Peace

Peace

Status: Finished

Genre: Fantasy

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Fantasy

Summary

Ten years on from the Shadow Wars peace has seen Severine thrive under the continued leadership of King Titus. Alexander Tor’al has vanished into the footnotes of history while Nathan Drison has retired to the quiet life. For Brent T’elc, Chosen of Heironeous, life has also changed. No longer adventuring beyond the next horizon he has finally found peace in one location. Commander of an army and beloved leader in Land of Zealots he continues to walk the difficult path of Chosen. Yet Brent knows all to well how fickle finding peace can be. I have used the D&D religion of Heironeous and have done so only out of deep and abiding respect and love for it. I have written added my own analects and personality, but have tried to keep as honestly to some materials found in the D&D world as I can. This is, for legal purposes, a fanfiction under the Open Games Licence.

Summary

Ten years on from the Shadow Wars peace has seen Severine thrive under the continued leadership of King Titus. Alexander Tor’al has vanished into the footnotes of history while Nathan Drison has retired to the quiet life.

For Brent T’elc, Chosen of Heironeous, life has also changed. No longer adventuring beyond the next horizon he has finally found peace in one location. Commander of an army and beloved leader in Land of Zealots he continues to walk the difficult path of Chosen. Yet Brent knows all to well how fickle finding peace can be.


I have used the D&D religion of Heironeous and have done so only out of deep and abiding respect and love for it. I have written added my own analects and personality, but have tried to keep as honestly to some materials found in the D&D world as I can. This is, for legal purposes, a fanfiction under the Open Games Licence.

Chapter18 (v.1) - Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 28, 2016

Reads: 199

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 28, 2016

A A A

A A A

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

Getting up from his workbench Brent stretched and moved to get his sword belt. Strapping it on he said, “I’ll be back soon.” Patrick looked up from his book and grinned. “Off to meet an admirer?” Brent rolled his eyes.

“Nothing so debonair as an moonlit stroll. I want to make sure that shipment of corn and wheat that arrived today was of quality,” explained Brent. “After Thessle’s fiasco we can’t afford to have any more infected produce or we’ll be on tight rations all winter.” Crossing the room Patrick gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll keep the bed warm for you,” he promised. Brent ducked his head, a shy smile touching his lips as he nodded in acknowledgement. Turning to leave he opened the door and paused. “Patrick?”

“Yeah Brent?”

“Care to explain?”

 

Outside the door were several small boxes. Cautiously bending down, Brent flicked open one of the attached cards. Scanning the contents he frowned and checked another. “Well what is it?” asked Patrick craning his neck to see over Brent’s broad shoulders. “It seems,” began Brent regaining his footing and deliberately staring at Patrick, “that several clerics heard I liked dragon fruit and ginger biscuits. These,” he gestured towards the packages, “are their ‘tokens of appreciation’ and other such rot.” Brent grunted and shook his head with distaste. Stepping aside he watched silently as Patrick gathered and deposited the packages on the bench top by his cupboards. “That’s nice though, isn’t it?” pointed out Patrick. “Here I’ll cut one up for you.” Brent reached out a hand to stop him. “Leave it til morning,” he replied gruffly and fixed his gaze on Patrick. “Those Blesseds should know better – bribing me with gifts. I will be following this up.” As Patrick watched him leave he was left with the nagging suspicion that Brent directed his final comment at him as well.

 

 

 

The following morning when Patrick emerged from his room he saw Brent standing by the gifts, a look of intense concentration on his face. “Did you open one of these last night?” Brent said without preamble.

“Yes.” Moving to his side Patrick reached for the biscuit jar and handed it to him. Brent’s frown increased. “Did you eat any?”

“One or two. I didn’t think you’d mind,” shrugged Patrick with a yawn. “What’s the big deal, Brent?” Ignoring the question Brent lifted his holy symbol and whispered quiet words. His other hand stretched out and moved across the top of the boxes. Picking up two he separated them from the rest before moving his hand again over the laid out pile and the jar.

 

Lowering his hands, the paladin sighed. Still not looking at his companion he asked in a quiet voice, “Patrick, what have you said about me recently?” Confused Patrick scratched the back of his head. “I dunno. I was in the library last week. A couple of the guys asked me what it was like working for you, if I’d found my feet yet, that sort of thing. I still don’t see what the problem is, Brent.”Refusing to look at him Brent replied softly,

“They’re poisoned.”

“What?!” Brent waved dismissively at his disbelief.

Detect poison,” he said flatly. “I prepared it this morning.” Rousing himself he gestured to the pile of boxes. “Go hand these out to people in the street.” When Patrick didn’t move to comply Brent shoved them into his arms and gave him a hard look. “Get out. Don’t come back until you’re done.”

 

Pushing him out the door, Brent summoned a nearby guard. “Take a message to Hero Hotes, would you? He should be in the training grounds shortly.” Collecting the remaining boxes and the master list of names that he had collated earlier, Brent locked the door to his chambers and headed off to the headquarters of the civilian guards.

 

 

 

Sunset painted the horizon with a sea of red and blue. Down in the village a lull of peace descended between the hustle and bustle of the working day and the awakening of the nightlife.

 

“Come on, share a drink with me,” smiled William pouring himself an ale. Brent chuckled and pulled out his flask before sitting back in a nearby comfy chair. “Brought my own this time, Will.” The cleric took a sip and settled in the other chair by the window overlooking the village. “You know I still can’t get used to the lack of tall buildings and crowds here.”

“It’s busier than it used to be,” replied Brent looking out the window. “Still I hope we don’t grow much more in size. Our land can only produce so much.” Rubbing his chin William said, “I forgot to mention, those folk on the list you gave me? I placed them under Cleric Gould’s kind tutelage.”

“Excellent.” Brent smiled and took another swig from his flask. William chuckled darkly. “Aye you definitely have a vicious streak.” Brent rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth dry. “Like two peas in a pod. Don’t think they realised what sending you up here would do.” The high cleric flashed him a conspiring grin.

“They thought to punish both of us – well! More fool them.”

 

Lifting his mug he tapped it against Brent’s. “When are we going to let the rest of them know?” Brent sighed.

“I really didn’t handle it well at the start, did I?”

“Bah!” William waved away his apology. “Capitulate to me next time publicly and we’ll call it even.” Brent gave him a wry grin.

“I’m not approving that ridiculous proposal of yours.”

“Come on Brent, just picture it! Those whipper-snappers out on the street experiencing real life.”

“I have welfare programs, you know.”

“Even Drew’s little posse?” coaxed William. Brent smiled.

“Even them.” William sighed theatrically.

“Ah well. Can’t blame a poor old priest for trying.” The paladin laughed loudly.

“Ever with the blame game, eh?” William winked.

“Best tool in my arsenal.”

 

They sat in silence enjoying the comforting presence and stillness of each other’s company. When the sun had dipped below the horizon a knock came at the door. Stirring himself William blinked and shook his head to regather his focus on the present. “Enter!”

 

A young lass with flaming red hair came through the door accompanied by two clerics. “Ah Isabella,” greeted William rising from his chair. Dismissing the men he opened his arms and smiled when she crossed the floor to embrace him. Moving her to his side he looked down at Brent. “Brent,” he said, one arm still draped around the youth’s shoulders, “I’d like you to meet my lovely daughter, Isabella.” Getting to his feet Brent approached and shook her delicate hand in both of his while her father continued their introductions. “Isabella, this is the thorn in my side you read about. The bloody tin can annoyance that plagues my existence.” Isabella smiled shyly at the taller man. “A pleasure, Sir.”

“All mine,” Brent replied matching her soft tone. His eyes sparkled with fondness and she blushed as his lips brushed the back of her hand. “Bah! Enough of that!” growled William tightening his hold protectively on his child.

 

Brent chuckled softly and released her hand. “It seems, fair maiden, that your father fears I’ll succumb to your charms and grace.” His attention focused solely on her, he added in a low voice, “I promise not to lose sight of your innocence. At least,” here he deliberately glanced at the irate cleric, “not while in your father’s line of sight.” Laughing Brent ducked and stepped back as William tried to swat his head. “I’ll get another chair,” announced William. “Just remember I can create several gallons of ice cold water if I feel the need.” The paladin laughed and offered his arm to Isabella.

“May I escort you to the window. The stars have just come out.”

 

“From where have you come?”

“Terith. It’s a small village in Ives. I plan to go on to Primus to pursue my education after my visit here.”

“Terith,” mulled Brent. “I’m unfamiliar with the place. You stayed with family?” The young lass smiled and nodded, causing a lock of red hair to fall across her face. She blushed when Brent peered closely at her features. Reaching out a hand he tucked the loose lock back behind her ear, exposing it. “Uma il- gorga gentle arwen,” he whispered eyes boring into hers. “Thos’e en' elder nosta naa creosa e' amin ndor.” She blinked in surprise. “lle quena i' elder lambe?”

“Y' ai,” he replied lifting his hand and holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

 

Isabella looked at her father as he re-entered the room. “You did not tell me he was learned.” William lowered the chair and looked at the two of them. Brent leant back against the stone wall and directed his next question at the cleric. “lle yanwe an edhel?” He watched as William blinked in surprise.

“Half-elf actually.”

 

Taking their seats Brent leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “So why am I really here tonight, William?”

“What? A friendly drink not enough?”

Brent grinned and shook his head. “Your daughter – what’s her place in all this?” Isabella cleared her throat. “My father wrote about you. I thought you might be interested in a branch of my studies.”

“Oh?”

“Do not let my appearance fool you, Sir. I have been formally studying the higher mysteries nigh on three decades.”

“You are a cleric like your father?” questioned Brent.

Isabella shook her head and clarified, “Ordained sorceress. I have been pursuing the re-emergence of spells thought lost and the manipulation of wisdom based magic that derives from faith in a higher being.”

 

William’s cat-like smirk wasn’t lost on their audience. “Smart, isn’t she?” Brent nodded slowly processing her declaration. “How are you pursing this?” he asked hesitantly. “With caution and lore,” she replied. “The forces I wish to study are a gift, not a force to be reckoned with at leisure.”

“And how might I be interested?” questioned the paladin, weighing his every word. William smiled knowingly. “Fortnight’s Feast wasn’t that long ago.” Brent grimaced but said nought. “Anyway,” interrupted Isabella drawing the conversation back, “I believe I have found a new source of historical data from over a century ago. Apparently a vorpal wall gave way in the capital and revealed a stash with several bags of holding. Inside were books, artefacts and other historical items.”

“Where?” asked Brent, intrigued. William rubbed his hands together with glee.

“Not near Fion and his lot. Under Titus’ palace instead.”

 

“Indeed,” nodded Isabella. “I’ve been granted access with several peers. There is a chance, considering the timeline and the religious nature of recovered items so far, that we might uncover works about Tristan Devalanch or Karelyi Joceleen written whilst they were still alive.”

“That, that,” Brent stumbled on his words, unable to finish the thought. William smiled and patted his knee in a fatherly manner. “We know, son. Books of the other Chosens.” His daughter smiled and promised,

“Any I find I’ll copy and send here for you, Chosen.”

“Thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Translations

Uma il- gorga gentle arwen  = Do not fear gentle lady

Thos’e en' elder nosta naa creosa e' amin ndor = those of elder birth are welcome in my land.

lle quena i' elder lambe? = You speak the Elder Tongue?

Y' ai = A little

lle yanwe an edhel? = You joined an elf?

 

 


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