Emmánuel di'Luna - A Child Of Misfortune

Lander

New member
Original poster
Jul 4, 2026
4
0
1

Ches 14th, 1354 DR

We got word of a magical disturbance at the logging camp. I never expected to find a scene torn right out of the stories my grandparents used to tell.
The air still tasted of ozone and burnt salt. Everything was levelled, and the parents were gone; just gone. But amidst the ash, I heard the faintest whimper. The little one couldn't have been more than two years old, barely older than my own boy, Kael.
I scooped him up, and this little scrap of a thing gripped my uniform tight. The poor mite had tears streaked through the soot on his cheeks. I didn't think twice. I just wrapped him in my heavy travel cloak and brought him back to the garrison with me.
He didn't make a fuss the whole walk, just stared at me with those wide, innocent eyes. When we got to the gate, I looked down at him and saw the little smudge on his nose. It broke me. I know the coin is tight, and the garrison doesn't take kindly to strays. But I can't leave a child out in the cold.
Kael is going to have a new brother tonight.

Kythorn 2nd, 1362 DR

The boy is growing faster than a runaway weed, and today my chest nearly burst out of my leather brigandine.
I brought him down to the training yard with the rest of the garrison recruits. He is barely big enough to lift a blunted iron shortsword, but the moment his fingers gripped the hilt, something shifted. He stood straight, mirrored my stance perfectly, and executed three clean thrusts without losing his balance once. The drill sergeant stopped pacing, looked at the lad, and gave me a slow nod. For a hard bastard like him, that is as good as a gold medal.
Watching him out there, sweating in the dirt and laughing with the older lads, made me forget the ash and the blood of the night I found him. He has got a fire in him, but it is a good fire; focused, disciplined, and brave.
Kael was cheering him on from the top of the rain barrels, shouting so loud he nearly lost his voice. My two boys, fierce as wolves and thick as thieves. Amn might be a land ruled by coin and shadow, but out on that dusty field, I felt like the richest man in the Council's domains.

Eleasis 19th, 1364 DR

The Council of Six is sending us south, and my stomach has been a knot of cold iron since morning orders.
We are marching into the Snowflake Mountains to root out a band of rogue mages and smugglers operating near the Tethyrian border. It is a high-risk assignment, the kind where the payout is heavy but the casualty list is longer. Two years ago, I would have taken the coin without a second thought. Now, looking at my boys, all I see is the distance between us.
The lad, the orphan I brought home, is nearly as tall as my shoulder now. He helped me oil my chainmail tonight, his hands steady and efficient from his own time in the armory. He didn't say much, but he kept adjusting the straps on my greaves, making sure the fit was perfect. Kael sat on the bunk, uncharacteristically quiet, sharpening my dagger until the edge could split hair. They are growing into fine men, but they are still just boys.
I hate leaving them with the reserve garrison, even if the sergeant swore to keep an eye on them. The magical nature of this mission sits foul with me. Every time the Captain talks about arcane anomalies in the mountains, I am reminded of the ash and ozone from the night I found my youngest son.
I survived that night. High Helm grant I survive this march to come back to them.


Eleint 4th, 1364 DR

They brought his shield back. Just his shield, scorched black and split right down the center.
The Captain stood in our doorway, head bowed, talking about an ambush in the passes and valiant sacrifice. I didn't hear a word after he said the name. My ears started ringing, the exact same high-pitched hum I hear in my dreams when I think about the night he found me. The world went completely grey, except for Kael’s screaming. I’ve never heard my brother make a sound like that. It sounded like an animal dying.
He is gone. The man who dragged me out of the ash, who shared his coin and his bread, who gave me a name and a brother, is gone.
The reserve guards are telling us we have to vacate the garrison quarters by the end of the tenday. They say coin is tight and the space is needed for new recruits. Kael is sitting in the corner of the room, clutching our father’s oiled chainmail, staring at nothing. He looks so small. I am the one who was supposed to be the burden, but I am the one who has to be strong now.
I took father's blunted iron shortsword out to the training yard an hour ago. I swung it until my hands bled and my shoulders felt like they were tearing apart. I didn't cry. The fire inside me isn't a good fire anymore. It is hot, wild, and tastes like burnt salt.
Those rogue mages in the Snowflake Mountains think they won. But I am going to take his split shield, I am going to sharpen his steel, and I am going to hunt down every last one of them.


Uktar 22nd, 1366 DR

I finally washed the burnt salt from my mouth, and replaced it with a vow.
For a year, Kael and I lived like stray dogs, taking bloody coin for mercenary work just to put food in our bellies and hunt the edges of the Snowflake Mountains. But vengeance is a hollow shield. It didn't bring Father back, and it didn't stop the nightmares. It just made me reckless, swinging blindly in the dark while Kael watched in terror, afraid he was going to lose his only remaining family.
Two days ago, we passed the High Watch towers. I saw the Watchers standing on the ramparts in their polished steel, their eyes fixed on the horizon, protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. It hit me like a physical blow. That was what Father did. He didn't march south for blood or glory; he marched to keep the shadow away from the innocent. He was a shield.
Yesterday, I knelt before the altar of the Watcher. I laid Father’s split, scorched shield at the feet of the statue. I swore the oath. I will be the barrier against the chaotic dark. I will master this wild, terrifying fire inside me and forge it into Helm’s unyielding light.
When I walked out of the temple wearing the heavy steel plate, Kael was waiting in the courtyard. For the first time since the Captain stood in our doorway, Kael smiled. He reached out and tapped the gauntlet on my forearm.
I am no longer just an orphan chasing ghosts in the ash. I am a Guardian.
 

11th Flamerule, 1371 DR

Murann smells of rotten kelp, cheap ale, and desperation.
This city is nothing like the disciplined garrisons of Eshpurta. It is a chaotic hive ruled by greedy merchant houses and cutthroat ship captains, where law belongs to whoever has the heaviest purse.
I took shelter at a rowdy tavern called The Captain's Cabin. It was a sensory assault of drunken sailors and brawling mercenaries, but the tavernmaid, Alessa, kept the peace better than any city watchman. When she saw my holy symbol she just warned me to watch my back, whispering that gods of justice don't last long in Murann.
Her words only hardened my resolve. Tomorrow, I am marching straight to the city garrison. My goal is to join the Murann Guard.
It is going to be an uphill battle. The local watch is notoriously corrupt, and they won't welcome a paladin who answers to a higher law than gold.
But this city needs a shield, and Helm demands eyes that do not blink in the dark. If I can earn a badge here, I can start cleaning up these streets from the inside out.
The Captain's Cabin Inn has proven to be a true sanctuary in this gods-forsaken city, entirely thanks to the maids, Copper and Maude. They work themselves to the bone keeping the rowdy sailors in check, always ensuring I have a warm drink waiting. Maude, especially, has a fierce kindness to her that reminds me of home.
Today, my purpose in Murann finally found its anchor. I stood before Serjeant Mikhail Marsk and swore my allegiance, officially joining the Harbor Guard. Standing there, reciting the vows of service with my hand on my sword, my mind drifted instantly to Father. I could almost feel his heavy hand resting on my shoulder. I know how proud he would be to see me carrying on his legacy, wearing the uniform of the watch.
Recruit di'Luna. Serjeant Marsk said it aloud when he signed my papers. It has a beautiful ring to it. A real name, forged from the light, replacing the blank slate of my past.
The Serjeant is an incredibly busy man, walking through the district with him is an exercise in patience. Every single merchant, sailor, and laborer stops him to beg for a favor or report a grievance. Yet, despite the chaos, he takes note of real work. I’ve already made my mark; he personally congratulated me on a job well done after I spotted and apprehended an unlicensed merchant.
But Murann’s shadows are deep and strange. A local wizard named Ekaitz spoke in hushed, urgent tones about vague, looming threats targeting his beloved Maude. Hearing a mage speak of danger put me on instant alert, bringing back the old smell of burnt salt, but I must tread carefully.
There are lines we cannot cross yet. Marsk gave explicit orders that the Harbor Guard is strictly forbidden from patrolling the Row. It is a lawless strip where the merchant houses run their own brutal justice, and a green recruit like me cannot afford to poke the nest just yet. I will bide my time, guard the harbor, and keep my eyes open
The Captain's Cabin was deafening tonight, packed with a rowdy bunch of patrons shouting over their ale, but the room went dead silent when Serjeant Alvorn Blackclaw walked in. Meeting him was like staring at an anvil; the man radiates a brutal, no-nonsense authority that immediately commanded the room's respect. He doesn't coddle recruits, but he is the kind of soldier you want at your back when a brawl spills into the streets.
He brought grim news from the upper echelons. A fragile diplomatic crisis is brewing with the elves of the Wealdath, all because a foolish rower named Rafael went poaching in their sacred woods. The elves are furious, demanding blood or coin, and the Harbor Guard is walking a razor's edge trying to keep the peace before arrows start flying into the docks. Between corrupt merchants, cryptic wizards, and angry elves, Recruit di'Luna is going to have his hands completely full.
 
Last edited:

13rd Flamerule, 1371 DR

My stomach is still turning from what we found on the dawn patrol.
Smeared across the outer stone walls of the harbor district was a harrowing message, dripping and written in thick, copper-smelling animal blood: He will fall with his own.
The sight of it sent a cold shiver straight down my spine. Helm's grace within me senses a calculated malice. I can't stop turning the words over in my head. Who could have written it, and why?
My mind is racing with possibilities. Could it be a bloody warning from the elves of the Wealdath, targeting Rafael for breaching their borders? Is it the smugglers and unlicensed merchants seeking vengeance against the Guard for interfering with their coin? Or, worst of all, is it a ghost from my own past; a sign that the rogue mages from the Snowflake Mountains have finally tracked me down to Murann?
Whoever wrote it knows how to strike fear, but they underestimate a Paladin of Helm. I will find the hand that spilled that blood.