Chapter One: Creation of Character

Imoen the Wise, as she knew she would one day be called both for street smarts and knowledge, did not want to be in a library. She walked the ivory Halls of Learning. Around her, she saw the bookcases practically spilling; she remembered her lessons. There were lessons on history, writing, mathematics and lots more.

None of them were as interesting as sneaking around and picking pockets. Though Imoen always gave what she stole back. Even so, she was feeling kind of out. "Ah, I can't believe that Old Puffguts let me go for this. I know I've got all day to do his chores, but if he expects me to give up my schedule for him, he's got another thing coming. I've got pockets to pick."

Who was she talking to?

Scaling up the steps, Imoen climbed higher and higher and saw layer upon layer of bookcases. Green-robed monks were reading through them, organizing and critiquing. Few of them were writing, though.

Coming to the door, she knocked. A moment passed, and then the door was opened. On the other side, Imoen saw Gorion. The old sage had trimmed his white beard a little recently and wore a new set of white robes. She guessed he'd finally replaced the robes that had been falling to bits.

"Greetings, little one, shall we continue your lessons?" asked Gorion.

"Yes, yes, whatever you say," said Imoen, walking in. "Puffcuts wanted me to flip the beds, but I guess I could come to hang out in the library.

"So, what's up?"

Gorion led her into his office and sat down on the other side of the desk. "You must learn to be patient, child. I'll tell you when the time is right.

"We're going to perform an... experiment of sorts?"

"Uh-huh?" asked Imoen, sitting down across from him. "Is this gonna be one of those things where you perform a dark ritual and sacrifice my soul?"

Gorion laughed and shut a book he'd left out. Shelving it, he quickly wiped a bit of dust off his desk. "Something like that.

"In all seriousness, it has nothing to do with you personally. And what I am doing is largely medical. The monks believe you have a condition of sorts, and they want me to ask you a few questions."

Condition? What was this, a secret test of character? Gorion had asked Imoen a lot of these before. Ulraunt, the guy in charge of Candlekeep, had ordered she be asked all kinds of weird things in tests. Some of them had been very casual. Others had been kind of morbid, like 'you see a turtle lying on its back in the desert, why aren't you helping it.' Or 'you see someone you hate unconscious and bleeding in an alley, what do you do.'

Obviously, Imoen's answers to those two had been 'I am helping it' and 'call for help after I pick their pockets.' But 'you walk through a field of bodies, how do you feel?' had been a bit much.

Of course, there had been a lot of innocuous questions. But the priests had been most interested in how she answered the bloody ones.

It had been kind of creepy.

Although she'd gotten officially labeled 'Neutral Good' afterward. They'd used detect alignment and everything. So that was nice. Now all she had to do was find a God, and she'd officially get out of the Wall of the Faceless.

"Okay, shoot," said Imoen with a sigh. "I could probably be hanging out at the barracks with the watchers, but whatever you say."

"Alright, when, let me ask you some questions," said Gorion. "You have a childhood friend. You have known them all your life, and they are like a sibling to you. Are they male or female?"

Imoen sighed. One of those again. Though this time, it seemed... different. There was a strange air around them. "Um, what kind of question is that?"

"The details are important for the purpose of the test," said Gorion. "Bear with me, please."

Imoen thought about what kind of hypothetical, imaginary friend she would pick. "Male, I guess. I kind of think the contrast would work better."

"Well, that makes sense. Now, what race would they be?" asked Gorion.

"A red dragon," said Imoen instantly. "Or a god in human form. Or maybe-"

"Let's keep our answers to races that would be allowed in Candlekeep, shall we?" asked Gorion with a wry smile.

Imoen sighed. "Eh, the monks will let in anybody who gives them a nice book. If an eight-foot fall dark lord in black armor plotting murder handed in a magic tome, they'd let him in."

"Oh very well," said Gorion with a laugh. "Why don't I give you a selection of races, and you can pick from them, then?

"Humans, halflings, elves, half-elves, dwarfs, and gnomes."

"What about half-orcs?" asked Imoen, not liking the idea of discriminating.

"Is that your choice?" asked Gorion.

"No, but half-orcs could probably get in here," noted Imoen. "No way would I want one of those for a friend; it'd be impossible to blend anyway."

"Then what is your choice?" asked Gorion.

Imoen thought about the prospect of an elf. Someone meek who she could bully into doing whatever she said. Then she halted. "...Wait a minute, how could I be childhood friends with an elf or half-elf? They mature at like, sixty. Same for dwarves and gnomes, really. If we were the same age, I'd be an old lady by the time they were grown up.

"So the only choice is really human. Nobody else matures in time."

"Whatever you want, Imoen," said Gorion. "So, this friend you are thinking of. What kind of skills does he have? What is his chosen trade?"

"Why should I pick that? He can do whatever he wants," said Imoen, leaning back.

"Perhaps he asks your advice," said Gorion. "He wants to become an adventurer and isn't sure what path to take."

Imoen considered that. "Well, someday, I'm going to be a legendary thief, Imoen the Wise. And I want to know how to cast spells someday and conjured reality to my will.

"No way do I want them to be a cleric. A good one would hassle me about picking pockets, and a bad one would like hurting people. I don't need a fellow thief or a mage, and bards are useless. I can hire one to write my legend without keeping them around.

"What I need is the brawn to my brains. Maybe a fighter, but that's boring."

"A monk, perhaps?" asked Gorion.

Imoen shook her head. "No way. Monks train for decades, so they can be less good at killing people than any schmuck who picked up a spear. And there are no monks in Candlekeep anyway, so he couldn't be trained.

"I think..." And idea occurred. "A Paladin."

"A Paladin?" asked Gorion.

"Yeah, someone who slays evil villains and defeats evil dragons and stuff," said Imoen. "That way, I could be the brains of the operation which keeps everyone focused. Also, Lawful Good, Neutral Good, they balance each other out.

"That's got chemistry."

"But might he not object to your thieving?" noted Gorion.

"I'm not going to steal from good people," said Imoen. "Just bad people, and he'll be killing them anyway. So I can take all their stuff and sell it. Also, I can collect the rewards for him, so he doesn't have to say no. Also, since I'm good at bows, he'll be focused totally on melee and holy power.

"Like a cavalier.

"It would work out."

"I see," said Gorion before taking out a set of dice. "Now, I need you to spend the next six hours tossing these dice until you get the highest possible result. Preferably all eighteens."

"Seriously?" asked Imoen.

"No, only joking," said Gorion. "That's just some mage humor.

"Now, Paladins are basically good, aren't they? So, what kind of strengths and appearances would you think he'd have?"

Imoen thought about it. "Well, he'd be strong. Really strong.

"Probably not as agile since he'd be wearing heavy armor. I think he'd use swords, a sword, and a shield, and maybe warhammer too. That way, he could smash up skeletons."

"And what would his name be?" asked Gorion.

Imoen thought these questions were some of the weirdest she'd ever been asked. "Well, um...

"Do I have to pick a name for this character? I mean, can't you just assign one?"

"This should be your choice," said Gorion.

Imoen shrugged, not really caring and wishing there was some default identification. "...Char, I guess."

"Why Char?" asked Gorion.

"Well, he's a character you asked me to name," said Imoen. "So Char for short. I guess I could call it Charname, but that's harder to say." There was a pulse of sorts, a selection, or something was set into motion.

Imoen wasn't sure what, but she felt a bit empty all of a sudden. "So, are we done?"

"Yes, yes we are," said Gorion with a laugh. "Why you decided to pick your real childhood friend as a model for the hypothetical one I won't speculate on."

"Where is Char anyway?" asked Imoen. "I haven't seen him in a while."

"He's been occupied with his instruction as a paladin," said Gorion. "You should find him around here when you get out."

"Well, I'm gonna go see him," said Imoen. "You librarians are all buffleheaded. What was this test all about?"

"Oh, I needed your answers to fill out a sheet. That's all," said Gorion. "Any changes should be superficial. Sorry to keep you."

Imoen shrugged, stood up, and made her way out of the library. In the training grounds, she found you practicing with sword and shield. "Heya! It's me, Imoen!

"So Gorion finally let you out from your studies. Winthrope wants me to flip the beds, but I've got all day to do his chores. What are you up to, Char?"

"I can't talk today, little one," You say. "Father has asked me to make myself useful. I'm not sure where to go, though. Any suggestions?"

"Follow me then, and Imoen the Wise shall show you what quests you must complete," said Imoen. From there, the brunette in purple leads you through the castle of Candlekeep. It is a well-constructed place, of white walls and sturdy brown buildings. Watchers can be seen patrolling, wielding their staffs, and clad in armor. The walls are guarded as well.

You feel as though you are only seeing this place for the first time.

"Where are we going?" You ask.

"Why, to find an adventure, of course, Char," said Imoen. "Obviously, we can't start by slaying dragons. But we can start with small things and work our way up from there.

"How um... how did the field training go?"

"I don't want to talk about it," You reply.

"That bad, huh?" asked Imoen.

You try to remember it, but the memory is faded and distant. Gradually it comes to you as you pass the gate, where Hull is at guard. "We found a caravan ambushed, Imoen. Everyone in it was dead."

"Oh geez um, did you see the ones that did it?" asked Imoen.

"No, but we had a clash with the gibberlings that were eating the dead. I think," You reply.

"So you killed some gibberlings?" asked Imoen.

Somewhat uncomfortably, you shift. "No, I was the rearguard, protecting the baggage. No one attacked us. Fuller and Hull did all the fighting. What I find strange, however, is what they stole."

"What'd they steal?" asked Imoen.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," You say. "The bandits killed everyone in the caravan and left the valuables all over the ground." The memory of the body is fresh on your mind.

"What kind of bandits kills people and doesn't take any of their stuff?" asked Imoen.

"I don't know. What kind of thief openly declares themself Imoen the Wise," You retort.

"Aw, come on, Char. Nobody cares if you steal stuff so long as you do it to evil people," said Imoen. "Then it's okay. Killing evil people is a good act."

"What is evil?" You say more to yourself.

"Anyone your mystical powers detects as evil," said Imoen. "That's why I suggested you become a Paladin, remember. I wanted to know who it was okay to pickpocket.

"Heya, Reevor! Still having problems with those rats?"

Reevor is a short dwarf, about halfling sized, and stands before the warehouse. He wears chainmail armor and holds an axe and shield in either hand. His beard is braided, and he looks ready for war. "Yes, our feline forces have turned traitor, and the rats are on the offensive. Even as we speak, the creatures are wandering this warehouse, devouring everything edible. I've had to move a lot of the supplies out of here. We've got to deal with the rest."

"Couldn't you just poison them?" You ask.

"Poison costs money. I was planning on taking care of them myself, but..." Reevor paused. "How would you two like to undertake a chance for honor and glory?"

"Honor and glory?" You say, voice skeptical.

"Yes! Enter this dungeon and slay each and every rat within!" said Reevor.

"Well, that sounds like an opportunity, Char. Let's go," said Imoen.

"Fine," You say. "Let's get this over with."

Entering the warehouse, you see the rats. Each and every one of them is nearly as large as the cats. They snarl with vicious teeth and leap at you. You hardly get your sword out to cut one down before another is on you, going for the throat. Imoen screams as one leap at her. Gripping the beast on you, you throw it off and hack at it with your sword.

The first blow misses, the second one cuts it in half, and the blood seeps out and blackens the floor beneath you. However, the sword breaks and splinters in your hand like rotten wood, and you stare at it.

Iron should not break so easily.

By this time, Imoen has thrown the rat away and draws out her knife to jab at it. However, it leaps away and bites her, and she recoils, bleeding as the knife falls from her hand. With a roar of anger, you step forward and fall forward with your shield, crushing the beast.

At last, the rats lie dead. Looking around, you breathe in exhaustion. The traitorous felines begin to wash their paws.

"Imoen! Are you alright?" You say, moving up to her.

"Fine Char," said Imoen, nursing her hand. "I... one of them bit me."

"Let me see the wound. Are you well?" You ask, taking hold of her hand and healing it.

"Huh, those healing hands are useful, aren't they?" asked Imoen.

"They are helpful," You say.

Together, the two of you leave the warehouse and find Reevor looking very solemn. "Ah, I saw the entire thing!

"A glorious battle it was, unlike which the world has ever seen! Well worth a tale! Here's five gold pieces, don't spend it all in one place."

And he tossed Imoen a bag.

"Five gold pieces? That's all we get for putting our lives on the line in there?" asked Imoen.

"Welcome to the armed forces, lasse," said Reevor. "You put yourself in immense danger, and they give you squat when you leave."

"Let's just go," You say. "I need to get a replacement for my sword anyway." You toss away the broken haft.

And so you begin walking back to the keep. As you do, however, Imoen looks to Hull on duty. "...Huh, did you just get back?"

"Yes, why?" You ask.

"Well, why is Hull still on duty?" asked Imoen.

"Does it really matter?" You ask. It didn't seem relevant.

"Well, I mean, usually when Watchers get back from a patrol, they get a day off, don't they?" asked Imoen. "It's the only time they are liable to fight. Nobody wants to siege a fortress to steal a bunch of books."

"Books are valuable. Knowledge is power, little one," You say, though the statement doesn't seem wholly yours.

"Quit calling me little one; we're the same age, you know," said Imoen. "I should probably handle my chores. Catch." She tosses you the gold and hurry off.

Taking it, you smile and pocket the gold.

"I heard Gorion went on patrol a while back," says a guard as you pass. "Found an entire caravan wiped out."

Something was off about all this. Gorion had been growing distant from you of late. As if some grave matter troubled his thoughts. "I think I'll speak with Father."


Author's Note:

Well, Disciple of Blood is dead in the water.

I've decided to try a novelization from a different angle instead. Enjoy.