(LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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Almarea90
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Re: (LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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5. Who I am.



Light engulfed her through her shut eyelids, then it finally dimmed. Edelgarde's body was light, as if underwater, but her lungs felt now clear. When she managed to open her eyes, she found herself and the others in a barren wasteland, surrounded by flames, a steady haze washing over them. She knew this was a memory, or a dream, yet it was connected to the mist coming from Vanira. The conceited voices of her companions echoed and ripped like ocean whales. Everyone seemed lost, unfamiliar with the current reality: some prayed to their gods for blessings on themselves and their companions, others unsheathed their weapons or touched themselves to see if it was all a dream.
Instinctively, Edelgarde stepped closer to her brother, the most familiar person in that alien landscape. He seemed to have less difficulties navigating it but his expression still gave away the fact he had no idea what was going on. He pulled his sister behind himself and began searching for Tarina and Linetheil.

"Is this the world of spirits?" Melissar asked to nobody in particular.

"It appears to be a vision" Lance replied, looking around.

Linetheil was on her knees, looking around slowly, now dressed in a simple gown her feet bare. This version of her was sharper, brighter and more present than the woman Edelgarde knew. There was an otherwordly glow underneath her skin, although she appeared perfectly at ease. She stared quite clearly towards those around her, without the absent gaze that usually accompanied her eyes. There was a faint sparkle in them. Tarina as well looked different in that place: younger, dressed in rags, and drenched with water. A cacophony of sounds raised from within her that shouted out at once, before she restrained it and pulled it in, preventing it from leaking out.

Edelgarde could see, almost feel, a dark mist before her, over the white flames that surrounded them. Her stomach churned in fear but at the same time she knew the answers she was seeking were at its summit.

"At night..." Vanira said, but Edelgarde paid her no mind. "This... We always see..."

"Oh gods! There is something..." Edelgarde said, her heart pounding on her chest. "The mist..."

Then, a horse galloped out of the flames.

"Ah, the horse that I chased with Protector Izz, perhaps" Lance said, eyeing the stallion.

The horse stopped in front of a child made of dark mist, who reached to it, encircling its neck with spectral fingers, shimmering and fading in and out of reality. Edelgarde froze in place, pure panic washing over her and a million questions and thoughts pounding at her mind.

"I never had much growing up" the child said. "Poor, maybe a horse would make me feel better? Why is everyone such a disappointment?"

With the corner of her eye Edelgarde saw Linetheil approaching the child, but she couldn't move, staring at the black mist with eyes full of terror. The entire landscape quaked for a moment, as the child seemed to pierce beyond the placated memory that was unwinding like a mechanical toy before her very eyes... Then, it locked eyes with Edelgarde.

"Such disappointment" it says with a louder and increasingly distorted voice. "If only Eunice could see you, killing this horse."

The tiefling watched the horse fall dead, but hearing her grandmother's name sent a jolt of rage through her. Familiar darkness churning at the pit of her stomach.

"Who are you! How do you know her name?" she asked, her eyes narrowed, helplessly watching the trail of blood going from the dead horse to herself. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

The child reached out, but its form was still an echo, an echo of an echo. Jalib placed himself between it and his sister, ready to strike it down.

"Who... Am I?" the child seemed to be asking itself, looking down at its own hands. Behind them, the rest of those present discussed their own theories.

Then, a mirror appeared in front of Edelgarde, the very same she used to scry and that now showed herself.

"No! No! You are not me!" she shouted, as if that could make the mirror disappear. Jalib gasped for air and rapidly shut his eye at the display, losing balance and wobbling in the ehter-like landscape.

"Edelgarde" Linetheil said. "Remember the door. Crafted with beautiful words."

The child retreated back into the mist, shouting out scared. The memory shook again, making them stumble.

"Y-you..." it said pointing at Vanira. "I see you somehow... You feel it too... Don't you?"

"Aye" she said, staring into the mists.

Suddenly, the child pressed its thumbs into its eyesockets, making them disappear inside. "No... No... Don't take my dolly!"

Edelgarde held her breath, feeling the same anger she felt on that day. The very same anger she thought she had under control during that year. Darkness was everywhere. Her companions were gone and she was enveloped in the black mist. Curled into a ball, she was that child again.

"Give it back!" she shouted.

"Why won't they give it back?!" the child cried in her head.

Mercy

Kindness

Modesty

Piety

Yes! That was when she was pulled deeper in the memory. Finally, all the pieces clicked together and Edelgarde felt whole again, although her memories felt like shards barely kept together by fresh glue. The Seer's words had awakened something into her.

Remember the door. Crafted with beautiful words

That phrase now made perfect sense. The door was one of her spirits, the one that Linetheil saw. A door that kept the darkness sealed, locked by seals of light made of the same words her companion were now chanting around her.

Mercy for everyone deserves a second chance. Kindness for an open hand may have more reach than a blade. Modesty for heroes don't need praise. Piety for the gods would help those she can't. But most importantly, the affection of her friends finally reached out to her.
She blinked at the crowd in front of her, finally seeing them and her gaze rested on Jalib.

"Jalib?" she said, meeting his gaze. "Brother!"

"I'm here..." he said, throwing his flail away and stepping closer.

The two of them embraced and he audibly sighed in relief. As Edelgarde wiped the tears blurring her eyes, she noticed a pool of blood at his feet. Letting go of her brother, she turned around, facing the mist child with narrowed eyes. Now she knew who she was and wouldn't allow it to hurt those who she loved. Jalib didn't wince, breathing out through his nostrils, as if pain's only effect was making him more angry. The child tilted its head at that reaction, like a curious dog sensing a new toy.

"I am Scribe Edelgarde of the House of Spades" Edelgarde firmly said, now feeling Tarina's hand on her shoulder. "I don't know what tricked you pulled but I'm not a child anymore. I know what you are."

"Yer tha past... Get outta her head" Jalib hissed at the child.

"What... Am I?" the child asked aloof.

"Yer tha past. Yer no more" Jalib said.

"You are my darkness" Edelgarde explained. "What I've been closing behind a door for fourteen years. You can hurt me, but bloody leave my brother and those people alone!"

The child didn't answer, stepping back and curiously tilting his head at the siblings, acknowledging the reactions of those around.

"Memories..." it finally said, like a kid who was understanding something for the first time. "I can... see more than ours? So I don't have to be so alone. I can have theirs too."

"Why do you feel alone?" Edelgarde asked, glancing at her brother, now covered in cuts, with a worried expression.

"You don't get it" the child said. "You made me."

Edelgarde felt numb at the tips of her fingers, panic creeping up her stomach. "I made you? How?"

"I don't... remember" it said peering through Edelgarde and locking eyes on Vanira.

Suddenly, the figure of a drow appeared behind Lance. It looked directly at the child, who, in turn, kept staring at Vanira. The elf's eyes widened at the sight of the drow piercing her husband's chest. She screamed and stumbled back. Lance glanced over his shoulder, his gaze flicking down to the wound as he winced harshly.

"Stop it!" Edelgarde shouted in turn. "I am the one you want!"

"Sunathar..." the child said.

"Come here, Ed..." Jalib managed to say, weak and covered in blood, yet extending his arms to her. "Screw tha past. It's no more. Don't let this little (#2) do this to ya..."

"Memories to not be so alone! Memories not alone" the child smiled, almost happy with the turn of events, after losing it's grip on Edelgarde.

"This is real..." she said, holding Jalib's arm. "He's hurting them!"

"No... Not again" Vanira shouted. "Not again... no..."

"It can hurt me as much as it dares... I won't back away" Jalib said defiantly, pulling his sister closer.

"All our dark memories hurt us, Edelgarde" Tarina added.

Her friends' presence helped her to realize that, surprisingly, she was still holding on the memory of the day she was promoted. She almost could hear the sounds of a beach, seeming to emanate from herself like a shock wave that altered reality. Now the sound of the waves was increasing, threatening to end the dream, but the child smiled at Vanira and Jalib, and then cast a curious glance at the others.

"Thanks for bringing friends this time" it said unfazed as the memory unraveled around them, creating a hole in the fabric of the plane that opened on white sands.

Sean extracted his sword and charged toward it. "So we'll strike it down!" he roared, followed by some of the others.

Then, the child disappeared and the sword in Lance's chest followed shortly after. He moved his hand to touch it as it vanished, his eyes glancing around the area perplexed.

"What have I done..." Edelgarde whispered. "He will go after you all now.."

"Let him bloody try!" Sean replied. "Best we make use of the portal, while it lasts."

The group crossed the portal, emerging on the beach near Candlekeep. Edelgarde let herself sigh in relief as the portal closed behind them, after delivering everyone safe and sound. However, there was a certainty that wouldn't leave the back of her mind: it was not over.
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

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Almarea90
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Re: (LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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6. The Path Out of Hell



Edelgarde stared in horror at his brother laying in a pool of his own blood, Isabella kneeling in front of him. She just stood frozen while time slowed to a crawl, until Tarina's cry broke the silence, rolling over the soothing words of the Guide. She could only stare at her friend's features warped in horror, her left eye now pearl white and blind. As if to mock her failure, a cruel childish laughter erupted around her.
No matter her efforts, Edelgarde couldn't lift a finger as hours, then days, unfolded in front of her in the span of a few heartbeats: the pain of her loved ones, more and more discord among them, more cracks in what she once thought unbreakable. Their voices overlapping in her head.

It'd be nice if we could all stand together. It's not going to happen.

Look, Ed... I feel like I'm going insane. My mind shatters in pieces. I'm... I dunno, I'm in pain.

Oh I know! For once I know! This is Mel's fault.

I'm done. I won't be part of this any longer.

She saw Linetheil disappearing in the dark mist in the mill. Tarina going after her. No matter how she struggled: she was unable to even lift a finger to save them. Finally, the realization that she was what gave birth to the Child of Darkness washed over her. Part of her soul taken from her and attached to a demon-

Edelgarde woke up covered in cold sweat.
She pushed herself up in a sitting position and let her gaze wander in her still unfamiliar room at Spades Estate, slowly regaining grasp on reality. Months had passed since the last encounter with the Child of Darkness who had seemingly disappeared, although she wasn't that naive to consider herself or her loved ones safe, not until that creature lived.
She remembered those months as an endless, painful crawl from the lowest pit of Hell, regaining her balance inch by inch. That didn't erase her scars. Ugly, painful scars like her frequent nightmares or the sleepless nights. The worst part was her constant fear for her friends' safety. Its cold finger often reached for the pit of her stomach, crushing it in a merciless grip, and even on good days she could feel that fear lurking at the fringes of her thoughts.
Sometimes it was just a feeling, a sense warning her that Jalib was in pain or that Tarina was in danger, or that Lucia would never come back from one of her trips. Other times, it was more like a voice at the back of her mind.

It's just a matter of time until you will be too late to pull your brother away from some waterfall. It would whisper. Maybe it has already happened. He's too weak for this world and you know it deep down, but you will never admit it. As you won't admit that Tarina has her days numbered by the spirit she gave most of herself to, assuming she doesn't poke the wrong one who would consume her whole, that is. Poor little Edelgarde, who will you be left with at that point? Isabella? Do you really think you can stop her thorough and painstakingly slow process of self-destruction? But why do you care? After all, she stopped giving a damn about you when you stopped being a novelty. Oh! And let us not forget sweet young Lucia, so full of life and so doomed to be crushed by the weight of her crumbling hopes and dreams. No, wait! Let's play a game! Let's bet on how many people Salim will kill before being consumed by his own powers when he goes completely nuts...

Sometimes she managed to lock the fear away, probably behind the same sealed door that Linetheil saw long ago, looking at her spirits. Other times the only way to find a measure of peace was checking on all those she loved, make sure they were fine, and even that wasn't guaranteed to dispel her fear. There were hours, even days, dominated by a huge, crushing feeling of impending doom, when she could almost feel her surrounding closing oppressively around her.

Edelgarde sprang on her feet and reached the small desk, covered by books and parchments. She slumped on the stool, the small glowing crystal at the corner bathing the room in a purplish light at a brush of her fingers, and placed the writing supplies neatly on the wooden surface. Somehow, copying texts managed to calm her mind. Focusing on the artful shapes of the letters, the hues of the ink, the lines of the pictures crowding the margins or even the mere scraping of the quill on parchment helped the stream of her thought flowing calmly and easily. In a way, it made her feel closer to her patron deity, the Lord of All Glyphs and Images, walking His path one letter at time.
In the clarity of her work, while her surrounding became less and less oppressive, Edelgarde managed to look back to the past months without fear or pain. After all, when her hopes died one by one, what remained was her faith. When her strength waned, sheer determination pushed her to keep climbing. That and the certainty that she had to be strong not only for herself but for those she loved: the same ones she worried about so much.
Looking back with a clear mind, what was left beneath the smoldering embers of her journey to Hell and back was acceptance: accepting that sometimes looking back is the first step of a forward path.


(( First post with bio edited too
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

Candlekeep Public Collection Reference
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Almarea90
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Re: (LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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7. Final Oath



"You have chosen a hard path child" Jasnah said as a matter of fact. "There are people society finds easier to ignore. If you reach to them, you will likely meet their fate."

"I don't get it" Edelgarde said with a frown, feeling like a child again. "You said everyone deserves a second chance."

"I still do" she replied with a firm nod. "But do you think all of them will take that chance? No. Many won't be swayed. Many will fail, many won't even try. Many will deceive you, back-stab you..."

"But..." Edelgarde trailed off. "If we don't reach out to them, then who will?"

The Asura did not speak, regarding her with her golden gaze.

Help those who hurt, no matter who they are...

"Is that why you do it?" Edelgarde asked in a moment of clarity. "Is that why you serve Ilmater? Even with your defiant nature. Reaching for an outcast often means sharing their fate. Sharing their pain. Even if this means defying society. To show them..."

"... They can defy their own fate." Jasnah finished for her. "Just like you did."

"Last year you saw an outcast in me..." the tiefling said thoughtful.

"I saw a little girl" she corrected her. "Who made herself an outcast, believing the evil in her blood doomed her to be such. You stopped being one the moment you realized fate can be changed. You got acceptance."

"And now I'm risking it all to try and save everyone..." Edelagarde said with a smirk.

"You can't save everyone" Jasnah interjected dryly.

"Yet, saving one is worth the pain of ninety-nine failures" Edelgarde said. "One out of a hundred is still better than nothing."

Jasnah simply nodded. Yet, that simple gesture marked a milestone: for the first time in a year Edelgarde finally understood the depth of the Celestial's message.

I will reach out for the outcast, the downtrodden, the forgotten and the lost, even if it means sharing their pain

Her oath was unspoken, because she knew Jasnah wasn't one for formalities. Yet, it was clear to both the pact was finally sealed.

"Child..." the Asura said, breaking the long silence. "You have to promise me something."

Edelgarde looked at her, a bit puzzled.

"Those who will judge and oppose you" she continued. "Don't make the mistake to see them as enemies. The real enemies are other, far more dangerous forces."

"I thought you were ready to defy society..." Edelgarde trailed off.

"Defiance is not always hostile" Jasnah said. "Sometimes it is as simple as an extended hand in the face of division."

There's no "us", there's no "them". There's just people trying to overcome life's hardships and make the best of their time here...
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

Candlekeep Public Collection Reference
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Almarea90
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Re: (LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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9. A Scribe's Duty, Part I



Edelgarde would pick up the quill and stare at the blank page, like she did many times this month, just to place it back on the table, unable to pour the maelstrom of her thought into parchment. This time though, she forced herself to pick it up again and dip it in ink. It was surprisingly easy to write a dry, factual, albeit slightly theatrical, recount of the events that unraveled in the last months around Candlekeep. It was so much harder to put it all in writing: her feelings, her doubts, her choices. Finally, the quill's wet tip touched the parchment, leaving it's dark trail on the white surface.
The Book and the Dragon - Unabridged
Edelgarde Spades, 1357 DR Year of the Prince

The events I will describe in this pages have been already told in the book I will soon publish, however it felt right to keep an uncensored version for my eyes only. It is not my intention to hide the truth from the readers, but rather keeping the flow of the events free from my personal considerations, emotions and doubts. The public does not need to know how I saw myself in Lyvinicus in more than one occasion, how I questioned my vows or my course of action. However, I need to remember there is a story in the story, or rather one that flows parallel to the main narration like a subterranean stream. This is a story of trials and growth, sorrow and joy: whether we like it or not, another brick in the wall of our lives.

This story starts like many other stories in Candlekeep: with a book. A sketch and poetry book, authored by Yyiriss Valconvani. Shortly before I joined as an acolyte, a brass dragon named Lyvinicus Drycus, or Mark, in the guise of an elf knocked at our door and proposed an unusual trade offer. He offered three rare tomes in exchange for the sketchbook, that was apparently stolen from him by a blue dragon. As we found out later on, the deceased author was dear to the dragon, his wife to be precise, and he requested that no copy was made. I joined shortly after and, although I was but an acolyte at the time, my opinion was requested on whether or not it was appropriate to petition the Keeper of the Tomes with such a request.
This peculiar request brought me back to my childhood, when I had just lost my grandmother and my only memento of her was taken from me. I would have given anything to have something of her again and I could feel his attachment to that book as if it was mine. Without second thoughts, I communicated to the Guide my positive recommendation towards the request and so did most of the avowed. A letter was written to Ulraunt, but the Keeper of the Tomes denied the request. At the time, I did not think much of it, otherwise preoccupied with other matters and we did not hear from the dragon for more than a year.

In the month of Ches of the year 1357, Lyvinicus reiterated his offer. One of our acolytes, Arendyll Hakwsong, took the dragon's request to heart and this time she decided to petition the First Reader. We all underwrote the letter, but alas our request was denied again.

It was during a quiet afternoon at the Friendly Arm Inn that I met Lyvinicus. The earth trembled briefly and violently, and while we all staggered a tall elf in light blue robes advanced towards us, asking to speak with the Guide. At first I did not realize who he was and I asked if he had any idea what could have possibly caused such a tremor.
All of a sudden and without a warning, the elf shifted into a huge wyrm as tall as the Friendly Arm, his body covered in shining scales of brass, and introduced himself as Lyvinicus Drycus, the Golden Maw and such a large list of honorifics that I forgot. It was the first time I saw a dragon this close outside of a fight. I felt awe, disbelief and part of me deep down felt a modicum of fear. I was fully aware metallic dragons have a good heart, yet I could not avoid feeling the difference in power between me and him, wondering how different the mind of such an ancient creature must have been from mine.
Quickly losing focus on his previously stated task, he started recounting a story about red dragons and within moment, a large crowd was gathered in awe listening to the tale of the majestic creature.
Unfortunately, the story was cut short by two guards from the Friendly Arm who requested the dragon to leave as he was, according to them, scaring the merchants.

Few weeks later, Mark visited us in Candlekeep, his arrival announced by a guard suddenly falling asleep while walking after breathing his sleeping gas. After a candlemark of pleasantries and stories, he stated his intention to seek audience with Gorion, who promptly confirmed this fact and led the dragon with him inside the main building.
When the door had barely closed behind them, a group of three armored men walked in our courtyard. One of them, the only one whose eyes showed a modicum of intelligence, introduced himself as Azurel Sunderspark and asked if a tall elf had visited the library. I confirmed it and at that point he walked away, while his associate was so kind to notify me that his lord would not waste anymore time talking with "less than an half blood".
It was at that point that I realized that name was ringing a bell. Azurel Sunderspark was in fact a pseudonym for a slaver blue dragon who, as a cherry on top of that asshattery cake, was also a human supremacist.
I cursed myself for talking too soon, as now I was sure the blue would wait for Mark outside and kill him at the first chance.
Accompanied by Senior Seeker Lucia, I bolted inside the library and walked in the middle of a heated conversation between poor Gorion, who was trying to enunciate the efficacy of our wards, and Mark who seemed to be in great distress.
Without wasting anymore time, I mentioned a blue dragon named Azurel Sunderspark was waiting for him outside and likely not to catch up on the latest fashion on the Sword Coast. Surprisingly, the dragon was startled and dropped the book. I immediately ran towards it to assess the damage, only to discover the book was completely blank.
I stared at the pages in utter horror. The first thought that crossed my mind was that Azurel not only had placed the book beyond Mark's reach, but had also destroyed it. I could almost see the rags of my grandmother's doll unraveling under my very eyes. After spending an untold amount of time wondering what manner of calamity could have caused the content of a book to disappear completely, logic thought finally took over and I realized that the book must have been a false to begin with. Hope blossomed within my heart: that made the blue's donation void and the book was still out there somewhere.
On the contrary, the dragon's expression was serious and he found himself at loss of words for the first time. He then told us that his feud with Azurel had been going ahead for centuries. Lyvinicus had attempted to free his slaves, but as soon as the guards spotted him they started killing the slaves, although he admitted the blue was stronger than he was and a master tactician on top of that. It was then I saw for the first time behind is cheerful and playful attitude. Beyond his centuries of tales, honorifics and deeds was loss, sorrow and even a hint of insecurity.
Without thinking of the consequences, both me and Lucia offered to help him recovering his stolen book and finally I could see something else in the old eyes of the dragon: gratitude.
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

Candlekeep Public Collection Reference
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Almarea90
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Re: (LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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9. A Scribe's Duty, Part II



Edelgarde would pick the quill again, the words now flowing easily on the parchment
Our guard reported that Sunderspark visited again. Acolyte Arendyll tried to "play tag" with him and as soon as she touched him he hit her. She remained unconscious for days. Mark felt bad for that and flew away with no further explanation. I worried for both.
Two, maybe three days, passed and a distressed woman entered the Keep. She said the bandits were giving her troubles and our Winthrop followed suit armed with a shovel only. Me, Cyran and Lucia followed him, agreeing that he wouldn't have lasted long in a fight, shovel or not. As soon as I set foot out of the gates, I found a bronze scaled leg within inches from my nose and Lyvinicus towering over our walls. He was wounded. A gash almost healed crossed his throat. But he was alive.
I didn't even have time to sigh in relief that he started a long explanation on how he hired the woman to lure Winthrop so he could accompany him on a scouting mission to none less than the Blue's lair. The tavern keeper immediately retreated to the safety of the walls, leaving the three of us with a questioning expression. The dragon did not waste any time and reassured us that this was planned, as we would have followed Winthrop and joined him in his mission as a small party.
Not wishing to let him go by himself, we agreed to go with him, after Cyran's druid aunt Riva and her companion joined us. Too late I realized nobody could teleport there, and our only way was to reach the place flying on Lyvinicus. I found the only way to reach the lair in the Calishite desert was to travel in a bag... polymorphed as a rabbit. I still remember with a mix of nausea and terror the sensation of dangling an untold amount of feet above ground and Mark rambling for hours about calishite lavender.

After an undefined amount of time, that seemed an eternity, we landed in the desert. I dropped off the bag and shifted back to my form to find myself surrounded by a terrible sight. Mark had warned us that it wouldn't have been pretty and not to intervene no matter what, as this was only a scouting mission. The desert was dotted with crystals, caused by lighting hitting the sand, and what seemed like a camp was lit up by siege machines on fire. Horrid, deformed sphynxes circled over our heads and although Lyvinicus made us ethereal, their broken forms sent a shiver through my spine. Riva confirmed those creatures were controlled by the dragon and likely starving. Azurel was not only bleeding dry the people of this land, but the land itself.
Cyran scouted ahead and came back with a grim expression. Sunderspark guards were forcing starving slaves into hard labor, to mine an unknown ore. Lyvinicus had warned us: last time he attempted to free the slaves, the guards started killing them. Cyran, though, insisted on killing the guards and freeing the slaves. He believed he could do it silently. As much as it pained me to leave them like that, logic told me this would leave the bulk of the slaves in predicament and we only had one shot at this. We fought over it and Lucia sided with me. After a long bickering, he begrudgingly agreed to climb a hill and sketch the camp. From his vantage point he noticed a group of books in the guarded area and asked me if he should recover them. I agreed as long as it was safe to do so.
As soon as I finished talking, the earth trembled, the sand boiled and shifted in place. What we thought was a rock outcrop was none but the horn of the blue dragon who had been buried under the sand for the whole time and now was emerging in all his might. Mark urged me to teleport us away, but Cyran forged ahead hiding in the shadows. Lucia offered to stay behind and wait for him, while I urged Lyvinicus to polymorph to his humanoid form and come with us. He bolted ahead and charged the blue instead.
I sighed. How many times I had been there before? I could not count anymore. Someone I found out I care about was willing to be the hero. Human or dragon it made no difference apparently. With a heavy heart I teleported us back to the Keep.
For moments that seemed hours I waited. Then finally Lucia and Cyran stepped in the Keep's courtyard. I was seriously torn apart between hugging Lucia and shouting at Cyran. I opted for the former, and did the latter immediately after. The irritation that had been piling up came out abruptly, bypassing all the layers of restraint I usually keep around myself. He questioned his seniors and risked Lucia's life. Or maybe I was simply biased towards him and was just waiting an excuse to yell at him. Unexpectedly, he did not argue. He said he did not hear me calling the others back and was sure he was at the end of the road when the blue appeared. I think he apologized. My irritation melted like snow under the sun, as at the end of the day I was not even good at staying angry.
Cyran, Riva and her associate went to the inn, while I stayed outside with Lucia, laying lifelessly on the bench and trying to Send for Mark to no avail.
Hours passed, then suddenly Lucia sprang on her feet notifying me that Mark made it and was telling her a whole story via sending. I felt an enormous weight lifting from my heart. I do not know if I was so worried because he reminded me of Jalib or maybe just because he did not deserve his story to end like this. Few days before the Guide told me "You cannot mother an ancient dragon, Edelgarde". "Well" I thought raising from the bench. "Watch me."

On the next day me, the Guide and Lucia went to visit him at the inn. He had been sleeping most of the day. Sleeping or eating enough food to feed an army. And forty odd types of tea.
He was still sleeping when we entered the room, his face deeply marked by a web of wounds, albeit healing ones. I called him, ready to give him an earful, but he spoke in his sleep and called Yyiriss name. I froze. Waking him up felt wrong. I did not want to be that person to take her presence, albeit a false one, from him.
"It's us", I finally found the voice to say.
As soon as he woke up completely, I started my tirade on how he had us worried sick and how it was a terrible idea to charge ahead by himself. It was a practiced part, with all the times I had to scold Jalib for being reckless. And just like Jalib, I expected him to waffle a hand and tell me how capable he is and how the blue was no match to him. His "I am sorry" hit me like a slap. His brass gaze held low, he explained he could not let the blue follow us. I stood there for a few moments, then finally muttered something about everything being alright. Mark then explained he broke Azurel's wing and that would give us some time to prepare a counterattack. He apparently was not faring much better on his way back and crashed somewhere in the farmlands. If not for Sister Ashenie, who gave up almost all of her life force to heal him, he would have reached the Keep.
At that point, Winthrop entered the room with part of the forty teas Mark had ordered.

"When Yyiriss was sick we could not travel anymore" the dragon suddenly said. "And I would make her teas from all the places she liked".

At the time, I believed she passed away because of old age. Even if she was an elf, a dragon has a far longer lifespan. I remember asking myself whether or not it was possible to love someone to the point of accepting to see them die. To which extent can we put the journey before the destination? My rational mind would deem unwise to get involved with short-living creatures as a long-living one, yet is it truly possible to weight benefits against losses for something like that?

"In a way" the Guide said, interrupting the stream of my thoughts. "She gets to be with us today".

The Guide remained with Mark after he fell asleep, while we headed out. My respite though was short-lived, as one of the scribes notified me that some of the book recovered by Cyran had been translated and copied. One was about a gem found in the desert, with scribbles notes about Mark and a name, Alexander Calborn. The second was about Djinn curses. The third, however, was the one which left a mark on me. The book itself was very old, but quite ordinary and it described blade crafting. My attention was instead drawn to the pages stuffed within. They were covered in sketches and poem in elven and I instinctively knew what they were. Rhymes about a couple's favorite places unraveled before my eyes. The sketch of two elves, one who unsurprisingly resembled Mark, watching a waterlily float on a bowl. The two of them at the mouth of a cave facing the sea and one single sentence: "you will be happy, I promise". A large brass dragon in the desert and a tiny elf dancing on his nose. Even looking at it felt wrong, as if those pages were not meant for my eyes. Each and every picture felt like a knife wound, because I knew fully well those page were the last memento of days that would never come back and I knew that once a book enters the library, there is no way it can be taken out. I had come to associate that book with my doll and now I was no different from that kid who unraveled it.
For my entire life, I have applied restraint and that led me to rarely wear my emotions on my sleeve. The layers of armor I learned to wear around myself to restrain the draw of my blood would absorb and shrink every emotion I feel within myself, letting out only a small part of it. Rage becomes a scowl, amusement a chuckle. Yet, this time I felt the unfamiliar sensation of tears rolling down my cheeks.

Somehow, I stumbled down the stairs and to the bench. I must have spent hours staring at that book, in shame. I cursed myself for not checking the books before Cyran gave them to the guard while whatever rationality was left in me urged me to find a solution.
Jasnah would have said that rules not made to protect those who cannot protect themselves are meant to be broken and I knew fully well that for a dual natured being reasoning in absolutes was nearly impossible. I was no stranger to breaking the rules, but I never questioned those in place within my home. How could I betray the place that gave purpose to my entire life? How could I go against my duty as a Scribe.

What is a Scribe's duty?

I asked myself why I became one and answered without struggle. What drove me was my desire of leaving behind whatever knowledge I could for the sake of others. Especially for those who, like me, were wronged by lies. Yes, I did it to give not to take and now I could feel it clear as day:

If robbing a grieving person of their past had to be part of my duty as a scribe, then I did not want to be one.
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

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Almarea90
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Re: (LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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9. A Scribe's Duty, Part III


I spent the following days considering my path among the avowed, and surely I would have kept doing so if not for Lucia's intuition and the intervention of the Guide. In the attempt of encouraging me that things would get sorted, she mentioned the book not being a book but "just a few pages" and at that point I realized I have had the answer under my very nose for more than a year. Said answer was in the precise criteria I employed every time a donation came to the library, one of those set a minimum length a book should have in order to be accepted: not being part of the original work those pages were to be considered a separate tome, one made of very few pages. According to the rules, such donation would have to be refuted and that was exactly what I intended to do.
Sympathetic to our cause, the Guide sealed a deal between us and Mark before we found the rest of the book: the Keep would help him to recover his stolen property, the book, in exchange for whatever other tome could be found in possession of the blue.

With my mind free of doubt I could now focus on the task at hand and investigate on the other books. I tried to assess the age of the oldest one, but this was beyond my skills. I like to say, however, that if life gives me books impossible to date I make a bibliography and therefore proceeded to the library, looking for a list of the author's works. Little I knew I was going to find a lot more than a date.
Among the author's work, I found a book on dragonslayers. What caught my eye was the most recent picture, dated five years ago: a sketch of a bronze dragon pierced by a green tipped spear wielded by a warrior in full armor. The picture was titled "A Farewell to a Friend" and sketched by Yyiriss Drycus. The text explained that the bronze dragon, Ygadol Zymeta, was betrayed by his apprentice, a fallen Ilmateri paladin corrupted by a green dragon, whose name I will not commit to parchment for reasons that will be clear later in the book. What caught my attention the most however was the apprentice's name: Alexander Calborn. Recognizing the lead, I immediately looked for any work ascribed to this person and by grace of the Lord of All Glyphs and Images I found his own diary among our shelves. Most of the diary was ordinary, but then about ten years ago, it became obsessive and filled with sketches of green stones and finally "I am lost" ominously written at the center of the last page. From the diary and consequent research it became clear that Calborn was the creator of a spell that allowed someone close to the caster to be saved from the brink of death, but then after his corruption he perverted the spell, transforming it into a curse to be cast on a weapon capable of killing by old age someone whose name was spoken in the incantation.
In the meantime, Guard Kamine, Cyran and Kayle, our newest acolyte, traveled to Baldur's Gate to investigate the whereabouts of Alexander Calborn and the other two crafters mentioned on the book. They could not find any trace of Calborn, but they found out that one of the crafter was found dead of old age at the age of 20 last year and the other one had disappeared without a trace.

The next revelation came unexpectedly.
I was contacted by Nathan Goldenmane to assist in an investigation of some recent murders where Slaadi magic was identified. I accompanied Nathan to speak with an expert on the matter, who in turn redirected us to another expert. Little we knew said expert was a young red dragon named Dryandret the Flawless. The dragon was apparently a sworn enemy of the same green dragon that corrupted Calborn and was looking for a way to inflict him a painful death. He also requested as a price for his help the spear that killed Ygadol and, he added, an elf: Yyiriss Drycus. She was sick for ten days before dying.

With this new piece of information, I sought Mark, hoping he could shed some light in Yyiriss untimely demise and deliver him the pages. He looked melancholic, but thankful and surprised an avowed was willing to give him those pages. He said I had given him great peace with that act. I was glad of that, but also reluctant to disturb this peace with my question of such a painful moment. I told him all the same about Calborn and he told me of that day. When Ygadol, his friend, was killed, Calborn fled but Yyiriss followed him. He kept saying someone else made him do it and wrote a name in the dirt. Calborn died on the spot when he tried to utter that name. I promised I would do all in my power to find the real culprit. The brass then let himself go remembering the days before Yyiriss' death. He had sought help among priests, soothsayers and sages, but the answer was always the same: only a Wish spell could save her. That is what Lyvinicus had been doing for the past five years and that kept him going, moving from one place to another in the hope of finding that spell. I made a mental note of that. So there was still hope.

True to the promise made to Lyvinicus, I started looking for the culprit. The name written in the dirt was clearly not right, but I soon realized it was similar to the green dragon name who corrupted Calborn spelled in reverse. I left no stone unturned for that name and examined Calborn's diary again for any event that could hint to his corruption. I found an entry about his encounter with an old man named Julius who gifted him a necklace and realized his attitude had started changing from there. I almost dropped the book when I remembered I already heard that name on a similar story told few days ago by Sister Karis of the temple of Ilmater. She related that few days prior Sir Alexander Holgart and Sister Ashenie had escorted a homeless old man named Julius who seemed lost. Many other elements matched with the diary and without wasting any time I bolted to the temple and warned them both. They had left the man with Maltz, the blacksmith, who seemed to know him.

Shortly after we decided to follow this lead and talk to Maltz. Acolyte Kayle and Jalib accompanied us as two extra pair of eyes in case we were followed. The blacksmith led us to a house in the Eastern District, where the family of the old man was supposed to live. At our entrance we found an empty house and blood on the floor. A note signed by the green told us to meet him at a tavern in Roaringshore, tavern completely warded against magic. Somehow he was ten steps ahead of us and we likely had to play along if we wished to save the inhabitants of that house. It was Jalib who first noticed something was not right: there were no signs of struggle and, upon a magical analysis Ashenie noticed the blood belonged to a sheep. I quickly looked around for any belonging of the house owners, in order to attempt a scry, but at that point the acolyte did something very rash and attempted to scry the dragon. She saw him in humanoid form, sitting on a ship and sipping wine. And he looked straight at her. She staggered back and panicked. I lashed at her, frustrated for having lost our only advantage, but then Alexander reminded me we had to stay on track. I scryed the house owners and saw them dining in a tavern, blissfully discussing on how to cook duck and ignorant of what was going on in their house. Before letting the vision go, I looked at the wine and noticed it was not swaying: they were not at sea.
From there, I recall an endless bickering. Ashenie wanted to go to Roaringshore without second thoughts and Alexander with her. Jalib thought it was suicide and I did too, considering the chances he had hostages were close to none. Ashenie communed with the Broken God, who showed her a storm and a calm area right in the middle of it, with a tree and a dove perched on it. She had faith it meant we would find peace and I wish I could be as doubtless as she was. I had faith in the gods, but I also knew we were only mortals and as such we could misinterpret that omen. My logic mind was screaming not to go to there. Yet, we went anyway, even Jalib. We could not let them go there alone. Me and Kayle waited outside, ready to teleport the other three if we were to leave quickly, while Ashenie, Alexander and Jalib entered the tavern. We waited for what seemed to be an eternity, that I spent making plans on how to face the green and then inevitably end up discarding them. It was clear the four of us did not have any chance against an ancient dragon.

Finally, Ashenie came out, telling us the green wanted to explain his side of the story to us as well. Every element pointed to the fact he was likely to kill us all together in there, yet Alexander was still there. My brother was still there. I stepped in the tavern and felt like a child again, helpless and weak without my magic. I followed Ashenie into one of the rooms and he was there: a dark-haired man whose green eyes bathed the dark room in an eerie green light. He did not attack, but talked.
He was not ahead of us, he just expected Dryandret to hunt him and left that note for him. When he saw Kayle scrying him he did not expect even in his wildest dream to find out a bunch of scholars was after him. He then looked at me with something in between irritation and respect and asked how I managed to piece all this together. I told him about my investigation on Ygadol's murder and asked if he was the responsible. The green admitted he corrupted Calborn, but claimed to be uninvolved in Yyiriss' murder, which was perpetrated by the men of Sunderspark. He claimed all he wanted was to leave the city unmolested and to be left alone to "erase" the red in a quiet way. He wanted our word that we would never utter his name to anybody in exchange for the location of the weapon that killed Ygadol and an artifact capable of bringing back a victim of that weapon.
My heart stopped and many conflicting thoughts were at war in my head. Lyvinicus had been looking for something like that for the past five years, but how could I trust the word of a green dragon? Was it right to let him walk away after what he did and break my promise to Lyvinicus? With my stomach clenched I realized that choice was not mine to make. Yet I was there, not him, and I had to make that choice whether I liked it or not.
My hand went to my thaumaturge focus, recalling the words of those I was pacted with.

"Blood only draws more blood. Violence is like an endless spiral."

I knew fully well that if we directed Lyvinicus after him, all we would get would be at least one death. Within my heart, I knew that if we did the only thing Lyvinicus would see, if he survived, would be the green's lifeless body. Not Yyiriss. Not Ygadol. That was not a reality I wanted to live in.
I looked at Ashenie. Maybe she was right all along and this is what the Broken God wanted us to understand. So I sealed the deal, made him promise he would never go after the one we would bring back, and then we parted ways.

The following day, a glowing branch was delivered without fail at my door. I examined it carefully and made sure there was no mistake: that item contained an already granted Wish spell. The branch was light, but felt terribly heavy in my hands, as heavy as a mortal life can be. Yet, the green had been true to his word.
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

Candlekeep Public Collection Reference
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Almarea90
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Re: (LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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9. A Scribe's Duty, Part IV


Now that the branch was secured, it was time to move on and think of a plan for the counterattack. Mark made it clear the Blue was a master strategy, therefore we had to reply not with one but two strategists of our own. The first that had answered my plea, months prior was Fenwick's squire, Alexander. The second was Sir Sean.
We met in Candlekeep with the avowed, Ashenie and Mark. The meeting went ahead for long and in the end we agreed for a course of action that was simple in theory. We had to first make sure that the dagger Sunderspark was preparing for Mark was not yet ready, or if it was, that it was removed from the equation as soon as possible. Secondly, we had to approach the camp unseen, something we could achieve, according to Alexander, with the aid of a druid able to invoke a sandstorm. Thirdly, we had to split, one group for each camp, who had to disable the mind controlled soldiers and free the slaves, while Mark kept the Blue busy. Finally we would all teleport to Azurel's layer at the top of the mountain. Nalissa agreed to aid us with potions and work with Mark to develop something able to render us immune to his sleeping gas. For the duration of the discussion, Mark blatantly suggested ways that involved him taking great risks. I knew I had to make haste and give him the branch so he would have a reason to live on.

The occasion presented itself shortly after. Lucia notified me that he was at the Keep and Ashenie and I went there to meet with him. He explained he originally came with his friend, Justice, a silver dragon from Icewind Dale but only told her that her aid was need once they reached the keep. She did not take it well and left.
We sat down and I told him the truth. All of it except the name of the culprit that I let walk away. Told him I made a choice that was not mine to make, but that I was there to make. Then, finally showed him the branch. I either expected him to shout at me for making deals with assassins or jump in joy. Instead this was one of those rare moments the brass was silent. I watched the soft gleam of the branch reflect in his reptilian eyes of brass while he just stood there with no single clue of what would happen now.
When words found him again, he told us that the branch was familiar to him, as it belonged to a type of tree that only grew in a particular forest. He had visited that forest centuries ago, with Yyiriss. There they found a young green dragon, beaten and wounded. Lyvinicus was ready to put him out of his misery, as he fully knew what his kind would become. Yet, Yyriss insisted on sparing him. It was clear who that green dragon was and it was also clear that despite of what he said, that branch was not to buy our silence but was meant for Lyvinicus. Fate had a weird sense of humor.
The brass was overwhelmed by emotion, uncertain on what to do now that he found what he was so desperate looking for in the past five years. What would happen now that he could see Yyiriss again after five years? Realizing there was only one way to find out, he left with the branch claiming to have an appointment with someone "he had not seen in a long time and that he missed an awful lot". He did not forget though to leave precise instruction on the forty odd teas and courses Winthrop had to prepare for when they came here to dine.

We did not hear from Lyvinicus for several days. We knew well he was likely filling her in on the past five years in his usual way, without sparing any detail. Yet, we could not help but wonder if everything went as it was supposed to.
The answer came at the wee hours of the night in the shape of Lucia bolting through the door of the avowed quarters and shouting barely intelligible sentences. At first I suspected an attack, but after she took a deep breath and started from the beginning it became clear Mark was back and not alone. Yyiriss was back to the land of the living and, as I learnt later, meeting with Winthrop who was crying like a waterfall.

I met her in a sunny afternoon, when they both came out of the inn holding hands. I had seen sketches depicting her, but seeing the bard of Myrth Draennor in flesh and bones was another thing entirely. Her lithe, small robed figure was in stark contrast with the tall form Mark had chosen for him. She turned her sylphlike visage, framed by brown hair loosely tied, and regarded me with big bright eyes. I immediately sprang on my feet, wondering aloud if it was really her. I could not believe I finally got to know her. That we unmade what was supposed to be irreversible. For all those years I had kept aiding desperate cases. Maybe because nobody else would. Maybe because I was trying to prove something... Or maybe it was simply out of sheer stubbornness. A that moment it finally occurred to me that this time we finally did it and solved a desperate case. After all... we exceeded all the expectation held for Candlekeep seekers: we had to recover a book and instead we recovered the whole author.
Yyiriss barely managed to thank me, before Mark got lost in his ramblings again. They talked about their past moments, their common friends. I saw them laughing together. I wondered if that was how true love was supposed to be. They looked like old friends, just they were married. Or maybe both. All I knew was that they were nothing like the examples I had the chance to see on the Coast.
At some point Yyiriss expressed her wish to donate the book to Candlekeep. The very same Mark had been trying to recover for all this time. I wondered if this was simply a jest of fate, or if the Lord of All Glyphs and Images deemed our accomplishment worthy of having that book among our shelves. This time I could look at it fondly, not like something stolen but something gifted.



We spent the following weeks preparing for the battle to come.
Cyran and Yyiriss scouted the camp and recovered part of the dagger that was being rebuilt. However, Azurel saw them and Cyran hit him with a ray of acid before teleporting away. Little we knew how that single moment would have changed our plans.
On the day of the final battle we met at Candlekeep's courtyard. Upon his arrival, Mark warned us that something unexpected had happened at the lair and the eastern camp had collapsed. As soon as I teleported us near the western camp, a daunting sight greeted us: the camp was smoking and entirely deserted. New siege weapon now towered in front of us.
Jalib's eyes spotted what he described us as a carpet of corpses and countless flesh golems made of soldiers and slaves alike. Our mission had failed even before we could step in the camp, yet we carried on. All we could do was prevent this from happening again.
Lyvinicuss took the skies and engulfed the tunnels leading to the northern camp with his sleeping gas before bolting towards the Blue's lair. We walked the caves, protected from the gas effect by Nalissa's potions. We fought our way through the dragon's disciples and the flesh golems, adding even more corpses to the pile.
When we opened the door to the prison chambers, the sight of two living guard pointing their trembling spears few inches from our faces was almost a joyous one. More than guarding the cages, where few still living slaves were kept, they were hiding from the Blue. They claimed he had gone insane, after Cyran burned his face with acid, and feared to meet the same fate as their comrades. Despite of some objections, Ashenie pleaded mercy for them and we let them go.
We carried on, while Fenwick and Lucia teleported the sleeping slaves to the safety of the temple of Ilmater and then rejoined us. Once we got past the prison, we found a trail of books ripped apart. We followed it through the tunnels packed with undead until we came across a wounded man who was burning books at a fire. Cyran recognized him as the torturer he saw during his scouting mission, a formed red wizard, and was ready to end his life. Alexander spoke with him and agreed to spare his life if he led us to the blue's lair. Cyran took his belongings, including the book he was going to burn. Book that, as we later on found out, was the very same we came here to recover. Had we arrived few moments later, it would have been forever gone.
Things started going south when Alexander made clear he would not let the man go and he punched Ashenie who was tried to heal him. I saw Alexander extracting his sword and Nalissa casting a Disintegration spell as if time had slowed to a crawl. Yet I felt even slower. I bolted at Ashenie's side. I was too slow to stop Alexander, who cut off the former red wizard's hand, but not Nalissa. She blessedly listened to me when I told her not to get her hands dirty with that individual's blood. Ashenie attempted to heal him again, mindless of the blow, but he refused the spells by sheer force of will.
We walked ahead. Every few heartbeat I wondered if we were too late for Lyvinicus too. I had warded him against electricity, with one of the hardest wards to dispell, and he assured me that would give him an edge by rendering Azurel's potent breath useless. Yet I worried we would come too late.
When we reached the mouth of the tunnel we were greeted by a gust of smoke reeking air, which was still a welcome smell after that of death and decay we endured inside. Thunders and explosions rattled the earth: over our heads a glimmering brass figure was engulfing Azurel's lair with flames. Lyvinicus was still alive.
With newfound hope, I teleported the group at the top of the mountain, where we began our advancement through the tall stone halls of the Blue's palace. The walls were so tall we could not even see the ceiling and the cavernous depths resounded with our steps and the moaning of Azurel's undead army.
After fighting for every inch of terrain, we found ourselves face to face with the Blue. He towered over us, yet Ashenie fearlessly approached him, trying to convince him to walk another path. It was hard for me to agree, after all he did. I could feel the familiar sensation of churning darkness stirring at the pit of my stomach, and yet I knew mercy was the right path. I steeled my mind as I did countless time: looked at my ire in the eyes but without acting upon it. I looked at it, it looked at me in some kind of odd balance. Then, I drew onto the same way I did when I learnt the spell of Shadow Shield: by pulling the shadows around me like a protective shroud, sure that they would just stand there as long as I did not act upon them. I supported Ashenie and Nalissa did the same.
Azurel shifted his focus on me.

"Mud rat.. So far away from home.. Not a fiend, not a human. How terrible it must be to be a failure at two entirely separate matters at once." he said.

I could hear Lucia and Nalissa shout at him, yet at that moment I realized what he really was: like my old master he was desperate for loyalty. Unlike my old master, he was not so proud of his manipulation skills to refuse categorically to rely on mindless undead.

"Yet I am not the one who had to turn his people into flesh golems to get allies" I replied, almost pitying him.

At that point, Cyran extracted the piece of weapon he stole and dangled it in his face, taunting him. I was sure Azurel would attack him, yet he replied he could not fail as Tiamat would not allow it. But Jalib butted in, pushed by the same darkness I was keeping at bay.

"I don't give a crap what Tiamat thinks! ENOUGH!" he shouted, before charging the dragon with his spiked mace.

As soon as the fight began, it was clear our spells and blows barely scratched him. As if it was not enough, he would regularly send hordes of undead to attack us. Acknowledging the strength of my foe, I touched the red and the white feathers on my thaumaturge focus with practiced gestures. I related my plea to Jasnah and Asriel, the latter sworn to intervene when knowledge is used for evil purposes. The winged celestials heard my call and joined our efforts, while Lucia blasted the undead the dragon sent against us with acid bursts and Ashenie sustained us with her prayers. No matter how hard the fighters hacked. No matter how many spells we threw at the creature, he still stood in full force, while his electric breath could not get past our wards. We had reached an impasse and it was clear to all we needed our brass friend's aid to prevail.

"GET YER ARSE HERE, MARK!" Jalib shouted in his contact medallion, without stopping his flurry of blows.

In a few heartbeats, the huge figure of Lyvinicus engulfed the entrance of the lair, brass scales glimmering at the light of the torches. He charged is avowed enemy.

"Drycus! I will kill you first!" roared Azurel in response.

But we were quick to move and support Mark, who bolted ahead, biting the blue's neck and breathing fire across his throat. He almost fell to the ground, but did not surrender and raised back on his feet between labored breaths. On the other hand, we did not fare much better and were almost overwhelmed by exhaustion.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps thundered across the large halls. I thought it was over. I thought Azurel had another trick up his sleeve and was only toying with us before obliterating us for good. The grip on my stomach melted like snow under the sun when I caught the first glimmer of silver scales in the darkness: the cavalry was here. I instantly recognized the new comer from Mark's tales: advancing towards us among the surprise cries of my companions was Justice, the Great Void.
With her powerful aid, we quickly prevailed. The blue crumbling with a loud roar.
We all stood for a long moment, catching our breath and still disbelieving it was finally over. Ashenie, in deep sorrow, approached the blue and tended to his body, holding him like a mother would hold her child. A pang of sadness bubbled up to the surface of my tired rejoicing. Wounds were tended, while Mark and Justice greeted each other. The silver answered to the brass' surprise explaining their late friend Igadol would have wanted her to help him. Like every time his name was mentioned, I could not help but feel guilt deep down, for letting his assassin go. Yet, I watched the events unfold in front of my eyes and the maelstrom of emotion stirring within me in some sort of stupor, as if my mind still had to digest what was happening. Finally, Justice bowed her head gracefully and take to the skies after agreeing to meet with Lyvinicus later on.
Tiredly, we approached the hoard of the blue. At that point, I snapped out of it and approached Mark with the book we recovered from the torturer before it was burnt. He picked it at first, but then shook his head and offered to donate it to the Keep.

"At first it was all I had" he said smiling. But you've all have given me back more than I could ever ask for."

Grateful for the kind gift, I thanked him on behalf of the Keep. I would have cried if I was able to, but tears just don't come out.
In the moments that followed, Mark recovered the things stolen from him, while the rest of us picked whatever we could, us avowed focusing on the books. Sister Ashenie consecrated the bloodied altar, defiled for so long by blood sacrifices.

While Lyvinicus lingered a while longer we teleported back to Candlekeep. When he rejoined us, only me, Jalib and Cyran remained. He and Yyiriss were to visit Igadol's tomb and then move back to his old lair. Before saying our farewells he thanked us again, with the promise he will never forget us or the Keep.

Sometimes I still wonder whether we won or lost. Countless lives were lost. Countless were saved. Besides, we cannot really make a balance of something priceless. At this point, I do not think it really matters to clearly label this as a victory with a bitter taste or a defeat with some room for hope. I try to focus on what we achieved, what we learned and whatever we can carry with us in the journey of our lives. And of course, the most important thing that this adventure taught me: gifting something to others is what I feel the duty of a scribe must be. Regardless of its outcome, I will gift this story to my readers: as Mark once called it, the story of a tiefling, a dragon and a Keep that could.

THE END

(( bio in the first post updated
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

Candlekeep Public Collection Reference
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Almarea90
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Re: (LBE) Edelgarde - Gleam of the Firefly

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10. A Scribe's Reflections, part I



Edelgarde observed the white feather lazily hanging from her thaumaturge focus.
Her answers were not with Asriel. As they were not with Oryoon or Ashenie before him. Each one of them had different views of faith and the balance between faith and reason. Asriel had answered with more questions for her. Questions she had to answer truthfully as part of a long path that would lead her closer to her patron deity.
She had tried to answer there and then, but the Planetar had stopped her. This was something she had to consider at the best of her abilities, and they bot knew that she gave her best with quill and parchment. Besides, what better way to feel closer to the Lord of All Glyphs and Images than preserving her thoughts in writing?
Reflections on Faith
by Scribe Edelgarde Spades
Year 1357 DR

Introduction
This is not meant to be a dogmatic work, nor an academic or philosophical treaty. This is merely a recollection of my thoughts on faith, reason and ethic. This is an answer to my wish of walking a path that brings me closer to the Lord of All Glyphs and Images and a path of faith requires first of all understanding. I must understand where I am now, where I want to go and where to walk. This can be achieved with introspection, but I am a Scribe after all and if I want this to truly be my way of life I shall represent this with the written word.
Before I start, I would like to offer a special thanks to Sister Ashenie Darakh, Sir Alexander Holgart, Lord of Mystery Oryoon Archost and High Lady Alyssia Leonhart. With or without realizing, they prompted me to reflect on my faith and connection with my deity.


On Faith
It is only natural the first question I would ask myself is: what is faith?
The best starting point is probably my own experience. I have been a faithful of the Scribe for many years: since the day I realized how the words carefully preserved by the scribes of old had opened my eyes on truth and lies. The moment I understood how the Deneirrath dogma made possible for me to be free from manipulation and decide with my own judgement, I carved my own symbol and dedicated my prayers to Him. I became a scribe and vowed to preserve Knowledge by joining Candlekeep.
I believed that was enough, but recently I came in contact with men and women of faith who demonstrated what it really means to be close and devoted to a deity. It is not about prayers, nor about indoctrination or blinding following what the deity requires of us. In them I saw complete trust and understanding of what their god represents. I saw them sharing and embodying those ideals with every fiber of their soul and I believe this is the core of what faith is: something that encompasses spirit, mind and body.

When we think of a deity, we can easily recognize two sides of the same coin. The first one is the entity, the one we know by name; the second is the idea, the domain or portfolio and those aspects reflect on faith as well.
A believer must represent the deity's ideals, as without those core values there would be no point in following them in the first place. At the same time, there should be a personal connection with the deity. As an example, Lord of Mystery Oryoon Archost explained he strongly believes in Mystra's dogma but at the same time feels a maternal connection when he meditates on the Weave.
In practice, the achievement and strengthening of this bond is attained through prayer and actions. Factors like the time of the day and the place the prayer is performed can further enhance this bond, as well as the focus and state of mind of the faithful. A devoted of Lathander would often pray at dawn, feeling the deity closer as the Sun raises.
As explained before, praying must be accompanied by a representation of the dogma and domains through actions and duty. We will discuss duty in more detail in the next chapters, but for now it is enough to understand that the representation and understanding of the deity's portfolio must be carried out through daily activities and reactions to particular situations. For example, a faithful of Deieir would copy and preserve texts as their daily duty and, at the same time, teach letters whenever this is requested of them.


(( First page bio: added ancestry, deity and background sections expanded
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

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11. A Scribe's Reflections, part II


On Duty

We can say duty is the concrete transposition of our beliefs into everyday actions. The same way a painter congeals an idea on canvas, we express and prove our values with our actions. Without actions there are no values and with no values we are not much different from beasts. This is why duty must come before everything else as every time we fulfill it, we let the core of what we are and we want to be prevail over our most irrational or selfish instincts.

Most of the time, duty involves everyday tasks: for example a Guard of Candlekeep is in charge of guarding the Gate and even if this task might seem tedious and long, the guardian will have to stay vigilant at the best of his possibilities. However, it may also involve hard and life-changing choice: for example, the aforementioned Guard might find himself forced to choose between defending Candlekeep from an attack and saving his loved one from bandits. Although the Guard's immediate instinct will probably be to rush to his loved one, he will uphold his duty only in keeping his place at the Gate, even at the risk of great pain.

That said, we are mortals and cannot be expected to be flawless and beyond error. Many might fail to resist the pain or the fear, others may make a wrong judgement call. For this reason, the entity of the failure should be assessed and the consequences should be proportionate to the guilt. If the perpetrator sincerely regrets their mistake and are ready to make amend, forgiveness should always be an option.
Many factors should be taken into consideration when assessing someone's fail to uphold their duty. The cause must first of all be assessed, in fact someone who falter under duress or is tricked into going against their code is committing a less severe mistake than someone who is driven by laziness, ire or egoism. The role and experience of said person should also be considered: a mistake made by a young and inexperienced recruit or novice is far easier to forgive than a general or High Priest's failure, due to their increased responsibilities.

Although everyone should adhere to their duties, we must not make the mistake to impose our duties on others. We cannot ask a baker to grab a pike and charge a rival army, the same way we cannot expect an Helmite guardian to sit in a cloister and copy texts.
Some people consider a primary requisite of good folk to embrace arms and actively fight evil, or what is considered its embodiment. This is unlikely to end well, as not only this means reducing good people to crusaders only but it also means encouraging someone to perform an action they are not mentally, and sometimes physically, prepared to do. There is certainly need of crusaders and those who can embrace arms to defend the weak, but there is also need of healers, scribes, teachers, farmers...
Those who wield a sword should be those who are the most pained by this, as only them can feel in full the gravity of taking a life. Passing judgement, however, should not be done hastily and, whenever possible, the accused person should be granted a regular trial, held by those whose duty is to assess one's guilt as fairly as possible and possibly under the guidance of a deity that is the embodiment of justice, such as Tyr.
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

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12. A Scribe's Reflections, part III


On Free Will

Some say we cannot oppose fate and that our destiny is set in stone as it repeats itself in an endless cycle. I believe this is far from the truth. It is certainly true that from womb to tomb our life is not entirely ours: every time we interact with someone, whether we like it or not, they influence the course of our lives like a stone, as small as a pebble or as big as a boulder, can deviate the course of a river.

Contrarily to what some believe, the gods gave us free will and the ability to forge our own destiny. If that was not the case, our devotion and our deeds would have no value as they would not be ours to begin with. Cosmologist like to say that a soul is the most valuable currency in the multiverse, as it can only be given freely, and that is why the infamous "deals with the devils" are so widely known. The fact that some "lucky few" are granted aid by the gods is also a common misconception. The gods certainly intervene in granting power to some, however those followers must first and foremost demonstrate an iron faith and dedication to the teachings of said deity. Such power comes as a consequence and not as the cause of a life dedicated to a divine call that more often rather than not involves great sacrifices and duties.

Some blame misfortune or adverse fate for their troubles and I will not dispute the validity of true divination magic or divine omens sent to men and women of faith. It is possible to glimpse in the future, as proven by the spell Premonition that allows a spellcaster to see a few moments in the future, but this spell also proves that the future can be changed. What we see is just a possible outcome and the most likely to happen if we do not act to alter it. If destiny was set in stone, Premonition would not allow us to avoid being hit, just to see what is going to happen while we struggle in vain. The problem of divining the future is that it is extremely hard and vague and the more we stray from the present moment the harder it gets to have a clear picture. I like to associate this kind of divination to a bowl of water: we see the bottom of the bowl as long as we leave it untouched, but the moment we disturb the surface our picture becomes confused. In the same way a divined future remains imminent only as long as we do not intervene.

That said, we can tell with sufficient certainty that there are two elements to our so called "fate": an element of chance and circumstance that we can rarely foresee or control and an element of determination and choice that is ours only. Our culture of origin and upbringing are the first things that influences our beliefs and moral compass: a child of nobles in Waterdeep and a street urchin in Luskan will likely have very different personalities as the latter will likely struggle to have their basic needs, which are a very strong motor, satisfied. Blood might also play a small part, especially if planar in nature, in the form of urges or reactions to certain stimuli. This is however just a starting point. The noble child can grow up and become a wise politician, with the well-being of his people at heart, the same way they can become a spoiled and cruel tyrant. The same way the urchin can become a thief or a ruthless bandit or may decide to defy his ill luck and learn a trade or become a mercenary. These are but few example and the possibilities are truly endless.

The course of someone's life can be deviated and altered at any time by the people they meet or the events that befall their lives, although that someone is not an helpless victim of the events. We all have some degree of choice and this freedom is increased by both experience and knowledge. Someone who had experience of various cultures and places will likely be more open-minded than someone who has lived in the same place their whole life. The same way someone who is literate and able to access a variety of texts will have access to more points of view than someone who cannot read and write. This is one of the reasons why it is important to preserve knowledge and to allow everyone to learn letters, regardless of their upbringing and wealth: knowledge and the ability to access it are powerful keys that make us independent from a single vision of the world and therefore allow us more freedom in choosing our path.

Even though such freedom of choice might not sound as something that is immediately in our power, most often rather than not we can decide to increase it at any time. Regardless of our starting point, what really makes the difference is our own determination, conviction and bravery, which is ours only and cannot be attributed to fate or circumstance. Realizing that mortals forge their own destiny is the first step to take the reins of our own fate.

Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

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13. A Scribe's Reflections, part IV


On Knowledge

Following my pilgrimage to the Master's Library, a destination every Deneirrath must visit at least once in a lifetime, I will broach in this chapter the topic most dear to me: knowledge.
I define knowledge the gathering of experience an individual codifies both orally and in writing that can be shared with other individuals. It is important to understand that there cannot be knowledge without experience, as even the most fictional tale is made of elements, as basic as they might be, that derive from the author's experience. The same way a blind man cannot describe colors, a mortal cannot describe accurately something they did not perceive, read or had otherwise contact with. An individual can, in a limited fashion, experience someone else's knowledge and the more durable and widespread its preservation medium is, the larger the spatial and temporal gap such knowledge will cross.

As explained in the previous chapter, knowledge gives us more control over our fate, showing us different points of view and more options that might be at hand. Knowledge is the gleam that banishes the darkness of ignorance and superstition, dispelling the fear of the unknown. It can be an instrument in the hands of the masses to set themselves free from those who seek to retain control through ignorance.

Since knowledge derives from experience, potentially every sentient being is capable in their lifespan to produce it. This is why, as the Lord of All Glyphs and Images teaches us, it is important to give the necessary instruments to access it to everyone regardless of their upbringing as early as possible in the form of literacy and numeracy skills. Ideally, such lessons should be administered at a very young age, since children have a far greater learning potential than adults. Children who grow up with parents of different geographical origins can learn the languages of both their parents without effort and will likely be able to speak them both with the same proficiency as a native speaker. It is advisable for a child to start learning letters from the age of five, but if they are eager to learn and ask for it, this process can start even earlier than that. I myself had one or two cases of particularly bright three years old who learned the common alphabet at that age. In all cases it is important to keep the experience fun for the pupil at all times and more alike to a game than a chore. Children have an incredible sensitivity for colors and rhythm, therefore employing things like colored chalks or "nursery rhymes" will greatly aid the learning process for these young minds.
Even though letters and numbers should be taught as early as possible, it is also true that it's never too late for it. Adults can learn how to read and write at any age, although the methods do do so greatly differ from those used for children. An adult will likely have a profession and all its related routines hardly encased in their behavior, therefore the more the subject of the lesson will mirror such routines the easier it will be for the pupil to assimilate it. A farmer will be more likely to learn the alphabet if crops and trees are used as examples to explain letters and sounds or a mercenary will better understand vowels and consonants if those are exemplified by commanders and battalions.

Even though ideally letters and numbers should be taught to everyone, a teacher must always pay attention to any inclination of the pupils for a particular discipline or a scholastic path in general, and guide them towards it. The teacher will have to transmit passion and enthusiasm for such disciplines, but if or when they feel that their knowledge on the topic is exhausted, they will redirect the pupil to a more knowledgeable tutor. A student who exceeds the master in skills is not a shame but a blessing, and a point of honor in the master's career. In all cases, it is important to keep in mind that the pupil is like a very large jug with a very small neck: they can retain many notions but those will have to be administered gradually in harmony with their capabilities. A master will not only teach the discipline of study to the pupil but also a solid study method and, most importantly, the fundamental ethic and conduct that a scholar must always follow. The student, in turn, will execute with diligence the directives and exercises assigned by the master.
A scholar must always learn how to be a pupil and, only sometimes, how to be a teacher. They will therefore act with humility and respect for those who have yet to learn, keeping in mind that even the most learned man is ignorant in some disciplines. Regardless of their experience, they must be encouraged to take the student's robes again every now and then, as a lively mind must keep itself busy with many different activities. When this happens, the scholar will show the respect due to a master to whoever is administering the lessons, regardless of their education or upbringing. They must not, however, be afraid of asking questions and the master, in turn, will answer them truthfully, accurately and without prejudice. If the question is not known to the master this must not be seen as a reason for shame, but as a chance for both them and the student to learn and improve themselves.
Regardless of their diligence in teaching the discipline, a master must be careful to be respectful of the personal opinion of the pupil, even when those diverge from their own. Respect does not mean agreeing on everything, as usually if two people's opinions are so matching only one of the two is actually thinking. Debate is a useful exercise that aids the intellectual growth of both parties and it should be encouraged as long as it is conducted in a civil fashion.

It is important for masters and scholars alike to interrogate themselves about and stress to the pupils the potential risks certain notions might entail. There is no such a thing as "evil knowledge", only evil scholars, but there is certainly a lot of dangerous knowledge. Regardless of the potential danger this may pose, it must not under any circumstance be destroyed, as some might unwisely see as a just act. This is not only a sin in the eyes of Oghma and Deneir, but it can potentially do more damage than whatever is being destroyed. While nobody can be absolutely sure that such dangerous notion has been wiped away from every library and rendered unattainable even through means of divination, such senseless destruction will greatly hinder the efforts of those who seek to use it for the greater good or to counteract any evil-doer who could have reached it through other means. The same way a sample of poison is needed to brew an antidote, a righteous scholar might have to unearth so called "forbidden lore" so that those who are already employing it for nefarious purposes can be stopped and those who seek to stop them, in some cases the same who advocated for the destruction of the aforementioned lore, do not have to act blindly.
Rather than destroying what is deemed dangerous, the best defense against a reckless or deliberate misuse of knowledge is to incorporate a solid ethic in the scholar's formation. It is certainly true that some might disagree eventually and ignore the imparted lessons, but statistically a greater number will treasure those principles and counteract whatever evil their peer might do. For every misguided scholars, we must strive to train two righteous ones who will employ such knowledge for the greater good.

Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

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14. A Scribe's Reflections, part V


On Preservation

Protection, or Preservation is the second aspect of the Lord of All Glyphs and Images that I chose to embrace.
The reason that led to this choice resides in my blood. Blood born from the chaos of the Abyss is naturally prone to destruction and, in renouncing destruction, I willingly detach myself from my Abyssal blood. The Ilmateri Sister Ashenie once told me that darkness loses its traction if you don't listen to it and focusing on Deneir's aspect of Protection is my way to become deaf to the whispers of darkness.

But what does Preservation mean?
Any dictionary would say that it is the act of keeping something as it is, especially preventing it from decaying or being destroyed. In a way, the opposite of Entropy. At a first glance, one may think that embracing preservation means to keep everything unchanging, immobile and frozen. That is far from the truth, as most things are not -meant- to be unchanging.
Entropy and destruction are not necessarily evil and are, in some cases, necessary. Dead plants and animals must decay so that new life can be born from it. Letting this happen -is- a form of preservation. I also believe that everyone has a part to play in a greater context and the part I chose for myself is that of stability and conservation, that balances the weight of those vowed to destruction.

What a year and a half spent focusing on the meaning of Preservation taught me, is that we cannot, and must not, force this on everything nor prevent every act of destruction we see. We have to assess on a case by case basis when to actively stop destruction and when we have to let it happen. Whatever the choice is, I understood that if one is to embrace this path in full, they shall not indulge in any of those destructive acts themselves.
The same doesn't necessarily apply to change. In fact the meaning of Preservation can vary greatly depending on its receiving end. Protecting a book is not the same as protecting a sentient being. When copying or storing an historical recount, for example, change must be avoided as that would defeat the very essence of what we are trying to protect. On the other hand, when we save someone's life or heal them, we don't expect them to remain frozen in time or to become immortal. Change and natural death are intrinsic to most things living and preventing those things from happening would critically alter their essence, which is the opposite of Preservation. In short, this act translates differently depending on the core attribute of its receiving end. This is even more evident if we consider that different pieces of knowledge must be preserved differently. If it's true that the recount of an event must be kept as adherent as possible to the facts that are being recounted, it is also true that an arcane theory or a philosophical argument can be confuted, corrected or improved.

As a Deneirrath, my duty is first and foremost that of preserving knowledge. This obviously involves conserving and copying tomes, but also a less obvious task of preserving life itself. Although some scholars believe that books are more important than life, as explained in the previous chapter, there cannot be knowledge without experience and there cannot be experience without life. This is akin to a virtuous cycle: people must be taught at an early age how to read and write, so that they can transpose as much as their experience as possible in writing, and their lives must be protected so that they keep experiencing and sharing their experiences.
Other than preserving its physical support and the individuals that generate it, keeping a peaceful environment is also a good way for knowledge to thrive, although many military scholars will disagree with me. I believe that when not preoccupied with feeding themselves, not being slaughtered by an enemy or other basic needs, people can focus on less immediate matters. That is why, historically, peaceful golden ages are fertile soil for arts, philosophy, sciences and other disciplines.

Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

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15. The Virtuous Cycle


I enjoy the privilege of a Deneirrath path, where actions such as the one you described, of dissection, analysis, and plans numbers enough that sometimes the alphabet doesn't even fit... Are welcome, and sometimes holy.


Have you ever wondered... what would you do if you found on your path a book and a man on fire at the same time?

What would you choose?


I would choose the man. Because there cannot be knowledge without experience.


If the man dies he will never be able to experience. Not as a mortal would.

This would break the virtuous cycle between Knowledge and Preservation.
The one we start when we teach how to read and write.
The one that carries on with experience from womb to tomb.
And that hopefully will outlive the man, going back to the beginning when the seed is planted again.


A book cannot experience. Only preserve.


The newer to the faith, and those more conservative, would save the book in a heartbeat. Thankfully I am neither.

Though your perspective is one not unfamiliar, this is the first time I've seen it put into such well thought out words.

Clear to me that, while you're not ordained in the church, you're still a woman of deep thoughts and knowledge. You carry a symbol of the Lord of All Glyphs and Images, you speak of the faith as a studied priest would and you've even done the pilgrimage.


It is something that took me years to realize...


And do you wish to be ordained in the church?


If the Lord of All Glyphs and Images deems me worthy of acting in His name I would rejoice at this possibility.

(Priest Rowan Whitebrook courtesy of DM Winter)
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

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16. A Dream



Dark emptiness is quickly filled by a landscape of light.

As the light subsided, I found myself between two impossibly high and impossible long shelves, filled with books from top to bottom. They stretched above into darkness, as well as in front and behind me. The shelves were made from a dark wood, the floor of stone. Ladders were just as impossibly tall as the shelves.

I was scared at first, feeling lost like someone who wakes up after a decade long coma. But fear quickly subsided, and I started walking forward.

It could've been hours or mere seconds, but eventually I found a door among the shelves. A familiar door, one I see many times at the entrance of the main building. I opened it.

The door closed behind me, and inside was another familiar sight. A study, the walls also shelves, though this time the roof was present a few feet above my head, and a single table at the center of it held a book open. Even with no wind present, the pages of the book flipped back and forth, as if someone was looking for something. Eventually, it stopped.

Surprisingly, it stopped on two empty pages. The book glowed in a blue light, swirls of magical essence climbing from its blank pages and swirling around the room. I felt a feeling that I would only describe as nostalgia for something I'd never experienced before, if that's even possible. As if a familiar feeling that was always there awakened. As if a feeling that I felt at one point but had forgotten about suddenly filled my being. It was warm, beautiful. It sparked curiosity and eagerness. I felt the need to see things, to know things, more than I usually do.

Then, the door behind me opened once more. A white dog entered, its eyes golden. The dog sniffed the air of the study, and looked into my eyes before tilting his head ever so slightly. It felt as if we shared this very same feeling of curiosity and warmth. Then it approached me, and gently touched my legs.

At that moment I woke up and it was the next morning, yet it felt like five minutes. Nonetheless I was invigorated and well rested.

Although the dream is fading already, the feeling it brought and the sight of the white dog's golden eyes is still there clear as day.


(Thanks DM Winter)
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

Candlekeep Public Collection Reference
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17. Troubling Times



When shadows descend upon the lands

"Meteors! Meteors are falling from the sky!"
"What?! That's impossible... The astronomers didn't predic-"

"They seek answers, all of them, like children clinging to their teacher's skirts."

Our divine lords

"I think all gods live. So far, at least."

"I travel from the Stonelands, where a fight occurred and my Lady was murdered. I and many others, called to her side, and witness to her demise by the hands of the Watcher, Helm."

Will walk alongside us

"I am Deneir, young priestess. Scribe of Oghma himself."
"I... Have not been ordained..."
"Not officially yet. But your heart burns bright with faith."

"Ao. The Overgod."

"All of us were cast down from our domains into the mortal realm."
"Why wasn't Helm cast out like the rest?"
"He is guarding the Celestial Staircase from any God which wishes to come back without Tablets of Fate."

"Those four vows bind me to my new duty and code, for that is the sacred duty given to us by the Lord of All Glyphs and Images."
"By the power I have as Priest Editor Rowan Whitebrook, as a member of the Inner Chamber and a mentor to all who need it. I welcome you onto the Deneirrath faith, Priest Edelgarde"

As equals.

"You know of my master, Alexander Holgart?"
"He is no more. Torm claimed his soul... as well with the souls of other Knights..."
"Torm... and Bane..."

"Did they prevail? Is Bane dead?"
"I... believe both are..."


Why...
"He died performing his duty. I pray death finds me in the same circumstances."


He cast them down because they didn't care for their followers... was it worth this all? Was it worth all this suffering? All these deaths?
"He would have wanted me to perform my duty. Not grieve him. It's still business as usual."
"Maybe it shouldn't be."
"Your surroundings don't care about your grief. Things will keep happening. People will keep dying. Gods will keep dying probably."

I just want to tear something... someone apart but I can't.
"I wish I was there before Alexander died, so I could have said a proper goodbye. Not to stop him. I know this is what he was meant to do."


I hate Bane, I hate the responsible.... I hate the fact that I can't find a responsible.
"And even if my soul would scream no I wouldn't want him to stay behind. Not for me, not for Ashenie, not for his squire. Not for anybody else."

I hate that I am always the one who remains behind. And I hate myself for being so selfish for thinking that.
"We are here on borrowed time. What make us different from those leaves is purpose."

I just... I can't wrap my head around it...
"Find purpose. Find something to believe in. Something to live and die for."

So sayeth the wise Alaundo.


"So find out."
"I fear the answer."

"Find out anyway."
Edelgarde Spades - Guide of Candlekeep and Deneirrath priest, still a Disney princess in the wrong tale.

Gleam of the Firefly - In your darkest hour, look for the firefly

Auntie Ed's Wands(TM): Saving the Coast one Protection from Evil at time.

Candlekeep Public Collection Reference
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