Redemption: The Preludes (IC post)

[Varen Tai]

REDEMPTION: THE PRELUDES

PART ONE

This... this isn't going to work. It's...

You probably can't even hear me.

...

But even if that's true, is that why I came? To be heard? I need...

Never mind what I need! This is useless!

...

Urgh...

Fine.

I... Look, I...

...

Enough. I'm here to tell you a story. I'm not going to explain myself.

...

So I suppose I should start at the beginning?

Well, not that beginning. Everything began with the gods creating Toril, but I don’t need to start that far back.

So I guess that I should say I will start with a beginning.

It began with an warrior and a bard. I was there, so I saw the whole thing; I knew something was going to happen, and I wanted to watch. There are others who could sense it, too - those few of us scattered around Toril that can feel the threads of Fate twist in odd patterns. Let’s see…

There’s the lich.

There’s the dragon. Well, dragons, really. But only he actually ever gets involved. She usually just observes.

There’s the mage. No surprise there, really. He’s got his meddling fingers in situations all over the place.

There’s the monk.

There’s the.. well, in the interest of succinctness, I should just say that there are several others.

And of course, there’s me. I am... Well, never mind that right now. Suffice to say that I was watching. Maybe the others were, too, but I couldn’t sense them just like they couldn’t sense me. But all of us there could feel the sparks fly when those two came into contact - not sparks of romance or sexuality, but sparks of Fate. Neither of the two had any clue about this because neither could feel Fate like we that Watch. Naturally, none of us Watchers knew exactly who was going to be touched until it happened, so I didn’t know the backgrounds of the two involved until afterwards, but I’ll tell you now what I discovered later after some research.

She was searching. Not for a person or a place, but for purpose and meaning. Recently orphaned, she had worked hard to fulfil a lifelong dream to visit distant Zhakara. Well, distant for her, not for the Zhakarans, as she originally hailed from Silverymoon, north of Waterdeep. Upon discovering who she was descended from, I was not surprised that Fate would touch her. The women of that family are so incredibly driven and focused when they get a goal in their heads and hearts that only death can stop them, and sometimes, not even then. But I get ahead of myself.

She had planned to visit Nimbral via sea voyage after leaving Zhakara, but when every single ship captain refused to take her that route due to heavy pirate activity, she found herself sailing back to Cathyr to catch an overland caravan that would take her that direction in order to circumvent the pirates. And so she ended up on a merchant caravan owned by the Copper Coronet Trading Company headed north and eventually west until she could get to a port city on the north side of the continent.

He was running for his life. I mean, not literally at that moment as he was largely out of danger this far from Waterdeep, but since it was hard to tell if a knife was headed his direction, he got as far away as possible. Having hired on the same caravan as a guard that she did, he figured it was the safest job and life for him. Hard for his enemies to find him if he was always moving. He kept an ear out for possible danger, and when he heard she was from the Sword Coast, he studiously avoided her as much as possible for the entire trip. Since she was the cook (an extremely good one, at that) and entertainer for the caravan, that became more difficult than he liked, but he did his best.

So it was complete coincidence that when the caravan passed a small grove of trees in the late afternoon and she noticed red tokra fern growing, as well as a few other delicious wildflowers and herbs that were hard to come by, he was the guard assigned to protect her so she could harvest herbs while the caravan went on. The head of the guardsmen told them to catch up with everyone else after it stopped for the evening. "Only a few hours, you should be fine!" he said to them both.

I do feel to observe something here. There is no such thing as coincidence. With all the watching and meddling I have done myself, being a player moving my pawns around my board, I have come to the inescapable conclusion that coincidence is a word used by the pawns to describe the seemingly random occurrences created by a player such as myself. Even the gods sometimes seem to dance to invisible strings that they themselves are unaware of. Though a god like Cyric would like to think that he’s always in control, that no one pulls his strings, this is simply because of the unique mortal perspective he had as a pawn that he has brought to a higher board as a god. I myself have wondered if Fate itself is a force under control from another higher power, greater than Lord Ao himself. Perhaps Fate is simply the name that we who are affected by it give it to try and reduce it to a philosophical form that we can understand and think we have some control over.

I have often pondered if there is such as thing as true agency. Seeing things from my unique perspective as a player in the grand schemes of the truly powerful, I often feel as if I was driven to become what I am today, as if I had no choice in what I do now. Are there others pulling my strings? I feel sure of it, and sometimes I want to fling rocks at the impenetrable heavens to protest what it seems Fate has made me into. So where does Fate end and Agency begin? Do we really control our destinies or are they given to us by others?

Take this young man, for instance. Considering his difficult childhood and then the even more difficult situation he found himself in when he arrived in Waterdeep, he had every reason to be more embittered than he actually was. He tried to be cheerful and helpful to those within his reach when he could have just as easily been angry, resentful, and withdrawn. Not that he didn't have his struggles, but he had clearly gone one way instead of the other, certainly compared to others who had chosen to become embittered with less invitation to do so.

So I ask the question – was he forced into that decision of good cheer? Did his unique makeup from birth combined with his environment preclude any other possibility? Or was there a part of him where he could exercise some amount of control over his life? I cannot question that I can control all manner of forces myself, that if I chose, I could have snuffed his life or made it better with seemingly wild coincidental fortunes. But this question torments me – are my own choices dictated to me or do I choose my own path? Am I a pawn in someone else’s board? And even worse, do my own pawns exercise control over me in some way? I ask these questions, but do not know the answers. Indeed, I do not know if I want to know the answers.

Maybe I am simply content with my own self-delusions of being truly powerful.

Enough. I tire of this line of thinking. It brings me no satisfaction and plenty of frustration.

I was telling you a story.

He rode with the caravan because he was running. The funny thing I have noticed about people who are running is that they never really escape what they are running from because they carry it in their hearts. No elder vampire could ever cause as much grief in an individual’s life as they can cause for themselves by never facing their own problems.

Well, perhaps an eternity of undead servitude could match it.

But until one learns to face their problems, they never truly find peace and happiness, and he was still running. He never stayed in one place or kept company with anyone for very long, unless he was forced.

She was fire, he was air.

And here he was, forced to spend several hours with the one person on this trip he would have preferred to not talk to whatsoever. Not that she wasn't young and attractive, but she just as easily could know something about him or even be sent by those chasing him, so the hours were spent with her trying to spark up a conversation and him giving polite but short answers to block said conversation, though he did his best to be helpful to her while she gathered the herbs.

This was not something she was used to, but she eventually gave up and finished the harvest in silence except for instructions on what she needed help with. While they walked up the road with darkness already falling, they could see the light of the caravan campfires off in the distance. By now, he might have even settled his own suspicions about her, but the decision became moot because when they crested the hill and saw the caravan, they finally heard the shouts and saw the firelight was actually the wagons burning merrily in the starlight.

He could tell that the battle was already over, for the bodies of his fellow guards lay where they had been slain, the fire reflecting clearly off their armor even from this distance, and the dark clad figures racing around the camp did not look familiar. He likely had supposed they were looking for him when they both heard an echo of someone yelling at a distant figure dragged in by some of the black garbed warriors (one of the merchants, I discovered later), "Where is she?! Where is the girl?!" And the merchant pointed straight down the road towards where they stood.

More importantly to those of us watching, sparks of Fate suddenly flared to life around both him and her.

[Harding]

By now, Oslan might have softened his suspicions about the beautiful bard, only for the revelation of the burning wagons, casting a fiery specter against the starlit canvas.

As the horrifying tableau of the caravan massacre unfolded before him, Oslan's visage remained an inscrutable mask, revealing neither shock nor fear. The bodies of fallen comrades, their armor illuminated eerily by the burning wagons, mirrored the silent tragedy that had befallen them. The dark-clad assailants, unfamiliar and malevolent, added an unsettling layer of mystery to the chaos.

In the face of the grim reality, Oslan's mind raced, calculating the severity of the situation. He surveyed the scene with a seasoned soldier eye, noting the attackers' movements and their unfamiliarity. His suspicions from earlier intensified, weaving a narrative of potential pursuit.

As the merchant's desperate cry rang out, Oslan's guarded demeanor cracked for a moment. A flicker of concern crossed his face, briefly betraying the weight of the unfolding events. However, his professional training swiftly reasserted control, and he addressed the crisis with a measured decisiveness.

Breaking his characteristic silence, Oslan's voice emerged as a steadying force, cutting through the chaotic backdrop like a blade through tumultuous waters.

"We need to find cover and assess the situation. We're not safe here," he stated with an uncanny calm, a stark juxtaposition to the dire circumstances enveloping them. His words, though measured, carried an undercurrent of urgency, acknowledging the severity of their predicament.

"These pursuers of yours are nothing short of animals. I certainly won't surrender your freedom to them, even if I have to face them in my own demise," he declared, the resonance of his resolve echoing through the night and even surprising himself with the authenticity of his words. The unwavering commitment in his voice cut through the chaos, leaving a lingering assurance that his actions would match the weight of his convictions.

His eyes, steel-gray and seasoned, scanned the surroundings with a tactical precision, seeking a strategic vantage point amidst the chaos. The pragmatic approach he emanated hinted at a depth of experience, a mastery of crisis management that transcended the pandemonium unfolding in the once serene caravan camp.

 

Edited January 10 by Harding (see edit history)

[Civit]

 

 

 

Aly Treltor

---

"Of mine? I have no idea who they are or what they wan't." Aly was at a loss. If she was "the girl" they were looking for, why? And why cause such death and destruction in her name?

Aly looked at the scene, the images of the dead immediately etched in her mind. She had seen death before, up close. And this was the second time it may have been her fault.

The worst part was not knowing. But, the old saying about curiosity and cats immediately came to mind. As did the addage about valor and caution.

"Yes, until we know more we should become scarce. I will follow your tactical advice on a good spot to hide. I have magic to conceal us, if it helps. But, it would conceal us from each other as well."

 

Edited January 10 by Civit (see edit history)

[Varen Tai]

Within a minute, a squad of dark clothed warriors were sprinting down the road towards the two. Because of the dark, they hadn't seen the pair yet, but it wouldn't be long before they did. The arm of figure who had shouted at the other flashed quickly in the firelight, and the person who had pointed their way dropped to the ground, but whether it was because he had been slain or simply struck was impossible to tell from that distance. Time was running out.

Edited January 10 by Varen Tai (see edit history)

[Civit]

 

 

 

Aly Treltor

---

 

Before Oslan could react and before they would be in visual range, Aly chanted a few arcane words, touched Oslan and he vanished from sight. Aly repeated the process on herself. Moving off the road, quietly, "Over here, off the road." She reached out, assuming Oslan hadn't moveed yet and pulled him to the side, 30" or so off the path. Then, out of habit, crouched down.

Edited January 10 by Civit (see edit history)

[Harding]

Oslan's senses snapped into a heightened state as Aly's arcane incantation enveloped him in an unseen shroud. The abrupt disappearance left him momentarily disoriented, a sensation he quickly shrugged off, regaining his focus. The familiarity of working with the ward civilar in the Watch of Waterdeep allowed him to adapt swiftly to the mystical concealment.

He felt Aly's touch guide him off the road, their movements synchronized in a silent dance choreographed by the urgency of the situation. Without hesitation, Oslan complied with her unspoken direction, veering away from the danger-laden path. The seamless coordination hinted at a practiced camaraderie, forged in the crucible of his ''services'' for the City of Splendor.

Aly's hushed directive, "Over here, off the road," reached Oslan's ears, and he followed her lead. As she crouched down, Oslan mirrored the motion, instinctively adopting a defensive posture, sword in hand.

In the muted stillness that followed, Oslan's focus shifted to the unseen threat looming on the road ahead. The echoes of his earlier declaration, now muted but no less resolute, lingered in his mind as he prepared for their next move.

Oslan, still concealed in the magical cloak of invisibility, leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible in the tense quietness. "We should try to capture one of those bastards," he suggested, his tone carrying the weight of strategic contemplation. "Questioning them might unveil the motive behind this attack. It's a risk, but it could provide us with valuable information to navigate this situation more effectively."

His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation for collaboration as they huddled in the shadows, awaiting the next move in this deadly game.

Edited January 10 by Harding (see edit history)

[Varen Tai]

Within a couple of minutes, around ten of the black-clad assailants sprinted down the road. Worse, one of them stopped, spoke some arcane syllables, and rose into the air, shooting forward at high speed beyond the rest of the men on foot. There was at least one wizard among them, and a powerful one at that. Even more terrifying was the almost preternatural silence in which they all moved, but for now, there was a gap where the two fugitives could move somewhat freely, though any wizard worth his salt could easily cast Detect Invisible and they would be in trouble. Caution was needed.

[Civit]

Capturing one would be nice. But ten to one, and that was just the ones who came this way. And then there was the wizard. She doubted they could take him out.

"I think it's too dangerous. Believe me, I am all about information, but I would rather keep them guessing where we..." Aly stopped whispering to Oslan when the wizard got close enough that overhearing her became a risk.

Edited January 10 by Civit (see edit history)

[Harding]

Oslan's eyes narrowed as he observed the ominous scene unfolding before them. The numerical odds stacked against them, coupled with the unexpected presence of a formidable wizard, sparked a low growl of frustration deep within him.

"Ten to one, and a wizard... I hate these odds more than gambling against Tymora's loaded dices." he muttered under his breath, his gaze flickering over the advancing adversaries. The unnatural silence in which they moved sent shivers down his spine, a testament to the formidable threat they posed. Capturing one of them might yield valuable insights, but the sheer peril of the current circumstances demanded a more prudent approach.

Aly's cautious whisper reached his ears, her words resonating with prudence.

''Aye...'' Oslan's whispered agreement was cut short as the wizard drew near, the risk of being overheard hanging palpably in the air.

In the stifling silence, Oslan's grip tightened on the hilt of his weapons, gritting his teeth in anticipation for the worst scenario.

Edited January 11 by Harding (see edit history)

[Varen Tai]

None of us observers had any idea then of what exactly either of these two beings would do or say in the future that would merit being touched by Fate. I recall once observing a young woman, wholly unremarkable, writing in her journal. Fate touched her as she wrote, her journal entry expressing a desire to get out and see different lands and people before she died.

She died in childbirth only a few years later, having never gone anywhere or doing anything remarkable.

More than 50 years later, a young child discovered her journal. I only know this because Fate once again stretched forth Her hand, and so I was watching when this little girl, no more than 7 or 8, read that particular journal entry and found the desire to get out and see things. She began training as a wizardess only a few years after reading that entry.

Her name? She went by Midnight. Not 20 years later, she became the goddess Mystra following the Time of Troubles.

What if she had not discovered that journal? You see, I researched it and discovered that one day, her mother had sent her on an errand. She passed a booksellers shop, one that she had passed by many times before without ever stopping. But that day was different, for some odd reason. She tripped and fell, skinning her knee. The shopkeeper was a kindly man who saw this mishap and came out to comfort the crying child. He took her inside, cleaned her wound, and let her sit while he dealt with some other customers.

Her eyes wandered and fell upon a book that was sitting on top of a pile of old, ratty books by the back door. She asked him what those books were, and he said that they were old books that no one wanted, so they were in the back, ready for him to burn them that evening. She picked up this top book, the journal of this unremarked, unremembered woman, and on a whim, asked if she could keep it. The bookseller shrugged and told her to help herself.

The happy child skipped home, sat down, and read the book. She had never done anything like this before, but the impact that simple, unremarkable journal had on her was completely remarkable.

So I ask again – what if she had not discovered that journal? The sheer number of coincidences during that day staggers the imagination. What if her mother had not sent on that errand that day? What if she hadn’t tripped and skinned her knee, or even done so somewhere else, or when the bookseller wasn’t paying attention? What if no customer had come in afterwards, so that she would not have those extra moments to look around the shop?

As an outsider, looking in on many many lives, I see coincidences constantly. I’ve already told you what I think of coincidences. In fact, I remember as a child asking my parents how they had met. While I won’t recount the details, it was a similar story of several coincidences all strung together that ended up with my parents meeting, marrying, and having me as their child. Do you have any idea how often the mundane things we take for granted actually happen because of a string of wild coincidences?

What if Oslan had signed onto a different caravan? It was a close thing - the Copper Coronet was the only caravan hiring when he was looking for work in the office where merchants hire guards, but not ten minutes after he left, two more caravan owners came in, both paying more than what the Coronet had offered. Had he known, he would have gone with one of the others instead, but he ended up on the same caravan as Aly. What if she had decided to stay one more day in Zhakara rather than sailing for Cathyr when she did? What if their attackers had successfully located the caravan the night before? They certainly had tried, but a mistake was made in the note handed to the leader of the group with the caravan's plans and route, one number slightly off and misread to just enough to send them to a different spot. It took them another full day to figure out the mistake and find it. What if Aly had been busy with a meal or had looked the other way just long enough to miss the red tokra fern she saw poking out from behind the tree? And what if a different guard than Oslan had happened by right when Aly wanted to pick herbs and the guard commander was looking for someone to help her?

That assignment was Fateful. All of these seemingly wild coincidences led up to that one assignment, very casually dropped. And what if, in that moment, Oslan had ducked the assignment for some reason and the captain had asked someone else? But everything else that happened to the two of them after this moment came because of that appointment. These two formed the magnet that brought the rest of this group together and the seed of the storm that grew in power slowly but surely, nearly enveloping the world in blackness. You know nothing of the events that followed, but I… I know nearly all of them.

What if? It is a terrible question, one that has haunted me for years. It is the core of my question about Fate and Agency. These incredible coincidences that follow each and every living thing on Toril can be dismissed very easily when all you see are your own coincidences and even then forget them quickly after they occur. But I see them played out over and over again, in every life that I observe. And it disturbs me, for when I can bear to look at my own coincidences, I see evidence that my life was not my own. Surely, I made choices, but how many of those choices were dictated to me because of the coincidental circumstances I found myself in?

Maybe you are thinking the same thing, if you can even hear me, but most never ask themselves these questions or dismiss it quickly when they do, for who can bear the possibility that we are not free to choose our destinies?

I cannot.

And I have one more "what if" for you. That question can drive anyone crazy if they ask it too often. What if the wizard flying directly overhead, aiming for the grove they had been at a couple of hours prior, had been just a little more aware of his surroundings so that he heard the whispers beneath him, or had cast the appropriate Detect Invisibility spell before casting Flight instead of casting it a few seconds after he had passed overhead? They had been told that the girl was a spellcaster and would likely have some illusion spells, such as Invisibility, and had prepared for that eventuality, yet he had seemingly forgotten just long enough to arc safely overhead so they were out of his range while he shot forward? The rest of the troop followed him silently, leaving the two still crouching quietly unseen, danger in front and danger behind them. It wouldn't take long for the wizard to ascertain that they were hiding somewhere behind him, and then death would follow.

There were still many moving figures at the caravan, searching for them, but the element of surprise still seemed to be on the side of Oslan and Aly. They had to make a decision, and quickly.

Edited January 12 by Varen Tai (see edit history)

[Harding]

Oslan's heart pounded in the oppressive silence that followed the wizard's near-discovery. As the immediate threat passed, the burly soldier maintained his silent vigil, his hulking form merging seamlessly with the shadows. The Luckbringers would indeed receive a generous offering if survival granted him the opportunity.

A muted exhale escaped Oslan as the last pursuer moved away, and he shifted his attention to Aly. His hushed voice cut through the tension, carrying the weight of urgency.

"Pssss. If you're still around, please listen. We have to make a move right now because it won't be long before they realize we're hiding here and turn back," he whispered, the gravity of their predicament etched on his face.

His gaze darted between the potential threats in front and behind, the danger palpable on both fronts. "I say that we attack the ones left at the camp right now, swiftly and expediently. They won't see it coming, that I'm sure. Once we dealt with them, we run as fast as we can far from this hellish trap," he suggested, his tone a blend of calculated strategy and seasoned resolve.

Edited January 11 by Harding (see edit history)

[Civit]

Aly waited until the dark figures were safely past and out of earshot. "I don't know how long we have before that wizard returns, but I don't know that I could live with myself if we don't see if there are survivors. And, if so, help them if we can. We should at least access the opposition, if you don't think we can do it.... at least I can say we didn't abandon them. I'll make for the far left wagon and wait on your action. And if I yell NOW, cover your eyes."

Was this another one of her, not so well, thought through ideas? Probably. But she was honest when she said she had to try.

"And if we are lucky, we get one to talk."

Edited January 11 by Civit (see edit history)

[Harding]

"You do that. I'll get closer to gauge my chances, then I'll strike if it is not utter suicide," he murmured, his words carrying the weight of calculated risk.

A contemplative silence hung briefly in the air before he moved with relative stealth toward the camp site. He took deliberate care to minimize the sound of his chainmail, mindful of the potential giveaway to his position. Although muffled by a sturdy padding underneath, the armor could still make unwanted noise, which could foil the advantageous chance of an ambush on these bastards.

Remaining vigilant, Oslan strategically positioned himself, his focus keenly trained on the unfolding scene. The shadows enveloped him, concealing the wariness etched onto his face. Prepared for any eventuality, he observed with the intent scrutiny of a scout, meticulously counting the enemies, assessing their equipment, and discerning their demeanor. He also cast a watchful eye into the shadows around the camp to sought hidden sentries.

His sword was aching for action as his gaze swept across the fallen companions. Though the thirst for blood lingered, Oslan maintained military composure, grounding himself in rationality amid the chaos, trying to figure the best approach, and as quickly as possible.

Edited January 12 by Harding (see edit history)

[Civit]

 

 

 

Aly Treltor

---

 

Aly moved fairly quickly to close the distance. Once closer, she slowed, to reduce the chance of being detected. She kept her hand crossbow in hand until she reached her observation spot, behind a burning wagon. She couldn't help but peek, it was not the one with her gear.

Once in place, she switched to her swords. She discovered she had to wipe her hands off, to get rid of the sweat that had formed. They slaughtered unarmed innocents they aren't human, they slaughtered unarmed innocents they aren't human. She repeated that in her head, if she was forced to kill any of them she had to put their being human out of her mind. Her heart beating in her throat, a now very dry throat, told her it wasn't working. So she just kept repeating her mantra in her head.

Edited January 12 by Civit (see edit history)

[Harding]

As Oslan stealthily navigated the shadows, his trained instincts took a momentary backseat to a realization that tugged at the edges of his consciousness. Aly's was also under he own invisibility spell—an acknowledgment of a tactical oversight. The separation, he realized, was a misstep. Reflexively, he slapped his left hand right one his helmet, where would be his forehead.

A muted curse escaped his lips, more of frustration with himself than any external force. With a swiftness that belied his bulky frame, Oslan moved with urgency, minimizing the distance between him and Aly. His call, though hushed, cut through the night.

"Aly! Aly!" he whispered, the realization etched on his face. "Wait! We should stay together. It's safer, and we can coordinate our actions better after we scouted the caravan site properly, together. We're still invisible, so there's no need to go it alone in the dark, plus it would be confusing for both of us. A perfect reciepe for disaster..." .

 

Edited January 12 by Harding (see edit history)