1995-12-31
Recovered original text · preserved verbatim
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NEVERWINTER NEWS
Issue # 114
Week Ending 12-31-95
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FRONT PAGE
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Congratulations to Ilustriel for winning last week's News of the Realm
contest with "Amin Sinta'".
Ilustriel has earned the choice of 4 Pearls or Access to the GOH (Guild of
Heroes) WTG!
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Hold Monsters Booth 12/26
Vic was on a streak 5 down until Tony02 broke it and the next 3 in a row won.
Congratulations to:
Tony02, TPeters122, Arc Dog, OCC Sky and KF Doom who each won 2 pearls!
-NWA Vic
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Location Hunt - 12/28/95
Congratulations to Prodrules, who was able to find and help the mayor's
family where they were "hiding in a small well-furnished room" in Nightsedge.
Prodrules wins 4 pearls and one hour online time for his humanitarian
efforts!
-NW Ember
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GOH December Booth #2
Electricity was in the air (literally ;) as December GoH booth #2 went
underway. Who could withstand the least amount of damage from two
electrifying lightning bolts? ;>
It was close, but Sarilien would stand above the rest taking only 34 points
of damage from the casts.
Sarilien wins 5 pearls! :)
-NW Strahd
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December WWAI Winners!
1st---kh0lari---39 points--25 pearls + 4 free hours
2nd---gherkin II--38 points---20 pearls +3 hours
3rd---raithe--29 points---15 pearls + 2 hours
5-pearl winners via random drawing---tgraywolf and kef galtar
-NW Ulfius & NW Ember
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Rigors booth, 12/30, 11pm est
15 Brave souls approached at my call -- "Face the Rigors of Electricity,
Fire and Ice!" The Shocking Grasps were full of zap. The Fireballs were as
hot as a furnace on a winter night. And the Ice Storms were heavy as a
blizzard. The following players braved the elements:
hatet0wait
tpeters122
iam a evil
craymandax
nightforge
wol ulath
lord kewl
v selena
phoenixjmw
kf rune
dancin sun
earl graye
runes edge
lrd legacy
s0l shugar
After the shock waves, smoke and snow cleared, nightforge staggered out with
the least damage, only taking a total of 46 points of damage from my best
efforts. Congrats nightforge. You win 5 pearls. :)
--Sparkle
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NEVERWINTER CALENDAR
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Be on the look out for those Mini Booths that seem to pop up out of nowhere!
Can you be at the right place at the right time when the NW calls for a
location?
Keep your eyes and ears open for these events! Watch for the banners!
New Player Tours:
December 31st Sunday 10:00 PM EST - Join NW Hobbes for a tour of the Realm.
Those interested should keep an eye out for the banner telling where to meet!
;D
January 3rd Wednesday 9:00 PM EST - Join NW Tempus for a tour of the Realm.
Those interested should keep an eye out for the banner telling where to meet!
;D
January 6th Saturday 3:00 PM EST - Join NW Kregar for a tour of the Realm.
Those interested should keep an eye out for the banner telling where to meet!
;D
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Top Ten Guilds that Didn't Quite Make It!
(Submitted by: Wgbt)
::Wagebolt once again bursts into Nasher's Palace holding up his TopTen
List::
"Welcome everyone to the LateShow with Wagebolt!"
<Applause>
Thank you! Thank you! And now, from the home office at the Willo Dracs,
tonights top ten list!!!!!!
::Magical special effects::
For tonights Top Ten we have...
(Here we go)
Top Ten Guilds that didn't quite make it:
10:The internet surfing monks
9:Hackers Anonymous
8:Order of OOOOPS!
7:Cheese lover's guild
6:Guild of Centipede men from Mars
5:The Lord Nasher Fan Club
4:BLECH!
3:The monthly Bridge players Guild
2:The society of Drunks
<drumroll>
1:The Kato Klan!!!!!!!
<bow>
::Throws card out window::
<crash>
(WorldWide Plate)
"Deck the Dracs" (to the tune of "Deck the Halls")
(Submitted by: FatherMatt)
Deck the Dracs with boughs of holly.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
They will not think it too jolly!
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Don we now our "plus" apparel.
Fa la la, fa la la, la la la.
While we drink from Dwarven barrels.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
See the brewing fight before us.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Strike the Drac amidst the forest!
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Feeb me not in merry measure,
Fa la la, fa la la, la la la.
Best to sift through all our treasure.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Fast away the old Drac passes.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Hail the new, ye lads and lasses.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
See we joyous all together,
Fa la la, fa la la, la la la.
Til we find we won just leather!
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
The Death of Rex!
(Submitted by: LordBanerd)
As Banerd lay with his back upon the cold stone floor of the crypts of castle
Ravenloft, he departed his mortal shell and ascended into the deep dark void
of death. Within the void he felt a presence, but of what? Suddenly hearing
the sounds of many voices, most crying his name in the tragedy of sorrows.
Banerd stood within a new realm. It was the landscape of the lands he had
freed from the clutches of Strahd Von Zarovich, but shrouded in shadow for
all he could see. The large castle was gone. Yet as he looked about he could
see glimpses of its walls standing there translucent, along with partial
stairwells and the like.
"What tis this?" Banerd stopped raising one gauntled fist examining the
newly found plating upon it with great admiration. With the exception of his
head, he now wore a gleaming suit of full plate mail armor deeply engraved
with arcane symbols and various sigils. "Alas, where art the valkyries from
on high? I am nay within Niphleheim, alas I am between the lands of life and
of death. What fate tis this?" "YOUR END! Your body may be slain, yet your
soul is here before me and I shall feast of it this day for vengeance"
Banerd turned and was fearstricken by the gleaming red eyes from within
the darkening void that hung freely in the air. "Do you not recognize me
Banerd? I am the Rex in its purest form. Your body served me well,
MUHAHAHAHAHAHA! The banestone may have freed you from me, yet the more time I
spent feasting on souls the more powerful I became. As I was Banerd Rex I
feasted on enough souls that my strength is such that at last the pathetic
amulet can no longer contain my evil. I am chaos eternal and I shall have my
vengeance by feasting on the soul that stands before my very eyes!"
Banerd stood frozen in fear at the form of the quasi-deity before him
unable to move. "Then so be it! You have stolen everything from me! If I must
perish, thou shalt go with me" As Banerd drew a gleaming blade from his
scabbard at his side, he began to speak; but was abruptly silenced by a firm
yet familiar voice that befell upon him. "Arise my son, Banerd Baneslayer.
For if ever ye twere of worth and merit, know that upon this hour shall ye
rise up as my first and the last of the arch-paladins. Let justice be done,
paladin of mine"
As his sword drew high into the air, Banerd felt a surge of mystical
energies course through his very body as he suddenly became surrounded by a
gilded light. Gripping it firmly with both hands, his blade suddenly began to
burst forth into a plume of crimson flame that shone as the stars in the
night time sky. "In the beginning there was Banerd, and in the end....there
can be only Banerd!", were his last words as he charged full speed at the
horrid creature. For a second Banerd noticed the Rex seemed as if almost to
be contemplating its actions.
Banerds blade bit deep into the void slashing open a gaping wound that
was only made apparent by the rushing ice and wind. "ARRRGGGGG! I will enjoy
destroying you here now, MUHAHAHAHA!" The Rex then loosened its ebon tendrils
and began to grip his prey all about, crushing all the while. Banerd
struggled yet somehow managed to lay his burning blade home into his target
sending forth another gout of hail upon him. "Fool, yield now and I shall
make your destruction swift and without pain." "Me yield? NEVER! DEATH TO ALL
WHO OPPOSE THE CAUSE!"
Stepping deeper into the embrace of his adversary he buried the sword of
Tyr deep into the void of the Rex. A demonic howl that would have truly
wakened the dead, scourged the air with its wail of pain. Banerd swung again
and again as there begun the sound of his plate crunching deep beneath the
ebon tendrils. In a daring move and display of swordsmanship, Banerd freed
himself from the grip of the foul beast of the netherworlds. "Mortal fool,
prepare for the fate of oblivion!" The Rex snarled as it floated in the air;
its eyes burned on with the fires of the passion of hate.
Raising the sword of Tyr again Banerd stared deeply into the gleaming
orbs of his opponent. "This tis for Tyr!" He loosened his blade in a
downwards arc upon the beast that howled in wincing pain at the strike,
flailing wildly in return. "This blow lands for my fellow brethren of
justice!" His flaming sword bent deep into the heart of the ravenous terror
setting loose another gush of ice and retching wail of agony. "This blow
lands for me; let justice be done!" As the sword raised high one last time
the two became surrounded in a pillar of light. The sword fell and scorched
its way hilt deep into the Rex.
There was but one final spray of ice and wind as the form of the Rex
slumped to the ground and melted away into a noxious vapor before his very
eyes. Only the pillar of light remained along with the paladin of Tyr within
its confines. looking up from the vanishing form of the unholy fiend, he saw
the shadow was no more and the pillar of light was now but a ray of the
shining sun arcing through the clouds. As he looked about he saw a glimmering
city that shone beneath the setting sun. He was home, and in Neverwinter.
"Tyr be praised!" he gasped.
His armor faded and blade now vanished, he beset upon the rode to return
to his blessed brethren once more. At last he was free, at last he was a
paladin again. At last there was peace in his heart, for he new that Tyr was
with him always. Unto the end, no matter how bitter that it may be.
"I'm Dreaming of a Feebed Christmas"
(Submitted by: FatherMatt)
I'm dreaming of a feebed Christmas,
Just like the ones *I* used to know.
Where my eyeballs glistened,
and comrades listened
to see if I knew where to go!
I'm dreaming of a feebed Christmas,
for every Evil that may come!
May their souls be frightened and numb,
and may all their characters go dumb!
The Face of Darkness
(Submitted by: HG Krolen)
In a small town of no worldly importance, there stood a small temple
dedicated to the worship of Mielikki. And within this temple lived a young
cleric, who's name does not matter. Every night, this young man walked to
his favorite glade on the outskirts of the town. He would sit by a tree and
gaze out at the stars, enjoying the lonely company of his goddess. He was a
handsome man, his dark brown hair falling to his shoulders, his face hinting
at a beard.
On one particular evening, as he approached his glade, he heard the soft
sound of a woman crying. As he drew closer to the sound he saw a young woman
curled up by his favorite tree, head down, sobbing. At the sound of his
approach, she looked up to him. The young cleric's heart leapt at that
sight. Never before had he seen such a beautiful and innocent visage. Her
long curly black hair fell past her shoulders to come to rest midway down her
slim form. Her dark, yet beautiful eyes, sought to draw him in, capturing him
in their quiet gaze. The young woman cried out, "Do you see, there are no
tears! No tears. Not anymore." She once again returned to her fetal
position against the tree. The young man knelt down beside her, his heart
heavy with many emotions. Without a word, he reached out gently to her.
Taking her hands and urging her on, he offered his silent comfort. She
moved quickly, embracing him tightly, her head buried in his chest. They sat
there quietly, each needing the other, for they both knew that they loved the
other, though they had just met and hardly spoken a word.
After some time, she leaned back from this incredible young man. She
looked into his eyes, but her head fell almost immediately. He reached out
again and brought her eyes up to meet his. "What is wrong", he asked. "Why
do weep so?" The woman looked down to his chest, noticing for the first time,
the unicorn symbol that was half hidden by his vest. She sobbed again,
still no tears coming to those deep eyes. She reached out and grabbed the
symbol with both hands, breaking the string that held it to the young
cleric's neck. Her scream of pain and anguish rocked the cleric back on his
heels. She dropped the holy item and sat back against the tree, sobbing some
more.
The young man sat on the ground silently, not reaching for his fallen
symbol, not moving at all. He noticed that the woman before him was
shivering. Whether from the pain in her hands or some deeper reason, he could
not say. She stared off at something or somewhere and spoke in barely a
whisper.
"A..a little over a week ago", she began tentatively, "I walked from my
farmhouse to check on my horse Minomi, who had come down with fever. When I
got to the barn, I found her kicking and whinnying wildly. I knew not what
was wrong with her, until I felt the strong hands on my shoulder, claws
digging into my skin." She paused before she could go on, but continued her
story to the young man before her. "I suddenly fealt pain in my neck and
remember hearing a dark hollow laughter. The next thing I knew, I was in a
dark and cramped place, a coffin. I panicked, thinking myself buried alive,
but I was not that fortunate. I somehow managed to break through both coffin
and ground, starlight gleaming down at me. I felt pain in my stomach and I
slowly walked back to my small village. I came upon my father's oldest
friend, a man who I once called uncle. I approached him calling his name
softly. I shall never forget the look of terror that he gave me that
night." She paused once again, summoning the strength she would need to
finish her story. "My stomach screamed in hunger. Without knowing what I was
doing, I attacked the man who was family to me. I killed him that night,
feeding off of his very life. With the hunger gone, I realized what I had
done. I fled in fear, running from something I could not flee from, myself.
I found a cave not far from the village. I knew what I had become, and knew
also what I must do. I waited in the dark cave til sunset."
The young woman began to sob once more, still no tears came to her. "I
wasn't strong enough", she screamed, "I couldn't bring myself to do it. I
knew that I had to, but I just couldn't!"
She looked at him then, at the fallen symbol of Mielikki, and began to
weep once more. The stunned cleric, knowing what this lovely creature was,
went to her once again, unconcerned with that knowledge, and held her
tightly.
Now tears did come to her. They came for this young, whom she knew she
loved. They came for herself and what she had become. And they came for the
love of her lost goddess, Mielikki. The young man embraced ever more
closely, his neck within easy reach. Though she was indeed hungry, she did
not attack. Nothing, no amount of hunger could make her hurt this man whom
she loved so deeply.
"I prayed to Mielikki for days, yet she could not answer my call. I
fear that she will never hear me again." The young cleric spoke softly, but
with steady assurance in his voice. "Perhaps she has answered your call and
mine as well. For we have found each other, no matter the differences. And
nothing, not even the gods themselves can take that away from us. If it take
me the rest of my days, I will find a way to return you to the life that you
deserve. And if I can not, then Mielikki be damned. For I will then join
you, my love".
The young couple walked silently away from the glade. They walked
north, away from the temple, away from their pasts. They walked together,
whether right or wrong, it made no difference. For in a world of pain and
death, a world that could not possibly understand, they had found each other,
and that was all they would ever need.
"Tyr Rest Ye, Harried Travelers"
(to the tune of "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen")
(Submitted by: FatherMatt)
Tyr rest ye, harried travelers:
Let fights not you dismay!
Remember our Lord Nasher
Has taught us all the way
To save overselves from Evilkind
When we have gone astray.
Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
Oh tidings of comfort and joy.
In NeverWinter prefecture
PvP was born.
It lays to rest good fighters
On each and every morn.
If thou dost not fight wisely,
Thou dies alone, forlorn!
Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
Oh tidings of comfort and joy.
When thou art jumped in Lost Hills,
Count each round just the same.
First mirror and globe; use low spells,
Thy foe's images to tame.
Then strike with 4th and 5th spells
Until his globe goes lame.
Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
Oh tidings of comfort and joy.
Deathmatch
(Submitted by: LordBanerd)
Banerd stood in the arena lookin on at the ominous black door to what
had become to be known as the death match chamber. Banerd looked on wondering
if he would be victorious against Steelbane in their confrontation. Kneeling
before the sword of justice he began to remember the forgotten heroes of the
ages past. "L Wamphyri, my lost brother. Where art thou now my friend? Shall
I too come to pass as legacy? What of Ace, also of the long gone midnight
society? And of Valdarian; shall our fates be joined this day? In the name of
Tyr and all that tis of the Knights of Justice, so shall I fight in
rememberence of thee that Justice may be done, before the might of great
grimjaw himself."
Standing he took one step into the dark chamber and dissappeared from
sight. Looking into the room he saw a loose stone in the floor with a soft
light filtering in through the gaping hole. Creeping closer to it he saw only
a set of ladders going down, and realized that this could only be the
entrance to the fiends lair. Swiftly descending down the ladder and into the
torch lit tunnel, he began his trek to destiny.
At the tunnels end the room opened to reveal a hugh chamber filled with
many decaying bodies. Knelt before an altar to Myrkul was an encloaked form
reeking of decay. Steelbane stood and turned to face his victim. Softly
pulsating jaded eyes glimmered on from within the cowl of the cloak. Reaching
to his belt a dull bloodstained flail came to view within the grip of his
glove. "So Banerd, you shall be the first of my masters enemies to die. I may
serve Vapor for now, but once you and the others are gone, I will despose of
him."
Banerd drew the sword of justice from his side and only bit down hard
trying to judge the worth of his opponent before him. "Dost ye truly beleive
that ye shall defeat all? Thine own madness shalt be thy downfall. Ye
shouldst nae hath returned to these lands. Alas now there shalt be a
palatable duel, let us get on with it. I tire of such solemn words." Banerd
whipped his cloak to the ground and drew forth his gleaming shield from his
back. "Then so be it, Banerd Baneslayer. I could use some new decor to my
chambers." Steelbane smirked as he hissed out the words.
The two combatants circled each other. Finally Banerd charged in with
his blade on high. Stee1bane stepped to the side and brought his flail in
against his opponent, only scattering of his shield. Banerd returned the blow
solidly with a gash across the creatures midsection. Hissing, Steelbane
brought down his flail crashing solidly into Banerds shoulder with a
sickening crunch. Screaming he flailed out one more and sent his blade
thrusting deep into his opponent once more. Black ichor sprayed wildly about
as he drew it free. "Damn you Banerd!" Steelbane hissed as he began to weave
his arcane maigics. A sudden flash of pain burned through Banerds body as an
ebon beam of light struck him solidly in the chest.
Reeling under the pain, Steelbane disarmed Banerd with his flail sending
the sword of justice flying across the room with a clatter. Before he could
even recover, Steelbane was upon him with lightning speed and had his flail
wrapped solidly around the Arch-Paladins throat with both hands. "Suffer
Banerd! Suffer, hahaha. It is over. You will join Valdarian and soon your
brothers shall follow." Struggling for the dagger in his belt, Banerd loosed
it and buried it hilt deep into his the beasts side. Another spray of ichor
spewed forth. The chain loosed slightly, giving him enough slack to pull
free.
Spinning around Banerd sent his shield into the face of the undead
minion. Steelbane lurched back once but brought his flail careening into
Banerds side. As the blood sprayed out in an arcing fashion, Banerd began to
make his way back to his where his blade lie. Steelbanes flail bounced wildly
across Banerds shield as he followed every step of his opponent. While he was
reaching down for his blade while keeping his shield in check, Steelbane let
his flial loose again in a wild downswinging arc. As it crashed solidly into
the knights head he feel to the floor struggling to keep conciousnous,
despite the large amount of blood that now flowed freely across his face.
"Hahahaha, Knight of Justice. You fight worse than Valdarian". Steelbane
turned and made several steps toward the altar of Myrkul. "For you my lord.
For Vapor now, me in the end." As he turned back to his fallen combatant, He
stood in shock of what he now saw. Banerd now stood covered in a gleaming
suit of plate covered with runes that shined like the morning sun. In both
hands he carried the sword of Tyr, wreathed in its crimson flame. The beast
pulled his cloak at first to shield his eyes from his brightness. "No! It
simply cannot be! What? How?", It was then the rage set into him and weaved
his dark magics once more. There was a sudden flash which followed a smile
from Banerds lips as Steelbanes spell fizled before him.
"O' minion of utter darkness, ye know not the powers of the one true god
of justice. It is often said that light can nae exist without the dark. I say
when hence first there twas darkness, now let there be light." Banerd drew
the sword of Tyr high and let it flow in a downwards slash deep into his
opponents shoulder, sending forth another spray of ichor. Loosing use of his
right arm, Steelbanes flail clatterd uselessly to the ground. "LET JUSTICE BE
DONE!" The Knight of Justice shouted as he drove his blade hilt deep into the
undead creatures chest. Gouting flames and ichor bellowed from the gaping
hole yet that did not stop him.
"For L Wamphyri" Banerds blade landed again solidly severing the arm
from its shoulder. Steelbane flailed wildly against Banerd only thumping into
his armor without any noticeable effect. "For Ace" Banerds blade struck deep
again down across into the horrid nightmares midsection disembowling the
rotting undead corpse. Steelbane loosed yet another spell against his target,
yet seemingly fizzling in the air even still. "For my brother Valdarian, his
vengeance be nigh!" Banerds blade brove down across the beasts chest with a
solid snapping sound as bones snapped at the swords strike. Steelbane fell
down to his Knees under the might of the Arch-Paladins prowess.
"This will never be over Banerd, As long as there is a Lord Vapor there
shall always be me. He brought me into unlife and shall do so again I so
swear." Banerds lips tightnend in an uneven furrow. "When ye get to hell tell
them Vapor is coming." Banerd raised his sword one last time and stood
looking down at his torn opponent. "This blow lands for me and my brethren of
the order of jusice" His blade fell solidly deep into Steelbanes neck who
only loosed a rattled gasp as it severed his neck from his rotting corpse.
As his head tumbled across the floor, the eyes still burned with their
unholy emerald light. "Hahahaha. You think it that easy?" Steelbanes body had
slowly began tp peaice itself back together. His arm had reattached itself
and some of the wounds had sealed shut. "Oh I so Steelbane" Banerd smiled as
he raised his hands to the air and called upon Tyr. "Wha.. What? What are you
doing? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?" Steelbane bellowed as a pillar of flame engulfed
him singeing his form. As the flames passed there was only the stench of
burning flesh and s dried out torn apart husk of the former Undead Lord.
"Let Tyr be praised, victory" Looking about Banerd caught the gleam of a
mailed form amidst the rubble that had constituted the altar of Myrkul. This
apparently was his chief treasure of above all. Moving closer Banerd only
bowed his head as he saw the tabard of the order of the gloden staff adorned
with a badge upon its shoulder bearing the crest of the Knights of Justice.
Banerd sighed and only lowered his head as the grief of the loss of his
brother had returned. Damn ye Val. Why didst ye have to do this? At last my
brother of the order of justice, you shall have your rest."
Crouching down, he reached out and scooped up the body of Valdarian in
his arms and turned to leave. As he looked back one last time he said a brief
prayer for all those who had fallen victim to the powers of the one called
Steelbane. Banerd stepped into the shadows of the tunnels with Valdarians
body in his arms and made his way to the hall of justice once more where his
brothers body was finally commenced to eternity. Although it was finally over
and justice had been done, he wondered....was this truly the end?
Dwyvyrn's Gift
(Submitted by: Syren Coal)
Syren wandered from merchant to merchant, her eyes alighting on gifts of all
kinds, her purse bulging in anticipation of a purchase. But none of the
treasures struck her as being "the one." The bard didn't know what she was
looking for, but she knew she'd recognize it when she saw it. Still, days
passed in fruitless searches of every shop and bazaar from Luskan to
Longsaddle with no success.
Of course, she had thought of simply writing a song, as was her customary
gift, but she had written songs for Dwyvyrn before. No, her long-time friend
deserved a very special gift this Christmas. But as time wore on, she began
to run out of ideas. She thought of the obvious: fine armor, ale, a battle
axe, or an exquisite gem, but the Chief of Clan Axepeak had all of these
things in ready supply. Just when she was starting to get desperate, she
came up with a plan.
Excited by her sudden inspiration, Syren sketched out her plan and made a
list of everything she would need. Number one on her list was the aid of a
certain dwarven goldsmith.
And so she was delighted to find Aelin in Mataga's Inn later that day.
Grabbing two mugs of Axepeak Special, Syren sat down at the dwarf's table.
"Just the dwarf I was looking for," she said, placing a mug in front of
Aelin.
"Sonn ultok, bardlass. Why ye lookin' fer me?"
"I need your assistance in a very important project. Will you help me?"
"Bah! Lass, ye ken I'd 'elps ye wit' anytin'. Wots ye need?"
"Well, I've been racking my brain for a special Christmas present from your
Chief. I know you are angry with him right now, what with the trouble with
Liz, but-"
Aelin scowled at Syren darkly. "I'll nae be doin' ennet'ing fer
dat...dat..."
Syren pushed the offered mug of ale at Aelin and nodded sympathetically. "I
understand, Aelin, but if you can't do it for Dwyvyrn, could you at least do
it for me?"
Aelin's frown deepened. "Dat's nae fairs of'n ye, lass," she grumbled.
"Well'n wots ye want? I'll t'ink it over."
"Well, like I said, I want to get Dwyvyrn something for Christmas. I
couldn't think of anything that stubborn rockhead didn't already have. Until
today, that is. I want to make him a war horn out of purest mithril, and
have it blessed by Clanggedin."
Syren stared at Aelin for a moment as the dwarf drained her mug of ale.
Aelin shook her head slightly as she sat down her mug with a sigh.
"Tis a fine idear, lass. 'Cepts dwarves nae 'as dere gods come an talks to
dem on demand an such. We 'as a shrine ta Clanggedin, but nae does 'e go
round blessin' t'ings all da time." Aelin saw Syren's shoulders slump
slightly at her words, and the dwarf felt compelled to help her new friend
anyway, despite her lingering anger at Dwyvyern. She was also certain that
the end product would be little more than your average war horn. (Perhaps
less than average if the bard actually intended to make it herself.)
"'Ere now lass," Aelin said, patting Syren's hand, "We'll tries it enneways.
Wots ye need den?"
"Well, I will need to buy some mithril from you, and rent someone's forge, if
you know of one we could use. Also, since I've never done anything like this
before, I'll need some expert guidance."
"Me forge in da shop nae is big enough fer da job, but I cin finds ye one,
and da mithril as well'n. As fer da expert, I cin 'elps ye wit dat," she
finished, pointing to herself proudly.
Syren hugged the dwarf in thanks, her excitement for the project returning.
"When can we start?"
"I 'as ta gets da forge an such...I'll come gets ye when it be time. Rents
yeself a room 'ere so's I ken whar ta finds ya."
The two women parted ways, Aelin to the Mount and Syren up to her room at
Mataga's. Minutes seemed like hours to the bard as she drew a few sketches
of what she wanted the horn to look like. Often she would get up and pace
her room, sometimes actually opening up the door and looking down the hall
for Aelin.
It wasn't until darkness claimed the skies that Aelin finally knocked on
Syren's door. Grabbing Syren's hand, all she said is "Come wit' me, lass,"
and led her through Mataga's and into the darkness. The dwarf said little as
she guided Syren down twisting trails. Occasionally she would turn back and
toss out bits of information such as "I gots ye a forge," or "Da mithril is
pure perfekshun."
Syren was too lost in her thoughts to note the path or the rise in the slope.
She was taken by surprise when she suddenly stood before the mountainside
looming up into the night sky. She could see it as little more than an
absence of stars. Aelin left her side for a moment as another dwarf
materialized in front of them. Syren heard a few words exchanged in dwarven,
and then Aelin was back, pulling her through a cleverly concealed door in the
rock.
Syren had to stoop to get in, the halls within not designed for one of her
height. Aelin moved with confidence through the turns of the familiar
passageways. Syren did her best to keep up, but not well enough to avoid a
few sighs and mutters of "Ganglies nae is built right."
At last, Aelin stopped in front of a door and signaled Syren to be quiet.
She opened the door, peeked in, then waved the bard in and shut the door
behind them.
This room was large and cavernous. The ceiling vaulted high above so that
the human could stand easily with many feet to spare. Torches ringed the
cavern, and Syren thought she could feel chilly night air blowing in from
some direction.
"It's cold in here," Syren said, rubbing her arms.
"Har! Nae werries, lass. Ye'll be soakin' in sweat soon enough." Aelin
rushed about preparing tools and working the bellows. Syren noticed the
mithril placed upon a velvet cloth, and she let her fingers glide across the
silvery metal.
"A'right now," the dwarf said, walking up behind her. "Time ta gets
started."
Syren followed Aelin's directions as best she could, but she was no
forgemaster, and Aelin feared she had led the bard to disaster by allowing
this crazy scheme to continue. The dwarf cringed each time the bard hammered
at the precious mithril. Aelin was used to the ringing music of dwarves at
the anvil, not this raucous and clumsy clanging of a human untrained in the
art. Still, she forced a grin and offered encouragement when Syren stopped
to take off her bodice.
"Ye be doin' a'right, bardlass."
"It's hideous," Syren said sourly, throwing her bodice to the ground in
disgust.
"Ye nae is finished! Ye'll nae be quittin' on me after all da trouble ya put
me through. Now gets yerself back ta werk."
Syren furrowed her brown and returned to her task. After hours of intense
labor, the bard was dripping in sweat and smudged with soot. The horn lay in
a vat of water to cool, and the bard sat with her head in her hands.
"Ain't ya gonna pull it out an looks at it?" Aelin finally asked. Syren
wearily approached the water and removed the "horn." She held the misshapen
hunk of metal up before Aelin. The dwarf was too traumatized to speak as
Syren flopped down on a nearby bench, the mangled form clutched tightly in
her hand.
Syren's eyes began to fill with tears as she spoke softly. "I'm so sorry,
Aelin. I've ruined everything. And now I'll have nothing to give Dwyvyrn
for Christmas."
Aelin struggled mightily to overcome her dismay at the destroyed mithril and
walked over to her friend. "Nae be lettin' yer eyes get all leakery on ya
lass. Tis only fer Clanggedin ta decide if'n dat...well'n dat horn be worthy
o' da chief."
Syren sighed in resignation and rose to follow Aelin. The dwarf led her once
again into the halls, casting a worried glance back every once in a while.
Syren walked behind like a zombie, her eyes fastened on the vaguely
horn-shaped clump of metal. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry when she
thought of what kind of sound the horn would make if she blew it.
Aelin stopped in front of a set of double doors that looked to be crafted of
solid marble, the seam between the two doors nearly invisible. Two crossed
axes of mithril were inset on the doors.
"Dis be da shrine o' Clanggedin," Aelin whispered. "Ye ready?" Syren nodded
and Aelin pushed open the doors.
The shrine was circular in shape inside, carved entirely out of marble. It
was simple yet serenely beautiful. Twelve huge marble pillars lined the
perimeter, the tops lost in darkness so that Syren could not tell how high
the ceiling actually was. Torchlight caught veins of mithril and gold that
snaked through the marble. A lone altar stood majestically across from the
entrance. The entire contents of the shrine looked as if it were carved from
one gigantic slab of marble.
Aelin pushed the bard in, noting with satisfaction that the human was
astonished by the elegant beauty of the shrine. Syren stepped up to the
alter, which was actually a stone sarcophagus, where she could make out
dwarven words carved into the stone.
"What does it say?"
"'Ere'in lies a kinsman. I nae ken 'is name. I ken 'is spirit. Fer 'e died
wit' honor fer me.'"
Syren nodded solemnly. She did not notice as Aelin backed slowly away to
leave her alone at the sarcophagus. The dwarf watched the human, her head
bowed, her hands cupped around the horn. Tense moments passed in silence.
Aelin shook her head sadly and looked away. And so, she didn't notice at
first that Syren was singing. She could not make out the words, for the bard
was singing softly into the bell of the horn, but Aelin swore she was
chanting in the dwarven language. "Dat lass nae ken dwarven," Aelin thought
to herself. She inched forward to hear and caught the final words.
"...Al halaur del vrin Rrin Gor Rune aern Splendarr Alagh Al arau raughbarak
del noror."
Aelin's eyes widened as she watched the bard breathe the final words into the
horn. There was a sudden flash of light and Aelin shielded her eyes from the
brilliant burst. When she pried her hands from her face, she could hardly
believe what she was seeing. Syren still sat by the sarcophagus, but the
horn was no longer disfigured. It was flawless, its silvery surface shining
despite the dim lighting. Aelin cautiously moved forward to examine the horn
more closely. Aelin gasped when she saw the mark of Clanggedin, two crossed
axes, raised neatly on the curved side of the horn.
"What does it mean?" Syren asked at last. "What I sang...what does it mean?"
"Ye named da 'orn in dwarven, lass. Splendarr Alagh. It be meanin' 'Shinin
Valor.'"
"Shining Valor," Syren repeated, a huge and awe-filled smile on her face.
"For Dwyvyrn, it's perfect."
Aelin nodded her agreement and led Syren back to Neverwinter. Neither of
them could keep their eyes off the magnificent war horn. They arrived at
Mataga's and took the horn to Syren's rented room.
"Now I 'as a gift fer ye, bardlass," Aelin said, pulling a thin strip of
supple leather from a pouch on her belt. "Tis fer da horn...so's da chief
cin wears it."
Syren smiled and hugged Aelin tightly. She affixed the leather strap to the
horn and carefully wrapped it in a cloth of blue velvet. She folded back the
cloth for one last look, and the horn glinted at her brightly.
"Shining Valor," the bard whispered.
"Splendarr Alagh," Aelin said, reminding Syren that this was a dwarven
treasure, as it was meant to be.
A Harper Request - Mission for Cantora
(Submitted by: HG Tarl)
"Ahhh, tis good to be back home again, hey Girl?", Tarl said as he leaned
forward, gently nuzzling Silvermyst's soft gray ear. Nickering her
agreement, the Lightning steed increased her speed as they passed the
weathered, hand-painted sign of the Longsaddle Stable and Equine Supply Shop.
"We sell Foghweigh Stirrups" proudly blazed in bold script beneath the shop's
horseshoe logo.
Dismounting as they entered the stable, the weary Harper grabbed the rusted
oil lamp, turning the wick adjustment to full height as he guided Silvermyst
to her stall. Tarl removed her saddle and blanket, then reached for the curry
comb as Silvermyst eagerly dug into her much deserved dinner of oats and
barley.
Brushing the burrs, and travel-dust out of her smooth silver-flecked hair,
Tarl noticed a streak of movement in the far corner of the dimly-lit stable.
"Who goes there!" Tarl exclaimed as he dropped the curry brush and reached
for his flail.
Slowly stepping from the shadows of the nearby hay bails, a small child,
filthy, and dressed in tattered rags said "Ppplease sssir, dddon't hhhurt
mmmme." "Iii wwwas iiinssstuu.., aaasked ttto bbbring tttthis ttto yyyou"
she stammered, as Tarl took down the lamp and moved towards the tiny
messenger. Kneeling down beside the little girl, Tarl thought "she kinnot be
much more'n ten winters".
"Tis all right lass, I'll not hurt ye" he assured the small child. "Now,
lets get ye up to the Gilded Horseshoe Inn, and see if'n Minerva kin get ye a
much needed bath, and perhaps some food."
The small girl's eyes went wide at the mere mention of food. "Ooooh, ttthat'd
bbbe gggreat" she squeaked, her small, grime-caked mouth breaking into a
joyful smile.
Closing the door to Silermyst's stall, Tarl took the small urchin's grimy
left hand and led her the short distance to the Longsaddle Inn. Minerva,
Dinerva, Myleighia and Mama Snuggler's, Trappy's buxom spouse and Matron of
the Snuggler Clan, quickly took the young girl from Tarl, shooing the Harper
off to his favored corner table with a cold mug of Ale, and a steaming bowl
of Griffon stew.
The stew was spicy and hot. Tarl dug in with a hearty appetite, enjoying the
large chunks of tender Griffon laced with onion's and several garden
vegetables.
Minvera returned from the kitchen, carrying the child's filthy rags. "M'lord
Tarl", she began, as she refilled his now empty mug. "The child clutched
this in her right hand" Minerva said, handing Tarl a small silver badge. "Why
this is the badge of a Luskan officer!" Tarl remarked as he closely inspected
the medallion.
"And the poor little thing had this tucked away inside these tattered rags
she wore as a dress" Minvera said, handing Tarl a badly stained scrap of
cowhide.
Turning the scrap over, Tarl noted an almost unreadable message, which
appeared to have been written in blood.
"Orc inva.... Not Trollmoor.. OM
"Bloody Scar Tribes!" "They're being brought...East...Luskan not..."
Tarl could but wonder about the fate of the one who scribbled the hasty
warning. "Thankye Minvera", the Harper said with a grim smile, "I'll have a
Harper investigate this at once!".
Not wishing to delay, Tarl immediately pinned a missive for one of
Neverwinter's newest Harper apprentice's.
La Cantora,
M'lady, we've received this ominous note from a young child. She clutched
this badge, which I believe to be of a Luskan Officer, in her hand. Please
investigate this matter, do what ye kin to aid, and report yer findings back
to Harper Hall. This tis yer first mission, but we have faith in ye M'lady,
and may ye have Lady Tymora's blessings as well.
Signed,
HG Tarl
Betrothed of Sharna
Harper Master Trainer
Cleric of Tymora
Giver of Quests
Tarl deftly attached the bloody note, and tarnished badge to the missive
scroll, sealing it with hot wax from his table's candle.
Scroll in hand, Tarl left the Gilded Horseshoe Inn to deliver the missive to
Harper Hall.
HG Tarl.
The Dream
(Submitted by: Lake Mist)
Before a minute past, I was fast asleep,
With new dreams starting right away;
The Lost Hills looking for shadows to keep,
Rising out of the ground to start a new day.
Staring at the round entrance,
Symbols used to ward of horrors;
Ringed the large opening, in a stance
Like those on a magician's grimoire.
A dragon wound it's way around
With trees, suns, plants and water;
Jaguar, boar and hypogriff abound,
Warning of the danger and the slaughter.
One quest to the east and north,
Guarded by owlbears at first;
Getting the pendent and setting forth,
But fighting them again is the worst.
For evil lies in hidden corner,
To jump the unwary traveler
On his way to Triboar,
And steal the soul of the wanderer.
But the dracs still lie to south and west,
Banshee all round the hills,
You will be put to the test,
To slay the black and darkness thru the shrills.
To gain the gate is but the first step,
One must still be clever to find Triboar Under
And face the quest with Holders crept
These are very dangerous, so do not blunder.
North of Triboar and west of Longsaddle
Lie the Neverwinter Woods and many roads
With which one may follow to battle;
Traveling alone is a burdensome load.
Since the day I was born
And until my judgement day,
To fight for right and good I've sworn
There is no evil that can make we sway.
I awoke in a sweat and a smile
Knowing that I must see these things
And travel the long and dusty mile
To see what the world can bring.
The longing for somewhere new to start,
If I could change my life, what would I impart.
The Wanderer
(Submitted by: Lake Mist)
White pillars, as pure as clouds,
Rising up, supporting arches carved with reliefs,
Showing the spelndors of the world around,
Great temples to worship beliefs.
These are places I wish to see,
Paths to travel cross rocky hills;
The thiefs words stir the blood in me,
Am I meant to do more? I will.
The path to the south is long,
With shadows of a few scraggly trees;
Barren ground and rocks beyond,
Not much shelter and little breeze.
The landmarks I used all my life
Are useless now in this waste;
I hope this path not be filled with strife,
I saw the hiils to the south in my haste.
Phlaren the wanderer, past this way
And out of pity and a need for companionship,
Asked that I join her travels this day
And journey with her on this trip.
I had been silent for so long,
Could this finally be what was needed,
To make me speak, the silence begone,
Remove the fear, my soul to be greeted?
Two strangers in as many days,
Two not knowing anything of me,
Why should they help break the stays,
Is there really more in this world to see?
Like an old splinter sliding out of flesh,
I can feel my old life fading away;
It is exhiliarating and fresh,
A jaunty sensation that I want to stay.
Phlaren and I talked for hours,
I hadn't realized what I had missed;
We walked on thru summer showers,
By a summer storm we were kissed.
We walked south, rising higher and higher,
Into the long range of hills and clouds;
The days were warm, the nights lighter,
The journey south hidden in a clouds shroud.
The longing for someone new to bring,
If I could change my life, what would I sing.
Priest of Tymora
(Submitted by: HG Galadin)
In the distance, a trumpet sounded as Galladin Aureate, Son of Auric of
Daggerdale, approached the imposing iron gates of Neverwinter. Pulling back
gently on the reigns on his magnificent palomino, the young Cleric Priest
of Tymora stretched his brawny frame high in the saddle and, shielding his
steel-blue eyes from the midday sun, squinted up at the battlements atop the
scarred granite walls for the source of the herald.
All along the parapet, multicolored flags and banners snapped in the brisk,
icy wind that swept downward along the Sword Coast of Faerun from the remote
northern hinterland of Icewind Dale. Beyond the four foot thick walls, the
lofty spires of a grand palace stretched skyward, its tallest minaret
concealed in the clouds.
At a midpoint above the drawbridge that traversed a wide murky moat
encircling the city, a solitary sentry raised his lance in greeting and
beckoned Galladin to enter.
"Well Chance," Galladin chortled, leaning over to whisper into the palomino's
ears that perked at the sound of his master's voice, "It seems we've been
granted permission to enter." Then, gently spurring the stallion to
advance, the flaxen haired priest raised his gold plated shield bearing the
holy symbol of Tymora, Goddess of Good Fortune, and cantered proudly through
the gate.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
At a corner table in the shadows of Strider's Tavern, one of several
boisterous ale houses in Neverwinter where wayfarers congregated to eat,
drink and boast of their perilous adventures, Galladin sat savoring a
tankard of hearty Elven meade glancing obliquely at the hodgepodge of
patrons. The tavern was particularly crowded this evening and, as he
watched the young and full-bosomed serving girls move fastidiously from
table to table carrying trays laden with food and drink, Galladin noted the
odd mixture of humans, elves and drawves of all classes who, for a short
while, set aside their differences in alignment - good or evil - to enjoy
the comforts the inn had to offer.
All around the room, swords, flails and polearms were prominently displayed
and daggers readied beneath shielding cloaks should the unstable accord be
shattered without warning by a heated word or scathing glance between rival
clans or races. His own golden mace at his side, Galladin smirked as more
than once this night he witnessed a brimming serving tray find its place in
the lap of some inebriated scoundrel, often followed by a sharp dagger at
his throat, who sought intimate services from a serving wench that was not
on the house menu.
"I wonder," Galladin thought aloud, "whether any of these men or women are
the ones I seek?"
"Pardon?" a soft, melodic voice whispered from behind him. "Who is it ye
seek M'lord?"
Looking over his shoulder then rising quickly from his chair, Galladin faced
a beautiful young woman dressed in an azure blue gown of fine Berduskan
silk, trimmed with ivory lace. "Forgive me M'lady," he said bowing, "My
mind was wandering."
The young raven haired woman curtseyed in response to Galladin's bow, glanced
at the empty chair at his table, then smiled at the well-dressed cleric.
While Galladin's large, angular features were not what most women would call
handsome, his forthright honest appearance was reassuring to most men and one
that women would come to admire in time.
"Forgive my manners as well," Galladin blushed, "Wouldst thou care to join
me?" he asked pulling out a chair and offering it to the lady.
"Thank you," she replied while seating herself across from Galladin. "That
is most kind of you. The inn is quite crowded this evening, is it not?"
"My name is Lady Briana," she continued before Galladin could reply, "I do
not believe that I have seen you here before?"
"Nay M'lady, I only arrived in your city today. I am Galladin Aureate of
Daggerdale."
"Daggerdale?" she smiled. "Daggerdale is a long way from Neverwinter. What
brings you so far from home?"
Catching the attention of a passing waitress, Galladin ordered himself
another tankard of meade and a goblet of white Silverymoon wine for Briana
before answering. "Adventure M'lady, and to repay a debt. I come seeking
the Harper's."
"Ah, the Harper's . . ." Briana responded. "I know of them. They are a
small company of adventurers that is rumored to operate out of Longsaddle.
I myself am a squire of the Knights of the Eternal Flame, or KEF as we are
known hereabouts."
"Rumored ye say?" Galladin responded raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Aye. The Harper's . . .," Briana said, pausing a moment to sip her wine.
". . . are said to be a semi secret organization that fights evil covertly
in the realms and does not adhere to the trappings of the other, larger
guilds here in Neverwinter. It is also rumored that they are growing
rapidly. Sources within the palace confirm that Lord Nasher himself has
stated that Harper activity has been on the increase as of late and that
they are fast becoming a force to be reckoned with in Neverwinter."
"But, what is this of a debt?" she concluded, her gold flecked green eyes
staring across the table at Galladin, piercing deep into his soul.
Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Galladin smiled at Briana and related
the events of his youth which prompted his entrance to the priesthood and
journey to Neverwinter. "As a young boy," he began, "I was raised in a small,
peaceful mining community on the northern fringe of Daggerdale in the
Dalelands. For near on half a hundred years the community thrived under the
benevolent leadership and protection of High Constable Irreph Mulmar. My
father, Auric Aureate was a local gold merchant whose reputation as a fair
and honest trader in precious metals became renown not only in the Dales,
but as far away as the great cities of Phlan and Comyr."
Stopping to take a long draught of his ale, a sullen look came over
Galladin's face as he continued. "Then the evil Zhentarim soldiers and
their accursed mages arrived from the east and the much chronicled 'Time of
Troubles' began. Irreph Mulmar was imprisoned and tortured by the Zhents in
Daggerdale Keep as was my father and many other prominent merchants. High
taxes, akin to robbery, were imposed on the town's citizens and those that
refused to pay were either executed or incarcerated in the keep's black
dungeons. Local officials were unable to resist the Zhent occupation until,
one momentous day, strangers arrived in town."
Though only a boy, Galladin remembered the strangers well as he served tables
in the Shepard's Rest Inn to support his mother and sister. "Harpers they
were called, brave warriors who were believed, until now, to exist only in
tavern tales told late at night in front of a roaring hearths. No one had
ever seen a Harper, yet here they were, flesh and blood heroes ready to
raise their swords in defense of their town."
"There was Sharantyr, the beautiful Knight of Myth Drannor, the Harpers
Belkram and Itharr and none other than the sage Elminster himself. From the
safety of the treetops around the keep, I watched as the Harpers rallied the
people of the town and stormed the Zhent stronghold. Many a Dalesman and
woman died that day, but the gutters and streets ran red with Zhentarim
blood. Irreph was freed and the evil usurpers slain."
"I knew then," he grinned, "that I wanted to be a Harper and upon completion
of my instruction at the Temple of Tymora, I bid farewell to my family and
friends and rode west to Neverwinter."
"I see," Briana said smiling and rising from her chair; a new found respect
for the handsome stranger. "Forgive me, but the hour grows late and
tomorrow I begin a quest of my own."
"Of course M'lady, I did not mean to rattle on so," Galladin apologized
taking hold of the ladies hand and kissing it. "May Tymora guide and bless
thee until we meet again."
This time it was Briana's turn to blush. "Aye," she smiled looking back at
Galladin as she glided gracefully across the room towards the door of the
tavern, "I trust that will be very soon."
Depositing a handful of gold coins on the bar to pay his tab, Galladin
departed the smoke filled inn. "Ye have smiled on me this day Lady Tymora,"
he said gazing up at the likeness of the Lady Briana he beheld in the
blanket of stars that formed a sparkling indigo canopy over the city. As his
eyes followed the Tears of Selune pass across the night sky, his eyes fell
upon the towers of Nasher's palace.
"Hmm...," he murmured, moving swiftly along the narrow cobblestone streets
until he came to a halt at the rear of the palace. With a single bound,
Galladin scaled the outer wall of the palace and raced unseen up a
serpentine stairwell that led to the open roof of a towering spire.
Searching the horizon in all directions, he stopped when his gaze fell upon
the long winding road that traversed the mist shrouded moors of Floodblest,
the dark woodland of Night's Edge, and the dense, lush forest that was the
Neverwinter Wood.
Far off in the distance, in the small town of Longsaddle, a trumpet sounded.
Galladin Aureate
Priest/Mage of Tymora
Harper Apprentice
The Harper's Guild
December 27, 1995
The Realm
(Submitted by: Morngrym)
We live in the Savage Land
A place that indeed does justice
To the name it has been given
Yet it is so full of beauty and wisdom
Still, the gentle must take up arms
Such a strange contradiction.
We seek a calm, through aggressive actions
The sheathing of thirsty conflict
Elusive to us all...as bright shadows
Escaping through our ever-grasping hands
As our hearty determination grows
We stem the murky tide...as best we can
With swords and shields and outstretched bows
One fine day we shall cast our weapons aside
Finding the hidden peace we long for
Within autumn's colorful woods
And lie in the bed that has been made
Like a scarlet rose, living in the warm sun
No more wilting in the shade.
By Morngrym Verigost
Baron-Knight
Bard of KORT!
THE MEANING OF THE KNIGHTS OF JUSTICE
(Submitted by: LordBanerd)
A lot of people think they know what it means to be a member of the
Knights of Justice. It isnt just about playing a game. We do play NWN like
its a drug and RP often like there is no tomorrow, but there is so much to
it. KOJ has never been a guild. A lot of people have wondered what the
difference between KOJ being an order vs a guild. Well there are some major
differences on a technical side. For one every member helps to run KOJ. Every
single member helps in making decisions via majority vote. The others are
much deeper but the best way to truly understand the difference is to be a
member. In KOJ everyone is equal. No member is elevated over another, not
ever.
KOJ is a very tightly knit group. The majority of its members are
exceptionally close on an OOC basis. This happened as a result of that fact
that even though we are all just playing a game on-line, OOC seems to crop up
sooner or later. After all, it is a lot easier to talk to someone over a
computer than by voice or face to face being there are less inhibitions
online. I seem to remember two OOC deaths that happened and how people were
affected by it. KOJ was there for people when that hit. Not as counselors,
but as friends. To be there for others in times of strife and pain.
The group is very much like a family IC and OOC. Varying members have
been there for one another through some very sticky OOC situations, as well
as on-line ones. No matter what though, KOJ has always stood its ground and
been there, never giving up for one another or the cause that is beleved in.
There is also the aspect of bettering the game. KOJ encourages role-play
in the spirit of the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2nd Edition game. It is
the hope and goal of KOJ that someday playing Neverwinter would be like
sitting down at a table and playing the real game. There have and will be
future extensive events to even further strive to achieve this goal. T
KOJ is also the only group in NWN that role-plays true knights. For one
all knights belonged to one order or another in our own history. This is true
of KOJ in that we are of the order of justice. Next, we also follow the code
of chivalry that the knights of medeival europe strictly adhered to as it
stands in its written form. We as well beknight others as knight to knight
and have even created a fuedal caste system within our structure that
resembles a working model of the fuedal system within our knighthood.
Although this letter details many things about KOJ, none of it can ever
be truly understood until you feel it for itself. When the knights unify to
quest there is a great camraderie that fills the air and a passion for high
adventure as well as role-play. Often many people see things and think to
have comprehension of that which they see, KOJ too is as a book. You will
never truly see it as it is, until you open up the pages and start to read
its tale.
There are many things to be said of the quality of knights. I have seen
many people make the attempt at role-playing knights but to this day there
are few who are worthy of that title, to be called knight. In closing I will
say this, wherever there are those who chose to stand up for those who would
dare love their fellow men, those who would defend the helpless, and bring
peace where there is strife and contention. It is these things where the
knights of justice can be found. For as long as there are these things, there
shall always be, the knights of justice.
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