The Vow

[Lorsalian]

This is not part two. Timing is present.
Its an older story -- had to rework it.

[Lorsalian]

The wind howled in leaf-less branches above, where dark clouds shouted about a coming storm. A moment later, a gust of wind pressed against the traveler's hooded cloak, chilling him. Beneath the cloak he wore a fur-trimmed tunic and leggings, his heavier armor having been packed away after he'd reached the relative safety of the forests near the turning point. Besides, the traveler thought ruefully, metal isn't the best of things to wear at the moment - both for the cold and the storm. The traveler remembered a similar thought he'd had years ago on the other side of Waterdeep after a storm, and chuckled.

At his belt hung two sword scabbards and an arrow quiver; a strung bow rested easily in his hand. He hadn't needed to fight anyone after he'd crossed the Alterian mountains, though - apparently the goblin raiders didn't like the cold.

The sun was visible only as a brighter spot on the western horizon - a rainstorm that had been brewing off the Sword Coast had begun to hit the mainland east of Waterdeep. Time to set up camp, he thought. While not adverse to getting wet, the thought of traveling in wet clothes after the next morning's chill had near-frozen them didn't exactly inspire the traveler to press on. Since it didn't look like he had to time to reach any firm shelter, the traveler shouldered off his pack and dug out a couple of wooden staves - handy for building shelters, starting fires in a pinch, or persuading the average thug to seek another mark.

His bow was placed to the side, and a crude lean-to began to take form in the lee of a nearby hill. The carved notches in the poles fit together nicely, but before he could toss a couple of cloaks over the whole thing and unpack a couple of furs -

he heard something behind him. He twirled, still crouched, retrieved his bow, and notched an arrow in a series of fluid motions, whispering chants to pull his senses around him like a blanket

"'ello! What're ye doing there?"

Assuming someone wouldn't try to ambush him then call out, the traveler tossed back the hood of his cloak, revealing a lightly tanned face, a slight stubble of a beard, and the pointed lobed ears that marked his lineage. "Lorsalian !" the traveler called back to a man in a farmer's brown tunic who held a crossbow with a martial stance.

"Sounds elvish ... You one of those rangers?"

Lorsalian responded, and the man lowered and locked his crossbow. As he started towards Lorsalian's camp, a wry smile crossed the man's face. "Cant be too careful these days. Lets get a little closer so we don't hafta shout to eachother. Mind lowering that?" he said, motioning at Lor's bow.
"What? Oh, yes, of course," the ranger stammered. "A bit over-careful myself. You surprised me," he lied.

The wind intensified, and the first drops of rain hit the ground, becoming a light drizzle.

"C'mon back w'me to the house, ranger, 'fore the storm gets 'ere."

"Thank you, just let me get my gear, and I'll follow you back."

As Lorsalian followed Murzek - the old man - he saw a figure in the doorway of the house, outlined against the night by the light from within.

"Murzek! Why ye can't have Kureb check on the animals ev'ry storm I'll never know!"

"Cuz Kureb's off loan'n our plow to the neighbers, dear, and I'm not THAT old yet," he replied, 'this is Lorse, Lorsalien, - "

"Just Lor will do ..."

" - a ranger I saw setting up camp near the hill!"

"We're within sight of that hill. Why didn't he just stop by?" She looked at Lorsalian suspiciously.

"Well, I didn't want to impose ... it didn't look like that bad a storm."

Lightning struck nearby, flashing red in the ranger's vision; followed immediately by a mighty boom of thunder.

"Well, " Murzek chuckled as he hurried them all inside, "looks can be deceiving, eh?" As they entered the house, Murzek stopped and said quietly, "Would ye mind storing your weapons in this closet 'fore we go in? I did used t'be a militia guard, so they don' bother me, but we have children inside who shouldn't be playing with steel." Lorsalian nodded his acceptance, and after Lor exchanged his boots for a pair of shoes from his pack, they walked to Murzek's bedroom,.

On the way, they past a curious door where the knob was a couple of inches lower than most. Within could be heard a woman's voice, though not that of Murzek's wife, singing softly a simple lullaby, her soothing voice seeming to lilt and dance on the air. Lorsalian was instantly immensely grateful for arranging his gear so it didn't clank loudly when he traveled, since he had no wish to accept Murzek's kind hospitality and then wake up his grandchildren, nor to mar such a beautiful song with clumsy noise.

They arrived at a bedroom dominated by a large bed, a couple of dressers, and a single locked door. Above the handle - a handle at the usual height from the ground - was a pair of iron plates, one on the door and the other on the frame, with iron rings attached to each. Through the iron rings hung a padlock. Lorsalian looked puzzled at the precautions, and Murzek explained, "Can't be too careful. Serrine's children or some 'eighbor's kid, some thug look'n for a sword to pawn, er worse," as he fumbled in his tunic's pockets and produced a heavy iron key.

Murzek opened the closet, and the candlelight glinted off an entire set of armor and several swords. Both racks were constructed of oak, and while neither could be considered fit for an inspection by Lord Piergieron, few specks of rust could be found - wait, there were two swords on one side of the rack that positively gleamed in the candlelight. They looked like practice swords, one small enough to be used by an older child, and both were better polished and sharpened than the others. Lorsalian's appreciation must have showed, because Murzek managed to look sheepish as he pointed out rack space for Lor's weapons and pegs for his cloak and pack.

"It.... itsa 'obby o'mine," he explained. Lorsalian smiled, patted the old man on the back, and helped him lock the closet again.

Trying to change the subject as they walked to the kitchen, Lorsalian asked, "Who is Kureb?"

"Serrine's 'usband. Married coupla years, now. You heard the singing to the youngins, right?" Lor nodded. "Great kids. Don't gimme wrong, they git in their share o trouble, but..." Murzek replied, smiling a grandparent's smile.

They returned to the kitchen, and Lorsalian saw Serrine, young, yet beautiful as her song had been. She laughed at some joke shared with Murzek's wife, but it turned nervous when she saw him. Years ago, this would have made Lor deeply uncomfortable, but he understood that few travelers were probably seen in the area off the roads, and elf-kin less frequently than that. He returned the smile, and accepted with a small bow a bowl of vegetable stew offered to him.

Punctuated by wind moving shutters, rain, distant thunder, and Serrine running to calm her children about the storm, Lorsalian discussed news with Murzek and his family. 'there was quite a brisk trade between Waterdeep and the northern dwarves. Tea, coffee, salt, and cloth going north, and lumber and metals coming south. Many adventurers turned away from searching dungeons, banded together into caravans, and started arguing with merchants over prices." Murzek chuckled faintly; he probably had his share of run-ins with disagreeable merchants. "I made a trip away from the area ... down to Calimport I think," everyone's eyes widened slightly at this, "and when I returned, no merchant would trade with an adventurer, not even as caravan guards."

"You're widely traveled then, Lord - "

" No Lord, just Lor .. Lorsalian if you need formality," Lorsalian replied, "and I like to think I am." He know he wasn't as much as the farmer thought, but he didn't want to contradict his host. Besides, he would think later, comparatively, I am well traveled.


The daughter started from her chair, leaned forward and asking frantically, "Might you have seen a young man, long black hair, really dark eyes - "

"Serrine, " Murzek sighed, "Its been years ..."

"You never tried!" Serrine sobbed in reply. "He took care of us! Every night, he'd vow that he'd always be there in the morning. He'd never leave! Something happened, and you never tried to find him!" She sobbed softly, as Murzek's wife hugged her, trying to comfort her.

" M'dear, I did once, but I failed ... "

Murzek began a story.

A couple of weeks passed after the boy had disappeared, during which Murzek would ask at shops and soup kitchen in the poorer parts of Waterdeep when he could.

Then he drew "patrol duty" - a six month stint where he went to the far borders of Waterdeep's influence; south to near Ako village, East past the caves where most of the raiders came from, and north to the northern road and Lake Skeldrach. He made a sign against evil when he mentioned the Lake, probably referring to the rumors about the monsters and undead that infested it.

When he returned, he took the leave given to guards returning from patrol to inquire further. He used every favor from his contacts in the southern part of Waterdeep. Eventually, he learned of a merchant who had recently done business with - and Murzek admitted this reluctantly, as if giving ground on a long dispute - the most powerful in southern Waterdeep ... the thieves' and assassins' guilds, and rumors abounded about the recent death of several of the merchant's enemies, and his curious inability to pay for new goods.

Murzek arranged a meeting with the merchant at the Dead Orc Inn. He slept fitfully the night before the meeting, worrying about how the boy must be faring - he'd made a promise with the boy's father that if either of them should die, the remaining one would take care of the other's family. "A vow I seem to have failed, may he and Torm forgive me," Murzek mourned. Lorsalian recalled the armor, and could only guess the strength the boy's father and Murzek must have put in that vow. It was several minutes before the farmer could continue.

The morning of the meeting, the merchant was found dead in a street near that same inn. Murzek had made an attempt to reestablish contacts, but everyone told him to take it as a warning. Besides, Murzek was considered bad luck. The next to agree might be the next to fall.

"So y'see, Lor.. we need yer help. I've failed my promise to Serrine's father, and her brother needs help to get back to us - to keep his promise to Serrine. Could ye "least keep an eye out f'r'im?" Murzek concluded.

"I will find him, Murzek." Lorsalian vowed. Holding up his hand to caution the look of hope from the girl, he continued "I cannot promise it will be soon, but I will keep both eyes open and looking. When I find him, I will help him come home."

"Now, Lor .. ye may be grateful fer the house en all, but ..." Murzek looked uneasy.

"Murzek, I won't burden you with my own tale tonight." It had become very late, the storm having ended a while ago. "But I have my own reasons for wanting to reunite you." They shook hands, and Murzek showed Lor to the guest room.

The next morning, Lorsalian woke early, and retrieved his gear. He accepted a loaf of fresh bread from Serrine, and gave the children, who seemed to take the stranger's appearance in stride, a bit of a show using some near-ruined arrows to slay a couple of haystacks. As he left, Murzek thanked him for his promise and after Lor turned his back to leave for town, mused softly "It'll be good to have Nilan back ... "

Lorsalian stopped. Nilan?!? The infamous Velg'larn, a brother to Serrine?

But Nilan was a drow. The honorable young man Serrine spoke of couldn't be him.

Then he remembered his vow, Serrine's singing, and the pain he had seen in her eyes when she remembered that her brother wasn't there to see her children. He didn't turn around. He continued on.

The early morning sunlight had turned the rising mists a dull shade of silver. Lorsalian hefted his pack and continued west. Nilan. How did two different beings come to have the same name - for Serrine's brother could not be a drow - could he? If so, how could such a transformation have taken place? These questions have to be answered. As Lor pondered the situation he had got him into, the silvery mists swirled around him, and he disappeared from view.

.