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Training of the Heralds
Posted: 07 Nov 2005 09:36 PM |
Byron stood before the assembled men. They were all men so far, no women had taken his charge yet. He walked up and down the line of men, looking each in the eye. Erick, Militiades, even Londo were there. They all watched him expectantly.
Byron observed each in turn. Erick stood with the practiced grace of one who had received formal martial training. Londo bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and made no effort to hide his eager expression. Others stood in stances between that of Erick and Londo, some calm and attentive, others excited and eager. But all ready to learn.
Byron finished walking the line, turned, and walked back to center. He faced the line of people. "And so we begin. This is the Code of Aristi…
"Uphold Justice, for it is your strength
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil
Be peaceful to the peaceful
Walk with honor and uphold all good things."
He stopped talking, and looked at those assembled before him. "Now," said Byron, "your training begins."
((This is an experiment in forum RP in Vives. If you have a character that is training to be a Herald, or wishes to train to be a Herald, please post on this thread. This thread will either be empty, meaning no one felt like posting, or full of posts telling multiple stories and/or conversations. Either way, just have fun with it. I would advise posting an identifier in the subject line, so one can easily pick out your posts from the others.)) |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Training of Militiades
Posted: 07 Nov 2005 10:41 PM |
Militiades stood in the empty field.
“Focus. I must focus”
He slowly slid his sword out from its sheath, making a hissing sound.
Suddenly the sword was whistling through the air, making a song far sweeter and sharper than he had ever heard a bard produce.
Militiades stepped through the forms taught to him in the academy, practicing each stroke until it is perfect
Fire in the Forge melted into Waters Grasp which flowed into Earths Cradle. Again. Fire, Water, Earth. Fire, Water, Earth. Fire, Water, Earth.
“An imperfect body breeds an imperfect mind” Militiades thought to himself as he moved through the forms again.
“Must be perfect. Must… be perfect. Must… be… perfect…”
Militiades sheathed his sword and took off his helmet, exhausted after the heavy routine in full platemail.
“To be a Herald of Aristi, I must first be perfect in mind, body and spirit.”
Militiades put his helmet back on, took out his sword, and began practicing again.
Fire, Water, Earth. Fire, Water … |
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Byron Lorian: The Training of the Heralds
Posted: 07 Nov 2005 11:38 PM |
"..and uphold all good things."
Byron finished reciting the Code and looked at his would-be Heralds. They were eager, he could tell, but he could also tell they may not fully understand. "Know this," said Byron firmly, "That a Herald of Aristi draws his strength from the Code and his own service to the greater good. There is no God in this faith. There is no easy answer, no single being to grant a paladin blessings." Byron's eyes fell upon Militiades, stayed for a moment, then moved on.
"A Herald of Aristi must be firm in his beliefs, for that is what cements the bricks of our faith. A Herald must not be proud, that violates the Code, which interferes with faith. A Herald must not be timid, yet he must avoide pride." Byron begain walking up and down the length of the trainees.
"Remember, you are now Accepted. But you are not Heralds yet. Do not let your pride think otherwise. The blessing of the Priestess was the begining, not the end. The first blessings of many, but not the keystone." He watched the newly appointed Accepted. He nodded, satisfied that they understood enough for now.
"Split into pairs, and practice your sword forms. Fighting with a sword works the body and the mind, if done properly. This is meditation. This..is prayer." He watched as the gathered split into pairs and begin going through the ritualized combat so similar to that taught at the Academy. They would learn, he knew it. The question was, would it be enough? |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Training of Londo
Posted: 08 Nov 2005 01:20 AM |
He listened quietly to his newest big example, mister Byron. He had never felt so proud in his life. To stand here, amongst these noble men, as their equal (not in size!). He could barely contain several cheers as Byron finished his words. But did he hear it correctly? He wasn't allowed to be proud? Londo pondered the words for several moments. I'll learn in time He then smiled hearing the words, that they were allowed to practice their sword forms, but saw the others split up. He bit his lower lip as he skipped over to mister Byron and nudged his leg.
"Mi...mister B-b-byron? Um... My size might be a bit of a problem.."
He smiled a bit as he gave a glance at two Heralds already practicing, before looking back up at Byron with clear, green eyes. |
-Londo Bywater, halfling warchanter
Londo's diary
Definition of a warchanter: A warrior that likes to sing a rhythm so he can hit harder and more accurately. |
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Re: Training of Londo
Posted: 08 Nov 2005 01:29 AM |
He listened quietly to his newest big example, mister Byron. He had never felt so proud in his life. To stand here, amongst these noble men, as their equal (not in size!). He could barely contain several cheers as Byron finished his words. But did he hear it correctly? He wasn't allowed to be proud? Londo pondered the words for several moments. I'll learn in time He then smiled hearing the words, that they were allowed to practice their sword forms, but saw the others split up. He bit his lower lip as he skipped over to mister Byron and nudged his leg.
"Mi...mister B-b-byron? Um... My size might be a bit of a problem.."
He smiled a bit as he gave a glance at two Heralds already practicing, before looking back up at Byron with clear, green eyes.
He looked down at Londo. "You fought off an ettin, didn't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he drew his sword, "You will spar with me, Londo. I do not care how small you are; a Herald must be prepared to face foes of all shapes and sizes."
He drew his sword and dropped into his combat stance. "En garde," he said, and waited for Londo to prepare himself. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Training of Londo
Posted: 08 Nov 2005 01:36 AM |
He listened quietly to his newest big example, mister Byron. He had never felt so proud in his life. To stand here, amongst these noble men, as their equal (not in size!). He could barely contain several cheers as Byron finished his words. But did he hear it correctly? He wasn't allowed to be proud? Londo pondered the words for several moments. I'll learn in time He then smiled hearing the words, that they were allowed to practice their sword forms, but saw the others split up. He bit his lower lip as he skipped over to mister Byron and nudged his leg.
"Mi...mister B-b-byron? Um... My size might be a bit of a problem.."
He smiled a bit as he gave a glance at two Heralds already practicing, before looking back up at Byron with clear, green eyes.
He looked down at Londo. "You fought off an ettin, didn't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he drew his sword, "You will spar with me, Londo. I do not care how small you are; a Herald must be prepared to face foes of all shapes and sizes."
He drew his sword and dropped into his combat stance. "En garde," he said, and waited for Londo to prepare himself.
He blinked. Oh blimey! I have to practice with mister Byron! He looked around at the others, and felt their eyes upon him, that small Halfling standing ready to battle the large, determined knight. Londo felt himself getting nervous, took a deep breath, before raising his sword high in an aggressive stance, and nodded. "Hum Garden! Or something!" |
-Londo Bywater, halfling warchanter
Londo's diary
Definition of a warchanter: A warrior that likes to sing a rhythm so he can hit harder and more accurately. |
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Re: Training of Londo
Posted: 08 Nov 2005 01:51 AM |
He listened quietly to his newest big example, mister Byron. He had never felt so proud in his life. To stand here, amongst these noble men, as their equal (not in size!). He could barely contain several cheers as Byron finished his words. But did he hear it correctly? He wasn't allowed to be proud? Londo pondered the words for several moments. I'll learn in time He then smiled hearing the words, that they were allowed to practice their sword forms, but saw the others split up. He bit his lower lip as he skipped over to mister Byron and nudged his leg.
"Mi...mister B-b-byron? Um... My size might be a bit of a problem.."
He smiled a bit as he gave a glance at two Heralds already practicing, before looking back up at Byron with clear, green eyes.
He looked down at Londo. "You fought off an ettin, didn't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he drew his sword, "You will spar with me, Londo. I do not care how small you are; a Herald must be prepared to face foes of all shapes and sizes."
He drew his sword and dropped into his combat stance. "En garde," he said, and waited for Londo to prepare himself.
He blinked. Oh blimey! I have to practice with mister Byron! He looked around at the others, and felt their eyes upon him, that small Halfling standing ready to battle the large, determined knight. Londo felt himself getting nervous, took a deep breath, before raising his sword high in an aggressive stance, and nodded. "Hum Garden! Or something!"
Byron looked at the halflings stance for several long seconds before moving. He put his own sword down, walked to Londo, and begain to physically readjust the way he was standing. Widen the stance, bend more at the knees, do not lean so far forward.
When he finished positioning Londo, Byron returned opposite of him and took his stance. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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The Enlightenment of Chia Steel
Posted: 12 Nov 2005 08:09 AM |
He had come upon her unawares, as she sat against the tree staring at the tower across the lake.
Then he had questioned her… at length.
And then… he left. Leaving just as many questions in her head as he had posed. Byron he had named himself, and stated also that he knew Blanche well. That latter fact in itself reassured her as to his intent.
So… she had waited. She hadn’t returned after a brief rest as was her wont. She hadn’t made the arduous trip through the desert, walked the tombs, faced down the evil she had found within them knowing that after a brief rest she would turn, and come back this way to do the same.
She waited, sure that he would return, and so he had.
They had spoken again, at length this time, until at last he had turned to go once more, “Pray on it, Chia, meditate on what it really means. This is your opportunity. You can lay down the paladin life, or take it up again. Do not rush into it.”
“It has always been my life,” she had answered, “ there is no rush. It is what, and who I am.”
And then he was gone. Gone with a promise that he would not be far away if needed.
”Pray, meditate on what it really means….”
And so she had, in the day since she had knelt here at the lakeside beneath the tree and prayed, not as she would have done not so long ago to Midoran, but silently, wordlessly, her mind running the words over and over, the Code.
"Uphold Justice, for it is your strength
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil
Be peaceful to the peaceful
Walk with honour and uphold all good things."
”No girl!” Shouted the instructor, “Parry! Then Parry again if need be! Wait! Wait for the weakness and then strike!” The little girl, wooden blade in hand, dwarfed by the practice shield, sweat matted hair, just nodded and approached the dummy once more..
Justice…. The Just Hand, the Just Hand shows no justice but its own and for so many years I have lived a lie, lived it knowing what justice truly was. The Just hand serves only itself…. There is no Greater Good to Midoran.
”It is still through faith.,” Byron had said, “but faith directed towards something more true and pure then a God.. Faith directed towards Truth and Goodness. The Code is a roadmap, not a source.”
Her own words in her head, “And yet I have been following the map… unknowing.”
Her reply on hearing the Code spoken, “It is me.”
Byron again, “There is little I can teach you about being a paladin.” Now thrust, Chia! Good! Parry! And again! ”You are skilled with a sword, and I imagine the Academy has taught you the proper way to behave. All that is left is to understand the Code, and how it guides you. That is what makes all the difference. Because if you do not understand...if you do not know the Code and how to let it guide your actions and faith, then you have nothing.”
Through her mind, endlessly, ignorant of hunger, of fatigue, of the stiffness in her limbs, still she knelt as the words ran through her head.
"Uphold Justice, for it is your strength
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil
Be peaceful to the peaceful
Walk with honour and uphold all good things."
”Then you have nothing.”
Her words again; the sureness in her nod’ “Without it I am incomplete, as I said.
Yet through all this I have never lost faith in myself, in ... in my own beliefs; in my actions. I have been seeking approval where none would come…. Where none was necessary.
Now you must decide what you will do with this knowledge.
Through the night, through the hours of darkness, through the early morning chill as the sun rose from behind the hills and began to burn off the mist above the lake.
"Uphold Justice, for it is your strength
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil
Be peaceful to the peaceful
Walk with honour and uphold all good things."
“It is me.”
Her words at their first meeting came back to her in answer to his last… “You can lay down the paladin life, or take it up again. Do not rush into it
“I have not laid my life aside, there is nothing to take up once more. I am what I always was and always will be, yet I now once more have faith.”
As the light gathered fully and the birdsong began to fill the trees, she stood and wandered off to the north, to find him and give him her answer. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Seeker searches for the truth, and applies to become a Herald.
Posted: 23 Nov 2005 05:42 PM |
She stood just to the side of the doorway, her light amber eyes fixed upon the one called Byron, the leader, the speaker of words.
"Uphold Justice, for it is your strength
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil
Be peaceful to the peaceful
Walk with honor and uphold all good things."
Would her belief in herself be considered pride? If so, was that wrong…? She did not think so, for it was that steadfast belief that had kept her strong, that there was more to her than her people wished or wanted. Too long had she hidden her intelligence beneath a façade of minimal understanding. Too long had she bowed her back so as to not allow others, who were permitted higher intelligence, to see her alert and quick mind. She was curious about the other races, did not wish to war for war's sake, and after years of planning, she had finally escaped the fort at Hard Knott and made her way to these lands. At first she had travelled by night, unsure of others reactions to her presence in their lands, then finally, she had stood to her full imposing height and walked the lands with head high and eyes alight at the wonders she had witnessed along the way. When she could, she helped others, her ability to learn foreign languages a great help to her. In recent weeks she had tried to help the poor of the city of Port Royal, but too few took her offer of aid without suspicion. It was there she had heard of the Heralds, and after some time trying to glean some information of what the Heralds stood for, she had decided to make her way to their base and see for herself if perhaps they would accept her among their ranks.
With Longbow slung over her left shoulder and a Warhammer strapped to her right hip, she stood in the doorway blocking all light from outside with her broad shoulders. Her Orcish features were still as her eyes met those of the leader, then she moved forward, her step heavy upon the wooden floor.
"I am Seeker, clanless and outcast." She said in her deep voice
"And what do you seek?" Asked Byron
She thought for a moment, and then spoke her mind.
" I seek the truth if it exists, and a different path to that of my people. I seek to become a Herald"
Standing with head high and gaze steady, she waited for the leaders response. She did not fear failure, for if it was to be, then that was her path. |
Moon |
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Visit...
Posted: 29 Nov 2005 11:07 PM |
The morning was soft and warm, even for the time. Walking quietly, a young woman went to the barracks to take news from the recruits, and most of all, to feed them… what, they have to be fed once in a while! She thought to herself smiling. She was known by most to be the Priestess, or the Maiden. Besides the white haired gracious woman was a tall and impressive dog headed man that carried lots of bags and bottles. Impressive, until most of the recruits would see his huge smile on his face that made him looked much, much friendlier. He looked at the recruits before their break and whispered to Blanche.
“They’re not bad, what do you think?”
“If you want my advice, they are great and brilliant, but must I remind you that I am no general and I can’t see the finesse in battle like you, Byron or even Phillippe see it…” she grinned at him.
It was not the first time she was around, but at each time she looked even calmer, serene than the last time. Smiling serenely at those who were around, she waited silently for the course to finish. |
Frodo : What are we holding on to, Sam?
Sam : That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.
-The Two Towers |
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Re: Visit...
Posted: 29 Nov 2005 11:30 PM |
Slowly, it was happening.
Just a few, here and there. A couple of the younger ones not already set in their ways, a few of the older ones with the wisdom to see beyond their teachings.
He would make Paladins of them yet.
Tonan returned to his instructions. |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
--
"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
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<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: Seeker searches for the truth, and applies to become a Herald.
Posted: 01 Dec 2005 01:38 PM |
She stood just to the side of the doorway, her light amber eyes fixed upon the one called Byron, the leader, the speaker of words.
"Uphold Justice, for it is your strength
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil
Be peaceful to the peaceful
Walk with honor and uphold all good things."
Would her belief in herself be considered pride? If so, was that wrong…? She did not think so, for it was that steadfast belief that had kept her strong, that there was more to her than her people wished or wanted. Too long had she hidden her intelligence beneath a façade of minimal understanding. Too long had she bowed her back so as to not allow others, who were permitted higher intelligence, to see her alert and quick mind. She was curious about the other races, did not wish to war for war's sake, and after years of planning, she had finally escaped the fort at Hard Knott and made her way to these lands. At first she had travelled by night, unsure of others reactions to her presence in their lands, then finally, she had stood to her full imposing height and walked the lands with head high and eyes alight at the wonders she had witnessed along the way. When she could, she helped others, her ability to learn foreign languages a great help to her. In recent weeks she had tried to help the poor of the city of Port Royal, but too few took her offer of aid without suspicion. It was there she had heard of the Heralds, and after some time trying to glean some information of what the Heralds stood for, she had decided to make her way to their base and see for herself if perhaps they would accept her among their ranks.
With Longbow slung over her left shoulder and a Warhammer strapped to her right hip, she stood in the doorway blocking all light from outside with her broad shoulders. Her Orcish features were still as her eyes met those of the leader, then she moved forward, her step heavy upon the wooden floor.
"I am Seeker, clanless and outcast." She said in her deep voice
"And what do you seek?" Asked Byron
She thought for a moment, and then spoke her mind.
" I seek the truth if it exists, and a different path to that of my people. I seek to become a Herald"
Standing with head high and gaze steady, she waited for the leaders response. She did not fear failure, for if it was to be, then that was her path.
Byron looked at the orc consideringly, his brow furrowed in thought. "I can show you "a" truth," he said slowly. "It is a difficult truth. The path is long, and the oath you would swear is binding for life. Are you certain you wish to learn?" He closed on the orc, his eyes still locked with hers.
"Because if you are certain, then we will teach you. Of the Code, and Aristi...and how to be a Herald, a light in the world of darkness." He paused, then finished, "What say you?" |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Seeker searches for the truth, and applies to become a Herald.
Posted: 01 Dec 2005 03:39 PM |
For a long time she locked gazes with Byron, not aggressively, but intently, as if searching for the truth in his words. Finally she tilted her head, shoulders relaxing somewhat, her voice deep and thoughtful as she spoke.
" I waited and plotted for years to escape the darkness that is Hard Knott, I do not fear the light, but welcome it, as the crops welcome the rain. You speak of an oath, one to last as long as my body lives. That is much to ask, when I do not understand fully what it is that I swear my life too, Speaker Of Words."
She looked at the other students and then back to the Byron, offering her large strong hand in a gesture of peace.
"I hear good things, whispers on the breeze, yet they are whispered words, not yet fully open to the land and shouted out loud. You teach me this truth, this code of Aristi, if it is as light as you claim it to be, then I will gladly give my oath to such a truth. " Her words were soft, yet the question in them was plain to see. If Aristi were the light, the truth, if Byrons own faith in the code was true, then he had nothing to fear that she would not see the 'truth' of his teachings, and embrace the oath wholeheartedly.
Seeker knew that her words were perhaps challenging, but she had not escaped freedom, to walk into another trap. If these Heralds truly believed in their convictions, then they had nothing to fear or hide. Anyone with talent could see that her soul was not tainted with darkness, it remained to be seen if such wisdom resided here in this place of the Heralds. Her hand remained steady as she waited for the Speaker Of Words to decide if she was to be welcomed. |
Moon |
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Re: Seeker searches for the truth, and applies to become a Herald.
Posted: 01 Dec 2005 04:33 PM |
| ((stupid multiple accounts)) |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Seeker searches for the truth, and applies to become a Herald.
Posted: 01 Dec 2005 05:08 PM |
For a long time she locked gazes with Byron, not aggressively, but intently, as if searching for the truth in his words. Finally she tilted her head, shoulders relaxing somewhat, her voice deep and thoughtful as she spoke.
" I waited and plotted for years to escape the darkness that is Hard Knott, I do not fear the light, but welcome it, as the crops welcome the rain. You speak of an oath, one to last as long as my body lives. That is much to ask, when I do not understand fully what it is that I swear my life too, Speaker Of Words."
She looked at the other students and then back to the Byron, offering her large strong hand in a gesture of peace.
"I hear good things, whispers on the breeze, yet they are whispered words, not yet fully open to the land and shouted out loud. You teach me this truth, this code of Aristi, if it is as light as you claim it to be, then I will gladly give my oath to such a truth. " Her words were soft, yet the question in them was plain to see. If Aristi were the light, the truth, if Byrons own faith in the code was true, then he had nothing to fear that she would not see the 'truth' of his teachings, and embrace the oath wholeheartedly.
Seeker knew that her words were perhaps challenging, but she had not escaped freedom, to walk into another trap. If these Heralds truly believed in their convictions, then they had nothing to fear or hide. Anyone with talent could see that her soul was not tainted with darkness, it remained to be seen if such wisdom resided here in this place of the Heralds. Her hand remained steady as she waited for the Speaker Of Words to decide if she was to be welcomed.
"Then join us," said Byron as he gestured to the other students, "and be welcome. Learn of the Code, and how to be a Herald, and we shall learn from you." He spoke again, this time to all the gathered students. "When the time comes, your oath will be asked, not as an Accepted, but as a Herald of Aristi."
Byron watched the half-orc take a place along side the others. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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The Salvation of Tomas de Torquemada
Posted: 10 Dec 2005 04:52 PM |
The days following the battle of the plains had been hard for Tomas, his body had gradually been made whole again from the near fatal injuries that he had suffered, his mind remained in tormented agony. For weeks he had wandered seeking solace and some way to soothe his soul from the harm it had suffered.
Until at last he had come to great lake and tower of Ladriel, and heard there the words of this Byron Lorian, Tomas had had his doubts, all that he had ever learnt of the ways of the Aristi was that it was their degenerate ways which had brought the most terrible of fates upon their city. Still he listened none the less, for after all so much of what he had believed in he was now unsure of....
He heard the words of the last son, and he listened to the code of the heralds
"Uphold Justice, for it is your strength
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil
Be peaceful to the peaceful
Walk with honour and uphold all good things."
Surely this was the code of an honourable people, Tomas found within himself the first stirrings of belief once more, he had stepped up and announced his intentions at this gathering, he wanted to learn more of this. Staying awhile with the others who were there, aspiring novices, and others whom he recognised from his days at the academy.
Still his mind was troubled and could not put itself at rest, and so his travels began again, until once more he found himself meditating on the code beside the lake at ladriel, running it over and over again within his mind. As he did this it began to gather strength within him, a renewal of purpose, and a gathering of determination.
At length he came to Brandibuck, and there in the vale Tomas met a young knight errant, fresh from the academy Cedyrych Von Maistlin. For a long time they spoke, the young knights words were at times harsh, calling Tomas faithless and many times questioning his resolve and the value that he put in his word, and his oath. Whilst they spoke Tomas kept recalling the code, cleaving to it and the lessons that it held. Be humble, do not let your pride lead you into fighting this young man, these are but words that he speaks to you. Be peacful to the peacful, the young knight had not made a move to threaten him, despite their being enemies now, what right had he to harm this young knight. Walk with honour and uphold all good things, as Tomas and the young knight parted ways, he thought on the last words of the knight "you are the first rebel I have met....I suppose i expected someone with three heads and an evil cackle.." perhaps now he would no longer demonize those whom he called rebel, he would see the human side of them.
Tomas walked off, more determined now than ever, with a change in him taking place as he found faith in this code. Faith, for him it was the answer and the begining, his determination grew with each pace, he would follow the path which he knew in his heart to be true, faith in the code of the Heralds, he would become a Herald of Aristi.... his steps began to guide him back to Ladriel and knowledge. |
"Mistakes have been made, others will be blamed..." |
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A -little- bit of a hand returns
Posted: 12 Dec 2005 01:09 AM |
Right in the middle of one of the many trainings, a familiar Halfling comes walking up, although quite a bit different then how he used to walk. More matured, more... hardened. It seems quite natural and fitting with him. As if the turtle finally learned where he has the shell for. The small Hin walks over at Byron, ignoring any gazes he might witness, and kneeled in front of Byron.
'Sorry, mister Byron. For being gone so long. I promise to explain everything later.'
The voice was saddened, darker, not with the usual tred of innocent happiness. Something surely opened the eyes to the reality of the cold, dark world that was waiting out there. But most of all, the voice was soft and apologetic. As if he had deserted his position, only to return. |
-Londo Bywater, halfling warchanter
Londo's diary
Definition of a warchanter: A warrior that likes to sing a rhythm so he can hit harder and more accurately. |
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Markus Mortriety
Posted: 20 Dec 2005 03:16 AM |
It took a day, but he finally arrived to the scene, the end of a rise that rolls down into the flat that is the land around Lake Ladriel. Markus took in the fresh morning air, and smiled. His smile was transparent though, there was a lot on his mind. For starters he’d disappeared for a couple months, he knew it, but his memory of the time in between was shattered and spread like ash across the sea of his mind. His return took him by chance, no, by fate across Lillian’s path – in the remote area of Asashi – there he also met a Halfling, Sampson, who wished to be a Knight, and to his surprise, a face that he could only recognize from the Academy, Sir Tomas. Markus hadn’t known the man any more than one of the faces of a higher class, but it was a recognizable face none the less.
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts away, and tried to focus on his task. Markus took a step forward, his armor reflected the sunlight, providing it with a silvery sheen, the gold gilded parts glowed in their respective light. A breeze sent his cape fluttering, and he thought of how great he must look. It had taken him a few minutes to decide which outfit he would where, in the end it was his armor which stole precedence over the others. It transformed him into a shining beacon of good, and with Lillian’s words in mind it protected him. His favorite line of hers “On your head be it,” she would say at times, those were usually the times he ended up doubting whatever his decision or idea at the time.
We’re running out of time. It was what he was told and understood, and he knew it to be true. It was truth, ever since the battle at the plains. Lillian was either here, or she wasn't. If she wasn't he'd see Sir Tonan. That was the plan.
I can only wish I was there.. he thought regretfully.
But wishing would never get anyone anything, unless they were a God.
Markus broke through his thoughts once more and looked towards the tower of Ladriel. He didn’t think they would be awake at this early hour, they weren’t. Dimly he could see the shapes of the guardians standing their grounds. But he was here now, and that was what mattered.
I wonder what kind of guards the troll chieftan has? He wondered. He also wondered if Sir Enacra had placed a post of assistance for the duty he’d proposed. Markus hadn’t seen it in Port Royale – a good thing – but he had seen another post that had caught his attention, not the post, but one of the signatures on it.
The sun broke over the treetops. Its beams spread over the land in a fantastic stream of light.
This is it..
Markus forced his first step down the hill towards Ladriel. |
CHOO CHOO!
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Bereil Yadashem.
Markus Mortriety, Herald of Novus Aristi. |
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Markus Mortriety - The Vigil
Posted: 19 Jan 2006 06:52 PM |
Markus heard the faint footsteps of Byron’s boots grow fainter as the man strode up, back to the command plateau. Leaving him and another, Richard, in white woolen robes to stay, to remain still, forbidden to move. They were there to think, consider – to meditate.
A chilled breeze swept over him, his robe began to undlulate, dancing to the wind’s tune. Stone kept his knees, and his legs that were tucked under him, cold. He kept his gaze steeled on the large cross set in between the two bright falls, their fiery liquid releasing a miasma of steam into the cooler air. Markus’ mind took a stroll.
The cross was left here by the... rebels. Why do we still have it here? It’s His symbol, isn’t it?
His gaze narrowed darkly at the thought, but he didn’t break his stare.
They followed Him. They believed in him, and he murdered them. We’re keeping it to remember those that died. To remember that blood and war isn’t the answer. What is the answer? The truth, the Code.
With that thought, the Code of the Heralds of Aristi surfaced.
Uphold Justice, for it is your strength.
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good.
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them.
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall.
Be merciful to all, even your enemies.
Vengeance begets evil.
Be peaceful to the peaceful.
Walk with honor and uphold all good things.
Sir Markus Mortriety felt the inner warmth he always received with the recitition of the Code. A pang of doubt made him hesitate over a line.
Be humble in all things… am I failing the Code because of owning finery? Why do I wear it? To look nice, to impress others. Or is it to impress myself? Does that make me vain? If I’m vain, then I must have pride. Proud people are usually overconfident, they disregard the weak. I won’t do that... I can’t do that... there’s too many good people. I can’t leave them to suffer, not for my own fancies.
Doubt faded from his mind, and his eyes focused once more on the cross.
I’d sacrifice the finery for someone, for anyone. It’s just a possession.
The sun already had sunk behind the mountains, but now the luminescence that flowed from the peaks faded; with that the last remaining light. Markus blinked, adjusting his eyes to the darkness as it consumed everything. The world took on a new look, one of various shades of grey and blue. Red remained in his vision from the twin falls.
Fire, fire of Justice. I’ve ended the lives of so many monsters, creatures, with my weapon. It burns bright when I wield it.
Uphold Justice, for it is your strength.
The perfect weapon against trolls. Trolls who raid and murder travelers, villagers, and anyone who cross their path. Orcs and giants! Putting innocents into their cook pots! It isn’t right!
Red, red like the armor of the Righteous Swords. I don’t have a scar to show from the ones I fought – even though I was beaten.
Fiery red…like Juylina’s hair. Can I trust her? Everyone says otherwise. Friends, people I care for say otherwise, that I shouldn’t trust her. I shouldn’t be thinking of this now. I have to focus.
Markus set his jaw, steeling his gaze at the cross. If it were alive it would have been feeling quite uncomfortable. Anyone would if they had two people kneeling in front of them, staring intently for an extended period of time. Except maybe kings, queens, and the Gods. The latter, Gods, would have been long used to it. The former, kings and queens, would have been trained from youth to expect it, and tolerate it. Unmentioned of course being the symbols of deities, since they don’t have a consciousness.
Markus blinked.
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them?
That poor family, the miners in Fiirkrag. I couldn’t risk escorting them the place… at least their mostly safe there. King Karkus. He has a sorceress with him. We’d need a small army, Aurelya said. It’s true. I’ll find those who would go, I’ll go back for them. I promise.
He stilled his anger, and his shaking hands from closing into fists in.
I wish you were here, father. I hope you’re okay. I dreamed about you… burning…at the pyre.
Markus forced his eyes shut briefly at the memory, forcing back any tears of anger, and frustration.
I couldn’t do anything. In the dream I tried to save you, I couldn’t do it in time… so I tried to avenge you...
Vengeance begets evil.
I didn’t die in the dream, I almost did, and I wish I had.
I hope you understand… that if I knew it happened… I couldn’t do it. I can’t just charge and kill. Because it wouldn’t help, it wouldn’t change anything. I miss you all the same.
Markus Mortriety’s hands loosened their grip, his shoulders sagging. He blinked.
Faith in the Code. Be humble, peaceful, honorable, merciful, strong, compassionate…faithful. This is the Right way. People call me a Paladin; I was born, trained, and raised to be one. It’s what I am. Their belief in me as a paladin is faith in the Code. Knowing that it’s my duty to the Code, to the people to uphold it, to show faith through action.
He blinked. Markus’ limbs were sore, the robe itched constantly, and more importantly his hair was a mess. But he remained still. Time passed slowly in the silence, eventually the darkness waned, and the first golden light of dawn appeared between the cracks of the mountains. |
CHOO CHOO!
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Bereil Yadashem.
Markus Mortriety, Herald of Novus Aristi. |
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Scions of Novus Aristi
Posted: 19 Jan 2006 07:07 PM |
It was a small ceremony, as ceremonies went, and singularly unimpressive. Still, what it lacked in pomp, it more than made up for in heart.
There were seven of them present at Haven’s main entrance that day: the two to be knighted, a plethora of officers, and—of course—The Priestess. They stood solemnly around the massive cross that had been planted between Haven’s two mysterious lava-falls. When Lillian and Tonan had first seen those fiery falls, they’d assumed that the arcanists of the rebel army had set it up as a last-ditch defence. But with everything Salt and Coruva had told her about the tunnels beneath Haven, Lillian wasn’t so sure any more...
Lady Blanche looked uncomfortable in her ceremonial armour, muttering and tugging at her collar from time to time. Sir Tonan stood practically at her elbow, occasionally prompting her with the right words to say or actions to take. Sir Philippe was there as well, partially as Blanche’s moral support, partially because he was still considering Byron’s offer to become second-in-command of the military branch of the Novus Aristi. And then there was Sir Byron, looking dignified but undeniably proud that two more Heralds had finally completed their training.
It had been months since the first and only Herald of Novus Aristi had completed her vigil and set out into the world with her powers restored: that had been Chia. Now, at last, two more had finally made the conversion.
There was Markus, who’d grown up little in the past two years that Lillian had known him: he was still naive and child-like, though capable of adopting a steely gravity if the situation called for it. One day, he would have to grow up; but that day was not today. No, after today, his powers would be restored to him, and he’d be free to play the hero. Today would not be the day that would break his almost legendary resilience, the day when he would realise that a paladin was also a soldier, and soldiers had to make hard choices and painful sacrifices. If he was lucky, that day would never come.
The other was a former Paladin who she’d had little to do with. Richard Clark was his name, and he’d been present at Byron’s speech at Ladriel. A far cry from the drunken, disillusioned and bitter young man he’d been during that initial meeting, he now had the bearing and attitude of one who’d found his faith again and would never let it go at any cost. He had been a shattered man that day at Ladriel; but he was a full Paladin now, in every way that mattered.
A grey dawn brightened the bleak, wind-blasted landscape as Blanche murmured words in a dead and long-forgotten language. Byron had left Markus and Richard here the night before, forbidding them to move until dawn, and forbidding anyone to enter the area until the vigil was complete. Looking sleepless and bedraggled in their rumpled white robes, they hardly looked like the future generation of Heralds of Novus Aristi. It didn’t help that they were surrounded by their fully armoured superiors, bedecked in ceremonial regalia.
Blanche concluded her prayer at last, drawing her sword and knighting each of them in turn. She took her staff—the legendary Heart of Aristi—from Philippe with a small smile, concluding with a blessing in the Aristi language.
And just like that, it was over. Their ties to the old Midor severed, their future in the Novus Aristi begun.
~*~
“They want to know if you’ll be coming up to join them.”
Lillian had to raise her voice over the screaming wind and the thundering fire-falls. The others had retired to one of the large tents on the command plateau to have an impromptu celebration. Somewhere along the way, Tonan had retreated without anyone noticing, and she’d declined participation in the festivities to go and look for him.
He kept staring at the massive cross, flanked on both sides by the cascading fire-falls.
“Sir?” Lillian stepped closer. “I said—”
“I heard you, miss Blackstone,” Tonan interrupted, his voice and gaze a thousand miles away.
And a thousand years away.
Of all the people that had been present, she would have thought he’d be the one happiest about this turn of events. After months of training, after a year of rebellion, after over a millennia of waiting, Aristi was finally being resurrected.
“They’re a new generation,” he said thoughtfully to himself. “Similar but not the same. Not of my generation, of course. Nor of yours.”
It took a few moments for her to realise she’d been included in the conversation.
He was right, of course. She was only four years older than Markus, and only six years older than Richard, but it may as well have been a thousand. Not that it was news to her. She’d never, in her entire life, truly gotten along that well with anyone around her age. Not Claude, not Markus, not Byron or Blanche. Lillian had always had more in common with veterans like Morgana Ravenheart, Rayinor Liam and, of course, Tonan. Jerec was the exception to the rule; but Jerec was still in Midor.
“No,” she said slowly. “They aren’t.”
“I remember,” said Tonan, “When I was like them. Young and...”
He paused, searching for the word.
“Clueless?” Lillian supplied.
Tonan smiled wryly. “Not the word I would have used, but yes.”
Lillian turned and craned her neck to look up at the cross, backlit by the harsh red lava-falls. For a moment, the only sounds were the howl of the wind and the roar of the falls as her highly organised mind skimmed through a mental flip-book of memories.
And came to rest on a surprising revelation. The sole reason she’d aced that aptitude test, so long ago, and been admitted into the Academy at an early age with a select few.
“I was never that young,” she said. |
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Sir Erick's Vigil
Posted: 18 Mar 2006 03:15 PM |
The sound of rustling canvas awoke Erick Aidanson from his slumber ushering in the final day of Heraldship training. His tent flap was drawn open and the figure of Sir Tonan walked in, barely discernable in the dim grey of predawn.
He set a basin of water and folded white cloth on the crate at the head of his cot and looked down at him.
"It's nearly dawn," he said, "Wash yourself and put these on. Report to the Command Plateau in twenty minutes."
He turned and left as quickly as he had come. Erick pushed himself up in his cot and tried to shake his groginess. Since he'd returned from his leave, his instructors had been training him to near exhaustion every day. He reached over and dipped his fingers tentatively into the water basin, yawning. To his suprise, it was warm. He wondered what the occasion was.
He grabbed the folded cloth, it was a white woolen robe. His heart raced. He could hardly believe it. He had seen the others being led away in a white robe.
He washed and dressed as quickly as he could manage and walked briskly to the Command Plateau.
He was met there by Sirs Tonan and Jongras, and led without word to his place before the cross at the base of the twin lava falls. He was made to kneel and instructed that he was to remain still and focused upon the cross before him until sunrise tomorrow. He listened as their footsteps crunched down the path, back to the Command Plateu presumably.
He reflected upon the Code. They had not told him how he was to conduct his vigil, but it felt like the right place to start.
Uphold Justice, for it is your strength.
Fight inequity, for all are part of the Greater Good.
Protect the weak, for who else will defend them?
Be humble in all things, for pride brings the fall.
Be merciful to all, even your enemies. Vengeance begets evil.
Be peaceful to the peaceful.
Walk with honour and uphold all good things.
He repeated it, considered it, introspected.
A wooden cross stood feet in front of him, and tried as he did to resist, his thoughts inevitably turned to Midor. He couldn't say that he saw the appropriateness of the symbolism, in light of recent events. He counted himself as lucky to have made it safely out of the city. His thoughts wandered and he decided that he was ambivalent about the emergence of the new Midoran sect. He could not help but feel sad for them. That they clung to the teachings of a false god, after everything that had happened to them. Everything, he had thought, was a lie. It lay beyond his mental grasp. He certainly couldn't agree with them. Regardless, it was their belief and he knew many to be good men. Perhaps it was he who was the weak one. Removing everything Midoran from himself was the only way that he had been able to move on.
But that was before he had seen the memorial and the poppies on the plains, now he didn't know what to think.
He blinked hard to clear his head... the Vigil probably wasn't meant for dwelling in the past.
He meditated in silence, watching dusk fall, then turn to night.
Then, something strange began to happen. It was not long before he felt the exhaustion of the past weeks welled up in him. It lapped, at first, at the edges of his conciousness, but slowly began to wash over the whole of it.
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
A child is crying.
He is eight again.
It is Matthew Reynault. He has a bloody nose and a cut over his eye. He runs to him dragging a leash behind him.
"Erick... Erick!" He is sobbing. "They took him, they took him from me!"
He saw himself embrace his childhood friend.
"Don't worry, Matt, we'll go get him back together..."
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
The smell of roast turkey. He walked in to find the table set for an elaborate supper. He knew this one well, remembering his acceptance into the Academy as he saw it happening again.
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
The low roar of a crowd. Familiar again... the Temple Plaza of Midor. To either side of him are seated young men. He recognizes several... he is sitting amongst his fellow Academy students.
The unmistakable voice of Vidus Khain thunders across the Plaza. He sees a flash of painfully white light.
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
The sensation of being smothered. Through the darkness he hears the clatter of a trapdoor, and the creak of a swinging rope.
:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::
He blinked hard, and two welled tears fell down his face to the ground. He was back in Haven, the large, wooden cross still filling his vision. He finished his Vigil in somber silence. |
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