Latest revision as of 09:03, 15 June 2017

Built in the dark and deep forests surrounding the city known as Wharftown, in the Isle of Arelith, sited for centuries a powerful fortress of horror and fear, a monument for domination. Stonehold was not only a defensive position, it was the domain of the dread-spreading clergy of the Dark Lord, Bane. In its midst, a dungeon of torture and imprisonment for the slaves and captives of the Lord's servants, and a temple of tall pillars and dark engravings citing the Lord's will, a place of worshiping and wickedness.

During centuries, that was their headquarters and lair, where their plans were though out to the least of details before unleashed upon the innocent peoples of Arelith, in the ever-lasting attempt of Bane to take over our home of Toril through fear and murder.But a hero would stand out in the crowd, raise his sword, and command the armies of the heavens himself to bring down such a blight in this beautiful land.

Despite the Hold's dominion upon the land, Arelith has always contained within it several places of notability, and did so too in that time. The most important of those in the coming conflict, however, was Light Keep, a place of worshiping of selflessness and peace, a beacon of hope in the isle. Light Keep is, and has always been, a home for the most powerful and mighty servants and preachers of the holy triad: Lathander, Torm and Tyr. And amongst their icons of goodness and charity, the chosen hero to defeat the unholy puppets of the Dark Lord was Duty Bond, a paladin of Tyr.

Duty was a brave, honorable man who stood for justice and protection of the defenseless throughout his life, and was soon shown to be seen by glad eyes from the outer planes. In a vision, Tyr came down to our land of Toril to summon him for the task of ridding the island of the fortress of Bane. In this vision, Tyr came down at the top of his might, showing no remorse of shame, but pride and honor of his battle wounds. In short, strong words, he sent Duty to deliver his blow of justice, and promised him the aid of his heavenly army to protect him and further his cause.

Reassured by the words of his deity, Duty Bond stood up in the most disciplined of stances and took the whitest of mounts from the keep to ride to victory. In his eyes, the glimmer of strength and faithfulness of a powerful holy warrior about to deliver the will of his god. Arriving at the gates of the hold, he set his horse aside and fell to his knees, praying and focusing on the Maimed One expecting his promise delivered.

As he opened his eyes and stood glorious, an army of Devas, armor-clad and blade-holding came down from the skies to stand aside him. Such was his aura of justice, such was the power Duty emanated in this moment, such were the numbers of the heavenly army that only the most daring and cunning of the Black Lord's servants came forward to challenge him: Ryan Valsharin. Alongside him, both his Drow mistress and his right-hand wizard, whose names were erased from the sands of time.

At the sight of the Devas, Ryan burst out in an evil-echoing, maniacal laughter, and requested his blighted deity similar aid using the tongue of the devils. To his side, devils of all kinds sprung from the earth and the fortress, holding their cursed weapons and wicked magery.

Both the heavenly and abyssal armies engaged in battle, fighting each other with the utmost resolve. The devils displayed the utmost savagery, while the Devas battled with the highest of discipline, cutting their opponents to ribbons, but being slain in turn constantly. Duty, holding his blade high, charged against his foe and his allies, cutting the Drow's head with the quickest of swings before she could even display her frail skills. After recomposing himself, he turned to the wizard, which had both his hands cut off by quick, powerful slashes from Duty while chanting, and fled in terror and humiliation.

Amongst the chaotic turbulence of the outsiders engaging, Duty and Ryan stood toe to toe, eying each other in fury and resolve, grasping tight their blades. After moments, which seemed hours to outside watchers, the two charged in fury and anger against each other. The paladin holding his blade with honor and might, while the Banite trusted in his cunning and evilness. For endless days and nights the two warriors swung and parried each other, dodging and engaging, avoiding and striking... For endless days and nights, both Devas and Devils alike were slain and destroyed, while more were sent from their outer homes to replace the fallen in the struggle. But it would one time, end.

After sunrises and sundowns of blood and sweat, the struggle was finally coming to a close. Amongst the well-trained and skilled movements of both battlers, a mistake would prove deadlier and more meaningful than -any- other. At the destined moment, Ryan swung his blade towards Duty's neck, who artfully dodged and ducked... at this very moment, Ryan failed to recover and lost his balance, downing his guard for a second. Spotting the best of opportunities he had so far, Duty rose with a quick leg and pierced Ryan's belly in its entirety, seeing his blade sprouting out the Banite's back full of its wretched, cursed blood, watching it drip on the floor.

For seconds, Ryan remained trapped to the blade, lowering his arm slowly, gagging in his own blood. He left his own blade fall to the floor, and eyed his defeater right in the eyes, with his malign anger and rage failing, turning into despair and weakness. Duty removed his holy sword from his enemy slaughtered belly with strength, allowing the wrenched warrior fall to the floor with a mighty thud, making the earth shake beneath their feet. Around them, the devils wittered and died, and the Fortress crumbled to dust, losing its purpose.

With a loud, wicked yell of pain, Ryan's last breath rose, and his cold corpse remained behind, alongside his decapitated wife. The felling of malignance was already lighter, and yells of despair came from within the crumbling dungeon, from both evil servants and innocent prisoners alike. Kneeling down one more time to attest his faith to Tyr, Duty closed his eyes, only to hear meteors fall down to earth, finishing to eliminate what was left of those tall, black walls and halls. The earth shook again, but it was a shake of relief and release, a great evil being undone and erased.

Tales tell of rebuilt Stoneholds and rerisen cults to the Dark Lord, but none would ever reach the heights of the originals, and thus, Duty's efforts were not only efficient, but everlasting to this very day. On The Year of 36 AR, the largest amass of evil minions was slaughtered for good. The Ruins lies near Wharftown still, sheltering hordes of Gnoll and Undead now, feeding on the remains of the structure and its supplies. But Bane's strength was all but erased, and a promise has remained: May they rise again, The Triad will sure lay their balancing blow, each time.

~Karianna Alithnun