=/-\= Someplace Dark… =/-\=
The air was pitch-black.
So much so, in fact, that one could not see their hands when stretched
out in front of them. There was the smell of grass and salt on the
air, and somewhere in the distance the sounds of crashing waves could
be heard against a rock face and gulls sounded out in the air. The
ground felt uneven and rocky under the soles of heavy reinforced
boots.
The ambient atmosphere continued for several long moments before a
gravelly voice called out, "Ho, Traveler, and welcome to the world of
Faerûn. Here you will experience the glories of battle, witness the
power of the divine, and taste the wonders of the arcane. Tell me,
sire, where do you hail from?"
"I hail from the city of Mosstone along the Starspire Mountains," the
traveler replied in a deep, yet clear, voice.
"Ah," the dark voice replied. "A brave soul from the freemen of
Tethyr. Please, sire, select your armament."
Grasping at the hilt hanging at his waist, the second voice returned,
"A standard bastard sword and simple chainmail."
"A proud warrior no doubt then, sire," replied the darkness. "Let us
begin our tale."
A breeze began to blow through the dark, as small things in the
distance began to appear as the dim light grew all around. "You have
been traveling for a long time, sire, set off from Mosstone for the
grand city of Baldur's Gate, a great distance from your home. Safely
you have made it through the kingdom of Amn, and have passed into the
Realm of Sword Coast along the western edge of Faerûn. It has long
since grown dark on the road, but you have persisted following signs
towards the fortress of Candlekeep, where you plan to replenish your
provisions before making the final week of your journey to the city.
Be on your way, sire, and good luck."
As the voice had continued talking the air had dissolved into a worn
dirt road surrounded by a thick forest. In the clear sky above could
be seen a sky full of bright, blinking stars (though they were all
unfamiliar to the traveler). In the distance dim points of flickering
light danced along the road before him as well as a few several meters
off the ground, and voices muffled by distance could be heard calling
out.
Deciding that it would be best to advance, the man took off towards
what he assumed was Candlekeep. It took several minutes to advance all
the way to the source of the lights, but as he neared the shouts
became more and more clear. There were obvious cries of 'cursed
goblins' and 'damn vermin.' There were men running back and forth
across a great drawbridge, and groups could be heard moving through
the forest on either side of the road.
As the traveler neared the bridge and stepped into the pool of light
radiating from several torches, one of the men stepped forward with a
long blade in hand and called out, "Halt, there, or be slain! Name
yourself stranger!"
"I am Lancaster," replied the traveler as he raised his hands before
him, steering clear of the hilt on his waist. "I am but a tired man
weary from days spent on the road. I seek no trouble, only food and a
place to sleep."
The guard's eyes were narrowed as he approached the traveler, looking
him up and down suspiciously. "Then I suggest you find another place
to rest your head. I'm not to allow anyone but the guardians into the
city."
"Sir, my stocks are low and I've not eaten in a day," Lancaster
answered, lowering his hands. It had been a long time since he had
donned this armor, and it seemed heavier than he had remembered it
previously. He continued with one of the more common attempts to enter
a forbidden area, "I've got the gold for a room at your inn, and maybe
some for your troubles as well."
"Keep your coins, 'Lancaster of Mosstone.' I am not interested in
them," the guard spat, obviously insulted by the attempted bribe.
Lancaster cursed to himself as the guard explained, "Our walls has
been raided this night, and until we find what was taken I'm afraid no
visitors are to be allowed entrance."
"Raided? What was taken?" asked Lancaster as he raised an eyebrow.
The guard sighed and lowered his weapon, apparently satisfied that the
traveler was no threat, "An ancient tome was taken out of our
library's hallowed halls. Never before has anything like this
happened. Attempted perhaps, but never by goblins and never
successfully."
Trying to remain as grim as possible, Lancaster reigned in his
excitement. The hook had been offered. "Goblins, you say? Do they not
have a den nearby?"
"Nay. At least they haven't before. The Chauntean clerics have always
kept the forests around the keep cleansed," the guard said as he
returned his blade to its sheath and shook his head. "Of course, I
suppose they could have been forced from their lands by the
Spellplague. I'm sure not even goblins wish to live in the
plaguelands."
After thinking for a moment, Lancaster shrugged. "What if I joined one
of your search parties? Would service to the Guardians allow me
entrance?"
The guard looked very thoughtful, almost impressed as he replied, "I
cannot answer, but I can speak to the Captain. He is arranging the
next parties now. Wait here and I will return."
The man was gone for some time, and Lancaster watched as flames passed
slowly back and forth through the forest around him as they searched
for the Goblin raiders. It seemed nearly an hour had passed before
the guard returned. Several beings had accompanied him from within the
keep, and Lancaster was fairly sure his offer had been accepted.
"Lancaster of Mosstone," the guard called as he approached. "This is
Sir Kelling of the Guardians. You will be accompanying him into the
forests. I leave you to him." With that the guard turned and left to
attend to other duties.
The large man that the guard had motioned to was nearly half a head
taller than Lancaster, who already stood at nearly two meters tall. He
was decked in what looked like incredibly heavy full-plate armor, and
had a two-handed greatsword sheathed on his back. Across his chest was
painted a great golden sun. He was looking at Lancaster as though
complete unconvinced, "I trust you can handle your blade."
It had been offered as a statement, and thusly required no answer. If
Lancaster was unskilled with the weapon he would be killed by the
creatures in the forest; if he could, in fact wield it, he would be a
boon to the search party and thus welcome. Either way it obviously did
not matter to Sir Kelling.
"I can," Lancaster said with a single nod.
"Very well," the Paladin replied coolly as he turned to the other two
who had come with him. Motioning to a lithe woman in violet robes he
said, "This is Lia, a scholar from the keep. And this is Brorgar, one
of the Chauntean clerics from within the keep's temple."
The first Kelling had introduced, Lia the scholar, was startlingly
beautiful. She had raven hair that fell down behind her shoulders and
emerald eyes that glowed with a deeper power under the torch-light.
What was most curious, however, was her curious resemblance to a
Vulcan. When she had bowed her head towards Lancaster her hair had
fallen to reveal pointed tips along the top of her ears; however, he
was comforted by her own look of curiosity and the small smirk she
carried. It was obvious she was no Vulcan. "A pleasure," she had said
to him.
The latter of the introductions was for a stout man that stood no more
than chest high to Lancaster, but he had a deep red beard, cleanly
braided, that fell to his own knees. In one hand he carried a heavy
mace and tied to the other arm was a squared wooden shield. His eyes
glinted black under busy eyebrows and a large mane of hair that fell
down into a ponytail behind him. When Kelling had pointed him out he
had bowed town until his beard swept across the ground, "An honor and
a privilege, sir."
Before Lancaster could respond in kind a chime rang through the air,
"Sickbay to Doctor King. Please report to the main ward."
The fighter spun around quickly and took off almost at a jog as he
called out, "Computer, save program and end."
Hopefully this meant Aubrey's testing was just about finished. The
holodeck would make for a decent distraction, and he had been wanting
to try out the new program for several months. But he would much
rather be in sickbay when Aubrey came out.
=/-\= End Log =/-\=
Commander David King
Chief Medical Officer
USS Charon
--
Admiral Henry Jones (DK)
Fleet Commanding Officer
Home Fleet Command
