Back in 2006, I couldn't find the inner quietude (ho hum, blather) to follow up on my idea of writing semi-regular blogs about in-game events of our Forgotten Realms group. I may yet do so.
Disclaimer 1: I don't own the rights to the materials mentioned here except for the character Fianthalan. No linking or duplicating allowed without prior permission. Intellectual Property notices at the bottom of this blog post.
Disclaimer 2: In the Musing below, the after-effects of "rage" are mentioned. If this sounds rather Hulk-ish for a taciturn, controlled elf ranger: At the time we were giving D&D 3rd Edition a shot. I was laying the roleplaying groundwork to take a level in barbarian. On second thought, we said, let's not go 3rd Edition. It is a silly place.
So: On with the brooding gold elf ranger.
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A Ranger's Musing
Fianthalan walked the grounds of Charwood Ruins again. In a mere hour, the company would be ready to set off west in search of the druids. But now there was a brief time to shake off the last trembling of his rage and absorb the lessons of the battle.
From the scorched earth of the fight’s first fireball he circled, passing through the trees of the overgrown orchard. The branches were bare, but grew thick. Each step he retraced. Here he had run, darting from cover to cover, sacrificing precious seconds to get a shot at the dwarven sorcerer. Here a patch of snow was stained with the halfling’s blood, and the ground trampled where the small corpse had been hauled away for burial. Not for the first time the ranger was reminded of the saying, “it is a shame we must resort to violence.” Indeed it was a shame, a shame in the face of Angharradh, the Triune Goddess. It was life and growth we were supposed to seek, not killing and vengeance. You do not have the druid’s creed to fall back on, he heard his mentor’s voice again in his head. The slaying rage had left him sensitized to bursts of spontaneous recall. A near-reverie stole over him. Part of him knew that he was affected by the burn wounds he had sustained. The druids would have said all was part of the great cycle, even the death of this young halfling. The small body would decompose and feed the roots of trees, and so his death was no lamentable loss in itself. Yet the rangers’ way was not entirely the druids’ way, however hard Fianthalan’s companions might find it to find a difference between the philosophies. Had Quickfix been wholly evil, and seeking slaughter for its own end? Or had he been a mercenary, and not malicious beyond a mean streak?
Had the killing today been necessary? Yes, he answered himself, reluctantly. Unavoidable. Remember the task you were entrusted with, ranger.
Fianthalan faced the ruins, an easterly wind reminding of winter’s teeth, and reflected on the tactics used today. With hindsight, he saw the cunning maneuvers of both sides, and reviewed the flaws. Pacing out the tracks left in the dirt, he looked to where the she-dwarf, Shieldcleaver, had emerged from the shell of the cottage. He perceived with almost painful clarity the flat, low trajectory his arrows could have flown to pound at her plate armor, and perhaps piercing mail to the tough flesh beneath. Yes, those had been free shots, passed up in haste to get the enemy spellcasters in his sights. He stepped through the wrecked doorway into the cottage, carbonized splinters of axe handles and frozen-up blood spatters crunching beneath his boots. Here the fight had culminated, and both elves had been tardy at bringing the fight to the enemy. Glancing out the missing west wall, he also saw how the knight and the dwarven youth had had their own brief faltering. More precious seconds had passed in fortifying the group with spells, seconds that would have been better spent scattering north, south and above all, charging east. Typical, Fianthalan realized. The dwarves and humans had been resolved, yet become entangled in their drive for tactical perfection. Meanwhile the elves had been overly cautious. He resolved to improve on this.
Fianthalan turned his thoughts away from the past- so tempting to slip into reverie and integrate what lay behind more firmly in the elusive ‘now’- and towards the future. The immediate challenge was safely crossing the wilds and find the druids who might be persuaded to bring the two fallen back to life. Beyond that, he knew their road would soon take them to the dwarven hold again.
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All Forgotten Realms references are (c) Ed Greenwood/ Wizards of the Coast
"The Savage North" and its narrative elements are (c) Ed Zwanenvelt/ Stef Helsen
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