Logrumethar Del'Aqualis
logrumethar@home.com

Born in the great city of Britain, Logrumethar Del'Aqualis grew up surrounded by paved streets, stone buildings, manicured grounds, and the bustling crowds found in almost any metropolitan center. From an early age, his moderately well- to- do parents furnished him with all the trappings of city- life: a classical education, an awareness and appreciation of "the finer things", impeccable manners worthy of audiences at court, and other such things found only in an urban atmosphere.

All these things young Logrumethar took in his stride. Yet none of these gave to him the sense of true happiness and peace he felt in another place, quite beyond the lamplit streets and loud market of Britain. From the time Logrumethar felt confident enough to stray from his parents' sides, his eyes turned to the forests and wilds of Britannia. He became an avid outdoorsman and hunter and would sometimes disappear for entire days at a time into the green depths surrounding the city.

His parents, having known nothing but the city in which they lived, were understandably confused by their son and grew increasingly worried about his welfare with each passing day. And so it was that they entered Logrumethar into the apprenticeship of Merrick the Tailor, who was widely respected in the high society of Britain and whose fashions adorned the great ladies and gentlemen of Lord British's Court itself. Although this was far from a realization of his own dreams, Logrumethar moved from his parent's home and commenced to learn the craft of his new master.

Tailoring Fine shirts, cloaks and ladies' dresses quickly became the sum and total of Logrumethar's waking hours for, although he was a kindly master, Merrick was a perfectionist and expected nothing less from his apprentice. Left with only one hour at the end of each tedious day to find solitude in the forests he loved, Logrumethar would take his evening meal as he watched the night come to quiet the green. With the darkness, he would then return to the city and retire to the lonely loft above the Tailor's Shop that was his home.

For many years Logrumethar worked and lived in this fashion, creating for himself a modest fortune as one of the rising young tailors of Britain.

It was then, in the winter of Logrumethar's twenty- second year that tragedy struck: his parents had contracted a strange, consumptive sickness that made them weaker and weaker. Leaving his apprenticeship, Logrumethar went back to his parents' house and spent much of his fortune in an attempt to bring them back to health. In addition to the expensive healers and medicines that he purchased, Logrumethar began his own study of the healing arts, both mundane and arcane, in the hopes of finding a cure. To no avail, however; his parents died two long years later despite his greatest efforts.

Consumed with grief at the loss of the only family he had, Logrumethar again found himself wandering the forests in search of peace. Again, the gentle swaying of the trees in the wind and the muted atmosphere of the forest lent some of its quiet contentment to Logrumethar, and he slowly healed.

With his parents gone and his future undecided, Logrumethar resolved to leave his parent's home and return to his beloved forest. With the money gained from the sale of his family home, he purchased supplies he would need in his new life. A sword and bow to hunt with, a bedroll upon which to sleep under the stars, and his spellbook that he had purchased in the pursuit of his parents' healing. These were the things he carried forth with him into the wilds of Britannia. The forest had always given him what he needed; now he was decided to live the life of the Ranger, forsaking the cities in which man imprisoned himself.

And his happiness grew.

Part Second – Logrumethar Joins The Eternal Flame:

For years, Logrumethar wandered alone in the forests of the world, making his way quietly and by his own hands and wits. Deep in the wilderness, he seldom encountered other people, and spoke very little when he did, as he grew accustomed to solitude. He received his news of the outside world (when he wanted any) from the wandering healers he met in his travels. Nothing much bothered him in his    isolation, as he needed very little in order to remain content.

Things change, as the saying goes, and the easy, uncomplicated life in the forests was about to change in accordance with the adage; more and more, Logrumethar began to encounter creatures of evil intent and unnatural existence during his journeys in the forests. Orcs and ogres roamed the land, stronger then ever before and bolder in their increased numbers. The Undead also walked the night, and these foul and twisted creations of Necromancy struck fear into Logrumethar's heart like nothing else - they were an affront to the natural order of things by which Logrumethar lived his daily life.

Originally a man of peaceful nature, Logrumethar was more and more often forced to defend himself from orc attacks and he grew harder and more accustomed to violence on a daily basis. The forests were becoming a place danger and ill ease, something the ranger had never felt them to be. The peace he had sought in the wilderness was quickly disappearing and, in order to sleep safely and without fear of nighttime assault, Logrumethar took to seeking out signs of civilization before camping for the night. It seemed the orcs and other monstrous beings were not yet bold enough to encroach upon the guarded areas, and so Logrumethar camped just outside city walls every night he was able.

Thus it was that, one day, Logrumethar found the Forest Keep that was to become his home for a goodly number of years.

Wandering in the forests southwest of Yew (Logrumethar's favorite city, as it was wilderness and civilization in harmony), the Ranger was looking for a place to camp when he saw a light in the distance and heard the sounds of laughter. Curious, and suddenly hungry for simple conversation, he turned his feet toward the area from which the light and laughter seemed to be coming. Entering a clearing, he got his first sight of the Eternal Flame Pub. And, having no better place to camp for the night, he entered.

Inside was a warm, well-lit common room filled with travelers and wayfarers. Laughter and the sounds of conversation surrounded him, and the smells of a busy kitchen were in the air: fresh bread, roast meats, and strong dark ale. A definite welcome seemed to greet all of his senses as the heavy doors shut behind him and he looked about for a place to sit.

After ordering a large meal of hot bread and cheese (with two tankards of ale to help these along), Logrumethar set to eating and listening to the conversations around him. Apparently, this Pub belonged to a well-respected guild called the Eternal Flame, and was open to all who wandered in this area of the world. The patrons at the bar spoke well of the guild, and, by the time Logrumethar had finished his meal, he knew most of the guild's history and its charter. Once a part of a greater and older guild called the Burning Heart, the Eternal Flame was all that remained after the former had ceased to be. The members of the Eternal Flame were comrades of old, seeking to find their way as they had been set adrift in the world  without purpose, after the fall of the Burning Heart Guild. They spoke with shining eyes of the glory that was, and of the glory that would come again for them in their new form, regardless of their fall. They would uphold the edicts they had sworn themselves to in the Burning Heart, giving aid to those in need and keeping the land safe for those who sought only a life to live in peace. The Keep in which they now sat was once the property of the Burning Heart, and was now held open to all by the new guild that lived there in continuance of tradition.

After a long night of quiet conversation with the Eternal Flame members gathered there, Logrumethar reached a decision: he would no longer wander alone in the world. This Keep was home enough for anyone, and it was still located in a wild area. The deep forest was mere footsteps away. If the guild would have him, he would stay with them.

And so it was that Logrumethar came to be part of the Eternal Flame, swearing his service to its members and taking an oath to follow its charter. His days would be spent in the forests he loved, and his nights in company with those who found their way to the Keep, named the "Traveler's Rest" by Logrumethar himself when the time for naming the place came about - a very fitting name, he thought. He was finally home in a way he had never felt himself to be, warm before the fire and laughing with a tankard in his hand, with companions who were true.

Part Third: Logrumethar’s Time With the Eternal Flame:

As time passed, Logrumethar proved himself to be a loyal companion to his new guild mates of the Eternal Flame. Many a time he stood by them in the wilderness, the dungeons, and even in the cities of Britain, defending against attack by evil creatures, proving his worth and reliability with deeds. Taking the Ethics of the Eternal Flame to his heart, Logrumethar lived to uphold them and dedicated himself to building the new guild with those dispossessed by the dissolution of the Burning Heart. In a short time, Logrumethar became a strong leader in the guild, rising to lead their Division of Peace, one of the three groups that comprised the Eternal Flame. A new spirit in the guild, Logrumethar gave his all to helping his comrades reach the state of grandeur that was constantly spoken of by those who once were part of the Burning Heart. He was confident that the original goals could be reached, if only the desire could be found to climb the mountain once more.

As time passed, Logrumethar became more proficient with the sword and other forms of combat, becoming well-versed in all of the aspects of the Art of War. The once-quiet man learned to love the company of others, and discovered in himself a great joy in friendship. The sound of his laughter, mingling with that of others, was a music he was not accustomed to hearing, but one to which he quickly became familiar and developed an appreciation for: of all of the things his time with the Eternal Flame gave him, this was the one he prized most. His laughter could be heard every night as he jested with his companions at table in the Traveler’s Rest after a day of work for the guild. For a long time, Logrumethar was happy indeed.

Alas, it was not to endure: after a long time with the Eternal Flame, a veil of discontent came over Logrumethar, gradually. For all that the members of the Eternal Flame spoke glowingly of the glories of their old association, it became apparent that the ability to rebuild what was lost with the Burning Heart had faded. Glory and achievement became something to be spoken of in remembrance only, rather than something to be obtained again. The spirit of the guild, which had originally drawn Logrumethar to the fold, had since sickened and diminished into something dry and lifeless, and Logrumethar felt as though the original designs of the guild were doomed to never be achieved. Further, the spirit of the guild to uphold its own beliefs and ethics was fading into the darkness of apathy and Logrumethar was finding it increasingly difficult to rouse his companions to action. They seemed better contented to talk of what was never to be again.

When the forces of Minax assaulted Britannia and the City of Trinsic, Logrumethar sought to rouse his fellows to answer the call to defense. For the last time, Logrumethar saw a spark in the eyes of his companions and was given hope of their quickening. After exhorting his guild mates to meet him at the muster at Trinsic, Logrumethar rode off to tell the forces at the beleaguered City to expect the arrival of the Eternal Flame, who would help in the defense.

The battle was a scene from Hell given breath on Earth. The horrors that transpired that day in the streets of the City of Valor are even today spoken of in whispers, if at all, even after the Dark Queen has been banished and Trinsic restored. Creatures of the Abyss strode though mists of blood as the valiant warriors that rode to the defense of Trinsic were overcome by a brutality they had never before faced, even in the darkest of dungeons. In the darkness of that day, the smallfolk of the city themselves returned from the safety to which they had removed to defend the city they called home, and were killed as quickly as they rushed to fight. The walls crumbed, and fires burned, and the once clean stone was blackened and destroyed. All through the terrible night, Logrumethar fought, and waited to hear the horns of his comrades. Finally, as the last of the defenders were overcome, he heard the horns, but these were horns to signal for the retreat – Minax had won, Trinsic had fallen, and not one of his friends came to aid in the defense. Thoroughly defeated, Logrumethar fled into the wilderness once more.

He eventually made his way back to his small house, at the foot of the very Tower that the Burning Heart had once called home. He had acquired the house because he had heard that it was part of what once was the Burning Heart Village. Who knows why? Perhaps he had been imbued with a desire to be close to what his guild members called their greatest times. Whatever the reason, Logrumethar sat in the house before his fire and contemplated his future and his disappointment with what he thought could have been. He thought on these things as his wounds healed and he looked upon the now-darkened windows of the Burning Heart Tower.

On this day, and with a great bitterness, Logrumethar ended his association with the Eternal Flame, leaving them to their path, whatever it might be. His own path shrouded in the mists of uncertainty, Logrumethar sat and healed, and brooded on what tomorrow might hold.

Part Fourth: Trammel

After a time, Logrumethar returned to his wanderings fully healed. He still loved the forested lands of Britannia, even after all of these years, and once again he wandered them alone. Though he was once more mostly content, he felt as though he could never fully return to the life he had known before joining the Eternal Flame. He had come to think in terms of the greater good that could be accomplished by many people working with a common cause toward a greater goal than could ever be reached by one person alone, and so the ranger began contemplating his life and how best to spend it.

Then, sometime later, word came to Logrumethar in his wanderings of the new world that had been opened through the magic of Lord British and his court magician, Nystul. Trammel, it was said, was an exact duplicate of the Britannia Logrumethar knew, and it was as yet untouched by war or greed. It was a new beginning in earnest, and it called to the dispirited ranger with an indescribable strength. With little hesitation, he sold every scrap of his worldly possessions and his house in the Burning Heart Village and made the journey through the moongate to his new home.

Trammel was everything he had hoped it would be – forests unspoiled by the woodsman’s axe, waters that had never known the fisher’s net. The people he met there still had about them an innocence long since burned from the world from which he had come, and a feeling of excitement at a new beginning could almost be felt standing in the air. In the empty fields of Trammel, Logrumethar was renewed and had decided upon his course. He would help preserve this new world against the mistakes made in the last, keep the goodness he saw around him alive before it could sicken. With the wealth he had amassed through the sale of his home, Logrumethar set about the business of making a reality of his new vision – he would create from nothingness a group of his own, a group dedicated to protecting the world he saw all around him.

And so it was that the Children of the Shattered Gem came to be.

Logrumethar used his gold to buy a large home on the plains that lay beside the Desert of Compassion. Long and alone he labored to create a home for his guild, smiling to himself as he thought back with fondness to his early days with the Eternal Flame – the excitement and enthusiasm he had felt then filling him now as he set about his new work. Was this the way his old friends had felt when they had set out to build the dream that would take up where their first had ended? Logrumethar thought it must be. Yet even as he enjoyed these feelings that his recollections brought him, he silently determined that he would use them as they should be used: as a guide to something greater in the future rather than as a memorial to what was left behind. And, eventually, the work was finished – the house was completed, and the new world awaited.

It is said that some things are simply not meant to be – that, no matter what the designs or efforts of Man, certain things are destined never to exist. Fate simply has its own design, and this design dispels Man’s work and plans in favor of its own flow. Such was the fate of the order known as the Children of the Shattered Gem.

With the Chapterhouse built and ready to welcome those souls with whom he hoped to find common cause, Logrumethar left on a journey to Britain to spread the word of his vision. He walked to the port city of Cove, and boarded a ship headed to the Greatest City of Britannia. The voyage was going smoothly and Logrumethar was busily envisioning the near-achievement of his dream, when a violent storm struck the ship, almost out of nowhere.

Though hardy and sea-worthy, the ship was nonetheless very small and was tossed about on a sea that was peaceful only minutes before but which now raged as though possessed by elementals. Again and again, the ship was battered by huge waves and the deck was swept by water that came over the side. The wind had picked up to a hurricane-force and the mainsail ripped from the mast under the power of the gale’s unexpected assault. Sailors, caught completely unaware by the unnatural storm, rushed to their posts in their attempts to save the ship, and Logrumethar held on for dear life to keep from being swept overboard.  He had just enough time to hear the dismayed cry of the steersman before a rending crash filled the air: the ship had been run aground over a reef and its back had been broken. It sat now, on the reef, dying as waves crashed into it over and over.

The sailors still aboard the ship began to scramble to the lifeboats as the captain rang the bell that called to abandon ship. Logrumethar, having been stunned by the crash into the reef, came to his senses just long enough to see a huge wave come to him, sweeping him over the side into the icy, raging water.

Choking on salt water, and being weighed down by his clothing, he struggled to keep himself out of the water long enough to call to one of the lifeboats. A wave pushed him against the dying ship, and he grabbed hold of it and pulled himself far enough out of the water to look for help. As he looked about in the storm and shrugged loose of his sodden wool cloak, another wave, larger than the others, struck the ship and broke it apart, casting bits of wreckage everywhere. Logrumethar was again flailing wildly in the water, this time without hope of gaining a handhold anywhere.

With the cold of the water taking away the feeling in his limbs, the drowning man remembered that he had reagents in a pouch on his belt. Frantically, he grasped at his belt in the desperate hope that they would be there. As his hand closed about the leather pouch, Logrumethar felt relief and a hope that he might yet escape alive. With the knowledge that he had reagents, he next checked his rune-pouch to see if there were any there by feeling through the leather. Miraculously, he felt the outline of one remaining runestone. Were he not drowning, Logrumethar would have thanked the fates.

From memory, though he was not an accomplished mage by any means, Logrumethar cast the spell of Recall that would carry him off to some safer location. He knew not which runestone he still possessed, but anyplace would be better than staying where he was and dying. As the words of the spell left his lips and the pattern of mana formed his thoughts, Logrumethar felt the reagents in his left hand vanish. He groped with his right into the rune pouch for the stone, and released the pattern of the spell into the stone as it fell into his questing fingers.

Pain shattered his mind… something was wrong! The spell had been cast correctly into the stone clutched in his hand! What could it be?! As agony tore through his body, Logrumethar screamed and water filled his lungs. Then, just as he could no longer bear it, the claws of pain released him and he knew no more.

  Part Fifth: Awakening

The sun in his face was the first thing he noticed.  The ache in every fiber of his being was a close second. As Logrumethar opened his eyes, he tried to focus his thoughts. He remembered… a ship… a storm. Drowning. Then nothing.

He raised his right hand to wipe the salt-crust from his eyes and found that he had no fingers! No, not that he had no fingers, but that he was wearing a mitten. No, a pouch - a leather pouch. He had his hand in a leather pouch. Strange, that.

And then he remembered the Recall Spell that had gone wrong.

Groggily, he forced himself to an upright position. He was on a beach, washed up by the storm on some unknown shore. Why had the spell failed? He had cast it before, many times, without problem! Weakly, he pulled the pouch off his hand. What was wrong with the stone he had used?

His hand, now free of the pouch, was empty. There was no stone inside. His palm, however, bore a burn scar, as though a brand had been held to it. The scar clearly showed the shape of the stone he had used to cast his spell. Whatever had been wrong with the stone, it was gone now.

The sun beating down on his head was too hot. Logrumethar, tired and pushed beyond his endurance, raised his hand feebly to shade his eyes.

On the back of his hand was burned another stone–mark…two stones! He had cast a Recall Spell on two Stones at once! No wonder the spell had turned on him so violently! He was lucky not to be scattered in pieces between two destinations!

Which left only one question – what destination, exactly,  had the spell chosen for him? Logrumethar rose to see if he recognized anything. He had marked all of the stones himself, so whichever of the two had won out, he should be somewhere he knew.

Only he wasn’t.

The sky itself was different! The trees, though similar enough that almost no one but a lifelong ranger would notice the differences, were not ones he knew. Even the call and song of the birds that flew overhead were unfamiliar. He cast his gaze around, but there was nothing he knew anyplace about. Staggering, he made his way from the shoreline to the top of a nearby hill, and was struck speechless by what he saw…

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