The four disparate knights filtered in an isolated chapel deep in Flamekeep. They had been ordered to come to the chapel, to pray and meditate on their sins and consider the path towards redemption.
The chapel was one of dozens in the massive, highly religious city at the heart of the Silver Flame's power. However, located in one of the oldest and poorest parts of Flamekeep, the chapel showed many signs of disrepair, from the flaking gilt on the front doors to the cracks in the stained glass windows to the vines smothering the east side of the building. The overall impression was of a once glorious building that had long since lost its glory. Nevertheless, a discerning eye might recognize that the "bones" of the building were still sound. The massive, black granite blocks composing the majority of the structure had been chiseled so cunningly that they laid tight without mortar and showed no signs of damage, despite their ancient age and the vines that sought purchase. The same eye might see how the building was built more like a watch tower than a church. The windows at ground level were little more than decorated arrow slits, the door were thick ironwood with flecked paint.
A fitting place to begin such an endeavor as restoring one's honor.
Inside, the chapel similarly showed signs of disuse and only occasional cleaning--cobwebs in the stained glass windows, dust on the wooden pews, faded tapestries along the walls. By contrast, the altar, a simple large slab of black stone carved with ancient stylized versions of flame inlaid with silver, was spotless and immaculate, looking as new as the day it had been installed in the chapel nearly a century ago. Kneeling in front of the altar was Prefect Waldemar, his head bowed under the hood of his dark blue and silver robes, resting his forehead on his sword held cruciform in front of him. It was he who had summoned each of the knights. They knew better than to disturb him during prayer, and that he would give them his attention once all had arrived.
(Please feel free to describe your character, how they look, and think. We'll start once everyone's character has arrived.)
Glint looks at the run down building with a well tempered disgust. He never was one for glory, but aesthetics are important to him, obviously based on his fine clothing and well groomed hair and beard. He runs a finger across the granite making a subtle scraping noise against his rocky hide.
He notices the prefect in prayer with a start. And quickly and quietly moves to his right two steps behind and kneels inn prayer as well. Apologizing silently for his pride and asking forgiveness in the Flame
Sitting in the back, young Omen had arrived very early to pray and meditate. Now the young squire sits in silence. "I beg for guidance and forgiveness for my sins." is a phrase that is repeated over and over in his head and in low whispers. The young man, standing over 6 ft. tall with an average build with his brown shoulder-length hair tied back, now sits in a pew near the back, waiting for Prefect Waldmar to finish his prayers. Omen struggles to keep his mind focused because of the heavy burden placed on him by the Church. To his mind, his only sin was to survive but he knows it is more than that. He survived but he does not know how and the lack of that knowledge has brought him much in the way of misery and self-loathing. But this summons is the one chance he has to regain his honor and he will die rather than fail to do so.
Garrion stands in the back of the church, nervously. He is a thin man with straight messy brown hair, with the begging of a mustache over his lip, he is wearing common working cloths all covered by an overcoat. He tries to be in the back, sinking into the shadows, but the windows let in too much light. A million thoughts rush through his head, "Who are these people?", "What did they do?", "Do they know who I am?", "Do they know what I did?" etcetera. He finds himself instinctively gripping a dagger. He let's go of it, thinking "You're not in the criminals guild anymore." He closes his eyes, imagining himself in the forest again, waiting for someone to speak.
A tall, dark metal figure strides into the temple. Dressed in a dark suit of metal armor that blends into his body, the warforged kneels finds a seat on one of the nearby benches. His red eyes look across the assembled group, studying them each in turn. On his back is a large silver and blue shield with the symbol of the church engraved over a hastily scratched off symbol. On his belt are a myriad of weapons. Upon closer inspection of his armor, you see dozens of tally marks scratched into his left shoulder plate.
When everyone had arrived, the Prefect cleared his throat and stood, sheathing his sword. He turned and pulled back his hood revealing a old, weathered human face with piercing blue eyes peering out under a heavy brow. His neatly trimmed beard and hair were grey mixed with white. He was thin, but still stood with iron in his spine. The left side of his face had a large white, star-shaped, puckered scar at his cheek that an experienced soldier would recognize as an old arrow wound. It pulled his skin around into a perpetual grimace.
"Well, here you all are." His voice is quiet, but harsh from years of yelling commands on the battlefield. It echoed faintly in the chapel. He looked over the four knights, then turned from them to look around the chapel. "This chapel started its life as one of the first guildhalls and watchtowers of the early Silver Flame. Some of the first knights of our order walked these very halls before it was converted into a chapel." He held a gloved hand over the altar, not quite touching it. "It's said this altar was brought from the Demon Wastes by Darmin Avaroth herself, before she ascended to become the third Keeper of the Flame. And yet, here it sits neglected as the Church has moved on to grander cathedrals and loftier ambitions."
His hand forms a fist, the leather of his glove creaking. He turns back to the knights.
"But it is my belief that the Church is no greater than its weakest member. The Flame's greatest work is done not in the high halls of great lords and nobles, but by the lowest folk. As our doctrine states, none have walked in the shadow so long that they cannot find the light. That is what I offer you. Redemption. Succeed in the task ahead of you and regain your honor. But, more importantly, do the work of the Silver Flame."
The knight walks around the altar and looks at the knights across it. His demeanor becomes more formal and the knights recognize the words of the first initiation into the order.
"Come, Kneel, before the altar. Be baptized in the Flame. Listen to the words of your oath. Burn them into your mind, where they may be your guide in the darkest night."
He waits for the knights to approach the altar. As is custom, he rests his hands on the altar, and waits for the knights to do likewise.
Glint stands and moves up to the altar, waiting for his brethren to line up with him out of humility and respect. He keeps his head low, but never stops looking around at the other members.
His reverence is a practiced charade, knowing the ritual, but thinking it beneath his status. Still, he follows along knowing that this may be his one shot back into his family's good graces.
Omen watches and listens to Perfect Waldemar. When he realizes what the Perfect is offering, he tries to keep ahold of his excitement but fails to do so. Omen stumbles as he makes his way to the alter. He kneels before the altar, placing his right hand upon it. Sweat starts to form on his forehead, a sign of his nervousness. Omen will bow his head and close his eyes, repeating his prayer then waits for the Perfect to continue.
Garrion, trie less and less to hide himself as the Perfect speaks, it is an somewhat southing speech. He stomachs his anxiety and walks toward the alter, making side glances and everyone else. And begins a silent prayer. Thinking of his family most of all while doing it.
Onyx walks up to the Prefect. "The Flame took me in when I was lost. I have a debt to repay the church." He places his metal hand in the altar and slowly kneels down.
Glancing at the others as they approach, he watches Glint's aloofness with distaste. Shaking his head he looks to the Prefect for further instructions on their redemption.
The stone feels alive under their hands, thrumming with power and warmth. As they are charged with the oath the odd mixture of knights can feel a sacred power rise through their hands and settle comfortably in their chest, like a warm meal on a cold night.
The Prefect offered their oath to them, his rough voice taking on a formal cant.
"Reflect the Light of the Flame. Always be there to help those in need. Where souls engage in sin, foster more virtuous behavior. Keep the Purity of Silver. Lead by example and demonstrate to others the way of the Silver Flame. No mercy can be granted to demons, but hope remains for the lost peasant to the greedy merchant to the arrogant king, that they may follow a different path if shown the way. Show them the way. Trust the Church. Trust the wisdom of those who stand closest to the Flame. Act without questioning orders from your superiors. Be Thou Cleansing Flame. Evil infests every corner of Eberron. Scour the land and cleanse this evil with spell, flame, and sword. Do you so swear?"
"Then arise as knights, reborn in the flame, cleansed of your sins, seeking righteousness in all your actions."
As they stand, he nods at each of them before speaking again. His voice even more formal, with an undertone of regret. "By my rank as Prefect and my authority in the Flame, I commit you into the Order of Ash, and style you Ashen Knights. Until such a time as your mission is completed, you walk in Twilight. Your oaths are suspended until that time, that you may take the actions necessary to complete this task, fearing not damnation, but gaining no glory. Though you should always aspire to maintain your oath if possible, your mission takes precedence. Should you live, you will atone for the actions you have taken while members of this Order that you may return to righteousness, though those actions shall be spoken to none but other members of the Order. Should you fall, the Flame will take you and cleanse you in its embrace."
The Order of Ash was spoken of in whispers among the more experienced knights. It was considered, at best, a necessary evil and, at worst, a betrayal of the values of the Silver Flame. Members of the Order of Ash were granted indulgences from sins they may commit while in the Order so that they may be able to take actions that would otherwise be cause for immediate expulsion and excommunication from the Church. It was clear from the Prefect's face that he did not relish the necessity of the Order.
He looked them over, and spoke again, less formally. "You know the mission. Find Sir Alain, his party, and recover the holy artifacts, I won't bother to go over the details again. But heed this advice. The Mournland is a strange place. Evil and danger walk there worse than any other place known on Eberron. Keep your wits about you. This task is nigh impossible to start with; if you lose yourself and your faith, failure is all but certain. 'Ware the Shadow in the Flame, that voice that sounds like wisdom but leads to damnation. Care for each other, you are only as strong as your companions. Finally, our whisperers have informed us that Karrnath is aware of your mission and seek to find Sir Alain before you. So beware, be careful, but know that time is of the essence."
He looked to the well kempt earth genasi. "Sir Glint, being the most senior knight, you will lead this mission. But recognize that you are first among equals, not a lord leading his bannermen."
Turning to the young, somewhat nervous looking human, Waldemar continued speaking, "Sir Omen knows the way to the party's last known whereabouts. But have caution for reports by all who have walked in the Mournland say that it is easy to get lost and that the land doesn't always seem to follow the laws of physics and reality. That may be superstition and fear speaking, but enough of it is likely true that I would caution against assumptions."
He offers a fine leather satchel to Sir Glint, the unshifting weight and slightly-off inertia of the bag indicate before even opening that it is a bag of holding. "Inside are a months' worth of iron rations for the three of you who eat," he said with a nod to the Warforged, "along with anything else I thought useful that I could gather in a short time. You will find Brother Karos at the southern docks, along pier 515. He will take you across the Sound to the Mournland. He is expecting you within two hours, so complete any business you have before then. If you have any final questions, now is the time."
(Let me know if there's anything else you want to do before we jump ahead to the adventure.)
After repeating his oath, Omen stays silent, keeping his eyes down. When the Prefect mentions Sir Glint, Omen will glance up and look to the commander of this endeavor.
Omen will nod his head when Sir Glint speaks.
Once released by the Prefect, Omen will race to his meager dwelling and retrieve his gear, making sure all is in order. Omen will then make his way to the Pier and await his fellow knights and the start of their mission.
Brother Karos navigated the catboat throughout the night across the Sound away from Flamekeep. Several hours late and Karos began to draw the ropes to furl the single sail of the small sailboat and took up a rowing oar, controlling the ship in the shallows like one might a gondola. The catboat moved slowly in the shallows off the rocky coast of what was once Cyre, approaching a stone dock jutting out into the waters of the Sound. The dock end of the dock reached back towards the land, but disappeared into a massive wall of grey mist. Strange shadows flit through the mist, distorted voices bellow from afar, and a supernatural chill reaches deep inside you. The effect is unsettling even from this distance.
Brother Karos remained impassive, but an observant character would see his hands tightly gripping the oar with white knuckles. He settled the boat at the farthest point of the dock and grunts. "This is as far as I go. Good luck."
While it was barely midday in midsummer, the air held a chill from the wall of mist, and this close to the Mournland the sun seems distorted and darker than it should.
Almost as soon as the last knight was out of the boat, Brother Karos was casting off the rope holding the boat steady and moving away. A final call from him echoes across the water, "Flame guide your path!"
Ahead of the knights, at the end of the stone pier, towered the wall of mist and the Mournland.
"Alright knights, line up." Glint says quietly but authoritatively. "We need to know each other's strengths and weaknesses to front. I know we've all done something fowl in the eyes of the church and I don't care about what it is as long as doesn't get anyone killed. Now sound off and state your specialization. I'll start seeing we're equals here. Sir Glint, skirmisher, sorcerer and battlefield control specialist" (we don't have to RP the whole thing, but I thought this a fun IC way to show what our characters know if their skill sets)
Garrion stands in awe of the tower of mist. “I’ve hear of it, but I’ve never seen it before. It's stunning.” The awe then gives way to a grim expression. “And a tragedy.”
The mist fills Omen's vision and mind as a chill runs up his spine. Hearing Garrion's words brings Omen back to the present. "That it is Sir Garrion, on both counts," he says quietly.
Upon Sir Glint's command, Omen will line up. He will wait his turn, allowing the others to go before him, then state. "I was a squire in training so I have learned to fight, maybe not as well as most knights but, I also have command of some magics. I use them to fight and to heal."
When it is suggested that Onyx take the bag he nods. "I have heard my people are more resistant to the mists. I shall take good care of it." He then wants for everyone at the dock, having little he needs for a journey.
As they approach the mist, Onyx grows very quiet. He stares at the mists and breathes out a whisper, "I'm coming home." Glint's loud talking jolts the warforged out of his state. Looking over at him, Onyx says, "I was a soldier for this kingdom," motioning to the mists, "And my skill with the blade is all I have."
"Alright then" Glint pulls a clockwork timepiece from under his armor and looks at it for a moment. He waits there for 3 ticks and then lines up and says "We move" before moving toward the mist
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Glint looks at the run down building with a well tempered disgust. He never was one for glory, but aesthetics are important to him, obviously based on his fine clothing and well groomed hair and beard. He runs a finger across the granite making a subtle scraping noise against his rocky hide.
He notices the prefect in prayer with a start. And quickly and quietly moves to his right two steps behind and kneels inn prayer as well. Apologizing silently for his pride and asking forgiveness in the Flame
Omen
Sitting in the back, young Omen had arrived very early to pray and meditate. Now the young squire sits in silence.
"I beg for guidance and forgiveness for my sins." is a phrase that is repeated over and over in his head and in low whispers.
The young man, standing over 6 ft. tall with an average build with his brown shoulder-length hair tied back, now sits in a pew near the back, waiting for Prefect Waldmar to finish his prayers.
Omen struggles to keep his mind focused because of the heavy burden placed on him by the Church. To his mind, his only sin was to survive but he knows it is more than that. He survived but he does not know how and the lack of that knowledge has brought him much in the way of misery and self-loathing. But this summons is the one chance he has to regain his honor and he will die rather than fail to do so.
Garrion stands in the back of the church, nervously. He is a thin man with straight messy brown hair, with the begging of a mustache over his lip, he is wearing common working cloths all covered by an overcoat. He tries to be in the back, sinking into the shadows, but the windows let in too much light. A million thoughts rush through his head, "Who are these people?", "What did they do?", "Do they know who I am?", "Do they know what I did?" etcetera. He finds himself instinctively gripping a dagger. He let's go of it, thinking "You're not in the criminals guild anymore." He closes his eyes, imagining himself in the forest again, waiting for someone to speak.
A tall, dark metal figure strides into the temple. Dressed in a dark suit of metal armor that blends into his body, the warforged kneels finds a seat on one of the nearby benches. His red eyes look across the assembled group, studying them each in turn. On his back is a large silver and blue shield with the symbol of the church engraved over a hastily scratched off symbol. On his belt are a myriad of weapons. Upon closer inspection of his armor, you see dozens of tally marks scratched into his left shoulder plate.
When everyone had arrived, the Prefect cleared his throat and stood, sheathing his sword. He turned and pulled back his hood revealing a old, weathered human face with piercing blue eyes peering out under a heavy brow. His neatly trimmed beard and hair were grey mixed with white. He was thin, but still stood with iron in his spine. The left side of his face had a large white, star-shaped, puckered scar at his cheek that an experienced soldier would recognize as an old arrow wound. It pulled his skin around into a perpetual grimace.
"Well, here you all are." His voice is quiet, but harsh from years of yelling commands on the battlefield. It echoed faintly in the chapel. He looked over the four knights, then turned from them to look around the chapel. "This chapel started its life as one of the first guildhalls and watchtowers of the early Silver Flame. Some of the first knights of our order walked these very halls before it was converted into a chapel." He held a gloved hand over the altar, not quite touching it. "It's said this altar was brought from the Demon Wastes by Darmin Avaroth herself, before she ascended to become the third Keeper of the Flame. And yet, here it sits neglected as the Church has moved on to grander cathedrals and loftier ambitions."
His hand forms a fist, the leather of his glove creaking. He turns back to the knights.
"But it is my belief that the Church is no greater than its weakest member. The Flame's greatest work is done not in the high halls of great lords and nobles, but by the lowest folk. As our doctrine states, none have walked in the shadow so long that they cannot find the light. That is what I offer you. Redemption. Succeed in the task ahead of you and regain your honor. But, more importantly, do the work of the Silver Flame."
The knight walks around the altar and looks at the knights across it. His demeanor becomes more formal and the knights recognize the words of the first initiation into the order.
"Come, Kneel, before the altar. Be baptized in the Flame. Listen to the words of your oath. Burn them into your mind, where they may be your guide in the darkest night."
He waits for the knights to approach the altar. As is custom, he rests his hands on the altar, and waits for the knights to do likewise.
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Glint stands and moves up to the altar, waiting for his brethren to line up with him out of humility and respect. He keeps his head low, but never stops looking around at the other members.
His reverence is a practiced charade, knowing the ritual, but thinking it beneath his status. Still, he follows along knowing that this may be his one shot back into his family's good graces.
Omen
Omen watches and listens to Perfect Waldemar. When he realizes what the Perfect is offering, he tries to keep ahold of his excitement but fails to do so. Omen stumbles as he makes his way to the alter. He kneels before the altar, placing his right hand upon it. Sweat starts to form on his forehead, a sign of his nervousness. Omen will bow his head and close his eyes, repeating his prayer then waits for the Perfect to continue.
Garrion, trie less and less to hide himself as the Perfect speaks, it is an somewhat southing speech. He stomachs his anxiety and walks toward the alter, making side glances and everyone else. And begins a silent prayer. Thinking of his family most of all while doing it.
Onyx walks up to the Prefect. "The Flame took me in when I was lost. I have a debt to repay the church." He places his metal hand in the altar and slowly kneels down.
Glancing at the others as they approach, he watches Glint's aloofness with distaste. Shaking his head he looks to the Prefect for further instructions on their redemption.
Keep the Purity of Silver. Lead by example and demonstrate to others the way of the Silver Flame. No mercy can be granted to demons, but hope remains for the lost peasant to the greedy merchant to the arrogant king, that they may follow a different path if shown the way. Show them the way.
Trust the Church. Trust the wisdom of those who stand closest to the Flame. Act without questioning orders from your superiors.
Be Thou Cleansing Flame. Evil infests every corner of Eberron. Scour the land and cleanse this evil with spell, flame, and sword.
Do you so swear?"
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Glint gives a curt nod "Sir, yes sir" he turns to the ragtag group "My brethren, I hope to serve you justly and lead with the light of the flame"
Glint then turns to the exit and waits for his fellows
Omen
After repeating his oath, Omen stays silent, keeping his eyes down. When the Prefect mentions Sir Glint, Omen will glance up and look to the commander of this endeavor.
Omen will nod his head when Sir Glint speaks.
Once released by the Prefect, Omen will race to his meager dwelling and retrieve his gear, making sure all is in order. Omen will then make his way to the Pier and await his fellow knights and the start of their mission.
Chapter 1 // Into the Mists
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
"Alright knights, line up." Glint says quietly but authoritatively. "We need to know each other's strengths and weaknesses to front. I know we've all done something fowl in the eyes of the church and I don't care about what it is as long as doesn't get anyone killed. Now sound off and state your specialization. I'll start seeing we're equals here. Sir Glint, skirmisher, sorcerer and battlefield control specialist" (we don't have to RP the whole thing, but I thought this a fun IC way to show what our characters know if their skill sets)
Garrion stands in awe of the tower of mist. “I’ve hear of it, but I’ve never seen it before. It's stunning.” The awe then gives way to a grim expression. “And a tragedy.”
Omen
The mist fills Omen's vision and mind as a chill runs up his spine. Hearing Garrion's words brings Omen back to the present.
"That it is Sir Garrion, on both counts," he says quietly.
Upon Sir Glint's command, Omen will line up. He will wait his turn, allowing the others to go before him, then state.
"I was a squire in training so I have learned to fight, maybe not as well as most knights but, I also have command of some magics. I use them to fight and to heal."
When it is suggested that Onyx take the bag he nods. "I have heard my people are more resistant to the mists. I shall take good care of it." He then wants for everyone at the dock, having little he needs for a journey.
As they approach the mist, Onyx grows very quiet. He stares at the mists and breathes out a whisper, "I'm coming home." Glint's loud talking jolts the warforged out of his state. Looking over at him, Onyx says, "I was a soldier for this kingdom," motioning to the mists, "And my skill with the blade is all I have."
"Alright then" Glint pulls a clockwork timepiece from under his armor and looks at it for a moment. He waits there for 3 ticks and then lines up and says "We move" before moving toward the mist
Omen
Omen falls in line, presumably bringing up the rear. He will use his spear as a walking stick, especially in difficult terrain.