A Guard of the Pure and Unpure

This blog documents our Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. Our newest campaign generally follows the “Phandelver and Below: The Shattered Obelisk” book. I use this blog to record the sessions in narrative form. The entries are written after play, based on what I can remember happened at the table. All of it is handwritten, not AI generated. The images however are AI generated. Disclaimer: our sessions are played with beers on the table to loosen up roleplay. This tends to impact record-keeping and memory. My character's name is Valandra, a half-elf Paladin of Helm. She is a deeply faithful, if not dogmatic follower of the Great Guard. The story is told strictly through her own heavily armored perspective. Expect a narrative filtered through a lens of unyielding zealotry, rigid prayers, noble arrogance, and the quiet, desperate doubts of a protector wondering if her god has averted His gaze, with all the bigotry, prayers and doubts that implies.

A Guard of the Pure and Unpure

Waiting is not hard. Guardians wait. Guards wait. Waiting on a friend or companion costs even less. But waiting on a fool recovering of his own folly? That tests even Helm’s patience!  Biding her time vacantly because that occultist is recovering from a hangover was one thing. Waiting on him to recover of something he picked up by picking up the barmaid was something else. Valandra sighs, looks through her eyelashes, sees Nox, the assassin, sitting quietly on the other side of the room. 

“If someone looks through the small window into the guest room of the inn,  they would see a scene fit for the card of Balance.”, she thinks, observing Nox. “A dark assassin on one side, the shining knight on the other. Helm’s light, what a sight we make! Never would have imagined to fight next to such a creature. A shield may stand beside a blade it does not trust, if the cause is just. “ For a second their eyes meet, then Nox continues his elaborate cleaning of his fingernails with a knife. Valandra restarts reciting in her head: “By Helm’s light, I stand vigilant. By the Watcher’s gaze, I do not falter.”

“He took my medicine, should be downstairs shortly!”  Ash’tar announces to the two companions, who make a point of ignoring his statement. “By the way, he claims that you have poisoned him, my dear friend.” The accused Drow remains silent, instead Valandra reacts: “That makes two of you, by Helm’s light, that medicine of yours is horse dung!” “It’s not always the shiniest of shields that offers protection, as Helm teaches us”, Ash’tar ripostes with a smile. The paladin looks at her two companions, thinks about the third one she's still waiting for and concludes that it's not clear who of these men is the most annoying, but all of them are. She closes her eyes: “A guard shall protect the pure and the unpure..”

Valandra walking in Phandalin. (Image is AI generated)

More than an hour later the unpure has finally joined them, and after some coffee Roux dominates the conversation like always. Together with Ash’tar he shuffles from table to table, bragging about their heroic exploits and gathering rumors and clues.  Once outside, at the town square, Valandra breathes in deeply. The smell of heated iron reminds her of happier, less complicated, times. As a novice, working as an assistant in the blacksmith of the abbey. Clear tasks, clear commands, clear hierarchy. Not this bartering and hassling with those pesky commoners. Sure they want to help save Gundren; but before doing so this or that needs to be arranged, and while you’re at it, could you make short work of this or that wrong do’er? And sure, we want to pay you if you help us get rid of the Red Brands, but we’re not sure where they are, who they are, not sure how to spot them by any means. But still we want you to fight them. 

The only one who made any sense to Valandra was sister Garaele, who wants assistance in fighting an evil spirit, but her companions are not that keen on that one. They are negotiating, blending in, making deals with the townfolk. Then drag her along, apparently for a just cause. By the Watcher’s shield, this place is annoying!

Visiting the Shrine of Luck together with her companions feels uncanny to Valandra. She has not told anyone about her nightly visit, let alone about her Oath and choice of path. Fortunately nobody has seen her leave the tavern or visit this sanctum. Even Sister Garaele, the reason for their visit, has no idea of her encounters with Tymora. The sister turns out not to be involved in the town's politics, instead she has a need for support in a whole different department: Her nightly explorations for arcane artefacts brought her in contact with what she calls a banshee. Before anyone else could answer, Valandra had already agreed. Leaving her companions frowning; more urgent and above all more rewarding matters are waiting. “Three health potions is no reward!”

Still Ash’tar joins her when she kneels in front of the shrine. They then drop some coins as offerings before leaving. “That’s not the way you offer to Tymora!”, Roux makes a point of throwing his coins into the offering bowl like he would throw them on a gambling mat: “This is how the goddess of Luck wants to receive her gifts: As a gamble!” No warm glow, nor whisperings this time. The goddess of luck remains blind to them.  “The hammer does not strike by chance!” 

“Even so, we all missed, did not we, Valandra. Perhaps for the best, that bowl would not have a chance against your hammer!” The occultist smirks and waves them over: “Come my friends! Let’s find us some new friends in the Sleeping Giant!” 

With a short nod Valandra greets the Shrine of Luck and trails after the two palavering men. She spits on the sand, looks sideways, to find Nox right next to her, uncomfortably close for an assassin. "By the Watcher’s gaze, have you all been sent to test me?” There follows no answer to her question.