Like a Banner in the Rain

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.

Like a Banner in the Rain 

The woman drapes herself over Valandra like a mantle, one woven from costly cloth, by the looks of it. For minutes she stays there, sobbing and stammering softly, words lost to gloom. Somehow, Valandra manages to sheathe her warhammer in its belt hook, then places her arm around the lady. “Hush, you’re safe now with us. Helm will protect you.” The lady can only cry, no conversation, no answers. Gently steering, Valandra tries to protect the lady’s dress from the dirt and splatter on her armour, then realises that her clothes have been ruined before now; buttons and decorations have been torn off. Valandra clenches her fist, praying to Helm that the torn dress was the only violence the woman had suffered.“By Helm’s hammer, we will bring justice to them.”

Another door is opened and a little boy and girl run out, grabbing the lady. “Mother!”. The woman embraces the kids, together they collapse on the floor. ‘Like a banner in the rain,’ Valandra ponders. Images of her own mother, grieving for her father, come to her mind. Her brothers, young men, standing around, sometimes whispering amongst themselves. Her mother was sitting in her chair, next to the empty one.

Her brothers had left, one by one, wearing armour and the shield with the Lion’s head proudly. Their farewells came with whispers and promises of vengeance, head shakes and tears of her mother, a last pat on Valandra’s head. The last time their eyes met, the last wink at her by her youngest brother. Still too young to understand what was happening, Valandra only knew that her father would not come home. And that her brothers had to move out, for the house was not safe any longer.

The last gurgle of a guard as his throat is slit by Nox takes Valandra back to this cellar. A feeling of powerlessness and grief tries to overwhelm her, in her head she starts reciting to fight it off: ‘I am the wall that does not fall. I am the shield that does not yield.’ Biting her tongue keeps her from crying, that is out of the question. Her companions would see her weakness! She breathes in deeply, taking in the stink of blood. Habit takes over. She checks the surroundings; no movement, no sound, no threats. Her sweep of the room lands on the boy’s watery, petrified eyes.

Valandra kneels next to the woman: “Is that your boy?” “Yes. They took us here after they killed my husband,” the woman whispers. “And who was your husband?” “Thel Dendrar, they killed him and took us.” ”You’re safe now, Helm watches over you. Do you know how many there are?” “No, here there were the same ugly faces every day. When they took us, they were masked. They were all Redbrands!” The woman now looks her in the face: “You’re not from around, are you?” “No, I’m not. My family used to live in Neverwinter.” “Mine too, I’m Mirna Dendrar, what’s your name?” The conversation that follows is one of families and marriages, heritages and stature as if the two women are meeting at a ball. 

A loud cough makes Valandra look up, finding three bloodied men staring at them. “This is Mirna Dendrar, she and her kids were taken prisoner some days ago”, she says while standing up. “The Redbrands are behind this, their leader is a powerful wizard, but he’s probably not here.” “All of that, and the latest ins and outs of Phandalin.” Roux remarks and Valandra cuts in on him before he can add more: “First thing, we need to bring them back to the inn, safely, by the Oath of the Vigil.“ 

Valandra sheds a tear. (AI generated)

Roux frowns. Nox looks over the room. Ash’tar shakes his head, points at the door at the far side, puts a lid on the discussion: “Let’s first clear this place and check that door, make sure we have no one at our back when we return!” Valandra nods, her grip tightening on the hammer. ‘Helm does not turn his back on the wolf in the fold.’ The companions move over to the still unopened door at the far side. After a deep breath, Valandra decides to follow them, and finds herself caressing the hair of the girl. Looking down, she catches the gaze of the little one and winks at her. A single tear, only noticed by the girl, leaves her left eye as the paladin grabs for her hammer. She takes up her position in front of Roux while Ash’tar and Nox work the door, whispering to herself:  ‘And you will know Helm is the Watcher when I bring His judgment upon you.’