I thought everyone might enjoy my Willowsongs. This is a very long saga, about a family line, based on a long string of characters I played so partial credit must go to my wonderful and almighty dm, my bf Kris.We made more than games together we made a hell of a story. But this will take a long time, and I will abridge it greatly. I must warn you however these are games played by me and him, so as you can imagine there is some adult content in here.I would ask minors to please refrain from reading this, and if you are a minor and choose to read, I dont want any lawsuits.lol...
Mystremvar Willowsong was born Rowan Willowsong. The bastard daughter of an elven Lord who chose to disgrace his family and run away with a band of traveling bards. Her mother was a bard with a voice so beautiful and pure that her name was spoken of throughout Faerun. You can imagine their dismay when their daughter was born with no notable barding talents.
From a young age she preferred to learn the arts of war from the bands guards and would have little to do with the lessons of the crafts of their trade.
Her life , however was a good one, simple, filled with travel and new faces. SHe was rather spoiled, being her parents only child, and they doted on her , despite her inadequecies as a bard.
At the tender age of 25, her world was turned upside down. In the middle of the night the band was attacked by a large group of bandits that the guards were hard pressed to contain. In less than 10 minutes, Rowan was standing alone, in her dirty nightgown, staring at the bodies of her family and friends as the bandits approached her with murderous lust in their eyes. She dropped to her knees as a strange cold power swept up and over her, barely conscious she watched as the bodies all around her stood up, picked up their weapons and turned against the horrified bandits.Then she blacked out.
When the elven child regained consciousness, she was in a bed being tended to by a cleric who wore a symbol she was unfamiliar with. She later learned that a traveling follower of Kelemvore had come upon the band while they were fighting the bandits, he came too late to assist the band, but he had seen what the girl had done. He had taken her to the priests of Kelemvore in the hopes that the "demons" could be purged from her blood.
It did not take long for the good priests to discover that what the child had could not be purged , for a natural gift it was. So they taught her the lessons of Kelemvore, to preserve no life for longer than its due, in the hopes at least of tempering the possible taint of her gift . They also found she was a gifted sorcereress and had a talent for the martial arts, so train her well they did. In magic, in the blade and all the skills of a battle sorceress.
At 105 Rowan was finished with her training. As she knelt at the high priests feet in preparation to take up the cloak of priestess, the large doors to the temple were flung open, and the Legions of Darkness swept into the temple.
Rowan and the priests fought in vain to turn back the tides that had fallen upon them , but to no avail, for they were cut down like cattle. In desperation, Rowan called once again upon that cold power and it answered her like an old friend. The power swept over the bodies of her companions and they arose, crushing the anstonished minions of darkness, before falling back to the earth, dead again.
Rowan wept bitterly upon finding herself, once again, alone. But she collected the bodies of her dead and burnt them upon a pyre with the prayers she had been taught.
The smoke from the fires brought in an army of mercenaries. Impressed by what the girl had done, they took her in.
Rowan learned well from the mercenaries, and when the current general passed, she had risen enough in rank to take his place.
The Willowsong saga
Moderators: Shir'le E. Illios, Bhaern Quel
Rowans mercenary band had long ago been hired by the main army of Faerun to fight the Legions of Darkness that had swept upon the land, and were killing and burning everything in their path.
Rowans band were powerful and had recieved many awards for their successful battles. But one day, the band came upon an army of the darkness they were not prepared to fight. Powerful spell casters rained havoc upon them and in the confusion, Rowan was captured by the enemy forces.
When she came to she found herself inprisoned. By the use of her spells and the aid of another captive , who gave his name only as Grey, she excaped her inprisonment. She found herself in a large flying tower, with many captured slaves who were being used to forge weapons for the use of the Dark Army. She managed to free one of the hostages , an elven cleric by the name of Sahadrian.
In their attempts to escape they found themselves trapped in a small room with no doors. Inside the room was a dusty old forge and the skeletal remains of 2 dwarfs. When Rowan inspected the forge she found a leather wrapped blade and hilt, broken and shattered. But it was a masterful item, etched in elven runes that read simply Sahadrian.
Rowan reanimated the dwarfs in an attempt to merely reforge the blade and was astonished as some power took hold of the room. For walking skeletons did not arise to do her bidding, but flesh and blood men, who lived and breathed and , in the manner of the dwarven, castigated her for her attempts to control them.
The men who introduced themselves as Klingedon, and his son, Brogan, reforged the blade and led Rowan , Grey and Sahadrian to the battlements in an attempt to find a way to ezcape their flying prison.
On the battlements they were attacked, and in the fight Rowan slew the spell caster that was leading the forces in the tower.
As the tower was falling, Rowan searched amongst the slain for her companions, finding only the older dwarf, Klingedon, still alive.
When she found the body of the slain cleric, Sahadrian, she wept bitterly, for something in the elven mans peaceful inner strength had touched a cord in her that she had never felt before.As the tower hurtled down , she was not sorrowed at her impending death , for she knew that soon she would be reunited with Sahadrian.
But death was not for her today, for moments before the tower collapsed to the earth, a giant gold dragon descended upon them, snatching up Rowan , still clinging to Sahadrians body, and Klingedon and carried them away.
Rowans band were powerful and had recieved many awards for their successful battles. But one day, the band came upon an army of the darkness they were not prepared to fight. Powerful spell casters rained havoc upon them and in the confusion, Rowan was captured by the enemy forces.
When she came to she found herself inprisoned. By the use of her spells and the aid of another captive , who gave his name only as Grey, she excaped her inprisonment. She found herself in a large flying tower, with many captured slaves who were being used to forge weapons for the use of the Dark Army. She managed to free one of the hostages , an elven cleric by the name of Sahadrian.
In their attempts to escape they found themselves trapped in a small room with no doors. Inside the room was a dusty old forge and the skeletal remains of 2 dwarfs. When Rowan inspected the forge she found a leather wrapped blade and hilt, broken and shattered. But it was a masterful item, etched in elven runes that read simply Sahadrian.
Rowan reanimated the dwarfs in an attempt to merely reforge the blade and was astonished as some power took hold of the room. For walking skeletons did not arise to do her bidding, but flesh and blood men, who lived and breathed and , in the manner of the dwarven, castigated her for her attempts to control them.
The men who introduced themselves as Klingedon, and his son, Brogan, reforged the blade and led Rowan , Grey and Sahadrian to the battlements in an attempt to find a way to ezcape their flying prison.
On the battlements they were attacked, and in the fight Rowan slew the spell caster that was leading the forces in the tower.
As the tower was falling, Rowan searched amongst the slain for her companions, finding only the older dwarf, Klingedon, still alive.
When she found the body of the slain cleric, Sahadrian, she wept bitterly, for something in the elven mans peaceful inner strength had touched a cord in her that she had never felt before.As the tower hurtled down , she was not sorrowed at her impending death , for she knew that soon she would be reunited with Sahadrian.
But death was not for her today, for moments before the tower collapsed to the earth, a giant gold dragon descended upon them, snatching up Rowan , still clinging to Sahadrians body, and Klingedon and carried them away.
Rowan then did the reasonable thing one would do after having had their butt royally thrashed upon by a powerful wizard, losing ones latest crush, and then having been scooped up into the air by a giant dragon.She passed out.
When she came to it was in the largest cave she had ever seen. Inside the cave was the ancient gold dragon, her fledgling and her mate. Klingedon was sitting down eating and neither of them were the best of company , Klingedon having lost his son, and Rowan missing a man she barely knew.
Upon conversation with the old dragon, who called herself simply Grandmother, Rowan was told that the dragon had the capability of raising the dead.
"But only," Grandmother told her " If they truly wish to return , for there is only one power on Faerun great enough to return one whose soul has already gone on....love."
At this Rowan has some serious contemplation to do, for lovers she has had aplenty but never has she truly loved, and it reeked of a committment she was not inclined towards. But she knew in the depths of her being that she could not go on without at least knowing what could have become of them, so she ventured into the depths of the dragons cave to where her beloved lay.
When she found him he was laying upon an altar, surrounded on all sides by a strange blue flame.
She buttoned up her courage , steeling that glimmer of emotion swelling inside her breast and stepped through the flames.Leaning over the body of the fallen elf she kissed his lips, and then stepped away.
She saw Grandmother behind her, in the form of an elderly human woman.Grandmother raised her arms and a light spread across Sahadrians still, battered form. His wounds healed and he choked and gasped for breath.
Rowan helped him to sit up and poured the healing draught that Grandmother had given her down his throat. He drank it with a grimace, and reached up to touch Rowans face.
" I was standing in the Halls of Judgement,"
He whispered,
" And I saw your face like a flame, you beckoned me , and I followed you."
At this he promptly falls back onto the altar. Rowan panicks, searching for a life beat.
" Calm yourself , child, he is merely resting."
Says Grandmother.
Rowan scoops the slender form of the man she loves up in her strong warriors arms and carries him out of the room and up the stairs.
When she came to it was in the largest cave she had ever seen. Inside the cave was the ancient gold dragon, her fledgling and her mate. Klingedon was sitting down eating and neither of them were the best of company , Klingedon having lost his son, and Rowan missing a man she barely knew.
Upon conversation with the old dragon, who called herself simply Grandmother, Rowan was told that the dragon had the capability of raising the dead.
"But only," Grandmother told her " If they truly wish to return , for there is only one power on Faerun great enough to return one whose soul has already gone on....love."
At this Rowan has some serious contemplation to do, for lovers she has had aplenty but never has she truly loved, and it reeked of a committment she was not inclined towards. But she knew in the depths of her being that she could not go on without at least knowing what could have become of them, so she ventured into the depths of the dragons cave to where her beloved lay.
When she found him he was laying upon an altar, surrounded on all sides by a strange blue flame.
She buttoned up her courage , steeling that glimmer of emotion swelling inside her breast and stepped through the flames.Leaning over the body of the fallen elf she kissed his lips, and then stepped away.
She saw Grandmother behind her, in the form of an elderly human woman.Grandmother raised her arms and a light spread across Sahadrians still, battered form. His wounds healed and he choked and gasped for breath.
Rowan helped him to sit up and poured the healing draught that Grandmother had given her down his throat. He drank it with a grimace, and reached up to touch Rowans face.
" I was standing in the Halls of Judgement,"
He whispered,
" And I saw your face like a flame, you beckoned me , and I followed you."
At this he promptly falls back onto the altar. Rowan panicks, searching for a life beat.
" Calm yourself , child, he is merely resting."
Says Grandmother.
Rowan scoops the slender form of the man she loves up in her strong warriors arms and carries him out of the room and up the stairs.
Rowan did not ravish her gentleman as soon as he awoke , like she would have in a corny romance novel. She was made of far sterner stuff, and was still rather incredulous about her emotions towards him.
She had never before taken a lover like him , her usual lovers had been soldiers and mercenary men. Her last lover had died a few years before, a dwarf who went by the name of Sword Dancer, for a great sword dancer he had been, both on and off the battlefield.
Sahadrian , however , had hands that looked as though they had never held any sort of weapon, and a calm and peaceful demeanor that would serve him little on a battlefield.But despite all this, and his slender and unnassuming form, he possessed a gentle strength and courage that appealed to her like no other had.
Rowan , Sahadrian, and Klingedon stayed on with Grandmother and her family until there wounds had healed. Grandmothers mate gave them some crucial information on the location of the Leader of the Dark Legion, and told her that there was a good chance that if any of her mercenary band remained she would find them at this location, aiding the armies of Faerun.
So the 3 caught a ship to the mainlands, landing at Candlekeep, they headed out towards the High Forests.
It was a long journey, for Klingedon refused to ride a horse, ( "Dwarves were not made to go with their legs adanglin in the air like that, taint natural" he had grumbled in his thick brogue) so they had to go on foot, occasionally catching rides with passing merchant caravons.
One night they came upon a traveling band of female mercenaries, amazons they were and glowered at Sahadrian and Klingedon disdainfully , but invited Rowan back to their camp. She pleaded for rest, however, and they went on to bed.
In the midst of the night they were attacked by an orc band, sizeable enough to keep them busy, but when the dust had cleared Rowan saw that the full force of the attack had come upon the Amazons.
She went down quickly to aid, and soon the force was turned back. Rowan however was badly injured. Only Sahadrians gentle touch kept her from dying, but the orc mage who led the war party had burned her beautiful long black hair to a mere stubble on top of her head.
She had never before taken a lover like him , her usual lovers had been soldiers and mercenary men. Her last lover had died a few years before, a dwarf who went by the name of Sword Dancer, for a great sword dancer he had been, both on and off the battlefield.
Sahadrian , however , had hands that looked as though they had never held any sort of weapon, and a calm and peaceful demeanor that would serve him little on a battlefield.But despite all this, and his slender and unnassuming form, he possessed a gentle strength and courage that appealed to her like no other had.
Rowan , Sahadrian, and Klingedon stayed on with Grandmother and her family until there wounds had healed. Grandmothers mate gave them some crucial information on the location of the Leader of the Dark Legion, and told her that there was a good chance that if any of her mercenary band remained she would find them at this location, aiding the armies of Faerun.
So the 3 caught a ship to the mainlands, landing at Candlekeep, they headed out towards the High Forests.
It was a long journey, for Klingedon refused to ride a horse, ( "Dwarves were not made to go with their legs adanglin in the air like that, taint natural" he had grumbled in his thick brogue) so they had to go on foot, occasionally catching rides with passing merchant caravons.
One night they came upon a traveling band of female mercenaries, amazons they were and glowered at Sahadrian and Klingedon disdainfully , but invited Rowan back to their camp. She pleaded for rest, however, and they went on to bed.
In the midst of the night they were attacked by an orc band, sizeable enough to keep them busy, but when the dust had cleared Rowan saw that the full force of the attack had come upon the Amazons.
She went down quickly to aid, and soon the force was turned back. Rowan however was badly injured. Only Sahadrians gentle touch kept her from dying, but the orc mage who led the war party had burned her beautiful long black hair to a mere stubble on top of her head.
Rowan was not much of one for feminine vanity, but her long black hair with the streak of white down its center was her sole source of pride, and one of her only beauties, for an unnaturally tall woman she was, and very muscular, not built at all like an elf. So she mourned the loss of her hair greatly and in a pique of rage, shaved the remaining hair down to the scalp, leaving her with no hair at all.
One of the Amazons in town, impressed by her skills the night before, tattoed runes of great power all along her bald scalp, leaving her most fearsome looking indeed.
Sahadrian as well , had shown himself in battle to be more skilled than Rowan had imagined,for she had been training him in the use of a fighting staff and he had learned much from her. The women were impressed by him and pressed close to him.Rowan found herself insanely jealous by this, and that night, when the camp had finally gone quiet, she left her bedroll and slipped,naked into his.
A small man he may be, but not all over, and Rowans cries of pleasure woke many of the people in the camp.Save for Klingedon , for he could hear nothing over the sounds of his snores.
One of the Amazons in town, impressed by her skills the night before, tattoed runes of great power all along her bald scalp, leaving her most fearsome looking indeed.
Sahadrian as well , had shown himself in battle to be more skilled than Rowan had imagined,for she had been training him in the use of a fighting staff and he had learned much from her. The women were impressed by him and pressed close to him.Rowan found herself insanely jealous by this, and that night, when the camp had finally gone quiet, she left her bedroll and slipped,naked into his.
A small man he may be, but not all over, and Rowans cries of pleasure woke many of the people in the camp.Save for Klingedon , for he could hear nothing over the sounds of his snores.
After leaving the camp of the Amazons, who had accepted Rowan as a sister and friend and vowed their blades ( and bows) to be at her disposal if she had need of them, they continued on their way to the high forests.They had not been on the road for long when Klingedon fell to the ground , clutching his chest.Only Sahadrians gentle administrations roused him, and the cleric told them both the old dwarfs heart was failing him.Another big battle would probably be the end of him.So with a great amount of sorrow they left their companion at a small human village, with the duty of training the village men in the use of weapons in order to hold off the bandits that had been troubling them.
Rowan wept bitterly at leaving the old dwarf for they hold grown close and he had become as a father to her.
They came upon a large tower falling apart and decrepit , inside Rowan cleared out a scourge of undead and sent the souls of many that were trapped inside to her patron deity.They rested there a while, concerned to head out for they had seen the tracks of many dragons outside and were hesitant to go up against so many.However an old friend joined them at the castle.
The grandmothers mate, a large gold, met them at the castle and riding on him they headed out over the plains to the high forests.
One night , only a days travel away from their destination, they were resting and were ambushed by a large troup of the legions of Darkness. They were clearly out numbered but Rowan was cutting them down as well as she could. Just when she thought she might even by victorious a familiar face stepped out from amidst the crowd.
It was Grey, the rogue she has rescued from the prison of the Tower.She had thought him dead after the great fight on the battlements, but instead he had pledged his cause to the Lord of the Legion. With the last of her strength she rose up to fight the traitor, but was cut down by a quickly cast spell. The last thing she saw as she fell unconscious was the golden dragon, returned from his hunting.
The gold rescued them both and carried them away to the High Forests.
As Rowan lay unconscuious, she had a vision. The god Koralian Lorethian stood before her.He told her that the remnants of a great blade of power lay hidden in the heart of the High Forest. He said the Legion was searching for it, but she must find it first and take it to be reforged in the Spine of the World, at the Gods Forge that was nestled at the very top of this great mountain.
When she regained consciousness, she was at the High forests.Her army and 2 battalions of the troops of Faerun were there. Her troops were pleased to see her, having thought she was dead, and she took up command again ,her next in command, a human man by the name of Maximus, having been severly injured and in need of rest.
Then she raised the skeletal remains of three wild elf ranger , and with their aid, Sahadrian and she headed out into the High Forests.
Rowan wept bitterly at leaving the old dwarf for they hold grown close and he had become as a father to her.
They came upon a large tower falling apart and decrepit , inside Rowan cleared out a scourge of undead and sent the souls of many that were trapped inside to her patron deity.They rested there a while, concerned to head out for they had seen the tracks of many dragons outside and were hesitant to go up against so many.However an old friend joined them at the castle.
The grandmothers mate, a large gold, met them at the castle and riding on him they headed out over the plains to the high forests.
One night , only a days travel away from their destination, they were resting and were ambushed by a large troup of the legions of Darkness. They were clearly out numbered but Rowan was cutting them down as well as she could. Just when she thought she might even by victorious a familiar face stepped out from amidst the crowd.
It was Grey, the rogue she has rescued from the prison of the Tower.She had thought him dead after the great fight on the battlements, but instead he had pledged his cause to the Lord of the Legion. With the last of her strength she rose up to fight the traitor, but was cut down by a quickly cast spell. The last thing she saw as she fell unconscious was the golden dragon, returned from his hunting.
The gold rescued them both and carried them away to the High Forests.
As Rowan lay unconscuious, she had a vision. The god Koralian Lorethian stood before her.He told her that the remnants of a great blade of power lay hidden in the heart of the High Forest. He said the Legion was searching for it, but she must find it first and take it to be reforged in the Spine of the World, at the Gods Forge that was nestled at the very top of this great mountain.
When she regained consciousness, she was at the High forests.Her army and 2 battalions of the troops of Faerun were there. Her troops were pleased to see her, having thought she was dead, and she took up command again ,her next in command, a human man by the name of Maximus, having been severly injured and in need of rest.
Then she raised the skeletal remains of three wild elf ranger , and with their aid, Sahadrian and she headed out into the High Forests.
Through the High Forests they traveled, after their skeletal guides and saw the remnants of a battle that had been fought here. A few fiendish creatures remained from the army that had struck but Sahadrian and Rowan fought them off bravely. This was when she noticed that he had grown greatly in power. No longer was he the same skinny elf she had first met, but he was becoming a warrior in his own right. Here he also managed to tell her the tale of how he had come to be in that floating castle, a story he had been to saddened by to mention before.
Sahadrian had been the only cleric in a small town about 20 miles from Waterdeep. There he had made a decent living, enough to provide for his wife and young son. But the fiends had struck his village and their small militia was no match for them. The last thing Sahadrian had seen before being dragged away by the fiends’ army was his wife being struck down. He had not seen his son, Myram , anywhere.
A few days later Rowan and Sahadrian found themselves quite lost, their skeletal guides having been destroyed. But they had a bit of luck on their side and managed to step through a large pile of brush and found a grove on the other side.
It was a druid’s grove that stretched out before them, and in reverence they removed their weapons before venturing forth. The arch druid there, Myrrdyn, greeted them warmly and saw to it that they were fed.
He told them that he had known that they were coming, and that he would gladly give them what they sought, but first he told them to rest, he would present the blade in the morning.
Rowan slept long that night, far longer than her normal trance and dreamed strange dreams.
In her dream she stood before 3 doors, upon one door was a skull. When she opened the door she saw herself, alone, in a bloody battlefield, with corpses all around.
Upon another door, she saw a blade. Upon opened this door she saw herself again, only she was upon her knees in seeming supplication to the Dark Lord himself. The third door bore the mark of Kelemvore. Inside this door she saw herself, dead upon the floor with a weeping Sahadrian standing over her.
She woke up from this dreams vastly troubled. She knew they had shown her a glimpse of her possible futures, depending upon what means she used to reach her goal. None of these seemed like good possibilities however, so she decided her best course of action was to attempt to combine the paths, her necromancy, her blade, and her service to her God, in an attempt to reach the best possible outcome.
Upon speaking with the druid he agreed with this decision.
“Go to The Halls of Judgment, the main temple to Kelemvore.”
He told her, and then took her back into his cave. Inside the cave, surrounded by a wall of ice, was a glittering bastard sword.
“That is the Halis Madrak. Only the true wielder can break through the ice.”
The druid said, and then disappeared.
When Rowan reached the wall of ice the ground beneath her started to shake and a giant white dragon burst up from the floor.
After a fierce and bloody battle, her blade was shattered but the dragon lay dead. Rowan dragged herself forward, placing her hand upon the wall of ice. It melted away from her, and the shining blade stood before her.
With the blade in hand, Rowan kissed Sahadrian goodbye, for she knew this was something she had to do alone and headed out on the long trip to the deserts of the Anarouch.
Rowan fought many battles on her way to the temple, but finally she stood before its great doors.
The doors were guarded by a golem, but the golem stepped aside when Rowan revealed her pendant.
Upon entering she was surprised to find the temple empty, save for the skeletal remains of the ones who had once lived and worshipped here. But she carried on, determined to find any survivors.
Find them she did, a mere handful, but they took her in and assisted her in making her pledge to the God.
She was bathed and dressed in robes, just as she had been when she was a girl, before the mercenaries took her in. But this time, when she was lead before that great statue, no legion armies swept in.
As she stood there looking up at the statue she felt a strange dizziness sweep over her body, and then all was black.
She found herself on the steps leading up to a great black door. Behind her was a line of strangely translucent people that stretched out beyond the horizon. But the door lay open to her and she entered.
She came into a large throne room. The man sitting upon the throne was one she never thought to encounter, save for in her dreams. He had long black hair and a thin white face, so white it was almost ghastly, and the eyes that seemed to dig into her soul were as black as the night. But he held out one long bony hand and motioned her forward, and she came.
She knelt at the feet of her god, and was silent, not knowing what to say.
“We know you, Rowan Willowsong. Your destiny has been written in the stars, yours and your descendants. For destroy the Dark Lord you shall, and receive our blessing. You shall become the hero of all the Gods of Light, and you shall do our bidding upon Faerun. We bless you with our aid, our ear, and our council. Your descendants shall return the light to Faerun and shall sit upon a throne. But there is a catch…”
“What is that, my lord?”
“You shall yield to us your first born daughters, those directly of your bloodline. They shall be known as The Willowsongs. They shall do our bidding, as we are having you do. But you are not without free choice. Will you accept this, mortal woman? Will you become our heroines?”
Rowan nodded, her throat tight, and although she was uncertain of what she was agreeing to she said,
“Yes, my lord. I, and my descendants, are yours to command.”
Kelemvore nodded.
“The stand up, and cast aside what you were. Rowan no longer, you are now Mystremvar Willowsong, chosen of Kelemvore, and champion of the Gods.”
She was returned then to her own plane, with her first duty from the Gods. Kelemvore told her to go back to the High Forests and find the dwarven thane, then to return him to his stronghold.
Mystremvar wasn’t certain she knew of any dwarven thanes, but return she did.
She had been traveling about a month and the High Forests were still so far away, and she was becoming disheartened when she heard a caravan approaching.
She moved to the side of the road to let them pass when she heard a familiar voice call out,
“Well, I swear, I think I know that lassie…but well now, my Rowan wa’ not normally so dirty.”
Mystremvar laughed and ran over to greet her old friend Klingedon, who was driving a wagon, filled with children.
She learned that the village he had stayed behind in had been over run by the legion of darkness .The people in the caravan were refugees from that village and several other villages nearby that they had saved, and were taking now to join up with the armies gathered at the high forest.
As Mystremvar rode next to her old friend, she told him about what all had befallen them since they had parted and showed him the Halis Madrake. He admired the blade with the keen eye of a master blacksmith, and offered to buy it off of her, an offer she, naturally refused.
She then asked him if he knew of any dwarven thanes that might be in the vicinity, at which the jovial dwarf fell silent.
“Aye, I know of a thane that needs be returning home.”
“Were can I find him?”
“You’re looking at him, lass.”
Klingedon admitted to her that in before he had died in that room, he had been a thane. But his stronghold in the underdark had collapsed, taken over by the drow.
After returning to the High Forests and dropping off the refugees, Mystremvar, Klingedon, and Sahadrian, who refused to be left behind again, made their way out to the Silver Marshes, to delve beneath the depths of Mythral Hall.
Far below the surface they found Klingedon's old stronghold, mostly fallen to ruin, save for the stout dwarven made walls that are built to withstand the pass of time.
Inside the castle they found a small troop of goblins that were easily dispatched and then made their way to Klingedon’s throne room. They could see evidence that the drow had made their home here, including a room with a clutch of deep dragon eggs. Mystremvar was not eager to see their birthing, so she gathered up as many skeletal remains as she could find, piled them over the door and cast an ice wall over them.
The next room had an even stranger occupant. In the middle of the room stood a moon elf, he had a dagger sticking out of his back and was encased completely in ice.
A burning hands spell took care of the ice, but Mystremvar tapped every bit of her healing magic in repairing his wounds.
She slept with the man held close to her, in an attempt to warm him, and as she slept she dreamed again.
She saw the man flee into this room, holding his hand was a pretty drow girl. Rushing in after them was a band of drow warriors.
“I will hold them off, run, Nedylene.”
The moon elf shouted. The girl, Nedylene, looked about her, at the drow coming into attack, she looked panicked, but her features instantly resolved themselves into calmness.
“I don’t think that will be necessary..’
She whispered, and walked up to the man,
“Goodbye, Dalen Willowsong.”
Then she plunged her dagger into his back. He fell immediately, looking up at her with surprised eyes.
The drow warriors looked stunned, as she raised her hands and brought a swash of flame down upon them.
When they were done, she pulled a scroll out of her pack and read it. Ice formed up all over the mans body, and then she turned and walked away.
The man, Dalen Willowsong, it seemed, was awake when Mystremvar woke up. He was drinking coffee with shaking hands and telling Klingedon and Sahadrian about how he had come to be there.
“You got to hear what happened to this man, Mysty…”
Klingedon started,
“I know, he was betrayed by a drow girl, a lover it seemed.”
Klingedon shook his head, and tugged his long beard,
“I don’t know how she knows the things she does…”
He mumbled,
“I am Dalen..Dalen Willowsong.”
“I am Mystremvar Willowsong. Interesting that we bear the same last name. Who was your father?”
Dalen looked displeased at this,
“My father, “
He spat,
“Deserted my mother for some bardic whore.”
Mystremvar immediately punched him in the face,
“Ill have you know my mother was no whore.”
At this the two commenced to grappling one another until Klingedon and Sahadrian pulled them apart.
They were both greatly apologetic and then commenced to finishing their journey.
As they continued their journey, Klingedon admitted to them his reason for coming here.
“I am dying,”
He said simply, with no emotion,
“I wish to be buried amongst my kin.”
So they took their friend to the burial chambers and, no sooner than they had reached them, Klingedon clutched his chest, and fell to the ground, breathing no more.
Mystremvar, Sahadrian and Mystremvar's half brother, Dalen, buried the old dwarf amongst the bones of his kin folk before returning back to the forests where an army had gathered to fight the evil legion that was determined to crush Faerun beneath its heel.
Along the way to the High Forest Mystremvar and her companions met a group of wild elves. They were defending a passage of woods from the legion. Among them was a young boy who looked strangely familiar.
Sahadrian's face lit up in joy at the sight of the adolescent elf. It was his son Myram. His brother, Kendrick, had taken the boy in, and Myram showed great promise as a sorcerer. But when Mystremvar questioned him, she noticed that sorcery was not his only gift, he also had the talent for necromancy.
This pleased her greatly, and she took the boy under her wing, teaching him all that she had learned. Mystremvar had reached an age where women start to long for children, and her lover’s son had become like a child to her.
By the time they had returned it was to see that the army had grown greatly. Before his death Klingedon had sent for an army of dwarves, and they had came. The dragons had sent aid as well, for 30 metallic dragons flew over the camp.
Even the amazons had come; the battle maidens stood on one side of the camp and glowered at any males that dared to look their way.
There was much for Mystremvar to do now, for she was, above all things, a general, and the commanding of soldiers came as naturally as breathing to her. So Sahadrian and the boy, Myram, were for the large part, ignored, as Mystremvar set about the neighboring towns and villages, drawing in more and more recruits for her armies.
But the day dawned upon them at last. Mystremvar had drawn in as many soldiers as she could. They were more than 10 thousand strong. But would that be enough? They waited anxiously as the Dark Lords army of abominations marched down upon them, the armies on both sides waited with baited breath for the commanders to call out their orders. At once, both Mystremvar and the commander of the legion roared out “Attack!”
And the armies rushed in. Mystremvar had her infantry stop mere seconds from the opposing army, and wild elves popped up from the trees they were hiding in, pinging arrow after arrow down upon the opposing force. The dragons swept down from the skies, breathing their fierce breath weapons and cutting a swath through the legions forces like a scythe through a wheat field, but the legion managed to pull through and then and only then did both forces truly engage.
Mystremvar herself, from atop a horse was cutting her way through the soldiers. As they fell around her she sent out that charge of cold magick and they rose back up again and continued to do battle. She lost track of all else save the rise and fall of her sword arm, the sway that indicated when her charger was going to rear and trample, the fog of battle. But cutting through that fog was a shape. A large demonic shape that was heading right for her, cutting down her troops left and right. A small silver swept down from the sky and attempted to bite the giant demonic looking man but he swept it aside with one gauntleted hand, and continued his path to Mystremvar. She saw him and raised the hood of her helm, pointed at him she shouted,
“This one is mine…”
And she charged down upon him. The great man laughed and cast a spell so quickly Mystremvar had no chance to counter. The horse was slain beneath her from a great gout of flame, and Mystremvar was thrown. She scrambled to her feet quickly and she met the Dark Lord with her blade. The two parried it seemed for hours, with they were both well skilled, but the Dark Lord finally managed to trip Mystremvar and she fell, the blade however stayed in her hand and she tried in vain to fend off the demons blows but they simply kept coming. Blood and sweat dripped down her fore head and temporarily blinded her, long enough for the Dark Lord the come up behind her and beat her in the back of her head with the hilt of his blade. Still clutching the Halis Madrake, Mystremvar fell silent, and unconscious.
She awakened in a large bed, covered in silken bedclothes. Her armour, weapons and clothing had been removed and she was clad in a sheer nightgown that left scant little to the imagination. She had never worn anything like it in her life, and was even more uncomfortable in the gown than she was in the thought that someone had put her in it, for she could tell that she had not been raped while she was unconscious.
When she got out of the bed she could see that that though the bed was luxurious the rest of the room was little more than a ruin. The walls were bare stone and cracked open in places. When she looked through one of the cracks, for there were no windows she could see that she was high in the air, another floating castle, she thought at first but a glance through some of the other cracks confirmed that it was more a tower of sorts.
She went to the door and found it surprisingly unlocked, so she went out.
Outside of the room was a balcony that seemed to stretch all around the castle. A few feet in front of her stood the Dark Lord himself.
He still wore the black plate mail he had been wearing in the battle, but his helm was removed. The face beneath was almost handsome, although severe, and adorned with long black horns that swept back through his long black hair. His skin and the wings that spread out from his back were red as blood, and his hands that clutched the balcony before him were adorned with long red claws.
Without turning he said to her,
“I have been watching you, Mystremvar.”
She said nothing, merely gazing at her opponent, attempting to find some weakness she could infiltrate.
“I have seen the potential you bear, and truth be told, you fascinate me. Did you really think that I could not have killed you off a long time ago, if I had chosen to?”
She still said nothing, but her lips thinned into a tight line with rage.
He laughed,
“Do you realize how beautiful you look when you’re angry? I have seen that rage before, as you swept down upon a battlefield, cutting down your foes. I have seen you covered in the blood of your enemies, laughing with the glee you feel every time you kill. You can attempt to reason it away with your petty excuses, you kill for the sake of the good, you kill for necessity to protect the innocent, but the fact remains, Mystremvar, you like to kill. You live for it, and in that we are not so dissimilar.
Consider this, Mystremvar, Faerun is too spread out, too lawless. Faerun has no one true leader and because of that Faerun will always fall beneath the hands of its most powerful invaders. Don’t you see what I am really doing here, Mystremvar? I make war to bring peace. I made this war in order to unite Faerun under a leader that is powerful enough to hold her, myself…I can hold Faerun. I can bring it peace. Under my rulership Faerun will truly prosper, for who will dare go up against a demon prince?”
She snarled at him,
“What purpose did you have in bringing me here? To flaunt your plans in my face?”
“Hardly, my darling, I brought you here to make a proposal. I will stop the war; I will stop the killing, only stay with me. Bow down to me and give yourself to me. I will make you my queen and together we shall bring law and order to this land, our law, our order.”
”And if I refuse?”
He waved his hand and a fog appeared before him, the fog cleared and showed a battle scene. It was Mystremvar’s troupes, without her they were floundering. She saw Sahadrian upon a charger, demon kin was surrounding him and they pulled the horse down. The last thing she saw before he waved the vision away was Sahadrian being pulled down into the crowd of demon kin.
Mystremvar screamed in horror, and the demon prince laughed.
“If you refuse me, you will die, they will die, and I will still rule. Just say the word and I will call of my troops, just bend your knee to me and all will be well.”
Tears welled up in Mystremvar’s eyes, and with shaking limbs she fell to her knee.
The demon laughed and wrapped his large clawed hand around the back of her skull, yanking her face up to him, he kissed her brutally, hard enough to make her lips bleed, and Mystremvar made a sobbing disgusted sound in her throat.
“You will grow to like my kisses well enough, but come, my love, first the ceremony and then.. Ah then we wed.”
“The ceremony?”
She whispered,
“Yes, of course, before we wed I shall change this puny form into one more of my liking. I wonder what you will become after I have laid you down upon the Hell Forge and turned you into a demon?”
Mystremvar cried out in horror, but he continued his grip upon her skull, dragging her into another room.
This room was as dank and dreary as the other, only a large altar sat at the back, illuminated by the glow of black candles.
He dragged her onto the altar and holding her down with one hand ripped the nightgown from her body.
She screamed and struggled uselessly but he only laughed and held her fast.
“To complete the ceremony,”
He told her,
“I will need a few items, I think you will be surprised at who brings them to me.”
Mystremvar heard a slight sound at the door and yanked her head to see.
It was the boy, Myram, Sahadrian's son.
He was clad in black robes and carried a box.
“Bring me the items boy…”
The demon demanded and Myram continued forward.
“No, Myram, don’t do this!”
Mystremvar screamed.
Myram stopped and looked at the demon,
“First you must give me w3hat you promised me. Give me the power you promised.”
The demon snarled, but tossed a vial Myram’s way.
He caught it dexterously, and uncapped it. The ripe stench of demons blood and the overpowering scent of magick filled the room. The boy stepped back and drank the container. He promptly hit his knees, gagging and shaking.
The demon laughed, and picked up the box that Myram had dropped and opened it.
Inside was a long obsidian dagger, inscribed in infernal runes, with a curved wicked looking dagger.
Mystremvar started to struggle again, as he loosened his grip upon her. He backhanded her hard enough to make her see stars and snarled,
“Stay still, or I will kill the boy.”
She seized her struggles and watched, hopelessly as the demon began carving infernal runes upon her flesh with the blade. The pain was horrible, and she bit back her own screams, as it seemed that she was being burned alive.
As the demon raised his arm to etch another rune, she saw Myram rise up off the floor, weakly. He reached under the black robe and pulled out a blade, the Halis Madrake.
Mystremvar held out one shaking hand and the blade promptly flew into her grasp.
The demon stepped back, stunned and she plunged the blade deep into his chest. He roared and backhanded her again, sending her flying across the room. But she held onto the blade, even as she connected with the wall and slid down. She got up immediately and snarled, shaking the fuzziness from her head, she charged the demon.
He tried to side step, but failed and her blade connected with his chest again. He snarled and bent down to claw her, but her blade moved like lightning and plunged again, deep in his navel and carried up to his throat.
The demon fell in a spray off blood, splattered all over Mystremvar’s face, blinding her. But she did not stop to cleanse her face.
Blinded by the blood and her own battle rage, she continued hacking at the corpse of the demon. She did not even see when its carcass split upon and a draconic form attempted to emerge, she continued hacking until the draconic creature released a shrill scream and then moved no more. Still she continued until a hand was placed upon her arm.
“Mystremvar…it is dead. You killed it.”
She looked around, finally realizing that she was blinded, she grabbed Myram's robes and wiped her face.
The room around them was crumbling, falling apart. Stones were crashing down all around them and they could feel the tower hurtling out of the sky.
Myram looked panicked,
“What do we do now?”
Mystremvar leaned on him weakly,
“I have one spell remaining me today. Lets us only pray I can do it in time.”
Mystremvar’s hands flew as she cast her spell and a winged unicorn materialized before them.
Mystremvar helped Myram upon the creature and before they had even taken off, she was unconscious on its back.
Mystremvar did not know how much time had passed, as she was unconscious, but when she awoke she was in a camp tent. Her own even and she was dressed in one of her familiar night gowns and warm beneath a pile of blankets .She felt like she never wanted to leave, but she had to know what had happened.
So she threw on a robe and heading outside.
As soon as she exited the tent a loud roar raised up throughout the camp.
The remaining soldiers were holding their weapons high and saluting her.
Sahadrian stepped out of the crowd and smiled at her. His left arm was in a sling, but he was smiling and striding briskly towards her. She caught up to him halfway there, kissing him frantically and running her hands down his body, inspecting him for wounds, so surprised to see him alive.
“I’m alright.. I'm alright..”
He laughed.
“What happened?”
She whispered,
“After you left we were hard pressed, didn’t think we were going to make it, but humorously enough a whole army of halflings rushed down the hill and ran into the fray. They had with them some sort of gnomish made contraptions that catapulted the enemy with fireballs. With their aid we were able to cut them back. Although it was a hard press, when suddenly they just stopped fighting. Some ran, the others were cut down. I can only assume they knew their leader had fallen.”
“Thank the gods!”
Mystremvar whispered,
“There is someone here to see you, General.”
A soldier stepped said from behind the still embracing couple.
Sahadrian snarled,
“Tell them to wait..”
“I.. Urgh.. I can't sir.”
They turned to look, and riding down upon them was an elven woman on a snowy white horse. Guards surrounded her and by the sigil on their shields they knew that this was the elven queen.
En masse Mystremvar, Sahadrian and the army hit their knees as the queen rode up to Mystremvar.
She got down from off her horse and smiled kindly down at Mystremvar.
“Your actions today, Mystremvar, have saved Faerun. Your courage and skill are to be highly recommended.”
The queen took out a long shining blade and touched it to Mystremvar’s shoulders and head.
“From henceforth you shall be known as Lady Mystremvar Willowsong, Savoir of Faurun.”
A loud cheer erupted throughout the camp as Mystremvar stood and bowed at the waist to the queen.
“For the Gods! For Family! For Faerun!”
Epilogue
Mystremvar and Sahadrian stood at the gates of what will be their new home, a small island off the sword coast that had previously been completely uninhabited. The queen had gifted it upon them, and for the last 5 months work had been undertaken to make it habitable.
Her brother, Dalen had been here for a while, seeing to the work. After the battle he had become very taciturn and would not tell anyone why, but he seemed content assisting with the labor involved making this wild island a town.
Mystremvar and Sahdrian had married, a simple ceremony that was held by the druid Merrdyn, and witnessed by Mystremvar’s army, some of which had returned here to the isle to live. Upon their marriage, Sahadrian had taken Mystremvar’s last name, for he had been bastard born as well, but has no known father to truly give him a name.
As they stood hand in hand, surveying the land that would be the home for their children and their children’s children Sahadrian said,
“What shall you do now my love? For surely this life will be a bit boring for you.”
“Not at all. Many of these soldiers that joined us here are still green and need much training. If that doesn’t keep me occupied, I’m sure this will.”
She placed Sahadrian’s hand upon her belly, which was only just starting to swell with the life she carried within.
His eyes lit up with glee and he scooped up his bride and spun her about.
“I have to tell Dalen, I have to tell Myram.. Oh.. I have to do something.”
At that Sahadrian ran down the hill, stopping at the bottom to whoop and jump for joy before running on to the partially built town.
Mystremvar smiled that secret knowing smile that only a mother has.
“The geas will not be upon the two of you, my sons, but upon the bride you shall both take, who shall take my name, and have in her veins, although distant, my blood. But the two of you shall aid her, and help her through, for she will be the start of The Willowsongs.”
So it began, the bastard born daughter of a dishonored elven lord and a bardstress, became the champion of a world, and begot a lineage that would change it forever.
Sahadrian had been the only cleric in a small town about 20 miles from Waterdeep. There he had made a decent living, enough to provide for his wife and young son. But the fiends had struck his village and their small militia was no match for them. The last thing Sahadrian had seen before being dragged away by the fiends’ army was his wife being struck down. He had not seen his son, Myram , anywhere.
A few days later Rowan and Sahadrian found themselves quite lost, their skeletal guides having been destroyed. But they had a bit of luck on their side and managed to step through a large pile of brush and found a grove on the other side.
It was a druid’s grove that stretched out before them, and in reverence they removed their weapons before venturing forth. The arch druid there, Myrrdyn, greeted them warmly and saw to it that they were fed.
He told them that he had known that they were coming, and that he would gladly give them what they sought, but first he told them to rest, he would present the blade in the morning.
Rowan slept long that night, far longer than her normal trance and dreamed strange dreams.
In her dream she stood before 3 doors, upon one door was a skull. When she opened the door she saw herself, alone, in a bloody battlefield, with corpses all around.
Upon another door, she saw a blade. Upon opened this door she saw herself again, only she was upon her knees in seeming supplication to the Dark Lord himself. The third door bore the mark of Kelemvore. Inside this door she saw herself, dead upon the floor with a weeping Sahadrian standing over her.
She woke up from this dreams vastly troubled. She knew they had shown her a glimpse of her possible futures, depending upon what means she used to reach her goal. None of these seemed like good possibilities however, so she decided her best course of action was to attempt to combine the paths, her necromancy, her blade, and her service to her God, in an attempt to reach the best possible outcome.
Upon speaking with the druid he agreed with this decision.
“Go to The Halls of Judgment, the main temple to Kelemvore.”
He told her, and then took her back into his cave. Inside the cave, surrounded by a wall of ice, was a glittering bastard sword.
“That is the Halis Madrak. Only the true wielder can break through the ice.”
The druid said, and then disappeared.
When Rowan reached the wall of ice the ground beneath her started to shake and a giant white dragon burst up from the floor.
After a fierce and bloody battle, her blade was shattered but the dragon lay dead. Rowan dragged herself forward, placing her hand upon the wall of ice. It melted away from her, and the shining blade stood before her.
With the blade in hand, Rowan kissed Sahadrian goodbye, for she knew this was something she had to do alone and headed out on the long trip to the deserts of the Anarouch.
Rowan fought many battles on her way to the temple, but finally she stood before its great doors.
The doors were guarded by a golem, but the golem stepped aside when Rowan revealed her pendant.
Upon entering she was surprised to find the temple empty, save for the skeletal remains of the ones who had once lived and worshipped here. But she carried on, determined to find any survivors.
Find them she did, a mere handful, but they took her in and assisted her in making her pledge to the God.
She was bathed and dressed in robes, just as she had been when she was a girl, before the mercenaries took her in. But this time, when she was lead before that great statue, no legion armies swept in.
As she stood there looking up at the statue she felt a strange dizziness sweep over her body, and then all was black.
She found herself on the steps leading up to a great black door. Behind her was a line of strangely translucent people that stretched out beyond the horizon. But the door lay open to her and she entered.
She came into a large throne room. The man sitting upon the throne was one she never thought to encounter, save for in her dreams. He had long black hair and a thin white face, so white it was almost ghastly, and the eyes that seemed to dig into her soul were as black as the night. But he held out one long bony hand and motioned her forward, and she came.
She knelt at the feet of her god, and was silent, not knowing what to say.
“We know you, Rowan Willowsong. Your destiny has been written in the stars, yours and your descendants. For destroy the Dark Lord you shall, and receive our blessing. You shall become the hero of all the Gods of Light, and you shall do our bidding upon Faerun. We bless you with our aid, our ear, and our council. Your descendants shall return the light to Faerun and shall sit upon a throne. But there is a catch…”
“What is that, my lord?”
“You shall yield to us your first born daughters, those directly of your bloodline. They shall be known as The Willowsongs. They shall do our bidding, as we are having you do. But you are not without free choice. Will you accept this, mortal woman? Will you become our heroines?”
Rowan nodded, her throat tight, and although she was uncertain of what she was agreeing to she said,
“Yes, my lord. I, and my descendants, are yours to command.”
Kelemvore nodded.
“The stand up, and cast aside what you were. Rowan no longer, you are now Mystremvar Willowsong, chosen of Kelemvore, and champion of the Gods.”
She was returned then to her own plane, with her first duty from the Gods. Kelemvore told her to go back to the High Forests and find the dwarven thane, then to return him to his stronghold.
Mystremvar wasn’t certain she knew of any dwarven thanes, but return she did.
She had been traveling about a month and the High Forests were still so far away, and she was becoming disheartened when she heard a caravan approaching.
She moved to the side of the road to let them pass when she heard a familiar voice call out,
“Well, I swear, I think I know that lassie…but well now, my Rowan wa’ not normally so dirty.”
Mystremvar laughed and ran over to greet her old friend Klingedon, who was driving a wagon, filled with children.
She learned that the village he had stayed behind in had been over run by the legion of darkness .The people in the caravan were refugees from that village and several other villages nearby that they had saved, and were taking now to join up with the armies gathered at the high forest.
As Mystremvar rode next to her old friend, she told him about what all had befallen them since they had parted and showed him the Halis Madrake. He admired the blade with the keen eye of a master blacksmith, and offered to buy it off of her, an offer she, naturally refused.
She then asked him if he knew of any dwarven thanes that might be in the vicinity, at which the jovial dwarf fell silent.
“Aye, I know of a thane that needs be returning home.”
“Were can I find him?”
“You’re looking at him, lass.”
Klingedon admitted to her that in before he had died in that room, he had been a thane. But his stronghold in the underdark had collapsed, taken over by the drow.
After returning to the High Forests and dropping off the refugees, Mystremvar, Klingedon, and Sahadrian, who refused to be left behind again, made their way out to the Silver Marshes, to delve beneath the depths of Mythral Hall.
Far below the surface they found Klingedon's old stronghold, mostly fallen to ruin, save for the stout dwarven made walls that are built to withstand the pass of time.
Inside the castle they found a small troop of goblins that were easily dispatched and then made their way to Klingedon’s throne room. They could see evidence that the drow had made their home here, including a room with a clutch of deep dragon eggs. Mystremvar was not eager to see their birthing, so she gathered up as many skeletal remains as she could find, piled them over the door and cast an ice wall over them.
The next room had an even stranger occupant. In the middle of the room stood a moon elf, he had a dagger sticking out of his back and was encased completely in ice.
A burning hands spell took care of the ice, but Mystremvar tapped every bit of her healing magic in repairing his wounds.
She slept with the man held close to her, in an attempt to warm him, and as she slept she dreamed again.
She saw the man flee into this room, holding his hand was a pretty drow girl. Rushing in after them was a band of drow warriors.
“I will hold them off, run, Nedylene.”
The moon elf shouted. The girl, Nedylene, looked about her, at the drow coming into attack, she looked panicked, but her features instantly resolved themselves into calmness.
“I don’t think that will be necessary..’
She whispered, and walked up to the man,
“Goodbye, Dalen Willowsong.”
Then she plunged her dagger into his back. He fell immediately, looking up at her with surprised eyes.
The drow warriors looked stunned, as she raised her hands and brought a swash of flame down upon them.
When they were done, she pulled a scroll out of her pack and read it. Ice formed up all over the mans body, and then she turned and walked away.
The man, Dalen Willowsong, it seemed, was awake when Mystremvar woke up. He was drinking coffee with shaking hands and telling Klingedon and Sahadrian about how he had come to be there.
“You got to hear what happened to this man, Mysty…”
Klingedon started,
“I know, he was betrayed by a drow girl, a lover it seemed.”
Klingedon shook his head, and tugged his long beard,
“I don’t know how she knows the things she does…”
He mumbled,
“I am Dalen..Dalen Willowsong.”
“I am Mystremvar Willowsong. Interesting that we bear the same last name. Who was your father?”
Dalen looked displeased at this,
“My father, “
He spat,
“Deserted my mother for some bardic whore.”
Mystremvar immediately punched him in the face,
“Ill have you know my mother was no whore.”
At this the two commenced to grappling one another until Klingedon and Sahadrian pulled them apart.
They were both greatly apologetic and then commenced to finishing their journey.
As they continued their journey, Klingedon admitted to them his reason for coming here.
“I am dying,”
He said simply, with no emotion,
“I wish to be buried amongst my kin.”
So they took their friend to the burial chambers and, no sooner than they had reached them, Klingedon clutched his chest, and fell to the ground, breathing no more.
Mystremvar, Sahadrian and Mystremvar's half brother, Dalen, buried the old dwarf amongst the bones of his kin folk before returning back to the forests where an army had gathered to fight the evil legion that was determined to crush Faerun beneath its heel.
Along the way to the High Forest Mystremvar and her companions met a group of wild elves. They were defending a passage of woods from the legion. Among them was a young boy who looked strangely familiar.
Sahadrian's face lit up in joy at the sight of the adolescent elf. It was his son Myram. His brother, Kendrick, had taken the boy in, and Myram showed great promise as a sorcerer. But when Mystremvar questioned him, she noticed that sorcery was not his only gift, he also had the talent for necromancy.
This pleased her greatly, and she took the boy under her wing, teaching him all that she had learned. Mystremvar had reached an age where women start to long for children, and her lover’s son had become like a child to her.
By the time they had returned it was to see that the army had grown greatly. Before his death Klingedon had sent for an army of dwarves, and they had came. The dragons had sent aid as well, for 30 metallic dragons flew over the camp.
Even the amazons had come; the battle maidens stood on one side of the camp and glowered at any males that dared to look their way.
There was much for Mystremvar to do now, for she was, above all things, a general, and the commanding of soldiers came as naturally as breathing to her. So Sahadrian and the boy, Myram, were for the large part, ignored, as Mystremvar set about the neighboring towns and villages, drawing in more and more recruits for her armies.
But the day dawned upon them at last. Mystremvar had drawn in as many soldiers as she could. They were more than 10 thousand strong. But would that be enough? They waited anxiously as the Dark Lords army of abominations marched down upon them, the armies on both sides waited with baited breath for the commanders to call out their orders. At once, both Mystremvar and the commander of the legion roared out “Attack!”
And the armies rushed in. Mystremvar had her infantry stop mere seconds from the opposing army, and wild elves popped up from the trees they were hiding in, pinging arrow after arrow down upon the opposing force. The dragons swept down from the skies, breathing their fierce breath weapons and cutting a swath through the legions forces like a scythe through a wheat field, but the legion managed to pull through and then and only then did both forces truly engage.
Mystremvar herself, from atop a horse was cutting her way through the soldiers. As they fell around her she sent out that charge of cold magick and they rose back up again and continued to do battle. She lost track of all else save the rise and fall of her sword arm, the sway that indicated when her charger was going to rear and trample, the fog of battle. But cutting through that fog was a shape. A large demonic shape that was heading right for her, cutting down her troops left and right. A small silver swept down from the sky and attempted to bite the giant demonic looking man but he swept it aside with one gauntleted hand, and continued his path to Mystremvar. She saw him and raised the hood of her helm, pointed at him she shouted,
“This one is mine…”
And she charged down upon him. The great man laughed and cast a spell so quickly Mystremvar had no chance to counter. The horse was slain beneath her from a great gout of flame, and Mystremvar was thrown. She scrambled to her feet quickly and she met the Dark Lord with her blade. The two parried it seemed for hours, with they were both well skilled, but the Dark Lord finally managed to trip Mystremvar and she fell, the blade however stayed in her hand and she tried in vain to fend off the demons blows but they simply kept coming. Blood and sweat dripped down her fore head and temporarily blinded her, long enough for the Dark Lord the come up behind her and beat her in the back of her head with the hilt of his blade. Still clutching the Halis Madrake, Mystremvar fell silent, and unconscious.
She awakened in a large bed, covered in silken bedclothes. Her armour, weapons and clothing had been removed and she was clad in a sheer nightgown that left scant little to the imagination. She had never worn anything like it in her life, and was even more uncomfortable in the gown than she was in the thought that someone had put her in it, for she could tell that she had not been raped while she was unconscious.
When she got out of the bed she could see that that though the bed was luxurious the rest of the room was little more than a ruin. The walls were bare stone and cracked open in places. When she looked through one of the cracks, for there were no windows she could see that she was high in the air, another floating castle, she thought at first but a glance through some of the other cracks confirmed that it was more a tower of sorts.
She went to the door and found it surprisingly unlocked, so she went out.
Outside of the room was a balcony that seemed to stretch all around the castle. A few feet in front of her stood the Dark Lord himself.
He still wore the black plate mail he had been wearing in the battle, but his helm was removed. The face beneath was almost handsome, although severe, and adorned with long black horns that swept back through his long black hair. His skin and the wings that spread out from his back were red as blood, and his hands that clutched the balcony before him were adorned with long red claws.
Without turning he said to her,
“I have been watching you, Mystremvar.”
She said nothing, merely gazing at her opponent, attempting to find some weakness she could infiltrate.
“I have seen the potential you bear, and truth be told, you fascinate me. Did you really think that I could not have killed you off a long time ago, if I had chosen to?”
She still said nothing, but her lips thinned into a tight line with rage.
He laughed,
“Do you realize how beautiful you look when you’re angry? I have seen that rage before, as you swept down upon a battlefield, cutting down your foes. I have seen you covered in the blood of your enemies, laughing with the glee you feel every time you kill. You can attempt to reason it away with your petty excuses, you kill for the sake of the good, you kill for necessity to protect the innocent, but the fact remains, Mystremvar, you like to kill. You live for it, and in that we are not so dissimilar.
Consider this, Mystremvar, Faerun is too spread out, too lawless. Faerun has no one true leader and because of that Faerun will always fall beneath the hands of its most powerful invaders. Don’t you see what I am really doing here, Mystremvar? I make war to bring peace. I made this war in order to unite Faerun under a leader that is powerful enough to hold her, myself…I can hold Faerun. I can bring it peace. Under my rulership Faerun will truly prosper, for who will dare go up against a demon prince?”
She snarled at him,
“What purpose did you have in bringing me here? To flaunt your plans in my face?”
“Hardly, my darling, I brought you here to make a proposal. I will stop the war; I will stop the killing, only stay with me. Bow down to me and give yourself to me. I will make you my queen and together we shall bring law and order to this land, our law, our order.”
”And if I refuse?”
He waved his hand and a fog appeared before him, the fog cleared and showed a battle scene. It was Mystremvar’s troupes, without her they were floundering. She saw Sahadrian upon a charger, demon kin was surrounding him and they pulled the horse down. The last thing she saw before he waved the vision away was Sahadrian being pulled down into the crowd of demon kin.
Mystremvar screamed in horror, and the demon prince laughed.
“If you refuse me, you will die, they will die, and I will still rule. Just say the word and I will call of my troops, just bend your knee to me and all will be well.”
Tears welled up in Mystremvar’s eyes, and with shaking limbs she fell to her knee.
The demon laughed and wrapped his large clawed hand around the back of her skull, yanking her face up to him, he kissed her brutally, hard enough to make her lips bleed, and Mystremvar made a sobbing disgusted sound in her throat.
“You will grow to like my kisses well enough, but come, my love, first the ceremony and then.. Ah then we wed.”
“The ceremony?”
She whispered,
“Yes, of course, before we wed I shall change this puny form into one more of my liking. I wonder what you will become after I have laid you down upon the Hell Forge and turned you into a demon?”
Mystremvar cried out in horror, but he continued his grip upon her skull, dragging her into another room.
This room was as dank and dreary as the other, only a large altar sat at the back, illuminated by the glow of black candles.
He dragged her onto the altar and holding her down with one hand ripped the nightgown from her body.
She screamed and struggled uselessly but he only laughed and held her fast.
“To complete the ceremony,”
He told her,
“I will need a few items, I think you will be surprised at who brings them to me.”
Mystremvar heard a slight sound at the door and yanked her head to see.
It was the boy, Myram, Sahadrian's son.
He was clad in black robes and carried a box.
“Bring me the items boy…”
The demon demanded and Myram continued forward.
“No, Myram, don’t do this!”
Mystremvar screamed.
Myram stopped and looked at the demon,
“First you must give me w3hat you promised me. Give me the power you promised.”
The demon snarled, but tossed a vial Myram’s way.
He caught it dexterously, and uncapped it. The ripe stench of demons blood and the overpowering scent of magick filled the room. The boy stepped back and drank the container. He promptly hit his knees, gagging and shaking.
The demon laughed, and picked up the box that Myram had dropped and opened it.
Inside was a long obsidian dagger, inscribed in infernal runes, with a curved wicked looking dagger.
Mystremvar started to struggle again, as he loosened his grip upon her. He backhanded her hard enough to make her see stars and snarled,
“Stay still, or I will kill the boy.”
She seized her struggles and watched, hopelessly as the demon began carving infernal runes upon her flesh with the blade. The pain was horrible, and she bit back her own screams, as it seemed that she was being burned alive.
As the demon raised his arm to etch another rune, she saw Myram rise up off the floor, weakly. He reached under the black robe and pulled out a blade, the Halis Madrake.
Mystremvar held out one shaking hand and the blade promptly flew into her grasp.
The demon stepped back, stunned and she plunged the blade deep into his chest. He roared and backhanded her again, sending her flying across the room. But she held onto the blade, even as she connected with the wall and slid down. She got up immediately and snarled, shaking the fuzziness from her head, she charged the demon.
He tried to side step, but failed and her blade connected with his chest again. He snarled and bent down to claw her, but her blade moved like lightning and plunged again, deep in his navel and carried up to his throat.
The demon fell in a spray off blood, splattered all over Mystremvar’s face, blinding her. But she did not stop to cleanse her face.
Blinded by the blood and her own battle rage, she continued hacking at the corpse of the demon. She did not even see when its carcass split upon and a draconic form attempted to emerge, she continued hacking until the draconic creature released a shrill scream and then moved no more. Still she continued until a hand was placed upon her arm.
“Mystremvar…it is dead. You killed it.”
She looked around, finally realizing that she was blinded, she grabbed Myram's robes and wiped her face.
The room around them was crumbling, falling apart. Stones were crashing down all around them and they could feel the tower hurtling out of the sky.
Myram looked panicked,
“What do we do now?”
Mystremvar leaned on him weakly,
“I have one spell remaining me today. Lets us only pray I can do it in time.”
Mystremvar’s hands flew as she cast her spell and a winged unicorn materialized before them.
Mystremvar helped Myram upon the creature and before they had even taken off, she was unconscious on its back.
Mystremvar did not know how much time had passed, as she was unconscious, but when she awoke she was in a camp tent. Her own even and she was dressed in one of her familiar night gowns and warm beneath a pile of blankets .She felt like she never wanted to leave, but she had to know what had happened.
So she threw on a robe and heading outside.
As soon as she exited the tent a loud roar raised up throughout the camp.
The remaining soldiers were holding their weapons high and saluting her.
Sahadrian stepped out of the crowd and smiled at her. His left arm was in a sling, but he was smiling and striding briskly towards her. She caught up to him halfway there, kissing him frantically and running her hands down his body, inspecting him for wounds, so surprised to see him alive.
“I’m alright.. I'm alright..”
He laughed.
“What happened?”
She whispered,
“After you left we were hard pressed, didn’t think we were going to make it, but humorously enough a whole army of halflings rushed down the hill and ran into the fray. They had with them some sort of gnomish made contraptions that catapulted the enemy with fireballs. With their aid we were able to cut them back. Although it was a hard press, when suddenly they just stopped fighting. Some ran, the others were cut down. I can only assume they knew their leader had fallen.”
“Thank the gods!”
Mystremvar whispered,
“There is someone here to see you, General.”
A soldier stepped said from behind the still embracing couple.
Sahadrian snarled,
“Tell them to wait..”
“I.. Urgh.. I can't sir.”
They turned to look, and riding down upon them was an elven woman on a snowy white horse. Guards surrounded her and by the sigil on their shields they knew that this was the elven queen.
En masse Mystremvar, Sahadrian and the army hit their knees as the queen rode up to Mystremvar.
She got down from off her horse and smiled kindly down at Mystremvar.
“Your actions today, Mystremvar, have saved Faerun. Your courage and skill are to be highly recommended.”
The queen took out a long shining blade and touched it to Mystremvar’s shoulders and head.
“From henceforth you shall be known as Lady Mystremvar Willowsong, Savoir of Faurun.”
A loud cheer erupted throughout the camp as Mystremvar stood and bowed at the waist to the queen.
“For the Gods! For Family! For Faerun!”
Epilogue
Mystremvar and Sahadrian stood at the gates of what will be their new home, a small island off the sword coast that had previously been completely uninhabited. The queen had gifted it upon them, and for the last 5 months work had been undertaken to make it habitable.
Her brother, Dalen had been here for a while, seeing to the work. After the battle he had become very taciturn and would not tell anyone why, but he seemed content assisting with the labor involved making this wild island a town.
Mystremvar and Sahdrian had married, a simple ceremony that was held by the druid Merrdyn, and witnessed by Mystremvar’s army, some of which had returned here to the isle to live. Upon their marriage, Sahadrian had taken Mystremvar’s last name, for he had been bastard born as well, but has no known father to truly give him a name.
As they stood hand in hand, surveying the land that would be the home for their children and their children’s children Sahadrian said,
“What shall you do now my love? For surely this life will be a bit boring for you.”
“Not at all. Many of these soldiers that joined us here are still green and need much training. If that doesn’t keep me occupied, I’m sure this will.”
She placed Sahadrian’s hand upon her belly, which was only just starting to swell with the life she carried within.
His eyes lit up with glee and he scooped up his bride and spun her about.
“I have to tell Dalen, I have to tell Myram.. Oh.. I have to do something.”
At that Sahadrian ran down the hill, stopping at the bottom to whoop and jump for joy before running on to the partially built town.
Mystremvar smiled that secret knowing smile that only a mother has.
“The geas will not be upon the two of you, my sons, but upon the bride you shall both take, who shall take my name, and have in her veins, although distant, my blood. But the two of you shall aid her, and help her through, for she will be the start of The Willowsongs.”
So it began, the bastard born daughter of a dishonored elven lord and a bardstress, became the champion of a world, and begot a lineage that would change it forever.