Baldur's Gate: A Journal attempt in novelistic style. {{}}
Eadwyn_G8keeper
Member Posts: 541
It is a near Universal axiom expounded by all the Ancient Doctors of Literature that great care should be taken in fashioning the first sentence of any opus, even one of such a humble form as this, a Journal. I disagree, holding that the second, in moving away or outward from the first, reveals without insisting upon the point somewhat of the Nature of Life itself.
Within that moving away and outward, what some have called the Universal "On", shadow of the Demiurge, is where I deem our interest should be lodge. A difficult housing indeed but, even so, I have endeavored to begin. And you shall be the Judge.
I remember first strangely, a simple rabbit in a dewy morn, small and grey, that roused me from a low crouch deep in some thicket where, mindless and staring, I had endured the long, slow gathering of light, as Day, unstoppable in its course, unfolded. The rabbit nosed its way about, some 20-30 yards away ~to my left as I looked to the South~ as if nothing was amiss. As if Meaning itself was still an easy assumption. Hopping softly about as it nibbled, now here, now there and briskly looked about.
It occurred to me that if I could carefully make my way to the road that must surely lie not far ahead, without disturbing the rabbit unduly, then that would be a good beginning to what might prove a very long day. But it was not so easy. My normally limber and quite capable physique was a clenched mass of tension and the newly purchased Splint Mail, which had pleased my vanity so greatly just yesterday, was still an unfamiliar challenge to movement. And the new Longbow, a quiver-full of arrows and last, but not least, Bessie, my War Hammer.
In spite of myself, I almost laughed out loud, forgetting a moment, the pain, the fear, the emptiness... Bessie! I had actually christened the Hammer ~with water from Oghma's Temple, no less. Bessie..!
And I became calm. My ability to focus returned.
Surveying the ground I picked out a likely route and moved forward, imagining myself to be like the Rangers I had enjoyed reading of in my latter years at Candlekeep. I actually covered a good 15-20 feet before the rabbit in question, deigned to notice me. It did not flee, merely moving somewhat further away with what seemed a deliberate nonchalance. And it then returned to the business of eating...
I cannot convey how strange that was! A clear joy took hold of me after such hours of terror endured in the night. I forged ahead to the road, The Lion's Way, which was indeed close by and turned to look once more for my disdainful brother, the rabbit, as if to bid farewell. But it was gone and my seized gaze soared over the forest verge as if an eagle had taken flight from my forehead to the place where Gorion's body now lay.
Alas, for Lord Gorion, Master of Candlekeep Fortress, Guardian of Lore, mighty of mind and magic, now, in a moment, gone beyond this frame called Life. For Gorion was surely dead. I shuddered to remember how helpless he seemed at the last, his magic exhausted, having vanquished all of his foes -but one, a tall weirdly armored figure who felled my Foster-Father of 20 years with a single powerful blow from his sword.
The spell or instinct which had held me transfixed in the hiding place from which I had witnessed the furious battle, knowing myself profoundly outclassed, collapsed at once and, heedless of danger, I fled, judging that, if there were others unseen watching for me, my best hope lay in immediate escape and distance.
Within that moving away and outward, what some have called the Universal "On", shadow of the Demiurge, is where I deem our interest should be lodge. A difficult housing indeed but, even so, I have endeavored to begin. And you shall be the Judge.
I remember first strangely, a simple rabbit in a dewy morn, small and grey, that roused me from a low crouch deep in some thicket where, mindless and staring, I had endured the long, slow gathering of light, as Day, unstoppable in its course, unfolded. The rabbit nosed its way about, some 20-30 yards away ~to my left as I looked to the South~ as if nothing was amiss. As if Meaning itself was still an easy assumption. Hopping softly about as it nibbled, now here, now there and briskly looked about.
It occurred to me that if I could carefully make my way to the road that must surely lie not far ahead, without disturbing the rabbit unduly, then that would be a good beginning to what might prove a very long day. But it was not so easy. My normally limber and quite capable physique was a clenched mass of tension and the newly purchased Splint Mail, which had pleased my vanity so greatly just yesterday, was still an unfamiliar challenge to movement. And the new Longbow, a quiver-full of arrows and last, but not least, Bessie, my War Hammer.
In spite of myself, I almost laughed out loud, forgetting a moment, the pain, the fear, the emptiness... Bessie! I had actually christened the Hammer ~with water from Oghma's Temple, no less. Bessie..!
And I became calm. My ability to focus returned.
Surveying the ground I picked out a likely route and moved forward, imagining myself to be like the Rangers I had enjoyed reading of in my latter years at Candlekeep. I actually covered a good 15-20 feet before the rabbit in question, deigned to notice me. It did not flee, merely moving somewhat further away with what seemed a deliberate nonchalance. And it then returned to the business of eating...
I cannot convey how strange that was! A clear joy took hold of me after such hours of terror endured in the night. I forged ahead to the road, The Lion's Way, which was indeed close by and turned to look once more for my disdainful brother, the rabbit, as if to bid farewell. But it was gone and my seized gaze soared over the forest verge as if an eagle had taken flight from my forehead to the place where Gorion's body now lay.
Alas, for Lord Gorion, Master of Candlekeep Fortress, Guardian of Lore, mighty of mind and magic, now, in a moment, gone beyond this frame called Life. For Gorion was surely dead. I shuddered to remember how helpless he seemed at the last, his magic exhausted, having vanquished all of his foes -but one, a tall weirdly armored figure who felled my Foster-Father of 20 years with a single powerful blow from his sword.
The spell or instinct which had held me transfixed in the hiding place from which I had witnessed the furious battle, knowing myself profoundly outclassed, collapsed at once and, heedless of danger, I fled, judging that, if there were others unseen watching for me, my best hope lay in immediate escape and distance.
Post edited by Eadwyn_G8keeper on
3
Comments
Our journey had surely been no secret. Everyone I had met -since Gorion, who had become increasingly preoccupied and indrawn, as if wrestling with a weighty matter, had informed me of our imminent departure seemed to have already gleaned something was afoot and were hardly able to restrain themselves from imparting all sorts of last minute wisdoms. Just the kind of tidbits I had been hankering to hear for years... Anyhow, this unlikely event, for it was to be a hurried and furtive departure, was awaiting only my getting my small JourneyKit together and the purchase of what was, in fact, my first Adult Equipment, funded by no small amount of Gold Coins from Gorion's strongbox.
That it would be only the two of us, without even a token escort, I could have never imagined. And then, at some point, some brazen -but brawny- fool, who must have been drugged, attacked me, armed with nothing but a dagger. And paid the price...quickly!! But no one had known him, a thing unheard-of in the closely guarded precinct of that island fastness, home to perhaps the most celebrated storehouse of Knowledge and Lore in all the lands of Faerun.
It was in the Priest's Quarters, where I had dropped-by to bid farewell to my friend Beaticus, cousin of my long-time mentor and chief confessor Adelphus, who had passed away from the wasting sickness during the previous winter. Odd that it should have been there.. Later I had found Beaticus in the Infirmary who pressed upon me a Healing Potion even though I knew such a thing to be a rare boon, unsure whether to protest its overgenerosity or to be taken aback that he so patently considered it needful.
And then Firebead Elvenhair, bless his kindly heart, having adamantly refused to shed any light upon a matter which Lord Gorion had deemed it best to leave in shadows, despite my repeated entreaties both before and after running a small errand for him [retrieving a scroll of Identification from Tethtoril, Priest and Chief-Reader(?)] had abruptly dismissed me while at the same moment, as if with an absent-minded gesture, slipping me a small but weighty purse. Later I found it to contain 300GP. An astonishing sum!!
Even Imoen, with whom I had shared so many hours and years in this sequestered regimen of scholarship and, of course, within earshot of its famous Chanters, even Imoen had seemed to know all about it. But that, at least, did not seem out of character for the only other longtime Ward of Candlekeep, my fellow, albeit sisterly, inmate who was some 2 years younger than I, though neither of us had any reliable memories of our earliest years. She had seemed eager to join us and I had found it easy to assume her probable inclusion even though, in the event, I forgot completely to mention her when Gorion simply began walking directly towards the Gatehouse.
No fanfare. No trumpets. And the evening was drawing nigh. A journey by night, avoiding the well-travelled ways and cutting cross-country and out of sight. And it was very odd, chillingly so, and we were off, and down the Causeway, and ambling oddly about on various game-trails for what seemed hours. I suppose Gorion had wished to leave some precautionary side trails for anyone trying to track our early movements for a scrimshaw of our plans. And Imoen was not of our party nor was there any mention of her name.
The Wards of Gorion and Lord Gorion was dead: ambushed, murdered, waylaid in the darkness. Who was She? And Who was I? And what Power lay behind this uncannily informed and nearly succesful attack. "Nearly....!", I thought, screaming inside, but what if my still remaining alive, with Gorion's guidance removed, was precisely the desired result. It bore no thinking of... And WHY had no one come??? My heart was filled with foreboding and shadows.
And then she came. Imoen. A cloud was upon that meeting--and questions, many questions. But I was glad, very glad, to see her.
Dressed for the trail, I saw she had her small rucksack plus Shortbow and Goosefeather Arrows, which
heartened me greatly. She and I were both fair-to-middling archers, or perhaps a bit better than that.
But how did she come to be here, apparently alone?! Where had she been headed before encountering me?
What a moment! -My kid sister, Gorion's murder, bows&arrows and me, Eadwyn Silvermaqne, wearing splint mail with a War Hammer - well, my foster-sister but, really, not even that. Imoen and I were unique. The longtime wards of Candlekeep [Ed note: or, more personally, wards of Gorion-something still unclear]. The Arch-Duo we called ourselves, in secret partnership against the world, especially the weird Chanters, of whom we had long delighted in compiling a list of ever more fanciful suspicions. Both of us assumed, though it was a subject we never discussed, that our parents had died, perhaps in mysterious circumstances no one wished to discuss. Two sets of parents, of course, as I was, and am, Halfelven and Imoen of humankind, with, at most, some small trace of another admixture.
I could see that she was about to call out a greeting as she drew near and "shushed" her with a finger to my lips. She got it. Uncanny, really, how closely her tense mood matched my own, her eyes flickering over the forest eaves on either side. I motioned for her to follow and drew away toward a sheltered copse of Balsam Fir where we could confer while remaining watchful of the roadway.
> "Gorion's dead..." I began. She briskly nodded her head and I could feel the shiver that went through her and the tears she would not allow herself to shed till later, alone. Talkative and sociable as she was, always curious with a certain pride in her investigative feats, Imoen was nevertheless, at a certain level, alone. Something we shared. At the time I did not find it unusual and easily explained by our orphaned status in this center of erudition and scholarship. Neither of us had seen or knew much of the outside world, as yet, even though Imoen delighted in Candlekeep's renowned collection of Illuminated Maps and Natural Histories while I had always been drawn to chronicles of Kings and Kingdoms, particularly the Legends of ********** ,Blessed Father-Mothers of the Halfelven lineage-lore.
> "I had half-afeared already that it was so...", she barely managed to murmur and then silence. From some distance came the sound of crows. I shifted nervously, unsure of how to proceed...
> "But...that makes no sense! And how can you be out here alone with no idea where to go?? Surely there must be more behind you. We, Gorion!....or, be-as-it-may, I, could have been many miles afield by now. I swear I oughta pop you one except I am so happy to see your funny face."
> "Eaddicus, brudder-mein..OK! Just slow down. Breathe.. Do you have ears to hear something you should know quickly before we get to your accounting of last night??" I nodded briefly and held my tongue.
> "They know!", she whispered intensely, "I swear it, at Candlekeep, at least some..! O, not, perhaps, that Gorion is dead, as you say. But, that there was a significant battle close at hand last night, somewhere in the direction of the old Druid Circles, a clash of high-level arcanum weilders, that much even the meanest scullery maid or pig-keeper must have heard by now. Last night I couldn't sleep at all, just a bundle of nerves and well, maybe, definitely, a little bit pissed that you guys had left without me... It was as if the whole place was filled with a strange occult energy. I couldn't sit still in one place for more than a minute without fretting.
> So I decided to make myself some Chamomile tea in the Refectory. And then I climbed up into the Belfry Tower.."
> "But the Belfry is always locked up at night...what with the bats and all..." ,I protested.
> "Oh, is it? I didn't know...", she replied vaguely, as if thinking of something else. Typical. "Anyhow, I hadn't been there more than a few minutes when I saw something like a distant thunderstorm, only it wasn't. It was magic. Powerful stuff. Strangely beautiful, the colors! But what am I saying, you, of course, must have been there..."
> "Something like that!", I rejoined, covering my still turbulent cluelessness with at least an allusion to manly brilliance. "Pffffft-!!"
> "My point", she continued, "is that it was LOUD and of such a brightness that any sentries on duty surely heard and saw it!!
> "And then,this morning, everyone seemed to be kinda stumbling about, dazed, unwilling to talk, as if they had important matters to attend to. Somebody had to be preparing a party to investigate--or maybe they already had been dispatched in secret and I had missed it, again... Be-as-it-may, you know I could never let a Mystery like this pass me by. So...I grabbed my stuff, a few supplies, -and here I am"
> "One more thing. As I approached the Gate, not at all sure of what I was doing, Hull looked up, as if his heart were breaking. He just nodded as I went past. 'You be careful, out there...', was all he said, as if he had been expecting me."
> "I....I, Eadwyn, -I don't think anyone else will come... That's it. Now what about you? At least no arm chopped-off, I see." I said nothing. "Shouldn't we go back there, to Gorion, I mean?? There is always a possibility that, well, you know, Resurrection and all. And there might be clues we can find.."
> I knew what she meant. "No, I don't think the Priests will be able to restore Gorion to life. Our attackers were not the sort to leave that avenue open. But you're right, there could be some clues. Necessary clues! But let us be quick! I want us both to be far away from here by nightfall and my heart agrees that some darkness hold sway, for now, in Candlekeep. But, Imoen, this is a different journey now. Without Gorion, just the two of us, headed who knows where or for how long, with enemies in the field against us, powerful enemies. The safety of Candlekeep is near at hand and, for you at least, still an--"
> "Shut-UP!!", was all she said, smirking at my all too obvious hero-line..And then, "I even brought some lunch, you know, food. And oh, to clarify, I really only set out to investigate the battle scene this morning. That either you or Gorion might still be in the vicinity was not really, like, you know... let's get going!!
Keep up the good work, Eadwyn. I'm really enjoying it.
I have little memory of what I actually put into words there, at first, for Imoen, only that it seemed to have been mostly coherent as far as the salient details went, at least judging by the silence which was her only response. There had been, I think, only three of them: a small Magic-user, whether Cleric or Mage I was unsure, of some kind, Gnomish perhaps; a huge, probably Half-ogre Warrior armed with a Morningstar...and their Deadly Captain, tall, fell-voiced, probably Human, armored in strange fashion which, in the uncertain moonlight, I could hardly ascertain.
In my memory they had come boldly out from the forest surrounding the ancient Stone Circle grounds, whose history I pass over here, not waiting for us in ambush, as if there was something of ritual honor or formal shape to the encounter. There was a brief contentious parley which I remember not at all, only that Gorion and somewhat of his purposes was known to them and they and what they represented known, perhaps long-known, to Gorion, Lord and Master of Candlekeep.
"Now we are very near...", I whispered placing a restraining hand on her arm, my senses trained upon the treeless clearing ahead --some 200-250 yrds in length and @100yrds in width though it was probably much larger in Eldritch times "I deem it would be best to have you scouting before we venture further, though I doubt not that any enemies lying in wait would be well obscured. But that is our reality now. Where there is water to drink when we are thirsty, where there is food to eat when we are starving, like all living things, there surely we must go."
Something like that... I had been trying to steel myself for confessing the awful and dreamlike truth that, during the short-lived catastrophe, I had not even so much as thought to unlimber my Longbow. As if what I had been the unlikely witness of was happening in some other world, an ancient legend encountered in a musty tome, as if at any moment someone would crack a joke and it would all turn out to be good-natured roughhousing, a sort of pecking order tussle. Or perhaps I was truly ensorcelled. I still do not know... Anyhow, that intention erelong passed into the Void out of which Oghma clambered so long ago. Some few minutes later, I saw Imoen emerge again, strolling towards a sunny perch, apparently unconcerned, from a stand of oaks with a bunch of Muscadine Grapes, as if with some testament of a blessed or at least momentarily normal time and place.
Carefully, I first made a patient 100 count, then prepped my Longbow and joined her, nodding silently to her left, where I could glimpse, some 40 yrds ahead, the hem of Gorion's robe and a booted foot...his fine-carved staff..a shoulder, the widespread hair, that noble countenance now rigid with pain. And the blood, the blood, the unexpected blood... His bowels disgorged. The horrible pestilent flies. And his hands, even in cold, violent Death, elegant...
His body had not been unduly despoiled. A final well-judged dagger thrust had severed his vertebrae at the nape of his neck. So his death had been swift...
We found a letter he carried which sadly shed little light upon the event. It was signed only with a large capital 'E'. [Ed. note: See appendix] . His dagger. And a travelling purse with @60 GP.
[Gameplay note: I have only vanilla BG so no Belt of Antipodes. More specs about the constraints I am trying to place upon this Adventure as they become settled in my mind. I will not be attempting anything approaching a Minimal Reload but unplanned Party Reformations are possible. My HP levelling policy for Charname and NPCs will be first Level-up with Par or better HP gain. More later.]
So our attackers had not even lingered a moment or had perhaps disdained the role of ordinary brigands.
A quick search revealed no other bodies - so the Mage and Warrior whom I had seen fall to Gorion's Magic Missiles must have been revived by their
Captain, or perhaps just the HalfOgre, who could easily have carried...
"Now what?", said Imoen as I stooped to retrieve an Obsidian Necklace from where one of our enemies had fallen, "It seems like we should do something for his body but I can hardly see us digging a proper grave without returning to Candlekeep for shovels. --Like, 'Hey there, Dreppin, wonder if you could sort out the Gardener for us right quick! Cheerio! Little matter of some grave-digging we want to attend to...' As if!!"
Never have I rued my shortcomings in the Wisdom of Faith more than at that moment. A Priest of Oghma I had longed to be, but all my secret efforts had failed to establish the Sacred Link required for the ordination of Initiates. I did not have Authority to speak the Holy Words of Power to any effect. But nevertheless, I spoke them, some half-remembered scraps of the Liturgy of Passage, with a few added words of my own. And felt better for having done so. Much better.
"A Magus among us..!" Halraunt had solemnly decreed, when I had reached the age of Determination at 12, not perhaps destined for greatness but withal a promising Fighter as well, with the kind of broad shoulders and well-formed legs that spoke of strength and skills that would blossom. The long training of the mind and its disciplines, well, this is but a Journal. Not the place. Not the time.
And we had very little to spare of time. Nevertheless Imoen and I clumsily made shift to lodge Gorion's body into a somewhat more attractive housing. A declivity between two rocky outcrops. There was moss, lots of moss. Some lilies-of-the-valley, a fringe of bluets and clover. Acting in an unspoken unison we gathered fallen branches from the forest fringe to cover him so that at least his flesh would not be torn by wolves or fouler things unspeakable, mostly of fragrant pine, red juniper and beech - some of which had clearly been shattered by Gorion's powerful spells.
I was lucky enough to find a dry mass of cedar bark and birch all woven together on the ground. A last-year's squirrels nest: perfect tinder for a fire. But it did not seem somehow that Gorion's body was destined for a pyre. Someday, somehow there would be a tomb. Something grand and sublime. I made a vow.
But I could not shake the idea of Fire. There was an abundance of material. I ripped a few goodly chucks of heartwood from rotting stumps and soon had assembled a classic small bonfire at least two feet tall arranged so that ... anyhow, we lit it. Perhaps we sang or hummed a bit of an Elvish air. Something private.
But it felt empowering. We were not destined to slink away in silence, cowering, mired in an unknown abyss. We were standing tall and proud even though there seemed a whole range of mountains on our shoulders. We smiled and even perhaps laughed amid some tears..
"O Fire!", I intoned in spontaneous and courageous prayer, "O Fire, Great friend of the Longest Night, we must away this moment, with many words unsaid. Our testaments unspoken, our sacred oaths and ceremonies, all that is fitting and appropriate that we should perform for Gorion ******** ,who has acted as our Gracious Father, our stern Advisor and Observer, lo these many years, who now has embarked on that Voyage beyond our knowledge -- with all these duties of the Heart, we charge Thee.
O Fire, Let Thy flames be the millions of words, the poetry, the feelings and songs. Let this fragrance be the Feast of Parting to warm his spirit on its journey. And Bless us, Eadwyn and Imoen, O Sacred Fire, on our journey today and tomorrow and in the days to come. For the undiscovered country is even now upon us and we must go. Even Now. This moment...-Amen, Amen, Anulomen, Adulatum"
And I was then as one dumbfounded, stumbling. It was Imoen who took charge and shepherded us away. I am not sure why she chose to simply return to the environs of The Lion's Way rather than along a path leading more directly to the northerly reach of The Coast Way. Perhaps she knew I would need some time to regain my common sense and at least no surprises lay to the immediate South.
As I recall we had already agreed that our first objective was to reach the haven of the Friendly Arms Inn, long established as a sanctuary for all travelers and a vital link between the city of Baldur's Gate and her southern trading partners, mostly the State of Amn. The legendary Gnomish Mage, Bentley ********* and his noble wife, Gellana, Priestess of ********, were its renowned founders, patrons and guarantors, enforcing their field of truce, within the space of their ne'er conquered walls, by means of a devoted corps of guards, The Watchmen. There we hoped to find allies awaiting Lord Gorion's now ill-fated party from whom we might obtain both shelter and even more importantly, knowledge.
Actually, looking back from this vantage of many years, there was something already artful, a certain cunning and satisfying strategy, albeit perchance unwitting, even in that clueless confrontation with a proven but unknown danger. To light such a fire, a strong act of ceremonious resonance, a token of generosity and strength - of a strength we clearly did not have, something our Nemesis might not know for certain - to proclaim such a boldness verging on foolish overconfidence, might have implanted certain thoughts or expectations in the mind of anyone seeking to anticipate our movements in the days ahead.
And then, as events unfolded, to pursue what at least to many of my friends and critics, was to become such a dilatory and circuitous progress.... I call it something prodigious, as it is termed in Chess, a 'brilliance'. That first impression essential, a feint, something to play against. Or was it Real? Were there perhaps unseen Legions carrying us forward. Uncertainty. I was to draw great strength and, most providentially, a conviction of rapidly developing Identity that was to serve me well in the weeks and months that lay ahead.
And then it hit me! Just as we caught sight of the Lion's Way again - not more than 100 yrds East of our earlier chance meeting. -- ..Gorion must have been expecting to meet someone, a travelling companion, or companions, at the very spot where we had found, instead, his Nemesis staking out the intended rendezvous. I was sure of it!! How else would our attackers have known just where and when to intercept us in that wild country. There must have been some pre-arrangement that had become our doom. Now what could that mean??
There were suddenly two very different possibilities - and soon many others would raise their bloody heads - explaining what had happened. Either certain messages had gone awry, by interception, intrigue or violence or some deadly treachery was involved. We would have to investigate any reports of Messengers gone astray or murdered on the roads. It seemed impossible that someone in a careless moment or drunkard's crawl would have let slip such specific details. Bribery? Betrayal? An impostor of some kind??
And once again, the frustration of my total ignorance, the inexplicable wall of Gorion's silence, settled upon my bruised spirit and turned my limbs to leaden drudgery and an endless chain of questions. Not so much as a crumb had he vouchsafed me when, by all the evidence, he well knew some mortal peril was being arrayed to ensnare....Who? I shook my fist, roared and cursed the sky, albeit somewhat mildly, laughing like a fool, grimacing a clown. Weeping, sobbing. Dancing a jig. Madness!! [-I considered flinging myself upon the ground and rolling about but it seemed my new armor would spoil the effect-]
"You want some of this Rosemary Loaf?" intruded Imoen, clobbering me with it from behind. "I know its your favorite and, of course, there will be some cheese..." She pushed me hard, halfway to giggling-halfway to tears, and almost keeled me over. For a few moments we shadow boxed each other, mocking the moment. Turning it to frolic... What else could we do?
And then we began to walk once more Eastward along the road. In earnest.
/ Strength: 18/30
/ Dexterity: 17
/ Constitution: 16
/ Intelligence: 17
/ Wisdom: 14
/ Charisma: 10
/
Proficiencies:
/ Blunt Weapons 2
Bow 2
My sense of this character's Story is going to involve the fact that Charname had genuinely wished to enter a Devotional Life in Oghma's Service, inspired by his childhood friend, baby-sitter and favorite uncle, Bro. Adelphus, recently deceased.
And yet Charname has always had a clear understanding that Gorion was the true Father figure, the defining Authority, someone whom Charname didn't see on a daily basis except in passing. Once Eadwyn and then Imoen reached the Age of Determination (12yrs), Sunday afternoons had been set aside by Gorion as "family-time" for enjoying, shaping and subtly guiding the activities and development of his Wards.
Unconsciously, Eadwyn is conflicted by the familiar bonds of affection/admiration nurtured by Bro. Adelphus and his undeniable recognition of the Dignity, Stature and Serious Intelligence that was Gorion's natural condition.
When Eadwyn's Determination Rite revealed his Potentials to best be utilized by the Fighter/Mage training regimen, it had surely been a disappointment. But not too much of one.
For long the steady improvement of his fighting skills and maturing physique had provided him a rewarding focus.Only when he had actually set about establishing the Power-Informed Matrixes, which constitute useable Memorized Spells had he begun to question whether he even wanted to advance in the arts of a Magus.
There was something a bit unsettling about it, a bit too individualistic, too personal. Something in which one could permanently lose one's way so uniquely that no one else could find you and guide your return to sanity...
What has developed then is a Warrior character that is also a reluctant, foot-dragging Mage.
But he is still tempted to attempt Clerical feats he isn't qualified/trained to perform. Mostly free-form ceremonial/invocational stuff like his charge to the Fire, just now.
These inspirations may be providential or instructive [role-playing stuff?], but they also have a chance of unhinging/deluding/befuddling Charname. [Which can be Metagamed, perhaps in the Bassilus encounter..]
The whole point being that the development of Charname's identity has got to be, for me, as 'meaty' as the Canonic Plotline if I am going to really be satisfied with BG...
A Challenge.