraged.  Though I have heard of the lythari …shape-changers among the People, the thought of changing into an animal reminds me far too much of the lycanthropy disease I once read about.  So I will pray that such does not happen to me.  My skill in arms is great, though, as I never would have thought possible, once.  There are many, though, who are better than I.  I am still a novice, and will continue training for several more years before I will be allowed to go on a raid.  Normally, I would have gone after I passed the rites…but I am different than the others…so things are different for me.  Besides…I do not know that I am yet ready for what will come with a raid.  I have heard the tales…tales from the lips of my own father.  I know of the blood, and screams and cries that I will hear…I know that I will be the villain, the attacker …that the people I will attack will only be protecting their families and homes.  I cannot say that I am yet ready to assume that role.  I had hoped I might be gone from here before that day I arrived, but it will not happen.  I have not been off the island in all this time.  And I feel loyalty…even love for these human parents of mine.  I feel I cannot desert them…no Ruathen son would leave his parents as they grow older…I know that I must wait for their lives to spend out…it will not be long…maybe 30 or 40 years more at the most…and lives can be cut short by other factors than age…not that I would wish this for them.  I do care for them.  I know it seems like a long time…and I could, no doubt escape on my first raid…but I do not know any longer that I wish to "escape".  Oh it is true, I wish to return to the elves…but what will be waiting there for me?  If my Aunt and Uncle are still alive, they will be in control of the house.  All this time, Sylthas will have been heir. My parents will not be there, waiting.  Will I be welcomed, as a lost one returning home…or looked on as an interloper?  I think that when I do return, they will not even recognize me, any more.  As I said, I have changed.

Time on Ruathym has made me strong…but more than that, I have grown…grown more than is possible, I think.  In Ruathym, I am still small, for a man…the men here are all at least 6 feet in height…most though are 7 and more.  My father Brander is 7 feet tall…my mother, Ingrid is 6 feet.  I know that most people in Ruathym are very tall, but here, in Rylonar they are even taller…something in the water I suppose.  And whatever it is that makes these people so big and healthy has affected me.  I am now as tall as my mother, and wider than she is.  Like I said, small for a Ruathen man…yet I am not Ruathen, nor human.  I am an elf.  One of the people.  We do not grow this big.  The tallest elves I ever had account to see was King Zaor and his son Prince Lamruil…they were both of great height…Prince Lamruil already 6 feet…and he younger than I now am…King Zaor stood a hand span above six feet...I am nearly that tall…and yet, he did not achieve such height until he was grown…by elven standards, I am still a youth.  I feel, too, that I am not yet done with this growing.  It seems that I outgrow my clothing ever year or so, much to my mother's dismay, for it is she who must sew me new garments.  She does not complain, though…her smiles are bright when she looks on me, odd as I am.  After all, I am the only son she has.

I wish that my elven parents could see me now…they once feared so much for me…yet here I stand, taller and stronger than any elf I remember from Evermeet.  Though my skill with weapons is not yet refined, I am a warrior.  And somehow…it is not enough.  I thought once that all I would wish is to be a fighter…like the King…but my heart misses the magic.  I once knew how to hold the weave in my hands, how to bind it to my will, and shape magic to spells.  I still want the magic, along with the skill at arms. Does that seem greedy to you?  But magic must wait…I cannot have it, nor learn it here on Ruathym.  But I feel it, and that is something I cannot give up or change.  It is all around me, here in the village…I breathe it in the air, and drink it in the water…this is a great place of power, though the Ruathen do not know it.  It is, perhaps, what make the people of this village so powerful.  Still, I remember that someone once said that my lack of strength might have been because I was so strong in magic.  Maybe that is why I flourish here.  There is that much magic in this place.

I have made a friend.  Perhaps this does not seem significant, but to me, it is.  He is human, naturally, but then, what other kind of creature would I find here on Ruathym?  I met him shortly after I began training, though he has always lived here.  Now, you must understand, that though my parents care for me, few are the other people in the village who do.  I am accepted because people respect my father, Brander, and they like my mother, for she is a "good woman."   But were it not for my parents, I doubt I would be as tolerated as I am. 

Where the adults were forced to treat me well enough, their children were not.  The other Ruathen children were cruel…as cruel as the elven children had once been…but unlike the elves, they had no compunctions about hitting me…hurting me.  My parents never intervened.  In Ruathym, fighting among children is considered as a way to make children stronger…to foster the warrior skills that most will need when they grow older.  And the only children I "played" with were the boys. Girls and boys did not play together…the girls were often kept by their mother's side to learn of women's work. 

Now, even though I am stronger and bigger than I once was, I am still smaller and frailer than most of the Ruathen youths.  They beat me up repeatedly, until I finally began to fight back…and then they would attack in groups.  Until, once day, about a year ago, one of the other young men stepped in, and began throwing punches at his fellows.  The others were shocked that one of their own was helping me…their shock gave us time enough to win.  When it was over, I wiped the blood from my lip, where one of the other young men had split it, and turned to my unexpected comrade.  I vaguely remembered that his name was Eirik Ivarsson…his father was a chieftain from the next village over.  He was about my height…and a fraction of my age, but having passed his rites the year before, he was a man, as I was.  Unlike most of the Ruathen, he had ink black hair, bound in braids, and held back from his face by a leather thong.  His eyes were green…a bright, dark shade of green…almost the color of mine. Strange eyes…at least for the people of Ruathym.

"Why did you help me?" I asked, slowly.  He shrugged.

"I have seen you…you always fight bravely, though they outnumber you.  If they were honorable, they would fight you one to one…I merely thought to even the odds."

"You have my thanks…though I wish that I had not needed the aid," I held my hand out to him.  He clasped it, and grinned.

"It is a strong man who does not need aid, but even a stronger man who accepts help when he does."  His words made sense to me, and displayed a rare intelligence that I rarely saw among the other Ruathen. 

"Come my friend…Airk, isn't it?" I nodded, amazed, too, that he knew my name.

"Let us go down to the tavern and have a drink, for the battle has given me a thirst.  We shall talk."  And so I went with him that day.  We had our drink, and we began to talk.

It was a great relief to find a friend in Eirik.  He had a keen intellect, and was amusing, and he listened to the things I had to say.  He asked about my past…a thing that no one…not even my parents had ever thought to.  In my eagerness to have someone in whom I could confide, I told him all the things I could remember…I told him of Evermeet, and my elven parents, of the storm, even that I knew how to read and write.  I think he was impressed, and he marveled at the descriptions of my home.

"Imagine...whole roads made of crystals!" he would exclaim…I knew it had to be hard to believe, living here with streets of dirt and granite…living in houses of wood and mortar.

Eirik was a berserker, as well…and heir to his father's chieftainship.  His father was Ivar, First Axe of Woden, the town closest to our village.  He laughed, confiding that he had three younger sisters, and not one brother.  I asked him about his hair and eyes once, and he became saddened for a moment.

"They are my mother's eyes," he said.  "She was a slave, taken by my father on a raid from the mainland…He loved her and made her his wife, even though many looked down on him for doing so.  She had the blood of your people…but she was not full blood, like you.  Her eyes were the same green as yours…as mine, and her hair was black.  I vaguely remember her, but she died when I was young…in childbed.  My father took a new wife, but he does not care for her as he cared for my mother, I think.  I remember she would sing to me…in the language of her mother's people…your people, Airk," then he laughed, shook his head, grinned at me.

"I am certainly a melancholic fool…it is weakness, of that I am certain.  My father would not be glad to know that I still long for my mother after all this time…but you…you understand, don't you, Airk?  Here we sit, drinking," he hoisted his mug and downed half of it, "And moping about what we cannot have.  Come…I tire of this…we will go outside, and I shall bloody your nose."  We rose and went out, for in Ruathym fighting, even among friends was a well looked upon pastime.

He did bloody my nose…but I blacked his eye…and when we were done, we went back into the tavern for another pint…or five.

I cannot say how much Eirik's friendship means to me.  I no longer feel so alone, so isolated.  I no longer feel as though my past is some tainted thing I must never speak of.  I do not feel as inferior.  Though, I cannot say that keeping me as a friend was good for Eirik.  He certainly got enough taunts whenever he was seen in my company.  Though to his credit, he either ignored the taunts, or pounded the speaker into the ground. 

I confess that I have begun to emulate him more and more.  My father says nothing but good things, for he thinks that Eirik is a fine comrade for me to have, that he can only be a good influence.  In a way, I suppose he is.  Well, I must now cease my writing once again.  I can think of little more to say, and run low on paper again.  I shall continue when I have the time, supplies, and thought to do so.

              Keledrial Nightstar/Airk Windreiver

       I am now a raider, like my father.  It has been three years since I went on my first raid.  Summer came that year, and my father stated that I was ready.  We went to Woden with the rest of the warriors, laden only with our clothing, or weapons and food.  Everything else we would take.  We would be gone the whole summer, maybe even longer, my father told me, rowing from shore to shore, town to town. Eirik's father had several longships, which we would sail in. This year, he told me, we would raid the mainland, although sometimes the Ruathen go south, and raid the Moonshaes.  We rowed out from the island, than raised the sails, and set out.  Because of my friendship with Eirik, my father and I had been invited onto the chieftain's boat…a rare honor.  At first I thought that I could not do what they wanted.  How could I go into another's home and take what was no rightfully mine?  How could I kill people who were only defending what was theirs?  But Eirik spoke with me at length over the days before and during the journey.  It was our way, he told me.  The Ruathen have always been raiders, for there is nothing else for them to be.  The land on the island is too rocky for farming; we have nothing with which to trade…if we did not raid, the people could not survive.  In my heart I wanted their to be some other way, some other answer…but I could not think of one…could think of nothing to refute the reasons Eirik had put forth.  I had to survive too…so I gave in.  Eirik saw my dismay, and told me quietly,

"Airk…I know you think this is wrong…but so do I.  There is no other way for us.  We are Ruathen.  It is our way.  When we go to battle we must not think of the people in those villages are victims…they are our enemies…they would see us starve and die.  We must fight them as one would fight an honored enemy.  Kill quickly…be merciful…but do not hesitate, for they will view us in the same light."  I nodded, his words held sense, but little comfort.  Still, he was right…I would do what I must.  Survival is what matters…and for warriors, especially berserkers like Eirik and myself, conscience in not a luxury we can afford to have.

We attacked…village after village.  I will not give the details.  I had been trained well…after the first man I killed, I did not flinch.  I killed again and again…people armed with swords…people armed with farming implements…men and women…any who stood against us.  My heart cried out at the wrongness…but eventually, even that too grew silenced as killing came more easily to my hands.  And I was good at my new trade…we took spoils…gold, crops, supplies…anything that might fetch a price.  We raided towns, villages, churches…I stood side by side with my father…fought along with Eirik. Though when we were done sacking a village, I did not join in with "amusements" after…which usually involved the despoilment of the young village girls left alive.  We did not kill everyone…we never did.  If we did, then the villages would not rebuild…if they did not rebuild, we would eventually run out of people on which to raid.  It made sense, in a sick sort of logic.

We returned home that summer, our ships laden with goods, triumphant conquerors.  It has been two years since…and each year, the protests of my heart and soul grow quieter.  I am a killer…and I fear that I may becoming something worse…I fear I am becoming irrevocably Ruathen.  I begin to wonder…how long does it take before some one like me ceases to be what they were…and becomes what they are.  How long will it be before I am less elf than human?  I cannot remember the faces of my parents anymore…never awake, anyhow.  And Evermeet seems distant and hazy…more like a dream than reality.  What is happening to me?                                 

                           Keledrial/Airk

       Strange things have happened these past three years. Very strange things.  It began when Aumark Lithyl became the First Axe of Ruathym.  When he did so, he united the people of the island, a thing which I did not think possible.  The people seem to respect him, for his strength, his bravery and his leadership.  I have not met him, though I have seen him from afar, so I cannot say the truth of this. 

       Then it happened.  It came with out warning, but I felt it.  The magic of the weave flickered, and I felt a terrible change occur.  I cannot say what it was.  The skalds call it "The Time of Troubles," which is the name that the mainlanders gave the year.  It was a time when the gods walked the land in mortal forms, I am told.  I know little of why it happened, only that during that year, the magic of the world felt strange, and troubled to me.  Chaotic.  I've heard that gods rose and fell, some were even killed.  I do not know the details, and I prayed that Corellon was not among those who fell.  The magic of the shamans failed as well, with no gods to grant them power.  Many people who were ill, and wounded died for lack of healing. 

       And on Ruathym, the people here bore witness to a terrible battle, when two gods who fell here began to battle.  I did not witness the battle myself, and many who did, did not survive to tell of it.  Yet I know what happened.  They say that a god of the alfar, my people was one, that it was Labelas Enoreth, who fell here to Ruathym in a mortal form.  The other god was a dwarven deity, called Clangeddin.  I confess, I know little about most religions, and even less about dwarven ones.  Yet they said that this dwarven god was one of battle.  How the fight began, I cannot say, but it raged for days over the span of the island.  In the end, it was Labelas who triumphed over Clangeddin, a fact which did not surprise me.  After all, the People have ever been stronger and better than the dwarven folk…why would our gods be any less? 

       Now, when word of this battle reached my village, I wanted to go see it at once.  Part of me just wanted to witness it, while another part hoped that I might attract the attention of Labelas Enoreth, that he might be able to help me to know the way home.  After all, it is said that Evermeet is merely an extension of Arvandyr, and Arvandyr is the home of our pantheon.  But my foster-father forbade it.  He would not hear of me going, for the danger was too great, even for the Ruathen people, brave as they are.  Yet, I think it was also that he feared my going, not for my life, but for the fact that I might not return, that I would choose to leave if given the chance.  I cannot say what I might have done, for the choice was taken from me before I had it.  My father kept me hard at work in the forge, giving me little time to think, and keeping me too wearied to leave.  I was angry at him for this, and we did not speak for many weeks after. 

       The Time of Troubles passed though… why it had begun was as much a mystery to me as its ending.  I felt the magic stabilize again, and the shamans' spells were renewed once more.    My anger was still there, for I had missed perhaps my only chance to escape.  My mood was not pleasant for a long time.

       Then, this past year, another strange occurrence happened, this one far more ominous to me than the other.

       Word reached us that a dok-alfar was on the island, in the town of Ruathym.  A dok-alfar…dark-elf…drow elf.  The people of the island, I am told welcomed the creature and her companion…the fools!  Do they not realize how vile and evil the drow are? !  Did they not know what manner of darkness they had allowed onto the island?  Indeed, welcomed?  Then more stories came to us…the…woman…and her human companion were on a quest…that she had saved the lives of the people of one of the villages…strange occurrences were happening all over the island, it seemed.  Then word came to us that Holgerstead had been attacked, that the First Axe there lingered near death and had named the drow's human companion as First Axe in his stead, as the human was the last living hamfariggen on Ruathym.  The whole tale smacked of drow treachery to me.  I wished to go to Ruathym, seek out this drow bitch and cut her down with my axe.  I tried to explain to my father what was happening, but he would hear none of it.  The dok alfar, he said, was honored for her bravery, and to harm her would be a terrible dishonor.  He would not hear my words about what I knew of the drow people…he claimed my anger was childish, that I had not, apparently, grown up yet…that I was jealous that there was another alfar on the island besides myself.  I was enraged.  How could he possible compare me to… a drow?!! 

I went far from my home, that night, walking down along the edge of the fjords, screaming my anger at the water.  I hoped that the Ruathym suffered whatever treachery the drow meant.  I hoped they died for it.  I destroyed everything I could, in my anger, throwing rocks from the cliffs, tearing plants from the ground and hurling them far from me.  I walked many miles, until I was far from Rylonar.  I stayed away for many days, wandering about in places I had not gone before.  There were ruins on Ruathym…some were said to be remnants of an old dwarven civilization that had once lived here, before the humans came.  I spent several nights in one such ruin.  I do not know what I hoped to accomplish my running away, only that I think, had I stayed, I might have lost control, gone berserk, and harmed people in my village. 

I marveled, when I finally calmed, over the ignorance of humans.  The elven folk are far superior.  The elves treat women as equals, not as chattel.  An elf would realize that a woman, especially a drow woman, could be far more dangerous than any man.  An elf would know to watch for lies and trickery.  Not so the humans.  She was an "alfar" to them…to be marveled over… certainly not dangerous though, despite the powers that the drow witch had already shown.  She was the "belonging" of the fool, human, berserker she was with…more likely the other way around to my thinking.  An elf would never be so stupid…but no one here would listen to my words, for like the drow, I am still treated as an oddity, no matter that I am a warrior among them, and adult by their own laws.  I hate Ruathym.

       The weeks passed that I did not return. And finally, it was Eirik who found me.  I saw him approach from a distance, and watched as he grew closer.  I did not stand when he walked up to me, nor did I turn my gaze from the sea…the damned prison of an ocean. 

       "Are you ready to return?" he asked, without preamble.

       "I will not return until the bitch, dok-alfar has left these shores…for I would seek her out and kill her…thus bringing disgrace to my family and your father, by my actions to rid Ruathym of the evil that worms its way among us," I replied, my tone full of scorn and bitterness.

       "She is gone, Airk," Eirik stated.  "Left this past week to return to the mainlands…though…she was asked if she wished to stay."  I turned to him then, and I know what a strange sight I made, for Eirik has spoken of how he recoiled at the vision…the wind was strong and my hair was tangled from many days of being ill-cared for.  My eyes, he said, seemed to blaze an eerie, fey green, and he wondered if I was mad.

       "Humans are fools…all of you," I sneered, not bothering to suppress my accent.  "You are blind to the magic beneath your feet, and blind to the evil before your eyes.  The gods themselves turned black the skin of the drow, to reflect the evil in their hearts, and you welcome such a creature to live among you.  And no matter how much I am forced into the mold you have made for yourselves, I will never be that blind!"

       "She saved us, Airk…Luskan and creatures from the sea would have slaughtered us while we left the island unguarded, and she kept us from the course of folly."

       "If she did, it was only because doing so matched her purpose here, and nothing else…certainly nothing of honor or bravery," I turned to him, standing.  "You do not understand, Eirik Ivarsson, and none of the people here do…there is no…such…thing…as…a…good…drow!" I thundered.  He took a step backwards, narrowed his eyes.

       "If we are so foolish and weak in your eyes, Airk…and you so very clever, then why do you not return to your own people …alfar?"   I felt the anger drain from me, then…Eirik reminded me that I was still trapped here, and too foolish and weak to find my own way home.  He reminded me that I would never fit in…  I shook my head, sitting back down.

       " I cannot…besides…even if I did, I do not think they would want me among them, not any more than the people here do.  I think," I gazed back to the sea… "That it might have been better if my foster parents had left me to die…"

"Stop acting like a child, Airk," Eirik snapped, angered at my behavior.  I laughed bitterly, and looked back to him.

"Among the alfar, I am still a child…or would have been."  I do not think he believed me, even though it was true.  He ended up picking a fight with me, and when we were both bruised and bloodied, he convinced me to return to Rylonar, that I was being a fool.  After all, was not the drow bitch gone?  What did it matter any more? 

So I went home…my parents welcomed me back with not a word of reproach, though I sensed my father's displeasure, evident in the long hours he made me work at the forge.  Things went back to normal, but in my heart, I cannot forget the anger I felt, the aloneness I still feel.  I imagine that this is what some of the Cha Tel'Quessir feel…trapped between two worlds, which they can never fully be a part of.  Sickening, isn't it?  Well, I know that it time to stop writing when I begin to liken myself to the half-breeds. 

                     Keledrial/Airk

       I am growing older… it grows hard to count time, so I am never certain how much has passed.  It has been over ten years since I began raiding, I think.  My parents have grown old.  Their hair is far more white than blond.  Their joints begin to creak with age.  Father still spends his time at the forge, and I help him all year, except for the summers…the raids.  Mother still does what she has always done...woman's work…cooking and cleaning, sewing and repairing.  She is a good woman…I feel sad that she does not have a daughter to aid her with these tasks when she can.  I do what little I can, but she does not accept my help.  I am a warrior…it is not for me to do women's work, she says.  My father would not like it if he caught me…so I do not help her.  It is the way of humans…the way of the Ruathen. 

       I have done something terrible…something I cannot forget or forgive myself for doing.  I hate myself for doing it.  I say excuses to myself.  If the other men had not taunted me so…if even one of the Ruathen women had shown the slightest interest in me…if I had not lost my temper… but they hold no comfort.  I shall write of what happened, if only as a penance for my soul.  Today I am glad that my elven parents did not survive…my elven mother would hate me for how far I have fallen…how terribly human I have become.  In truth, I am the barbarian that I once thought the Ruathen to be. 

       It was on a raid, of course…the morals of the men, even myself, degrade and erode whenever we raid.  It is the bloodlust, perhaps…and the continuous raging and battle.  They say what we do is glory for Tempus…but is this truly the way of the god of battle? 

       We were on the mainland, this year...somewhere off the coast, south of Luskan.  On one of the last villages we meant to raid before returning home.  My father no longer goes on the raids, for his joints had grown weak.  Eirik was not with me either…his father had died the previous year, and he had had to go to the other chieftains of the area, to demand that they recognize his role as our new leader.  It was an important tradition, and the other chieftains would not show him respect if he did not.  They might even choose to attack the villages that Eirik hold sway over.  So Eirik did not come with us. 

       Without my father, and without Eirik, I had no one to talk with, and no one with me that the other warriors respected.  I was alone.  They taunted me from the first, baited me.  You see, I was only 6 and a half feet…I had stopped growing.  I was beardless, when all the others had grown theirs long ago.  I still looked young while my peers grew older, took wives, had children.  Despite the fact that they all knew I was older than they, they called me a child.  They laughed at the fact that I had never had a woman…for no Ruathen women wanted me...and I did not take my pleasure on the captured, as they did.  They called me a freak, said that perhaps I was more fond of men than women.  They asked if that was why I followed Eirik around so much… Then they said that my "other" blood made me weak…that I was weak and would never truly be a man…would never be anything but a weak, pathetic, child that the Windreiver's should have thrown back out to sea when they'd found me. 

       In that moment I truly was weak…weak in will, for I gave into their taunts, gave into my rage and anger.  I was tired of being the focus of their mocking jests…always the one left outside the group, no matter if they be elven or human.  I was tired at never being able to live up to the standards of whatever people I was living with.  I was tired of always being alone.  I was tired of being thought weak.  Had I been strong I would have attacked them…never mind that they probably would have killed me…and then told the people back home that I had died in battle.  But I did not.  In my rage and frustration I turned to someone who did not deserve to be the focus of it. 

       She was very pretty, I remember her face well…it will be eternally etched in my mind.  She had dark hair, soft and curly, messy from trying to run…trying to hide.  She was standing among the other captured village girls…the ones that had not yet been claimed by any of the warriors.  Her eyes were wide and brown…red from crying, already.  I stormed over to where she was, and grabbed her…I don't know why I chose her…maybe she was the closest…She started crying and struggling immediately.  But I am stronger than a woman, if not much else.  I dragged her into one of the houses nearby, in full view of the others.  I heard their laughter, their calls to prove myself.  I knew they would be listening…knew what they would be waiting to hear.  In my anger, I gave them what they wanted…but the cost was a piece of my soul that I cannot recover.

       I threw her to the ground, tore the clothing from her body.  I held her down with the strength of my arms when she began to fight me.  She begged…pleaded with me not to do this, not to hurt her…to stop…to let her go.  Fresh tears fell from her eyes…yet I ignored her pleas.  I was determined that the others would finally accept that I was no child…that I was not weak.  They would not laugh at me any more, I thought…and in truth, they do not laugh…not any more. 

       At that point in time, I was still a virgin…had never touched a woman as a man does.  I accepted that I was nothing special…that I was not attractive to the Ruathen women…and I supposed, I would not be attractive to any elven women any more, either…not looking the way I do now…a freak in both worlds.

       All the same, I knew what to do.  After living so long in a one-room house with my parents…after hearing the stories and boasts of the other men…I knew what to do. 

I raped her.              

     I held her down, and forced myself into her, even as she screamed for me not to.  At first, the sensation of being inside a woman felt good.  I could understand why men did what they did to experience sex.  I felt powerful and strong… but then I opened my eyes and looked down at her…into her eyes.  Knowing that I was the cause of her fear, her pain, her humiliation…I felt terrible.  I felt lower than the dirt on which I'd thrown her.  Any pleasure I felt deserted me at that moment.  She stopped screaming, merely laid there, as though in a daze, as I finished with her, emptied myself into her.  When I pulled away, and released her hands, she did not move, did not try to escape as she'd done before…she merely lay there, crying and shaking. 

       I realized then, what I had done.  I'd done more than just hurt her…I'd taken from her something I had no right to… something that should have been hers alone, to give or withhold… not just some gold bauble, or material belonging, but a piece of herself…of her soul…and all for the sake of my wounded pride.

       I sat back, disgusted with myself…hating myself.  What would my mothers think?  I wondered at that moment.  My elven mother…she would not be proud of me…she would be ashamed.  Even my human mother, Ingrid, would be disappointed.  She did not approve what went on when we went raiding, though she did often say that she understood that men felt they had to do certain things.  No…they would not be proud of me…and I will never be proud of myself.

       Shaking now, myself, I began to mummer apologies.

       "I am sorry…so sorry…" but I do not know if she heard me, understood, or cared.  I rummaged through the house, found some water and cloth.  I gently cleaned her off…washed the blood…and other fluid from her thighs.  She did not even move, except to shiver and sob again.  I pulled my tunic off and gave it to her…to cover up, for her own clothing was in ruins.  I knew I could not hurt her again…would not let any one else hurt her.  I'd done enough harm on my own. 

But how to keep her safe from the others?  I knew that if I brought her out and returned her to the other captives, that she would just be taken and raped again by another one of the Ruathen.  After all…it is our way…  So I thought of an idea…the girl would have to help, if she wanted to escape the fate that would await her…and I would end up doing irreparable damage to any reputation I had among the Ruathen.  My plan would make me a barbarian…even to the barbarians…if it worked right.  So I told her that she must calm down if she wished to live, then I explained what I meant to do.  When I finished, she looked up at me with confused eyes.

       "Why?" she asked simply.  I shook my head…it would be too hard for me to explain, and I did not have a lot of time…they would come in soon, thinking I was done, due to the silence.

       "I am sorry," was my only reply to her.  The plan began.  She began screaming again…horrible wails.  I hit myself hard, on the thigh…enough to make a noise, then broke a large piece of kindling from the fireplace in half and she abruptly stopped her screams.  I yelled and ranted loudly for a few moments, using foul terms.  A few moments later, I stepped back out of the house, my pants readjusted, her body slung over my shoulder. 

       Several of the other men came up to me, laughing.  They said they didn't think I had it in me…and for a moment, I had their acceptance…I was finally one of them…Finally…when now was the time when I did not wish to be.  Then they began to "jest" about having a "turn" on her…until they realized that the girl was no longer moving…indeed, her body was limp and lifeless.  They asked me what happened, thinking her dead, as I had anticipated.  I shrugged casually, as though it were of little importance.

       "She called me weak…I will not be called weak…ever... again.  I silenced her…in death she has learned to keep her insolent mouth shut."  And they believed me, so grim was my expression…they believed that I killed the girl over an insult.  They took steps away from me…looking at me warily, the smiles faded from their expressions.  I knew what they were thinking… that I was a berserker who had lost his focus…that I was a monster.  For among the people of Ruathym, you see, it is one thing to kill in battle…even if it is a woman…so long as they hold a weapon…it is yet another thing entirely to kill a woman in cold blood.  That is what I became to them that day…a killer of women.  They would never trust me again…if, indeed, they ever had. 

       With no further words to them, I walked away, carrying the "body" away from the village.  When we were far enough away from the others, in a wooded area where they would not see us, I set the girl back on her feet, and let her go.  Her eyes were wide with fear…she feared me still, even though I had saved her from further abuse…perhaps even from death... after all, it was not uncommon for a woman to die "accidentally" after being forced too many times. 

       Again, in that moment, I felt terrible self-loathing, and turned away from those damning eyes.  She stood there for a few minutes, staring at me.

       "Why? You're not even one of them?"  She demanded. 

"I am now," I replied sadly.

"But you're an elf!" She almost shouted at me.  It would have been better if she cursed me, than to remind me what I was losing by continuing with this way of life.  I did not answer her…could not meet her eyes.

"Why save me after you…you…" She seemed unable to finish the sentence.  I could not explain things to her…especially not while she was still in danger…and at the time, I wasn't even sure of the answer to that myself. 

       "If you value your life, wench, run now…run and do not look back," I told her quietly, my voice grim.

       She did.  I did not even learn what her name was.

       I went back to the village, and the voices of the other men silenced around me.  They finally feared me…but at such a price. 

       After that, they did not bother me.  They avoided me as best they could for the rest of the raiding.  No one spoke to me.  As I said, even among the Ruathen, what I "did" was not an accepted thing.  When I returned home, I spoke with my parents of what happened.  I told them the truth of the matter, for I could not bear to have them believe the rumors that were already spreading through the village.  I had a new name, you see...they began to call me "Airk Woman-slayer."  My father did not seem to understand why I had done what I'd done…why I felt so bad about raping the girl.  I think my mother understood better, but she held her counsel.  At my insistence, they agreed not to reveal the true story.  I would accept the name as penance for what I had done…even if I was not what I was being accused of.

       Eirik returned to these names and tales.  He sought me out eventually, and asked me in grave tones if what the people were saying was true.  He is my friend…my only friend…I could not lie to him, any more than I could have to my parents.  I think he understood better than my parents what I was feeling…my best friend that he is.  He knows my heart, and that I had caused more damage to my soul…, which was already growing confused… with my actions.  He vowed to keep my secret, though it bothered him that I was now even more alienated from the others than before.  

       Her face haunts my nights…even my reverie.  I cannot forget…I will not forgive.  Am I now a barbarian for good?  Is all that was good and elvish in me gone?  I begin to think so.

Sometimes it feels as though I becoming two separate people…one that clings to the elven side of myself, and another that embraces the way of the humans.

The time is coming; I think when I must soon leave Ruathym.  Opportunity has come many times, but I have not taken it.  I cannot leave my parents yet…and I fear leaving Ruathym, as well.  Where will I go?  What would I do?  Most importantly …if it was the magic of Ruathym that sustained me…would I become, once again, the sickly thing I was?  As much as I fear what I have become…I think I fear worse the idea that I would be Keledrial again. If only you could still hear me, my Lord Corellon…if only you could guide me…but here Tempus holds sway…and he is not truly my god.  I must decide alone.

                                         Airk/Keledrial

                                                       Mirtul 10, 1370

The time has finally come.  My parents are dead.  The truth is, that my father, Brander, died some 3 months ago.  He had been out in a fishing boat with a few others when an unexpected storm swept up suddenly from the east.  The boat went down…we did not even find the bodies.  After that, my mother, Ingrid grew ill.  She did not fight the illness, though… she lost her strength…her body grew thin.  I think she wanted to be with her Brander again.  She died in her sleep last week, though I did my best to keep her alive.  She told me, before she died, not to be afraid; that she had loved me as deeply as though I had been the son of her body…that I was the son of her heart… that she was proud of me…and that I must forgive myself and move on.  She said that this was the end she wanted…that she loved my father so much that if death be the only way to rejoin him, so be it.  Then she died, her eyes closed for the last time, while I sat beside her. 

I did not think to feel the grief I did.  All this time, I have tried to keep my emotions in check…but now that they are both gone, I find that I loved them…and I do not think I ever told them that.  They had saved my life…good people that they were.  I am strong today because they were strong then. 

I have watched them, these many years; grow old and frail…all the while I remained much the same as I am.  Elves do not age like humans…I stayed young while they grew old.  I will still be young, when their ashes are no more, and generations of Ruathen after them have lived and died. 

It has been 42 years since the shipwreck.  Ironic…I lived 42 years with the elves, and 42 with the Ruathen.  My friend Eirik is old now, too.  He is wed…a father now, many times over.  His oldest child has already had a child as well.  I watched them grow…and I stayed the same.  It makes me weary.  Eirik looks at me now with incredulousness.  He claims he knew that this was the way of things, but seeing the years fly by and never touching me…I do not think he was prepared for the reality of it all.  Yet he has stood by me, these many years, the staunchest friend. 

The others in the village grow more fearful of me, though.  Most know little of the elven people.  I hear the whispers.  They call me unnatural.  They begin to fear I am sort of sorcerer…that perhaps I bewitched the Windreivers…even that I called the storm to kill my father…that I stole the breath from my mother to keep myself young.  I can hardly believe that, until this moment, I did know realize how much I despise the ignorance of humans.  They do not care that I loved my parents dearly…that I even now grieve for their deaths.  I know now that I cannot stay here.  It will only be a matter of time before they decide to act on their suspicions.  If I stay, they will kill me…be it by accident, or design.  Eirik will not be able to protect me forever.  I would not prevail against so many…and even Eirik would be forced to allow my "execution" if proof of sorcery was brought against me, friend or no.  Proof is easily fabricated. 

I have made a choice, though it is a hard one.  The raids will begin in a week's time.  I think they will let me go again with them…if only out of the hope that this time I will not come back.  I will give them their wish.  I have gathered all that I can from the things left me by my parents.  There is gold and a few goods left, along with the last set of clothing my mother sewed for me before she died.  I packed it all, leaving my parents home nearly bare.  My father's axe I took to the water, and cast it into the sea.  We could not bury it with him, but perhaps, if Deep Sashelas can hear me, the weapon will find it's way to my father's hands that he might carry it with him in the afterlife.    I would sell the forge, but it might make the people here suspicious, and I must remain inconspicuous until I can leave.

I have spoken with Eirik about my decision.  He is unhappy, in that he will be losing a friend, but he too, agrees that this is the best way for me.  The raids, he told me, will be taking place in the Moonshae islands this year.  He told me to slip away during a raid and to make my way inland…to find a road, and go to a city there, called Caer Callidyr.  It is the great city of the islands, and there will be ships there to take me to the mainlands, or wherever else I might wish to go that ships go to.  He said not to worry about the people, that if any try to bother me that I was to claim to be a northlander.  The northlander people of the Moonshaes are, apparently, the descendents of Ruathen who settled the northern islands long ago…and recently, a truce was made between the dark ffolk of the southern islands and the northlanders.  Eirik bid me luck and Tempus' blessing, and embraced me like a brother.  I named him Sha Tel'Quessir… elf friend…though I did not explain the significance of the term, nor did I mention that I am not certain I have the right any more to bestow such a title.  But he was my dearest friend…and I am…I hope…still an elf.

Sometimes lately, things seem strange to me.  Sometimes it seems that the part of me that is Airk is completely separate now from the part that is Keledrial.  Sometimes it is almost like I can hear my voice as Keledrial, in my mind whispering things to the part of me that is Airk, and the reverse as well.  I begin to feel like I am two people, and not one…and it is beginning to frighten me. Elves are not meant to live among humans…now I know why…they force all their living into their short years…an elf stretches that living out…but among humans, I must act as they do…I am growing tired of it all.  The dual thoughts and way and lives confuse me…I fear that I am growing mad, as elves are rumored to become, when kept too long among the short-lived races.  I think that it is a good thing I will be leaving soon…that it is not a moment too soon.  I will take my axe and my bow, and my things…I will go to Caer Callidyr.  From there I do not know, but it cannot be worse than what will befall me if I should stay here.  May Corellon guide me once more.

                                  Airk / Keledrial

Eleint 27, 1370

I have arrived at Caer Callidyr, on the largest island of the Moonshaes, Alaron.  It was not difficult for me to slip away during the confusion of the raid.  I some how doubt that those with me searched very long to find my "body."  It matters little to me, though.  I was on my way, to whatever fate the gods had for me.  I walked through the countryside of the island, going further inland.  It was the farthest from the sea I have been in a long time.  Strange how silent everything seems when you are used to the sounds of the waves, crashing eternally against the beach. 

The inner land here is green and misty.  The ground was boggy in some places, and fields in other.  Small stands of trees became more numerous the farther from the water I got.  Finally I came upon a large trade road.  I followed it southward until I saw, rising before me, a huge wall.  As I got closer I saw that the city of Caer Callidyr was enclosed by a large wall…to protect it, I suppose.  The gates of the city on the road, however, were open, with two sets of guards standing on either side.  Travelers, folk with wagons, and merchants were all admitted into the city with only cursory checks through their goods.  I approached cautiously.  Until that point I had managed fairly well to avoid contact with the Moonshaen folk.  Now I had no choice.  I was very conscious of my appearance.  I can imagine how strange I must have seemed to the people there: a strange, pale-skinned, blue haired elf…6 and a half feet in height, and broad as a human.  My clothing was certainly northern in style, with wolf furs and runic designs abounding.  My hairstyle was also that of the northlander…that of the Ruathen…my skin was inked, arms bared…a huge axe strapped across my back.  I wonder now that they let me in, but perhaps it was because they were all too busy staring, with mouths open wide as dying fish, to summon the words to detain me.

Caer Callidyr is large…not as large as Leuthilspar, mind you, but large all the same.  It was far grander than anything I'd seen on Ruathym.  The houses here are all tightly together, made of wood and stone.  Neat little houses, with clean straight lines, unlike the crude homes to be found in the villages of Ruathym. The wall surrounded the city on the landside…the ocean protecting the port side.  The city was dark though…and confining.  I felt cramped and uncomfortable in this place.  I was far more used to the open, wide spaces of Ruathym and Evermeet.  The main street was fairly clean, but the further from there I got, there seemed to be more refuse about.  The people that walked the city were humans…but so many kinds of humans!  There were the dark, ffolk of the Moonshaes, and the dark-haired northlanders who looked so very much like the Ruathen.  And there were others…they must have been visitors from the mainland…I saw people with dusky skin, people with skin as fair as my own and pale yellow hair, people who spoke with strange accents, who wore rich and unusual clothing, and even, once, a girl who ran past me, towards the docks, with a long braid of hair that was a red as fresh blood.

Needless to say, I felt out of place, and received a great many stares.  People seemed to even pause in their business to gape.  I wish I had worn a cloak…or hood…something to disguise me.  And I wondered…what if someone recognized me?  I had raided on the Moonshaes before…and while I am not attractive, neither am I forgettable, I think.  What if I came across some one who knows me for what I was?  I knew that I could not allow my stay in Caer Callidyr to be a long one, for that reason, if nothing else.

I got a room at a small inn…out of the way, and close to the wall of the city.  There were not many customers, I gathered, and the owner was glad enough of my business that he did not ask me any questions, but answered my own as best he could.

I went down to the docks that very to find out where I might go from here.  Nearly everyone I spoke said that if there was someplace I wanted to go, or some thing I needed to find, that Waterdeep was the place for me.  Unfortunately, when I went to inquire about the price of passage to this Waterdeep, I discovered something quite unfortunate…I had been robbed.  My purse of gold, which I had foolishly worn on my belt, was gone.  As I thought back, I vaguely recalled that the girl with red haired had bumped into me…when everyone else had gone out of their way to avoid me.  I imagine that the girl was a thief…and I suppose that it is justice…I am a raider…and the money I made from such a profession had been stolen by a pickpocket.  It almost amused me…except that it meant I was stuck in this city, with hardly a coin to my name.  With reluctance, I departed from the docks, and the ships that might have taken me where I wished to go.  The captain of the one ship I talked to said that he would be back in three or four months…a final trade run, before the winter storms hit.  He said that if I had the coin, he would take me on as a passenger on the way back to Waterdeep, where he would put in port for the winter.

So, I had to find a way to make some money.  It turned out to be an easy enough task.  My father had taught me well at the forge…I knew how to work metals into armor, weapons, and even horseshoes and nails, were they called for.  As an added bonus, father showed me the basics of how to work leather, as well…with these qualifications…along with the potential draw of my unusual appearance…I convinced the owner of one of the smithies in town to hire me on as an assistant.  It was not a bad job, and I found that honest work was far more fulfilling to me than raiding.  I worked hard, and I worked long.  I think that I have impressed my employer…a heavyset, bearded man named Morgan, with my diligence.  I did not make much money a day, but enough so that I could pay to stay at the inn, and save a small sum each week, as well.  I had two nights off a week, and worked from sunup to past sundown, the rest of the days.  It kept me strong. 

On one of those nights off, a new traveler came to the inn I was staying at.  He was a small fellow, with tanned skin, and rusty brown hair…he was staying for a while, I soon learned…but not the reason why.  He saw me immediately, for even in the darkened tavern, I stand out.  He wasted no time in coming up to me, and sitting down at my table.  He greeted me warmly, and introduced himself as Loren.

"I would not have thought to see one of the Teu-Tel'Quessir, here," he mentioned to me, in a casual tone.  I sat up straight at the use of the elven word for the moon elves…my people.

"Why is that?" I asked him. 

"Well, it's just that your folk tend to stick more to the mainlands…I'm sorry if I offended you…I was just curious that's all."

"Where on the mainlands have you seen my people?" I asked, desperate, suddenly, for a hint of where I might go.

"Oh, here and there…the silver elves tend not to stay in one place for very long…but you know that.  Now the wood elves… that's a different tale…Perhaps you'd like to hear of how I met them?" he asked, with air of man who meant to continue his tale no matter my response.  I nodded, though, for any word of the people was welcome to me after so long.

He spun me a tale of how he had been wandering around down in the woods of a place called Tethyr, when he'd suddenly heard a scream coming from the woods not far from him.  He told me he rushed to see what was happening, only to find a small elven girl beset by a group of orcs. He then relayed that he could not allow such foul creatures to harm the child, and dashed in, swords raised.  After he slew the beasts, he moved to help the girl, when he felt spear pointed into his back…the girl's kin had arrived.  Well, apparently, in thanks for saving the child, the wood elves invited Loren back to their village.  He stayed with them for a time, studying their ways, learning the language.  He was particularly fond of watching one elf that danced with blades. 

I, myself, can remember the sword dancers from Evermeet, though vaguely.  Now, shortly after, when I learned that Loren had learnt the skills to dance as the elves did, merely by watching them, I convinced him to teach me as well.  I gave him some of my hard earned coin to receive such training…but it is well worth it.  By learning a dance of my people…especially so dangerous a dance, with the edge of the blades only a hair's breadth from my skin…it made me feel more…elven, some how.  As with everything else in my life, I proved a quick study, and within a few short weeks, I had learned all that Loren had to teach.  Eventually he left, having concluded whatever business he had had here.  Yet I continued practicing…every night off that I had.  It was something to do…and it was something that gladdened my heart.  Perhaps there was yet a chance for me…if I could still feel joy in a dance, perhaps I was not as far gone as I feared.

I have hope again.  I will find my people…and I will go home someday…but I am not certain that I will return to Evermeet straightaway, even if I learn the way the very day I arrive in Waterdeep.

I have been thinking much on what Loren said about rescuing the elven girl from orcs.  There are were few dangers as such on Ruathym…we being an island of warriors…but according to Loren, monsters and foul creatures as such, abound on the mainlands…constantly plaguing the people of the sword coast… monsters and others as well…evil humans who follow dark gods…even the hated drow.  I began to wonder if I might redeem myself in the eyes of Corellon…and even Tempus.  Raiding is not honorable battle…no matter what I have let myself believe to assuage my conscience.  If there is so much trouble on the mainlands, I wonder if I might use my strength and skill of arms to help the folk who live there?  I spoke once with Loren about such, before he left…he grinned and said that there is good coin in "adventuring," so long as you do not mind the risks.  I asked him where I might learn more of this "profession," and he replied that when I went to Waterdeep, I would find that there is an adventurer's guild there…and I should speak with them.  Perhaps I will do just that.  Perhaps if I do what I can to help people, the likes of which I have harmed these long years, perhaps I will redeem myself to my god…and perhaps I will someday find the strength to forgive myself for what I have done to survive. 

Strange…the part of me which is Airk likes the idea of adventure…for it will test his skills…and the part of me that is Keledrial agrees also...for it is a right and good thing to do.  It is rare that I find my two selves agree…Sometimes they seem so separate…it is almost as if I am two different beings…I wonder if, after all these years, I have gone mad?  I pray not.

It is now only a few more weeks until the ship returns…I have saved nearly enough.  In a short time I shall arrive in Waterdeep…there to find my fate…and my future.

              Keledrial Nightstar/Airk Windreiver

                                                       Ches 7, 1371

I am here now, in Waterdeep.  I have never seen such a place.  When I walked up from the docks, I found myself nearly overwhelmed.  The size of this place is immense.  The buildings are tall and short and wide and come in every shape…made of all different sorts of materials.  The streets are a veritable labyrinth…I think it would take many, many years of doing nothing but exploring this city, for me to truly understand the vastness of it.  I think perhaps that it is even larger than Leuthilspar…and very grand…but still, I do not feel comfortable here.  There are too many people…too much noise.  I live not far from the water, yet the sounds here are so great that I cannot hear the waves at night.  I found a place, not far from the docks to work.  It is another blacksmith shop, also owned by a human.  He is a native of this city, and grew up in the smithy.  He is fair enough at his trade, Stefan, is…yet still…human work pales in comparison to the things that the elves can produce.  Yet, for now, it is a living.  Fortunately, Stefan has a back room, and had allowed me to stay there for a small sum.  This way I am able to save up some money again.  Winter has come early to the city this year, they say, and it is a harsh one.  I have spent many mornings shoveling snow from the doors and off the roof of the building.  The cold does not bother me so much as it does Stefan, and I am happy to be outside, rather than cooped up all day in the store.  The Ruathen were always amazed at my tolerance to the cold as well, come to think of it.  They would shiver greatly after swimming in water, whose temperature I found comfortable.  It was one of the few things I was able to "beat" the others in…though I never told them that my people have a greater tolerance to extreme climates than humans do.

       The snow, however, keeps many people indoors, and though I am told many folk of other races…even elves live in this city, I have yet to meet anyone besides humans.  I am even told that there is an elven temple here somewhere…but I have been unable to find it as of yet.  Perhaps I shall have better luck, come the spring.  I have also located the adventurer's guild that Loren once spoke of, but so far, have not had the time, nor opportunity to visit it.  Stefan keeps me very busy at the forge, and with the snow…so for now I shall keep to my work.  Perhaps, when the spring comes I will have more time…and if I do not, I shall make time, for I certainly do not intend to spend the rest of my days working in some human's store, after all.             

       Since parchment is easier to get here…though expensive, perhaps I shall make another entry again, sooner than I usually do.  Until then,                                   Keledrial / Airk

Mirtul13, 1371

       Spring, such as it is, has finally come.  The snow is mostly gone, though the air is still chill.  I finally found my way to this adventurer's guild, about a week ago. The people there welcomed me…and at the sight of myself, and my axe…well, they offered me a trial membership at this guild…free of charge.  By having such, I gathered that I would have access to their guildhall…that I could meet other adventurers there, get discounts on goods, and learn of people seeking to hire adventurers.  I put up a message there, on the corkboard, with others, stating that I wished to join with a group…that I wished employment in this field.  After so many months trapped in that cramped smithy…I feel in desperate need to see the forest, to be outside in the open air more.  But seeing as I can only write in elven…and I have seen no elves since coming here…there has been no answer to my notice. 

So this day, this morning, Stefan gave me the day off…business was slow.  I went down to the guild house, out of idleness. I suppose I might have tried once again to seek out the elven temple I have heard is in this city…but the idea of walking the maze of streets only to meet with failure again did not appeal to me.

       To my surprise, I found that a new note had been posted…several in fact…looking for adventurers.  There were folk milling around, straining to read the notices…I stood above them all, peering down…but I could not read the language…it was written in a human dialect.  I suppose that I shall soon have to become literate in these languages…seeing as how there is very little written in elven here, I must find my way from place to place, judging by the pictures and symbols on the signs.

       On of the people, a human in armor with short cropped black hair and brown eyes, said,

       "Well boys, what do you think?  Shall we try it?"   Before any of his acquaintances could answer, I tapped him lightly on the shoulder.  In Airk's usual slow, monotone, I asked him,

       "Can you read this notice aloud, human?"  He looked up at me.

       "It says that the Rising Sun trading coaster is looking for a bit of help.  Apparently goblins have been attacking their caravans."

       It took me a moment or two to notice the other elf…seeing as he was standing behind the human.  I managed to conceal my shock…my joy, at finally seeing another one of my people again.  Like myself, he is a moon elf…though far, far shorter and slighter than I.  His hair was a pale green, and his eyes a like color, which made me suspect that there was, perhaps, a sea elf in his heritage.  Still, his skin was the same silvery hue as my own, his ears just as pointed…another elf…it had been so very long.  He had a lute strapped across his back, that led me to believe…rightly so, that he was some sort of bard or musician.

       "I think that Calvin here is right," my fellow elf stated with a grin. "Perhaps we might join together and go and do this.  A fine start, yes?"  I did not know if he was speaking to me, or the others standing about…which, I belatedly noticed, were two very, very short people, with beards.  I thought back to my books, mentally going through entries, until I came up with the proper title for the description of this kind of creature.

       Dwarves.  Short, stocky humanoids.  Mainly subterranean.  Highly greedy.  Warrior and work oriented race.  Highly deficient of magic.

       I muttered the description under my breath, softly…but one of the two dwarves heard.

       "Who's greedy?" the black-bearded one demanded.

       "Dwarves are," I replied simply, deliberately, as though I were speaking to a small child.

       "Hmph…" the dwarf crossed his arms, seeming irritated.  My attention was drawn from the little one, by the human beside me.

       "What say you?" he asked me.  "You seem a warrior.  Will you adventure with us?"  By us, I assumed that he meant the elf and the two dwarves.  I nodded.

       "I shall."  If not for the adventure, then for the chance to speak with the other elf…to seek answers that he might, perhaps, have.

       I did not realize until the introductions began, that none of them had known each other, either.  Like myself, they had each been given a trial membership to this guild, and were seeking their first adventure, and a group to travel with.

       The human is Calvin McRoss, a paladin…which is a holy warrior in the service of his god, Tyr. I do not know of what bent this "Tyr" is, but Calvin seems of an honorable bent, and a competent fighter as well.

       My fellow elf claimed his name to be Tobias…a taken name for certain.  Perhaps he does not wish any to know his true name, though.  I will speak with him alone, at the earliest chance, and reveal who I am.  Perhaps then he will tell me his true name.

       The one dwarf, with the black beard proved to be quite…interesting.  When we got outside, paper in hand, the dwarf revealed that he had wings.  I searched my memories, but not in any book I have ever read is there reference to any dwarves having wings, though there are ancient fables of winged elves.  When asked about this strange occurrence, the dwarf, a priest of some dwarven god with silver in his name, mutter something about potions.  A strange fellow…his name is Ranon Thadeus.

       The other dwarf seemed rather unusual as well…mostly it was his hair and beard that drew the eye…for instead of hair, he had thick, green moss growing on his head and chin.  I did not ask why, though I confess to a certain degree of curiosity.  He is Hank Granitebeard, and is, apparently a druid of sorts.  I did not think that subterranean folk could be druids, but it appears that I am wrong about a good many things.

       So we went to this Rising Sun trading coaster, which was over in the South ward of the city.  There I met yet another non-human being.  This one looked very human at first, but was tiny…far smaller than the dwarves.  I hardly think the top of his head would have reached my waist.  After a bit of thinking, I recalled the definition of halfling and decided that this small creature fit it well…though he was not at all amused when I muttered something about halflings being similar to gnomes…   Although their entries in my book had been right next to each other…

       We spoke with an older gentleman…the owner of the coaster perhaps?  Calvin and Tobias did much of the talking.  I noticed that Tobias did not have much of an accent and spoke far faster than I do.  Perhaps he is better acquainted with humans than I…although he hardly seems to be more than a few decades older than I…or perhaps the humans here better understand accented speech than the Ruathym did.  Either way, it is something to think on.

       Basically, the man we spoke with gave us directions to the road and area where his caravans were being attacked…and told us that his was the only group of caravans that were being attacked.  Tobias mentioned that perhaps it might be the work of a rival company…to which the man replied that that was one of the reasons we had been hired.  He also mentioned that one of the things that had been stolen had been some package bound for a church of Mystra, and that the church would probably pay a reward for its recovery.

       We decided to wait a night, and leave for this place tomorrow, so I shall tell more of what happens when…and if, I return from this "adventure."

       I have returned from the adventure, relatively unscathed.  We arrived too late to save yet another caravan from being attacked, but as I searched for tracks of the…raiders, a black fletched arrow shot from the nearby hills and trees, to land near me.  I picked the arrow up and saw the crudeness of its make, and thought that goblins, being an uncivilized race might indeed have made such.  I ran into the woods, searching out the one who'd shot at me, only to see movement, far up into the hills, as my enemy escaped me.  Determined, I traced it upwards, dimly noting the sounds from behind me, signifying that the others were following me.

       The goblin tried a trap on us, when it realized that it was being followed.  The trap was that of a large boulder released from somewhere further up the trail.  I jumped down the side of the hill, holding onto the side as the boulder rolled past.  Others did likewise…Ranon took flight…and Calvin was forced to outrun the rock around a curve to save his horse, which he was foolishly leading up the path.  Fortunately, no one was harmed.

       We drew closer to the goblin's lair, I knew, when arrows came down at us from around a curve in the path.  I shot one with my own bow…spoils from a long ago raid.  The Ruathym thought me cowardly for using such a weapon…but thought it useful enough when trying to find land through deep fog.  I use it because it was the one weapon whose use I was trained in, on Evermeet.  After all, a short bow has a weak pull, and there were few enough ways that I could hurt myself wielding one.

       Finally, I wearied of waiting, and charged up the path, dodging the few arrows that came my way.  I dispatched both creatures, allowing the other to proceed.

       The goblins were not so hard.  We went into the cave with them, and they each went down with one blow of my axe.  It was the numbers that they came at us with that hurt the most.  Though the wounds they dealt us were slight…even slight wounds could become dangerous when they become numerous.

       We lost whatever surprise we might have had when Tobias foolishly shouted something to the goblins.   

       When it seemed we would be overwhelmed, I felt a familiar haze settle over me.  A roar of "Tempus," was torn from me, and I fell into a berserk rage.  When the rage dimmed, I found myself doing battle with the leader of these creatures…a bugbear.  He was stronger and fiercer than the others, and my body ached from the wounds he had dealt me.  Still, my greater skill prevailed, and he fell upon my axe, as had his goblin underlings.  Wearied from my rage, I nonetheless took the time to find what treasure I could…strangely enough, there was only one box…and no sign of any stolen trade goods.

       I chopped at the lock of the box until it cracked open.  Within there were several things…including a note, which the others claimed was proof that the creatures had been hired by another trading coaster…a rival to the Rising Sun one.  There was also a blank book that no one seemed to want, so I took it.  It has many pages in it, and perhaps I shall use it to keep track of my travels.

       We also found a bit of coin, which was split evenly. The weapons of the creatures that I had not inadvertently destroyed we sold to people back in Waterdeep.  I kept for myself the greatsword that the bugbear had been wielding.  The only source of contention amongst us was over a ring we found in a smaller box within the larger one.  I sensed the magic of it, even without being able to cast any spells…but then, I always have been that in touch with magic.

       Tobias immediately "claimed" it, though out of all of us who had fought, he had done the least…to the point that, when he thought we might lose the battle, he ran out to the front cave to escape.  I cannot stomach cowardice.

       He snatched the ring out of my hand even as I was studying it…though I could not guess as to what the enchantment on it might be.  Now, among the Ruathen, the division of goods is always fair, with equal shares to all that went.  I knew that the ring, being magical, was most likely worth more than everything else we had found, combined.  So, I grabbed Tobias by the wrist, and told him that we would find out what the ring was, sell it and split the profits.  The strange thing is, that had he assuaged my curiosity as to what the ring was…I wouldn't have cared…I probably would have just let him have it.  But he did not.  He whined and wheedled stating that he wanted it, and would give up his share of whatever profit we made to keep it.  I laughed…whatever his share was, it would not be worth the price of the ring…but the others seemed to think such an agreement was fair, so I went along as well.  Tobias would do well to learn quickly that my curiosity has a high price.

       Before I released my fellow elf, I growled at him, in elven.

       "Elf or not, next time we go into battle, learn to keep your mouth shut, that we not unnecessarily alert our enemies," I released him by way of throwing his arm away from me.  Tobias' eyes widened at this speech of mine, for as Keledrial, I speak far better than Airk's monotone and deliberate wording.

       Wearied beyond ability to keep my feet, I sat down on the smelly chair that the bugbear had been sitting on, and instantly went into reverie.

       I awoke some hours later to find that the others were all sleeping.  Fools…what if more creatures had come on us unaware?   My gaze strayed to Tobias, and I thought, here was my chance, while the others slept.  I stalked over to him, and covered his mouth with my hand, as I shook him awake.  His eyes opened, wide with startled surprise.  The fear faded out of them, though, when he saw that it was only myself.

       "What?" He asked.

       "Sshh," I quieted him.  "There is something I must ask you, and could not do so in front of the others."  He sat up, looking curious.

       "I am Keledrial Nightstar…"  I waited for him to reciprocate with his true name as well…but he did not, obviously he did not understand politeness, or the ways of the court.  I was mildly irritated, but hid it.  

       "That name seems familiar…" he mused aloud.  "What are you, some sort of lost heir to the throne?"

       "Of course not!" I hissed, almost amused at his ignorance. Definitely not from Evermeet.  "I am no Moonflower…yet I am of a noble family…or once was," I amended. 

       "What do you want then?  To go reclaim your fortune, or something?"  I was growing more annoyed by his idiocy.

       "No…merely to go home.  That is why I need to know…do you know the way to Evermeet?"  He laughed.

       "Evermeet?  No…can't say as I've ever been there.  I've heard of it of course, but the way?  No…don't know that."  I bit my lip in frustration.  Then thought of one more thing.

       "Evereska then?  Where is Evereska?" He seemed to think for a moment…then got up and dug out a map that we'd found in the trunk.  I had thrown it aside earlier when I did not find Evermeet on it.  He looked at it now, until his finger came to a group of hills far, far to the east of Waterdeep.

       "Here it is.  Why do you want to go there?" he asked.  I looked at the map for a while, pondering the distance I would have to travel.  Such a distance would require coin…lots of it…supplies…a mount…and others with which to travel, if the stories I'd heard of monsters on the mainland were true.  I would not just be able to walk there on my own.  I did not answer Tobias, merely murmured my thanks and went to sit back down on the chair.  I kept watch the rest of the time.

       We go to leave again.  This time our quarry is a pack of marauding beasts called gibberlings.  The creatures were apparently raiding and killing at the farmsteads north of Waterdeep.  A young, human, wizard has hired us for our strength of arms.  We leave shortly, but I thought to write a bit more before I leave.  It has been several days since we dealt with the goblins.  On our return, we delivered the note we'd found to the old human who'd hired us.  He immediately took the note to the city guard.  We tagged along, out of a need to see this done…or in my case, curiosity.  The guard went to the rival coaster, and searched the place.  They found the stolen goods in the basement of the building, and then arrested the culprits.  While we were helping sort through things, I came upon a package that drew my attention.  I picked it up, and could feel magic within…strong magic.  The man who hired us stated that it was the package bound for Mystra…whom I have learned is a human goddess of magic.  He asked us if we would take the package over to the church.  Having nothing better to do, I agreed.  One of the dwarves…Ranon, I believe, tagged along, for what reason I do not know.  The others went off to do other business.  The people at this church gratefully accepted the package.  And while I was there, I thought of a question that I hardly summoned the courage to ask.  I asked them where I might find a place to purchase a spellbook written in elven.  Their reply was to go to the tower at the adventurer's guild.  Thanking the humans, I set off.

       There was a loud explosion when I reached the tower, and smoke and cursing cam out of one window.  Undaunted, I went in.  I explained my request to a young man sitting behind a desk there.  He stared at me blankly for a few moments, as though my request for a spell book had been spoken in some incomprehensible language.  I suppose he was shocked…after all, no wizard I have ever heard tell of carried a great axe strapped across his back…but who knows…when it comes right down to it, I have not heard of very much…and this is a very big world, after all.

       I was taken upstairs to another room…thankfully not filled with smoke.  This room had an older man in it, with graying, black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache.  Personally, as much as it made me an outcast, I am glad that no such hair grows on my face.

       The man looked up after the younger human whispered in his ear.  For a moment, he too was shocked…but recovered far faster.  It was beginning to annoy me.  After all, I am an elf…and are the people not known for skill of magic as well as skill of arms?!

       I ended up having to repeat my request.  In response, the wizard pulled a book down from a wall that was covered with tomes.  He opened to a page, handed me the book, and told me to read what I could.

       It was a spell, of course…and written in elven as I had asked.  I began to read the words aloud, not taking any pain from doing so.  That, I think was what he was looking for…for you see, those without the skill or the knowledge cannot read magic without taking hurt from it.  Naturally, I have no such problem.     

  They stopped me from finishing the spell, and had me look at yet another one.  Only when I has assured them that I had the capability to understand, read, and cast such magic did the wizard agree to sell me what I had asked for.  The price he gave me was more than fair, considering the number of spells that were in the book.  I suppose he thought I was some poor wizard who'd lost my spellbook through some misfortune, and took pity on me.  He would not have been far from wrong in that assessment, though.

I bought the book…which I suspected might have belonged to another wizard at one point.  The spells were all scribed in a fine, neat hand…but there were no spells of any power above minor levels in it.  A faint scarring of the leather, and a singed corner on the book brought to mind a fatal end to the book's previous owner.  I hoped that I would have better luck.  At first chance, I penned my own names into the book, and began studying it with a fervor that 42 years of deprivation had caused. 

I went back to work at the forge…Stefan was glad to have me there…but after the gold I had made on the one adventure…far more than the few silvers I earned at the forge…the labor hardly appealed to me as much.  Stefan was very angry at the mess I made while working the first day.  My mind was focused on that book, though, and the part of me that is Keledrial was far more dominant at the time.  As Keledrial, though, I have little enough care for the crude work we do at the forge.

Needless to say, I let the part of me that is Airk work during the days, while I studied by night.

Then, today, I went down to the guild house and met with the others.  A new message had been posted…this "gibberling" affair.  We met with the wizard several hours ago, and have agreed to accompany him.  The others all ran off to get supplies.  There is nothing that I need for so short a journey…only a few days from Waterdeep.  So I sit here and write to occupy myself. 

They approach now…I will go to my work…dispatching these "raiders."  I pray that the others do not discover that I was once such being…albeit I raided in the human fashion…which I suspect is not all that different from the monstrous way.  I do not think that such as Calvin would forgive me for my past…he is far too…honorable.  I hoped that in coming here I could begin to put that part of my life behind me…but with each time I fly into a deadly rage, I shall know that Airk is still there.  Each time I call out, instinctively to Tempus, I know that there is still "humanness" about me.  Until I remove that taint, I cannot feel that I am anything but a barbarian.

So we have returned from the gibberlings.  The part of me that is Airk was quite upset that the creatures did not offer a better challenge.  The wizard…I think his name was Teravan, made the creatures out to be far more dangerous.  I saw for myself the carnage they caused to the raided farmsteads we passed… murdered bodies lying half eaten in their destroyed houses.  To me it was stomach churning, yet to Airk, it is simply death…horrible, yes…but part of life.

You wonder that I refer to myself more and more as two beings…two separate beings.  Yet I fear it is what I am becoming. It seems almost that there are two voices in me.  One is the voice of Airk.  It is he who speaks most to the others, he who raises sword and axe in battle, he who revels in our strength.  Yet the part of me that now writes this, the part that sought out the wizards for the purchase of a spellbook, the part that is silent for the most part, preferring to remain still and separate…that part of me is wholly Keledrial. I too, revel in the strength of my arms and body, yet my heart yearns for magic…to be able to, once again shape the weave…to feel its power at my command.  There are times that I fear I argue with myself, the two parts that comprise me.  Airk does not like this magic, and part of me feels that unease ingrained by the Ruathym.  Yet, I, Keledrial, reel at the barbarity that we exhibit so frequently.  I begin to fear for my sanity, after so long.  Yet, I do not know what I might do about it.  Counsel with a priest seems a logical course of action, yet I cannot find an elven priest, nor the temple I have heard is rumored to exist in Waterdeep.

Anyhow, the gibberlings were indeed foul, little creatures of mindless destruction and rapacious appetite.  We followed the trail…or I should say that I did this.  You might think that the dwarven druid, Hank could have done so, yet when I approached him, he sneered at me, as though following such an "easy" trail was beneath him.  So be it.  I did what I must, listening to the whole time, as the rest of the party planned strategies.  Finally, when I heard them come up with some foolish plan involving a cliff and fire, and the herding of the beasts towards doom, I turned on them, as both Airk and Keledrial, disgusted at their foolishness.

"Perhaps we might see what the battlefield looks like before planning the strategy," I growled.  Calvin turned away from Tobias to regard me.  He nodded.

"You are right."  No more was spoken of a plan until we reached a farmstead that was, as yet, unharmed…with living people moving around outside.  The others quickly decided that this would be the next target, following the logical path of destruction.  They set about to make the place defensible, to warn the farmer and his family.  While they did thus, going on about trenches to trip the creatures, traps and fire, I continued to follow the path backwards.  I would know, if I could, how many of these creatures to expect.  Our employer warned us that the creatures would not venture from wherever they were hiding until nightfall, for they disliked light.  So we had a few hours until that time. 

I followed the path for nearly an hour when it lead straight into a dense, wooded area.  I could see easily enough that little light fell into that area.  It would be a place for the gibberlings to hide.  I did not venture further, for to do so would be my own folly.  If the creatures outnumbered me greatly, I was alone, and too far from aid should I fall.  I have no intentions of suicide, no matter what problems I face.

But, I decided to make certain that whatever plan my comrade's had concocted would succeed.  I would leave my own trail, for these gibberlings to follow…one that they would be sure to pick up on.

I pulled out a dagger, and drew the sharp edge across the back of my hand.  Blood welled up freely, and shook droplets to the ground.  I walked back to the farmstead, making certain to leave blood every few yards or so.  I wagered that such creatures would be able to smell the blood, and follow me.

I did not return all the way to the farmstead, but left the trail of blood within a hundred feet of the place.  I bound my hand, then took position in a small copse of trees, where I would have a good view of the farmstead, and anything that came towards it.  By doing so, I meant to let the gibberlings slip past me, into whatever trap the others had planned… and I did see something of trenches that they were finishing up on…then I would attack from behind, keeping the creatures penned, so that none would escape.

We did not have to wait long, for the chilling sound of the creatures reached my ears about an hour after dusk.  The sound was eerie and frightening, like many voices muttering obscenities beneath their breath.  I saw, in the distance, several of the party members grow nervous, and shifting about…but they held their ground. 

The creatures came, running past as a slavering pack.  Nearly thirty of them was my guess, they charged the farmstead mindless but for the scent of blood.

The fell easily enough into the trap, the shallow trench lined with spikes and sharpened sticks.  Some died, but the others clambered over the bodies of their fellows to get to the living people.  As soon as all of the gibberlings were over the trench, it lit up in flame…caused by some spell of the wizard's.  When I was certain that no more were coming, I drew my bow, and ran from the trees.  From my side of the trench, I drew back and let fly arrow after arrow.  It was somewhat difficult to see through the flame, but enough of my arrows struck true, that I made a significant dent into the gibberling numbers.

I quickly saw how these gibberlings could become a dangerous problem, even though they dropped by one arrow from me…they could overwhelm.  At one point there were three on Calvin, biting and clawing at him, until they drew him to the ground.  In that manner even small, mindless, creatures such as they could take down a greater foe.

I managed to shoot one off Calvin, and he shook off the other two.  All in all, we defeated the entire horde within a matter of minutes.

The farmstead, the farmer and his family came though unscathed, and the party members only had a few wounds…myself, not even a scratch.

We returned to Waterdeep the next morning, with out incident.  The wizard paid us the promised sum, and we each returned to go back about our business.

The night that we returned though, most of the party went to a bar to have a few friendly drinks.  Tobias bought a bottle of good wine and shared it around.  The dwarves, however, distained it in favor of good hard ale.  I had some, though, and was shocked at the flavor, for it had been so very long since I had drunk anything other than mead and water and ale, which was all there was to drink on Ruathym, unless one wanted to get into the harder liquors. 

While drinking, though, the night was suddenly pierced by a woman's shriek of pain and fear.  A moment later, I ran outside, to see what was happening.  On the street, near the tavern, we found a woman's body…a whore, or so Tobias said.  She had been murdered, quite harshly, and seemingly with terrible rage…yet when I looked closer at the wounds, I saw that they were not random hackings…but deliberate, smooth cuts.  Whoever had done this had not been mad, but calm and in control.  The wounds were perfectly placed to kill with no hope of survival.  Whoever had done this had meant to kill…and planned it out, as well.

There was a small blood trail which my eyes picked up, and I tracked it back, into a nearby alley, but there the trail ended, with no place for the killer to have gone that I could see.  Strange business.  When I went back, it was to see that the city watch had arrived and were asking questions.  They saw me, and I volunteered what little I had seen.  Two went off towards the alley, while the other took down my name and comments. 

I returned back inside, shortly after.  The dwarves, I noticed, had not left off on their drinking.  Tobias mentioned that the woman was a " whore," or a "lady of the Night."  I asked what it meant, and he laughed.  A whore is, apparently, a woman who sells sex for money.  I was shocked at that.  It never occurred to me that people would do such a thing.  As far as I had always believed sex could be given or taken…but sold?  Strange, the things I learn here.  Strange indeed.  The murder, though…it makes me wonder.  I shall, perhaps, go to the watch station in a few days and see what they have learned…if the culprit is caught.  After all, no one should kill a defenseless woman…no matter what her profession.

This time, nearly a week passed before we found yet another task to draw us away from the mundane work to be found in the city.  We pretty much meet up at the guild house a few times a week.  When we did this time, we found another post that interested us. This time it prove to be an aging human, named Hayworth who wished for us to recover a book for him.  The book, apparently was written by some woman named Morgaine Kays, a long time ago, and was one of six.  He knew that it was located in a ruined keep up in the Larch hills, north of Waterdeep.  He said that we could find it easily enough…follow the river for two days and we will see the path.  However, he warned us that there were orcs, and others things, perhaps, who lived in the keep and the area.  He stated that it would most likely be dangerous, and that we were not the first group he'd hired…that the previous group had not returned. 

It was quite what I wanted to do.  Rescuing a book from orcs was not overly heroic, or helpful to people…yet it was something to do, and the man was willing to pay us well.  And even if these orcs had not yet attacked any villages, or travels, who is to say that they won't?  Orcs, being what they are, have it in their nature to kill and destroy, and seeing as how orcs were the age old enemies of the elves…our Corellon having blinded their dark god Gruumsh, long ago…what harm could there be in ridding the world of a few more vermin.

The money was good, and we were bored…so we agreed.  Though it may be dangerous, as Hayworth warned us, I do not feel fear.  I live by the sword…I cannot fear death by it.

So we gathered supplies necessary and headed out.  Tobias wanted to take a boat, but I explained to him that it would be easier to walk rather than try to get a boat up a river.  The others agreed.  So Tobias bought himself a horse instead.  That left the two dwarves and myself walking.  I didn't mind.  I prefer to walk rather than riding a horse.  Horses are smelly, things after all…and I do not trust them, for the have little intelligence.  After all, were it not for the capriciousness of the horse that broke my leg on Evermeet, I might, even now, but still at my home…whether that is a good or bad thing, though, I cannot say.

The first day passed easily and quickly enough, but night soon fell and we were forced to camp in the hills.  I volunteered to stay up for most of the watches, seeing as I was well rested and did not need to study in the morning.  Tobias did likewise, to my surprise, and the other three each took a watch to stay up for as well.

It was shortly after the middle of the night when I heard a faint rustle in the darkness beyond the firelight.  Tobias and Hank, who were on watch with me did not seem to notice.  It came again, and as I peered into the darkness I saw a sudden glow of red…two red eyes, reflecting the fire light back at me, farther from the ground than any small, harmless animal would be.  Instantly my bow was in my hand, an arrow knocked to it, my gaze focuses on those two eyes.

"There is something here, beyond the fire," I warned my two fellows.  They peered into the shadows, but must not have very good night vision, for they saw nothing.  I insisted there was, and Tobias pulled out a stick from his bag…a sunrod, he called it…lit it, and threw it where I was watching.  It lit up another large area, but the eyes that I saw ducked back quickly to stay out of the light.

"Who is out there?" I called.  "Show yourself!"  A voice answered me in the common tongue, harsh and gravelly.

"You come here…" it demanded lowly.  I, fool that I am, laid down my bow, and drew out the great sword I had taken from the bugbear, and stalked into the area where the sunrod was.  I was overconfident, and did not think that whatever this was could be that dangerous.  I was wrong.

As soon as I got close enough, not one but, two huge wolves leapt at me.  Worgs, I thought, remembering the entry on such creatures in my books from long ago.  One bit into my leg, while the other barely missed my arm.  Knowing the danger to be great, I called out to Tempus and brought a berserk upon myself.  My vision hazed red and I hacked into the worgs with fury.

When the battle was ended, the two worgs dead t my feet, only then did I notice my wounds.  Fortunately, the little winged dwarf, Ranon is a priest, and he healed the worst of the wounds.  The others, I then noticed, were all awake, and had aided in the defeat of the worgs.  Had I been alone, I knew I would've fallen.  I would have to be more cautious…and the next time a voice beckons from the darkness I will simply shoot the space between its eyes instead.

The next day was not uneventful either.  Shortly after noon, we were attacked by a pair of griffins intent on having a meal of Calvin's and Tobias' horses.  Had we left the horses to them, probably no one would have been hurt, but that was not an option for the two who owned the beasts.  We were unable to save Tobias' horse, for it was killed by the griffins' talons.  However, we managed to take down the beast before it could fly away.  The one attacked Calvin's horse tried to escape when it saw that the battle was not going well for it, but an arrow or two from my bow sent it crashing back down to the earth, to die.

Now, Tobias seemed glad enough that he was able to recover his things from the horses' body, although upset over the loss.  I do not understand why Calvin got so upset when I took a knife to the carcass and carved out a few pieces of meat.  After all, horse is not a bad meal…and better than the dried trail rations we had been eating.  Though the others said no word of complaint, Calvin saw what I was doing, and he growled at me.

"If you eat that, then you are just as barbaric as the griffins."  I sensed his anger, but I could not understand why.  The griffins had just been trying to eat, to survive.  The only thing that was wrong with that was that it inconvenienced us.

"I eat what I will…there is no need to be wasteful," I replied.  It was true, after all…why waste perfectly good meat that the scavengers would get to anyway.  Yet, Calvin turn away from me, as though I disgusted him.  Fine then…so be it.  I took the meat anyhow, and that night, made a fine meal of it.  The others all had some as well…but for Calvin who sat away from us, condemning us. 

We found the ruined fortress the next day, following the path upwards into the hills and away from the river.  We slowed as it drew into sight when we caught sight of three guards…orcish and archers, standing near the entrance. The others were about to argue over a plan, but I gave them little enough time.  I drew out my long bow, and crept lower down the hill until I was in range.  I noticed that the dwarves followed me down, but at the moment when I was taking aim, the fool, winged one slipped and made a clattering noise on the stone that my ears cringed to hear.  Predictably, one of the three orcs looked up.  I shot him as he moved to make a noise, but aim was off, and I did not manage to kill him, or even silence him.  Throwing the bow down, and drew out my axe, and charged.  Behind me, I heard the others following suit.

The orcs were not so difficult, in that they had little enough skill.  One blow from my axe and they died, never thinking to defend themselves.  It was the numbers that they came it that became a problem.  I would fell one, only to see another two run up.  We fought out way into the ruined keep, to find a line of orcs carrying spear and axes and pikes, waiting for us.  I did not disappoint them, for I charged ahead, hardly feeling the small wounds they inflicted on me.  I felt the rage simmering within me, but I did not yet feel the need to berserk.

Finally, all of the orcs lay dead, and Tobias was complaining about how I'd ruined his clothing again, having sprayed orcish blood on him, when I'd taken the head of one of the orcs. 

We searched the ruined keep and finally I found a trap door.  Listening carefully, I heard movement from below, and assumed that there were probably more orcs below. I warned the others, and slowly opened the door.  I did not expect the two strange creatures that appeared to be what came out.  I don't know what they were, save that they were the strangest looking creatures I've ever seen, and the they howled so terrible, it caused my ears to ring.  They attacked, and were far more dangerous than the orcs.  About halfway through the fight, when I saw that things were not going so well, I finally let myself rage.  After that, we managed to finish off the howlers.  When they dropped, I ran down the stairs of the trap door, hoping for more enemies to kill.  What I found, however, was some fifteen more orcs, and a large, fairly smart looking half-orc, that immediately grabbed up weapons.  Even in my rage I realized that I was outnumbered, and remembered that the other party members were wounded.  We could not survive this attack at the moment.  So, I dropped out of my rage and did the only sensible thing I could think of…I ran.  Halfway up the stairs, I met Tobias coming down.  Without pausing, I grabbed up the smaller elf, and reached the top a moment later.  Dropping Tobias, I quickly sought out a rock large enough to block the door.  Even though I was weary with the after effects of a rage, I managed to lift the rock over my head and block the trapdoor.  It would take, even so many orcs, a bit of time to move it…time enough for us to escape.

We found a cave, higher up in the hill in which to hide.  The little dwarf Ranon, and Tobias healed us with their spells as much as they could.  Finally, I collapsed into sleep, too tired to continue to stand.

When I awoke, it was to the warning that there were orcs in the hills, as the Calvin's horse was stomping its feet nervously.  The others tried to hide within the shelter of the cave, and shoot at the orcs, but their arrows kept missing the mark.  Finally, when Tobias' bowstring snapped, I got fed up, and went out to deal with the orcs myself.  There were only three and they fell easily enough.

We confronted the other orcs a short time later, surprising them as they slept.  We waited around the edge of the trapdoor, and waited for them to come to us.  One by one they ran up, to their ultimate death.  Then, finally, the leader came out.  Ranon and Tobias, by that time were both effectively out of the battle, having been greatly wounded.  Calvin was still standing, but had taken a great many wounds as well.  The leader came out from below, and went straight for Hank, though, since the dwarf was the closest target.  He felled Hank in one hit.  I began to rage and charged to attack the leader.  I vaguely recall that Calvin moved in to flank with me.  Unfortunately, the leader was some sort of priest, and the spells he cast seemed to make him bigger and stronger.  It did not deter us, though.  In the end, he, too fell.

Sorely wounded, we finally went below, to find what we'd been sent to look for.  We found the book beneath a chair in the smelly sleeping quarters, and we found a few gems and some gold, locked away in a trunk.  That, combined with the weapons and armor that we could salvage from the orc bodies, would prove to be a decent profit, along with the payment we would be getting for returning the book.  There was also a hilt, and part of a sword, that looked as though it had been broken long ago.  On the pommel, there was a familiar symbol…that of Tempus.  I wondered why the weapon was there, and how it had been broken, as the metal it was made of looked to have been of a strong temper.  Since it was broken, though, none of the others objected, when I took it.  I tucked the hilt away in my bedroll, thinking that eventually, I might try reforging a blade for it some day…as a test of my skills, mind you.

I fell asleep again, sorely wounded from the last battle, only to be awoken by Calvin, who claimed that there was something moving up on the hill.  The "something" proved to be a wounded human, of a farming faith to a goddess called Chauntea…or so the others stated.  I carried the man back down to our camp, and let the dwarf deal with him.  The man was sick with a fever, and rambled on about something called the Zhentarim attacking a place of Golden fields.  Uninterested, fell back to my rest.

We decided to go to the place called Golden fields, the next day.  According to Calvin it was a place of good, and the priests there supplied a good portion of the grain that was necessary for Waterdeep's food consumption.  It would be a bad thing if the Zhentarim…which I learned is some evil group of people, a "black" network…took control of it.

So in the name of good, and out of our own boredom, I suppose, we headed for Goldenfields.  A day or so later, at an inn, the priest we found finally awoke.  We asked questions about the nature of the attack, but all he was able to say was the Zhentarim had gotten in and taken over, and that there were more than a score of them, before he fell unconscious once more.  We paid the innkeeper to take care of the priest and continued onward, another two days to Goldenfields.  When we arrived, it was at night, and we stopped just within sight of the tall walls surrounding the place, to concoct a plan.  Everyone offered ideas as to the best way to get in.  We had all decided, even Airk, that charging in again a score and more men, who might have hostages, was not a good idea.  With that in mind, the ultimate plan we come up with was to have the dwarves pretend to be merchants, seeing as we had all of the orcs' gear loaded up on Calvin's horse, and the rest of us pretending to be guards for the merchandise.  Our reason for going to Golden fields would be a simple one…it had started to rain, with a storm threatening, and we wished shelter.

We got in easily enough, everyone keeping their hoods up, just in case.  The guards at the gate were indeed Zhentarim, for Calvin claimed that he could sense the evil in them.  They told us that we could stay at one of the inns for the night, but to be wary, for there was a plague.  We made our way to the inn, noting the whole time that there were eyes upon us.

At the inn, the innkeeper gave us two rooms.  Ranon was acting bossy and irritating, just as a merchant would do…still, it was getting on my nerves.  After a while, an opportunity presented itself to find out more information.  Three guards came into the inn…a half-orc, a human and a woman.  The seemed to have just gotten off duty, and looked to be having a drink.  When I looked to Calvin, he nodded…they were Zhentarim.  I approached them easily, with my hood still up, and mentioned that I was a guard, and with the "boss" upstairs, would they mind if I had a drink with them.  They seemed reluctant, until I mentioned that I was buying.

It did not take long to get them drunk, drunk enough that they passed out.  Charitably, I offered to get them rooms, and carried them upstairs a moment later.  Once in a room, the others came up and we tied up the captives.  I woke the human man, using a spell to remove drunkenness.  He awoke with a start and seemed confused to his whereabouts, and why he was tied up.  At first he denied being Zhentarim, claiming he did not know what we were talking about.  A show of force, as well as a knife wound to his chest to show that we meant business proved that I meant business.  He spilled what he knew.  The Zhentarim had indeed taken control in Golden fields, for what reason, he did not know.  They were using the excuse of plague to explain disappearances, as well as the replacement of most of the guards.  There were at least 50 Zhentarim in residence.  We asked him who would know more; he nodded towards the half-orc, saying that that was his superior.  So we woke up the orc as well.  There was little else that the half-orc knew, however…or at least that he would tell, even with the threat of pain…and I must say, as Airk I am very threatening looking if I wish to be.

Knowing that we five could never manage to kill so many on our own, we decided that the best option was to go for help.  We spent several long hours hammering out a plan that seemed workable.  Finally, we decided that Ranon and Calvin would ride to Waterdeep and alert the guards there of what was happening here, try to get aid.  Calvin, mostly because he had once been a Captain in the guard, and Ranon to help control our captives.  We decided to send the three we had captured along as well, for we could not just kill, no matter how much Airk claimed it would be the easiest way, but to keep them here would risk grave discovery.  Tobias would also leave, but he would return come daybreak, "pretending" to be a bard come to play for the priests here.  As for Hank and myself, we would stay hidden with Goldenfields, and scout the place at night to gather as much information on the strengths and weaknesses of the invaders as possible.  To make it seem as though we had all left, though, I would use illusion spells to make it seem as though the captive guards looked like us.  The excuse for leaving would be that Ranon was concerned about the plague and did not wish to stay.  However, for our plan to work, we would require the assistance of the innkeeper, whom Calvin claimed was a "good" man.

We lured the innkeeper upstairs, and once he and his wife had no escape, we explained what was happening.  I noticed that there was flare of satisfaction in his eyes when he saw the bound Zhents.  He agreed to the plan, stating that he did not want to help the Zhentarim, but that they had his daughter and many other villages as hostages up in the church, and had no choice.  He even showed us a secret way out of Goldenfields that the Zhentarim did not know of.  It was, apparently, how the wounded priest had managed to escape.  That way, Tobias could leave without being seen, and there would not be one too many people leaving with Ranon and Calvin.

I spent time studying the spells I would need to cast, for I had not prepared to use illusions at all.  The plan went into effect shortly after midnight, while the storm raged outside, pouring rain, lightning and thunder to match one of the terrible storms that occasionally swept down from the north to ravage Ruathym. 

They took the Zhents horses with them, and if the guards at the gate noticed anything suspicious, they did not raise the alarm, or stop the departure.  As for Hank and myself, we spent the rest of the night, and the following day in a hidden room beneath the inn, with hardly any light.  Needless to say, after so the claustrophobia began to get me, though I must admit, Hank did nothing to make it worse, and in fact was quite silent for most of the time.

We knew it would be at least five days before Calvin and Ranon returned, so we had that much time to find the hostages, find out what the Zhents meant to do, and find the best plan of attack.

We discovered that the hostages were being kept in the basement of the church.  Tobias returned, and did his best to gather information, but people seemed reluctant to talk with him…nervous about the Zhentarim being there, no doubt.  At night, Hank and I walked Goldenfields, in the guise of Zhentarim soldiers, using more of my illusion spells, learning all we could about the patterns the guards walked, when they changed shifts, and so on.  As for the three guards that had gone missing, it seemed that everyone assumed that they had deserted.  On the second night there, all of the guards were called up to the church, for some apparent meeting.  Hank and I were told to go as well, seeing as we were thought to be guards, too…thankfully our disguises were holding up.  We all milled about, waiting, until the "leader" entered the room. 

I could not believe my eyes when I saw that it was a woman who was the "leader" of these Zhentarim…even more astonishing was the fact that she was elven…moon elven.  I stood shocked, hardly hearing her words as I wondered what could possibly be going on.  She basically stated that their task would be done, and they would be leaving Golden fields in two more days…that was one day too soon!  I knew something had to be wrong…why would an elven woman…and a beautiful one at that, be leading a group of evil humans.  She was strange looking though, with golden hair and eyes, though moon elven skin…at first I wondered if she was using an illusion spell, but quickly discounted that theory.  Then I wondered if perhaps she was under a spell, or if, like myself, she was forced into this position as a way of survival.  I knew, though, that whatever happened, I would have to try to seek her out before the end of this, and help her escape whatever control the humans had over her, if I could.

We had to find out what exactly the Zhentarim meant to do to stop them.  To that end, we decided that one of the seven wizards they had among them would probably be the most easy to capture and to intimidate into talking.  Now, earlier in the night, Hank and I had seen a strange shadow moving through town. Yet when we followed the tracks it left, they merely seemed to disappear.  It was strange to say the least, but that was the story we gave to one of the wizards to get him off alone.  When he looked down to examine the tracks, I hit him over the head with the hilt of my great sword and he easily fell unconscious.

When we woke him, he was bound and tied…especially his hands and fingers, and he was down in the basement room, where Hank and I had been hiding.  Tobias joined us, from whatever he had been about.  We managed to trick the wizard into thinking that we were indeed Zhentarim, like himself, and that he had been attacked by the "shadow." We tricked him into answering our questions under the story that the shadow may have "possessed" him, and we wanted to make certain that he was still himself.  He told us that the Zhentarim meant to steal all of the food stores and return with them to a place called Darkhold.  They meant to release all of the people, though, and not kill…which was a good thing.  Still, I got the idea, from the innkeeper, that letting the Zhentarim take so much could be a disastrous thing for Waterdeep, and so we had to try to stop such from happening.  Tobias decided that he would leave, that very night, and ride as hard as he could, and try to find Calvin and the others, to warn them of the Zhentarim's plans.  He took with him, the captured mage, which left Hank and I alone among the enemy.

Now I must admit, that Hank has impressed me with his skill at arms, willingness to go along with a plan, and intelligence.  He is not at all what I would have expected from some one of the dwarven race.  Strange, really.

We decided that we had to slow the Zhentarim down, if we could, to give the others time to arrive.  There was no way to block the gate, or stop the wagons or horses, though, as there were too many guards.  So we came up with an alternate plan.  On the last night that the Zhentarim meant to be here, we would have one of the people of Golden fields set fire to one of the fields, a field that was far enough away that other crops would not be damaged.  Hopefully the fire would draw the attention of the Zhentarim, and give Hank and I time to slip into the church and free the hostages.  The innkeeper would then hide the people away, and Hank and I would go after the leader, for with their leader in our hands, might not the Zhentarim surrender?

I did not tell Hank that when we found the leader that I meant to speak with her, try to discern why she was doing this…and free her if I could.

The plan began.  The fire began, and, as predicted, many of the Zhentarim ran down to see what was happening.  Hank and I waited up by the church, the innkeeper hiding in the shadows.  When the last of those who were going to come out were gone, we went in, looking once again, as regular human soldiers, thanks to my spells. 

The hostages were kept in a basement room of the church, and we made our way down there.  There were three Zhentarim guarding them.  Hank and I tried to bluff them; saying that there was trouble and that they were needed outside…but they were not buying it.  When they shot each other suspicious looks I felt Airk take over, and look to Hank.  He winked at the dwarf, a preset signal to attack.  The three were caught completely by surprise when we swung our axe into them, and Hank attacked with his small sword.  They did not have a chance to cry out for help, before we felled them.  The prisoners were tied up, but we quickly cut them loose, and led them upstairs.  We waited until the few guards that were left were about other business, then sneaked out.  The innkeeper then led the people away, skulking through the shadows, back down towards the village part of Goldenfields.

Hank and I went back inside, our goal, now, the leader.  I recalled the way she had walked, and it did not take us more than a moment or two to discern which chamber was hers.  There was one guard outside, and like his brethren downstairs, he did not fall for the story we had for him, and so lost his life.  Hank and Airk attacked him so swiftly that his head was off, his body near in twain, and Airk caught his shield before it could clatter to the floor, before he even had the chance to realize that we were not what we seemed.  I cringed a bit at the barbarity, but reminded myself that the man was evil, and would have done the same, if he could have.  Still, I grow more and more worried…each battle that passes, it seems that Airk grows stronger within me, stronger and more of a separate entity…strange.

We knocked, pretending once again to be "loyal" soldiers.  The leader told us that she did not wish to be disturbed, yet we insisted.  She bade us come in.  We did so.

She was seated on a finely appointed bed, and stood as we entered.  Once again I was awestruck at her beauty…exotic, yet gorgeous, I could not credit the fact that she was leading a group of people who served darkness.  No…there had to be something wrong here… What a fool I was.

"Well, what?" she asked, sounding a bit annoyed.  At first, I thought to use the plan that Hank and I had thought up, a story to lure her towards us, so that we might capture her…yet at that moment, I could not, for the life of me, recall it.  So instead, I asked the one question that had been plaguing me since I had set eyes upon her.  In my native tongue, I asked her,

"Why are you doing this, lady?"  Her eyes narrowed momentarily, as though she were stunned and suspicious of my words.  A moment later, they widened, and she nodded, almost knowingly. 

"Perhaps you might tell me what it is that you do here?  An elf and a dwarf, that is."  I knew she had seen through my spell, and so dropped it.  Hank shot me a questioning gaze, which I ignored.  He had proved to be a good comrade, and I was beginning to develop respect for him, despite the tales I'd always been told about dwarves.  Still, this was elven business, as far as I was concerned, and he did not need to know of it.

"We have come to stop what goes on here.  Tell me lady, are you bespelled?  Or are these…humans," I nearly sneered the word, "forcing you to this path, somehow?"  She looked intrigued, and moved towards us.  Airk screamed within in me to be cautious, and reluctantly I did so.

"Do not approach lady."  She sat in a chair at a nearby table.

" Please…sit.  Let us talk like civilized beings," she waved at a chair across from herself.

"I cannot, lady…" I shook my head.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Keledrial," I replied hesitantly.

"Keledrial," she repeated, "Of any family of note?"  I opened my mouth to answer Nightstar, yet once again Airk shouted at me not to give her anymore power over us that I already had.  I shook my head instead.

"Not really…and you are?"

"Ashemi."

"Of any house of particular note?" I mimicked her.  She merely smiled, but did not answer.

"You did not answer my question, lady.  Do you do this of your own will?"  She seemed to think about it.

"I am afraid that I do this of my own choice," she replied.  I recoiled. 

"Surely you are a prsioso0ner of these humans, some how.  I was, myself, until this recent year.  Please, lady Ashemi…you must know there is a better way…I can help you," I held my hand out to her.  Hank finally spoke, then, in the common tongue.

       "What are you doing?!" he hissed.

       "I am trying to convince her to surrender to us, sir dwarf," I replied, never taking my eyes from her.  Her hands were crossed demurely in her lap, an she looked at my hand, then my face, gave me a pitying smile, and stood.

       "I am afraid that I do this freely, of my own will.  I am the leader here by my choice.  And I am afraid that this conversation must now end."  I knew she meant to attack, somehow, that she was a caster, and that we had to stop her hands and words.  Yet I was stunned by the realization that this woman…one of my own people…was evil.  Dazed, I would not have reacted, but Airk was not so surprised at the treachery of a woman…even if she was elven.  He leapt for her, but a fraction of a moment too late.  She sidestepped the attack and from the sleeve of her robes, she leveled at wand at us, and spoke a word.  I suddenly found myself unable to move, frozen by the magic in the wand.  I watched, helpless as she then used a spell of sleep on Hank, after he, too, missed his chance at attack.  In my mind, Airk was screaming at ranting at me for being a fool, but I was too stunned to care.  I had been attacked by one of my own people…she had been evil…even now, days later, I have trouble accepting this.  Guards came rushing in at Ashemi's call, and darkness took us.  I did not expect to wake again.

       Yet wake we did, some time later in a cell, in the basement of the church from whence we had rescued the villagers.  Hank was with me, and all of our possessions, save the clothes on our back, were gone.  There was only one way out…a locked door.  I did not mean to stay and be killed, or worse, used as hostages against the forces that were on their way here.  So I let Airk have his way.  The first time, my shoulder merely thudding against the door.  The second time, the door cracked, and the third blow shattered it, freeing Hank and myself.  There were three guards outside the door, with dumbfounded expressions.  Airk grabbed up a large chunk of the door, and wielding it like a club, knocked out one of the guards.  I used a spell to daze another, using a bit of wool from my tunic as the spell component. Hank clubbed the third into unconsciousness, then we both felled the dazed one.  We did not kill them, but rather, tied them up and put them into another, unbroken, cell.  Our gear, we found, was on a table nearby, so we took up our weapons once more, drew on armor.  Suddenly, there was the sound of approaching footsteps, voices.  Hank and I ducked into some shadows, and waited, only to find that it was the priests of Goldenfields, armed with farming implements and maces for weapons, apparently come to "dispatch" the Zhentarim.  They were very startled when we stepped from the shadows.  They quickly told us that the rest of the Zhentarim had gone, several hours earlier, and that these three were the only ones left, having stayed behind to guard us long enough for the rest to leave.  Angrily, I stormed from the building, Hank trailing along.  I meant to follow them, when we saw, in the distance, riders coming in through the front gate. 

       It was Calvin and the others.  They quickly caught up to us, and told us that the reinforcements from Waterdeep were riding after the Zhentarim, that Tobias had gotten the message to them in time.  They were hear to make certain that there was no one left here, that Hank and myself were still all right. 

       I certainly was not "all right." Still stunned, I retreated within in myself, and let Airk take control.  I still recall how shocked the faces of the others were when they heard Airk cursing violently under his breath about how we had been tricked and defeated, about how we had failed, and about how he meant to kill the "elven bitch."  He stalked down towards the door, but Tobias ran after and managed to convince us that it would do little enough good to go after the Zhentarim, that we were already too far behind to catch up.  Angrily, Airk acquiesced. 

       Other than the armor and weapons from the few Zhents we'd captured, the only other bit of "treasure" we found was a small trunk that had been left behind by the Zhentarim in their rush.  It contained a few potions, or useful varieties, and some ink and needles, which I knew to be magical in nature.  Well enough.