His eyes fall on the sword that has caught Reòthadh's attention. "By all the gods." The whisper is both reverent and disbelieving. "What happened to it? Alalla left the blade with me some time ago, a shattered masterpiece. Took all my skill to piece it back together, but no magic graced its edge. But see now how it shines!" He stares at Reòthadh with wide eyes. "What did you do?"
Kuldahar
His eyes fall on the sword that has caught Reòthadh's attention. "By all the gods." The whisper is both reverent and disbelieving. "What happened to it? Alalla left the blade with me some time ago, a shattered masterpiece. Took all my skill to piece it back together, but no magic graced its edge. But see now how it shines!" He stares at Reòthadh with wide eyes. "What did you do?"
I suppose that is why I'm here.
Finding a suitable place, Alalla kneels and lays her glaive down in front of her knees, then removes her gauntlets and fishes Lord Ulbrec's book from its place hidden in her breastplate. She fusses with it for a moment before noticing that the worn cover is slightly more worn than she received it. She puts it down in front of her quickly, as though it might fall apart.
Pull yourself together, Al.
She sighs, one long slow breath, then turns to meditating, focusing on the faded heart on the book's cover, and the beat of her own in her chest.
Is it wrong to pray to a different god when in another's temple? Some would certainly take offence. Torm and Ilmater are supposed to be friends and allies, though. She'll have to risk it.
Great Torm. Thank you for the power you've given me. I mean, I'm assuming it was you. Alalla grimaces. Great start. Thank you, but it isn't enough. I need to be stronger to protect the Dale. I think... I think I know how to be. She recalls Father Tulfgyr speaking with Jhonen about paladin oaths. A source of strength and power. A great responsibility. A source of purpose. I already have purpose, she continues irritably, hearing Poquelin's words echo in her mind, and I'll sacrifice much to achieve it. But I won't swear oaths to a master I don't know. I can't make promises that will break the ones I've made already. Words spent, Alalla sits in the silence, brow furrowed.
What are you even asking for? A sign? A vision?
Zenithral gets visions.
And he's half-elven, born in a temple of Ilmater and raised under his precepts. What are you?
It takes all of Alalla's pride and spite for herself to remain kneeling on the stone. She is not about to be sent fleeing from a temple from embarrassment. She is not.
Al closes her eyes and visualizes the heart on the cover beating in time with her own, her only goal a calm and clear mind.
The voice - deep and resonant, yet surprisingly familiar - seems to vibrate every bone in her body. In the blink of an eye she is somewhere else. Not physically. Alalla has been on enough planar jaunts to understand that this is a spiritual journey. That makes it no less real to her sensibilities, however. This is no mere vision.
She kneels on spectral knees upon a marble floor in a circular room. Thick pillars line the walls around her, and by the glow of torches of white flame she can make out murals painted onto each one.
On one pillar is a scene of a young, insecure girl standing with fists clenched before a boy. The painting shows remarkable detail in the girl's musculature, showing that even now she is stronger than most adult men. The boy is depicted with a condescending sneer.
Another pillar shows the same girl, now a woman, in warrior's garb. She kneels in bloody snow, bound by divine command, before a burly orc. Above them both looms a two-story building that smolders with embers, and a second orc looks down from a shattered doorway. The woman's face is locked in ferocious determination.
Everywhere Alalla turns she sees another pillar showing a scene familiar to her... The woman standing over a weeping orc in torn armor.
The woman stepping forward to lead a group of adventurers.
The woman, younger again, walking alongside a caravan with glaive in hand.
The woman reducing a man to ash with a flaming sword.
The young child, held close by a dark-skinned man and an orc woman.
His helmeted head nods toward her respectfully. "Greetings, Alalla Cort Blacksheaf. I am Torm." It is a simple statement of introduction, but the power radiating from this being is beyond that of anything she has felt before. Except, perhaps, for one... But just as Alalla feels her mind cast itself back to dwell on Gruumsh, the thought fades away. The One-Eyed God truly has no power here.
"You have some questions for me. I will give what answers I can."
Shaking fingers reach up to brush the painting of Shelur, her mother. Her father's carvings were perfect replicas, for the medium, but to see her mother's face again, so detailed, in full size and colour...
Coming to her senses somewhat, Al snatches her hand away and turns on her heel to face Torm. She is unsure wether to salute or bow, so she stays as she is in her stance of military readiness, and cringes on the inside.
She opens her mouth to ask a question, but then her eye is drawn by the image of her teenage self. The painting portrays just a second before Alalla punched that boy in the jaw, dropping him. She doesn't remember why, except that he was a bully and she had felt justified. Until Lady Elytharra walked by, that is, and gave her an appraising look that sent her to shame.
"What is all this? What's it for?" Al winces inwardly, but her face remains smooth. That wasn't what she meant to ask. Hopefully she hasn't wasted her questions.
Trials. Triumphs. Failures. Lessons learned in ages that history has forgotten.
It is dizzying, but also genuine. With newfound wisdom, Alalla understands that this embodiment of goodly virtue before her stands with surety in his deific position. There is no malice, nor guile. No sense of hiding from her whatever imperfections or mistakes he has made during his long existence. This being is at true peace with his place in the cosmos - and yet there is only humility in that claim.
He lowers his hand and the murals once more show Alalla's life.
"You stated you would not swear oaths to a master you did not know. Now that we have met, what is your judgement?"
"I trust I would do much good in your service," Al says, thinking on how many of Torm's precepts she's unknowingly strived for her whole life, "but I don't want to do any good. I can't. I've committed to lead the orcs that have left Gruumsh." Her eyes fall again on her mother's face, and she clenches her gauntleted fists in determination. "I am still small and weak in the cosmos, but I aim to draw as many as I can from him. To give them as much freedom as I possibly can." Alalla looks the deity in the eye. "Will you help me do that?"
"If I were to aid you in this endeavor, what form would you expect my aid to take?"
"Your endorsement, at the least. A god I serve has to approve of my mission, and I can't be constantly called away on godly errands if I'm to lead the orcs. They are my errand. I know it is presumptuous to dictate how I am to serve, but bringing a new people under the protection of civilization and law is something I was lead to believe is very Tormish.
At most..." She sighs. "I know next to nothing of souls or afterlives, but I've seen what awaits us... them... when they die. I do not blame the orcs who choose to stay by Gruumsh in life when he has control over them in death. Not all are as spiteful as me, or as keen to worsen hell for themselves. What can be done for those that would follow me? I've been teaching them your precepts. Is there any aid you can offer?"
The last comes out more desperate than she would like, but that is how she feels, after all. This is not Belhifet or Gruumsh, looking for any weakness to exploit. Surely the True Deity would be able to discern those things anyway.
Al bows her head, letting some of the weight on her shoulders show. "I fear for them," she admits. "I'm asking them to come down a dangerous path. A path that ends in misery in Nishrek. And I no longer even share that fate with them. How can they trust me if I don't share the risks? If they can't reap the same rewards?"
Torm raises his head and seems to stare into the distance. "The problem is that Gruumsh holds their chains legitimately. He owns the orcs. Freeing them means interacting with the eternal laws that he uses to keep them bound to him."
He taps the hilt of his sword with one finger. A very precise gesture. "I could challenge him to a duel and bet on the stakes, and so gain the orcs' freedom myself. But why would he agree to such an arrangement, unless he stood to gain as much or more? And what would I offer? What would I dare concede to that tyrant, should I lose?
I could convene with the rest of Mount Celestia and begin a motion to remove the laws that Gruumsh exploits. But how many of your centuries might that take?
Some few orcs might enter my clergy or knighthood and so escape Gruumsh, but the entire race? That is no solution for them."
Torm shakes his head. "There may be other options, but they will need to be sought out. What I can promise is that as you grow in strength and reknown, the more orcs you will draw after and the more Gruumsh will fear you. The fewer devotees a god has, the less power they wield.
As for being called away on other duties, you have nothing to fear for the foreseeable future. A minor paladin would have superiors to assign them duties and responsibilities, but in the land of Icewind Dale I have no organized chapter. Swear the oaths and you will be your own master, to act according to the tenets as you see fit. To eradicate evil as you choose. To act in my name to uphold the virtues of order and law. To name and organize knights of your own. To lead them and teach them by example. And along every step of the path to rid the North of this archdevil you will have my strength to sustain and empower you."
Each of the god's words fills the air around Alalla, a resonant hum that promises only the highest ideals of integrity and honor.
"It is an agreement of reciprocal trust and loyalty between you and me. Will you enter into it?"
Her hand curls as though aching to run through invisible hair. "Lance is the more somber of the two. He is often still, either reading or just staring. But he corrected me once when I was cooking - not a strength of mine, by the way. I misread the recipe and was about to add entirely too much of one particular spice. He was sitting on the counter. He reached out his hand and stopped me, then corrected my measurements. His touch was so gentle."
She lapses into silence for a moment. "Mona... She started playing some tricks, up until Ilmadia came. Hiding my shoes or switching out the bookmarks in my tomes. 'Twas all a game to her. But any injured animal that made its way to the house concerned her greatly. She seemed to feel their pain as her own, and often used whatever strange power she has to take on their injuries, if I was not quick enough to heal them. But she never told me why.
Speaking was not an activity either of them engaged in often, though they certainly understood everything I said to them. The little speaking they did was of you." She meets Zenithral's eyes and touches his face once more. "They missed you. We all did. And now that you have returned, they are missing." She drops her hand and sniffs sharply to cover up the tears that threaten to return. "Wherever they are, I am sure they would rather be here with you. With us."
Alalla gets down on one knee and puts her fist over her dragon heart. It's racing. She ignores it and, head bowed, she makes her oaths.
"I swear to be a champion of the weak and the defenseless. I swear to be unyielding as I battle evil. I swear to serve the common good and the rule of law as righteously established by honourable rulers, and I also swear to establish just and good laws and be honourable in my rule. I swear to continue to seek prowess and skill in all my endeavors. I swear I will stand ever alert against corruption. I swear to obey you as my master and uphold your tenets to which I have sworn."
Is that it? She meant to touch on all of his tenets, but she only learned them a few days ago. Yes, I think that- No. There is one more thing.
"As part of my oaths to you, I also swear servitude to the orcish people. I will uphold my oaths by fulfilling my duties to them as chief to the best of my ability, with the goal of protecting as many as possible from Gruumsh, and raising them up into civilization. I am so much stronger than I ever dreamed, but still so small in the universe." Alalla's fist clenches tighter. "They may no longer wish to follow me, but I will do all I can to free them. I will never stop searching for a way. This I swear."
There. I ought to have used formal words like Zenithral did in his wedding vows. He'd know how to speak to a god properly. I'll have to get him to teach me.
Seeing the array of images around her, representations of her life, she finds herself appreciating it all with a new perspective. The good. The bad. The balance. Somehow it all seems... whole.
She seems whole.
When she finishes, Torm speaks words that fill her with light. "I accept your oaths, and give you a name by which you shall be known in my order."
He reaches down with one gauntleted hand to pull the paladin to her feet. "Rise, Lady Alalla Cagebreaker."
After he releases her hand, Alalla finds herself once more kneeling in the Temple of Ilmater in Kuldahar.
She has taken a large responsibility upon herself, and made vows to bind her to the responsibilities she already has more strongly, but even so, the weight on her shoulders feels lessened. She can feel her friends hands helping to lift it, now. She can feel Erevain straining to give her room to breathe. She can feel Torm's hand on her back, giving her strength.
As she stands, Al feels taller than she has in a long time. She looks at the dark book in her hand then touches it to her forehead lightly.
"Thank you," she whispers. To Torm, yes, but also Commander Crale, Lady Elytharra, Lord Ulbrec, Mother Egenia, her family, her friends, and all the other hands who have gotten her to this point. She will be enough. Because of them, she will be enough.
With one last quick prayer to thank Ilmater for returning Zenithral to them and for lending her space in his temple, Alalla exits, head high.
"Incredible work, Conlan!" she says by way of greeting. "That's the sword we told you about, Reothadh. The sea elf told Jhonen it belonged to his ancestor Aihonen, and used it to slay the dragon. Is it the one you remember?"
She turns back to the smith. "Reothadh was there when the dragon was slain. Wrestled it to the ground with his bare hands, or so he says." She winks at the dwarf. "He was bigger then."
A dwerf remembers this one, it's magic must've been slumber'n like a dwerf did. May a dwerf?
He gestures to pick up the blades in his hands. Moving the blade back and forth he shifts the weight of the balance in his hands.
"Aye, it still has a nice feel to it; the blade be true and tested, never did it fail Aihonen even in his dying breath she struck true.
Tears once again grace the face of the ancient dwarf for a moment, but it briefly passes. Setting the blade back into its display, he turns to face the blacksmith.
"Yer craftsmanship is unrivaled, blacksmith, even by the fire giants. This blade has served the North when times were not too different from now; things were dire an' many would have died if she hadn't been wielded by one brave enough t' use her. This one here could wield such a blade if she willed her heart to bear it. To what would such a blade cost for us to purchase such a relic?"
A heavy thump outside the shop has the blacksmith looking up with alarm. Acting quickly, he snaps the sword's case shut and hands it to Reòthadh. "Certainly better your hands than theirs!"
Kaleel looks surprised to see Alalla and Reòthadh there. He grunts, then shares a message. "The boys have found the trail of some orcs. We need more arrows if we're going to drive the pigs out. Mirek needs five-score." When Conlan reaches for his logbook, Kaleel shakes his head. "He also says that due to your gratitude for keeping the town safe, you'll be happy to provide them free of charge."
Conlan mutters under his breath and begins to count several quivers of arrows.
"I shall take command of this expedition. If I'm right, I know these orcs. I am their chieftess, and they are passing this way under my orders." She stands straight-backed and imperious in her armour, clearly expecting Kaleel's full compliance and respect despite- or because of- her declarations. "If I'm wrong, and the matter can't be settled peacefully, then you can have these."
Tucking the bundle under her arm, Al turns to Reothadh. "Will you come along? I could use a cool and experienced head with me."