Storm. Lightning. Rain. These were the things that Grimm woke up to, much to his surprise. It only took him a few seconds to realize that wherever he was now, it wasn't where he had fallen asleep. Wary as ever, he readied his greataxe and looked around him. It looked like any number of rocky badlands he had seen during his many travels as mercenary, but there was something subtly...off about it all. Something wasn't right.
Had the warrior known more about the Planes and cosmology of Toril, it could be he would have realized he was standing in the middle of Warrior's Rest, the realm of his deity, Tempus. But that something wasn't right, was confirmed not only by the absence of his companions, but also by a mountain, far off in the distance, that slowly sank into the ground to form hills.
All the more reason for the Half-Orc to voice his concerns.
Grimm: Oi! 'Ello! Anybody out 'ere?
The sound of metal scratching on stone behind him alerted the warrior to something or someone behind him and without a second thought, he spun around with full force, aiming his greataxe at where he'd figure the unseen assailant would be. Steel met steel and the greataxe was wrenched from his hands by the force of the impact, a split second before Grimm realized who had snuck up behind him. It was clad in wicked black armour, bore black wings and had a great evil about him: Sicarius.
The Half-Fiend reacted swiftly and it panned out much like it had months ago: he grabbed the Half-Orc by the throat, exerting great force. Again, he asked the warrior to join by his side. Again, Grimm refused. And again, Grimm started to slump to the floor, after Sicarius broke his lower jaw and slashed his throat.
Unlike the last time, the Half-Orc, to his surprise, noted that his fall was slowed, as if he was as light as a feather. The haze of pain wasn't any different than back then in Sicarius' tomb and through it, he saw how the Half-Fiend dissolved before his eyes. As the warrior continued to drift downward, he felt how he was gently caught.
Softly, but with great resolve, he was put up back on his feet again. Just when Grimm wanted to turn around and look who or what it was this time, the pain in his jaw and throat intensified, but somehow, it felt...needed. As swift as the pain had intensified, it suddenly disappeared. From out of the corners of his eye, stepped a figure in front of him.
The figure was clad in fine full plate; pitted and gashed from many battles, but clearly in great shape. Virtually the only undamaged surface was the abdomen, proudly displaying Tempus his symbol; the silver sword on a yellow flame on a red shield. The steel was form-fitting, revealing it was a woman. No ordinary woman, because on her back sprouted white, feathery wings and where one would expect eyes, behind the visor of the helmet, two yellow-orange flames burned brightly.
Grimm recognized her for what she was; a Battle Maiden of Tempus. The Half-Orc, in his years worshipping Tempus and abiding by his orders and dogma, immediately recognized her. Or, at least, recognized her from all of the stories he had heard; they were Tempus his guards and messengers.
Battle Maiden: Kneel before me.
The Battle Maiden's voice cut through the air like the sharpest steel and despite her flaming eyes, was as cold as Kelemvor's embrace. The warrior started to kneel, but after a few seconds, stopped his motions and straightened his back.
Battle Maiden: No? Why would you, Grimm Warzkar, Mercenary of Mosstone, not kneel before me?
Grimm: I don't kneel fer anyone, as a rule o' thumb. Though I figure I should fear da consequences by now disobeyin' you, I also remember Tempus' orders ta all warriors. Da first one is to "be fearless". So, no, I will not kneel.
Though her eyes and the healthy, sun-tanned skin of her upper face were the only things visible, the Half-Orc just knew that she was smiling.
Battle Maiden: Well done, Grimm. You have been tried three times. Sicarius did not break your will, a second confrontation did not break your will and even I, as foolish as it may be to show me defiance, encountered your stubbornness. You have been a proper follower of our lord Tempus and I saw it fit to grand you a small boon. Awake now, Grimm Warzkar, Mercenary of Mosstone. Find yourself with new prowess for with to tackle your adversaries. Adhere to the orders of Tempus. Do not disappoint.
Before the Half-Orc could answer, he once more slumped to the ground. Not from pain or agony, but from a sudden, overwhelming urge to sleep. As he closed his eyes, he already opened them what felt like mere seconds later...