| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Display using:
|
|
Paladin's Requiem
Posted: 04 Jun 2004 01:08 AM |
The road to Maldovia is paved with both blood and memories. They are thick on the Steppes of Syn, where the haunting song of the harpies echo in the expanse. They are potent through the ruined city of Maldovia, where even the dead do not remain at peace. And they are palatable in the dark Castle Valinor, now lost to the world of light. The path is marked with death, and pain, and the emptiness of Syn Himself. It was here, in the heights of the evil castle, that the paladin known as Mykal Vecar met his fate.
The evening was dark and calm, hardly like the climactic nights of rain and storm told of in the old stories. In that darkness, the vampire known as Mr. Loccard lead a small band through to the gates of Castle Valinor. He had spent the journey taunting his companions, but his motives for this were not truly malicious. In truth, Mr. Loccard was frightened. Tonight he was leading the friends of the paladin to his master’s very doorstep. Such an act would mean certain death for Mr. Loccard; if his master ever found out. With any luck, thought Mr. Loccard, he never will.
He quickly cleared his fellow vampires from the castle’s entry hall. They did not question him, for they knew he was high in the service of the master. Knowing the vampires would not be gone long, Mr. Loccard quickly summoned the small fellowship of mortals into the castle. Time was of the essence. The deal he had made with them was simple; give up the paladin in exchange for Mr. Loccard's freedom from the mage Xaranthir. Mr. Loccard fully intended to fulfill his side of the bargain, though he knew the mortals did not trust him. Freedom, he knew, would serve him far better then captivity. If only the master does not find out my treachery...
An ancient gloom permeated the castle, and the stillness was punctuated only by the occasional flapping of bat wings. Mr. Loccard had long since stopped being unnerved by the silence, in fact, he welcomed it. As a mortal, such a place would have caused him to flee in terror. But in his new life, he was a creature of the night, an inhabitant of still and dark places. He was home, now it was a matter of finishing the task quickly.
He led them to the dungeons, but stopped short of the entrance. He looks to the bard, Macha, and the dwarf priest, Coruva. They stared back at them, hatred burning in their eyes and questions on their faces. "He has been moved," whispered Mr. Loccard. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The paladin was no longer on his slab in the dungeon. Had he died? Mr. Loccard panicked. Had the master lost his patience and decided to kill the paladin? Were that the case, then Mr. Loccard's fate was sealed. He would be forced to return, a prisoner of the hated mortals he accompanied. His master would not rise to save him, and he would be given over to the ministrations of the hated mage Xaranthir.
Were he still alive, Mr. Loccard would have been sweating profusely. Where was he? Then he felt it; the sweet sensation of the soul he shared with the paladin. But rather then down in the dungeon, the paladin was in the upper level of the castle. What is going on, he thought, ignoring the mortal's urgent questions. "We go up," he said, and went up the stairs without waiting for their response.
Once upstairs, Mr. Loccard went ahead of the group, entering a large reception area in the upper level of the castle. In the past, this room had been used by Count Valinor to host grand balls, but tonight the master had different plans. Count Valinor stood before an altar shimmering with a strange metal. He was surrounded by vampire and adamantium golems, his most powerful children and possessions. "You have returned," he said, staring at Mr. Loccard.
"Yes, master, I have..." started Loccard, but his words were cut short by the Count's harsh gaze. On top of the altar, surrounded in white light, was the body of the paladin.
Mr. Loccard ran to stand beside the paladin. The mortals, two half-breeds, the dwarf, the human monk, the halfling, and the human priestess of Midoran cried out in protest. They actually believed I would betray the master, thought Mr. Loccard, My only hope is that he forgives me.
Count Valinor gave Loccard a cold, emotionless smile. He surveyed the mortals, now gathered before the altar. The priestess, Blanche, staggered and fell to the ground. She is on the verge of death, though Loccard incredulously, Soon she shall join the paladin. His joy at this prospect was short lived, however, when the master motioned him closer. “You have failed me, Loccard,” said the Count coldly. “ I shall deal with you later.” He grabbed Mr. Loccard by the collar and lifted him with supernatural strength. The Count hurled his servant across the room. Loccard hit the opposite wall with a sickening crack, and his body went limp.
He knew he had not been unconscious long, for when he awoke the mortals were still standing in front of the altar. The Count was chanting, and the white glow around the paladin had extended to include the altar as well. Suddenly, Mr. Loccard felt a powerful tug from within. The piece of Mykal that Loccard had imprisoned was ripped from body and sent flying to the altar. When the piece from Loccard touched the body of the paladin, a bright light emanated from the altar. The smell of brimstone and seared flesh filled the room.
Next to the altar stood a horrifying being. Mr. Loccard knew immediately what it was. Syn, he thought desperately, He has returned from his banishment!
It was true. Even Count Valinor seemed to feel the emptiness that Syn exuded. The creature spoke, "I am now free. The soul of the paladin has served as a beacon for my return." The dwarf, Coruva, was sprawled on the floor next to the unconscious priestess of Midoran. He clutched the ever-present medallion he wore around his neck. With a lurch, he grasped the leg of Syn with the hand the held the amulet. The dwarf let out an inhuman scream and pulled back his now charred arm. He still clutched the medallion..
The mortals, beaten and bruised, began to flee from Syn’s wrath. But the priestess remained. She seemed bolstered with a new found strength as she stood over the burned and fallen dwarf. "You will not have him," she shouted defiantly. Mr. Loccard looked at her in amazement; he had not thought such strength possible from her. He had been sure she would have died in Maldovia, yet here she was, standing up to Syn Himself! It was inconceivable!
With that, the frail priestess helped the battered dwarf to his feet. They fled the castle, leaving Mr. Loccard, Count Valinor, and the terrible presence of Syn reborn. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
|
|
  |
|
|
Re: Paladin's Requiem
Posted: 07 Jun 2004 12:36 PM |
Paladin’s Requiem
The armor guards both life and death,
His body and soul and heart.
A second skin, protecting him;
Keeping him apart.
Throughout his days of pain and strife,
It guards his deepest fears
Keeping him above the din,
And from shedding tears.
In life he kept himself apart,
From passions of the soul.
No love for him; apart from sin
Distance in the roll.
Now here he lies in sweet repose,
His body ruined and cold,
Bereft of breath, he’s tasted death,
Bitter draft of old.
In death he should have found true peace,
Yet in that darkened state.
His soul not gone; it lingers on,
Floating in the strait.
He graced the darkened firmament
Touching the divine.
With armor strong, he’ll carry on,
Passing the sublime. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
|
|
|
|
|
Re: Paladin's Requiem
Posted: 07 Jun 2004 05:25 PM |
The mausoleum of Midor was dim, but a little darkness never bothered Vidus. "Take me there," he curtly instructed the young knight that stood guard by the door. The knight replied respectfully enough, but Vidus was not paying attention. His thoughts were centered on the grave. That cursed grave, he fumed, That one should not be laid here, in this place of honor. Dark thoughts raced through this mind as he strode past the guard to the grave which was now in sight.
The Mausoleum in the Great Temple of Midor was a place reserved for the holiest of Midoran's faithful Martyr's and holy men, priests and paladins all had resting places within the solemn tomb. All buried here died in the service of Midoran. All buried here, Vidus believed, were saints of Midoran. Not this man, this abomination, were he speaking aloud, he would have spat his words. No, this one is nothing more then a criminal.
He came before the gravesite and looked down. It was a simple grave, with a simple headstone that did not match the grandiose nature of the Mausoleum. The grave would have been more at home in a village cemetery, resting along side the residents of old, then next to the marble statues and grand statements extolling the virtues of Midoran's saints. The Mausoleum was a very holy place, to Vidus. He often sought the silence of the tombs for his prayers. If he were asked about it, he would claim to sense the spirits of the saints of Midoran speaking to him while he was there. He would sometimes sit in the Mausoleum all day, lost in prayer, not taking any food or drink until his prayers were completed to his satisfaction. Some complained, behind closed doors, of course, that Vidus sought to place himself in alignment with Midor's holy saints. Others saw him as a great holy man, truly in touch with the spiritual essence that was Midoran.
Either way, Vidus's actions had gained him a growing following amongst the clergy of the Temple. Many viewed him as in line to be the next White Bishop, should he live long enough to see Carmon Verit I step down or die. But tonight, standing over the grave, Vidus's mind did not rest on visions of power and prestige. His only thought was the empty grave before him.
He looked at the knight, "This is the grave of Vecar, correct?" The knight nodded, and Vidus could tell the young man was angry. Of course he would be angry, thought Vidus, He believes one of his own has been removed from the final resting place. Vidus surveyed the gravesite, "Yes, this seems in order." The knight frowned slightly. "Do not question me, sir Knight. Have the acolytes begin refilling this hole immediately. I have arranged for the body to be moved to a more proper resting place."
The Bishop's robes flared as he turned and strode out of the Mausoleum. He could hear the knight issuing orders to the acolytes, followed shortly by the sound of work. Satisfied, Vidus walked quickly to his quarters in the vestry. He leaned heavily against the now closed door. The body, he though desperately, It is gone. But who would have taken it? And for what purposes? Vidus was not upset that the would-be paladin was removed from his grave. Vidus had never believed that Mykal Vecar belonged in the Mausoleum along side the honored dead. But to have grave robbers to blatantly attack the Temple was inconceivable. Only his quick thinking had kept the secret. They believe I arranged for the paladin to be moved. Vidus pondered his next move. He had no doubt he could convince the White Bishop that Vecar's body had been moved to a more appropriate resting place. Calming himself, Vidus took a quill and some paper and began writing furiously for several minutes. When his note was completed, he placed it into a blank envelop. He took a bar of wax placed the edge over a candle. The melted wax fell easily onto the envelope flap. Vidus then took off his signet ring, which declared him a Bishop of Midor, and pressed it into the wax.
"Veralas," called the Bishop, "Come quickly." Veralas was a portly acolyte that served as Vidus's man-servant. To serve a Bishop while training to become a priest of the Order was considered a high honor. "Take this note to the Unicorn Inn. Deliver it to the barkeep that is working there tonight. Tell no one where you are going, and report to me as soon as you have finished.* Veralas nodded, he had long since stopped questioning Bishop Khain's sometimes eccentric orders. "Wear commoner clothing, and do not draw attention to yourself."
Veralas stood still, awaiting further orders. Vidus turns his back on his man-servant, "Go with Midoran, my son," said the Bishop. Veralas rushed away, leaving Vidus alone.
They will help me, thought Vidus. I have the funds to pay them. They will forge orders that authorize the movement of Vecar. That will be enough to satisfy the White Bishop, and anyone else who asks. And no one in Midor will know this has happened. Let them be angry at me for moving the paladin. It is a small price to pay, to protect this secret.
Vidus slumped in his chair, the work of the day weighing heavily on his shoulders. He had avoided scandal today, but just barely. Now only one question remained.
What happened to the body of Mykal Vecar? |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
|
|
|
|
|
Re: Paladin's Requiem
Posted: 24 Jul 2004 12:06 AM |
Mykal stood in the desert, the wind blowing through his hair. He knew he could not go on, not like this. The danger was too great, not for himself, but for her. He looks into the undefined distance, his mind wandering to times past.
…to the Unicorn Inn, where he heard her sing for the first time.
…to the steps of the Great Temple, where he almost lost her.
...to the kiss they shared in the moonlight of Ferein.
…to the outskirts of Maldovia, where he fell, and she fell with him, though she didn’t die.
…to their final moment together, before he left for the vampire lands.
A tear rolled down his face as he drew in the strangeness that had overcome him. To end this, and to protect his dearest love, he would have to sacrifice himself. And so, in the end, things were as they should be, and the wayward paladin finally fulfilled his vow. He protected his love the best way he knew how, and as the power tore through his body, as his flesh tore and his body was annihilated by light, his mind was consumed by one thought, a love so pure and strong that even utter destruction could not banish it.
“I love you, Mac…”
But he was gone before his epitaph could be said. Thus ended the paladin. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|