Blessed Are Those Who Walk In The Light...

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

"Blessed are those who walk in The Light... Sanctified are those who can walk with their shadow... For their path shall not stray, their step shall not falter... Never journeying alone... In the brightness or the dark..."

The tales of Areon Baldwin, Walehir Iheiuhilu, or simply, the cleric.

Chapter 1. -Birth of a Bannerman-

The sun began to fade, beneath the mountains of the Greywise region. Night came all too soon, it always came too soon. Never enough hours in the day. But that was somewhat of a pattern to Areon. A spry little poacher who resided in a cave, what more could he expect? A "man" of fifteen years old, the most valuable item he had, was his bow. He sat there in simple garments, upon the nook of a tree. Covered, in the thin coarse covering of leathers and furs, from head to toe. Something to keep his actual clothes clean. He needed to look his best after all, for the market place. It seemed, however, that Areon would have no reason to go to the market. There was no game worthy to waste an arrow on. Fates smiled on him however, and a bull came straying into his view. Treading across the lush moss and grass of the forest floor, he notched an arrow onto the stringing. His feet bare, and the sounds of nature covering his preparations, the bull had no idea a predator was in his midst. Areon wandered as closely as he dared, taking a stand and drawing to full length. The thwack of the arrow leaving the string. The groan of the bull, as its neck bristled, its mouth beginning to take on a crimson sheen. Those were the only sounds Areon focused on. Those were the only signs he was looking for. Areon's world stood still, picking back up its spin, as the bull began to crumple to the ground. The blonde haired boy gave a grin for no one to see. Taking out his iron dagger, his second most valued item, he approached the hulking and fresh corpse...

Areon was late to arrive at Arethor. Night fell as he walked through the always open gate. His pack bulging with the leathers and meats of his hunt. His pouch jangling with the coins he was able to scavenge from the beasts of the road. The merchant stalls would have closed by then, and only a few were in the business to purchase meats and furs. Areon was out of luck, or so it seemed. Reduced to crying out at the square, he stood outside a local tavern, desperate to get something in exchange for his trade. A distinctive, rich looking man, walked through the square a few minutes later. A silver crown on his head, and hair as black as the velvets he donned on his coat. He turned to the boy, a bit of an awkward distance away. Areon looked straight at him, holding a cow hide out in display, the man was not looking at the merchandise though. The man was looking straight at Areon, and squinting at him rather oppressively too.

"Apologies, lord, I meant no disrespect... They're good cow hides, from the wild bull in Greywise woods, yeah?", The blonde boy said weakly. The man strutted towards Areon now, crossing his arms, and waving his hand in dismissal of the wares.

"Boy, what is your name?", the tall nobleman asked, in a grizzly voice that made Areon think he did something wrong. Areon looked at him strangely, squinting up at him in the careful suspicion that a naive peasant would. Guarding his tongue, he replied with, "Areon Baldwin, of Riven... More specifically, the Greywise woods though, so if you think I'm a poacher, I'm not... I live there,".

"And tell me, Areon Baldwin of Riven, the name of your father, and his father before him. Rattle off a few, entertain me," the lord still gave him that oppressive stare. Areon looked to the side, shrugging the strap to his pack ever so slightly, in preparations for flight.

"My father's name was Gregory... My grandfather's was William... Before that Alexander....", the short little poacher said absently. He jumped in alarm as the large man settled a gloved hand on his shoulder. The pack, containing nearly all the boy's effects, plopped on the stone.

"Come with me boy, into the tavern, I have something I wish to discuss," the lord said almost warmly now, his eyes squinting in happiness. This did not comfort Areon however. What could possibly make him change so suddenly? Areon was guided into the tavern, with the lord's hand at his back. They descended the ladder and sat at an empty long table. Areon's face was flushed with fear, and soured by the stuffy air of the cellar room.

"Do you know who your grandfather was, Areon?", the lord had taken a full turn, his face now that of a sympathetic nature. Rather than the hard look from before in the square. Areon only shook his head. It was a lie, Areon knew full well where he came from. However he was curious as to where this would lead.

"Your father was a knight, and a good one at that. I fought alongside him, and I do not like seeing the heir of the Baldwin line out and about like some street vending orphan. Where are you parents?", the lord asked in a soft tone. Areon looked at the table, debating on just how much to tell. He simply said, "I am alone, now." Areon's family did indeed live in Riven, once the Salvan war came though, they did not think to leave. When Riven was decimated, Areon's family went with it. Fading with the flames, caused by Alrasian cannon. The lord nodded his head slowly, "I see..."

"Why are you so interested in my state of being, lord?", Areon asked with a crack of his voice. He had seen the horrors of any proper veteran. But he was still a boy. He forgot that sometimes.

"I wish to take you into my banner, clothe you, feed you, train you. A repayment," the lord said flatly. Looking at Areon with the confidence of a merchant, who had given the best offer in the market, "In return, I shall be your liege lord, and you will put that bow to more challenging work,". Areon looked to the lord now, he took notice of his full head of hair, his young bearded face.

"If you fought with my grandfather, how in the world do you look so young... Actually, how are you not dead?", the boy took a new turn himself. He was not about to make oaths to a liar.

"Very observant," the man said with a chuckle," I am Adunian. We are... Different, from the typical man. I myself am Artorus Elendil. Grand Marshall, Artorus Elendil,". Areon's stomach growled suddenly. He swallowed his pride, it was the only thing he could swallow. Standing now, he bowed to the lord. This may have been the most fortunate day of his life... So far, that is.

"You've got yourself a bowman, Grand Marshall Elendil. Or should I say, m'lord."

Chapter 2. -Scouting across the snow-

The snows began to thin down, as Areon made his way across the plains. Soon his boots sounded with the whisk of grass, rather than the crunch of frost. A newly strung longbow hung across his back, arrows bristling from his quiver. He had an actual sword too, not some simple blade or dagger. He pulled his mail collar away from his neck, as it chafed him. Something he had grown used to, taking it off and putting it back on were the only things he hated. His deep blue tunic splotched with dirt and grime from travels. It had been four years since he came under the blue banner of the Elendils. Now a personal guard for the family he swore oaths to, rather than a guard for their walls. Dispatched on request of the Adunian rangers, Areon had been filling a spot of their rather small ranks. Patrol across the border from the Dwarves and back, simple. Because of the wide expanse of land, and the small numbers already, Areon was alone. It was not something he hated exactly, lonesomeness that is. However he would have preferred to be alone, in no chain mail. It was a precaution however, what with beasts of all kinds. Not to mention the Orcish raiders who would skirmish with the bearded juggernauts, during this time of war between the sons of Krug and Urguan.

The plains sloped down. Leading into a frozen river, with a stone path that led further into a rather large spruce and pine grove. Areon had stopped before the forest of pines, an eerie gloom shadowed over, with a blanket of snow to accompany it. He pulled his bow off his body, holding the leather grip in his hand for comfort. Pulling a single arrow out of his quiver, he placed it gently upon the string. He licked his fingers, and dabbed an unaligned fletching. Leaving a wavy squiggle down the feather's end, but over all, fixing it. Nodding to himself, he headed into the murk. The sun still glistened off the snow, through the slits of the branches. The snow on the stone path was packed in. So many different footprints, and many of them looked large. Orcish feet, Dwarven boots, even a few strange animals and various other markings were apparent. Areon quickened his stride, eager to leave this strange place, and circle back around to Ildon. When he passed the bend, that is when he saw it. The ice tower.

Its very presence screamed magic at him. It looked as if the ground had finally decided to make something more beautiful than dirt. Its very structure gently rose from the snow around it, no abrupt angle indicating a true wall or foundation. Just a gentle slope up from the snow to the tower, as it twisted and spiraled above like an icicle in reverse. It glittered with the most delicate sheen, it was ice after all. Areon could not help himself, he had to see it closer. He stepped up to it, and combed his hand across. It was cold, what more could he expect? Bits of snow sprinkled down wherever he brushed his gloved hands. He was so lost in thought, whilst staring up at this fascinating building, that he did not notice anyone around him. He began to turn off, and walked away from the tower once more. A woman cleared her throat, and Areon whirled around in surprise.

Standing there was a fair haired woman. A few years older than Areon himself, by the looks of it. She wore the paled clothes of a traveler, with iron knee guards and boots. A simple leather circlet sat on her head, a blue feather sticking from the back. She gave a soft smile, her lips curving up, never flashing her teeth.

"Fair winds, stranger. Are you lost?" the woman asked in a peculiar accent. He could not help but notice, she obviously wasn't dressed for the weather. Perhaps she was lost as well.

"Lost, no, for I have no true destination. Why do you ask? Are you lost?" Areon carefully asked. Curious to see if there were any others about. The situation seemed all too... Strange.

"No, this is my home, stranger. You're on our land," she replied.

"Oh... Oh really? You built this? Wait... Did you say, our?" he looked between the tower, the woman, and the dreary tree line a little bit frantically.

"My husband built it, he was a mage. And ja, my daughters are inside," she said flatly. She crossed her arms as she looked towards Areon with a pressured gaze.

"A mage? Really? I've never seen magics such as these. What does he call this magic?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know, the poor man is dead. His research is in the tower, I never could understand it.", the woman replied softly. Areon looked down to the snow, biting his lip. He closed his eyes in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Areon apologized, the woman gave him another small smile.

"If you did not know, you shouldn't apologize, ja?", she chuckled afterward. Areon nodded in wary agreement, he looked back up to her, then the tower. The weight of his chainmail reminded him why he journied this far. Information on a new kind of magic would be excellent to return with.

"This may be... Forward...", he began.

"Go ahead," she encouraged.

"I would like to see your volumes on magic, if you would have it," he finally proclaimed. The woman tilted her head to the side, giving a small smirk and turned back to the tower.

"This way," she called over her shoulder. Areon followed her cautiously, bringing the bow to his side however. She opened the iron door, and allowed Areon in before her. Areon peered into the rather well lit entrance, the inside was ice as well. She gave a small gesture with her hand, beckoning him forward. Areon thanked her, and stepped into the tower. The woman behind him, finally smiling fully. Her razored teeth showing in full, as she followed him in. The door sealed shut, and everything was quiet once again, in the Wretched Grove...

Chapter 3. -Luck be a lady... Apparently so is Chance-

The echo of the iron door snapping shut rang throughout the small little lobby of sorts. Ice smoothly ran up the length of the tower, not a single wrinkle formed in the layers. Bits of glowing stone was speckled underneath and along the walls and ceiling. Hard packed snow gave a sort of carpet, to walk upon at their feet. The woman took a few strides past Areon, to reach a lift opposite to the door. Opening the latch, she held it open for him, and they ascended the woman's strange home. The lift squeaked to a stop, as they reached the tower's collection of books and scrolls. Two other women sat there reading as well. They looked only a bit younger than Areon. One was obviously an Elf. Features typical to that of her kind. Green clothes, dark hair, and eyes that looked like they soaked the light around them. The other was a bit more difficult to place. She almost looked Adunian. The light caught her pitch black hair, with a small silver circlet gently resting upon her head. The blue dress she wore looked nearly as smooth and delicate as her pale skin. Both of them, he noticed, were very beautiful. Both of them, also, took a pause from their reading as the lift cranked up to their floor. The look they gave Areon... Was strange... At least he thought. He couldn't help feeling like those eyes did not look upon him with hatred, or benevolence. Rather... A cool interest, a sizing up of the man before them. Both of their eyes lingered a little too long at his waist, taking note of the newly forged blade at his side. Eventually their gaze traced along the rest of his body, before staring at his face with a tilt in their heads. Areon gave a polite smile to them. However his innards swirled with the queasy sense of general unease. Strange, he was in a tower of harmless and beautiful women, after all...

The oldest of the three, the woman he met prior, walked ahead of him and stood behind the two girls sitting at their table. Settling a hand on both their shoulders, she gave a small smirk. Introducing them to Areon with well apparent enthusiasm.

"Arabella, Glaewen, this is our guest... Oh, I do not think I ever got your name, stranger." The woman remarked. Areon looked back up to her, and gave a small bow in apology.

"How rude of me, as a guest. I am Areon Baldwin, of Ildon. Forgive me, but I have yet to know your name as well, m'lady."

The woman gave a bit of a mischievous giggle, before answering, "Oh, ja, forgot. I am Brunhylde. As I was saying, Areon. These are my two daughters. Arabella and Glaewen, say hello."

The two girls gave, surprisingly, warm hellos. How strange though... None of them seemed to smile large enough to show their teeth. Areon shook it off, such a strange detail to take into account. He shrugged off his pack, and set his quiver and blade aside as he sat down. His bow nestled in his lap. He cleared throat, and looked between the three in awkward silence as they continued to stare at him.

"So then... Am I free to browse your collection perhaps, Lady Brunhylde?" Areon asked. Brunhylde gave a small nod, and looked to Glaewen and Arabella.

"Keep our guest company while I clean up downstairs. Would you dears?"

"Yes, mother. Of course, mother." They both chirped. Turning their gaze directly back to Areon. Brunhylde took the lift down, Areon raised a brow, looking back to the two.

"The downstairs room did not seem dirty at all. If she was cleaning on my behalf, I would not wish her to trouble herself."

Glaewen was the only one to speak this time. She covered her mouth as she giggled. "She is cleaning the basement and cellars. It can... Get a bit messy down there."

Areon shrugged once more. How odd, perhaps he had simply interrupted their cleaning. Ignoring the sense of pressure building in his stomach, he stood and headed over to the shelves that bordered the walls. Taking out various scrolls and books, some even pamphlets, he came to one conclusion. None of these were originals. This would not have disturbed Areon, had it been a normal library. The only reason he came in here however, was to inspect the dead husband's original works. Areon had in fact read all except for one of the books in this collection. A fire was kindling in his chest now.

"Where are the original works?" Areon asked carefully. The two girls gave a small tilt of their head, then looked at eachother. A silent exchange between them lasting only a moment or two. But obvious enough for Areon standing right next to them.

"They are... In the basement. Our mother does not like having the only remains of her husband out on display..." Glaewen finally answered. Arabella decided to pipe up now. Asking a question of her own.

"Do you think you'll be staying long enough for supper? If you are, then you may as well take off that heavy chainmail. Maybe set your bow down as well."

Areon brushes his fingers against the chain collar. He shook his head in response however.

"I cannot. I am due to report by night's fall. Thank you for the offer however."

The two girls gave another look to eachother. Their backs straightening, arms settling on their laps now, away from their books. They gave their shrugs of dismissal at Areon's regrets. Suddenly, the lift began to crank into motion. Brunhylde soon came into view.

"How do you like the selection from our library, Areon?", she asks.

"It is a fine collection. I am familiar with many of the works actually. However I was looking forward to seeing your husband's works."

Brunhylde nods slowly, shifting her gaze over to the two at the table. She finally gives a small smile, and says, "I can't fulfill my previous offer, unfortuneately. I just came here to check on you all. There is still cleaning to be done."

Areon tilts his head with a frown, stuttering at first he replies, "Oh... I-I see... When should I return then?"

Brunhylde clears her throat for a moment. Tilting her head up and looking to him for a few moments. "You could potentially returned, after you have done something for me... Could you?"

Areon frowns at this change of events, however he felt obliged to sate his curiosity. "It depends on the request, Lady Brunhylde..."

"You would only have to deliver a message, to my sister and brother in law. The Volsungs. They live in Ager."

"What is the message?" Areon asks carefully once more.

"Tell them, that Brunhylde, their sister... Is alive. Then leave. Do not wait for a reply, do not offer to return a message. Leave once you have spoken my words."

Areon looks to her with a furrowed brow for a few moments.

"Well?" She asks impatiently.

"I will do it. But I will expect to see those books when I return."

Brunhylde nods, and opens the lift's latch for him. "Thank you."

With that Areon made his way down, escorted by Brunhylde. She opened the iron door for him, surprisingly, with no trouble at all. Areon made his way out, and headed back in the direction of Ildon. Once he had left, the three conversed between eachother. Glaewen began with a bitter tone.

"You literally just let our dinner walk out of the door, mother..."

Chapter 4. -Stubborn soldiers and Pompous princes-

Resting from his scoutings, Areon sat at the the richly varnished table within the castle of Winterhall. It was quiet in the vast room, but it was a good quiet. You could listen to the sounds that would otherwise go unnoticed, or be taken for granted. The crackle of flames and the pop of wood kept the room from being deftly silent. The tap of his knife clicked against the pewter plate. The soft tearing of the bread, the sipping of wine and the dull thud of the wood as Areon propped his elbows on the table. Finally the gradual flipping of pages as Areon looked to his leisurely readings. It was quiet, in Winterhall. It was good.

The doors opened not long after, wind rushed through the hall as the warm air escaped through the open threshold, blowing into the figure holding the doors. The man's head nearly brushed against the top of the entrance. His hair was completely white, his eyes gave the chilled look to accompany his frosty locks. His pointed ears just peaking out from under his hair. An Elf... Excellent... A small smirk stretched across his smooth and ageless face as he strutted across the room towards the ranger. The soles of his boots were obviously very thick, because they pounded across the wooden floor. Obnoxiously to such a degree that Areon turned away from the pages, and gave the Elf an odd look as he sat down across from him. The Elf crossed his arms, looking down at the book, then back to Areon, then the meal, then back to Areon. The annoyed ranger slowly chewed his morsel of bread, working the muscle in his jaw so it bulged. They sat like that for a few moments, before Areon finally swallowed his bread. He cleared his throat and leaned back on the chair, finally speaking.

"Well?"

"Well... What?" the Elf returned in a coy tease.

"Who are you?" Areon asked in a low tone.

"I am Adeon, and you?" the Elf named Adeon quickly replied.

"Areon Baldwin," Areon gestured to the hall around him, "of Ildon."

"What are you reading there, Areon?"

"...A book."

"Obviously, what is the title?"

Areon took a bit of a sigh at the persistence of the strange Elf. He was eager to have him leave however, and decided to quickly answer to hasten his departure. "It is of ancient Daemons, and discusses various other divines who have slumbered for eternity."

The Elf looked to Areon with a tilted head. Before taking on a more careful tone. "So a book of magic?"

"If you wish to call it that, perhaps." Areon replied, aware of the change in tone. He turned back to the book now, rudely making a point to ignore Adeon.

"You are intrigued by magic, Areon?"

"I am... Who wouldnt be?"

Adeon remained silent for some time, then leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. "I am a Mage myself. It is good to see a human who does not dismiss magics so bluntly."

Areon looked around the empty room for an awkward few seconds. "Why are you whispering?"

"There are more than just trees in the woods, Areon."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Nevermind... What do you know of magic?"

And so the spontaneous meeting grew into involved conversation between the odd pair. Adeon was learning the powers of fire, himself. While Areon simply had a curious fascination with magics. He held the fabled Seven Paladins in the most regard. They went on for nearly an hour uninterrupted. That is, before a second wanderer came through the doors to Winterhall...

Shorter than Adeon was, the man walked in tromping his feet at the front. Snow fell off his iron clad boots. He jangled and clanged his way over to the two sitting at the table. Giving a smug smile as they watched him with perplexed looks. His hair was crimson brown, with a freshly trimmed beard wrapping around his jawline, and around his mouth. His armor was obviously richly made. The colors of red and black marked him as a knight of Salvus. Oh excellent... A knight. Areon squeezed the bridge of his nose as the serene sounds of the evening were drowned out by the clamor of the armor and gear.

"Good evening!" boomed the knight. Subtleness was obviously not this man's strong suit. Adeon and Areon gave eachother a glance, turning back to the knight and nodding to him. The knight, as thick as his armor, did not pick up on the atmosphere his presence brought. He instead went to sit at the chair right next to Areon.

"So then, men!" The man exclaimed, leaving Areon to blink at the volume. "What has occured within Ildon recently?"

Areon cleared his throat, trying even harder to provide dull company. "I could not tell you, Ser knight. For I have just returned from scoutings and I intended to have a quiet evening in a warm hall."

"Ah, a bannerman then. You should show more initiative in greeting someone of my status."

Areon sipped at his wine, looking down at the remnants of his meal as he spoke. "Forgive me, but I haven't an idea who you are."

The knight seemed taken aback by this new piece of information. Finally he answered, "I am Ser Lancel Hightower, prince and heir to throne of Salvus!"

Areon nods to him in a lazy bow, "Evening to you, prince and knight of Salvus. I am Areon Baldwin. Scout and archer to the banner to the Elendils of the Adunian line."

The prince taps his fingers on the table for a moment, before turning to Adeon and speaking pleasantries to him. Finally the conversation diverted back to his interests. Knights were naturally brought up.

"I do not believe magics are pure or proper. You do not see noble knights casting spells."

Areon couldn't help himself. He scoffed and went to reach for more wine. The prince turned to him slowly with a firm scowl.

"Something you find funny?" the prince asked.

Ignorant of the loaded question, Areon answered honestly. That was a mistake. "Your notion of noble knights. No offense to you, of course. I just do not believe knights noble."

The prince stood with nostrils flared, "Mean offense or not, you have insulted my brothers. I demand you to apologize."

"No." Areon replied flatly.

"No? No?! Do you know who I am? I am the prince of Salvus! A knight, I uphold the law of the empire!"

"I wasn't aware that the law requires me to baby a knight's feeling. This is Ildon, you have no business here. I have entertained you to the best of my abilities. But this is not your land and you are not my lord." Areon rambled on in a concoction of wine and annoyance finally bursting into a mixture of half-drunken rage.

The prince, did not appreciate this display of insubordination. "I demand satisfaction by combat!"

Areon laughed at him, gesturing to the empty halls, then to his bow and quiver. "I am in my hall, and I am not one who 'duels'. I am a bowman, not a knight, I do not fight out in the open."

"You will draw your sword, or I will slay you for being a coward..."

"Attacking an unarmed man in his own hall. My, how noble of you."

The prince drew his blade in response to this. Areon instinctively skipped off, drawing his own blade. Adeon watched with wide eyes, as Areon backed off into the center of the room. His bow and quiver, lay on the table where he left them...

What was he supposed to do? He had to fight, that much was apparent. But could he win? Or should he even try for that matter? He was fighting a prince, and whichever way you could spin it, the justice would side with their noble. Never would the soldier be supported. Areon was in a difficult position, his pride, or his life.

The duel began in the very hall...

The prince charged to him full of reckless abandon. Why shouldn't he? Fully armored against a ranger in chainmail, he had a good chance to finish it then. Areon parried the initial strike and squatted down, ramming his shoulder into the prince and knocking him off balance. The prince tumbled into the corner of the room behind the table. Areon could have finished him there. Something made him stop though...

The prince had finally recovered and approached somewhat more carefully now. His face contorted in rage as his hands fidgeted. The prince gave wild and daring swings. Areon struck against the prince's midsection, making only small dents in his armor. Finally, the prince landed a hard strike across Areon's chest. Ripping the mail and crimsoning his jacket. It was a good thing he wore chainmail today...

Areon fell to the ground gasping in pain. The prince walked over to him, hovering his now bloody sword over Areon's throat.

"I could kill you if I wished, peasant. But I will show you some knightly mercy, and allow you to learn some respect." the prince said ominously. Areon could only struggle for breath, as his slashed chest rose and fell shakily. The prince gave him a few more moments to dread. Then walked off, he never returned that day.

Adeon, a bystander who had no reason to become part of the conflict, suddenly intervened. He cleaned and dressed Areon's wound. Rubbing the leftover wine in, and taking off his tarnished mail and shirt. As he mended Areon's cut, he spoke to him.

"You know Areon, Mages are much more reasonable than those who prefer to wield a hunk of metal around. If I were you, I would consider a new line of work, or lifestyle at least. You won't survive like this for long if you never intend to use your bow." Adeon rattled on. Areon could not help but listen. Considering he was being treated by him.

"What do you say then, Adeon? Am I to look for a master and become a mage?" Areon replied with an edge in his tone.

"Well yes, you certainly have potential. I could even direct you to my own. His name is Elindor." Adeon returned dryly.

"I will... Consider it, Adeon..." Areon answered. However he already decided.

Chapter 5. -Arriving at Ager-

Work in progress.

[Salamandra 1136]

[[i DEMAND MOAR]]

[Acornlad 206]

((Friggin awesome man, great job))

[Augor 142]

(( Yes, Very good, I like. I believe I have learned a few more things about Areon Baldwin Today. ))

[Sultan 3953]

(Very nice read traitor :P)

[Augor 142]

(( Lovin' the new chapters, I demand moar. ))

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

((You're going to be continuing this, right? =D ))

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

[[sure, why not. Once I get the Frostbeard clan page up, that is. -_-]]

[Thatpyrodude 2008]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.