THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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Mursey
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THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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The blessed Djion began life as the daughter of a peddler, in blessed Ravensbluff, the City of Heroes. No coincidence in truth, that she should be born in so storied a place. She grew to early womanhood as the third of her father's daughters, pledged to Lathander's service from an early age. Though it was written that the blessed Djion would serve out her life in service to the Morning Lord in her own homeland, she fled her temple cloister on a whim, to offer succour to those brave souls battling devils in the savage Sword Coast lands.

And thus we learn the first lesson of the Blessed Djion. When the right thing must be done, it must be done, regardless of rules or consequence.


I am as He made me
I have no desire
For a mouth at my breast
Or a pot on the fire

I heed the high voices
I go where I'm sent
To mow down the men
who refuse to repent

I'm a scythe
in a field full of briers

And they won't call me mother, or sister, or wife
they will know me or not by the strength of my light
I will burn like a star of my own
They'll know me as Djion. They'll know me as Djion.

The courage of Corrin, the flames of the forge
The sword of Zant Mithall, the blood of Ser Forge
I take what I'm given, I follow my truth
I gladly abandon the bloom of my youth

I'm the lashing
that falls from the scourge

And they won't call me mother, or sister, or wife
they will know me or not by the strength of my light
I will burn like a star of my own
They'll know me as Djion. They'll know me as Djion.

I fight where He tells me. I never ask why.
I've bloodied the Devils with steel from on high.
I kill in good conscience, heeding His law
I sift out the righteous, like grain from the straw.

I am judgement,
and heaven is nigh!

And they won't call me mother, or sister, or wife
they will know me or not by the strength of my light
I will burn like a star of my own
They'll know me as Djion. They'll know me as Djion.

Disclaimer: Lyrics (slightly modified) By Heather Dale, "Joan".
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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This, the first Book of Blessed Djion, begins with her arrival in Baldur's Gate; early Myrtul DR1354, at the tender age of 22. By then the war against the Devils had raged for 12 long moons, with not an end in sight. Nor, it must be remembered, had the identity of the archenemy behind the Devil armies yet been revealed to the common man.

Eager to set to work, the blessed Djion was denied entry to the battle-lines by the mercenaries of the Flaming Fist, who, seeing only a young girl of callow years and failing to perceive the depth of her conviction and character, barred her from the battlefront. This she found herself outside the East Gate of Baldur's Gate, one of many tending to the spiritual and bodily needs of the displaced folk of Tyrsmount, one of the first settlements to be razed in the Devil War.
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Until one fateful day, when she found herself cooking for one Sir Arledge of the Lion Coalition, and a young Cormyrean lad, a purple Dragon named Thibault Harcourt. Both would feature heavily in this, the tale of the Blessed Djion, paragon of the faith.

That same day, word would reach the Blessed of missing children from the camp of the Tyrfolk. Donning what armour she could find -a haphazard collection of plate assembled from no less than three or perhaps even four separate suits of white harness- she strode to give battle with the foul fiend who would steal children from their mothers. In so doing, she came upon the mighty Thibault, brave and true. With the blessings and spells of an elf devoted to Sehanine Moonbow (an elf-maid whose name has long since been lost to history, though her deeds were of great import to many) the pair descended into the haunted graveyard of Baldur's Gate, rescuing all but one of the stolen lads and lassies and slaying their abductor, a foul gnome who had disguised himself as a child to lure the children for his dread experiments, burying each alive in a shallow grave.
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Yet despite the tragedy and triumph of this great feat, the heroic pair's return to the Gate did not meet with the acclaim it deserved, though doubtless the Blessed Djion paid this no mind, the rescue of so many innocents have proven reward enough. Yet while they recovered from the fray, they spied upon two mercenaries bearing the badge of the Gray Blades, a company not seen for some time. It soon transpired that the company had been ambushed most greivously by the Fields of the Dead some weeks before, cut to pieces by disciplined, accurate arrow-volleys. These two lads had survived, but been separated from the bulk of the company and unable to locate the survivors. The Blessed Djion and her stout companion pledged to do what they could to learn of their fate, and the kindly Djion lamented openly the loss of so many souls, condemned to rise from unhallowed graves and join the vast multitudes of restless dead to be found on that tragic field.
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No sooner had said mercenary pair departed than these two heroes were approached by none other than Olin Kierstaad, whose own name now resonates through history with a volume almost matching that of the blessed Djoin. Here the man, then joint leader of the Lion Coalition and Commander of the Black Lions, spoke plainly with our brave pair. In so doing he offered Djoin the chance she sought, knowing she could serve our Lord Lathander better on the battlefield than in the camp of Tyrmount. Yet even so she declined to swear allegience immediately, unlike brave, bold Thibault. For Djoin wishes first to see how Arldedge, whom she now knew to be Commander of the Golden Lions, joint Grandmaster of the Order with brave, lordly Master Olin, spoke to the scattered folks of Tyrmount on the morrow.
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For she, in her wisdom, had invited said knight to speak of his campaigns against the devils in the north, that he might inspire hope in the ragged remnants of a once great people.
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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"I shall strive then to remind us always of for whom we fight, and not merely the why."
- The Blessed Djion, Martul 19th, DR1354


And so it came to pass that Awakened Djion, Novice of Lathander, and Sir Arledge Arnemeiger, Paladin of the Triad addressed the fallen people of lamented Tyrmount at the their camp beyond the Eastern Gate. Though the one spoke eloquently of new life rising from ashes, and the other of courage and strength of heart, the townsfolk were not greatly cheered by the efforts of the pair. The Blessed Djion was young then, alas, and had not yet developed the great skill for Oratory for which she would first enter legend. And yet, though words alone were not sufficient to raise the spirits of the melancholy people, many small acts of kindness sufficed to do just that.

Mechanics:
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[[OOC: Diplomacy checks of 17 from Sir Arledge and 16 from Djion following their respective attempts at Oratory]]

Undeterred, the Blessed Djion prepared a simple meal of porridge oats for brave Sir Arledge and his companion, the wise elven loremaster Isindir Grel'fer. Though not a meal worthy of such heroes, not complaint was voiced, for none around had better, save for those small treats and morsels provided to this child and that by the Blessed Djion. They spoke then of many things, of the fall of a great Demon. Of the spilling of crystal shards from it's shattered frame, of the war in the north, and of Sir Arledge's vision for the Lion Coalition.

It was then, on being again welcomed into the order, that wise Djion displayed yet more the wisdom that would render her forever beloved in our faithful hearts. Noting, did she, that the lawful Order of the Golden Lion and the martial order of the Black might yet find terrible differences to set a wedge between them, eloquently she spoke of the need for another, an arbiter and conciliator bound to both orders but beholden to neither. Not a leader, nor a commander, but a diplomat charged to maintain the bond of brotherhood betwixt the two.
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Readily did brave Sir Arledge recognise this wisdom, and would have granted her thus on the spot had Blessed Djion not bid him otherwise. There was a second commander, she gently chided, who must first be consulted ere her request be granted. And so, in her first such act among the Coalition's, did Blessed Djion embody the duty she sought to take upon her slender shoulders.

They were joined thereafter by a figure of some historical controversy, that being, in the words of the Blessed Djion herself, "Ser Arunir Baudarim, rightful king of Borbath". A figure of whom the Blessed Djion records little, save that she addressed him often as "Highness", refusing to use the more usual "Majesty" from want of recognising no "Majesty" save that of the Morning Lord himself. The discourse of the four was thence rudely interrupted by the diabolical monologue of the serve-serving Red Wizard, Azymandeus Faustus, who bragged openly of his Thaumaturgy and afondness hell-gazing. He spoke also of his ambitions and desire to see his Enclave enriched and empowered by yet more sovereign authority within the City Walls.

This did render good Sir Arledge and good Sir Arunir most wroth, and rightly did they rage in their words. And yet, it was the Blessed Djion who kept the peace, all the while chiding the damned magus for his claims, and fretting for the state of his impoverished soul. T''was then the sorceress Shali came, drawn by the manic monologue, and learned for herself the folly of grasping too far for power, and too quickly. For sanity is all too often the sacrifice for arcane power.
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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MUCH CONTINUES AS BEFORE


In the days that followed, though nominally a member of the Lion Coalition, an unified order dedicated to the defence of the Sword Coast, little changed for our blessed Djion. And yet matters in her life were far from routine. Truly, yes, she did continue to lead services of prayer to Lathander three times daily for the poor wretches of Tyrmount, lending her aid as a healer to the bringing forth of new life and the saving of the old and infirm alike. Among those who joined her in prayer in those early and uncertain days were two tiefling's in service to the Goddesses of movement and beauty: Reiker of Sune and Midnight of Liira. Services for which Emeth of Hadora, good Thibault and Sir Arledge were also often present.
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Presently, the Bless Djion would recruit and encounter the brave Nuerune and stout Michael Dunn, who volunteered to escort the saintly maiden southwards, that supplies of vital import - vials of a substance to purify food and drink- were safely delivered to the people of Tyrmount.

And yet, just as the blessed Djion was not idle by day, nor were her nights spent idly either. Though entirely out of place in such dens of inequity, by night she searched the taverns and inns and fest-halls of Baldur's Gate, seeing word of the Gray Blades Company and all who might have encountered them in latter days. Fruitless in her search, she did leave word for Thibault that his instincts were true. They must indeed travel beyond the confines of the Gate, were they interested still in solving this mystery of the vanished company.
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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IN DEFENCE OF TYRMOUNT

On this day, the blessed Djion learned to her great dismay of the ambush of a donor merchant of Amn upon the Trade Way. Beset by kobolds, the tearful Amnian begged that his gold be recovered, that he might continue to sponsor two little orphans of Tyrmount to good apprenticeships within the Gate. It was then, while the pair departed the tent of the blessed Djion that golden Abraxis appeared. Attending upon the people of new Tyrmount with a gift of gold and supplies, Abraxis heard the end of this sorry tale with growing dismay. On learning from Djion that a merchant of Amn, travelling to the encampment with a donation of coin to make apprentices of two young orphans of Tyrmount, offered spell-aid for it's retrieval, weaving many workings of art about the blessed Djion that she might be as strong in steel as in faith.

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Deep within the kobol lair was Djion before encountering the brave and noble Armande, devotee of Siamorphe. Together the two delved deep into the kobold ruins to recover said funds, facing many great travails and dangers to retrieve the merchants captured wealth and much more besides.

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Further booms for the cause of New Tymount appeared this day also, with Thibault of Tempus and of the Black Lion Order of the Lion Coalition making a donation of fine silver weapons with which the townsfolk's defenders could arm themselves against new dangers. This however, was a mere prelude to further adventures for the holy maiden this day. Though weary already in body and spirit from her travails against the kobolds, today was the appointed day in which she and brave Thibault would trek southwards in search of the lost, nay, fabled company of the Grey Blades.

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Enlisting the company of the tiefling Reiker of Tymora to serve as guide and stout companion, the Blessed Djion and her boon companions departed that same day for the lands of the south, their quest to learn the fate of the company of the Gray Blades, and all who served within it's ranks.

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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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THE SEARCH FOR BLADES OF GREY
History, nor the few surviving records of Djion's own creation, makes no mention of why the fate of the Gray Blade's became a matter of such interest to the blessed one. Earlier chronicler's have suggested the beatific maiden was blessed with revelation and inspiration even then, though the surviving evidence of her life does not support such bold assertations. The truth, indeed, shall likely never be known, lost, as with so much else concerning the life and times of our holy paragon, to the mist's of history.


Yet in the company of brave Thibault, and of Reiker, she did travel southwards to Nashkel. There, in every inn they didst stop to enquire as to the Gray Blades and their fate.

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At Feldepost Inn it was that at last they heard word. The innkeeper there recalling a band bearing a sword of gray upon their shields that indeed stayed at the town, briefly, at some point. There were dozen men it seems, and there was uneasy talk bout lost officer among them, but, the inkeep swears:

It was many months ago.

intrigued, the triad continue southwards to Nashkel, repeating their enquiries there to no avail. Until at last, weary and footsore, they return to the Gate.
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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THE BLADE OF TORM

Inserted within the pages of the tome at his point may be found a small square of carefully folded, ancient parchment. Ostensibly written by the very hand of the blessed Djion herself.

For the direct attention of Sir Arledge Arniemieger

"Sir,
Word has reached me by way of one Michael Dunn, a soldier of my acquaintance, that a blade holy to one of the Triad Blade of now rests in the unworthy hands of Roaringshore's High Captain, the Dread Pirate Karn. I am told this despicable and honourless fiend seeks a worthy challenger, one capable of reclaiming the blade through victory in single combat.

Goodman Michael Dunn would speak to you concerning this. You may find him at the sign of The Blade and Stars by East Gate
-
Djion

Awakened of Lathander,
This 23rd Day of Myrtul,
DR1354
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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FROM PROFANITY: REVELATION, FROM IMMOLATION: TRANSMOGRIFICATION.
FIRST OF THE THREE SACRED WOUNDS OF DJION

And so it came to pass, that on this day 23rd of Myrkul DR1354, the worthy life of maiden Djion would first meet it's end, in an act so profane and blasphemous, that to this day it lives in infamy. Verily, even in a city so beset by a decade of war and plague and undeath and tragedy, this date would long linger as the darkest in heart of mind for all but a few of those who lived though such dark and terrible times.

It began a day like any other, but by it's end, the lives of many hundreds would be changed forever; and the lives of five score more ended in a scant hundred heartbeats of fire and fury. For the subject of our biography, however, t'would herald the beginning of revelation and ascension to a higher, far more spiritual order than that rarely or often attainable by one so young -whether male or female- of any race. Even within the storied confines of the age.
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And so, on a busy market day in that quarter of the city called the Wide, blessed, not yet sacred Djion set her foot upon a sundial. She had, we are told, little time to prepare the wise words she was to impart that day. A call to arms, perhaps, one chronicler, Gestrude of Amn, suggests. A plea for spend-easy folk to think of charity for the people of Tyrmount, suggests another. Yet history, much to the loss of all, records not what words of oratory the Blessed Djion had intended to impart. Instead, the blessed Djion would so very nearly lose her life for good.

As she first spoke, breath was torn from her lungs by a fiery explosion. Not one to keep her own self from risk of harm when danger to others portends, the blessed Djion was among the closest souls who rushed to the noise, pressing her way through the crowds fleeing from it and towards her. Not more than thirty paces had she pressed forward through the flames than a second eruption occurred behind her, blocking the way to all those brave souls who followed in her wake.

Tending to a wounded woman she was, horribly burned, whose name has been lost to all save the Gods themselves and those beloved souls who survive her, when a third conflagration of smoke of flames originating not ten paces from her kneeling form all but obliterated our young beati from the sight and mind of all but a few.
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And so, the writings tell us, did Djion find herself standing upon a golden plane, a great portal in the shape of the sun presented before her. And before that portal, a man golden and handsome in form who warded the way, arms spread to either side. And so the recorded words of the Blessed Djion tell us:

"I stood there, upon the cusp of true death, where a shining figure waited. A lad of so handsome and kind, of an appearance so profound I wept merely to look upon him. Tearing my eyes away, lest I profane the sight with my unworthy eyes, I saw once more that I was whole and hale and unharmed, and garbed in cloth of pink and yellow, orange and gold, in a simple, shimmering cloth that was at first one shade and then another, in all the myriad tones and colours of the dawn.

The figure spoke then, and though His word was for mine ear alone and I will not share it, I will speak of the gist of it. Peace and freedom from pain, from sorrow, from all aches of heart and body, awaited me beyond that portal would I so choose it. But none, then, save for those few lives I had touched upon in my time would ever have recall of me. And all knowledge of my life and deeds would expire from the realms of mortals with the deaths of them that knew me most.

And yet, did I but choose to voices calling me, the figure could promise nought by pain and sorrow, heartache and fear, wounds and loss and a life of service beset by sorrow and strife. And yet, He gently told, my gentle nature would touch upon the lives of many, that the tales of my deeds would echo for an age, and inspire others, girls such as myself, from homes as poor in wealth and rich in love as my own, to set out into the world with blade and bow and spell, and put right to many wrongs. That I would touch upon the lives of untold thousands, if only I chose the painful path into the briars, to live on and strive to good works in his name."


-Ascribed to the Blessed Djion, Providence Unknown


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Even then, blasted and burned, her flame-ravaged young form obscured from sight by smoke and ash and the press of many bodies, Our Solar Father did not abandoned his chosen servant. For stout Michael Dunn and a brave, yet oft profane teifling warrior whose name has been obliterated -quite intentionally, it seems- from the records of Djion's life, saw whence the lass fell. Quick of hand of voice, and possessed of a great scroll of healing magic penned, it is said, by luminaries of our Lord Lathander in Bereghost's Holy Temple, discerned which of the many fire-blackened and charred forms littering the burning streets belonged to Djion herself.

This voice, it was, that the beati heard calling her home from the glowing plain's of Lathander's Realm. And this voice too,it was, and not the other, to which she turned her feet and walked.
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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TRANSMOGRIFICATION
And so it was, that a charred, fire-blackened soul opened the blistered ruin of her eyelids and gave voice to a cry so profound in anguish of body and soul, that it draw the eyes and ears of all who survived that terrible triad of fire and heat and smoke. What thoughts then, were those of brave Michael Dunn and the tiefling most profane -whose name remains unknown to us- as they knelt or stood beside that smouldering form. Didst either, one wonders, consider then their deed was in error. For such wounds of the body as suffered by the blessed Djion were indeed terrible and awful to behold.

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Yet from the smoke and flames other souls did gather. True souls, brave and kind, unware of the part they would play in bringing the salvation of so many back to the mortal realms. Together, these brave sounds did all they could to ensure the blessed maidens soul didst not immediately travel thence back to the otherworld from whence it came. No doubt each marvelled, even as the profane tielfing looked on in nonchalance feigned, at how the girl, for all that her clothes were burned tight into her ruined flesh, looked upwards, enraptured, towards the sky and the fiery orb above.

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Upon a stretcher fashioned from broom-handles and blooded bed-sheets, these good folk of Baldur's Gate did carry our lass to the Temple of Blessed Ilmater, that kindest of Gods, so closely allied to our own blessed Morning Lord and his flock. There, under the careful care of those who carried her hence, and with the blessings of not one God, but twp, Djion was released from her sufferings by tender ministrations. The clothing was cut from her body, and her many, greivous wounds bathed and washed in potions most potent. And so, before the very eyes of all present, her flesh regrew, her blisters faded, and her eyes saw once more. And none there present could not herald what they saw for what it was: a miracle of the Gods.

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HIDDEN OCC COMMENTRY:
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OOC:
This could not have worked out better. The random event I walked Djion into, planning on taking advantage of the crowds to make an improvised attempt at inspiring the people towards greater efforts to restore Tyrmount, saw her *ding* to sixth level the very post before the first explosion went off. She was in the process of casting cure moderate wounds on an NPC when the third explosion took her from about 50Hp to -50Hp in a heartbeat. I'd been looking for an opportunity for some trauma to occur that would make her believe she had met her God, Lathander. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. That's up to the DM team, but for the moment I'm working on the assumption that it's all in her head and she's a bit mad. Honestly, the other way this could have worked out better was if she'd just levelled up to seven, and I took her first Morninglord level. But hey, you can't have everything :D


Oh, needless to say. Given what happened here, I'm soooo counting this as one of her three perma-strikes.
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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MYRTUL 25th - SERMON OF RECONCILIATION UPON THE SQUARE


At High-Sun, on the very day after her immolation and revitalisation, our Blessed Lady was prevailed upon by Enkilli of the Red Song, Bardess of the North, to offer up a public sermon within the City Square of Baldur's Gate East District. Though sore indeed in mind and spirit, she did agree and doth take the podium to speak, her resounding words of reconciliation and hope ringing out across the gathered throngs.


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"People of the Gate, we are beset by terrible tragedy. Many scores lie dead. Scores upon scores more grieve and suffer as I speak.
Yet as this dawn rose so to did our city rouse. Our watchmen guard our walls. Our priests tend out wounds. Out townsfolk -brave and generous souls all- rally to give aid.

Indeed, I myself died here yesterday, on this very ground. My flesh was torn and blackened. My eyes blistered and burned. But by the grace of Lathander and by the strength and generosity our people I was raised to live again.

Alas, it is true that I am one among a fortunate few. For so many the damage that rent body and limb asunder was too great, their frail mortal flesh too grievously assailed by the fruits of villainy which struck us done. Yet it is in their name that we shall rebuild. In their name that we shall look to the future with hope.

People of Baldur's Gate , we have been sore tested in the forge of hellfire and we have been tempered by the kindness and mercy of our souls.

We have shown that we are INDOMITABLE. INDEFEATABLE. UNBOWED.


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There are some among us, mislead souls, who would use this tragedy to divide us. To align us against one another, against those whom they would say are different and uncanny. Yet we are a people united by one goal. Elf and dwarf, human and hin, gnome and half-orc, plane-touched and tiefling. This last day all have suffered, and we are all of us brought together in grief.

People of the Gate, we must as ever set aside that which makes us different and grasp for that which makes us the same. We. All of us, must unite against the true enemy that besets us from the North.

Yet there are those here among us who would turn their gazes inward in dismay. Turn neighbour against neighbour with whispered rumours and suspicion. To turn neighbour against neighbour and leave us a house divided. Weakened. Ready to fall. But I say to you here and now, in the light of a new dawn that WE WILL NOT BE DEFEATED.

We shall stand united. One community. One people. A single city-state to lead the way to victory over the devils that assail us. To lead the Sword-Coast out of the darkness of devilry and once more venture towards the glories of the next dawn.

LATHANDER, under your sacred light, let out voices be heard. Let those who would strike us down know we stand ready. That we cannot be defeated by evil. That we shall stride ever onwards unto a better, brighter day.

LATHANDER, HEAR OUR PRAYER!"

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MYRTUL 26th THE FATE OF BLADES



On this grievous date did the Blessed Djion, Stout Thibault, Stealthy Michael and Songstress Enkilli return to the Inn of Bereghost guided, it is said, by divine revelation imparted during her death. There the four didst once more speak with the Innkeep, to be told the Goodman could now recall more details concerning the passage of those dedicated men and women through their town. It coincided, indeed, with the epoch of attacks made upon the townsfolk by a fell-beast, with the Innkeep recalling that the Gray Blades had last been seen travelling towards where local scouts had located the beast in it's lair.

A pair of local ranger's drinking the inn recalled that of the six Ranger's who had found that lair, only two had survived - one of whom had since become a lunatic, and the other who, crippled and imbittered, frequented the Temple of Lathander. And so, the four venturesome souls set forth to find this last survivor, and in so doing obtained markings upon their mark leading to it's lair.

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Though sore beset by a lone, last wolf of the fell beast's pack, and then assailed yet farther by a host of shadows, the brave souls did indeed find the remains of the Gray Blades upon that field - though t'was indeed a difficult task, the environs being so strewn by the bones of the dead as to resemble a charnel pit or battlefield of ancient times.

Two ghostly Gray Blade did then appear, phantasms blind and deaf to all about them, rehearsing their role as though player's upon a stage and as mindful of the deeds and words of their audience.

"Our luck ran out,
Barrett with us is not,
The wolf
Is not here,
The night that slew us all,
Lost"

And all of arcane bent there present agreed that yet another corpse circles had the feel of a summons's or sacrifice gone awry, of great power unleashed but in a manner skewed from the will of the caster. T'was then the venturesome souls encountered another strange pair - black-garbed guardsmen bearing halberds of shadowy, yet of whom or what they guarded there came no sign. With archaic speech, the two spoke of a hunt of their own, though from their speech t'was not clear if their "hunt" was pursuit nor quest.

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Michael Dunn though, had sharper eyes than the rest. And, stealthy too, did set off after the strange guardsmen when they didst depart. In stealth, he observed their meeting with a shadowy female mage, but lost the trail when all three departed the scene by teleport. And soon thence, our four stout friends departed also.
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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THE SHADOW DEMON'S FEAR

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Having learned from Isabella, Portal Warden of Candlekeep, that a Shadow Demon had taken to haunting the Cloak Wood Djion set out to follow Reiker of Tymora, that blessed soul, to the Cloakwood. He, determined to hunt the beast and she, determined to act as bait. Yet the purity and harmony of the Blessed Djion's soul was to great for the Demon, though thus far young women venturing alone in the wood had proven it's favoured prey, driving each to an insanity of madness and loss.

And so, in this manner, the Blessed Djion had proven her purity and strength of faith, though she was sorely wrath at missing her chance to lay the beast low.
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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A QUEST FOR MERCY:
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Having been approached by a mysterious figure, perhaps one Emeth, an individual of shadowed history, the Blessed Djion ventured to the Temple of Lathander in Bereghost, braving the chance that news of her absence from the Temple in Ravensbluff had reached even this distance outpost of the faith. And yet the fragmented nature of Lathander's faith did stand her in good stead for, though she introduced herself truthfully as an Awakened and Novice, she was mistaken for an errant knight of the Order of Aster. Though she spoke with the attendant priests and guardians there, her name was not recognised, and plans were made for a number of fugitives of good character to take shelter there in the days ahead.
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Mursey
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Re: THE BOOK OF BLESSED DJION

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A GRAVEYARD BATHED IN LIGHT
While conducting a funeral ceremony for a citizen of Tyrmount, the Blessed Djion did hear the sounds of distant combat. On ushering the mourners to safety, she returned and found Brave Prais, spearman of Evermeet, in need of succour from the attacks of foul undead. Fighting back to back against the horde, the Blessed Djion did call upon the power of the Morninglord and send dozens upon dozens of the restless back to a dusty rest.


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Yet great as this victory may be, the sainted Djion knew even then of it's insignificance, for in those dark times, the dead lay restless indeed.
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