Sword of Benwick - Volume 1 - Complete

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Sword of Benwick - Volume 1 - Complete

Post by Bashagain » Tue Jun 21, 2016 3:50 pm

Rumor is a funny thing. Born of a hint of truth and grown for amusement of barflies, rumors fuel legends and snuff out facts.

Once upon a time, long before the fall of Knightly order of Benwick, it is said that there was a powerful holy sword so potent that a single strike from it would dispel even the greatest of evil magic. Supposedly wielded by Benwick's founder-King, Galahad, the blade disappeared into the mist of ancient history, only to be sung by old drunkards that lingered at The Maiden's Mercy Inn.

Then came the Fall of Benwick - The day of infamy for all good people of Arelith - when the guarded gates to Avernus swung open for the infernal hordes. The Keep of Light fell to the cruelty of the devils, and soon followed the Maiden's Mercy Inn that stood just beyond the keep's gates. The refugees scattered all across the isle, and soon the grief driven silence kept the lips of the survivors shut, sealing away the knowledge of a relic that may dispel the magic of Benwickan portal to Avernus.
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Feb 14, 2018 5:21 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Tue Jun 21, 2016 6:55 pm

It was some thirty odd years since the fall of Benwick when rumors of the sword surfaced again. It was but a chance meeting with a Benwickan refugee in Mayfields after a lengthy raid against the fiends roaming Benwick that a Knight came to hear the name, "Sword of Benwick."

"Hear me boy, if ye call yerself a Benwick Knight." Said an old drunkard sitting at the bar. He wore a dirty, sweat-stained, once-fine gold-embroidered whitish long-armed tunic with number of patches around both his elbows and his right shoulder that marked him as a Benwickan refugee. His head was bald save for a few strands of hair combed over his crown in a pathetic attempt to hide his baldness. Yet, in contrast to his wrinkled, ale-dipped face and foamy mouth, his green eyes glistened with half-crazed excitement. "The sword... Ye heard of the sword didncha?!" The man glared into the knight's eyes with a ferocious intensity.

"The sword, old man?" Still In his half-doffed armor, Daltanius paused to ponder before his steaming plate of boar-ribs in gravy. "Of what sword dost thou speak?"

"Sword of Benwick, Benwickan. The blade prophesied to return to da Keep!" The old man raved, raising his voice and arms alike.

The knight's armor-plates cluttered as he nodded in recognition. "Aye. I've heard of the blade before... When I was a lad. 'Tis a true holy avenger once kept in Benwick long ago, aye?"

The old man acknowledged with a toothy grin that was short a few teeth. "Indeed, Benwickan. Ye know da history." The refugee continued after wetting his parched throat with a gulp of his foamy ale. "And it be still missing ya know."

"Forsooth, old-timer." Preoccupied with his well-earned dinner, and intent on banishing his nagging hunger, Daltanius replied casually before savagely biting into the burnt boar-flesh hanging off his fork.

"Then, why is it still missing, young feller?" The old man's straightforward question was so sudden and blunt it slowed the knight's relentless chomping. "Magic o' da sword is s'posed at be legendary. Shouldncha be searchin fer it? 'Tis said it would banish wicked magic!"

"Banish... Wicked magic?!" Daltanius - suddenly overwhelmed with an inspiration gasped with a mouthful of half-chewed boar meat and immediately began to choke. "Banish the wicked magic - behind the infernal portal..." Thought Daltanius as he coughed and struggled for air. As the alarmed fellow patrons scrambled to rescue the choking paladin, Daltanius felt light headed. But soon the feeling faded into a transcendental experience as if Torm was giving him an unmistakable sign.

By the time the half-chewed meat flew out of his wind-pipe, Daltanius was resolved to answer the calling of the sword. The path seemed clear to the paladin as the quest crystallized in his mind. It was an epic quest born from either a divine inspiration or choking-induced delirium. Regardless, thus began the quest - The Quest for Sword of Benwick!
Last edited by Bashagain on Fri Jul 15, 2016 1:44 pm, edited 7 times in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Wed Jul 06, 2016 6:07 pm

The quest was quick to start. Search for the blade caught on like wild fire as Daltanius asked around the island for any lead that may open the way to the lost relic. Dwarves, elves, half orcs - regardless of race or occupation good folks of the isle kept their eyes open for the cold-steel sword in hopes of closing the infernal portal in Benwickan crypt.

Some adventurers searched the scorching desert of Blood War-torn Abyss. Others scoured the Red Dragon Isle and other nearby islands. All searches turned up nothing. However, hope remained for it became clearer with each search that at least the existence of such blade was not a lie. Long lived races such as elves and dwarves confirmed hearing about the blade firsthand while visiting Benwick.

Quest for Sword of Benwick was going to be neither easy or short. It was a quest for not just an individual but an entire order of errant knights and their allies. It was time to induct formal help from like minded individuals. It was time to rebuild the Benwickan Order, not as some proud kingdom, but as a brotherhood of questing knights with the singular purpose of destroying Ruins of Benwick by finding The Sword of Benwick.
Last edited by Bashagain on Fri Jul 15, 2016 5:42 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Thu Jul 14, 2016 7:40 pm

-Jethro the Benwickan Skull-

Already a year went by without a solid lead since the quest began despite growing piles of dead bodies left to rot on the trail of the questing knights and their allies. A few who shared the Benwickan obsession over the quest joined The Chivalric Order of Benwick proper.

One Ugly Brute from Ten Towns squired alongside Daltanius, while Dawnbringer Harrigan and a rainbow spraying fairy, Sintilla committed themselves to the quest. It wasn't until a couple of them came upon a pillar of lying skulls in Baator that the quest for Sword of Benwick took an interesting turn.

The pillar stood prominently more than thirty feet tall against the bleak backdrop of jagged, grey stalagmite forest in the alien environment of Baator. Each skull as a brick making up the structure screamed out lies and curses in voices filled with regret and misery.

"Borin wets his bed!" Wailed a skull at the top of the pillar.
"Lyssa is plotting to kill her father!" Screamed another skull near the base of the pillar.
"Maeve is plotting to betray her friends!" Another skull near the top cackled.

As Sintilla the fairy flew around the pillar of skulls, she came upon a pair of glowing eyesockets near the base. hellfire ignited in its eyes as it spoke gravely. "Erik Silverarms left his wife to die!"

Recognizing the name of his forefather, Daltanius replied. "Thou speakest the truth, Skull - for tis said that she died during the Fall of Benwick." He paused to recall the story he's heard from those who knew the old knight. "They fought against the fiends together until my great grandmother Leela exhausted her druidic magic and was slain in battle... He never retrieved her body, I'm told."

"Buppi murdered an innocent child!" The pillar's relentless screams continued but the infernal shouts fell on deaf ears as the Benwickan was singleminded in his quest for the sword.

"Unlike others in thy company, thou hast spoken truly." The Benwickan stared at the burning eye sockets and spoke. "Skull, I ask thee if thou hast heard of Sword of Benwick."

"You wish to know about the relic, do you?" The glow in its eye sockets grew brighter, then it went out altogether before returning faintly. "Free me... Then I'll tell you."

Sintilla's flight around the pillar slowed to hover upon hearing the skull's request.
"I don't know, Daltanius, he seems pretty untrustworthy to me!" Pouted Sintilla, bringing her hands on her hips to express her objection.

"I was a soldier in Benwick before I ended up in this predicament. And what an irony it is for a fighter of devils to be a part of this fiendish abomination in the nine hells." The skull resumed. "Free me from this pillar - and I will help you." The proposal was enticing.

"Thou must think me a fool that I'd make a deal with one such as thee in the nine hells without attempting to detect thine evil intent." The Benwickan's eyes flashed a moment, but immediately thereafter his facial expression crumbled to that of utter agony. The sensation of evil - in a deluge of physical pain - shocked the very core of his being.

"You are submerged in Baator, knight. Detecting evil in here is akin to taking a gulp of water while drowning in depth of the ocean. Just pluck me from the pillar and I shall reveal what I know." The skull was convincing. He sounded wise and genuine. He was also in hell.

"I would channel Torm's might to smite evil in mine attempt to pluck thee out, skull." Daltanius acquiesced. "Shouldst thou be of evil soul, may my grip smite thee upon contact! Dost thou still insist on mine help in thy release?"

The skull in the pillar hesitated, and a long silence followed in the backdrop of frenzied screams of other damned skulls.

"So be it. I'd rather be destroyed than remain in this accursed state." The skull resolved.

Daltanius did pray that his grip would smite evil upon contact as he reached in to grab the skull, but such favors are not granted limitlessly. Thrice a day could he summon such power, and in defeating an infernal dragon and a veritable army of devils that blocked his path earlier, his divine ability was long spent.

The skull was lodged well in the fiendish pillar. Snuggedly nestled among the chattering skulls that bit any hands that'd come near their teeth, pulling the conversant skull free would have seemed a daunting task - but not for a paladin wearing a pair of enchanted gauntlets.

Pop came the skull - plucked from its niche near the base of the pillar. A little crack ran through its crown from the violent pressure before its release. Soon the skull was in Daltanius' upturned right hand, gazing into his soulful eyes as he almost launched into a soliloquy. "Alas poor Joric, I knew him well, Sint..."

"I'm not Joric, I'm Jethro!" Balked the skull.

"I knew thou wouldst correct me if I said it wrong." Replied the paladin smugly.

"Ha! Clever paladin." quipped Jethro, still in Daltanius' hand. "I thank you for my freedom regardless." As Daltanius' grip loosened, the skull began to hover magically.

"I'm Sint." Sintilla introduced herself with a quick nod as she fluttered before the skull.

"I'm Daltanius. We are on a quest for The Sword of Benwick. Now, for thine end of the bargain: What dost thou know about the whereabouts of Sword of Benwick?" The paladin pressed, tapping his feet.

Jethro the skull wasted no time in answering the query. "There is a blade... embedded in a cliff in Minmir region. Search Minmir, Benwickan. I too will make my way there, and meet you again in near future."

"Minmir? I've seen a large sword embedded atop a cliff along Lake Minmir in the past." Sintilla observed, hovering close between the skull and the paladin.

"Aye." Answered Jethro the skull before slowly hovering away and disappearing from the duo. "Search Minmir. It will lead you closer to what you seek!"

"Daltanius is not a virgin!" Screeched the lying pillar of skulls - now with one less skull. The celibate knight sighed, silently lamenting the truth that he was still a twenty-eight-year-old virgin under a vow of chastity.

Savoring the first break in the year-long search for the Sword of Benwick, Daltanius' heart raced as he summoned his faithful steed to rush to Lake Minmir. Followed by a sharp whistle, he shouted. "Silverlake, come!!!"
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Mar 08, 2017 3:15 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Tue Jul 19, 2016 11:00 pm

-Blade of Prophesy-

On the clearing atop a small plateau along the eastern cliff surrounding Lake Minmir, an enormous sword stood with its blade embedded in the ground. Behind the sword was a pair of weather-worn columns and a statue of a female paladin, Darley Dunhallow, that kept a stern, timeless vigil over weary adventurers.

Daltanius, having recruited his friend and magical tutor, Kiravias the Mage, felt confident that this time he would reach the top of the plateau. Once again, as he has tried and failed so many times over the past few months since meeting Jethro, the mounted paladin charged toward the wall, twirling his lasso over his head before casting it towards the columns. The lasso hurled through the air only to miss the column once again, but this time, managed to catch a sturdy branch of a pine tree a few paces away from the intended target.

"Huzzah, Kiravias! Gods art smiling upon us!" Exclaimed Daltanius, exuberant atop his faithful steed, Silverlake.

"Make your climb, Daltanius. I'll see what I can do to help." Kiravias spoke, already pulling out cards from his loose, dark-grey robe sleeves.

Daltanius, slowly pulling his end of the rope from his saddle, rode around a large boulder next to the wall of the plateau. With his faithful warhorse's assistance, Daltanius managed to line up next to the rock and found a footing for his climb. After a bit of struggle, the knight progressed a third of way up the short cliff, and he prepared to pull himself up rest of the way using his rope. He was oblivious to his surroundings when Kiravias' magical help - in the form of his card - summoned an unexpected magical surge to phase him into the wall of the rocky cliff!

"Gah! Kiravias!" Shouted the indignant knight, comically jutting out from the cliff with half of his body phased into the wall. "I need thine help to get on top of the cliff, not -IN- the cliff!"

Folding his arms quickly, the odd, hooded mage scratched his chin, and observed the situation. "Fascinating! I've never seen THAT happen before." Kiravias consoled, "Worry not, Daltanius - the fates deal strange effects sometimes. I'll get you out of that cliff soon!"

The wild mage winced and shrugged before picking out another card hovering around him, hurling it toward the knight-in-the-stone with a strange draconic incantation...
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Mar 08, 2017 3:19 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Wed Jul 20, 2016 10:06 pm

With a foreboding low rumble, the cliff side shook mightily. Magical flairs lit up the vicinity in chaotic eruptions of sparkles about Kiravias' magical cards. Daltanius wondered if his quest would end in a landslide with his body crushed between tumbling boulders until he spotted the cause of all the ruckus.

One of Kiravias' cards hovered in mid air a few strides away from the mage and began forcefully attracting pebbles and fist-sized rocks nearby. Soon enough the rocky conglomeration grew larger than a chicken, then a dog, then a cow until it grew as large as two elephants stacked together. The form grew a pair of legs, arms, then an ugly jagged head without any facial features save for a sorry excuse for a nose. As the dust cleared - blown by the lakeside breeze - the enormous earth-elemental was revealed, towering over the mage wearing a proud smile of a new father. Daltanius, stuck between a living rock and a hard place, shuddered to imagine what would happen to him in a matter of a few precious moments.

"Pull him out now, Giant Boulder!" Ordered Kiravias.

'Did he say, "Crush him now?"' Thought Daltanius.

No sooner than the moment the knight finished his thought, he felt the giant rocky hands squeeze around his upper torso jutting out of the cliff side. "Torm, save thy servant!!!"

Kiravias winced in a reaction of horror and sympathy as he heard a cacophony of metallic crunch, cracking rocks, and a pathetic paladin's scream all in unison: "KIRAVIAAACK! KRACKLE! POP!!"

In an impressive feat of dexterity and ridiculous strength, Kiravias' amazing rocky behemoth violently dislodged the paladin-in-stone and lobbed him in the air over the cliff. The poor knight, pathetically flailing his arms wildly, held his breath and braced for the inevitable impact as he approached the landing atop the plateau.

"SPLAKRUNCLEROLL!" An ungodly noise unbefitting a knight echoed over the calm waters of Lake Minmir until another clump of pathetic flesh flew over the cliff and landed next to the groaning mess that was Daltanius.

"Whoaaaa!" Screamed the wild mage right before he crashed on the grassy surface between the gigantic embedded blade seen earlier and the paladin who was mumbling about his cured back pain from his extraordinary climb.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Tue Jul 26, 2016 4:21 am

The imposing sword stood at almost two-thirds the height of Daltanius, who was now carefully studying the hilt of the blade. Adorned with intricate patterns incomprehensible to the knight, the hilt was radiating a solemn, foreboding aura as if some mysterious, greater power lurked within it.

Sensing an odd nature about the sword, the paladin hesitated and fought his initial urge to immediately grab the hilt in an attempt to free it from the ground. Daltanius' apprehension proved prudent when he cautiously stretched his hand an inch closer to the hilt.

With a click, the sword instantly shot a sudden outgrowth of hundreds of thin, metal thorns all over the hilt. Like a hedgehog defending against a wolf, the hilt was now covered in vicious, sharp spikes.

Shocked at the unexpected trap, the knight instinctively withdrew his hand. Dumbfounded and at loss of his words, Daltanius looked to the mage for his expert help. "Kiravias, what dost thou suggest we do?"

The mage lurched closer to the sword, his body still aching from the pain of earlier hard landing. He frowned and brought his face closer to examine the strange, intricate patterns on the hilt. After less than a minute of studying the sword, Kiravias began to read aloud the patterns which he recognized as writings in arcane runes.

"Only by the hands of courageous and pure of heart - through the blood and sweat of a steadfast paladin - shall this blade be drawn from its cradle..." Kiravias looked back to the paladin and stepped back after completing his translation. The Mage shrugged and wiped his brow with a sigh of relief and also of sympathy.

"Well Daltanius, that's as close as I would get to that thorny hilt... But, you on the other hand... I think you still have to grab it and pull it out." Explained the mage, obviously glad that he does not have to go through the painful trial.

"Forsooth Kiravias? I'm a lousy paladin. I'm not so keen on this task before me!" Daltanius said, looking around for another paladin who may just drop by and take his place at this opportune moment.

"Well, between you and I, Daltanius - there is only one man who has to grab that thorny hilt." Said Kiravias, settling the debate with a poker face.

Daltanius paused a moment to digest the fate he has been dealt, and then he nodded with an iron resolve that would make his forefathers proud. "Right thou art, Kiravias... So be it!"

"For Benwick!" The young knight let out his mighty battlecry as he lunged and gripped the spike-covered hilt of the gigantic sword.

As the keen metal thorns pierced his palms through the enchanted gauntlets, Daltanius winced in pain. He gritted his teeth and clenched the thorn covered hilt tighter to rebel against his agony, yet the pain was unrelenting. When the paladin exerted his might to pull up the blade, his blood seeped out between his tightly grasping fingers, and trickled down his clenched fists. An inch-by-agonizing-inch, the blade moved upwards by the blood and sweat of a steadfast paladin.
Last edited by Bashagain on Thu Sep 08, 2016 6:11 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Wed Jul 27, 2016 10:44 pm

With both of his bloody hands, the paladin held aloft the mighty blade he just freed from the ground over his head. Daltanius took a deep breath to exclaim some epic, triumphant declaration, but he was immediately and disappointedly interrupted by an unexpected appearance of a ghostly figure before him.

The figure was actually a projected image of some hooded old man in a brownish robe. The ghostly visage flickered perhaps from deterioration of magical runes on the blade. The old man nodded his head before speaking softly to the pair of wide-eyed listeners.

"Thou hast drawn The Thorn-Blade from its resting place, and thus passed thy trial of dedication..." The image congratulated the questing duo before launching into an exposition. "Hark, Seeker of Sword, listen carefully for I shalt tell thee the story of Sword of Benwick..."

The projection went on and on as seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turned to hours. Unfazed by the glazed eyes and drooping shoulders of the catatonic listeners the projection continued its history lecture until it finally revealed the fate of Sword of Benwick.

"Galahad then entrusted his sword unto Galwyn the Stalwart who pursued the..." The image flickered again, leaving out a potentially crucial subject. "To the island where he fought to imprison..." Another flicker rendered the subject of imprisonment a mystery.

"Thus, Sword of Benwick shalt lie with Galwyn the Stalwart who is sworn to guard over the island prison." As the old man finished his final sentence, The Thorn-Blade hovered over to its cradle, and slowly embedded itself back whence it was drawn, taking with it all traces of the old man and the metal thorns that once covered the hilt.

Soon, the clearing atop the cliff was as it was before. A large sword embedded in the ground, a pair of pillars, and a statue of Paladin Darley Dunhallow stood in silent vigil. A lake-side breeze gently fluttered the clothes of two questing friends as they set out toward the sunset - newly armed with a knowledge to continue The Quest for Sword of Benwick!
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Mar 08, 2017 3:48 am, edited 9 times in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Mon Aug 01, 2016 7:09 pm

-Galwyn the Stalwart-

A few moons passed since Daltanius learned of the fate of Sword of Benwick. However, now there were more unanswered questions than ever before in the quest. Who was Galwyn the Stalwart? Who was the villain he was battling to imprison? Where is the island prison to which Galwyn sailed? And whatever happened to Jethro the emancipated skull from Baator? Daltanius' steps grew heavier on his quest as the weight of mysteries burdened his heart and mind.

Spring rain made way for blistering Summer heat; now the foliage in Arelith Forest were changing color to greet Autumn. For two seasons Daltanius traveled alone, searching various places around Arelith for any lead that would help him navigate to the island prison of the unnamed villain where Galwyn sailed with Sword of Benwick in his possession.

Since the time he searched the scribe's pedestal and the library of Benwick with Kiravias, Daltanius remained errant alone. Away from civilization he quested. In the dark dungeons beneath Minmir or Forest of Darkness, and crypts and crannies around Skull Crags he slept and ate. With his armor caked in mud and blood the paladin obsessed for his quarry above all else. "Dispel the portal to Baator we must..." He found himself repeatedly mumbling to himself far too often. With his sanity at the precipice of abyss, the Tormite acquiesced to the voice of wisdom and embraced his defeat for a while.

Pushing his way out from a small mound of piled undead, Daltanius finally headed for his home in Guldorand in hopes of reconvening with the members of his order and allies... to find a way to sail to this Prison Island.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Mon Aug 22, 2016 10:39 pm

-Arcane Tower-

It is true that Daltanius never had much aptitude for magic, but he was wise enough recognize his limitations. Seeing how knowledge is what he needed, the paladin headed to one place on the island that had it in an abundance -- The Arcane Tower.

The heavy gates parted easily as the armored knight pushed upon it. Before him lay a stone hall of wonder, filled with glittering sparkles that seemed foreign to the mundane world. In the middle of the large room sat a pedestal, upon which circled a pulsing yellowish glow that was the mysterious origin-portal of the Tower.

Clatter of the paladin’s metal armor rang through the intricate stone arches engraved with magical runes. The raucous cacophony was unmistakably disturbing to the mages who wished to remain in calm reflection about the nature of the known universe -- and beyond.

“Sir Daltanius? Welcome.” Said the Archmage Elise, dressed in a sparkling robe. Magical aura was about her though the paladin’s relative ignorance of arcana kept him from guessing at the aura’s nature. The archmage’s magical staff radiated light in colors beyond the knight’s rather limited description: “Perdy…”

“Archmage Elise… Torm’s blessings, m’lady.” The knight in dented, rusted armor bowed reverently before the headmistress of the magical enclave.

“What brings you here today, Sir Daltanius?” Elise’s voice was clear as a water elemental emerging from a long bath in a celestial spring.

“The Quest for Sword of Benwick, madam,” spoke Daltanius, raising his eyes to meet Elise’s eyes. “I seek the boon of thy knowledge about a certain island I seek.”

“Oh? Do ask.” Archmage Elise kindly spoke with curious eyes; eager she was to teach for she was a giver of knowledge, and before her stood a man who knew too little.

The paladin, glad that his query was not spurned, recounted his encounters before the Archmage, ending his tale with, “hast thou heard of this… island prison?”

The archmage’s eyes widened as she recognized a familiar name. “Sir Daltanius, I have been to the island of which you speak in the past.”
She paused to gather her thoughts, and soon continued her tale. “It was when Zankas and my party sailed to a remote island to rescue Edward Cordor.”

Daltanius replied the only way he knew how to such a revelation, “Forsooth?!”

“Aye, Sir Daltanius. Seek the Cartographer of Crow’s Nest. It was he who gave us the chart to the island. Perhaps you will find the same fortune as we did.” The archmage nodded casually and concluded.

Lesson learned and knowledge gained, the eager knight hurriedly thanked the kind archmage and jumped into the portal -- certain that his path to the island and hence the sword was closer.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Thu Sep 08, 2016 5:43 pm

-Demonic Invasion-

The cartographer of Crow's Nest was a wordy elf. A couple missing teeth highlighted his awkward smile while his lazy left eye ensured that his misdirected stares would not be forgotten. He spoke at length about Arelithian Archipelago but skillfully danced around each question Daltanius tossed at him about the island prison. After enduring an hour of equivocation, Daltanius finally conceded that the cartographer would never willingly part with his knowledge about the island prison.

"Perhaps another time," thought the paladin. At two years into this nigh impossible quest, disappointment was a familiar and jaded sentiment; patience was akin to a dear old friend. Keeping himself determined about finding the sea charts, Daltanius sailed to Cordor to resupply for his quest. Temple of Torm in Cordor was the place of pilgrimage and solace for each dead end he encountered, and it was in the Temple's shade that Daltanius found allies and reinvigoration.

--

Another season passed. The unforgiving, cold winds of winter descended from the snowy Dark Spires Mountain and banished the shriveled brown leaves of late autumn. Yet, in place of serenity, chaos and raged battlecries erupted all around the blood-stained snowy trails of Howling Pass. Slain demons of numerous shapes and sizes littered the path to Guldorand as desperate band of warriors led by gritty Marshall of Guldorand, Aster, fought with steel, magic, and improvised artillery. Demonic Invasion of Arelith was in full swing, and Guldorand was not spared from the carnage.

Through the fierce fray of might and magic Daltanius charged atop Silverlake; between the northern and southern fronts of battle he rode, heralding reports of victory and requests for reinforcements amidst his hammer and sword swings. Smiting the relentless Abyssal horde alongside intrepid defenders of Guldorand, Daltanius pondered the abrupt and surreal nature of the realm where machinations of evil doers would suddenly mire a man into an unexpected war threatening his homeland.

"Protect the troll, Sir Daltanius!" Shouted Oakes, a Guldorand's defender begrimed in blood and mud, as he bashed another succubus down the gorge. Oakes' battle-torn cloak fluttered wildly around him in the numbing icy wind buffeted down by the wings of nearly a hundred demons blanketing the sky.

"The troll" was actually a wizard named Olxrith who rose to the occasion to turn the tide of battle with a gargantuan improvised ballista against the onslaught of flying demons. For the bolts of the ballista were sharpened logs of Guldorand, wielding the siege weapon required no less stature and might than that of a giant troll; Olxrith had morphed himself into an actual troll to answer the challenge.

"Reload!" Screamed the troll as he fired a log that skewered a pair of balors in mid-flight. The defenders' roaring cheers echoed through the pass with each bolt's release, followed by a frantic effort to reload.

Answering Oakes' shout, Daltanius summoned his last smiting strike on a Balor Lord, critically cleaving the demon into two pieces with his Keen, Damask, Gracielo Greatsword. He pulled on the rein of Silverlake sharply to left, and the faithful, neighing war-charger sped toward the ballista-toting troll caught in a rain of arrows, past a pair of his comrades - Sir Francois and golden-winged Lord Cuthbert, who were locked in a heated combat against a score of Abyssal Knights.

"Thou hast my shield, Olxrith!" Daltanius bellowed as his stallion reared before the edge of a cliff between the demons and the troll. Arrow volleys streamed in waves from the winged Succubi archers, but Amadeo's Artifact Shield that Daltanius wielded handily repelled the deadly missiles.

"Incoming!!!" Screamed a defender as a fiery Hellball blazed through the air and detonated spectacularly on the frantic battlefield. The devastating shockwave blasted through the valley but Daltanius remained firmly braced against his shield, diverting what impact he could from the ballista and the troll. When the paladin finally looked up from behind his shield with a sigh of relief, his heart suddenly sank to a depth unknown upon realizing that it was just a beginning. Daltanius spotted three more brilliant spheres soaring towards his allies, and he gritted his teeth for what is to come.

First, a blinding flash engulfed the pass. Then, a tremendous eruption of heat and deafening boom shook the very foundation of Skull Crags.

--

The subsequent barrage of Hellballs shattered boulders from the cliffs above. Rocks tumbled down to crush demons and defenders alike. Deafening silence and cloud of dust and frost enveloped the battlefield.

As the shroud of dust and ice dispersed, Daltanius saw through his own blood covered visor the lifeless body of Olxrith lying next to the ballista.

Without a wasted moment, the injured knight instinctively directed his war horse for a ride-by-snatch. In a swift motion, the mounted knight hung low to his right in mid-charge, grabbed the brown robes of the slain wizard, and swung him up on his steed before galloping away to safety.

Riding into a cove formed by towering cliff walls before Guldorand, Daltanius laid down the corpse of the valiant mage on the muddy ground. The paladin threw down his helm and urgently searched his saddlebag for a Raise Scroll he bought back in Temple of Torm in Cordor a season ago; Torm or perhaps Tymora was with him then for he felt the crumpled divine scroll on his fingertips within the bag.

Olxrith gasped and struggled to clear his lungs upon revival. Other defenders - badly battered themselves - clambered to heal the wizard's injuries. And once more unto the breach of defensive line, Daltanius rode into the fray in a desperate charge with a war cry, "For the fallen!"
Last edited by Bashagain on Fri Oct 14, 2016 4:50 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Fri Sep 23, 2016 4:27 pm

-When Paush Cometh to Shove-

The Battle of Guldorand concluded with the defenders' victory. The wounded were gathered by the healers, and divine prayers mended broken bodies. However, the island-wide conflict was reaching its fever pitch.

The victory at Guldorand spurred on Daltanius to continue his ride. Onward he rode to bear witness and join the ongoing fight against the horde: In Myon, a torrent of legendary arcane arrows flushed the invaders; In Cordor, The Guards and eclectic band of heroes felled an ancient Abyssal Wyrm; At The Arcane Tower, the mages summoned rarely seen magical energies to blast their foes.

Thus it was in the heart of Arelith, before the gates of Burrowhome in Bendir Dale, that Demon Lord Paush made his stand.

As Silverlake galloped toward Burrowhome, Daltanius clenched his fists tightly around the rein; the silhouette of a gargantuan demonic figure with a frightening pair of dark wings grew ever larger as the knight drew nearer. The demon was of imposing stature; he stood as tall as a sentry tower of Wharftown. His skin was as scarlet as rose dipped in blood; his eyes burned with yellowish abyssal fire. A pair of sharp, intimidating horns protruded from his dome through his jet black hair. Paush's legs were as those of a goat -- hairy, bent, and tapering off into cloven hoof.

"My powers are unmatched! Your resistance will be crushed. Bow down and join me, and you will all be set free!" The demon bellowed out his sinister offer with a sneering smirk visible from a hundred paces away.

Before the demon stood a stalwart ruby dragon as large as a house, and a small desperate army of halflings, elves, men, dwarves and a gnome. In a swift show of force, the demon planted the butt of his trident on the ground, causing the entire dale to rumble.

"You will not destroy this city!" Defiantly roared the ruby dragon named Kalika, spreading her wings to their full span and coiling her tail in a combative posture.

"Who talks of destroying, scaled one? I speak the truth." Paush mocked smugly, lifting his weapon and casually resting it on his shoulder.

As doubt set in, murmurs spread throughout the rank until a warrior called Powell taunted back defiantly at the demon: "I don't want to alarm you, but... I think you are out numbered."

"That don't matter... It's a demon lord," Buppi the halfling Druid chastised his comrades. "Stop bein' idiots..."

Oblivious to Buppi's reproach, Daltanius then arrived, galloping into the demon's flank, twirling his war-hammer. Silverlake slowed to a trot and reared to a stop as the brash paladin exclaimed bombastically: "Thou art surrounded, demon!"

"Ah, yes. I am outnumbered and surrounded... How unfortunate... FOR YOU!" The demon changed his demeanor frighteningly fast; he bared his wicked teeth and clenched his trident in his blood-red fists, glaring around those that stood near him.

"You upset the balance by being here! I warn you, return to your realm!" Extending her wings and baring her fangs, Kalika the Druidess, in her magnificent Ruby Dragon form, prepared for a mortal combat against the arch demon.

"A demonstration, perhaps. Step forward if you dare, scaled one. Fight, and show me your conviction!"
Supremely confident of his power, the towering arch demon taunted the ruby dragon. The rank parted to let Kalika advance, but even the dragon hesitated momentarily to face such powerful a villain.

"I'm not scaled, but I'll chop at you!" Bravely replied Bok, a halfling warrior, speaking up to accept the challenge.

"Look around thee, demon. Art thou so deluded to think that the folks of Arelith wouldst grant thee victory this day?!" Daltanius challenged rhetorically, preparing for a spirited charge.

However, the initiative of the epic battle belonged to the elves. Suddenly, with a whispered prayer from elven maiden Celendil erupted the invigorating blessings that filled the area. Then, amidst the elven camp, unto the vanguard, out stepped a sole, frail, wild elf who embodied valor as she cried before the immense arch demon with her axe drawn: "Do not let it put fear into you. Strike it!"

Ravarora the Wild Elf charged alone against Demon Lord Paush.

"YOU seek to champion the fools?!" The demon's bemused disbelief turned to a sudden sour surprise as the heroic elf maiden's courageous axe cleaved his flesh to draw the first blood.

The demon's retaliation was going to be severe. The vicious trident arced through the air, aimed at the elf. Acting on his instinct, Daltanius spurred his mount to a enter the fray and placed himself between the elf and the demon with his raised shield. The demon's flurry of attacks found an apt target on the mounted knight. Despite his best efforts, the paladin's shield could do only so much against The Abyss' worst assault.

"Charge!" A familiar voice of Oakes the Skald rang through the air as he rallied the defenders with a battle hymn.

Daltanius deflected what blows he could until the ruby dragon and the others entered the melee. Behind the cover of his shield, Daltanius endured with the help of elf Celendil's regenerative magic.

The relief from Paush's onslaught came in a tidal wave of comrades who threw themselves against the demon lord for the sake of whatever they held dear.

Joined by his fellow knight of Benwick, Sir Beaumont, and Glencour Waynn of Tempus, Daltanius Silverarms found his chance to call upon divine favors from Torm. The paladin channeled his divine wrath onto his radiant war-hammer, and swung vehemently to deliver critical hammer blows against the mighty demon.

Dodging Paush's fearsome trident thrust combination, Sir Beaumont dove toward the demon's foot. His deft rapier flashed in the air in a piercing strike that dared to puncture the skin of mighty arch demon.

"My life for Tempus!" Glencour's sword sliced at the demon's shin as he let out an enraged roar as tribute to Tempus. His violent zeal was rewarded by Foehammer's favor as his strike delivered a shower of demon blood upon his armor.

Quest for Sword of Benwick was a long one. Its harrowing road was fraught with unexpected side quests, challenges, and ironies. With a terrible howl, the gnome Arinnock burst into his lycanthropic form and clawed his way into the epic battle's irony.

The battlefield burned with passion, fire, and hatred. A savage bite of the Ruby Dragon temporarily held Paush while Arrinock the gnomish Banite lunged at the throat of the demon with palpable ferocity in his fearsome werewolf form. As disgusted as he was at fighting alongside paladins, Arrinock channeled his loathing to a single focus of destroying the demon lord. The Templar of Bane, Arrinock the Lycan, valiantly tore into his divine duty in the name of The Black Hand, with his primal claws of fury against the demon of chaos next to Daltanius, a paladin of Torm.

---

Then, the time stopped. All combatants froze in place as silence fell upon the battlefield save for the magical incantations of the demon lord Paush.

Paush hath come to shove, and Daltanius braced himself for more pain.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Thu Sep 29, 2016 4:59 pm

-Tears for Fearless-

The awesome power of the demon's successive horrid wilting spells wreaked havoc on the battlefield. The initial burst of the accursed drying effect slew a third of the combatants engaged against the beast instantly.

Death gasps filled the air as the defenders fell from the unnatural evaporation of their blood and bile. Daltanius knew the agony of thirst from wandering through scorching, dry desert for days; Paush's spell concentrated all of such misery into a mere few seconds of devastating anguish.

"Things are looking pretty bad right now..." The ruby dragon growled through her clenched teeth, barely holding steady in her bloody, cracked scales.

"Die..." Uttered relentless Arrinock, with his dark furs now caked in blood. His slashing claws missed their mark as he staggered from his injuries.

Meanwhile, the halflings of Burrowhome were largely spared from Paush's spells due to the distance they kept from the demon. Their wise caution kept them from blindly dashing into a direct physical clash, and they were mounting a more subtle and effective counterattack in coordination with a group of casters and clerics away from Bendir Dale.

Under the protection of wise monk Amadeo and courageous Berik, Countess Lyssa Susidian and Olxrith were hard at work alongside clerics, Celandine and Ghestaldt Blimth to conjure up a holy rain to combat the demon lord using a powerful relic, Weatherstone, from a location far away from Paush.

The halfling priestess Gemina, and the druids Airean and Buppi, knowing the efforts of the Weatherstone team, were preparing to focus the divine powers of the gods through prayers in joined hands to amplify the potency of the rain to come. However, time needed to ensure victory still had to be bought by the blood of the defenders on the battlefield.

Just when all the defending combatants seemed to have reached their limit of endurance, bright blue flashes streaked from the eastern sky as a swarm of magical missiles flew from outstretched hands of elven mage, Tialirr.

The barrage of magical energy tore through Paush's defenses, though the demon took the attack in strides. Brushing off some dust and burnt flesh, Paush scoffed, "You are fools."

The arch demon vanished from sight with a simple gesture of his hand, leaving the defenders in disarray.

"Careful, everyone! Careful!" The sharp warning from Gemina the halfling priestess was a signal for Glencour of Tempus to begin a prayer to purge invisibility, but the purging came too late.

The ground shook wildly as the unseen behemoth stomped through the battlefield. A series of thunderous, bone-shattering clangs echoed as Paush's unforgiving trident found its victims.

Beldrin, the stalwart cleric who fought in his stoneskin slumped first.

Red the Earthkin guarding Gemina gurgled blood next.

And finally Arrinock fell foreword, clawing at his invisible attacker, refusing to die despite the blood spurting out of his chest.

Paush's eyes of bloodlust burned brightly as his demonic body finally reappeared through Glencour's invisibility purge. The demon pulled out his dark trident from the slumped werewolf with a menacing grin and taunted. "Is this enough demonstration, fools?!"

With his grip on his shield and hammer weakening, Daltanius whispered a prayer in his enclosed helm, and crossed his arms to press on his own chest with his fists. "May duty's bond grant me the tenacity to carry on..."

The paladin felt the divine grace of his patron bestow a gift of healing as he laid his hands. The torture of abyssal desiccation miraculously subsided; the cracked bloody fissures on his skin beneath his metal armor vanished in an instant.

Amidst the injured comrades, the knight righted himself atop his faithful steed with his glare locked onto his Abyssal foe. Casting aside his shield, Daltanius deliberately unsheathed his keen Gracielo great sword and hoisted it up in the air for Torm's blessing. A massive storm of vengeance with thrice layered clouds brewed and circled above the arch demon as Glencour, Kalika, and Buppi all chanted simultaneously to summon the storm. Thunder and lightning came swiftly. A deafening crack shattered the sky.

With the first lightning bolt as a signal, Daltanius Silverarms charged at full speed toward the demon on Silverlake through the roaring storm of vengeance.

"You have no hope!" The demon cackled as he shoved his mighty trident against the charging paladin, impaling him through his armor, and lifting him up off his charger like a forked morsel of meat toward his gloating face.

"The hell we don't!" Vomiting blood and defiant rebuke, Daltanius mustered all his might to channel Torm's wrath on his single desperate swing to smite the greatest evil he has yet encountered.

The paladin's mighty two-handed blade flashed like a bolt of lightning and struck true deep into the left side of Paush's overconfident, smirking face, banishing the demon's grin for the remainder of the epic battle with a bloody slash down to his chin.

"Gods... That... Man is..." Uttered the elven mage Tialirr, covering her mouth at the scene of horrific violence.

With a grimace of pain and annoyance, Paush shook his trident vigorously and threw Daltanius from the prongs. A look of disgust swept through the demon's bloodied face as he spat bitterly. "Perhaps more demonstration is needed for thee!!!"

When the great arch demon raised his dark trident once more to finish off the crippled paladin, Silverlake -- the intrepid faithful war horse -- charged at the demon with empty saddle, crashing into Paush's legs, sacrificing himself to slow the advance of the demon toward his rider. A shrill neigh pierced the air as Silverlake died beneath Paush's cloven hooves.

"That... That is one brave horse." Powell uttered, stunned at the tragedy unfolding before him next to the swashbuckling merchant adventurer, Carlos Baeda, who diverted the demon's attention from his injured comrades with a streaming volley of hurled spikes aimed at the demon's eyes.

Upon seeing devastated Daltanius struggle on the ground, Oakes the stalwart skald raised up his shield and heroically rushed to save the grievously injured paladin, selflessly risking his own life. Dragging the knight from the reach of the wicked demon's trident, Oakes hurriedly bandaged the bleeding paladin next to Sir Beaumont, who laid his hands in a simultaneous healing attempt.

"Stand, Sir Silverarms. It does people no good seeing you grounded like this," whispered Beaumont, as he rose and stood firm with his shield raised before Paush to guard Daltanius.

"Bro... Brother Francois... live to face him another day." Daltanius pleaded faintly with his outstretched hand toward brave Beaumont.

"There'll be nothing left another day, Sir Silverarms." Answered Beaumont grimly, resolved to face death in the battle.

Daltanius understood him. The injured knight nodded and whispered as he slipped out of consciousness. "Do thine order proud, Sir paladin..."

---

"Lay down your arms!" Screamed the frustrated demon, seeing Beldrin the stalwart cleric rise to his feet again with his weapon clenched in his fist to resume the epic battle.

"Hope is a flimsy construct, mortal." Lectured the grisly demon as he stepped toward Airean the halfling priestess. Yet, the demon's advance ceased as embattled Earthkin defender Red Highfen also returned to his feet despite his horrific wounds.

"No! Not another step!" Red's resolve resonated in his voice.

"Touch her and you feel my axe again!" Bellowed Bok, standing next to Red.

Behind them a low growl was heard. Slowly stepping up for another round of battle was Arrinock.

"One that d... doesn't ha... have hope or... or faith does not know... tru... true power!" Swallowing her fear, Airean stuttered as she rebuked the demon.

"I am The Overlord of Three Hundred and Sixty Third Layer of The Abyss, Paush! My power is absolute!" Roared the demon in response.

"Power is an abstract and fleeting thing, bending to the whims of greater gods and the ravages of time. You may wield power absolute in your home layer, but not here!" Lucille the weave wielder boldly shut down the boasting demon to a stunned silence.

Seizing the distraction as an opportunity, the defending halflings joined in a circle and continued their appeal to the gods, praying for the success of Lyssa's group at the Weatherstone. Led by prayers of Gemina, Airean, and Buppi, Bendir Defenders and clerics in the ranks joined hands to invoke the favors from the pantheons of The Seldarine, Hearth Shrine, and the Triad.

"Shanna, join my hand." Gemina extended her hand to her friend, Priestess of Chauntea, Shanna.

Shanna Tahir, without a moment's hesitation grabbed Gemina's hand and linked the circle with the hand of the embattled elven archer Araval who was already in prayer: "May Solonor guide us home and strike down this fiend!"

Sensing a definite threat from the prayers, Paush spread his wings to pounce upon the circle of praying Arelithians.

"Everyone, attack!!!" The call for battle rang loudly from Celendil Silverspear of Myon. At the vanguard of this final battle was once again, the martyr of Arelith, Ravarora of Elistraee who charged into immortal songs of bards with her final battlecry, "For the Dark Maiden!"

The sacrifice of Ravarora inspired all within the battlefield to erupt in a cry for righteous vengeance. In a gigantic, mighty leap, Arrinock and his tenacious comrade, Reg, tore through Paush's wings, grounding the villain, and keeping him from flying to the circle of devout Arelithians in prayer.

"Weep, weep, for those who put vanity over wisdom... blessed be those of faith, and in unity we call on you..." Mixed prayers of Gemina, Buppi, and others echoed as the demon stopped time once more to unleash his worst rampage with escalating desperation and cruelty. One by one, stalwart defenders blocking the advance of the demon to the circle fought to their last. The bodies of heroic Arelithians piled up wayside of the marching demon and their blood stained the crossroads of Burrowhome in this darkest hour.

Then, the sky wept.

Trickling of a few drops of seemingly ordinary rain turned into a shower, and soon it began to pour as if the gods were unable to hold back their tears for the fearless.

Divine tears of heaven burned Paush's skin on contact, sizzling and tearing the flesh of the abomination as he stopped in his track and howled in pain. The deliverance of the holy rain had finally arrived as Lyssa and Olxrith with Celandine and Ghestaldt unleashed Weatherstone's power far away from the scene of carnage. The prayers of clerics and druids near the battle amplified the potency of the hallowed rain by each pair of hands joined in the circle.

In a sudden turn of tide, as the wicked demon faltered beneath the pouring tears of the gods, Kalika the magnificent ruby dragon clutched Paush by his tattered wings with her clawed, scaled hands and slammed him onto the ground with a thunderous crash that shook the region.

The rain fell hard, and the ground turned muddy. The smell of burning demon flesh stirred a familiar primal fighting instinct hidden deep within Daltanius' blood of diluted Aasimar ancestry. Encouraged and reinvigorated by the downpour of divine rain summoned by the prayers of his comrades, Daltanius staggered back to his feet, rising with the help of his trusty great sword as support.

The knight's heart began to beat in a cadence of celestial war drum. Tightly gripping his heavy great sword before him in a combat stance, Daltanius solemnly reflected on the meaning of Silverarm's heraldic motto, "Triumph of Persistence." And finally as the moment passed, Daltanius - a paladin of Torm - charged intrepidly to rejoin the eternal struggle of good and evil, echoing a familiar battlecry uttered by so many of whom that shared his chivalric heritage throughout Arelith's history:

"FOR BENWICK!".
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Nov 02, 2016 5:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Fri Oct 14, 2016 8:01 am

-Daltanius Silverarms Punchout!-

A full year passed on Arelith since Paush the Archdemon was driven back to his realm at the showdown of Burrowhome. Daltanius survived the battle with a large scar on the right side of his abdomen where he was impaled by the dark trident of the demon. The thrill seeking celibate paladin wore his scar proudly as a souvenir of the glorious battle.

Nevertheless, with frustration of celibacy fueling his rage, Daltanius grew more agitated and belligerent. Battle was an outlet for his unfulfilled passion. Righteous smiting of evil doers was the only relief he could now find since the trail for Sword of Benwick had gone cold at the Cartographer's office in Crows Nest the year before.

---

On one cold day of Leaffall, along the hillside trail to Guldorand, Daltanius came upon a trio of travelers. Among the three, the paladin instantly recognized Mifune the gifted swordsman of Arcane Tower by his dark hair and deep, piercing eyes.

"Well met, fellow travelers! Daltanius Silverarms at your service!" Daltanius warmly greeted the trio atop trotting Silverlake with a casual salute and a nod.

"Ah, This One greets you, Sir Daltani-" Swordsman Mifune's cordial response was suddenly interrupted by the younger of two travelers standing next to him.

"Shove your greetings, and pike off, ye pompous git! Ye think ye own the road, riding around on your horse?" Spat a tall, sunburnt man with sinewy bare arms covered in tattoos. Despite the cold winds from Skull Crags, the man stood steadfast with open disdain for the mounted knight.

"Learn some manners, knave! I've little patience to suffer unwarranted insults by those who knoweth me not." The knight growled back, clenching the pommel of his sheathed great sword hanging by his saddle without a thought.

"Ye damned knights are all the same. Pompous. High and mighty on yer high horses. Empty headed tin cans waving around oversized swords. Compensating for what ye lack, aye?" The sailor (unmistakable by all those maritime tattoos) was unrelenting in his vitriol: His tongue was as sharp as the cutlass hanging off his girdle, and his resentment for the knight was palpable.

"Now, This One thinks it wise to calm ourselves down. We have no reason to show hostility." Mifune was the wise voice of reason in this encounter, but Daltanius was not above a retort.

"Beware of what passeth the barrier of thy teeth, cur. Had I been a capricious villain with a short temper, thou wouldst pay for thy words with steel!." The knight clenched his fists around the rein to keep his anger in check as he threatened the tattooed man.

"Woe unto us all. In what rotten times we live to hear such a threat from a knight?" Interjected an old man in leather armor who until now remained silent. "Frank is my name, and frankly, I'm shocked to see such a lousy temperament from a man wearing the symbol of Torm."

Mifune sided with Frank the old traveler. "Sir Daltanius, This One believes threat of violence for mere words is an unbecoming conduct for a knight like you."

"Hrmph! Forsooth, Master Mifune. I wouldn't fall so low, but slighted is mine honor by this man without a reason nonetheless..." Daltanius turned to the sailor and warned. "I depart with a hope that we do not meet soon, knave!"

"Stuff it, iron pants! Ride along on yer pony and git outta me face before ye git me all worked up!" Braggadocio of the sailor was the final note in the encounter. Daltanius the Benwickan Knight of Torm tugged on his rein and galloped up the mountain trail to Guldorand, furious from the insults he suffered.

"Arse!" The sailor taunted with a sly grin on his face as he watched the paladin ride away. "Knights... How I do loathe their ilk!" Merron the Sailor grumbled, pulling his cloak around his bare arms full of goosebumps at the sudden gust of cold wind blowing from Skull Crags.

---

"Bah, the nerve of that cur!" The celibate, one-eighth elven knight swore as he rode into the logging town. Dismounting, and grumbling all the way into the bounty hunter's depot with a bloody sack full of villain's heads, Daltanius' was still livid; his foul mood lingered and provoked clumsy bumps against crates and barrels cluttering his path.

"Four thousand Sovereign for your bounty, Sir Daltanius. Eight hundred for each monster head." Cheerfully reported the leather-clad sheriff as he tossed a hefty bag of coins to the grumpy knight who snatched the bag mid-air and snorted indignantly.

"Good day!" Daltanius curtly croaked before pushing the door to exit, inviting cold draft and snow flurry indoors. The bounty hunter just shrugged at the uncharacteristically sour display of his regular patron who vanished into the cold night behind the closing rusty door.

---

The knight remained surly as he banked, shopped, ate, and rested for the next few hours in the quaint, snowing, logging town of Guldorand. Daltanius did not understand what drove the tattooed stranger to insult him, and it bothered him at a visceral level. He needed to smite something soon to cope with his tattered pride.

Daltanius donned his armor, strapped on his shield, and stepped out of The Logjam - the only inn in town. Snow flakes tickled his face while cold night wind slapped his cheeks. The gates of Guldorand was deserted save for the messenger hin eagerly waiting his next bag of coins for a message delivery assignment.

Daltanius' destination was going to be Benwick once again. The devils had to be driven out as it was his routine duty. However, before he could summon Silverlake, Daltanius caught a glimpse of a pair of men he recognized.

Off by the open forge some thirty paces left of the gates stood Mifune the Swordsman and the same tattooed lout from earlier who insulted the paladin knight without a provocation! Preoccupied in their smelting work, the pair did not hear Daltanius approach until he was five steps from them.

"Bashaba's ill fortune must be upon me, for once again I encounter thee. I demand apology for thine earlier offense, thou uncouth brigand!" Daltanius startled the duo with his interjection.

"Ah! Sir Daltanius... there is no need to be uncivilized here. This One has only come to assist him with blacksmithing." Mifune the even-minded swordsman shook his open palms to calm down the irate knight in vain.

Realizing what's happening, Merron the Sailor put down his forging hammer and turned around to face Daltanius. "What did ye say?! Pike off, ye pompous sod! I ain't apologizin' for saying the obvious -- that yer an arse!"

"That's it! Even a paladin's patience is not without limit! I shalt make thee eat thy words at the end of my fists!" Throwing his composure to the wind, the Benwickan Knight unclasped straps on his heavy armor and threw them down on the frozen ground.

"Oh? Ya wanna fight like a real man instead of hiding behind yer big metal shield like a coward aye? I'm gonna enjoy pummeling ye!" Merron the sailor raised his eyebrow at the unexpected challenge in fisticuffs and grinned.

"Master Mifune, I ask thee to be the judge of this contest. Thou art a fair man, and thou hast seen the grievances of this man and I. The one to first land five clean blows is the winner and shalt have the other's apology." Daltanius studied Mifune expression for a sign of acquiesce.

"I... very well. This One suggests the contest be held by the cliffs before the town's entrance. We do not want to startle good people of the town." The swordsman spoke wisely once again and led the combatants to the proposed spot.

"Make thyself known, ye ruffian, that I may know from whom I reclaim mine honor!" Daltanius demanded.

"Ya ever listen to yerself?" The sailor with tattooed bare arms sneered and spat on the ground, withholding his name. "Only thing ye'll git from me is a world of hurt, and me fist in yer teeth!"

Daltanius, in his dirty, dark, sleeveless tunic looked much like a sailor himself, though he was without any tattoos on his arms. The paladin cracked his own knuckles as he saw his opponent grin and clench his fists.

Mifune's piercing eyes narrowed as he furrowed his brow as if he did not approve this vain exercise in pride. "Ready..."

Merron the Sailor's eye burned with warrior's intensity as he visualized erasing that gag-provoking cavalier demeanor from his knightly opponent by breaking his perfect nose. The veins on his forearm bulged as he tensed up in anticipation of unrestrained beating he was about to give.

Daltanius had a plan. He envisioned delivering five clean strikes. A flurry of blows consisting of a left hook, a right hook, a gut punch, an upper cut, and finally a straight knuckle sandwich on the rude bastard's mouth was going to earn him his deserved apology.

"Fight!" Mifune signaled.
(http://youtu.be/ZChSzoYy8D8)

The two charged up combatants lunged at one another simultaneously with their wound up fists arcing through the air to collide on their respective targets -- each other's jaw!

Spinning stars adorned the darkened sky as the cross-counter landed. Daltanius had a plan, but that was before getting punched on his jaw. Staggering back and shaking off the impact, the paladin counted to himself, "one."

Merron's fists were nothing but knuckles. Some men have hammy fists that blunt the blow, but unfortunately for Daltanius, the sailor's pronounced knuckles guaranteed severe bruising.

A quick jab followed by a right hook was the sailor's combination. Luckily, Daltanius leaned back swiftly enough to barely dodge the attacks. However, an unanticipated gut punch lined the knight up for the sailor's uppercut!

A miss! The paladin had enough experience in battle to know how to avoid critical blows in most bouts. Taking advantage of his opponent's wild missed uppercut, Daltanius landed a mean right hook and a couple of powerful alternating body shots. "Two, three, four!"

Winding up for a knockout right-handed punch, Daltanius coiled back and leapt forward to hit nothing but air! Meanwhile, beneath his arm moved the deft sailor and his set of triple punches that landed on the knight's abdomen where Paush's trident ran him through.

Gritting his teeth at the unexpected pain, Daltanius lurched back and managed to grin to mask his discomfort. "Not bad..."

"And yer going down!" Dashed the tattooed sailor, eager to land the fifth strike on the paladin. As Merron's left fist sped toward Daltanius's nose to ruin his facial features, the knight lunged forward, spoiling Merron's coup de grace by shifting the distance. Then deflecting the sailor's left arm outward with his right forearm, the Benwickan pivoted left and cut the advancing sailor with a straight punch to his forehead. "Five!"

"The match is mine!" Exclaimed Daltanius, turning to Mifune the Referee for the judgment.

"I didn't agree to yer five-hit rule, ye bastard! I'm gonna see ya bloodied, ye pompous softie!" Merron's sudden tackle knocked the wind out of the Daltanius. The two combatants rolled on the frozen dirt of Guldorand pass, wrestling, trading punches, head butts, and alternating headlocks. By the time the two got up, the knight and the sailor were both covered in mud, bruises, and blood.

"Yer tougher than I expected... Ye punch like a drunken sailor." The sailor finally relented, wiping the blood from his busted lip, grinning.

"I sailed with Cordorian Navy under Calduil for many years." Winded and panting from exhaustion, Daltanius answered through his gritted teeth as irrepressible smile cracked through his bruised and swollen mug.

"Heh, I'm Merron. I used to sail around a lot." The sailor chuckled awkwardly after introducing himself, rubbing his bruised jaws, and extending his right hand.

"Daltanius Silverarms. I'm looking for a sword. Methinks 'Tis time for cold, mountain brewed ale and some spit roasted meat." The knight chortled heartily and shook Merron's hand before thoroughly perplexed Mifune.

"Well, I'm never the one to turn down a chance to drink ale!" Merron burst out laughing, and the trio headed back to Guldorand where smell of roasting pork was wafting through the air.
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Mar 08, 2017 4:22 am, edited 2 times in total.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Sun Oct 23, 2016 3:01 pm

-The Mortal Combat-

Mifune left after sharing a light appetizer with Daltanius and Merron.

The bruised pair sat at the bar and guzzled down The Logjam's finest pissy ale to quench their thirst. They would both agree the ale was foul, but that didn't keep them from bonding over tales of the sea, adventures, and treasures -- the subject of which Sword of Benwick belonged.

Through his busted lips, Daltanius intently explained to Merron about Sword of Benwick and its maritime roadblock until a dwarf came upon the drinking pair. Entered full, brown-bearded Bardin, formerly of Brogendenstein, now living the life of high adventure in Guldorand.

"Daltanius! Laddie, ye be drinkin' here in th' Logjam an without ol' Bardin? Dar ain't right." The dwarf chortled and securely planted himself next to the battered knight. What was to come was obvious. A sailor, a knight, and a dwarf sat quietly for exactly half a moment before the trio burst out ordering a keg for the inevitable contest.

---

"Contestants, ready thyselves!" The knight studied the sailor and the dwarf as they glared at each other as if they were about to enter a mortal combat. In the back ground, the inn's visiting acapella bards changed the tempo of their melody suitable for the showdown. (https://youtu.be/pSHiY4aRDb0)
Before the sailor and the dwarf sat rows of pints, filled to the brim with fizzy ale.

"Go!" Daltanius signaled the duo, and watched the chaos unfold -- for which the paladin would atone by undertaking yet another quest of atonement.

Thunderous burps and lightning fast gulps shook the table as the sailor and the dwarf threw down their pints into their gullets. With their reputation on the line, with their eyes set ablaze, the contestants slammed their empty pints rhythmically in locked step.

Glug~ Glug~ Glug~ Slam!
Glug~ Glug~ Glug~ Slam!
Glug~ Glug~ Glug~ Slam!

On went the epic battle of fortitude between the legendary icons of beverage consumption. "Ye drink like a sailor," and "ye drink like a dwarf," were both apt expression for those who drank with abandon, and the knight wished to abandon his role as a referee in this contest certain to earn the ire of the loser. However as it dawned on Daltanius that neither of the contestants were going to remember the winner, his faith in duty returned and remained steasfast.

---

"Oh~ I gotta pisshh... Errrp!" Said one of the contestant.
"Oi gotta come back soon!" Said another contestant.

Who said what, Daltanius did not care. "Take thy time, fellows." The knight grinned and took a savage bite of his chicken leg, freshly brought to him by the server. And he also took a sip of ale. 'Why not, aye?' Daltanius shrugged.

---

When the sailor and the dwarf returned to the table a few hours later, gone were the remnants of the wild drinking contest. Daltanius kept his mouth shut about who won or lost and lived to see another day.

"So about yer search fer this... Sword..." Said Merron the sailor.

"Aye. I've amassed more than half a million sovereign to find this blade." Daltanius confessed.

"Half a million?! Thou hast my help my friend!" Merron pledged his help without further hesitation, and immediately they set out to Crow's Nest to renegotiate with The Cartographer who had been the roadblock on The Quest for Sword of Benwick!

"Best of luck, laddie!" Bardin the mighty dwarf waved them goodbye with yet another pint in his hand, stroking his full beard with the other.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Thu Oct 27, 2016 11:06 pm

-There Be Dragons-

The journey from Guldorand to Crow's Nest took Daltanius and Merron a half-day on foot via Wharftown. Rather than riding the boat around North Coast of Arelith, the pair walked to Wharftown to sober up from the night of drinking, since Daltanius knew that drunk-smiting along with scribe-n'-riding were the leading causes of young paladin fatality around the realm. "Promote Responsible Questing through Benwick," thought Daltanius. Along the road, the pair were joined by old man Frank who they met the day before.

As the maritime hub of Arelith, Crow's Nest smelled of a curious ensemble of fish, exotic perfume from Sibayad, and sweat of unbathed sailors. The wooden planks of the pier were covered in pasty droppings from ubiquitous seagulls. The birds squawked at one another as they dove to score chunks of half eaten fish.

In the half-lit office of the cartographer, Haecateus stood before a wide sea chart spread across his sizable desk. The elf frowned and chastised his unexpected guests. "A man should have enough manners to knock first. To whom do I owe this displeasure of an abrupt interruption?"

"Daltanius Silverarms, Cartographer." The paladin replied flatly.

"And what brings you here... Daltanius? Do you wish yet another lecture about the archipelagos? Or do you want to revisit the warm water current between Arelith and Sibayad?" Haecateus' lazy eyes darted independently, studying the knight and his companions.

"Nay Cartographer. I've come for the same reason why I always come to visit thee -- for the Seachart to the island prison." Daltanius answered. "I'm here for the chart to Galwyn's island."

"Well the warm current from the Dragon Isle flows through this channel between Areli..." Haecateus' attempt to dance around the subject was suddenly interrupted.

"Aye matey, I be wit this knightly bloke. Merron's the name and sailin' be me game. There be half a million Crowns riding on this quest that I'd like to get. So cut da dogfish an' les talk sailin' aye?" Merron's curt suggestion was the key to unlock the quest. "Where be th' chart, matey?"

The lazy eyed, verbose elven cartographer finally relented. "It'll be your doom, you know."

"Whaddaya mean, fella?" Old man Frank croaked next to Merron.

"The island ye seek... You cannot hope to return from it..." Haecateus the Cartographer paused dramatically. "A powerful un-living dragon has taken residence there since a few years ago -- and no one who has sailed there recently has come back alive."

"Slaying evil dragons is no foreign task to Benwickans, Haecateus." The pompous knight gloated arrogantly.

Haecateus exploded in response. "You fool! Don't you think all who died there thought they'd live? If you go, there's no guarantee you'd come back alive!"

The paladin looked at Merron. Merron looked at Frank. Frank glanced at Daltanius. They all stood around a moment, just blinking.

"By Valkur's foot fungus! Idiots! All ye adventuring, questing ilks are idiots! Don't you know how dangerous it would be to sail there?" Frustration of the cartographer fell on deaf ears like a hundred ton whale carcass.

"Just give us the chart, matey." Merron was to the point.

"Its... in my head." Confessed the cartographer.

"Oh?" Frank's mouth opened ajar with surprise.
"Oh..." Merron's left eyebrow shot up (Steven Colbert-like).
"Oh! Then THOU MUST SAIL WITH US!" Daltanius was overjoyed at his simple solution, oblivious to the fact that this had been precisely the reason why Haecateus had been so reluctant to give him information about the island all this time... more than a year as a matter of fact.

The cartographer sighed and nodded. "Get yourself an army... An ARMY, you got it?! Then! ONLY Then, I'll go... because I don't want to die for your damned quest."

And just like that, suddenly, the quest was back on the menu.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Wed Nov 09, 2016 6:10 am

-A Good Knight is A Dead Knight-

"Did you hear the news?" Griff grunted as he dried a pint glass with his rag. "They say they cut off his head and desecrated his body next to the toll bridge."

The Nomad was slower than most nights. The bar was empty save for a well groomed elderly bald man clad in a tight red-and-black tunic. He took a sip of his spirit and grimaced.

"A Grim fate for a nice chap." Uttered the bald man as his chrome-dome brilliantly reflected the light from the chandelier. "I met the fellow once... He had a warped shield badly in need of repair."

Griff the barkeep nodded and set aside his pint-glass. The grey-bearded barkeep then grabbed another glass without a word and resumed wiping it dry. Soft melancholic melody rang out from the house bard's lute unaccompanied by lyrics.

"Do you know how he died?" A hooded newcomer clad in green wearing a quiver full of arrows sat down hastily on a stool at the bar as he joined the rumor mill.

"People say a couple of troublemakers waltzed in Cordor and the paladin called them out." Griff spat out into a spittoon as he told the tale. "The word has it he challenged a Malarite dwarf for a duel, but was killed by a crazy mage in middle of the duel."

"Truly? For shame..." The green archer shook his head. "Wasn't he the fellow that was searching for Sword of Benwick?"

"Aye. That'd be him. Daltanius was his name." Griff nodded and raised his eyebrow at the half-elven archer. "You gonna order something?"

"Just water. No ice." The Archer grunted through gritted teeth without bothering to remove his hood. As Griff sneered at his cheap patron, the archer removed a single arrow from his quiver and began to examine the arrowhead obsessively for a flaw in its craftsmanship, earning a quizzical look from the bald man sitting next to him. After a minute or so, the green archer mumbled to himself. "Cordorians Guards... you have failed this city."

Griff slid a bronze goblet filled with water to the archer then turned to the bald man in red-and-black tunic. "You want another glass, Jon?"

"Make it so!" Answered the bald man with such authority, it alarmed the enterprising barkeep.

"Why do I keep getting these odd characters in my bar today?" Griff lamented to himself softly.

"I suppose we won't be hearing about Sword of Benwick much, aye?" The archer spoke, putting away his arrow, content with the condition of the arrowhead.

"I don't know about that, Archer. I heard folks say that the paladin was sacrificed to Bane once... Fed to a Banelar Naga ten years ago as a matter of fact." Griff answered with a look of disgust.

"Poppycock!" The bald man winced at the absurdity. "He'd be a Naga dump then."

"Well, I asked the man about it once; you know what he said?" The gruff barkeep grinned as he begged his patrons for answer.

"I got better?" Shrugged the archer.

The barkeep suddenly burst into laughter as he nodded. "That is exactly what he said!"

The two patrons simultaneously palmed their face and groaned.

Griff continued. "The fellow said he woke by the Soul Stone of Heartwood Grove in the past. Who in Toril knows? I've seen some strange things in my life... Why, just during the past decade alone, I heard rumors of gods appearing in this very island. Besides, Haulfest performs true resurrection rites every third day of each month after Triadic Bingo."

The two patrons simultaneously palmed their face and groaned once again.

---

Daltanius heard the sweet, sensual, alluring laughters of Nymphs all around him. The sound of music filled his ears as moist grass beneath his body soothed his throbbing headache. Opening his eyes was a struggle for the thirty-year-old virgin for he has been wandering Kelemvor's Wall without a respite for what felt like ages, and the memory of the strange realm was fading fast.

"Was it the hand of Torm that saves me," thought the paladin as he beheld the familiar sight of the crystal monolith -- The Soul Crystal of Heartwood Grove. Just then, for a very brief moment, Daltanius thought he caught a ghostly glimmer of a strangely familiar elven figure fade into the Soul Stone with a smile.

"Great grandmother Leela?" Daltanius reached out with outstretched hand but all he could feel was the moss covered surface of the monolith.

Daltanius laid there next to the Soul Crystal and rested, watching the Nymphs and Dryads dance around. It was good to take some break from the rigors of the quest. For the celibate paladin, life was good here next to the Stone, and it was good to be alive... again.
Last edited by Bashagain on Thu Mar 02, 2017 5:31 am, edited 4 times in total.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Thu Dec 22, 2016 5:19 am

-Family-

Daltanius felt disoriented. Nausea drove him to wretch as he stumbled back on his feet. Still clad in his bloodstained armor, the paladin smote down his urge to vomit. The dryads and nymphs were beautiful and kind, but he could not idle away in this peaceful grove; a hazy yet powerful compulsion of a forgotten duty drove the hapless paladin to resume his suffering for it was the sacred price of being alive. Rising from the plot next to the soul crystal in Heartwood Grove, Daltanius gave his thanks to the woodland beings and trotted out of the Grove in search of himself.

The eastern trail in Arelith Forest was brisk with Spring wind. Fluttering in the wind not ten paces away was a forsaken tattered brown robe, torn but still serviceable. Daltanius claimed the abandoned cloak as his own to keep himself warm, and continued down his way through the forest trail. Some birds chirped above him on branches. He spotted a couple of squirrels - one chasing after another. His eyes beheld the magnificence of the forest anew as if he was a new born babe. He was still lost in awe of nature when the wolves came.

The wolves surrounded and growled at the recently revived paladin. Wide-eyed and overwhelmed by the sudden predicament, Daltanius stepped back only to hear the growl growing louder from his back.

A large male in grey fur lunged ferociously at the hesitating paladin in tattered robes. Snapping its maw, the wolf caught the loose sleeve of the robe; the animal was tugging on it with a violent jerk when it let out a yelp of agony.

The wolf whimpered weakly before collapsing next to a sturdy oak. The other wolves, witnessing the quick demise of what must have been their leader began to scamper away.

The sword that fell the wolf was quickly drawn from the torso of the collapsing beast by a well-groomed young woman in the trappings of Cordorians Guards. With her shining armor and shield, Artemisia Bibliophilius approached ragged Daltanius whose hunched figure was indiscernible in the shadow of a tree.

"Are you alright? You are not hurt are you?" Her concern was genuine judging from her voice.

"I'm... unhurt." Daltanius stepped forward into the light from the shade of the great oak tree next to the slain wolf.

"Oh... my..." The woman froze in utter disbelief, and then her eyes welled up in tear.

"Great Aunt Artemisia... I'm unhurt." Daltanius then embraced his only family on the island.
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Mar 08, 2017 3:42 pm, edited 5 times in total.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Sun Jan 08, 2017 7:45 pm

-Charfoot Confidential-

Three years passed in Cordor since Daltanius returned to Temple of Triad after his resurrection. His great aunt, Artemisia and many friends in Cordor welcomed and helped the weakened paladin recover. Despite various adventures in smiting evil dragons, devils, and demons, the lead to Sword of Benwick remained elusive to the paladin; Cartographer Haecateus had become uncooperative yet once again.

---
“If I remain in my current rank within the temple...” Elysia the Divine Seeker was in mid sentence, speaking to Daltanius when she was rudely interrupted by a nervous halfling messenger in a blue cape with a high pitched, nasal voice.

“Master Daltanius, right? A fine lady named Lynn Charfoot has been paying us a dragon’s weight in gold to track you down! She wears the color of Cordorian Navy, and she’s in The Nomad. So I suppose you ought to find her when you can!” The messenger darted out as soon as he delivered the word. The paladin nodded and set out to seek his summoner following his conversation with Elysia the monk.

---

Daltanius hurried to The Nomad, the largest and most well known watering hole in Cordor. By the entrance, Daltanius encountered an armored woman wearing a blue cloak with a symbol of Lion’s head for its clasp. “Sir Daltanius?”

The paladin was easy to recognize with the trappings of a Tormite paladin. Daltanius looked, smelled, and sounded like what one would expect from a paladin knight. “Art thou my summoner?”

Introductions were made. Pleasantries were exchanged. ”Do you know Pugdish?” Lynn’s eyes studied Daltanius’ face.

“Sir Pugdish is a brother of mine through Chivalric Order of Benwick” Daltanius’ eyes flashed as he studied Lynn’s face. The paladin failed to detect any trace of evil from his summoner.

Lynn Charfoot wasted no time in delving into the topic. The two found a quiet corner in the tavern and spoke in hushed voices. “From our research and confirmed by a drow historian, the blade rests in the mountain.”

“Drow historian?” Daltanius blurted out loud reflexively.

“Shhh~! Sir Daltanius. Sir Pugdish Wolvenguard hired us in Arcane Tower in the quest for Sword of Benwick. He had us find a route into the Underdark and arranged a meeting with a drow historian in a neutral ground.” Lynn Charfoot had shoulder-length brown hair. She smelled of the sea as if she had briefly stepped onto the shore amid her maritime duty.
Daltanius softened his own voice to a whisper. “What thou sayest is much different from the path from mine own search, and the words of drow should be taken with great suspicion… Nevertheless, continue.”

“The drow bade us to bring him… a lot of fruits from the surface with some guaji roots in exchange for his knowledge,” She paused and rolled her eyes before resuming, “for a... fruit-bath.”

“Depravity of drow knoweth no bound! Fruit is to be eaten - not to be rubbed on...” The paladin declared in utter disgust at the mere thought of such a fruity debauchery.

“The drow-elf revealed to us that Sword of Benwick rests somewhere up the highest peak of the mountain, taken by a sect of Banite Zhentarims. Sir Pugdish has more details, Sir Daltanius.” Charfoot summed up her words by urging Daltanius to seek Pugdish Wolvenguard.

Daltanius, finding the fresh detail skeptical and surprising, shared his own progress in the quest thus far with Lynn. Both agreed that all avenues must be searched. The paladin then emptied his pint of dark foamy ale and set out to contact his brothers in arms, Benwickan Knights Sir Pugdish Wolvenguard and Sir Obren.
Last edited by Bashagain on Thu Mar 02, 2017 5:49 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Tue Feb 28, 2017 8:54 pm

-Underdark: A Fool's Soul For A Sword-

To the paladin, The Underdark felt alien: Darkness was suffocating; he sensed palpable evil surrounding him; unfamiliar creatures eyed him with disdain and suspicion, and even the rocks appeared to conceal some malevolent powers. Daltanius was in midst of reminding himself how much he disliked The Underdark when the rusted gates of the Cage Arena opened to usher the poorly disguised knight to meet his next challenge.

Daltanius stepped into the cage, full of hubris and bluster, shaking his hammer at the booing crowd. The paladin had thus far easily smote down all he faced. But now, before him stood an imposing, well adorned Imaskari twirling a menacing, bloody scimitar, eager to slice him into chunks. Some unintelligible litany streamed from inside the Imaskari's helm until he scream at the top of his lungs what must have been his name, "HIJO!" The crowd of Underdark's arena then suddenly erupted in unison in cheer for their champion.

Outside the cage, Sir Duncan Waynolt shouted. "Careful, brother! That one's no fool with blades! Don't let your..." His warning was immediately drowned by the roaring chant, "HIJO! HIJO! HIJO!"

Thinly disguised with tar and bark covering his trusty full plates, the paladin nodded at his only friend in this godforsaken arena of The Underdark, then pointed at the Imaskari with his hammer, and drew a large "X" in the air; Silverarms then opened his arms, exposing his torso and cocking his helmed head, shouting, "What's o'er thee, House-Knave?! Wishest thou a piece of me?!" (Yes, he just said "What's up, home boy? Wanna piece of me?" It's a sad, sad day for English Language.)

Daltanius grinned as he watched his opponent lose his discipline and charge toward him with indiscretion. The paladin deftly dodged out of the way from the blade-master's obvious thrust, and landed a sweeping blow on the Imaskari's left knee with his heavy war hammer.

Hijo's stricken leg bent backwards in a most gruesome fashion. Sparks flew from the Imaskari warrior's blade scraping wildly against the paladin's relic shield as his own momentum carried him down to the ground.

"Xargx Bleruch Er HIJ!"

Daltanius did not hear the rest of the Imaskari gibberish. A quick follow up strike crushed the combatant's helm, silencing him and the crowd cheering for him.

"The answer is - this hammer." The tar covered paladin rose and spat an epitaph, answering his own earlier question to the Imaskari.

Walking out of the cage unscathed, Daltanius was received by Sir Duncan Waynolt, whose mighty stature was as large as a barn. "Well done Brother Daltanius. Let us leave this place for now."

The two Benwickans made their way through a hole in the wall into a wretched slum flooded with murky, brownish water.

"Are you sure you wanna pursue this further?" Duncan asked in a booming voice made as quiet as he could manage.

"Aye Brother, Duncan." Daltanius nodded. "Sir Pugdish learned a bit about The Sword's whereabouts from a drow before. Methinks the title garnered from these victories may help us learn more about it. I heard the creatures of Underdark respect strength."

"But you know the stakes, right Brother Silverarms? If you lose the final match, your soul will be devoured by The Beast."

"Well, Brother Duncan, thou wert the one who told me of this sport, and thou hast much more to lose -- a family, a wife and a child..." A grim expression crossed Daltanius' face. "I - on the other hand - am a celibate paladin with no dependents. I shan't be missed much even if I perish in pursuit of my quest."

"You would be missed greatly by your comrades, Sir Daltanius." Duncan the hulking, gritty knight sounded concerned. He had seen too many comrades die in his life time.

Daltanius nodded and opened a flask of ale before guzzling it down. "Forsooth, my friend... Nontheless, I shalt still risk my soul in my search for The Sword of Benwick!"
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Mar 08, 2017 4:00 pm, edited 12 times in total.
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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Fri Mar 03, 2017 6:10 pm

-Parable of A Drunk Smiter-

The fervor of Cage Arena manifested in a pitched screams for the blood of the tarred paladin. An angry mob of Underdark's denizens stomped their feet and shouted for the return of the arrogant cur that slew their master swordsman - Hijo - in a most humiliating way.

As the chant calling for his demise echoed through a hole in the wall, Daltanius sat down next to a moth-eaten tent and closed his eyes while Sir Duncan kept a stern vigil. A look of concern lay beneath Duncan's facade as he looked down at the inebriated, snoozing knight. Before long, the stench of depraved wretches of Underdark pierced the paladin's nostrils to wake him from his respite.

"'''Tis... about time," Daltanius slurred, still drunk from excessive drinking (which for him was three bottles of ale), "they have another one... (hic) ready for a fight, aye Sir... Duncan?"

Duncan's brows furrowed at the condition of his friend. "I'm sure they're ready for another battle, Brother Daltanius... but are you?"

"I certainly am... Who~'s next?" The paladin stumbled back to his feet wearing a stupor-filled smirk. His tarred plates clanged noisily, echoing through the dimly lit dank cavern.

"The next is a granite giant, my friend." Duncan warned with a low, rumbling voice. "I bested him in the past... But don't underestimate him, Daltanius. He's as hardy as I am."

Daltanius nodded, donned his helm without a word and slung his shield across his back. He felt optimistic: He defeated eight combatants back to back within a couple hours, and he felt the warmth from all the ale he drank reassuring him of victories to come. The paladin picked up his worn hammer and gave it a little twirl to check its balance; it felt a little lighter than usual.

"Let's see this through, Sir Duncan!" Daltanius lurched ahead back into the arena district.

The Cage gates creaked open for the ninth consecutive time for Daltanius, and he staggered onto the battleground once more. Driven by his ego and greed for his quest, and fueled by his ale, the paladin readied himself for the looming battle against a boulder with a slurred prayer of Divine Shield and Might.

"Last chance to place your bets!" The imp bookie shouted frantically before the Cage Boss introduced the fighters.

"On the southern corner, the latest challenger, weighing two hundred and thirty stones, six feet and two inches tall, wielding a war hammer, with eight back-to-back victories~ The Tarred~ Bastard!" The crowd jeered and pelted Daltanius with strange looking rotten fruits and fungi indigenous to The Underdark.

"On the northern corner, weighing three thousand stones, twenty-three feet tall, the Living Granite, Slayer of Squishies, the one and only penultimate champion of the cage~ JOTUR the MIGHTY!!!" The spectators clambered to their feet and cheered fervently at the announcement of Jotur.

Ground shook as the granite monstrosity stomped toward the center of the cage, causing a small earthquake. A rock-gnome spectator picking his nose outside the cage lost his balance from the tremor, fell forward, jabbed deep into his nostril with his finger, and gave himself a nose bleed. "Ugh, not again," he lamented.

Daltanius stood firm (as much as he could in his drunken stupor), facing an immobile boulder that seemed to be much smaller and tamer than what he imagine Jotur to be. Daltanius the Drunk taunted the rock - mistaking it for his opponent in his intoxicated state. "Bring it! Thou~ monkey's dried arse-flake!"

Jotur the Mighty was pleased and amused at the confused drunkard gesturing ridiculously to a random lifeless boulder lying next to the gates, completely oblivious to his thundering approach from behind. He shrugged, then initiated his attack.

Raising his club high, Jotur took a fierce swing downward at Daltanius and recoiled as force of divine shield repelled his strike. He was surprised that the fight did not end immediately.

The sudden blow of Jotur's not-so-subtle sneak attack sobered up Daltanius enough to engage his real foe. He found enough mind to fight defensively since he was without prayers he should have invoked prior to entering the melee. Each crushing strikes from Jotur took a toll on the drunken knight's stamina; his lungs burned for more air, and headache from creeping hangover blurred his vision.

Nevertheless, Daltanius' hammer strikes were relentless against Mighty Jotur. Soon, cracks spread all across Jotur's grey torso, head, and the legs. "''Tis the final strike!" Thought the paladin, preparing for a coup-de-grace when his Divine Shield suddenly dissipated, exposing him to the full brunt of Jotur's vengeful, devastating counterstrike!

"Grrruuuuugh!!!!" With a ear-splitting, grinding crash, the vicious club of Jotur slammed down on Daltanius's helm, critically injuring and burying him halfway into the dirt-floor of the cage arena. The gamblers who wagered on Jotur simultaneously let out ecstatic cries of jubilation as a Dracolich swooped in to discard the lifeless body of the foolhardy paladin away onto a mound of bodies in the slums.

---
"Daltanius, awake."

A familiar voice stirred the paladin back to his consciousness as numbing pain subsided with a groan. Fog had shrouded the farmlands near Cordor, and golden sunset diffused in the mist over green field. Smell of fresh-cut grass wafting through the air was a comforting reassurance that he was alive. Duncan sat across him by a camp fire, wearing a gruff expression of relief.

"Well, you fought bravely, but you lost that battle, Daltanius. At least you're alive, aye?" Duncan spoke as he tossed Daltanius a vial of milk.

Daltanius winced from all aches and replied following a quick gulp, "Forsooth, Duncan... Never drink and smite. Drunk-smiting is the leading cause of death for paladins under forty, I'm told; now, I've mine own experience to prove it."

Duncan replied, grinning, pointing at the vial of milk. "Aye Brother... Drink responsibly."

The two warriors burst out into hearty laughter as they got up to return to Cordor.

---

Next dawn, Daltanius got up, brushed his teeth, washed his face, then smote Jotur to pieces in the Underdark before reporting back to Cordorian Guard for his morning shift.

In the Underdark, duergars ran around The Cage frantically, picking up the shattered pieces of Jotur amidst the curses of gamblers who lost their bet in the aftermath of an uncharacteristically brief, one-sided battle.

In the dark pen of The Cage, only The Beast stirred, anticipating the delicious soul of a Silverarms to devour soon...


(This chapter was brought to you by PADS - Paladins Against Drunk Smiting. Knights don't let knights Smite drunk. Drink responsibly)
Last edited by Bashagain on Wed Mar 08, 2017 4:26 pm, edited 10 times in total.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Tue Mar 07, 2017 11:53 pm

-Cage of Lost Souls, Part I-

"By Torm's FURY, I strike thee DOWN!!!"

Daltanius' hammer strike was swift and merciless. The Beast had no chance as it crumbled before the paladin who descended upon it with all the fury of Torm. Empowered by enchantments bestowed by Anden and Jadoth of Cordorian Guards, Daltanius' victory against the dreaded soul-devouring beast -- the tenth champion of The Cage -- was sealed within a minute of clash.

Silence fell around the arena as if something unexpected happened. A handful of shrill cheers broke out as a few denizens of The Underdark struck gold in betting in favor of Daltanius, who was now known in The Cage as "The Tarred Bastard."

The paladin dusted himself off a few loose pebbles from his stoneskin and strode out to a murmuring crowd of Underdark's gamblers.

"You have bested The Beast!" Declared The Cage Boss. "As promised, I give your fortune of Three Hundred Thousand, along with the belt of Cage Champion!" The orange skinned, ogre-like beast, raved excitedly as he handed Daltanius his spoils.

Daltanius raised the trophy belt to conclude his show of strength to the Underdark, where he had hope to find a new lead for The Sword of Benwick. The gathered spectators parted way for the paladin to exit, yet the darkness of The Underdark had disoriented the errant knight. He did not remember which path would lead him back to the slums, where he would use his portal lens to return home.

"Impressive! I never seen a combatant best The Beast with barely a scratch." A reddish creature squeaked as it flapped its wings and floated toward Daltanius.

"Creature, knowest thou a way to the slums?" Daltanius' eyes flashed as he tried to detect the nature of the creature before him but sensed no evil. Detecting evil was a fickle blessing, but the paladin did not have long to dwell on it.

"That I do, warrior!" The flapping wings answered the paladin with enthusiasm.

"Excellent. I would have thee guide the way out of this place for a sum of ten thousand. Have we a deal?" The paladin was eager to return home. His winnings were weighing him down, and he did not wish to encounter a drow war party in the current state.

"Very well then, Cage Champion. I'll lead you there." The flying creature gestured at Daltanius to follow and flew ahead; Daltanius hustled to keep up with his strange guide.

Wary of possible betrayal, Daltanius kept a firm grip on his hammer as he ran, but thankfully the creature kept to his word: Daltanius rediscovered the hole in the wall whence he came, and the pair soon found themselves in the familiar slums of Andunor -- the city beneath the Island of Arelith in The Underdark.

"Here's thy due, as promised." Daltanius tossed his flying guide one sack of gold among thirty he received from the Cage Boss. The creature nearly dropped the bag, but managed to stay afloat.

"I am Avnas the imp," revealed the flying guide.

"And I am Daltanius Silverarms, Benwickan Knight of Torm," Daltanius responded, frowning at the unpleasant discovery about his benefactor.

"Silverarms? That name is still whispered amongst the Tinkers here in The Underdark... Many curse the name still." Avnas paused uneasily a moment before sizing up the paladin.

"A -minor- demon of The Abyss art thou?" Daltanius taunted.

"I am a creature of Baator," corrected Avnas, "I'm offended that you would think me a denizen of that foul, chaotic realm."

"A fodder for a hammer the same, Imp." Daltanius replied, unimpressed.

"You could smite me down here, and send me back to Baator, but before you'd consider such a rash act, I have a revelation for you." Avnas held up his tiny finger.

"Go on." Daltanius folded his arms.

"Your holy Temple in Cordor is being tainted... with a presence of a foul witch," Avnas grinned wickedly.

"Asb'el... she has broken her pact with us, and hides in your temple. An oath breaker..." The imp read Daltanius contempt flash at the mention of the term. "I see disdain in your face... I too loathe those who break their word."

"Smite her and bring her dead body to me, and I shall be your boon in your search," Avnas paused, clearing his throat, "for the precious Sword of Benwick -- wasn't it, Daltanius Silverarms?"

Daltanius opened his mouth at the offer. A deal that may bring him closer to the object of his quest, in addition to slaying an oath breaking witch besmirching the pristine honor of Triad Temple was laid bare for him. It was his duty to smite evil. He would simply have to follow his duty and return the body... to a devil?

The paladin grinned, and answered, "Nay, imp. Villain or not, this... Asb'el hath taken sanctuary within our holy temple with a trust that we would keep her safe from the likes of thee. I shalt not break this trust: We have no deal, devil."

"I am disappointed to hear it, Daltanius. I had hoped you'd be happy to slay her." Avnas flapped a little farther away from Daltanius cautiously, sensing hostility.

"Continue thy meddling against the lawless drow of The Underdark, imp. I take my leave of thee in this realm of chaos." Daltanius replied coldly as he broke his portal lens to return to The Surface.

As he pondered atop Silverlake on his way back to Cordor along the grassy fields of Bramble Woods, Daltanius felt reassured that the imp was so desperate to see Asb'el dead. She was a notorious former governess of Isle of Sibayad, and he had wondered for months if her request for sanctuary under the protection of Brother Azrael in The Temple of Triad was genuine. At least now, Daltanius knew for certain that Asb'el has made enemies of the devils. The knowledge was a small consolation in having to put up with the morally ambiguous tenant in the Temple of Triad.
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Thu May 18, 2017 7:07 am

-Cage of Lost Souls, Part II-

Arelith Forest was lush with green foliage, and the cove by the Cricket Cave looked even greener with a fresh carcass of a green dragon that lay across a shallow ford by a grove of oak trees. The dragon unfortunately ran afoul of couple of paladins carrying heavy load of furnitures. Daltanius Silverarms was helping his comrade Azrael move into a new hut when the dragon flew headlong into his hammer, then fell on Azrael's glowing holy avenger sword.

"Forsooth, the creature would have lived longer had it offered to help us carry all this furniture." Quipped Daltanius, balancing a stack of chairs and crossing the threshold into his pal's fresh pad.

"It's a shame what passes for a dragon nowadays, Daltanius." Jovially replied Azrael, dragging an old wooden desk and a brass candelabrum through the door.

The pair of paladins were heading to their horses to unload even more freight when a short, repugnant goblin messenger snuck up behind them. The yellow, wrinkly goblin with droopy eyes raised both of its hands in the air and yelped in a panic as the two knights suddenly turned to face him with their weapons drawn.

"No kills! Me's a messenger from Underdark Cage Boss! Big Challenge for Champion! Very big reward! Great~ challenge! You Fights the HORDE challenge!" The goblin managed to speak his best Common in two years.

"A new challenge from the Underdark, aye?" Daltanius' arrogant, condescending tone hinted at just how much he underestimated his so-called challenge in the Underdark Cage since his swift victory over The Beast a season ago. "Thou may'st return to thine employer and tell him I shalt be there soon to face his new challenge, knave."

Daltanius still believed that more fame he'd gain through these battles, he would have easier time gathering information about The Sword of Benwick in the Underdark. The glory of victory came with useful treasures and substantial reward in gold as well. Daltanius felt little to no guilt at slaying creatures that dwelt in the Underdark. They were evil after all... every single one of them; he was certain.

---

"Ya have come, Champion! Welcome! Welcome!" The Cage Boss greeted Daltanius in his hoarse, grating voice as the paladin and two of his pals emerged from the slum of Andunor. Azrael the Holy Avenger of Hoar and Gyr Falcoh the Magic Wielder of Cordor provided stern vigil against Underdark treachery as well as magical wards upon Daltanius for his upcoming challenge in The Cage.

"For ya, Champion, I have prepared something very special! No one has ever faced battle such as the one yer 'bout to face in the Cage today. Only the fiercest of warrior'd survive the Horde BLINDFOLDED!" The Cage Boss grinned wickedly, showing his crooked, decaying sharp teeth.

Daltanius glared at the Cage Boss. "What is thy prize this time?"

"Fifty thousand." The burly orange Ogre answered curtly and tapped at a dirty bag atop a wooden chest next to him with the butt of his halberd. Coins jingled within.

"Not good enough, scoundrel. Add upon it any knowledge concerning whereabouts of The Sword of Benwick and thou shalt have the fight." Counter-offered the paladin.

"Look, yer fights make good shows, and I make quite a bit from the bets and all... But I've heard nothin' 'bout no Sword o' Benwick." The Orange Ogre grumbled. "But, tell ya what. I'll throw out my feelers an' tell ya if I hear anything, deal?"

Daltanius nodded once silently and fastened the straps on his armor for battle.

"Oh, and a word o' advice? I'd plug yer ears if I were ye. The screams o' The Horde would paralyze any warrior." Cage Boss frowned deeply and stroke his chin as he advised.

Daltanius shrugged and retreated to the slums for his final preparation for the battle, where Gyr enchanted him with a circle of silence to ward against the effects of the screams, and Azrael blessed him with a prayer, "may his strikes deliver justice."

Before long, Daltanius the Paladin of Torm strode back and stood before the entrance to The Cage and nodded at the Cage Boss. Roars erupted from around the arena, and bloodthirsty denizens of the Underdark screamed yet again for the blood of "The Tarred Bastard."

"Finalize your bets!" Bookies shouted desperately for the last minute wagers as the din of stomps and cheers rose to drown all other sounds.

"Wenches and savages! I am pleased to announce the battle you've all been waiting for!" Ever the showman, The Cage Boss's flair added fuel to the frenzy.

"Entering the Arena, the dark horse that defied all our expectations... Slayer of Imaskari, Slayer of Jotur, and vanquisher of soul devouring Beast! Champion of of The Cage, Tarred Bastard of Benwick, the impetuous paladin surfacer, Daltanius Silverarms!!!"

Azrael and Gyr's expressions turned ashen as Daltanius' identity was fully revealed through the declaration of Cage Boss. Their hearts sank even further as a random squid-faced Illithid creature in the crowd yelled, "Take evasive wagers! It's a TRAP!"

Meanwhile, Daltanius, as he was enveloped by a circle of silence was oblivious to the commotion around The Cage. In utter silence he only felt tremor intensify beneath his feet. He waited for the visual cues for the battle, and casually stepped into the battleground when the steel gates of The Cage swung open.

"On the opposing side," Cage Boss paused dramatically, "the fiercest and most desperate wretches that have EVER been unleashed into The Cage! THE HORDE!!!"

Cacophony of wails and feral screams pierced through a pair of closed metal slab gates on the opposing side of the Cage from Daltanius. As the gates slowly opened, the howls and wails intensified, becoming bone-chilling like that of banshees. Azrael and Gyr's stern demeanors melted into reeling panic from disgust and horror as they recognized the sounds of the horde as something very familiar. They became paralyzed at the dawning of what tragic depravity was about to unfold.

In his circle of silence, oblivious to the true nature of the frightening shrieks, Daltanius gripped his mighty hammer and relic shield to smite down the Horde of The Underdark. Suddenly, the area became enveloped in magical darkness that even ultravision could not pierce. The blindfolded battle against the horde had begun.

---

Daltanius has had a lifetime of battle against foes that strike unseen. Invisible mages, ambushing assassins, devils that rely on stealth -- he has fought them all and lived to be at this moment against the horde. He prayed for Torm's might as he swung his hammer ferociously in darkness and felt his divine power pulsate through his hand as his hits connected. He knew that each of his swings were crushing multiple foes.

Ten... twenty... thirty...

The paladin began to lose count of creatures splattering against his relentless hammer. He was winning against the so-called mighty horde. As he had expected, the battle was no challenge at all. "Another progress in the search for The Sword of Benwick," he thought. Then Gyr's magic circle of silence faded...

---

Desperate cries of the small children filled Daltanius's ears. Piercing wail of women tore at his heart. And as the magical darkness slowly lifted like a curtain, a nightmarish scene of utter horror was unveiled before the bewildered paladin. All around him were blood and gore. Strewn about him were mangled bodies of people he had just murdered -- a horde of innocent, weak, enslaved men, women, and children.

"Stop this madness and let him out!" Azrael and Gyr protested fiercely but their efforts were ultimately in vain to stop the slaughter as the final wave of surviving slaves were compelled to attack the stunned paladin.

Daltanius felt a dull pain in his torso and thighs as daggers wielded by a couple children in rags miraculously pierced through his armor. Acting on instincts, Daltanius Silverarms the Benwickan Paladin of Torm struck down the two children in torn rags and caught an old man lunging at him with the return swing. A woman wielding a broken sword dashed at the bloody paladin from behind, only to lose her head at the edge of the paladin's artifact shield as he swung it around.

With the last of the "horde" dead, Daltanius stood alone in middle of The Cage in silence. Bloodstains of innocents he's slain covered his silvery adamantine armor in stark red.

Daltanius closed his eyes but the vision of gore in his mind's eyes forced him to relive the sickening feeling of murderous impact on his hands from only moments before. The paladin knew he had fallen.

---

As the moment of silence passed, Daltanius gripped his hammer and trudged out of the bloody hell he has wrought. The Cage Boss tossed him the gold at his feet.

"Well done, Cage Champion. You deserve it!" Smirked the Cage Boss.

"Daltanius! It was a trick! Do not blame yourself!" Azrael consoled the silent paladin.

"You couldn't have known. It was all an elaborate scheme, Daltanius." Gyr reasoned with Daltanius.

"Nay, friends. The consequence of this evil deed is my burden to bear." Slowly responded the paladin, and turned squarely at the Cage Boss. "And for thee, I would buy the bodies of these slaves I've slain with the gold I've earned."

Cage Boss shook his head with a vicious grin. "No paladin. That won't happen. Though yer a popular attraction, that is something I JUST cannot do."

"Then I offer another wager: I shalt battle thee un-warded, and wager three hundred thousand of mine own gold. Best me and thou wouldst be richer in respect and gold." Daltanius' voice was even and cold.

"Ya know how to appeal to my greedy side, Champion... Very well. I will rip out your head and take your gold!" With the bluster befitting an Ogre, Cage Boss motioned for the gates to open for a fresh new battle.

---

The cage erupted in chaos once again as bookies began taking wagers. With their hands on their weapons, Gyr and Azrael prepared for Underdark treachery. Daltanius stepped into the Cage arena one final time in hopes of exacting justice for the dead with his own or the ogre's blood and possibly resurrecting the victims of the massacre should he survive to collect the bodies.

"Bad move, Surfacer Scum! You die whether you win or lose. Your thin disguise won't help you escape here!" The Cage Boss's halberd suddenly lit up in hellfire as he spat his threat with a menacing twirl.

"The fallen innocents shalt be avenged with thy blood first, thou blackguard!" Daltanius, still bleeding from the wounds of the previous battle clenched his hammer and focused to channel Torm's divinity to smite the evil doer before him.

The two mortal combatants vehemently charged at one another with an intense, almost palpable enmity. The epic clash of high stakes thundered across the caverns of Underdark. Cage Boss's swift halberd slashed and rent Daltanius' bloodstained pauldron as it was made of copper. Yet, Daltanius' formidable shield deflected the brunt of the attack and created an opening for a square counter-strike.

"In Torm's name, I Smite THEE!" The Paladin's hammer found an apt target on the ogre's chest, where it should have collapsed the lungs of the beast to end the battle in that instant. Nevertheless, the beast was unfazed by Daltanius' smiting attack -- as if Torm's divinity was absent in Daltanius' strikes.

The ogre's attacks were fast and furious: Halberd slashes were followed by flurry of sweeps and lunges which kept Daltanius relying on his defensive expertise. The battle lasted long, but the tide turned as Daltanius' disciplined shield defense deflected all but the most dogged of Cage Bosses' lunges.

"Triumph of Persistence." Daltanius muttered his family motto unconsciously. Finally, fed up with the constant deflection of his blows, the Cage Boss let out an enraged roar of frustration at the paladin and wound up for a massive cleaving slash. Daltanius, grasping the opportunity, delivered a quick strike on the ogre's unguarded chin with a rising swing to knock the beast down, then followed through with a heavy hammer swing of vengeance down upon the horrified face of the evil bastard, caving in his skull.

The Cage Arena fell silent.

Daltanius raised his hammer high above him before the spectators and announced. "I am Daltanius Silverarms, The Tarred Bastard! Champion of thy Cage, Slayer of Innocent Helpless Slaves, and Killer of thy Cage Boss! By the terms of the battle, I claim what is mine and take the corpses of these slaves!"

Shouts and protest began to erupt as Daltanius, Azrael, and Gyr picked up as many bodies as they could from the arena floor and fled into the flooded slums of Andunor. Yet, before long, their path was blocked by a formidable group of Underdark denizens including drow, gnolls and orogs.

Desperate to get the bodies of the slaves to the surface, Daltanius broke his portal lens to return to the surface only to realize upon emerging out of the portal that the magical energies have repelled all the corpses he was carrying. Soon, he was joined by Azrael and Gyr who also had abandoned the bodies in the Underdark.

Fallen from grace, there was no victory, no rescue, no redemption, but only tears of remorse and regret for Daltanius. As the pathetic disgraced knight wailed loud from torment of guilt for horror he has wrought, a crowd began to gather around him in the outskirts of Cordor.

Daltanius Silverarms was a Fallen Paladin of Fallen Order of Benwick, and upon Tormish Priest, Brother Kivnas' orders, he departed for Benwick Ruins to smite a hundred devil for each innocent lives he has taken as his penance.

There, in the charred remains of citadel of Benwick, wandering the ruins in madness and despair, the once paladin rambled on to himself:

"A thousand devils blood shan't wash away the taint of innocent blood I've spilt.
A lifetime of good deed shan't redeem the vile deeds I've wrought.
What damnation hath my blind thirst for glory bought?
Shalt I linger in this shameful ruins as a fallen knight?
Oh, the blade of Light, Sword of Benwick, I am no longer worthy to seek thee...
Yet I keep the faith that thou shalt return to Benwick to redeem us all."
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Re: Sword of Benwick

Post by Bashagain » Thu Aug 03, 2017 6:15 pm

-The Vow of Celibacy-

Tradition of chivalry is that in which values of honor, valor, and loyalty is perpetuated through fraternity of knights. Individual heroes fall but ideals that make them heroic thrive through shared bond in a symbol, a belief, an order.

Chivalric Order of Benwick bound individuals from many different factions and allegiances on the isle of Arelith into a fellowship of questing knights with the single purpose of seeking the fabled Sword of Benwick. Faith guided the knights to seek the blade although many dismissed its existence as mere rumor. In the end, through conviction, Benwick Knights persevered, finally reclaiming the long lost holy avenger blade of Sir Galahad.

---

Obren was Daltanius' last squire. The young man was devastated when his friend and hero, brave cleric of Torm and Benwickan knight, Sir Leonard Banquo met his Martyrdom at the hands of the Infernalists, Lucia Malveaux and Morgan Gracehold. Determined to follow the path of a knight, Obren sought out Daltanius in the frontiers of Arelith and accompanied him in numerous expeditions in search of the legendary Sword of Benwick as his shield-bearing squire.

Years later, when Daltanius returned to Cordor after a particularly harrowing and lengthy sojourn, he found the young man grown as Sir Obren, the head knight of the Temple of Triad. After renewing his chivalric vow before his own squire, Daltanius reciprocated the solemn duty by ordaining and inducting Sir Obren as a full fledged Knight of Benwick.

More years passed. Through the gates of Temple of Triad entered an eager young man seeking the path to knighthood now before Sir Obren of Benwick. The wise knight smiled and reminisced on his days as a shield-bearer in search of Sword of Benwick, then spoke kindly to the lad. "Path of chivalry is fraught with peril. You would need to persevere against evil within as well as without. If you choose to walk this path, then I shall gladly be your guide... I welcome you, Eric Lugger, as my squire."

---

Daltanius, in his rusted armor, still tainted with the bloodstains of the innocent slaves he had slain, trudged through the rain-soaked, muddy cobblestones of Cordorian Plaza in the Temple District. The repentant paladin muttered while forcing himself to avert his gaze from the glorious spires of his former home, The Temple of Triad.

"Forgive me, brothers of Benwick, for I still wander aimlessly, bathed in devil's blood, attempting in vain to cleanse myself of this indelible stain of mine own evil deeds. I drift ever farther from our sacred blade... If I were to ever find it, Sword of Benwick would smite me down as its bane. Perhaps only then would I dispel of this guilt and find absolution." The downpour turn to trickle, though the rain cloud lingered as the somber knight lamented in soft whisper.

"Brother Daltanius!" A familiar voice pulled the remorseful fallen paladin from his miserable reflection.

"Sir Silverarms! By the good grace of Torm, it is you!" The voice belonged to a well groomed knight in a fine surcoat over a tailored silvery breastplate. Sir Kyle, a paladin of the temple, whose Eldafire family lineage was well known in Cordor stood only a few steps away from him.

Daltanius raised his head and peered beneath his ragged hood to behold the young man.

"Aye, Brother Eldafire... Thine eyes art keen to recognize me even in this state." Answered the fallen paladin, doffing his hood to reveal his matted hair and grimy face.

"I... I heard the stories, Sir Daltanius... about the tragedy... But there is something that you MUST know!" Kyle suddenly reached out and grabbed Daltanius' right arm as if he was apprehending him. Pressing excitement grew in Sir Kyle's voice. "The Sword, Sir Daltanius! It is found!"

Stunned Daltanius stumbled a couple steps, compelled by Sir Kyle Eldafire's tug. "Torm's blessings, Brother Kyle! Forsooth?!"

"Ah, pardon me, Sir Daltanius." Kyle promptly let go of Daltanius. "Sir. Follow me quickly! We must go to the realm of our lords, where Squire Eric is guarding the blade." Sir Kyle quickened his step into a light jog and motioned for Daltanius to follow. The pair's plate mails clattered, echoing between Temple District's stone building architecture.

Bewildered but invigorated by the sudden revelation, Daltanius kept up his pace with Eldafire. "Realm of our lords, Sir Kyle?"

"Yes, Sir Silverarms. Do you have a Potion of Attunement?" Kyle Eldafire queried as he searched his pouch for the rare magical potion.

"Aye, Sir Kyle; I have one such potion, though I never learned to use it properly." Replied Daltanius, pulling out a small vial from his badly worn belt pouch in mid trot.

"Great, Sir Daltanius. Don't worry about it's usage. I will show you once we get to Heartwood Grove in Arelith Forest." Eldafire explained and led the way to the portal within Temple of Triad.

The two warriors soon found themselves on the trade route to Arcane Tower, where they once again utilized the portal to enter the shallows of Arelith Forest. Rain had passed, and the beads of water-drops sparkled beautifully on green foliage in the forest as beams of sunlight seeped through the canopy. Daltanius' steps quickened: his spirit lifted; high hopes of encountering the object of his nearly two decade-long quest was overwhelming him, allowing him to forget the agony of his penance.

Retracing the steps to the site of his resurrection, The Soul Crystal of Heartwood, Daltanius felt a strange mix of bittersweet relief.

"Welcome back, Daltanius Silverarms... Blood of my blood." A soft, haunting whisper of an ethereal female voice rang in his ears and faded as he stepped into Heartwood Grove. As Daltanius turned his head in search of the whisperer, all he could see was trees, vines, and leaves covering the area.

"Great-grandmother Leela..." Daltanius mouthed the name softly. He did not see her, but he knew it was her spirit that spoke to him. The knight suddenly felt something he's lost return to him: it was his smile.

"Everything alright, Sir Daltanius?" Sir Kyle turned around to check on his peer.

"Aye... Everything's alright." Answered the fallen paladin.

The two knights made their way past singing dryads and Soul Crystal and reached a circle of flowers before a spring at the northern edge of the grove. Kyle turned around holding his Potion of Attunement. "Drink the Potion here, Sir Daltanius. This is one of the nexus of planes, I'm told. It'll take us to the Astrolabe." Kyle Eldafire then quaffed the small vial and faded from Daltanius' eyes.

"Kiravias once said there are places where this Potion would show its effects... Here's one for thee, old friend." Daltanius unsealed the mysterious potion and downed the content in a single gulp: This time, the world faded from Daltanius' eyes.

---

The Astrolabe was a great wonder beyond Daltanius' limited power to describe. Strange contraptions jutted from rocky, aliens terrain somewhat reminiscent of caverns of Underdark. Swirls of multicolored lightning flashed in the sky, and suspended above a dark chasm were globes of strange windows showing wildly different environments.

"Sir Daltanius, this is The Astrolabe." Sir Kyle produced a vial of holy water and tossed it into a basin before a large foreboding metal gateway. "Holy water here is the key to enter Celestial Plane. Master Amadeo Pneuma was most helpful in providing us with knowledge about this place."

"My friend and magic tutor, Kiravias, told me about this place. I did not know I'd be seeing this in person." Daltanius grinned, enjoying the discovery.

"Come, sir. We're close!" Young Eldafire beckoned as he briskly stepped through the bluish portal beyond the open gates. Daltanius Silverarms, then took one last glance at The Astrolabe to commit the scenery into memory. Then again, focusing on his quest at hand, the fallen paladin knight strode through the open gates of Celestial Plane.

---

Brisk, pristine, and serene snow-covered slopes of Celestial Plane welcomed Daltanius and Kyle as they emerged through the shimmering portal beyond the gates. An imposing giant pillar of light with calming, bluish tint just beyond a valley perpetuated a familiar air of reassurance and beckoned at the pair.

"The Light of Benwick!" Uttered Daltanius, compelled by the majesty of the site.

"Yes, Sir Silverarms. It is the very same that extends to the ruined citadel." Acknowledged Sir Kyle.

The two knights continued to hike until they turned a corner into a large clearing just below an intricate open shrine surrounding the Light of Benwick. And there, before Daltanius and Kyle stood a young warrior in humble trappings of Benwickan squire.

"Blessings of our lords, sir knights," bowed the young warrior. "I am Paladin Eric Lugger, Squire of Sir Obren of The Temple of Triad."

At the introduction, Sir Kyle smiled and exuberantly and replied. "Triad's grace is upon you, Squire Lugger. I have brought Sir Daltanius Silverarms, the man who began our order's quest many years ago."

"Thou art Squire Eric Lugger... Then in thy possession is..." Daltanius stammered and could not finish his sentence as a lump in his throat grew.

Kyle Eldafire, sensing Daltanius' want for explanation began to tell the story about the discovery. "Aye, Sir Silverarms. We were led in our quest to this sword atop a cliff next to Lake Minmir... when we drew it from its resting place, it became a dagger, but in our continued battle against the devils, it grew with each victory. Now, we've empowered the sword to reach a size of a normal long sword. With you amongst us, I am certain we shall soon empower the sword to its full potency and dispel the damnable portal beneath Benwick, Sir Daltanius."

"Kyle, but how certain art we that 'tis indeed The Sword of Benwick? If what thou sayest is true, then this blade is The Dunhallow Sword which I drew many years ago in my search. 'Tis the very blade which bade me to seek Galwyn The Stalwart and The Island Prison." Purplexed, Daltanius questioned his peers.

Squire Lugger paused a while to reflect and answered Daltanius. "In our search, a call came to us... when we came upon the blade, we spake the name, "Galahad," and the sword became loose from its resting place... it is our conviction that it is indeed the genuine Sword of Benwick, the Holy Avenger of Founder King Galahad, Sir Daltanius."

Daltanius searched the expression on Sir Kyle Eldafire and Squire Eric Lugger for a shred of doubt and found none. Silverarms nodded thoughtfully then raised his head to behold the Pillar of Light. After a moment of silence, Daltanius spoke. "I... must ponder this a while, my friends. Forgive me."

With that, Daltanius the fallen paladin slowly walked away from the pair of Benwickans to wander the celestial realm and ponder the meaning of his quest all these years.

---

For what must have been a tenday, Daltanius meditated in the pristine landscape of Celestial realm about his life in pursuit of Sword of Benwick on Arelith. Daltanius recalled the battles he has won and lost, the vows he has kept and broken, and the lives he has saved and took.

Daltanius wondered if he had been purposefully misled by The Sword of Benwick to the path he has walked. He pondered if it was the will of Torm to test him or place him in situations where he was needed by guiding him with The Sword.

Daltanius smiled as he recalled the time he was thrown into a quest to slay a terrible, ancient, white dragon on the slopes of Dark Spires with the stoic swordsman, Eldwyn Leofricson, and dwarven artificer Vyfur Hauksen during his search for The Sword of Benwick. He reminisced on the friendships forged through crucible of many adventures he partook in relentless pursuit of the blade.

The Mystery of Galwyn The Stalwart, The Island Prison, and the Unliving Dragon -- The false leads that led him astray ultimately did not matter in the end. That Sword of Benwick had return to the order was enough for Daltanius, and it was time to see to the proper end of his role in the quest he had started.

Once more, searching the horizon to orient himself with the Pillar of Light, Daltanius found his bearing to seek Squire Eric Lugger, and set off toward the shrine. His wandering was about to come an end. The final road to The Sword of Benwick had taken Daltanius Silverarms through a journey in Celestial Plane where he came to an understanding that the quest itself was more important than the object of the quest.

---

As Daltanius returned to the Shrine of Celestial Pillar of Light, he found the stalwart Squire Eric Lugger still standing vigilant, guarding The Sword of Benwick.

"Sir Silverarms, you've returned!" Squire Lugger sounded genuinely enthusiastic to see the knight again. "We were all waiting for you to return to us. To have you fight the devils alongside us would ensure that The Sword of Benwick is fully empowered!"

Daltanius Silverarms smiled warmly and shook his head. "Nay, stalwart paladin. I've only come to thee to complete my part of this grand quest."

The fallen knight looked straight into the squire's eyes as he spoke in an earnest, even tone. "I have sought the blade for many years as a Benwickan Paladin, and kept to my vows and fought relentlessly against evil. But in the end, the singleminded search has blurred my judgment and I've succumbed to hubris which led me to take innocent lives. For this, I have become fallen and disgraced."

Daltanius' eyes fell to his feet in a moment of silence before resumption. "I repent... and I've come to submit the weight of my penance to be judged by Sword of Benwick."

Squire Lugger's eyes widened. "Be judge by the sword, Sir Daltanius?"

"Aye, Squire Eric," Daltanius' solemn gaze looked like that of a man about to meet his fate. "Unsheath The Sword of Benwick that I may behold the blade of my judgment."

Without a word or hesitation, Squire Lugger nodded and swiftly drew the sacred Sword of King Galahad, holding the long sword upright in front of his chest. Radiant light of golden hue poured from the blade like the sun and flooded the area. Though Daltanius squinted reflexively before the blinding light, he embraced the sword's brilliance by fighting to keep his eyes open.

And as the light from Sword of Benwick washed over him, Daltanius felt as though his lingering remorse for his sins were acknowledged by the souls of innocent slaves he has slain in The Underdark. In this moment of epiphany, the fallen paladin found peace within him. He was prepared to accept The Triad's final judgment.

"Squire Eric, wilt thou bestow The Sword of Benwick unto mine hands?" Daltanius Silverarms extended his arms to cradle the blade of King Galahad.

Once again, Squire Eric Lugger did not hesitate, for his faith in Daltanius was resolute. Tradition of chivalry - of honor, valor, and loyalty - bound him to Daltanius through his own knight mentor, Sir Obren. He was of Chivalric Order Benwick. He was family.

In a deliberate manner characteristic of chivalric discipline, Squire Lugger turned the blade toward himself, and offered the hilt to Daltanius Silverarms as the glow from the sword's blade faded out away from his grasp.

Daltanius' outstretched right hand slowly closed around the ornate hilt. Then, he carefully lifted The Sword of Benwick to cradled the naked blade like a precious newborn. The blade however remained dim.

Daltanius first felt the chill of cold-steel permeate over from his hands to his arms, then throughout to his entire body. Then, feeling of courage and conviction began to seep his heart in the wake of the chill. Daltanius instantly recognized the familiar sensation. It was the same feeling he had felt upon becoming ordained as a paladin so many years ago. "In Torm's name, I submit. In Illamter's name, I atone. In Tyr's name, I am judged!"

With the utterance of his prayer, Daltanius Silverarms tightly gripped the hilt of The Sword of Benwick and boldly raised it high over his head.

The Holy Avenger, Sword of Benwick, began to shine.

Gazing upon the blade as it glowed brilliantly in golden hue, Daltanius Silverarms knew he was once again a paladin.

Eric Lugger's smile grew as he witnessed the confirmation of Daltanius' return to grace. "Congratulations and welcome back to paladinhood, Sir Daltanius."

"I owe it to thy faith in me, Squire Lugger." Answered Daltanius. "I have set out to find The Sword of Benwick, and it hath turned out to be the instrument of my salvation."

Daltanius cradled the Sword of Benwick in his arms once more. "I now leave it to thee and our brothers to continue the quest to properly send off the ruined citadel... As for me, my quest comes to an end as I finally understand its riddle."

"Riddle of your quest, Sir Silverarms?" Squire Lugger looked puzzled.

"The Island Prison of Galwyn the Stalwart... The Unliving Dragon... and The Sword of Benwick..." Replied Daltanius.

"I still don't understand, Sir Silverarms."

"The Island Prison of Galwyn the Stalwart is Arelith itself... I've been chasing after a dragon that does not live or exist... and -we- are The Sword of Benwick, my friend. Sir Galahad's greatest Sword was the bond he forged with his fellow knights... this Sword is merely a symbol of our collective will. May it grow even stronger still." Daltanius explained as he gently returned The Sword of Benwick in Squire Lugger's care.

"I see, Sur Daltanius..." Eric Lugger nodded, sheathing the mighty holy sword.

"Now that you have seen your quest's end, what will you do, Sir Daltanius?" Squire Lugger asked, scratching his head.

"Well, reinstatement of paladin-hood means I could choose fresh new vows, Squire Lugger... and for long I haves suffered greatly under The Vow of Celibacy! 'Tis time to return to my hometown of Trademeet and trade-in the Vow of Celibacy for the Vow of Persistent Sowing."

"Vow of Persistent Sowing, sir?" Squire slugger raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Forsooth! Pray for me that I meet an exceptionally beautiful woman!" Daltanius burst out in laughter.

A sly grin tugged on Lugger's lips. "We're gonna miss you, Sir Daltanius, but I now understand your urgency to start anew."

"My thanks, good man." Daltanius tossed down his heavy backpack and his prized artifact shield to the helpful squire paladin. "Herein art some magnificent gears that have helped me in my quest on Arelith. Share it amongst those of our order. They shalt help thee in my stead."

"This shield... it's... it's unlike anything I've ever seen before." Stammered Squire Lugger.

"Sister Talindra or Brother Azrael may demand it from thee if thou wouldst choose to keep it. Mine advice? Tell them ''twas thy reward in aiding in my redemption."

"Aye, Sir Silverarms." Lugger saluted crisply.

"Well then," Daltanius blew a shrill whistle and roared. "Silverlake, come!" Finally, answering the call of the reinstated paladin, his long missed faithful steed, Silverlake materialized before Daltanius. "Missed me, aye?"

The horse neighed in response.

"Nice horse, Sir." Squire Lugger nodded in approval.

"My gratitude, Paladin Eric." Daltanius dexterously mounted his trusty steed as he replied.

"Fare you well, Sir Daltanius Silverarms!" Squire Lugger waved him goodbye.

"May Torm's blessings be with thee always, Squire Eric Lugger!" With a quick farewell, the paladin knight of Torm, Daltanius Silverarms summoned Silverarms family's heirloom, giant mechanical golem armor -Mechavelier- around himself and his horse, and dashed off to a nearby portal to Prime Material Plane where he was now completely unshackled from the Vow of Celibacy.

-The End-
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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Bashagain
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Re: Sword of Benwick - Complete

Post by Bashagain » Thu Aug 24, 2017 6:14 pm

To continue the storyline involving Sword of Benwick and the Quest of Benwick, check out "A Paladin's Journal" by Arcavius Ryde (Cybernet21), and "A Sense of Self" by Artemisia Bibliophilius (Ambigue). Will the knights of The Temple of Triad succeed in their quest to send off Benwick properly into Celestia? Only the journals will tell...
"Drider-man, with Great Smite cometh Great Responsibility to SMITE THEE!!!" - Erik Silverarms, in The Underdark. Circa AR 63

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