Fridayknight
First Post
Hi, im 15 and am taking my exams. Im looking to the future for career choices and would like your opinion of some of rp work that i hoped would be good writing. Do not fear to be critical if you do not think i would do well, i have other options. Here is the character background of my present character:
Bio
Born in a small town in the Thazalhar region of Thay, Justice (born with the name Darius Tuor) was the second son of a farming family. Food was scarce and the dusty ground yielded little that could be sold in the village. As second son Justice was often not able to have a good meal every day, making his body wiry and tough. He was taught the basics of language at a young age by his family’s nurse (Mary); fond memories of afternoons on the porch, sun beaming down and Mary helping him write the letters. His brother was well-liked and was sure to find a maiden as the first son of his household, yet Justice’s father knew that few would invest daughter and dowry in the little child. Sisters and brothers, all his family, felt pity and tried to help reduce his depressive sulks. His family, solely living off the ground to pay taxes, knew little of the religion in Thay, knowing only when they were forced to their knees before the town statue.
Yet he aspired to more than the life he had and the next time visitors came he began asking questions of the outside world, commenting insightfully at times. They mentioned that the Red Wizards were recruiting farm boys like him and almost lept at the chance to be part of the most powerful and awe-inspiring organizations in the whole of Thay, some even said they could live forever. Justice heard the hushed tones and thought of the power that could inspire them.
Months later a band of mercenaries rolled through town and the news spread that the Red Wizards were sending such groups out. That day he was walking back from the fields, wondering whether this year’s crop would be better than last year’s. He lingered at the dried irrigation ditch, feeling the rock beneath his feet, and remebered when, in his youth, he would swim in the channel and cool. Now all that lay before him was the knowledge that the water would not come back. Brushing off the blade of his hoe with calloused hands he leant on the shaft and began to walk home. Hot darkness … a black bag was forced onto his head and he was bundled by strong hands, shoved and pummled, with his hands grasping at the bag.
A helpless and nervous journey on the back of a bumpy cart jolted his body, preventing sleep, so that when the moving stopped and his body was hauled he could give no resistance. After a time on what felt like a cold stone floor, the sounds of whimpering all around, he was moved again and the hood was lifted. A dark face with a long beard stared down at his eyes, which dared not move or even blink. All that was said in a hushed voice was, “he’s one”, before the bag plunged him back into darkness.
The next thing he saw was a young man, full bodied and arrogant, standing before him in the doorway, his red cloak flapping around his sillouetted feet. Justice was pulled to his feet and lead through stone corridors from his dark cell to a room with a high ceiling and a wooden floor. In his weakened state, having been without food or water for several days in the sun, he was pushed to the floor. In the middle of the floor, around where he lay, writing in some ungodly language surrounded him with its twirling red letters.
Then the door slammed shut and the chanting started, at first a low hum. All around there were dark figures, the only light coming from the black candles placed around the circle, hoods drawn across faces that haboured shadows. A dim shadow surrounded his body and his hands felt numb and sweaty. Then it began.
Particles of his body searing away, beggining a scrawl of letters across his body, similar to the writing of the floor – but written in burnt flesh and bright blood. Thrashing on the floor, clawing at the symbols with his hands, nails broken and fingers bleeding, he saw another circle further in the distance, a child similar to him encased in the walls, with a energy sucked from her body and being drawn across the room to a huge figure. Encased in rotting flesh it was disgusting and … moving, lacerated muscles drawing the bones in the fingers to form a fist. The eyes turned to Justice, red coals of hate and death.
A spark lit in Justice … a wave of hate and power … a tsunami of light and justice seeped from his eyes, hands and body. Weeping blood and silently screaming in agony, Justice rose from the ground into the air, power coursing through every single cell. And from within him spoke a deep voice, calm and majestic, telling him to free his will and reject his mind, become solely the item of destruction and justice for the god of death. And in his despair and joy he let his inner barriers down and white light no longer seeped but burst from his body, breaking the shackles of the evil conjurers and causing all in the room to fry in a ball of fire and power. No longer were life and death important, or was death to be feared, as he knew that all became but dust and shell in the end.
The power slowly subsided from his body until he lay slumped on the floor, blood of the innocent (him) and the guilty (the wizards) pooling and darkening. Yet there were no bodies left, ash and bones, and, crawling through the blood in his rags, Justice swore that there would be only destruction for the undead and the land of Thay would be cleansed of the cruel Tyrant’s hold. Yet by the door he saw not the other circle or its child inhabitant, for the power he owned destroyed all, with no control over those that should live and die. Still cradling the beliefs of the god that saved him he prayed that the young girl would find justice in death.
Stumbling through the empty building, he took the name Justice for his own as he knew he could never now return to a regular life. Entering the light of day he struggled through the sand that lay between himself and freedom … past the walls and out into the desert. The first night he had moved far enough to not be able to see the building but the coming darkness froze his bones, forcing him to stay awake and continue moving.
Through the second day he saw nothing, no sign of life, not even a trail, just dust and the dried blood that encrusted his body. That night, many days after food or drink, he collapsed face fist against the ground, falling unconscious. When he woke once more, gasping and struggling to not die, it was night-time and he could hear a voice. It was the same voice that had lent him power, his true god and saviour, telling him to never give up his battle and promising him food and water. Then the rain started, falling from the sky, washing Justice clean of blood, and in cupped hands he took the water and gave thanks, drinking only enough of the divine water to allow him to live on. In this rainstorm he walked across the body of a dead animal, and again he gave thanks and praise to the god, eating only what he needed to.
He walked and continued, legs numb and aching but mind focussed and will ready to take anything on. For days he walked … sun and stars guiding his way to the edge of the plateau. And on the seventh day he reached the edge and began to descend past the rocks, into the greener land below. Soon he could feel real grass under his mashed sandals and next he could see small bushes.
The sun rose and fell again, Justice stalking ever onwards – away from and toawrds his ultimate goal (to build power in order to topple the dread ruler of Thay). The first he saw of them was but smoke on the wind, grey clouds moving north to south. Days after each siting he would catch a glimpse, something shining in the trees or a area with fresh tracks. Finally walking in the trees, gathering the berries he needed to live, he heard their voices, balanced notes caught and fluttering in the wind. These musical voices meant nothing to him but his ears danced to their sweet rhythm, imagining what wonderful things they could mean. Sat on a rotten tree Justice listened for hours, to their speak and camp-building, from when he first heard to sun-down, food and safety forgotten in the beauty of the moment.
A hand lay on his shoulder, and in his soporific state he did not jump, merely turned and looked at what had ended his peace. The hand was tanned, roughened by weather but still retaining the smoothness of youth, and no hair grew on the long delicate fingers, unlike his father’s rather hairy hands. Twisting even more in his seat, the long angular face, high cheekbones and pointed ears were but a dream reflected in his eyes, beauty so in tone with nature that humankind looked like undead.
The man drew his hand back and beckoned for Justice to follow him, his clothes tailored in a wild style of cloth, leather and wood. His long brown hair fell like silk to his shoulders and shimmered in the waning light of day. Then he set off, his long step so graceful in the bushes and his bobbing torso weaving through the trees ahead. Justice fled towards the man, rushing and crashing through the trees just to keep up, knowing that he must otherwise sleep on the cold forest floor another night if he could not follow.
Finally they burst into a clearing lit by the golden glow of firelight. Panting, Justice looked at the other faces that lined the long tree that was acting as table. Halo’d by the light the regal faces all looked at the oaf who had broken their tranquility. In human language Justice was adressed to as “wanderer” by his guide and was asked to join them in their meal. Though none said much to the newcomer, their simple generosity and human contact for the first time in weeks was a balm on his shattered soul. After dinner he fell asleep by the fire, the crackling flames and hushed tones a lullaby to him.
The next day he woke early and in the dappled shad of an oak Justice made prayers to his god, returning to the camp to find camp-packing underway. He glanced around for the one man he knew and, seeing him crouched by a tent, asked him in rapid sucession who had taken him in, if he owed them anything, where they were and where they were heading. He answered each in turn, speaking, “We are but travellers of the forest, protectors of nature and we are known here as the guardians. I myself am Hawthorn, we are all given names of the forest. You were alone and respected the forest, each day taking from it only what you needed to survive, and for this we will guide you from here, Gannathwood (also known in our tongue as forest of redemption), to Cennuroth free from obligation”. Justice was given a chainmail shirt, crude but effective, from Hawthorn with the premise that Justice may need it in the future.
And for the next days they travelled, gliding through the trees with fleet-footedness and sure placing, whilst Justice jogged through the brush (Hawthorn next to him instructing him on nature and forestry). Justice was fascinated by the forest, such a large entity that he had never seen before, and would ask questions about all the aspects of the woodland and what lay beyond. Arriving finally at civilization after the trip, Justice thanked the guardians and set off towards an inn with some gold they had spare.
Cennuroth was not amicable to strangers and soon Justice saw the crude legal system in action, a nobleman beating a street-wretch for asking for coppers. He could stand it but he had to fit in to the city in order to get transport away from terrible Thay. He walked the streets through the day and by dusk he ended at a cemetary, grey stone walls that seemed to be locking the relatives’ feelings out of sight. He entered and the fog immediately enclosed on him, a blanket of mystery there had never been in Thay. Walking down the rows and looking at the names, he prayed to all that they were where they belonged, eventually ending up at the grassy verge. Kneeling Justice touched the earth, feeling the cold, dense ground and planted a seed, fallen from a nearby hedge. The life that would spring up from that seed would serve as all the remeberance he could give to the girl he had killed in Thay, a sign that from death comes life.
After this he left the walled enclosure and strolled back to the inn he had seen on the edge of the square. And in this way he spent the days, aclimatising himself to the urban environment and every day seeing the injustices of humans, wishing that the balance could be more like what he had had with the forest. On the second tenday Justice was revisiting the cemetary in the daylight to see how his plant was faring. On arrival he noticed a niche in the far corner he had not seen in the fog, a statue inside along with a shadowy figure. He firstly went about his business but afterwards he felt compelled to investigate, knowing he may be stepping nearer to a dangerous encounter. The crouched figure wore bland grey clothes, a grey hood on his head and sandals on his feet. The statue was not of a man but of but a symbol, a skeletal arm holding the scales, and already Justice knew his god had guided him to this in order for him to become familiar with his practices.
Rising from his knees the figure encountered Justice, who had bent on his knees in a similar fashion, and let out a yelp. But Justice said, “do not be scared, do not see this scarred carriage as an enemy but as one willing to learn about that which he does not know, for i have his power but not his knowledge”. The man was of indiscriminate age and lacked distinctive features, but he smiled and clasped Justice’s arm as he pulled him up and told him that he would help Justice.
Over the course of a month Justice stayed with the man in his stone apartment by the riverside, waking up each morning to a wonderful view but knowing that injustice lay but meters away from him. The man trained Justice, glad for the company and help in his grave-tending, in the mysteries of religion and the world.
Over a month had passed from the kidnapping and Justice was beggining to feel restless working and learning with the old man, he wished to once again stride the trees. The same day that he felt this feeling Justice told the man and ate a final meal with him. As a passing gift the old man gave Justice a rod, to show kelemvor’s power in the world, and a set of grey robes and a steel mask, as a reminder that no matter how far one may stray Justice should keep the appearance of his god.
Getting on the swift waters of lake Draco from the creaking quay in Cennuroth, Justice paid his fee and bunked down, with his few possesions rolled in spare clothes, in the cheapest part of the ship. The ship set off in the direction of Buldamar, a month long journey. The first day he did not feel like moving much and so he stayed in the cabin, playing cards with another passenger for coppers and tools, and his proficieny increased rapidly throughout the day until he finally called an end to the game, winning a crowbar and a hammer but losing a silver or two.
Waking early next day Justice climbed the maze of stairs to reach the top level and stared at the horizon, hands firmly gripping the balistrade. Having watched the glorious birth of the sun, the splendor of light and life, he sat on the deck, back propped against a box, and watched the comings and goings of the seabirds that rested on the mast. For hours he watched, warmed by the sun, and he felt peace in the same way he had felt in the forest, for there was nature everywhere, birds and squirrels in the forest and fish and birds at sea. At the end of the day he watched dusk, the cycle of the sun’s life passed, and swung in his hammock whilst asleep.
In this way Justice spent the first two weeks of the trip, picking apart the details of nature and asking the crew about their work on the boat. Yet having spent so much of the trip on deck Justice felt bored with the debaucheries of the passengers (one even practiced her trade whilst travelling from place to place) and the stoic nature of the sailors did not invite conversation. Added to this he began to feel ill because of the rocking boat and almost every day he would spill his food over the railings and wish to be back on land, but he put up with the discomfort because it began to fade after a week and he knew that sea travel was much faster than walking the journey. Passing through the river of swords, under the dust road bridge, he knew it would be only a few days until he landed.
He staggered from the swaying ship anchored by Buldamar’s port and into a inn, collapsing on a straw bed after paying the fee. Dawn rose and the stinking city began to churn itself into action, mud and blood paying the way in this hollow so close to the edge of civilization, not that Justice had much to compare the city to having only lived in his town and Cennuroth. Having rose he shaved and went to the traders guild to search for easy work as a caravan guard that headed him in the direction of the gulf of Luiren.
Having passed the dried up river that should have flowed into the gulf, Justice arrived at a small fishing village and began offering the astonished locals more money then they had ever imagined to take him to the dwarf port of Delzimmer. Immediately he was aproached by town ruffians, seeking to get his money, but he put them in his place with but the spear he had used whilst as a caracan guard. Approached also by fishermen who wanted to loan out their rotten skegs for the money, Justice turned away all until one woman offered to take him there on her new boat.
After the choppy voyage across the gulf (which took nearly 5 days of powerful sailing), Justice thanked the woman and gave her all the coins he had promised, before setting out once again to find a boat able to make the long journey that would finally remove him fully from his past and the Thayan inquisitors that may follow his trail.
The boat he found was called the Halfling’s Endeavor, setting sail for Theymarsh, and its bright blue and green colourings, in typical styles of the Lightfoot Halflings, bobbed by the docks at the more ragged end of the row. The ship itself was in good condition, newly painted and without rust, and there were new ropes tying it to the docks. Justice went up the gang-plank, which seemed to be built more for halfings and dwarves than for the Big Folk, and approached the plumb man that was laughing with a crewmember at the front of the ship. The man clothes were dyed sliks in pink and gold, ones which no human would ever try to carry off as normal, and yet he was comfortable and confident in them. He turned around, the bright sky’s light shimmering off his rich clothes, and upon clasping Justice’s hand he declared himself the captain of the boat and that his name was Dionysis Philander, but he preffered to be called Dion.
Justice gave him the money he was asking for for the journey and Dion walked him to a cosy room at the bow of the ship, but not too deep in the hull with the cargo and darkness, that was furnished in halfling style with thin red curtains and pillows that seemed to flood the room. Dion announced that Justice could dine without charge with the rest of the boat’s occupants at dusk, as Dion felt it would be a good start to a long journey and that he didn’t want the passengers to bicker so soon after setting off. After unrolling his clothes and mask and putting them into the chest provided, Justice went to the deck and sat in the shaded area, which was provided by the rose and lime feathered canopies, and drank a sweet alcoholic beverage, called “Seabreeze”, that was made by adding grapefruit juice to ‘ixen hesjing” (a dragonborn spirit that translates to fire-water). The wind ruffled his hair as the Halfling’s Endeavor set stern to wave.
Justice then dozed until he was woken by the tinkling of a bell, the call to supper by Goodman Dion. The other travellers were sat in place on cushions, plush and made of silk so fine it was a sight seen on ships tied to the castle’s piers, and the meal of spiced chicken and lemons, that Dion insisted on everyone eating to not fall prone to the disease of Sailor’s gums. There were 4 others on the table, excluding Justice and Dion. Opposite sat an old man, and his wife, who looked to be from the realm of Darpur, his yellow skin and exotic clothing showing the link. To the right was a skinny Gnome, heartily tucking in to the food and gesturing to the chef about the quality. On the left was a Drow, dark skin and mysterious tattoos warning off all conversation.
The couple were travelling to the border kingdoms in search of economic stabilty, it sounded strange to Justice but they could have been coming from a worse economic section than even him, and the Gnome was young and wanted to see if there is fun to be found elsewhere. Justice did not ask about the Drow’s origin, for the dark-skinned were often followers of the dark goddess Lolth and served willingly, sometimes, in the dread legions of Thay. Dion, of course, could help but chat to everyone, divuldging every detail about himself to the extent that the dessert chef came out personally to see what the hold-up was.
After the meal Justice walked the deck for a while whilst the otheres went below and Dion went to his office. From the bow of the ship Justice could just make out the heavily forested coast, through the misty night, of the Southern Lluirwood. He liked to imagine he could see the tiny flickers of light turn black as the hafling wood-dwellers that lived in the forest started to put out fires for the night. On the way to his room he met eyes with the Drow, who was lounging in the corridor with shifty eyes and hand near his belt. Still heavily inebriated, Justice slept long and blissfully unaware.
Waking, Justice felt sick, dry in the mouth and with a booming headache, in Thay he had never drunk so much at one time, for his family couldn’t afford to buy much. Remembering his family he wondered about how his brother was doing and his nurse mary, who had left when he became a man. Justice lay on the bed, the sun crawling in through the tiny window near the ceiling, until he felt well enough to walk to get a drink of water. Lumbering down the corridor, Justice once again saw the Drow, who had his door open a crack, and, drinking the water, locked his room and went to the deck.
The full strength of the sunlight hit Justice in the face as he emerged from below, and he staggered with his eyes shut to the shade beneath the mast. He eventually opened his eyes, only to be aggravated in his gut by the rolling of the ship. Justice again stumbled to the railing at the side of the ship and spewed his food until he felt that drink was a worse fate than being given to the Primordials as a present. Justice lay in a stupor for the rest of the day, before eating a soup that was meant to let him regain strength and half-running back to his room.
It was a few days, in which Justice was told that they made good progress, until Justice was back to full health and ready to go back on to the deck, thinking that perhaps something more sinister was trying to overcome him. He broke fast on deck with the other travellers, listening to their theories on where they were at the moment. All Justice could see was land to one side, green and fertile, and a vast ocean on the other, so he assumed they were already beggining on the westwards part of the journey. All had differing opinions until they saw them. Slick beautiful bodies, dancing through the water in the wake of the ship, jumping and squeaking for just joy. Even the crew, having made the trip many times before, had their moods alleviated by the sight of, as we were told by the ever-chatty Dion, Dolphins. This must definately mean that they were in the Bay of Dancing Dolphins, and beyond the coast there sat the Gnollwatch mountains, the separation of the costal fertility from the drylands beyond.
For a few more days not much new happened, the wind blew, Dion chatted, the travellers became mostly friendly … and the Drow skulked. Justice became quite good friends with the Durparian Lady, for she cared for Justice during his exhuasting fits of sea-sickness and showed him a few simple herbs he could chew to feel better, and he even began to enjoy the company of Dion, for even though he was chatty, at least he had something interesting to talk about, rather than the sullen Drow. The gnome, Whistlebink Thenderwaven, played cards with Justice most nights, for there was not much to do abord a ship and gambling wasn’t exactly a blasphemy. Slowly, in the comfort of friends and his inactivity, he realised that he had become fat and lazy, an insult to his demanding god. After he realised this he began to help pull ropes on the ship during day and rise early to perform stationary excersize in his room, and began to regain his resolve and form.
Now he could begin to see the coast of a different country, not so much a country now but a black scar on the land, Halruaa. In the nights the haunting blue flames could be seen from the ship, a reminder that even the once great civilizations will eventually fall to some disaster. The spires of dark rock could be seen on the shore, but soon the gap widened so that all that could be seen was the dark clouds of mist that rose above the land. Another half ten-day and the ship was scuttling across the water between the islands of Lapal and XXXXX. The wind was fast here due to the warm air from nearby Chult, and Dion estimated that they would arrive in Theymarsh in another 6 days.
With two days left, Justice went to sleep for the last time on his mattress. Footsteps could be heard in the hallway, but Justice just assumed that it was just some sailors. They arrived at his locked door, Justice heard them stop. For a few agonizing minutes he waited, straining his ears to see if he just imagined the noises, for the footsteps were light, not from the clumping Dion or the heavy pad of the sailors’ feet. Then he heard a click as the lock opened, Justice put on his mask from the chest and grabbed his rod. The door slammed open, entry for surprise rather than stealth.
The Drow, wrapped in dark leather with symbols of previous victories hanging from his belt and the symbol of the Thayan Inquisitors on his chest, stood silhouetted in the doorway, two long knives in his hands. He advanced, and Justice bore his rod to the sky, and in a flurry of strikes he jabbed and scythed at Justice, who managed to block a few with his spear, but became overwhelmed and took a long hit on his shoulder, deep enough to scar. Justice felt the pain, then he felt the anger, his own combined with his god’s, for whoever stands against the god’s wishes by hindering his mortal fingers must be brought down. Once again he bore the power, rushing through his body and rod, more controlled this time, and the room shook with the light that blinded the Drow. Blasting wave after wave of energy at the dark one, Justice shook with the joy of revenge and power. However the Drow, pushing through what seemed like a patch of invisible slowness, charged at Justice one last time, both knives aimed for his heart. Justice, too late recognising the threat, recoiled but was hit one more in his shoulder, the knife digging into his flesh up to the pommel, and as he ripped it out he unleashed a priest’s curse, one sent from his god, that shredded the Drow, blasting the chunklets around the room and through the door to splat against the opposite wall.
The noise woke everyone and it wasn’t long before someone saw the splash effect. First to see was one of the crew, who abuptly fainted. Soon a croud had developed around the room, where Justice was kneeling, praying for the man he had just killed to go to the Fugue Plane safely. Once finished, the croud just whispered one question, why had he done this? Justice showed the armour to the croud and tried to get them to leave, but they didn’t understand fully why he should be attacked by the Thayans so far away from the country itself. That night he told just the Darpurian Lady about his travels, for she would be the only one to understand. The crew did nothing, but when they arrived at the port the next night he was ushered off the ship without speaking to the others, he had done something terrible to them, but which was, in his own mind, not terrible but right. He had learnt that justice was not what normal people thought about when viewing death, to him it was a passage, a journey, to them it was an end.
Clutching his belongings, Justice ran up the docks and to the stables where he, through the thunderstorm and night, borrowed a horse for some golds, and galloped as far away as possible. The rain bounced off his sodden robes, and still wearing his mask, he rode and rode and rode, past the marshes and through the following day, until his horse was past heavily lathered, but within reach of death. He slowed then, fearing what his mind would invent if he took another soul to death by his own fault, and they rested, horse breathing so vigorously Justice thought it would never stop to feed.
On the road Justice met another traveller, Eskar Swordson, who seemed to be heading the same way. After a few nights of travel, Eskar approached to ask if Justice was following him. Justice asked about Eskar’s goals, one of them seeming to be to join an adventuring group so Justice thought they might as well search together.
In a few days Justice stopped once more to buy supplies and find an adventuring crew in Eldredd, a military town that seemed to thrive on war that was a consumer in the border kingdoms. He wanted to be part of a crew that would not judge him for his sense of justice, so he went to an inn and asked around for clues, after ditching the horse at the stables. Whilst there he met a short brown-haired man that looked very much like his brother, who was playing an instrument for a bed at the inn, and who had a white tiger curled around his feet. This man played very well, and a small croud had begun to form around him. Looking up, the man met eyes with Justice, then started another song. As the crowd dispersed at the end of his playing, Justice met the man and inside, he knew from his god, that this man was his brother, and that their fates were entwinned together. They sat and talked for the rest of the night, patching up each others’s stories.
Bio
Born in a small town in the Thazalhar region of Thay, Justice (born with the name Darius Tuor) was the second son of a farming family. Food was scarce and the dusty ground yielded little that could be sold in the village. As second son Justice was often not able to have a good meal every day, making his body wiry and tough. He was taught the basics of language at a young age by his family’s nurse (Mary); fond memories of afternoons on the porch, sun beaming down and Mary helping him write the letters. His brother was well-liked and was sure to find a maiden as the first son of his household, yet Justice’s father knew that few would invest daughter and dowry in the little child. Sisters and brothers, all his family, felt pity and tried to help reduce his depressive sulks. His family, solely living off the ground to pay taxes, knew little of the religion in Thay, knowing only when they were forced to their knees before the town statue.
Yet he aspired to more than the life he had and the next time visitors came he began asking questions of the outside world, commenting insightfully at times. They mentioned that the Red Wizards were recruiting farm boys like him and almost lept at the chance to be part of the most powerful and awe-inspiring organizations in the whole of Thay, some even said they could live forever. Justice heard the hushed tones and thought of the power that could inspire them.
Months later a band of mercenaries rolled through town and the news spread that the Red Wizards were sending such groups out. That day he was walking back from the fields, wondering whether this year’s crop would be better than last year’s. He lingered at the dried irrigation ditch, feeling the rock beneath his feet, and remebered when, in his youth, he would swim in the channel and cool. Now all that lay before him was the knowledge that the water would not come back. Brushing off the blade of his hoe with calloused hands he leant on the shaft and began to walk home. Hot darkness … a black bag was forced onto his head and he was bundled by strong hands, shoved and pummled, with his hands grasping at the bag.
A helpless and nervous journey on the back of a bumpy cart jolted his body, preventing sleep, so that when the moving stopped and his body was hauled he could give no resistance. After a time on what felt like a cold stone floor, the sounds of whimpering all around, he was moved again and the hood was lifted. A dark face with a long beard stared down at his eyes, which dared not move or even blink. All that was said in a hushed voice was, “he’s one”, before the bag plunged him back into darkness.
The next thing he saw was a young man, full bodied and arrogant, standing before him in the doorway, his red cloak flapping around his sillouetted feet. Justice was pulled to his feet and lead through stone corridors from his dark cell to a room with a high ceiling and a wooden floor. In his weakened state, having been without food or water for several days in the sun, he was pushed to the floor. In the middle of the floor, around where he lay, writing in some ungodly language surrounded him with its twirling red letters.
Then the door slammed shut and the chanting started, at first a low hum. All around there were dark figures, the only light coming from the black candles placed around the circle, hoods drawn across faces that haboured shadows. A dim shadow surrounded his body and his hands felt numb and sweaty. Then it began.
Particles of his body searing away, beggining a scrawl of letters across his body, similar to the writing of the floor – but written in burnt flesh and bright blood. Thrashing on the floor, clawing at the symbols with his hands, nails broken and fingers bleeding, he saw another circle further in the distance, a child similar to him encased in the walls, with a energy sucked from her body and being drawn across the room to a huge figure. Encased in rotting flesh it was disgusting and … moving, lacerated muscles drawing the bones in the fingers to form a fist. The eyes turned to Justice, red coals of hate and death.
A spark lit in Justice … a wave of hate and power … a tsunami of light and justice seeped from his eyes, hands and body. Weeping blood and silently screaming in agony, Justice rose from the ground into the air, power coursing through every single cell. And from within him spoke a deep voice, calm and majestic, telling him to free his will and reject his mind, become solely the item of destruction and justice for the god of death. And in his despair and joy he let his inner barriers down and white light no longer seeped but burst from his body, breaking the shackles of the evil conjurers and causing all in the room to fry in a ball of fire and power. No longer were life and death important, or was death to be feared, as he knew that all became but dust and shell in the end.
The power slowly subsided from his body until he lay slumped on the floor, blood of the innocent (him) and the guilty (the wizards) pooling and darkening. Yet there were no bodies left, ash and bones, and, crawling through the blood in his rags, Justice swore that there would be only destruction for the undead and the land of Thay would be cleansed of the cruel Tyrant’s hold. Yet by the door he saw not the other circle or its child inhabitant, for the power he owned destroyed all, with no control over those that should live and die. Still cradling the beliefs of the god that saved him he prayed that the young girl would find justice in death.
Stumbling through the empty building, he took the name Justice for his own as he knew he could never now return to a regular life. Entering the light of day he struggled through the sand that lay between himself and freedom … past the walls and out into the desert. The first night he had moved far enough to not be able to see the building but the coming darkness froze his bones, forcing him to stay awake and continue moving.
Through the second day he saw nothing, no sign of life, not even a trail, just dust and the dried blood that encrusted his body. That night, many days after food or drink, he collapsed face fist against the ground, falling unconscious. When he woke once more, gasping and struggling to not die, it was night-time and he could hear a voice. It was the same voice that had lent him power, his true god and saviour, telling him to never give up his battle and promising him food and water. Then the rain started, falling from the sky, washing Justice clean of blood, and in cupped hands he took the water and gave thanks, drinking only enough of the divine water to allow him to live on. In this rainstorm he walked across the body of a dead animal, and again he gave thanks and praise to the god, eating only what he needed to.
He walked and continued, legs numb and aching but mind focussed and will ready to take anything on. For days he walked … sun and stars guiding his way to the edge of the plateau. And on the seventh day he reached the edge and began to descend past the rocks, into the greener land below. Soon he could feel real grass under his mashed sandals and next he could see small bushes.
The sun rose and fell again, Justice stalking ever onwards – away from and toawrds his ultimate goal (to build power in order to topple the dread ruler of Thay). The first he saw of them was but smoke on the wind, grey clouds moving north to south. Days after each siting he would catch a glimpse, something shining in the trees or a area with fresh tracks. Finally walking in the trees, gathering the berries he needed to live, he heard their voices, balanced notes caught and fluttering in the wind. These musical voices meant nothing to him but his ears danced to their sweet rhythm, imagining what wonderful things they could mean. Sat on a rotten tree Justice listened for hours, to their speak and camp-building, from when he first heard to sun-down, food and safety forgotten in the beauty of the moment.
A hand lay on his shoulder, and in his soporific state he did not jump, merely turned and looked at what had ended his peace. The hand was tanned, roughened by weather but still retaining the smoothness of youth, and no hair grew on the long delicate fingers, unlike his father’s rather hairy hands. Twisting even more in his seat, the long angular face, high cheekbones and pointed ears were but a dream reflected in his eyes, beauty so in tone with nature that humankind looked like undead.
The man drew his hand back and beckoned for Justice to follow him, his clothes tailored in a wild style of cloth, leather and wood. His long brown hair fell like silk to his shoulders and shimmered in the waning light of day. Then he set off, his long step so graceful in the bushes and his bobbing torso weaving through the trees ahead. Justice fled towards the man, rushing and crashing through the trees just to keep up, knowing that he must otherwise sleep on the cold forest floor another night if he could not follow.
Finally they burst into a clearing lit by the golden glow of firelight. Panting, Justice looked at the other faces that lined the long tree that was acting as table. Halo’d by the light the regal faces all looked at the oaf who had broken their tranquility. In human language Justice was adressed to as “wanderer” by his guide and was asked to join them in their meal. Though none said much to the newcomer, their simple generosity and human contact for the first time in weeks was a balm on his shattered soul. After dinner he fell asleep by the fire, the crackling flames and hushed tones a lullaby to him.
The next day he woke early and in the dappled shad of an oak Justice made prayers to his god, returning to the camp to find camp-packing underway. He glanced around for the one man he knew and, seeing him crouched by a tent, asked him in rapid sucession who had taken him in, if he owed them anything, where they were and where they were heading. He answered each in turn, speaking, “We are but travellers of the forest, protectors of nature and we are known here as the guardians. I myself am Hawthorn, we are all given names of the forest. You were alone and respected the forest, each day taking from it only what you needed to survive, and for this we will guide you from here, Gannathwood (also known in our tongue as forest of redemption), to Cennuroth free from obligation”. Justice was given a chainmail shirt, crude but effective, from Hawthorn with the premise that Justice may need it in the future.
And for the next days they travelled, gliding through the trees with fleet-footedness and sure placing, whilst Justice jogged through the brush (Hawthorn next to him instructing him on nature and forestry). Justice was fascinated by the forest, such a large entity that he had never seen before, and would ask questions about all the aspects of the woodland and what lay beyond. Arriving finally at civilization after the trip, Justice thanked the guardians and set off towards an inn with some gold they had spare.
Cennuroth was not amicable to strangers and soon Justice saw the crude legal system in action, a nobleman beating a street-wretch for asking for coppers. He could stand it but he had to fit in to the city in order to get transport away from terrible Thay. He walked the streets through the day and by dusk he ended at a cemetary, grey stone walls that seemed to be locking the relatives’ feelings out of sight. He entered and the fog immediately enclosed on him, a blanket of mystery there had never been in Thay. Walking down the rows and looking at the names, he prayed to all that they were where they belonged, eventually ending up at the grassy verge. Kneeling Justice touched the earth, feeling the cold, dense ground and planted a seed, fallen from a nearby hedge. The life that would spring up from that seed would serve as all the remeberance he could give to the girl he had killed in Thay, a sign that from death comes life.
After this he left the walled enclosure and strolled back to the inn he had seen on the edge of the square. And in this way he spent the days, aclimatising himself to the urban environment and every day seeing the injustices of humans, wishing that the balance could be more like what he had had with the forest. On the second tenday Justice was revisiting the cemetary in the daylight to see how his plant was faring. On arrival he noticed a niche in the far corner he had not seen in the fog, a statue inside along with a shadowy figure. He firstly went about his business but afterwards he felt compelled to investigate, knowing he may be stepping nearer to a dangerous encounter. The crouched figure wore bland grey clothes, a grey hood on his head and sandals on his feet. The statue was not of a man but of but a symbol, a skeletal arm holding the scales, and already Justice knew his god had guided him to this in order for him to become familiar with his practices.
Rising from his knees the figure encountered Justice, who had bent on his knees in a similar fashion, and let out a yelp. But Justice said, “do not be scared, do not see this scarred carriage as an enemy but as one willing to learn about that which he does not know, for i have his power but not his knowledge”. The man was of indiscriminate age and lacked distinctive features, but he smiled and clasped Justice’s arm as he pulled him up and told him that he would help Justice.
Over the course of a month Justice stayed with the man in his stone apartment by the riverside, waking up each morning to a wonderful view but knowing that injustice lay but meters away from him. The man trained Justice, glad for the company and help in his grave-tending, in the mysteries of religion and the world.
Over a month had passed from the kidnapping and Justice was beggining to feel restless working and learning with the old man, he wished to once again stride the trees. The same day that he felt this feeling Justice told the man and ate a final meal with him. As a passing gift the old man gave Justice a rod, to show kelemvor’s power in the world, and a set of grey robes and a steel mask, as a reminder that no matter how far one may stray Justice should keep the appearance of his god.
Getting on the swift waters of lake Draco from the creaking quay in Cennuroth, Justice paid his fee and bunked down, with his few possesions rolled in spare clothes, in the cheapest part of the ship. The ship set off in the direction of Buldamar, a month long journey. The first day he did not feel like moving much and so he stayed in the cabin, playing cards with another passenger for coppers and tools, and his proficieny increased rapidly throughout the day until he finally called an end to the game, winning a crowbar and a hammer but losing a silver or two.
Waking early next day Justice climbed the maze of stairs to reach the top level and stared at the horizon, hands firmly gripping the balistrade. Having watched the glorious birth of the sun, the splendor of light and life, he sat on the deck, back propped against a box, and watched the comings and goings of the seabirds that rested on the mast. For hours he watched, warmed by the sun, and he felt peace in the same way he had felt in the forest, for there was nature everywhere, birds and squirrels in the forest and fish and birds at sea. At the end of the day he watched dusk, the cycle of the sun’s life passed, and swung in his hammock whilst asleep.
In this way Justice spent the first two weeks of the trip, picking apart the details of nature and asking the crew about their work on the boat. Yet having spent so much of the trip on deck Justice felt bored with the debaucheries of the passengers (one even practiced her trade whilst travelling from place to place) and the stoic nature of the sailors did not invite conversation. Added to this he began to feel ill because of the rocking boat and almost every day he would spill his food over the railings and wish to be back on land, but he put up with the discomfort because it began to fade after a week and he knew that sea travel was much faster than walking the journey. Passing through the river of swords, under the dust road bridge, he knew it would be only a few days until he landed.
He staggered from the swaying ship anchored by Buldamar’s port and into a inn, collapsing on a straw bed after paying the fee. Dawn rose and the stinking city began to churn itself into action, mud and blood paying the way in this hollow so close to the edge of civilization, not that Justice had much to compare the city to having only lived in his town and Cennuroth. Having rose he shaved and went to the traders guild to search for easy work as a caravan guard that headed him in the direction of the gulf of Luiren.
Having passed the dried up river that should have flowed into the gulf, Justice arrived at a small fishing village and began offering the astonished locals more money then they had ever imagined to take him to the dwarf port of Delzimmer. Immediately he was aproached by town ruffians, seeking to get his money, but he put them in his place with but the spear he had used whilst as a caracan guard. Approached also by fishermen who wanted to loan out their rotten skegs for the money, Justice turned away all until one woman offered to take him there on her new boat.
After the choppy voyage across the gulf (which took nearly 5 days of powerful sailing), Justice thanked the woman and gave her all the coins he had promised, before setting out once again to find a boat able to make the long journey that would finally remove him fully from his past and the Thayan inquisitors that may follow his trail.
The boat he found was called the Halfling’s Endeavor, setting sail for Theymarsh, and its bright blue and green colourings, in typical styles of the Lightfoot Halflings, bobbed by the docks at the more ragged end of the row. The ship itself was in good condition, newly painted and without rust, and there were new ropes tying it to the docks. Justice went up the gang-plank, which seemed to be built more for halfings and dwarves than for the Big Folk, and approached the plumb man that was laughing with a crewmember at the front of the ship. The man clothes were dyed sliks in pink and gold, ones which no human would ever try to carry off as normal, and yet he was comfortable and confident in them. He turned around, the bright sky’s light shimmering off his rich clothes, and upon clasping Justice’s hand he declared himself the captain of the boat and that his name was Dionysis Philander, but he preffered to be called Dion.
Justice gave him the money he was asking for for the journey and Dion walked him to a cosy room at the bow of the ship, but not too deep in the hull with the cargo and darkness, that was furnished in halfling style with thin red curtains and pillows that seemed to flood the room. Dion announced that Justice could dine without charge with the rest of the boat’s occupants at dusk, as Dion felt it would be a good start to a long journey and that he didn’t want the passengers to bicker so soon after setting off. After unrolling his clothes and mask and putting them into the chest provided, Justice went to the deck and sat in the shaded area, which was provided by the rose and lime feathered canopies, and drank a sweet alcoholic beverage, called “Seabreeze”, that was made by adding grapefruit juice to ‘ixen hesjing” (a dragonborn spirit that translates to fire-water). The wind ruffled his hair as the Halfling’s Endeavor set stern to wave.
Justice then dozed until he was woken by the tinkling of a bell, the call to supper by Goodman Dion. The other travellers were sat in place on cushions, plush and made of silk so fine it was a sight seen on ships tied to the castle’s piers, and the meal of spiced chicken and lemons, that Dion insisted on everyone eating to not fall prone to the disease of Sailor’s gums. There were 4 others on the table, excluding Justice and Dion. Opposite sat an old man, and his wife, who looked to be from the realm of Darpur, his yellow skin and exotic clothing showing the link. To the right was a skinny Gnome, heartily tucking in to the food and gesturing to the chef about the quality. On the left was a Drow, dark skin and mysterious tattoos warning off all conversation.
The couple were travelling to the border kingdoms in search of economic stabilty, it sounded strange to Justice but they could have been coming from a worse economic section than even him, and the Gnome was young and wanted to see if there is fun to be found elsewhere. Justice did not ask about the Drow’s origin, for the dark-skinned were often followers of the dark goddess Lolth and served willingly, sometimes, in the dread legions of Thay. Dion, of course, could help but chat to everyone, divuldging every detail about himself to the extent that the dessert chef came out personally to see what the hold-up was.
After the meal Justice walked the deck for a while whilst the otheres went below and Dion went to his office. From the bow of the ship Justice could just make out the heavily forested coast, through the misty night, of the Southern Lluirwood. He liked to imagine he could see the tiny flickers of light turn black as the hafling wood-dwellers that lived in the forest started to put out fires for the night. On the way to his room he met eyes with the Drow, who was lounging in the corridor with shifty eyes and hand near his belt. Still heavily inebriated, Justice slept long and blissfully unaware.
Waking, Justice felt sick, dry in the mouth and with a booming headache, in Thay he had never drunk so much at one time, for his family couldn’t afford to buy much. Remembering his family he wondered about how his brother was doing and his nurse mary, who had left when he became a man. Justice lay on the bed, the sun crawling in through the tiny window near the ceiling, until he felt well enough to walk to get a drink of water. Lumbering down the corridor, Justice once again saw the Drow, who had his door open a crack, and, drinking the water, locked his room and went to the deck.
The full strength of the sunlight hit Justice in the face as he emerged from below, and he staggered with his eyes shut to the shade beneath the mast. He eventually opened his eyes, only to be aggravated in his gut by the rolling of the ship. Justice again stumbled to the railing at the side of the ship and spewed his food until he felt that drink was a worse fate than being given to the Primordials as a present. Justice lay in a stupor for the rest of the day, before eating a soup that was meant to let him regain strength and half-running back to his room.
It was a few days, in which Justice was told that they made good progress, until Justice was back to full health and ready to go back on to the deck, thinking that perhaps something more sinister was trying to overcome him. He broke fast on deck with the other travellers, listening to their theories on where they were at the moment. All Justice could see was land to one side, green and fertile, and a vast ocean on the other, so he assumed they were already beggining on the westwards part of the journey. All had differing opinions until they saw them. Slick beautiful bodies, dancing through the water in the wake of the ship, jumping and squeaking for just joy. Even the crew, having made the trip many times before, had their moods alleviated by the sight of, as we were told by the ever-chatty Dion, Dolphins. This must definately mean that they were in the Bay of Dancing Dolphins, and beyond the coast there sat the Gnollwatch mountains, the separation of the costal fertility from the drylands beyond.
For a few more days not much new happened, the wind blew, Dion chatted, the travellers became mostly friendly … and the Drow skulked. Justice became quite good friends with the Durparian Lady, for she cared for Justice during his exhuasting fits of sea-sickness and showed him a few simple herbs he could chew to feel better, and he even began to enjoy the company of Dion, for even though he was chatty, at least he had something interesting to talk about, rather than the sullen Drow. The gnome, Whistlebink Thenderwaven, played cards with Justice most nights, for there was not much to do abord a ship and gambling wasn’t exactly a blasphemy. Slowly, in the comfort of friends and his inactivity, he realised that he had become fat and lazy, an insult to his demanding god. After he realised this he began to help pull ropes on the ship during day and rise early to perform stationary excersize in his room, and began to regain his resolve and form.
Now he could begin to see the coast of a different country, not so much a country now but a black scar on the land, Halruaa. In the nights the haunting blue flames could be seen from the ship, a reminder that even the once great civilizations will eventually fall to some disaster. The spires of dark rock could be seen on the shore, but soon the gap widened so that all that could be seen was the dark clouds of mist that rose above the land. Another half ten-day and the ship was scuttling across the water between the islands of Lapal and XXXXX. The wind was fast here due to the warm air from nearby Chult, and Dion estimated that they would arrive in Theymarsh in another 6 days.
With two days left, Justice went to sleep for the last time on his mattress. Footsteps could be heard in the hallway, but Justice just assumed that it was just some sailors. They arrived at his locked door, Justice heard them stop. For a few agonizing minutes he waited, straining his ears to see if he just imagined the noises, for the footsteps were light, not from the clumping Dion or the heavy pad of the sailors’ feet. Then he heard a click as the lock opened, Justice put on his mask from the chest and grabbed his rod. The door slammed open, entry for surprise rather than stealth.
The Drow, wrapped in dark leather with symbols of previous victories hanging from his belt and the symbol of the Thayan Inquisitors on his chest, stood silhouetted in the doorway, two long knives in his hands. He advanced, and Justice bore his rod to the sky, and in a flurry of strikes he jabbed and scythed at Justice, who managed to block a few with his spear, but became overwhelmed and took a long hit on his shoulder, deep enough to scar. Justice felt the pain, then he felt the anger, his own combined with his god’s, for whoever stands against the god’s wishes by hindering his mortal fingers must be brought down. Once again he bore the power, rushing through his body and rod, more controlled this time, and the room shook with the light that blinded the Drow. Blasting wave after wave of energy at the dark one, Justice shook with the joy of revenge and power. However the Drow, pushing through what seemed like a patch of invisible slowness, charged at Justice one last time, both knives aimed for his heart. Justice, too late recognising the threat, recoiled but was hit one more in his shoulder, the knife digging into his flesh up to the pommel, and as he ripped it out he unleashed a priest’s curse, one sent from his god, that shredded the Drow, blasting the chunklets around the room and through the door to splat against the opposite wall.
The noise woke everyone and it wasn’t long before someone saw the splash effect. First to see was one of the crew, who abuptly fainted. Soon a croud had developed around the room, where Justice was kneeling, praying for the man he had just killed to go to the Fugue Plane safely. Once finished, the croud just whispered one question, why had he done this? Justice showed the armour to the croud and tried to get them to leave, but they didn’t understand fully why he should be attacked by the Thayans so far away from the country itself. That night he told just the Darpurian Lady about his travels, for she would be the only one to understand. The crew did nothing, but when they arrived at the port the next night he was ushered off the ship without speaking to the others, he had done something terrible to them, but which was, in his own mind, not terrible but right. He had learnt that justice was not what normal people thought about when viewing death, to him it was a passage, a journey, to them it was an end.
Clutching his belongings, Justice ran up the docks and to the stables where he, through the thunderstorm and night, borrowed a horse for some golds, and galloped as far away as possible. The rain bounced off his sodden robes, and still wearing his mask, he rode and rode and rode, past the marshes and through the following day, until his horse was past heavily lathered, but within reach of death. He slowed then, fearing what his mind would invent if he took another soul to death by his own fault, and they rested, horse breathing so vigorously Justice thought it would never stop to feed.
On the road Justice met another traveller, Eskar Swordson, who seemed to be heading the same way. After a few nights of travel, Eskar approached to ask if Justice was following him. Justice asked about Eskar’s goals, one of them seeming to be to join an adventuring group so Justice thought they might as well search together.
In a few days Justice stopped once more to buy supplies and find an adventuring crew in Eldredd, a military town that seemed to thrive on war that was a consumer in the border kingdoms. He wanted to be part of a crew that would not judge him for his sense of justice, so he went to an inn and asked around for clues, after ditching the horse at the stables. Whilst there he met a short brown-haired man that looked very much like his brother, who was playing an instrument for a bed at the inn, and who had a white tiger curled around his feet. This man played very well, and a small croud had begun to form around him. Looking up, the man met eyes with Justice, then started another song. As the crowd dispersed at the end of his playing, Justice met the man and inside, he knew from his god, that this man was his brother, and that their fates were entwinned together. They sat and talked for the rest of the night, patching up each others’s stories.
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