Hello, denizens of the North.  Thank you to those of you who have kept things chugging in my periodic absences.  Of the many, many things I neglect in my life, you are possibly my favorite.  Er, um, not "favorite to neglect".  That came out wrong... You know what I mean.  As I was saying...

With the loss of the GameSpy service, I've finally begun feeling Neverwinter Night's breath of mortality.  I wouldn't be so excitable as to call it the end of days, but it definitely caught my attention and got me thinking.  It won't last forever. 

These days, most here split their gaming time.  NWN has long since ceased being the end-all-be-all of our gaming day, I'd imagine.  But, many of us have forged life-long friendships (or more, in a few cases) through our little world, and still play with those people on a  regular basis.  Some come to share their gaming accomplishments or new discoveries.  This is still a place of friends, however little or much NWN manages to be a part of that.

And so I was thinking, maybe that can continue in a more official capacity.  Perhaps lotn.info could evolve into something of a "cross-game guild" community.  A site dedicated to LotN on NWN, for as long as that may last, and everything else we play.  Organize online tabletop games, form MMO RP guilds, find a mate for a quick deathmatch, or just the usual GD nonsense.

The whole thing is still at the "half-baked scheme" stage.  How to go about such a project is still anyone's guess.  Broader forum organization?  Better scheduling tools (something we've always wanted)?  I'm still just brainstorming. 

The few I've rambled at one-on-one seemed generally positive on the idea.  It's my web space, but it's your community, so I'm really more interested in your thoughts.  I'm not going to shove something down everyone's throats that they don't want.  (I've already been forced to do that too often through mandatory forum updates/replacements.)  If you do like it, ideas are welcome.

This is less of a character story and more of a writing exercise.  I've been forcing myself to practice writing combat scenes, because they are deceptively difficult to pace.  So, not a lot of plot here.  Just people hitting things with sticks.  I still need more practice, but that doesn't mean I can't share a few here and there.  Enjoy.

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Arla stood ready for battle.  In the half-elf’s right hand she brandished a cutlass shimmering with magical force.  Around her left hand, glowing runes of warding hovered in rotating patterns to form a sturdy barrier.  She wore her navy-blue, double-breasted, captain’s coat open so its long tails could easily fill with the whipping sea breeze.  Her free-flowing, golden-toned hair did much the same.  She felt invigorated, free and overjoyed to sate her swelling battle-lust.

Arla Shay intended to quit piracy and go straight.  She considered perhaps pursuing an academic career that utilized her arcane talents for more than simple combat.  The boat beneath her feet had been the beginning of that excursion and was bound for Neverwinter. 

That is until piracy caught up with her.

A dozen armed men poured from the adjacent vessel.  The smell of freshly burnt gunpowder accompanied the thundering boom of cannons.  Demands for unconditional surrender clashed with eager cries for blood.  The strangeness of standing on the defender’s deck did little to sway the familiar passions of seafaring combat.

The first pirate to engage her did so alone.  “Ye lassie finger-wigglers shoulda stayed down in the kitchen,” he scoffed.  He smelled easy prey in Arla.  His blade arced with clumsy power for her torso.

Arla thrust her open palm at the assault.  Lights and runes swirled like embers from a fire.  The approaching blade halted in mid fall.  All momentum failed it, leaving the assailant off balance and confused.  An agile spin by Arla brought two lightning-fast cuts through his abdomen.  Each was accompanied by an explosion of blue-flame which hurled the wounded man to the deck.

The call came out for spell support.  On the opposing ship, a tanned woman with dark hair and flowing, revealing garb answered that call with a cocky demeanor.  She leveled a brass rod with a dragon’s head and began to chant.

Divination magic augmented Arla’s sight.  She made use of that fact to watch the sorceress’s lips.  The incantation was startlingly familiar.

“Fireball!” Arla shouted at the top of her lungs.

Men dove for cover wherever it was available.  Arla too found some protection in the ship’s mast, but it would not suffice.  She searched inside of herself for the heart of the arcane power that saturated her being. 

Though these powers gave her great power, seemingly at will, her ability to truly channel them into discrete effects was untrained and very limited.  The power she sought and found was one of her three signature “mantles,” the Mantle of Resolve.

Words unfamiliar even to her rushed across her lips.  With a quick gesture of her free hand, a nimbus of motley-colored light enveloped her body.  Ethereal images of powerful blizzards, flickering embers and thundering storm clouds all intertwined into a swirling miasma of colors and shapes.  When the hostile blast of fire exploded over her, even the low roaring sound of it consuming the air around her seemed muffled and unthreatening. 

The mantle was consumed and a wave of painfully hot air threw her back against the deck.  Her skin felt tender to the touch.  The forceful impact left her gasping for air.  Still, she was alive, which was more than could be said of the blast’s other victims.

The sorceress became an immediate target.  Arrows flew at her in number.  She yawned playfully as they passed harmlessly through her.

Arla called upon her second mantle, the Mantle of Judgment.  She uttered another incantation and the intricate fabric of the Weave, the blanketing force behind all magic, became clear to her.  The sheer complexity of what she saw was an unbearable strain on her mind.  She had only seconds to follow it to its source.

The source of the illusion became clear only moments before the enchantment collapsed.  With the position fresh in her weary mind, she picked up a bow and arrow from a charred sailor.  Her arrow flew straight and with purpose.  Its head flickered with the same deadly, blue flames as her cutlass.  It then came to a sudden halt, answered by a shrill screech.  The sorceress’s shape appeared around the arrow and then collapsed lifelessly.

Fatigue began to wear on Arla, but her fight could not end yet.  Her crew was easily outnumbered, two to one.  One magical mantle remained to be channeled.  Now was an appropriate time to do so. 

The Mantle of Valor was not so much a spell to be cast as an outpouring of raw, magical might that consumed every inch of her mind, body and soul.  As its arcane bidding uttered autonomously from her lips, brilliant energy rippled across her body in wild, uncontained torrents.  Light shimmered in the wake of her movements as she picked up her cutlass.  What were formerly people and objects in her vision became little more than abstract opportunities for destruction, with only the vaguest boundaries defining friend and foe.  Contrary to popular sayings, discretion was not a part of the Mantle of Valor.

She closed on her first victim with unnatural speed.  He turned in time to be rent clean in half with a reckless, savage blow.  His blood-curdling scream turned startled heads at all ends of the ship.  The blood-splattered visage of the small half-elf woman evoked a supernatural feeling of dread.  In that moment of ship-wide hesitation, she lunged, shoulder-first, into the next pirate’s sternum.  He doubled over as all air escaped his chest.  She followed up with a wild haymaker to his jaw with her ward.  Bones shattered against the magical wall of force and the pirate tumbled over into the water.

Men retreated from Arla’s rampage.  She offered no quarter to any enemy.  Those who escaped did so only at the expense of slower allies.  Her skin turned blades.  Her swings hewed bone.  When the slaughter came to an end, the enemy ship was pulling away into the distance.  She remembered nothing of her victims beyond the overwhelming need to end them.  Every inch of her body ached at the slightest movement.

Her shipmates looked on in dismay.  Though she had saved many of their lives, each feared for his own fate in her presence.

When she could muster the strength, she answered their stares with an uneasy laugh.  “So, how ‘bout them pirates?” she asked awkwardly.

None replied.

“Tell you what,” she conceded.  “How about you just let me off at the next port?”

That arrangement seemed more than agreeable.

It’s easy to be a good person when nothing is on the line.

“Huh?”  Limwen pulled herself from a daydreaming daze.  The young moon elf woman was in blood spattered, plate armor beside a waning bonfire.  It was well into the night and her only companion was a male elf named Aragos.  He was dressed in similarly besmirched war attire.

Aragos repeated himself.  “I said it’s easy to be a good person when nothing is on the line.  You were complaining about some of the other mercenaries being mean to you.  I’m just saying they really aren’t all that bad.”

Limwen stared at the ground with a look of embarrassment.  “I guess I was.   I'm sorry, I was just talking to myself.”

Aragos gave a friendly smile.   “If the two of you would like to be left alone—”

“No.  I would rather have the company, if only to keep from looking like a fool who talks to herself.”

“If the lady insists, then I am here at her whim.”

Limwen laughed.  “You are the first person to call me that since I got here.”

“What, a lady?” asked Argos.  “I felt the description fit.  Though, I must admit, you are the first woman mercenary I’ve met who didn’t bite back with a sarcastic jab or roll your eyes in disgust at the term.”

“Are you sure they didn’t just think you come off a bit cheesy?”

“Alas, my cheese is my curse.  But no, I feel it has more to do with their impressions of themselves than of me.  The average woman warrior regards their gender as something of a stigma—a hurdle to be jumped and left behind.  I wouldn’t be so brash as to call this men’s work that we do, but the description ‘manly’ is apt.  Traditional notions of what it means to be a lady are a poor fit to the battlefield.”

“So, they think me weak?”

“They think everyone weak until they prove themselves.  Since you’re a vulture, that probably won’t happen, but don’t let it get you down.”

She furled her brow.  “Vulture?”

Aragos chuckled.  “An endearing term for mercenaries without a company.  It implies you follow companies around, feeding off whatever easy scraps of a job you can find, much the way a vulture stalks rotting—”

“I get the metaphor now, thanks,” she interrupted.  “I don’t like to commit to something if I’m not ready to follow through to the end.  Right now, this is just work, until something better comes along.”

“I think most of us felt that way.  It’s always ‘one more job’, looking for that payday that will set us straight.  Truth is, most of us will be doing this for the rest of our lives—likely, our very short lives.  What future are you saving towards, if I may ask?  A farm?  Your own shop?”

Limwen hesitated.  “I don’t—”

She was cut off by the sound of a horn.  “Banites at the gate!” came a cry from the wall.

“Damn!” shouted Aragos.  “Didn’t we kill enough of them this afternoon?”  He grabbed his bow and quiver and broke into a sprint.

Limwen retrieved her axe and shield and gave chase.  “The Captain isn’t back yet.  We’ve only got half of our men.”

“He won’t be back until morning.  It’ll have to be enough.”

Limwen pondered a moment before a grim expression covered her face.  “The call came from the north wall and there’s only one road down the north face.  I don’t think he’s coming back at all.”

The town of Granite’s Reach was nested amidst rocky, jagged cliffs.  Though the west gate lead to a major trade road after half a day’s march, the north side was only accessible through a long and narrow crevice.

Aragos winced at the thought, but put on a strong face.  “Captain Grey is resourceful.  I’m sure he found a cave or the like.  What’s important right now is protecting Granite’s Reach in his absence.”  He paused for a moment.  “Attacking the north wall is a huge mistake.  We should still be able to hold them with what we have.”

Limwen and Aragos were the first to answer the call, but they could hear the rest of the mercenaries and guards rushing to their side.  A town guard commander was directing archers to positions on either side of the crevice and along the wall.  Though it was dark, Aragos’s keen vision made out over 200 enemies amassed in the crevice.  Most wore dark, heavy armor embossed with the hand of the evil god Bane.  With what remained of the Grey Knights, other mercenaries and guards, Granite’s Reach had only about 75 men in its defense.

He then picked Captain Grey out of the crowd, followed by several more of his companions.  “Hold your fire, they have the Captain!” he shouted.

“Good eye, Aragos,” yelled Captain Grey.  “Now order the men to stand down and open the gate.”

“In the nine hells we will!” Limwen shouted.

Aragos motioned with his hand for her to settle down.  “Begging the Captain’s pardon, but the lady does have a point.  That would make defending Granite’s Reach rather difficult.”

“Our contract is with the Banites now,” the Captain replied, “and I promise you they’ve got a lot less patience for your lip than I do, Aragos.  Granite’s Reach is theirs now.  Do as you’re told.”  

By this point, most of the men had arrived and were at the ready.  The Captain cleared his throat and spoke to them at the top of his voice.  “Men, Bane pays our wage now.  Kill the guards and anyone who has a problem with our new arrangement.”

“Hold that order!” shouted Aragos.  “We can still free the Captain.”

“Don’t bother,” Limwen said in disgust.  “He planned this from the start.  Take half of the men out into an ambush, conscript them under the sword, kill any who disagree, then take the doubled force back here to do the same.”

“Smart girl you found, Aragos,” the Captain said with a chuckle.  “Now, open the gate before the offer expires and we kill everyone.”

One of the Grey Knights made for the gate to open it.  

Aragos dropped him with two arrows.

Sides were chosen and fighting erupted.  Limwen grabbed the breast plate of the guard commander and pulled them face to face.  “Get those archers in place!  If that gate comes down, everything you love will bleed and burn.”  She gave him a shove, readied her battleaxe and rushed down the wall to join the melee for the gate.

It was Grey Knight versus Grey Knight.  If not for a few town guards, she would not have even guessed which side was the aggressor.  

She met with her first opponent, a man near twice her size.  He swung first.  It carried immense power, but a calculated tilt of her shield turned it.  Turning with his momentum, she brought the shield firmly against his face.  His neck was now exposed.  Her axe struck like a snake at the opening.  It sunk deep into flesh and bone.  Warm blood exploded in every direction and the behemoth collapse in a limp mound.

She had longed to prove her worth to these people.  Despite doing so, she gained no pleasure from it.  She felt no sorrow for her victim.  She felt no fear for her life.  She felt no rage.  She felt sterile and emotionless.  There was only the battle.  In this trance, she felled foe after foe.

There was a powerful thud.  Wood bent and splintered as the gate was assaulted from the other side.

“What’s going on out there, Aragos?” she demanded.

As she called, Aragos, the guard commander—now wounded with an arrow in the shoulder—and half a dozen men were coming down the wall.  Aragos loosed an arrow into Limwen’s current opponent.  “Some of our cliff archers went rogue,” he said, short of breath.

Aragos’s allies followed suit and quickly eliminated the remaining threats with a volley of arrows.

“This gate is lost,” Aragos continued.  “We need to get everyone out the west gate now.”

The gate shuddered and buckled under another blow.

“Now!” he emphasized.

Most who sided with Captain Grey had been killed, but it came at a high cost.  Only two dozen defenders now rushed through the town to the west gate.  The guard commander blew his horn as they went, announcing for all civilians to evacuate immediately.

“We’ll hold them here,” Aragos announced as they reached the west gate.  The heavy traffic and spring rains had turned the trade district into a swamp-like mud pit.  “We need to make sure the people get a head start on the Banites.  In their heavy armor, the mud should slow them down and make them easy targets for our arrows.  Come, to the wall, and douse the lights.  We’ll need all the concealment we can get.”

The north gate collapsed under the battering.  A flood of attackers immediately poured in like a hive of insects.  A hundred men strong continued on to the west gate for the final confrontation.

Arrow after arrow loosed into the horde of metal clad invaders.  Banite bodies began to gather like sand to a dune.  Slowed but not halted, they advanced.  They could not see their enemy, but through sheer numbers their projectiles found flesh.  Facing inward, the fortified wall offered only a small partition designed to prevent accidental falls.  It was inadequate cover under these conditions.

An arrow found Aragos’s torso.  He fell into a corner, alive but laboring for breath.  The enemy was now scaling the wall.  When the sound of bowstrings reduced to almost nothing, Limwen knew she was nearly all that remained of their rampart.  

She transposed herself between Aragos and the approaching enemies, shield and axe at the ready.  The cramped walkway limited three against her at a time.  For each she cut down, another stepped forward to replace him.  Masterfully, she weathered their barrage.  Nasty cuts and dark bruises accumulated over her, but no telling blow could pass her shield.  Fatigue became the factor.  Soon, she could only focus entirely on deflecting attacks.

She was on one knee when the voice of Captain Grey interrupted the stalemate.  “Men, cease!”  Their weapons withdrew.  Recognizing an opening, she cut down one man before he could distance himself.

“Elf!” he called as he pushed the fresh kill over the edge and appeared from behind his men.  “You are not one of mine, nor are you a guard.  Why are you here?”

She panted too heavily to respond.  No longer driven by her battle trance, she collapsed against the wall.

“You.  I recognize you now.  You’re one of the vultures.  Why are you here, killing in a fight that has nothing to do with you.”

Finally, she labored a reply.  “I am paid to protect this town.”

The Captain laughed heartily.  “You were being paid by me, fool girl.  What makes you feel I would maintain a deal like that, when I am the one attacking the town?”

She hadn’t paused to consider that fact.  It had all happened so fast.  Caught up in doing the job and following Aragos, she hadn’t had time to make that connection.  She turned to Aragos.  Each breath brought a look of pain to his face.  It was possible the wound was not fatal, but it needed immediate care.

“He cannot help you now.  Only four of you remain.  The other two are my prisoners.”

“And of me?” she croaked.  Her lungs had been pushed to their limit and burned from the strain.

“Hmm, interesting dilemma,” the Captain pondered aloud.  “You are not one of my men and I admire your loyalty, however misplaced.  I’d really rather not lose any more men today, so what say you to a new contract?”

“I will not join you,” she said coldly.

“Nothing so mundane.  I have no need for vultures now.  Your amended contract is to execute Aragos and the other two prisoners.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then this plays out as it was.  You die.”

“I don’t believe you would let me live anyways.”

“As I said, I would rather not bloody your axe on more of my men.  I estimate over a hundred were lost against your little band tonight.  I also relish the tales you will spread of our conquest.  Let the world know that the Grey Knights are no longer second rate sell-swords, but rather the very fist of Bane!  So, what say you, little girl?”

It’s easy to be a good person when nothing is on the line.

I learned that day that I am not a good person.  However, I also learned that an evil person can still be inspired to do the right thing.  

In time, my soul came to bear many sins.  I am beyond salvation, but not beyond guidance.

The new forums are up and running.  The old ones will remain up for a brief time to help facilitate the transition, should anyone have questions or things I need to fix.

A new event calendar has been added to the forums.  Be sure your profile is set with the correct time zone and that the forums are giving you the correct time.  You wouldn't want to be late to the party.

It's been touch upon at length, embedded inside other topics.  Might as well give it its own room to breath, without the possibility of "no, we're talking about..." derailing it.

Playing a paladin is tough.  The Lawful Good alignment alone is somewhat difficult for many people, but add on codes of conduct, an expectation in attitude, and a near unbreakable stereotype, and you've got a challenge.  In my on and off playtime, I've been playing Ashta, my "paladin in training".  She's just a warrior, with the urge to become a holy warrior.  But, with a draconic god, she's forced to learn on her own as she goes.  It's been pretty eye opening, really.

A few opening observations.

WWPD?
What would paladins do?  Paladins are one of the few classes that ride the rail when it comes to how they should act.  Normally, people will not correct you on what you decide for your character.  Paladins are the exception.  I've found that every player is an arm chair paladin, and will tell you when you've done something unpaladinly, no matter how subjective the situation.  No one sets you straight if your rogue leaves an easy gold pouch unstolen.  A wizard who passes up a scroll isn't slapped on the hand.  Even clerics, which probably should have some sort of heavenly code, are given a pretty long leash.

Awful Good
People have a hard time with the Lawful Good alignment.  It's generally considered fairly conservative in practice, in our OOC social period of progress and experimentation.  Most of us know that laws are made by humans, not all of which are well meaning and selfless, and as such aren't always synonymous with good.  History has shown that doing the right thing sometimes means doing the wrong thing, and in a world as full of darkness and corruption as Faerun, we're forced to make that differentiation more often than not.  But, as a paladin, you are expected to uphold both without exception.  You are faced with these very human decisions, but as something slightly more than human, you are expected to have your cake and eat it too.  Should you fail, you've failed at being a paladin.

My own experiences with Ashta in this category have forced me to favor Good over Law, which I think is generally the case if you want to maintain that favorable public eye.  When this has bothered her (for failing to be the paladin she is aiming to become), her friends often console her by pointing out that by not being a paladin, she's able to do what's right when they would not.  Unconvinced that she could somehow be "gooder" than a paladin in her untrained state, she continues to seek a way to fill two buckets with one.

Stereotypes
When we were kids, we would do things to get into trouble.  When someone stepped up to stop us, they were a stick in the mud.  It doesn't matter how dangerous or immoral it might have been.  Paladins, by their nature, are forced to be well behaved.  However you may break the mold, they're going to be somewhat clean and chaste.  There are few to none that would join in, should someone come up with the bright idea to "get sloshed and find some whores".  And should you manage to rationalize it, it definitely fails the "WWPD" test.  As such, paladins are pidgeon-holed into the stereotypes of prudishness, self-righteousness, and dullness.

Ashta doesn't get a paladins stereotype, because she isn't a paladin.  It's given me a point of view just outside the circle.  When she claims she's training to be one, she often receives responses like "why would you want to do that, you're such a good person", or various other scoffs at her vision.  Even though her goals and behavior are usually the same as any paladin, people often consider her a better person than one, just for not actually being one.

For those having trouble remembering the number of the color you wanted, here's a couple charts.  They go in order from 0, left to right, then top to bottom.  The far left and right of each row is labeled so you can easily count up or down to the box you want.  

Be sure to test the color out on a local character before requesting a change, as they don't always look the same on a person as they do on the chart.

How do you sell a $400+ blender?  By showing it destroying crap.

http://www.willitblend.com/

The latest installment, can Chuck Norris survive a Blendtec blender?