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The Fall of Peregrine Lighthand...
Posted: 30 Jun 2003 12:37 AM |
[Taken from the tattered pages of a black, unholy journal washed upon the shores of the brandibuck coast]
It has been over a month now, crossing these lands, over jagged spires of rock and rolling fury of the waves. My soul hungers for the truth, for the answer that lies within my destiny. I write here, remembering that fateful day not so long ago, when my hands and face were of the hue that the mortals call charming, sometimes even handsome. I look upon my black, charred skin and see an outer visage of my own twisted soul...
Oh so long ago yet so close to memory that fateful day. Twas raining down harsh, the puddles slowing our travels. The few gentlefellows I had met up with seemed kindly enough, and I being a fresh, brave Paladin just out of the Midor Temple was itching to practice my holy tongue upon those ears of unbelievers and blasphemers. My sword and shield at the ready, I felt my heart free of woe, of trouble and of the sin that draws all the wretched away from the light. I had been taught in both divine and martial principles, and my keen edged blade was at the ready as we cut swathes through the kobold encampments.
All was well as the four of us entered the Midor graveyard, the stench of stangant water mingling with the foul odor of undead. The wafting ichor made me cringe, my teeth grinding against each other in sympathy for the agony of these lost souls. Milling around in the foggy gloom screams and echoes of souls tortured from eternity wound theirselves up from the hollows of the deep crypts. Never in a thousand lifetimes would I think I would join their ranks...
The fighters and cleric of the group dispatched several of the undead wandering up before I had a chance to exort my own divine justice upon their festering, bony heads. Skeletons walked by ways of evil machinations, the zombies shambling along as decade old skin fell to the wind. At last the half-orc bashed the door down, the group charging down below.
That was when I first failed.
The darkness clung to us like the bony fingers of death, its icy grip sucking our breath away. Holding my longsword firmly, I let loose the battle cry of the Paladin order, swearing my life and my soul to the divine creator. My allies charged in as well, pledging justice to the undead fiends savoring the taste of fresh souls, our lifeforce their feast. But alas, my sword dove into chest, flesh, and bone all at once, each slash across the undead beasts yielding nothing. Fervently I attacked, torrents of sweat like rivers cascading down my forehead as my allies cut down fiend after fiend, me still navigating through the halls unable to touch these scourge of the world.
I could not understand my situation. All my life I had trained to be a Paladin, to work good in this world and smite down the evils plagueing it. Now...now my sword was useless, unable to do more than scratch these fiends. Time and time again I was forced to retreat, my pride and honor hurt both as the halfling cleric healed my wounds, the half-orc and dwarf cutting through the undead with ease. My head swam, my soul yearned to do what I was called to do. Again I rushed in, each time sent flying back in vain as the powerful undead treated me as a rag doll. Cut after cut, parry and pierceing through the hordes shambling towards us, and all I could do was watch in vain as wound after wound was inflicted upon my body. My sword, my first, it was all nothing...the divine power I spent my life learning to control and to use towards healing this world was nothing.
All I lived for and stood for was a joke. Not one shred of divine power flowed through my veins, allowing me to cut down a single beast wandering the musty crypts. Trudging along reluctantly to the lower level, my friends in the lead, my heart sank at the thought of the head Paladins hearing of my failure, cowering in the shadows and shouting support to my allies while my sword and my abilities hung at my side, weak and powerless.
For several more hours we struggled further and further below the earth, the dripping water of the lake above a clear sign that the undead reached far below the surface. Scant few torches lay alongside the walls, casting an eerie glow upon each walking corpse smote down by us. But not I...I stayed toward the back, protecting the cleric as she tended to the wounds of those contributing. I was digusted with myself, with my useless self. Tears welled up within my soul, but I would not lose control of my emotions in such dire times of failure. That was the least I could do to save my Paladin virtue.
At last we came upon the source of the evil power radiating out. Upon a great pedastal, seeped in a crimson fog of blood and screaming souls, rose the obolisk and its Mummy Lord. Its eyes pierced into my soul, sending shivers throughout my mortal body. At last my sword dropped from my hands, the shouts and bloody roars of my allies falling upon deaf ears. All around me the room spun, the cries of torment of my allies a deafening thud mixed with the howls and spells thrown about the room. Pits to either side beckoned me to their edge, my soul pointless, worthless.
At last I dropped to my knees, the tears streaming out beyond my control. My order...my life...my pact with the divine grace blessed upon me...all of it was nothing. I was a failure, my faith so weak and so futile I was unable to do a single thing other than act as a play thing for these undead. My order would be disgraced, and my god forfeit my soul to the nether regions for such failure. As the tears streamed across my cheeks, the weight of my weakness bearing down upon my heavy shoulders, the mummy dropped before me, bringing me back into reality.
Every one of my allies was dead. THe cleric, the dwarves, the half-orc and even the nimble elf with his deadly bow were all sitting in pools of their own blood. Lookin up through watery eyes, my sobs halted at the sight of the lord of the Undead. Before me, standing tall and dressed in elegant robes as dark as the void of night was something I could not mistake for anything else more evil. A Vampire Lord.
That was my final drink of life, my final breath of this mortal realm. His offer, to drink of my soul in exchange for my friends' lives, was all that ran through my mind and into my heart. What shard of divine light remained urged me to make one final choice that would impact so many lives of my fellows who had fallen before death and evil themselves. Standing, I closed my eyes, whispering that it be done. My days of learning the ways of the Paladin slipped before my eyes as the teeth sank in, my blood draining down my neck and through my leather armor, staining it as crimson as a dead rose.
Awakening several hours later, I found myself lying on the floor, the room empty and cold. My friends began to wake themselves, their wounds gone, the blood caked upon the floor. This time, there were not tears, no shreds of sorrow cutting through my thoughts. Picking up my battered, blood-soaked sword, I ran for the door, sprinting up the steps and out of the crypt, leaving my befuddled friends behind.
Now I wander these lands, my soul twisted beyond torment. I am...not human anymore, my mind driven insane by the thoughts and evils that wrack every waking moment. I come upon the port of Midor now, my long voyage of questions now answered. Though my eternal soul be damned, I have the power of the unliving, and the patience of a steady stream of blood flowing across the land.
The mortal realm will pay dearly for what has transpired. The Paladins who wasted my life will pay. The divine light, as dim and powerless as I see it now, will be snuffed. My sword and my soul both are blackened, my visage as terrible as the undead fiends I now consort with. Beware, old friends...your part in this tragic play of the Gods will bring you torment like none on this world has seen before...I promise you this...
~Peregrine Blighthand |
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