Darian Inn Vathfarli - The Contemplation of Pain

"When good people stray from the path of the gods, it is the Angels of the Mount Celestia that come to correct their course..."

My sister and I were huddled together on her bed, trying to comfort one another. We both heard the screaming from across our small home. The fighting. It was getting worse. Every day we feared it would spill over to us, like a boiling pot moved without care, but it hadn't yet... And the sword I carried in hand made sure it never would. She was only a couple years younger than me, but my sister had a gentler heart than I did, and had not grown up around martial instructors since her birth... Though her hate for our parents was matched only by my own.

The fight was always the same, and carried on for hours in circles. For the first few months it scared us... Then it was merely another part of our daily lives; but recently, the fights were getting louder, and the sounds of things breaking began to emanate from the quarantine that was my parent's bedroom. So I made myself ready...

"The nature of the angel that is sent to correct the misguided depends on the nature of the situation..."

I had always looked out for my little sister. Always. When I was only a few years old, my sister little more than a babe, a gentleman had come up to admire my sister, held by my mother. His affectionate comments became playful grabbing at my sister, as if he intended to steal her away, and the situation quickly escalated. Apparently, as little more than a two year old, I understood what was going on and gave the man a nasty kick to his shins, the only part of him I could reach. This unexpected turning of the tables lasted long enough for my father to recognize what was happening but a distance from him, and quickly marched on the man. He fled, and was never caught, but we never saw him again.

That singular event was a prophetic one, and since then, I have protected my sister from clenched fists and thieving hands, to bad merchants and broken hearts. And here I was, protecting her once more... Only this time from our own kin.

"Usually, however, it is the angels of vengeance that bear down upon the unrighteous. These angels bring heaven's wrath with them, and force the misguided to reconsider their path..."

I was the first to notice the silence. Our parents had stopped fighting, or so it had seemed. But there was something in the air, something that tickled my sixth sense. And I moved away from my sister, slowly. She was in her room, the only way in was the door I was walking through, and the window inside was a full floor up. She would be safe. I remember creeping down the hallway, sword held to my shoulder, barefoot on the wooden beams of the floor. Then I heard shouting again, but not from my parents... It came from a voice so melodic and beautiful that at first I did not recognize the harshness in their tone, did not understand the anger in that voice....

I pushed open the door to my parents bedroom...

"...However. It should be noted that Celestials are creatures of duty, not necessarily of good, as we tend to think. As a result, they may overlook the burning village, to save the kingdom..."

...And was greeted by the fiery golden whip of an Angel of Vengeance...

I do not remember much at this point... I remember burning, molten gold... Pain ripping across my skin and raging in my veins.

When I awoke, days later, I could not move. I was not given a mirror. My parents wept, and apologized. No cleric in all of Waterdeep could fix the damage done to me. I was to be a walking reminder of their failing and their punishment both. I bore no scars from the angel's flagellation, at least, not scars as we think of them... Instead, my body had it's vitality and strength sapped away, leaving only enough behind that I could continue living.

In the years the followed, the best my parents managed was a proper divorce, complete and lawfully unbinding. My sister found her own path in the world, and last I heard she was making her way North, to the frozen wastes of Icewind Dale, and Ten-Towns... My mother followed not long after, speaking of family in the region and how she needed to leave. My father devoted himself to his work... And I was left alone, a bent wreck, having to relearn how to walk and move about the world like a new born babe.

'Then hand that held the quill had to be pried apart in order for the cramping muscles to finally release the feather. The writer massaged the meat of his palm, working out the new-formed kinks and tightness with a practiced motion... Eyes gazed down to the ink on the parchment, and a nod followed. He would see if he still wanted to keep it after the ink had dried... In the meantime, he grabbed the straw conical hat from the chair beside him, picked up and leaned into his staff to carry himself from the chair... A walk in the Tranquil Gardens would do him well, now, he thought...'