Tales of Dante de Goya

[Marshmellow Knight]

Banites and Bards

I had bypassed the Chondalwood by taking the Golden Road south from Ormpetarr. Not being able to see the brass towers of the capital turn the sky to flame through the sun's setting grace is a burden on my soul. However, the coachman would not reign his mares even a moment to take in the moon's gaze upon these structures so pressing is the time. The Nagaflow is to gorge itself soon on the blessings of Talos and with that our path to Dalelost which the coachman yearns for. He turns every conversation to the place and speaks in dark tongue at times when he sleeps but for a man of the road I suspect only weariness drains him of his wits. I will take the reigns come morning so he may rest.

I have been left under the care of a cowled old man who says boatman is a fitting title I may address him by. It is odd that both my companions of travel have taken such titles for the duration of our togetherness but such is the way of guilds. The Nagaflow has yet to overflow and the journey across should take no more than the day. I dare not risk the breaking water to climb atop my journal.

Talos strikes at our heels but the coachman is undisturbed by the embrace forced upon by the Storm Lord. He says the storm will fail once we pass into the borders of Dalelost but around us and ahead of us I see only ruin. The Lake of Steam and its surrounding lands are a sad looking spectacle made more so by so recent my viewing of the Inner Sea. Alas this route is assured to me to be the quickest for reaching Calimshan and away I must be to once more see old faces. Though I am unsure how the coachman hopes to pass the Alamir Mountains; perhaps the mountain-man will be to greet me upon the road's end. We are slowing.

The city of Dalelost is nothing more than ruins. The guild of travellers I have been accompanying, for no little coin, are followers of the Black Lord Bane. I am not entirely certain what is to become of me but by my side are a group of bards from various regions surrounding the Inner Sea. This is slightly reassuring as I first suspected I had been chosen due to my robes of Illmater but now it seems they were well informed and as a priest of Milil I have been chosen. I cut this entry short as we are called forth.

It has been a week since last I wrote and I am on my way once more to Calimshan being accompanied by the bards from imprisonment. The night I last wrote we had been called into a still standing building which served as the Banites' temple. Before their Dread Knight we knelt with aid and were tasked with performing before the High Priest who would join us all the following week. If we succeeded in our task then we would be given coach and mares to reach safety with no further ill towards us. It we failed to entertain on our own than the sacrifice was sure to, as she stated, “put a smile on the honoured guests' faces.”

That week passed with many discussion of recalling to battle marches once learned through masters as any new ballads to bane learned by those not under his fold would not do. And so it was for us seven to create a ballad never before sung, written or heard and place our lives at its feet. As I write these lines you know, dear reader, that we were successful in our attempt and for you, as a follower of Milil, I put down our song which saved seven lives:

When I was just a lad, looking for my true vocation.
My father said, “now son this choice deserves deliberation
though you could be a Tyran or follow Illmateer
my boy why not consider a more challenging career?”

Oh ho ho you'll pray to darkened shores
And you'll keep your mind and body sound by converting those of Hoar
True terror and obedience are what we can't live without
As when you're a pious Banite, it's easy to be devout

Now take Dominick Varsh, all the Triad did despise him
But to the Banehold he's a hero and we idolize him
It's how you look at Banites that makes them bad or good
And I see us as members of daring brotherhood

Oh ho ho we're true honour bound men
And before we lose our tempers we will always count to ten
On occasion there's a paladin you'll have to execute
But when you're a pious Banite, you get half of Masks' loot

I could have followed Talos, I like blowing things apart
I could have followed Velsharron, but I just have too much heart
I could have followed Waukeen, because I've always been a big spender
Or Sune because I love so tender

Now some say Banites usurp and should be feared and hated
I say we're victims of bad press, it's all exaggerated
We'd never gonne you in the back, we'd never lie or cheat
We're just about the nicest guys you're ever bound to meet!

Oh ho ho it's one for all for one
And we'll share and share alike with you and love you like a son
We're instruments of terror and that's what we're proud to be
And when you're a pious Banite...

You'll preach fear, hatred and tyranny
Think not of blasphemy
You'll be respected, revered and always feared
But most importantly...

When you're a pious Banite
You're always in the best of company!

[Marshmellow Knight]

Best of Friends

In the Calimshan region of southern Faerun there lays a seminary three days eastward walk from the prime capital of Calimport. Those of the Triad lived, learned and grew into their respected faiths within these walls while others of goodly faiths came and went. Visitors to the seminary would offer their myriad of skills as compensation for the hospitality dotted upon them and in this way many young persons left with a strong grasp on their life's direction. Many would join one of the Triad's orders, some would venture off with a goodly faith they found calling to them, and still others would remain at seminary to teach the next generation. In the time of Claire Delagera's guidance over the council of five; two boys would enter the seminary and grow to be unique amongst the collective: Joshua Colt, of the family Colt and devout of Tyr; and Dante de Goya, adopted of Ilmater. These two would inflict upon one another a friendship not so much sought, but inevitable none the less.

View now the early days of seminary during a time of respite called the ten-day rest. In the city Calimport, along the Avenue Paradiso, are two young men hunched over fifty gold pieces. One is of a build starting to show definition, he has a charmingly innocent face and is clean shaven. The second is a more wiry frame, he also possesses a charming face though it lacks the innocent smile and his black facial hair is a week old. Across from them are four men of a less charming deposition, whose beards are thick, their skin of leather and each wears the most gaudy of sea-faring attire. In front of these men is fifteen gold pieces, a pair of dice adding up to seven and now a pair of tanned hands which are scooping up five of the previously mentioned gold pieces.

“Gentleman, Beshaba blesses you this day and we are cursed to seek the charm's of her less seductress sister Tymora. If it is your first time in Calimport might I suggest the Spitting Camel Inn? The rooms are tiny, hot and filled with insects but, most importantly, they're cheap,” said Dante as he pulled forward the five gold coins.

“Rargh,” the seaman closest to the crew's shrinking pile of coin threw out an arm to grab hold of the wiry boy's tunic but was held back by a second seaman whose only communication was a lethargic nod to his right. A few feet off of the game was a Vizier in gleaming mithral chain who was unobtrusively watching the harbour, as he had been for the past several minutes. The presence of a Vizier in Calimport was enough to keep order in many cases and so it would be in this one for now. “A'right, a'right... haha, gud on ye lads an' yer blessed lady. Bah I'll be damned if'n I canna snag a woman way frem a pair o' dry lads sech as yerselves. Se 'ere be the way thin's gonna go. Yer wee friend is gonna toss one mere toime an' if'n 'e keeps the lady's eye than ye get our last bit o' coin an',” here the seaman pulled from his yellow sash a tiny wooden box, “ye get this 'ere. What ye say lads?”

The wiry boy quirked a brow and turned his head to the muscular boy behind him. Joshua, with dice in hand, shrugged his broadening shoulders and motioned with his hand that it was up to Dante. “Of course Bolo, my friend, and I would be happy to test our faith one last time.”

“Gran' lad, gran'! Se then ye nay be mindin' o'course,” the wooden box was opened to reveal a pair of carved emerald die whose counters were obsidian, “if'n we's use meh dice fer the final toss?”

Dante paled despite the blazing sun of Calimport but before he could object a strong hand took up the die while the other hand slapped Dante hard on the back, “of course not Bolo. In fact I'll even let Dante roll the pair so you don't blame Tymora's favour on a supple wrist. Come, de Goya, let luck take the reigns and show these men how one's faith can steer.” The voice was tinged with harmonics as only those who have heard the bell's of Celestia would understand. And the face was so vibrant, so gleeful that the contrast between the two boys was quite nearly, zen. “Come now de Goya and take these in good faith,” the emerald dice were placed into the shaking hand of Dante, “throw them as if they were already ours.”

Dante grasped the dice tightly, squeezing hard enough to leave indentations in his hand and to stop the shaking. He placed his free hand on the back of Joshua's head, pulled it to his shoulder and ruffled the dark-brown locks, “get ready to run,” he whispered. Dante let go of Joshua's head, leaned back and with an open palm tapped Joshua's cheek as he, himself smiled. Dante turned to the seamen but took only one step before a powerful hand was on his shoulder, spinning him around to face a confused Joshua, “why?”

“Because my dice,” he tapped a breast pocket where they rested, “were loaded.”
“Loaded, you said Tymora blessed them.”
“Tymora blesses those who bless themselves.”
“No. No, no, no you did not just-”
“Shut up. Listen, there is still a chance I get this.”
“Oh yes! Well, when you don't and they tell the Vizier you can explain to Farris why we're imprisoned.”
“Joshua, old friend, they won't tell the Vizier. They'll probably just kill us and pay off the Vizier.”
“How does that make me feel better?”
“Well Farris won't find out.”

A look somewhere between exasperation and shock was left on Joshua's face as he watched Dante turn to the collective seamen and, more importantly, the ever uninterested but watchful Vizier. Dante shook the dice in one hand, tossed them to his second and made such theatrics that the concealed impatience of the seamen soon became apparent. Thus with a flick of the wrist and a silent prayer Dante let loose the emerald die and tried not to flinch as he and Joshua in unison drew a deep breath. A deathly silence did not descend on the gathering, the soft click of emerald die on stone could barely be heard over Calimport's harbour and a seagull unceremoniously squawked as the first die turned up a five. All eyes were on the second die, the uninterested Vizier was moving his hand towards his scimitar for no related reason and as the two obsidian dots turned up an eruption of joy burst from the two boys.

The collective seamen groaned at their ill luck save for Bolo whose mouth was agape in awe. “Gentlemen! Let today be marked as a triumph for faith in the gods,” it was Dante's voice now drowning out the seamen's groans. He bent down, his nimble fingers picking up the emerald die and his own falling out of his breast pocket. Dante's dice fell a foot from Bolo's agape mouth; one a three and the other a four. Bolo looked down to blessed die of Tymora and suddenly his eyes became slits with which to peer and his stunned disbelief turned full circle to suspicion. With a swipe of his hand he knocked the dice against a wall where they once more turned up a four and a three. A second seamen, noticing the event, went over and kicked the die towards the smirking Dante where they, again, turned up a four and a three.

“Sons o' nomads the both o' ye!” Bolo's face has turned a shade of crimson, his neck muscles tightening while the seamen at his back pulled their assorted weapons. “Ye been usin' loaded die!” The accusation was enough to finally warrant the Vizier's full attention who turned to the gathering that was soon to turn into something much worse. Joshua had one hand planted firmly against his face while the other hung lifelessly at his side while Dante's gaze fluttered from one side to another. The gathered awaited the accused's response to Bolo's charge in these very positions for what could have passed as an eternity between all involved. Dante straightened himself to a stand, closed his eyes and thrust his hand outwards with index finger poised at Joshua, “you used loaded dice?”

Joshua's hand was quickly thrust back at Dante in a mimicry of gesture, “blaggard it was you who gave them to me!”
Dante feigned injury as he drew his outreached arm back to lay on his heart, “how dare you impute my honour, sir.”
“Honour,” Joshua's outreached hand was clenched into a fist, “what would a cheat know of honour?”
“I apologize for your poor upbringing; but I will not allow your ill's to be seen as my own.”
“My ills,” Joshua took several steps towards Dante, “my ills?! It is you who is always at the heart of any lechery.”
Dante took a few steps back with his hands raised before his face, “I may be a lecher but I am no cheat.”
Joshua continued to bound after Dante's fleeing feet, “bastard.”
Dante pushed passed Bolo and his crewmen with fear apparent on his face, “son of a harlot.”

Joshua's menacing pace suddenly turned into bounding steps and Dante turned on a heel beginning to make haste towards the harbour. It was a full five seconds before Bolo, the gathered crew, or even the Vizier took note of what had just taken place. Bolo was the first to make his opinion known, “after them ye bloody lot o' idiots!”