For the beginning of this entry, perhaps it makes sense to start with my own story.
I was born and raised in the shadows of the famous mad wizard's dungeon in Waterdeep. With so many adventurers passing through the city, my father, included, made sense to become one when the day came that I could wield a sword.
As a member of a religious family, proud followers of the god of justice, seeking training among paladins was also expected.
The training was rigorous, but I seemed to be ready from birth for it. Taking up the sword to defend what is just was a long-awaited hope. Everything seemed to follow a very expected course... Until the gods played their cards and chaos arrived.
Nobody knew until very late where they came from, but it didn't take long to find out what they wanted. Men, if they could still be described as such, came to the city after a supposed artifact taken from the bowels of the mountain by a group of mercenaries. With too much power and little value for human life, they were determined to get what they came for. And exterminate everyone in your path.
Our village was the first to fall to the days-long fury of fire and darkness. It was only after razing two other villages that they discovered that the artifact had already been taken to the other side of the world weeks ago. A place unknown to most of us, Kara-Tur.
When help arrived, there were no enemies left to fight. Our executioners left as quickly as they arrived. Faced with such horror and power, all we paladins fresh from training could do was try to save the few survivors. The most audacious, or naïve, who went into battle disappeared, consumed by arcane power.
Arcane power. How can you face something like this with iron and steel?
But another question bothered me even more: who would make them pay?
The church also wanted the same answers. A delegation was formed to go to Kara-Tur to obtain more information about our invaders and the object they were looking for. I was the first to volunteer. Two others followed me.
I confess that I had no interest in looking for the artifact, only revenge moved me in that direction.
The journey seemed to last centuries, and when we arrived, everything was so different that it seemed like we had crossed over into another plane.
It didn't take long for us to familiarize ourselves with the place after meeting a group of priests who spoke the same language as the gods we knew. However, no one seemed to know anything about the interests of our mission. That, or they were just hiding the information from us. To this day I can't say.
As we pursued our objectives, we sought to gather resources that would help us in the eventual confrontation.
That's when we separated. From my perspective, learning and understanding arcane magic was absolutely necessary, given the nature of our adversaries. I found a kind of arcane academy that, reluctantly, accepted me (only after a few weeks did I discover that it was a college of bards. I should have been suspicious due to the excess of chants and mantras, but my translator always refused to translate them into me, something about the language being sacred, I guess).
The language proved to be a major barrier to my studies. I didn't have time to learn it and still continue my mission. I had to settle for learning to read arcane scrolls. But not all was lost. I managed to compensate by learning local combat techniques. An old tradition and quite different from the one I knew. Something that will certainly give me an advantage over my enemies.
My companions thought it was a waste of time and continued on, looking for a clue in some temple lost in the mountains. False information that led them to an ambush on the road.
It took me some time to find those responsible. But I found them. And I helped them meet their gods. A trip paid for with steel and blood. I buried them in the forest in unmarked graves. People like that don't deserve memorials.
Time passed and only after four years in that place, I finally found what took me to there. Or something close to that.
One of the wizards had abandoned his band after finding faith in a local god. He was in a monastery living in a cloister. The man I met for the second time was very different from the previous one. Calm and serene, he told me about the misfortune that befell others. The artifact they sought was, in fact, a portal to the Red Prison, Carceri. Tragically for them, they found out too late... I can't imagine why anyone would seek something like that, but the outcome seemed appropriate.
I believe Tyr led me on that quest to discover that justice does not fail to punish evildoers with terror and fury.
However, one was still missing. That wizard's new life didn't erase his old one. He still had a lot to pay, and I was there to collect the debt.
At that time I was still very gentle with the unjust, and I almost let him live in his voluntary seclusion. But something moved my hand toward the sword and sentence was given. He offered no resistance but accepted his fate. A clean strike through the heart ended his life in this world.
I was finally able to return home after years on a mission.
Upon returning, I was finally able to take my oath. One suited to the ways of justice that Tyr revealed to me on my journey. Serve justice as an avenger, the manifestation of divine fury against the unjust, using all the resources at my disposal to strike terror into their blackened hearts and extirpate them from this world.
But the time in my homeland was short. There was another place crying out for justice and revenge. A remote, icy island called Skaljard. And so, once again I went on a mission to bring the word and the sword of justice among those who lack one or the other.