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Letters to Father Certos
Posted: 16 Nov 2005 10:17 PM |
Dear Father Certos:
I hope this letter finds you in good health and that retirement agrees with you. I know it has been a while since we last spoke or even corresponded. As you know, the final year at the Academy is also the hardest, but I still regret not being able to make time for you during that period. You are, after all, the reason I entered the Academy and am what I am today, despite what you may say or think!
This is why I write to you today. Despite the time that has passed, I still feel our friendship as though it were yesterday, and while I respect many of my fellow crusaders, they are few I would name as friend. I find myself now in Port Royale, alone, having seen precious few fellow knights in these areas.
Thus, I hope, I suppose, that I might use this letter as a vessel for my own thoughts, and to particular hear yours, as I am tired of the vast silence that seems to accompany my musings over the past fortnights. Not that I walk alone, of course, for I feel Midoran within me as strong as ever, and I could already point to many occasions where he has guided me. But, Midoran be praised, I could also stand to hear the words of another who has walked before me – not as a knight, of course, but as a priest, and a fine one at that, regardless of what Melios ever said!
If this is not too much, for I feel that I may get far more out of this than you. Your counsel and guidance was always the best, allowing me to not only find my way, but to discover why my mistakes were wrong (not that I ever made any, to be sure!). I can almost hear you saying “But now, good Cedrych, did you consider --?”
Your words would be especially heartwarming given the strange, almost bewildering environment I now find myself in. There is such a lack of faith here in these areas…dare I say, even a lack for respect for any basic law. A few days back in Buckshire, I ran across a woman stealing from a local farm. When I questioned her, she indicated she thought nothing of it – even said she did it all the time. Seemed to care not a whit!
In Port Royale, I witnessed a prostitute (is it me, or does mankind simply have to building one structure, call it a hamlet and these just start springing from the ground) steal money from a man, who in turn brutally attacked her. Did the guards ever respond? Of course not! And since I have no authority in the city, I tried to reason with the man, all the while looking for guard. No one! I even talked to the captain of the guards, who was so in need of manpower that he asked me to find a group of guards who had deserted their posts! I found them, but they seemed completely disinterested in returning. It is madness!
One would think that these people would be crying out for Midoran’s work and our administrations. Yet, they seem to believe that this is just the way their life is. I tell you father, I believe they are opportunities here, despite the considerable antipathy many of them have towards Midor. But first I need to understand more about these people.
Port Royale is indeed wondrous, in its own way (I’m sure you’ll be surprised by my words), but completely alien in many others. I stood in the marketplace, and I think the nonhumans passing me by outnumbered the humans. I ended up having a conversation with two halflings, two elves(!), two shady looking figures and a human wizard. I’m not sure they completely prepared me for this situations at the Academy!
Yet, I must tell you, I found their conversations to be remarkably…human. I had a particularly long conversation on religion and law with a female halfling. What I found so interesting is that she was making the standard arguments on moral relativism that we hear from others all the time – there is no right or wrong. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear I even got the “my child is starving so I can go steal” argument. I felt as though I beat it back with aplomb (I hate to say it, but I felt proud afterwards), although if it had any impact on the listener, I don’t know…
Perhaps, as you have long maintained, these people aren’t so different, just misled for so long…it would not be the first time you were right!
Still, my heart is heavy now. There is so much to do, I don’t know where to begin. Our numbers and reputation are low now, it seems. And I must confess, my own burden is increased for I feel perhaps that I have not proclaimed Midoran strongly enough since my arrival. In my hopes to learn more about these people, I have not always said upfront that I am a knight of Midoran. To be sure, if they have asked, I have responded truthfully and proudly! But I am hoping to learn more about them before their natural prejudice changes their responses.
I think you would find this a practical idea, but I wonder if I have performed badly here…Wouldn’t Midoran want me to proclaim his name and ideals as loudly as possible? My heart is heavy on this, so I feel a wrong. I will pray on this tonight and seek your counsel if you have any.
This letters already grows too long, and there is much more I could say. But I will simply end this now, wishing for your health and hoping for a response.
In Midoran's Name,
Sir Cedrych von Maistlin
Knight-Errant, Midoran |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Second Letter to Father Certos
Posted: 22 Nov 2005 11:11 PM |
Dear Father:
I cannot tell how pleased I am to receive your letter today, of all days. It has been a most trying time (more on that in a moment), and I now feel the long distance from Port Royale to Midor every day that I wake up. Your words are a salve for my resolve, and I was most pleased to receive your letter, having now read it three times.
I am glad to hear that retirement agrees with you, although I have a hard time picturing you puttering around in the garden. Spending time in the library is more what I expected from you. The body may be frail (your words, not mine!), but your letter certainly proved that your mind is as active as ever. And yes, I do believe you should work on your memoirs. I, for one, would read them!
I should not say that there is no good news. I have helped, I believe, several individuals with a variety of problems, and felt that I have done some good for the people of Port Royale. I have met several persons who are receptive to the idea of Midoran, and I have begun to speak with them about their lives and the work of Midoran. I’m sure my oratory is nowhere near as good as yours, but hopefully a few are thinking about the ideas and perspective I’m offering.
But if today is any example, the road is long and hard. I was speaking with a woman, Illumina, a fascinating individual with some very interesting challenges. She was interested in hearing about Midoran, so I began to tell her of his glory and the challenges he lays before us in the guise of the false gods and prophets. We were suddenly rudely interrupted by a heretic “priestess” of one of these false gods, and she (Laura, I believe her name was) challenges me on many of the notions I have laid before Illumina.
I tell you, father, I learned more during that half an hour about religion than perhaps I did during the entire time at the Academy, and I mean no disrespect to the teachers there. This heretic could not respond to even some of my basic queries. She virtually acknowledged that her “god”, Vastaldorium, was not all-powerful or all knowing and only had control over certain aspects of the world. A god, by nature is all-knowing and all powerful, I told her. She, of course, had no response.
But what was most fascinating was her demeanor. Laughing at my comments, smirking, saying that I could not possibly understand her. Whenever she could not respond, she simply insulted Midoran and me personally. I, of course, did not fall for this, and she grew understandably irritated and continued her belittling comments.
I just do not understand how these people believe what they do, or that anyone follows them. That their gods serve just a segment of the world. That their purpose is cloaked in mystery and only the chosen can understand. Just as you taught me, a real god, a true god, serves everyone, not just crafters, or bakers, or fighters or whomever. He represents the community, the full community, and if there is one thing that is lacking in Port Royale and these false religions, it is indeed community. Clearly Midoran, blessed be his name and light, is badly needed in this area of the world.
The situations gets even stranger. Just when I had this heathen on her heels, a gentleman walks up to us (Vakal, Vakan, who knows?), and Illumina tells him that I’m a knight errant of Midor. I tell you, father, we have not been introduced, I don’t know his name, I’ve never met him, and what does he do? Tells me what I’m not a true Midoran, and to – get this! -- go seek out Blanche! She’s supposed to tell me the truth about Midoran.
Tell me, father, is this truly how most people act outside of Midor? A complete stranger tells me I’m supposed to be enlightened by the woman who turned away from Midoran and whose followers were killed by….Ah, it makes me so angry I can barely write. Pardon the handwriting. Fortunately, this fool of man indicated a location where Blanche and her followers tend to congregate, apparently. I don’t know if this information is well known, so I will be forwarding it on to Midor. Perhaps something can be finally done about her and her traitorous rebels.
In any event, I had to go help some of the sick and indigent, leaving this Laura and Vakad or whomever to no doubt continue insulting Midoran. But if this is the sort of challenges that lie here in Port Royale, I have a tough road ahead, as mentioned. And yet, sifting through their half-truths and ridiculous statements, I beleive there is much we can get accomplished.
I have used up much of my parchment and have barely touched on some of my other encounters, especially with this heathen known as Mikaylin. You may know her story. She has become something of a local hero about these parts because she stole from the holy isle of Midoran. I tell you, I am not joking when I write this, but I have neither the strength nor resolve to go into details now, so it will have to wait for another letter.
Despite these trials here, I believe there are many opportunities in Port Royale. Ideas are beginning to take shape, some that I will share with you when they have grown a bit more.
Thank you, as always, for listening. I look forward to your letter, should you decide to send one. It may well be, if I have another day like today, that I shall need to write before you have a chance to respond.
In Midoran’s Name,
Your friend and student
Cedrych von Maistlin
Knight Errant of Midoran |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: Second Letter to Father Certos
Posted: 23 Nov 2005 01:20 AM |
| ((it always warms my heart to hear from the faithful and their struggles in a heretical world)) |
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."
--
<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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The Question of Mikaylin
Posted: 28 Nov 2005 07:09 PM |
Dear Father Certos:
Every time I return to the inn now, I find myself hoping to find a letter from you. I’m so pleased to be able to continue our conversations again such as we had during my training, an instance I suppose of not knowing what you’ve got until it’s gone.
Another plus is that my penmanship has markedly improved, something you always got after me for. At the time, I always wondered why a knight errant would ever need to know letters. Now, at moments like these, I am glad I suffered through your verbal barbs and raps to my knuckles. You used to say the pen is mightier than the sword. I’m still not sure I agree, but am finding it can be as good as company as my weapon.
When I last wrote to you, I mentioned the curious story of a Mikaylin, a woman who has gained quite a reputation in these parts. I hope you will indulge me as I relate it to you, as it sheds some light on the challenges I face in Port Royale.
I’m not sure I know all the details, but the gist is this: Mikaylin apparently traveled to the Isle of Midoran and got caught stealing two potions from there. As punishment, her hands were severed and she was driven out of town.
I must tell you, father, that when I first arrived to Port Royale, this situation was mentioned to me by every other person I met. And the question to me wasn’t why she had done such a thing, but if I thought her punishment was too severe. Everyone was horrified by what happened to her and felt sorry for her, and were quick to judge me as a representative of Midor.
I must admit, even I wasn’t sure at first, especially because I wasn’t sure of all the details of the story, but I am now convinced that her punishment was just. And I am bewildered by the number of people who don’t seem to understand the severity of what she did.
She knowingly went to the Isle of Midan, one of the most holy places we have. She broke into a room there at the Academy and stole things (since if I recall correctly, there are no public areas where one can just walk by and take things). She willingly, of her own free will and mind, did these things –desecration of a holy shrine that has served Midoran for centuries! Yet, I am questioned with such ferocity by all these people while everyone pities her?! Dare I wonder what would have happened to her had she stole something from the temple of one of these false gods – perhaps this cult of Naruth? She would be consumed in fire, no doubt….
As you well know, under the laws of Midor, theft is a misdemeanor but the crime was clearly moved to a felony because of the circumstances involved, although it seems many of these heretics don’t understand the severity of stealing from a holy place. Plus an example needed to be set. I do not see where there was such a big outcry about this.
I have spoken with this Mikaylin on a few occasions, to see why she did it and if she felt any remorse or regret. Unfortunately, I find little of either in her words or demeanor. She said she took the potions because they were locked away in a storage room and no one was going to use them. She was going to give them to the Sisters here, who run a sort of monastery/infirmary outside of Port Royale.
As you taught me many times before, Father, noble intentions, all so often lead to grievous actions. It as if many of the skilled, elite and powerful in Port Royale simply don’t believe that the laws apply to them…or that their actions have consequences…..or that all actions are good or evil, even if they are justified (and I don’t know for a minute mean to imply that her actions were). There is no sense of responsibility here, that we have any sort of obligation to our fellow man or woman to follow laws. It upsets me greatly – there is a whole base of education and principles that must be created in this city. There is much work to do.
To make matters even worse, I doubt this Mikaylin will ever feel any remorse, as she was magically given her hands back. I missed the actual event by a few minutes, but apparently a woman named Fri’el performed some sort of black magic and returned her hands, as good as new. I would have directly challenged this Fri’el, but her name seemed familiar. I believe she was the heathen warlock who nearly killed Sir Vecar during a particular battle, only to have him saved by Sir Jongras, Midoran bless his name. I have noted the appearance of her and her companions and send my notes to Midor. What a good day it would be to see her heretic head on the stake in front of the city.
Anyway, this is the tale of Mikaylin. If you have any thoughts on how I should approach and educate the people of Port Royale on this issue, I would gladly listen.
I should also tell you that I saw a gentleman recently in Port Royale wearing a very distinctive set of black and gold armor. It reminded me of a subject we talked about at length some while back, the Aristi, but at the time, it was just a tentative connection. Now, however, I’m putting it together with some rumors of such a man walking in these lands, although I had discounted them previously. This man barely looked at me, but I got a feeling that something wasn’t right – that the man purposefully did not meet my gaze.
In any event, in your next letter, could you send me some notes about the Aristi? I remember bits and pieces, but your knowledge might help me confirm my suspicions. I am not sure what this appearance means, but it may be something I have to look into much more seriously very soon.
Finally, let me say I’m interested in hearing from you about the lecture by his grace, Vidus Khain, you’re scheduled to attend soon. I know we sometimes differ on this subject, but I hope you’ll keep an open mind to his words (ah-hah, the student becomes the teacher!). Please let me know what he says and, more importantly, what you thought.
In Midoran’s Name,
Cedrych von Maistlin
Knight Errant of Midoran |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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A Fourth Letter to Father Certos
Posted: 30 Nov 2005 11:12 PM |
Dear Father Certos:
I am exhausted.
Physically, emotionally, mentally – if there are other ways to be exhausted, I am them too. And yet, I find myself lying here unable to sleep, my thoughts still focused on the events of the day. So perhaps I will find some sort of relief in putting my thoughts on paper, a catharsis that will allow me to slip into the peaceful solitude of slumber.
It is unfortunate that my previous letter probably hasn’t even gotten to you yet, for I would dearly love to know more about the Aristi now, as the gentleman I mentioned in that plays a pivotal role in the events of today. But today was so much more than just the Aristi…I find myself troubled by things that I thought were clear, yet relieved by others than I believed would never unravel.
Where to begin?
I was traveling along the coastal road from Buckshire to Port Royale. It’s safe enough to stay along the coast, but if you go a bit inland, you may find yourself in the Nebwood. It is a fey forest, I believe, but also apparently includes a temple to the Dark One, something I found out today.
The path to the Nebwood was blocked by a large boulder and a red fog filled the area. The rangers who guard the area said that someone had disturbed the temple, leading the spirits there to create a massive undead army. I found out that a past companion of mine, Talion, was the one responsible. In my dealings with him, he has been quite honorable, so I believe his role in creating this horde was accidental. I suppose you would remind me that all actions have consequences, and I would not disagree. However, he would end up facing the consequences, as would we all.
We were soon joined by others, including an irresponsible young man named Nathan (although he would prove to act quite honorable on this day), the lady Illumina (whom I’ve mentioned in a previous letter and plays a key role in this tale), and a monk or holy warrior of some sort (called himself a holy fist of Midoran, I will need to talk with you on this in greater detail).
Finally, the Aristi himself arrived (the gentleman I mentioned in my last letter). I know this for a fact because he introduced himself with such flourish you would have thought he was a king. I am Byron Lorian, and I am the last son of Aristi. And there you have it, father, the Aristi are alive and well, it would seem, and apparently as arrogant as ever.
Both the rangers of the wood and a wandering elvish mage warned of going into the woods. I wanted to venture in myself at first, but given that the wood was a fey wood, I felt the word of the elf to be quite telling. Yet this fool Aristi wanted to go in immediately, challenging my honor if I did not go in. What choice did I have? Someone had to watch over the others against this man.
So in we went. And indeed, a full army of skeletons and worse awaited us. And I am proud to say we did well, though I would later pay for such hubris. For after the third or forth wave fell to us, I saw a creature I have never seen before, and hope I never see again.
Every man knows fear, father, it is what we do with it that determines out lot. In fact, you once told me that one of the greatest measures of a man is how he handles fear. Well, father, in all honesty, I froze for a moment in fear when I saw this creature. It was….indescribable. Yet, at that very time, I felt Midoran with me, and I was inspired back to action, and led a charge against this creature.
And that is where the story ends for a bit for I do not know what happened. The next thing I remember is a man standing over me, a priest of Midoran, or at least one who said he served the light. And next to him was this Aristi. They seemed to be together somehow. I am still confused on this.
The priest brought us all back from the edge of death. The Aristi had apparently killed manyof the creatures, but had also fallen during the battle. But one companion, Illumina, could not be found. She was simply not there where she fell! I tell you, father, I wanted to kill that Aristi for what he had done and his sinful pride, but it seemed this priest was with him. And before I could investigate, Illumina magically appeared. She was alive, but barely, and this priest said she had the taint of the Dark One.
And thus the second part of the night’s events began. I, along with Talion and Nathan, took Illumina to the temple at Midor to cleanse her soul of the taint. And they could not, completely, without her giving herself to Midoran. For some reason, forgive me father, this surprised and confused me at the time. This taint was not her fault, and I did not know what to tell my companions, who I think looked at me with suspicion and worry. For the briefest of moments, I felt….lost.
The priests ordered her to leave the city, so I escorted them to the docks, but I could not bear to be with her at the time. So I stayed behind, and then found myself back here at the Inn, where my restless thoughts have refused me sleep so far.
What a day, yes, and I have given these events many hours of thought, prayer and meditation, with some surprising results. As I said at the beginning of this letter, cloudy thoughts have crystallized, and what I thought clear has darkened with questions.
The question of Illumina seems clear enough now. I have known her for a while and been speaking with her about Midoran and her challenges (among other things, she seems to suffer from sort of amnesia – I believe that’s the term – and remembers very little of her life). I have prayed for her, for a sign from Midoran about her, and have received one, and an obvious one at that.
She must give herself willingly to Midoran if she wants to be free of the taint. My companions thought that Midoran would only heal a worshipper, that he was being selfish (as if one can assign human characteristics to the one god!) but the answer is far different. For after all, unless we walk in the light, shadows and darkness prevail, but the choice must be ours. He cannot heal and cleanse someone if they do not want to know the truth. So I must convince her that she will never be full, never be completely healed, unless she accepts Midoran as her savior and bathe herself fully in the light of his understanding, knowledge and grace. And I believe she is smart, wise and humble enough to know the truth. I hope she sees it. I will do everything I can do help her.
It is the issue of the Aristi that clouds my mind now. What was this priest of Midoran doing with him? The priest said the Aristi had fallen too – why would he save him too? The Aristi argued to take Illumina to the Sisters or even that godforsaken temple in Port Royale, but the priest argued strongly for Midor, as one would expect. But they seemed to know one another. I simply don’t know enough about this, and I’m sorry these events happened so near the date of my previous letter, as I know you haven’t received it yet and had time to send me notes about the Aristi. I wish to find this Aristi again, and make him tell me what he and his kind are doing. And if necessary, I will make sure that he is indeed the last son.
Until then, I suspect sleep will be difficult for me, although the length of this letter has certainly made my eyes heavy. I bid you good night, father.
In Midoran’s Name,
Cedrych von Maistlin
Knight Errant of Midoran |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: A Fourth Letter to Father Certos
Posted: 01 Dec 2005 01:03 AM |
The delivery of mail is never a sure thing. The roads are dangerous, the passages by sea are sometimes fatal and the costs are considerable.
Even after all those hurdles are overcome, there is still the matter of finding those to whom the letter is addressed. People move around, or cannot be found. Messengers might turn out to be unreliable. Who's to know, right?
Still, it was fortunate that this messenger was of the conscientious sort, but being born and raised in Midor tended to create that sort more often than not. This letter would be delivered.
"I'm looking for Cedrych von Maistlin. I have a letter for him. Anyone seen him around?" |
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."
--
<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: A Fourth Letter to Father Certos
Posted: 01 Dec 2005 02:01 AM |
It had been another long day, but tonight, he did not feel like writing.
He wanted to relax. He wanted to spend an entire day -- no, week -- in bed. Perhaps some time at the baths...He knew his thoughts were sinful, not worthy of a paladin of Midor. He knew he would be up before the dawn, his body too conditioned to let him sleep in. But in Midoran's Name, didn't the heathens ever take a day off and sleep in?
He was not ready to fall asleep either. Too much swirling around in his head, and he knew he would need at least an hour of meditation and prayer to calm himself down. He thought it odd that some people found prayer to be a chore. He had always found such activities to be relaxing, letting his mind wander, often coming up with new perspectives and angles for a problem that was especially vexing
But before he could begin that, he felt his stomach rumbling...time for a bit to eat, he thought, and headed down to the common room of the inn. Uwe was used to him appearing at odd times for whatever food was available.
He had just opened the door when he heard the voice: "I'm looking for Cedrych von Maistlin. I have a letter for him. Anyone seen him around?"
"I am him," he replied. "You have a letter for me? From Father Certos?" As tired as he was, he could not hide the excitement in his voice as he looked expectantly at the messenger. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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A Letter from Father Certos
Posted: 02 Dec 2005 07:40 AM |
Cedrych,
I was very pleased to receive your first letter, and surprised to receive your second and third in such short order. This old priest appreciates your dedication in correspondence.
Rarely have I seen a paladin such as you, my boy. Such upstanding paladins are rare enough these days, and I am pleased you have turned out so well as one whose strength and sense of justice was tempered by gentleness and wisdom. I know you will never waver in your call to duty.
The problems of the thief you speak of, and the poor young woman who suffered at the hand of the dark one are of a similar kind. Both have suffered and both can be saved if only they accept the truth. The decision will be theirs to make
Be wary in Port Royale. Those that choose to make a home there are marked by greed and beholden to sin. By the time you receive this letter I am confident you will have seen acts of gross sin. Do not let that shake your faith. Just as Midor is a beacon of light to the world, so must you be a beacon to those in darkness. I have heard the White Bishop speak of his time in Port Royale. If half of what he tells me is true then I must double my prayers for you. Be careful there, Cedrych.
Always remember that people lacking faith will be the first to denounce it. The presence of the devout acts as a mirror to their own lost faithlessness. Such reflection on them is at best unpleasant and like any animal that gets hurt, they react by trying to destroy which gives them such pain. Do not let their harsh words sway you. Respond in kind with your own devotion and understanding. Some will learn from your example and come to see the truth. It is these ones you serve with your faith.
And be wary of Fri’el. She is unstable and dangerous. It is no surprise she worked her dark magic to help the heretic. She even came close to corrupting the White Bishop himself. Thank Midoran that His Grace had the foresight and wisdom to banish her from Midor and ending her banal attempt at gaining influence.
So, you have met the Aristi? The church documents are very clear on what the Aristi were really like, depraved, demon worshipping idolators who sowed the seeds of their own destruction. Who this young man is, and why he claims such heritage is unknown to me, but the Aristi are long gone. Perhaps he is a confused young man seeking the glory of something that never was? Still, judge a man by is actions but be wary of those who would tempt you with stories and ask you to walk from the path of righteousness.
Truly, he does sound extremely arrogant. His actions were brash and foolhardy, that is true. But Midoran works in His ways in secret, and I do think He sent this Aristi to test your faith. You answered his challenge to your honor in a manner befitting a paladin. I am proud of you.
But now, good Cedrych, did you consider that a true holy person is a servant, not a master? This priest you spoke of used the blessings Midoran gave him to help those in need, even the Aristi. And why should he not? Just as Midoran saved Aristi from death over a thousand years ago, so did that priest saved that man. Do not doubt the priest, who acted with mercy. For it was within his right to say no, to walk away, and no one would have denied that he did the right thing. Yet this priest choose to go beyond himself; to help others come to the True Light of Midoran even though he had no obligation, because that is what Midoran commands.
Do not hate the Aristi, though he chooses a poor name to express his pride. Far better to pity him, but do not hate, no matter what he has done. Remember, all are worthy of Midoran’s grace. Would you have truly killed him? Is not your desire to kill him for sinful pride a sin itself? Think long on this, Cedrych. Because you are blessed by Midoran does not make your judgment infallible.
I am sorry I missed you during your stop in Midor. I do not get out as much as I used to, and the walk to the Temple is long. It is something I still manage every dawn, and I stay there until noon, when my knees become tired and joints become sore. Midoran forgives me, I am sure, for giving him only half of my day. I am old, and such allowances must sometimes be made.
I sought the priest that saw you and Illumina. He was a young one, recently anointed, who still had the zeal of the seminary in his heart. I instructed him in the ways of gentleness and moderation. I do not know if he heard me. He wore a red sash around his waist, marking him as a disciple of the White Bishop. Many of the young priests wear that sash. You may have noticed when you were here.
Melios left the Temple two weeks after you graduated from the Academy. I have received only one letter from him, and it was a short one at that. He was sent to Icy Vale during the occupation, but I have not heard from him since the Righteous Swords completed their mission in the Vale and withdrew. If you make it up that way, try to find out how he is doing. I am sure he would be pleased to hear from you.
Your Friend in the True Light,
Father Certos |
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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A Fifth Letter/Reply to Father Certos
Posted: 02 Dec 2005 07:10 PM |
Father Certos:
As always, your letter was like a salve to my soul, especially recently when it seems each day brings new challenges and quandaries. If my letters come faster than you can respond, don’t worry, my good friend, feel not the pressure to write. You don’t know how much weight is lifted from my heart just in being able to put words to paper.
I suppose I should just keep a journal, but I find that having to present my thoughts to someone else makes me think more about my true feelings and often brings me greater clarity. It is a great comfort to know you are there, just listening, and if there’s ever anything you feel compelled to respond to, please do. We have been friends long enough that I will consider anything you have to say. But please, don’t feel compelled to respond to every letter.
Your letter arrived at an opportune time, for my heart and soul are heavy today for several reasons. Verily, you speak true of the thief, Mikaylin, and this troubled woman, Illumina, although it hurts my heart to say it, especially in the latter’s case. This Illumina, she is as good-hearted as anyone I have met here in Port Royale which, considering her circumstances, is extraordinary. She is neither vain nor arrogant, as many of the woman I have met here are. She is…nervous….skittish…jumpy…. If you had just met her, you might assume she was afraid of her shadow. Yet, I tell you father, I have never seen her shirk from a fight or refuse to help a friend, no matter the problem. She is honorable and just, and my heart screams that it is unfair that, of all people, she should be tainted.
But do not think my sentiment here clouds my judgment. I agree with you, although I am pained to do so. Actions have consequences, some that we cannot even see at the time we make them, and we all entered that wood under our own compulsion. She, like everyone, is presented with challenges and choices to make. I hope she will see the truth and be saved by the light and grace of our Father. I will work everyday to help her, although I know the choice is hers alone.
How odd that our trip into the Nebwood has become such a focal point in my life. If I had chosen to travel to Port Royale by the Four Winds, as I was considering, I would never have seen the fog, met the Aristi and gone into the forest. Now, it seems that because of that one decision, many things have changed.
I must admit, I had not even considered that the priest was simply walking in Midoran’s light by administering to the Aristi. My own prejudice overruled my rational thinking, and you are of course right that the priest was acting properly by healing the Aristi. Because I knew him as Aristi, I was too quick to judge him, when in truth, I know little of the man or his principles. Neither had I considered that the Aristi may just be confused or misled, and that he needs further administration and education in the ways of Midoran. I will think more on this and resolve to find out more about him. And, of course, I will be careful, as you say.
But in truth, I am most filled with frustration and dismay tonight because of my earlier actions on this day. Let me explain.
I came across my friend, Talion, who told me he needed help defeating a pack of hydras! Hydras, good father, which many of the books I have read call legend! I would not have believed him, but he produced the head of one that he killed. I was stunned, and wanted to see them with my own eyes. We met up with several others, including Nathan and Illumina, and went to go fight these beasts.
And we did! We successfully killed three of them, and they were indeed amazing sights. Like dragons, I suppose, but not as big. Our success no doubt caused our pride to grow, which as you know, is inevitably the beginning of the end. We spied upon one of the largest of teh creatures, perhaps two or three times bigger than the earlier ones we had defeated, and endeavored to slay it.
I tell you, father, we should have died. Most of our weapons could not damage this creature’s tough hide. But Talion…I know you have never been much for swordplay, but even you would have been amazed by the skill he displayed. I was in awe of his speed and sureness with his blade, and he singlehandedly nearly killed this creature. Unfortunately, even as we tried to help him, he fell and we would have fallen too. However, a strange figure (spirit perhaps?) appeared, felled this hydra with a single blow and just as quickly disappeared.
Not wanting to stay too long, I picked up Talion and we attempted to leave the hydras’ caverns as quickly as possible. However, one of these foul beasts caught up to us just as were exiting the cavern. I managed to attract its attention and headed the other way so the others could escape back to Buckshire. Fortunately, these creatures seem quite stupid, and I managed to circle back, barely managing to keep pace with the hydra with Talion strapped to my back. In the end, we made it to the town, dodging both the fire of the hydra and huge rocks thrown at us by the giants who also live in the area. Quite an exciting and nerve-shattering journey! We made it to the sisters, who managed to heal Talion completely (they must be blessed by Midoran, for their skills at healing are nearly unmatched).
My frustration is not with having to run, for there is no dishonor in retreating from a superior force, especially one as mindless as hydras and giants, and saving your comrades from certain death. My shame is not in seeing Talion’s vastly superior skills with a weapon, for I know my strengths and weaknesses as well as any man. I am glad for him, truly, and am honored to travel with him.
No, my shame comes from a relatively minor incident later that night at the Inn, where we had all gathered to rest and tell stories. Two elves entered the inn, and Talion asked them if they knew anything about this figure or spirit that had saved in the hydra’s caverns.
Father, I have endeavored to keep an open mind here in Port Royale and truly judge people on their actions, as you counsel me to. But these elves, they were incredibly arrogant and rude. They laughed at his inquiry, as if we should just be thankful this person had saved us and not ask questions. We would be in the middle of talking, and they would just start speaking in elvish with one another, as if we weren’t even there. And then, when I called them on it, they called me rude!
Perhaps I was tired, but I would not let it go. Neither would they, and both of these elves left the inn rather that telling us anything (although in truth, it didn’t seem like they had anything of import to say). Talion was furious with me, and while I continued to defend myself, after I had retired, I felt ashamed. I had put my pride and feelings above the needs of my friend and companion, one who has fought side by side with me, risked his life for me – even nearly died with me in the Nebwood!
It seems so incongruous to me. I should feel good, should I not, at helping to defeat these hydras and saving my friend’s life by taking him back to the Sisters? These are the actions that everyone would call heroic, yes? Yet, a few wrong words from me, and I feel like I have done nothing right…that I have damaged something more important than all the gold and treasure one could find in those caverns. It is a most un-heroic feeling. I have failed my friend, and feel like I have failed my code and my values. Much to pray and meditate on tonight...
Thank you for telling me about Melios and the Icy Vale. I have not been there, but will plan to seek him out. I believe my friend, Talion – hopefully, still my friend -- has a place there, and I will hope to make amends with him too.
I am glad you and Midoran are with me, for I’m not sure I feel anyone else’s blessing on this dark and cloudy eve. I remain strong and resolute, fear not, but tonight will not be an easy one.
Thank you for writing, old friend. Your words are treasured.
Your servant in Midoran’s light,
Cedrych von Maistlin
Knight Errant of Midoran |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Interlude/A Meditation in the Mirghul
Posted: 06 Dec 2005 05:57 PM |
It had been most unlike Cedrych to seek solace in the woods beyond the Great Plains. Usually, it would be a place in the city, such as the library or the Cave of Reflection. But on this occasion, Midor had given him no respite, as if the faces of the people he passed by were peering at him, into him. Even the opening and closing of books had made him startle, so he had decided, quite suddenly, to leave.
Looking back, he could see that his unconscious decision to head north was neither random nor based entirely on aesthetics, as beautiful as the countryside was. He had heard that the rebels were based in Ladriel in the Brandibuck Vale, and he had been long interested in exploring that area for sometime. But he hadn’t consciously thought of that until several days later.
Despite growing up in Midor, he had rarely ventured beyond its outskirts, and even then only with his father or older brother. He was definitely most comfortable in the city but he found the gently rolling hills and forests of the Mirghul and further north to be inviting. Not without its perils, to be sure, but for the most part, comfortable, relaxing and most importantly, quiet. For he needed to think…think on many things and settle his mind. His mind focused on past conversations, and they seemed to come at him like a blur.
What had the heretic said? If Midoran is so powerful, why hasn’t he taken care of Gorlath Keep, since it lies so close to Midor? He had answered the question with another question, a practice he hated, but he hadn’t wanted to debate the issue…not there, not then. The Keep was personal…it was not a place he enjoyed for several reasons.
Vexing…he hated questions like that, for it always presupposed that Midoran was supposed to do something about evil in the world. The problem is, he wasn’t. It wasn’t his role to do anything in the world – it was our job. Why did a perfect god create an imperfect world? he had responded.
He answered himself automatically, by rote, going through the arguments he had tested in his mind for years. Because life is not about the destination, it is about the journey – our quest to be perfect. It is the dilemma of being human: trying to attain perfection while knowing that we can never be perfect. Midoran has given us the signs, the guideposts, to attain this perfection, all the while knowing that we can never reach it. And that is what he judges us on, the journey – what we do, not what we achieve.
Evil existed in the world because Midoran wanted people to know the difference – between evil and good, between law and chaos…otherwise, how else would they know perfection and how to struggle towards it? Evil was a testing ground, and those who fell to it deserved their fate. Those who kept to the signs and walked in the light, well, eternal salvation was theirs.
His mind flashed to another comment said by another heretic…that Fri’el woman…what had she said when they were discussed laws and Midor: people must be free to be good and evil. He had choked, shook his head, wasn’t even sure how to respond to that one. He suspected it had been said to impress the bystanders who had been listening, but it was, in reality, a nonsense statement.
Of course, people were free to do whatever they want. Who was going to stop any individual from thinking about doing an activity and trying to perform it? From this point of view, nothing in Midoran law prohibited a person from doing anything. But it did say that you’d better be prepared to accept the consequences of what you do, a fact conveniently overlooked by Fri’el and many of the people he had spoken with.
Freedom…so much made of freedom, he thought, but freedom doesn’t make you free. Laws made you free, because without laws, anyone could do anything to you. Without laws, you were free to do whatever you wanted…without laws, might and power ruled. Without laws, there was no good or evil, because good simply became whatever you wanted and had the power to take.
It was…vexing, he thought…yes, vexing, his theme for the day…that people thought “law” was such a bad word, yet law and order existed all around them. Did not nature have its own laws? Did not rocks fall and water flow downhill naturally because of some sort of consistent law. Even magic, he knew, as chaotic as can be, had laws. Yet we humans…or elves or dwarves or whomever…as caretakers of this land based on law, should act in purely chaotic fashion? He chortled at the thought….hardly...
Freedom was important, but too often, it was simply a term used by those who wanted to cloak their own ambitions…who pretended to fight for others but were only concerned with themselves. And he would fight against that with every breath he had...
He was forced from his thoughts by the rustle of underbrush and saw another black bear approaching them. He tried to avoid them, for he disliked having such wanton slaughter, but they were extremely aggressive. His mind drew an immediate comparison to many of the heretics he had met on his travels, and he absently smiled at the thought as he unsheathed his great sword. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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On the Rebels
Posted: 13 Dec 2005 05:11 PM |
Dear Father:
Midoran works in mysterious ways, does he not?
On the last day of my retreat in the Mirghul and Brandibuck areas to reflect and prepare for the Season of Midoran, I encountered one of the rebel knights still at large -- one who did not return to the fold even after the battle on the plains. That I would meet one of these heretics just before the Week of Darkness is…what? Ironic? A coincidence? (I can never remember the difference despite your patient explanations.) Or simply an ill omen?
This encounter has very much given me pause, for it was not at all what I expected. His name was Tomas de Torquemada, if I recall correctly, and he was quiet, reserved…perhaps simply awaiting his fate? I could not tell. I’m not sure what I expected, truth be told, but it was not this. He seemed almost captivated or in some sort of trance, yet quite sure of himself. An odd conversation, and quite disturbing.
I had thought these men rebels, but to call him (or any of these traitors) a rebel is incorrect. He told me he no longer follows Midoran at all, but now follows the way of the Aristi! The Aristi, father! These so-called rebels aren’t rebels at all, they’ve simply been corrupted. I don't know what's worse, rebelling against Midoran or being corrupted by the Aristi?
I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on the whole matter of these “rebels.” I know that Midoran has accepted those knights who originally sided with the White Maiden and then returned to him after he spoke at the battle. But I still have difficulty accepting many of them. I would expect a common man to lose his faith, perhaps be seduced by some beguiling words. But not those chosen to serve Midoran. How could they be swayed so easily, I ask you?
To me, the worst thing about all of this is that He had to appear, had to speak, had to make his presence known, in order to prevent a bloodbath. That so many paladins could not divine his intentions without resorting to violence against another and causing him to appear. One can never know Midoran fully, I know, but it seems impossible to me. That the day would come that Midoran would have to reveal himself so many of his followers would choose the right path.
Does Midoran not provide adequate guides and signs, provided the heart is clear? He does not have to appear before his congregation all the time and sway them with his miracles, like these false religions do that spring about like maggots on rot. His teachings and his words are powerful enough. How could they miss these? How could they turn a blind eye to 1000 years of teaching, of wisdom and of love? My heart grieves just thinking about it.
And those who still refuse to turn back to Him – they are like spoiled children, are they not? For they have not only denied the light and denied the path that He showed them, they turned their back on Him and seek to worship some long-dead, false idea that corrupted itself a thousand years ago. They deny their faults in the light of truth, forget their humility, and then cut off their nose to spite their face. These are the actions of children, father, not the faithful guardians of Midoran who I looked up to and wanted to be like when I was at the Academy. I am shamed to say it, but it is true.
I have long thought that it was interesting (perhaps a coincidence? Or an irony?) that the Aristi would suddenly emerge at about the same time as the whole incident with the White Maiden. Given my discussion with this Torquemada, I now wonder if there is not a stronger connection, that perhaps the Aristi caused the initial rebellion and seduced this White Maiden and others to leave the order and convince others to do the same. Only a conjecture of course, but the timing is remarkable. It only adds to the urgency of finding this Lorian fellow again.
Thus you see, when my heart should glad that the Season is upon us, I find myself settling into the mood of the Week of Darkness quite easily. After 1000 years, it seems as if the Aristi are indeed back, and that perhaps we need another triumph like when Father Sprenger and Sir Kramer arrived in Aristi on that fateful day. Perhaps, and I say that this without a note of pride but only in service to Midoran, that it is our duty to finally rid the world of the Aristi once and for all. That would indeed be worth celebrating.
I will be in Midor several times during the celebration and hope to see you. I promise to stop by the temple and library in hopes of finding you. Perhaps a lunch at the Unicorn if time permits – I know that you always favored several delicacies there. If possible, I would love to be able to attend the Day of Light ceremonies with you so we can hear the White Bishop talk. Now that would surely spark some conversation, yes?
Take care, and I hope to see you soon.
Your friend and servant in the light,
Cedyrch von Maistlin
Knight Errant of Midoran
P.S. Father, I nearly forgot but I am seeking information on a man I only know as Azrael. I know little of him, but when we briefly traveled together, he would not go into Midor itself. I do not recall this man being on any recent lists of heretics or the damned, but there is something about him that is not right. If I have the time while in Midor, I will try to investigate, but if you have a chance, I wonder if you might be able to find out anything for me. Thank you, as always. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: On the Rebels
Posted: 13 Dec 2005 11:18 PM |
| ((wonderful...)) |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
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"...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: On the Rebels
Posted: 15 Dec 2005 03:04 PM |
Dear Cedrych,
It is good of you to keep up such a consistent correspondence with this old priest. I eagerly look for each of your letters, to hear of your adventures in the wide world. I am, as I always have been, very proud of you.
I await with great anticipation your return to Midor. Leave word at the temple when you have arrived, and I shall arrange for a runner to come find me. We shall have lunch, oh yes, and you can tell me personally of all the things you have seen and done. I am sure you will wish to witness the noon ceremony with your comrades in the Order. But if you would do a kindness to this old priest, I should like to attend the evening mass, “The Purge,” with you. We will listen to the White Bishop and celebrate the sanctification of Midor.
You are full of questions, Cedrych, and I do not think I can give you all the answers. Not in a letter, at least, but I will try. Far better for this letter to find you sooner then to wait until the Season of Midoran to begin before speaking of such things.
It distresses me to hear that the hearts of so many paladins were corrupted so easily. The ways of the Aristi were mired in debauchery and sin. They worshiped their Prince, venerating him over all else, save perhaps for their own excesses. Some call what the Aristi did demon worship. I think the only demon they fought was their own vanity. The darkness that consumed them was their own pride. TThe last days of Aristi, before the Plauge, were the worst. Sin was virtue to the Aristi; the profane was holy. The pagan ways of the Aristi hold nothing in common to the virtues taught by Midoran. Truly, it was the virtues of Midoran that saved the Aristi from themselves.
Those that have not returned are no longer paladins. How could they be, if their faith can be so easily discarded.
Cedrych, you put too much on yourself. You cannot grieve for the deeds of the faithless, even when your fellow paladins are guilty of sin. Better to stay true to the Light then wander aimlessly in the dark. The Aristi offer only darkness disguised as hope. The Aristi you have met are being lied to, their minds and hearts are twisted by false teachings so that what is evil is viewed as good. Is not Midoran the only Law? And if that is true (and we know it is, for Midoran is Truth) then anyone that preaches against Midoran is a heretic. Remember the Aristi,t he demon worshipers and idolators. They were a people of the flesh. But we, as Midoran’s vanguard, are of the Spirit.
Do not forget the book of Midoran, Chapter 8, verse 4-12:
4. Be of the Spirit, for the flesh is weak. The flesh 5. binds a man, like a shackle is bound to stone. 6. Be faithful to dedicate things of the Spirit to Midoran, and do not waver, 7. in your conviction, for flesh is sin, 8. but spirit is salvation.
Turn your heart from grief to pity, Cedrych. Those that have abandoned the faith have been condemned by Midoran. They denied salvation when it was offered. Now they must pay the price for their arrogance. In death, when their souls are laid bare, Midoran will judge accordingly.
One final thing, Cedrych, before I end this letter. I know I have warned you of many pitfalls, so forgive me if I do warn you against one more. Be wary of zealots, those men and woman who place their ways above truth. If the Aristi continue to place their way ahead of the truth of Midoran, then they are zealots and must be dealt with accordingly. And how do you know what is truth? If your heart is right, my boy, and your intentions true, then you will know what is right and wrong. The way of Midoran is universal. Find it through your heart, and let your actions reflect your spirit
Yours in Midoran,
Father Certos |
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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A Long Week of Darkness
Posted: 19 Dec 2005 10:43 PM |
When he had been younger, he had always wondered why there had to be a week of darkness and just a day of celebration. Why mope around for a week? Why not kick off the New Year with just a day of darkness and a week of fun and festivities?
He was older now and in theory wiser, and knew why the celebrations were the way they were. But it did not stop him from occasionally regressing back to childhood and wishing for just one day of contemplation. Now was one of those times, for it had been a very long week of darkness, and it had been very dark indeed.
It had begun with the disappearance of his good friend, Talion. No one seemed to know where he was, although rumors persisted of a mining expedition to some remote cavern...just like Talion, he supposed. The man really was just a tall dwarf. But he had never come back, at least not to anyone’s knowledge, and given Talion’s skill with a sword, that was a bad sign indeed. He hoped that he was simply missing or out somewhere perhaps on a long journey. He reminded himself that it was often darkest before the dawn, yes? He hoped so…He would keep hoping….
Unfortunately, the week had grown darker still when he had run into Fr’iel again, and the woman had insisted on sitting him down and telling him her story. By the light of Midoran, every time he saw that woman, alarm bells went off on his head. And having heard her story, he now understood why.
Sure, he told himself again, it was possible that what she had told him was true. But her story was too neat. It allowed her to absolve herself of any responsibility for her deeds, while casting doubt and aspersions on the things he valued. Hadn’t she said that she lied from time to time, but what she told him now was factual. Of course, he snorted out loud, given your background, I’m sure everything you told me was true. And given that you wanted me to spread the tale in Midor, I’m sure you just wanted to give me the facts straight. He shook his head and let out a deep sign.
Unfortunately, there was still the back of his mind, nagging at him, wondering if at least part of her words were true. It was, after all, quite a mammoth story. Were it to be totally a lie, she had gone to some impressive lengths to make up the tale. He absently pressed down the ends of his moustache. Undoubtedly, such a feeling was exactly what she wanted....score one for Fr’iel? He shrugged, then reminded himself to consider the source. He chuckled to himself – that point seemed to end the discussion.
What troubled him more than the story was the discovery that Dorian was now working for Fri’iel as her personal bodyguard or assistant or some such. He supposed, knowing what he knew about Dorian, that the connection should not be surprising. Dorian would do just about anything for coin, and since seemed to have no idea just how much coin he would ever need to satisfy his need for wealth, well, he seemed like a ripe target for Fr’iel. But blast if he knew why, Cedrych seemed to have a soft spot for him. Perhaps it was because he knew Dorian’s background, and that maybe he had never had a chance living in a normal civilized world (everyone has choices, he heard the back of his mind, chiding him). Whatever the reason, he was genuinely worried about him, afraid of what Fr’iel might do when she had run out of use for him. He had told Dorian so. Bless his heart, Dorian seemed to have no idea what he had been talking about. He would watch this, as best as he could. Too many souls had already been lost to Fr’iel….
But he reserved his darkest thoughts now for what had transpired earlier in the day. He was, in fact, still so angry that he needed to concentrate on calming himself down.
He had been exploring an old ruin with Tomi, Garrak, Willom and Iris when they had come across an old tomb. While he had little concern with opening a pagan tomb, they had been interrupted by a gentleman who suddenly appeared and warned them against opening the tomb. The man turned out to be a knight of Midoran and told the assembled group that a hero of Midor was buried in it. Of course, this had immediately changed things for him, and he told the group that he felt they should not despoil the tomb.
Tomi and Garrak, however, were intent on opening it, while Willom and Iris tried to make peace. As he and Sir Enacra made their case for not opening it (peacefully, he reminded himself, they had just been talking), Tomi had suddenly attacked Enacra and nearly killed him! Cedrych had been stunned. There was no warning, no sudden escalation – Enacra had been walking towards the tomb, and Tomi had jumped on him. It had taken all of Cedrych’s and others’ skills just to save Enacra from death. He had considered confronting Tomi right then and there, but the halfling’s skill was considerable, and Garrak was backing him up. Cedrych was unsure what Willom and Iris would have supported him had he done so, so he focused on making sure Enacra remained alive.
Given that the way back was still guarded by snow orcs, the party had an uneasy truce as it fought its way to Icy Vale. Cedrych had received horrific injuries from the battle and had woken up…somewhere in Icy Vale, he wasn’t sure…somewhere near a nice hot spring he would preferred to stay in for some time. But he knew that Sir Enacra might need his help, so he rallied to find the others. And what had Tomi said when he saw him? Hope you’re feeling better…Cedrych had looked at him incredulously. The same man who would have tried to gut him without a second glance an hour earlier had actually asked if he was feeling better. He shook his head.
He had asked Willom and Iris why they traveled with such a man, a murderer who clearly didn’t give a blast about anyone. Willom had said they had never seen him act that way, that he had always been very nice to them. And Cedrych had replied that perhaps they had never disagreed with him, which clearly got Willom to thinking.
Which was good, because that was the nature of evil. It could be nice and kind if it got what it wanted. But if it didn’t – if someone disagreed or tried to fight back – that was when evil revealed itself for what it was. Tomi might indeed dress well and be nice and helpful to others – when it was in his interests to do so. But really, he was evil, a thug, and clearly, from what Cedrych had seen, someone who specialized in attacking from surprise with no warning, whether it was warranted or not. If he had the power to do something, he would do it, and if he couldn’t, he would wait until you weren’t looking. He was no better than the ruffians who frequented the Midoran docks on occasion.
He and Sir Enacra had tried to get the help of the Icy Vale militia to apprehend Tomi, but they weren’t interested in the affairs of outsiders, it seemed. So Tomi had gone off free, and it had ended…for now…Cedrych’s hands clenched in fury again. It was far from over, though. A killer like Tomi, with clearly little remorse, could not be allowed to walk the land free. Who knows how many others might be dead simply because they had gotten in Tomi’s way? Oh no, it was far from over…
Such an incident by itself should have been enough for one day. He was exhausted by the time he had reached the Four Winds Inn. The sun had actually just started rising when he walked into the common room. He just glimpsed the woman in the back of the room out of the corner of his eye, and had thought at first it was Ulalume, the young Midoran knight he had met earlier. But it turned out to be someone whom he never thought he would meet: Lillian Blackstone…the Lillian Blackstone, as he had put it.
He had been exhausted, of course, so his emotions had turned quickly. He had originally put his hand on his sword, thinking he would try to take her to Midor. Thinking more clearly, he realized she probably could have run him through with little effort. Plus, she wore the black of Midoran, as if she were still loyal to Him. This had confused and intrigued him, since the other rebel he had met had clearly gone over to Aristi.
So they had talked a long time – about Midoran, the rebellion, the nature of things. He hoped she hadn’t realized what sort of effect she had on him. He felt like he had acted like the awe-struck schoolboy around her, which in truth, is what he had been. She had been his idol during most of the Academy, at least before the rebellion. After all, if you are an awkward young teen who’s not sure what you’re doing at the Academy and if you even belong, you look up to the exact opposite of what you are: someone, it was said, who was born to be a knight, the youngest person to ever be accepted to the Academy. He had been teased and mocked mercilessly by the others when it was known that she was a rebel. But, he thought, isn’t a fallen hero still, in some ways, your hero?
That she had also been beautiful…more beautiful than the paintings at the Academy had ever made (before they had been defaced or taken down)…that had just made the whole encounter that much more difficult…best not to think about that.
Thus, his emotions during their discussion had ranged the gamut: anger, for his hero having joined the rebellion; confusion, as to why she actually did (it was almost as if she did not know and was trying to figure it out. If he had hoped to get further clarity into the mind of the rebels, it was not successful, as he was now more befuddled than ever); pity, though he dared not voice this, although he pitied her for what had happened (she seemed lost, wanting to be with Midoran, or else why wear the robe, yet at the same time denying Him and the Aristi); admiration, for what she had done; and finally, sadness, for he was afraid that the future would lead to a confrontation between him and her at some point.
In the end, he wondered to himself why he didn’t try to capture her and take her to Midoran. It was, after all, his duty to capture the rebels, yes? And yet, there was something about her searching, her indecision, that he realized had ultimately stayed his hand. The other rebels – it seemed they had turned away from Midoran and worshipped Aristi. They were lost. But she, she had not. She still wore the robe. Perhaps…was it worth even thinking?...perhaps she might, some day, come back to the fold? After all, for Midoran, life was about the process, the challenge, the journey – the continuing search for perfection in an imperfect world. Had he not said that life was made up of ebbs and flows, and because we were imperfect, could we not rise and fall? Could not, then, a fallen hero find salvation?
He wasn’t sure, but he had made the decision there, that night, for better or worse, that he would let her go…for now. For he hoped she would try to achieve salvation…he didn’t know how, or even if she wanted to, but he would help her, if he could…if she truly wanted to return.
So perhaps the week wasn’t totally dark. He had met his childhood idol. He had met two other knights of Midoran, Sir Enacra and Lady Ulalume, both of whom were loyal to Midoran. And there was still the Day of Light and the New Year to look forward to…he began to wonder what else Midoran had in store for him, but before he could consider the thought, his eyes closed and he fell asleep.
((sorry, this ended up much longer than I ever expected)) |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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A Long Time Coming: Seventh Letter to Father Certos
Posted: 23 Jan 2006 07:11 PM |
(What transpired between the previous post and this one:
http://vives.dyndns.org/vives/Forums/ShowPost.aspx?PostID=44623)
Dear Father:
I know it has been sometime since I last wrote to you. Fear not, for it is not for lack of enthusiasm. I know all too well the human tendency to begin something with great alacrity, only to see it in time fall by the way side. Know that you and your counsel are oft on my mind, and I very much enjoyed having the opportunity to see you, however briefly, in Midor before the Purge.
He paused here. This was a subject he wished to explore but doubts pulled at him. He and the Father were close. Certos was as pious and loyal as any priest, but he also knew him to be a worldly man and able to see through rhetoric for what it was. Cedrych wanted to tell him of his recent thoughts on Midor…Blast, if only he could have talked to the Father immediately after the Purge! But events had prevented that. And a horrible thought crept into his mind, that maybe…maybe writing such a letter might endanger them both….He decided to proceed with caution.
How fares our great city after the Purge? The events of that day surprised me to say the least. That four criminals should be punished is hardly news, I suppose it was just the public display that his Grace decided upon that struck me. But I guess a message was sent to the non-believers, yes?
Yes, I will leave it at that. And hopefully…..he let the thought drift off.
My life lately has been consumed with, of all things, elves and criminals. I doubt that word has reached Midor of these things, but some strange ailment has been affecting certain elves of Ferein, in particular, I understand, those with some attachment to nature and the leands. Why is this of concern to a paladin of Midoran, you may ask? Indeed.
I have been stricken by this illness, temporarily though, I assure you. It was unlike anything I have ever felt. I suppose illness is not the right word, at least not what I felt. When it hit me, I felt the strangest sense of nothingness, like everything I knew and cared for was gone. And I had a vision of a woman with red glowing eyes, if I recall everything correctly. The pain – or perhaps the emptiness, I can’t see I really remember any pain as one might normally know it – was so intense I could not stand for what seemed to be the longest time. And then just like that, it was gone.
That the elf who was standing next to me was stricken was no surprise, but for me, as well as another human male, to be stricken so, it concerns me greatly. I fear such illness coming to Midor, although I have heard no tales of such as of this writing. There are tales of a group of adventurers heading into the deepest parts of Ferein to address this illness, but I know nothing substantive so far.
He stopped the quill a moment before it touched the paper, causing a drop of ink to spill on to the parchment. Without consciously thinking about it , he had been going to write of his time in Ferein. He made a guttural sound of disappointment and anger, annoyed that he once again would have to watch what he said, at least for now. After a few moments of contemplation, he again dipped the quill in the ink and started writing. Other matters, he thought.
I have also spent a fair amount of time tracking down one Arzael Raventine. An interesting story here, father, as you might remember I asked about him in an earlier letter. He was arrested and sentenced to death for killing a man in a bar, using some sort of magic he could not control. He has, however, been returned to life, but by who or why, I do not know.
We recently had a confrontation in the Four Winds Inn of all places. He was in a fragile state of mind, and talked about having to live like an animal and how he thought he had already been punished. Of course, when I pointed out that he had cheated his punishment, he began raving madly about…ah, I cannot even remember.
As you might have expected, he refused to go peacefully and only managed to escape through the use of magic. But during the few minutes we talked, I think I may have gained enough insight into him to be able to capture him. Or so I hope.
As I said, this Azrael does not seem terribly stable, and even admitted to me that he does not completely control his magic all the time. So I intend to pull the screws even tighter. While I have previously kept the hunt for him to myself, I will now distribute and put up fliers with his description in every building and on every tree in Vives. I will also be informing any knights in the area about him as well. If he thought he was living like an animal beforehand, he has not experienced anything yet.
Hopefully, this will force his hand and make him come to me, as opposed to this fruitless searching and hunting. We shall see, good father. It puts me in considerable danger, I suppose, for he is powerful. I hope sincerely this is not my last letter to you. But I feel it must be done. If this unstable madman continues to roam the countryside free, I fear for the many innocents he comes across.
Still, despite the admittedly rather depressing thoughts of sicknesses and criminals, my spirits are constantly buoyed by the companions I have met here. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned to you I have met another knight-errant of Midoran and traveled with her on occasion. Ulalume A’Midori was apparently a year behind me in the Academy, although I daresay her skills exceed mine. Her fellowship has meant much to me, for her thoughts and perspective ease my heart in these trying times. I marvel every time I hear of her accomplishments. She told me recently she had converted a young halfling to Midoran and now he trains to be a knight. And I always considered myself to be a good orator! I am happy for her, and always find myself in good spirits when in her company.
There are others too, not of Midor but I believe of good and noble bearing. I have traveled frequently of late with a wizard named Lucius, who is growing in power. He means well, although I (and Ulalume too) are concerned about his increasing arrogance. Although when I mentioned this to him recently, he told me that everyone was nagging him all the time about things. And while I chuckled, it reminded me of something you once told me about personalities and people seeking things that everyone else tells them are bad. We always want what we cannot have, yes Father, and want it even more when we are told we should not have it? I have resolved to stop nagging him and let him do as he may, although I continue to watch him and offer my help when I can.
Like myself, he too must be in awe of the number of strong female personalities that seem to dominate matters in many parts of these lands. It doesn’t help that most of them either a) consider themselves the most beautiful woman in the world; b) ready to insult you or nag at you for the littlest of things; or c) both. Hah! You know I jest, although I suppose there is a kernel of truth in it.
Perhaps it is only me – having lost my mother early, it was a shock to see as many females as there were in the Academy. I’m glad I have adjusted well, although I can think of a few cadets who must have been in shock once they left the Academy.
Well, I began with the Purge and up with women. I suppose some would say that was appropriate! Clearly, it is a sign I end my letter and find some rest for the evening before I wander any further. I hope you are well and bid you blessings in the name of Midoran, the one true light.
Cedrych von Maistlin
Knight-Errant of Midoran |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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An Unsent Letter
Posted: 07 Feb 2006 07:15 PM |
There had always been something about the written word that pleased Cedrych. The architecture of a sentence – the formatting, the agreement, the attention to detail – the science of it. The rules that governed it made it such an exacting process.
If you spoke to someone, the words were secondary. There was tone, facial expressions, hand and body gestures – a hundred different ways to express yourself, or just as often, to twist the meaning of what one might say.
Not so with the written word. Not that, of course, words couldn’t have double meanings or that they couldn’t inspire. They could. But by the same token, you had to mean what you write, and write what you mean. Writing exposed you like the spoken word never could. Which was why he liked it so much, because no matter what he said to people, no matter how much he might try to deflect, deny, obfuscate or reject, what he wrote at the end of the day was truly how he felt.
Why was why he sat down to write a letter he knew would never be sent. It couldn’t be sent. At least, not until he had made his decision, and then it would make little difference. But it still needed to be written, if only for his peace of mind – to help him decide something that he had thought he settled weeks before.
Dear Father Certos:
I think I shall dispense with my typical pleasantries, given that this communication will likely never get read. Today, I met with his grace, Vidus Khain. Lady Ulalume A’Midori, another knight-errant, joined me. Quite simply, we were asked to join the Righteous Swords, or….be “left behind.”
Father, he intends to completely eliminate the Paladins of Midoran and replace them all with the Righteous Swords. I suppose I should have seen this coming, but I still cannot believe he intends to reject 1000 years of tradition and do away with the order. We who once guarded Midoran will now simply disappear in a wave of red.
Or be exiled. Which is what happened to Ulalume. In truth, she is lucky to be alive, given that she told his grace that he was a blasphemer. She was foolish and let her emotions get the best of her. One does not walk into the White Bishop’s office surrounded by Mystics and Inquisitors and tell his grace to his face that he is evil and a blasphemer. I was so stunned I could barely react. Some will undoubtedly cheer her actions, but I think they were stupid and unnecessarily endangered her life. Her justification and death would have proved little.
Perhaps she felt she had little left to lose. After all, her family name is already lost to her, besmirched with dishonor. Perhaps…I don’t know. That was an unworthy thought. Perhaps I just wish I had her courage to say those things. Perhaps I wish I had the strength to completely remove myself from Midor, my home and my family. From everything that I have ever believed and fought for.
I thought when I had witnessed the Purge and prayed at the sacred grove in Ferein that I had found my answers. I had strived for a middle path, between becoming a Righteous Sword or becoming a rebel. Now, I see none, just black or white. Or perhaps, red or white.. Midor or no Midor. Family and tradition or….what? I don’t know. Nothing comes to me.
After the meeting, I tracked down Ulalume. I had thought to berate her about her conduct, even as I understood why she did it. To my great surprise, she seemed quite at peace with what had happened, almost, I daresay, happy. She believed that Midoran had not rejected her, but to the contrary, continued to embrace her. I believe she will now work for the downfall of his grace and the current regime of Midor. Perhaps she will join up with this Byron fellow and the Novus Aristi, which I would find highly ironic, given our previous conversations about them.
By the time Lucius and Macha had joined us (what is it with those two), I was the one left feeling embarrassed and out of place. That somehow, because I was not exiled, because I had held my tongue, because I was still somehow connected with Midor, I was the fool. I don’t know, perhaps I am.
I can find no fault with Ulalume’s feelings. The behavior that his grace exhibited was as foreign to me as if he was a priest of Tarik. I believe Ulalume said it best, that he believes he is the equal of Midoran.
But if it were simply a question of whether or not Vidus was “wrong” or “evil,” I would have made my decision long ago. His grace said that while mercy was a good thing, Midor had shown too much mercy in the past. I don’t believe this, but am I ready to oppose Midor, throw away my life, my family and everything that I have worked for because I oppose one man and his interpretation of Midoran law and philosophy? His actions are despicable, but for the sake of the people of Midor, what is the appropriate response? Rebellion, and the deaths of many innocents along the way?
What does exile and rebellion mean? Do I blindly turn to the ways of the Aristi and their godless ways? Will Midoran truly accept me even if I turn away from his voice here on Vives? And what do I make of Midoran’s seeming acceptance and approval of the burnings during the Purge? Can I reconcile any of this?
I have so many questions and no answers, but I must have a decision for his grace by the morning. I am afraid that when I wake up, I will find myself in the same situation: full of uncertainties, and little guidance.
I do not know what the sunrise will bring, Father. All I wish to do is to serve Midoran in the best way possible. I never even wanted to be a paladin, and now all I wish to do is to stay one. But none of the choices I have allow that.
I have never cursed my circumstances or wished for an easier life, but tonight I do. If that makes me unworthy of being a paladin, then I suppose my choices reflect that.
Should we never speak again, I wish you a long and healthy life.
Your truly in Midoran’s light,
Cedyrch von Maistlin
For now, Knight-Errant of Midoran. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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In awe
Posted: 07 Feb 2006 08:48 PM |
((I am in awe, Imperious. You truely do understand the nuances of what is happening here, and not only that, you have played it perfectly. You are, without a doubt one of the finest paladins players I have ever had the privlage of playing with.
Well done)) |
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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The Morning
Posted: 13 Feb 2006 03:48 AM |
That he had not slept well during the night was certainly not surprising. Given the circumstances that lay before him this morning, he was probably lucky to have gotten any sleep at all.
What was surprising were the dreams that he had experienced in his few moments of sleep. They had all focused on one person, and it wasn’t Vidus, or his brother, or Ulalume or anyone he personally knew. It was his favorite knight-errant from Midoran history.
Sir Aaron Trestan was not one of the original paladins of Midoran, although he was one of the first few generations of paladins after Midoran cured Aristi of the terrible disease that had plagued the city. It was said he was one of the first knight-errants, and a few actually maintained that the term “knight-errant” was derived from this name (Aaron = errant). Whether it was true or not mattered little to Cedrych, it was the man’s life, or rather death, that had inspired him when he first came to the Academy.
According to the bards, Sir Trestan had just killed a huge troll chieftain in a battle that had nearly cost him his life too. The troll had killed his two companions and his horse, leaving the bleeding and barely-alive knight to try to stumble the many miles back to Midor in a blinding snowstorm.
Only halfway back and barely able to stand, Sir Trestan heard the faint cries of a small boy crying. The boy had apparently wandered off from his home and gotten lost in the quickly approaching snowstorm. He was now nearly frozen to death.
Knowing that there was no way he would be able to carry the boy, Sir Trestan dug a small hole in the snow by a large fir tree just off the side of the road. He covered himself in all of the cloaks and robes he had with him, and then cradled the boy in his arms, protecting him from the snow and hoping that the heat from his body and the cloaks would keep the boy alive.
Two days later, a search party walking through the area saw the strangest sight: A glowing silver longsword hanging from a large fir tree. Investigating further, they found a man in Midoran armor frozen to death. In his arms, a small young boy, cold but still alive.
For Cedrych, the story was about everything a paladin should be. It also rang appropriate to him that the boy had not gone on to anything famous or memorable. In fact, the story went that the boy ended up being a reckless youth, got caught for stealing several times and ended up dying in prison.
He pondered the story and why he had dreamt of it as he slowly ate his breakfast. Everyone did matter, even those not destined for great and noble things. Did that extend to those not of the faith? His grace did not think so. But surely his friendships with others must mean something: Lucius, Garrick, Dorian, Illumina, Nathan, to name just a few. None of them were followers of Midoran, yet they had traveled with him, and had even saved his life on occasion. What of Amael, who had offered her ear on occasion? Were his relationships with them truly worthless because they were not followers of Midoran? Would he not have tried to save any of them like Sir Trestan had? Weren’t they worth saving?
But then again, how many times could you try to save someone if they didn’t want to be saved? If a criminal kept saying he would change his ways, but kept stealing and you showed him mercy every time, who was really at fault? He knew many of his companions were good people, but they were never going to see the light. And wasn’t Midoran everything? No matter how good they may be, they were indeed destined to eternal damnation without his salvation. So if Midoran was everything, what value did his relationships with his past companions have? Maybe His Grace was right, maybe Midor had showed too much mercy in the past. Maybe Sir Trestan had died in vain -- he might have been able to accomplish more great things had he stayed alive. Of course, he couldn't have known what the boy might do in the future, but....
He grunted and shook his head...this sort of reasoning was useless. It left him exactly where he had started: nowhere closer to finding an answer, and the time was drawing near. He was expected in the temple.
He left the Unicorn and walked slowly through the Eastern District of the city. He was all too aware of the stares and pointing directed at him – there was, after all, almost no one walking around in the white armor of the paladins anymore. On two separate occasions, Righteous Swords confronted him, and he was forced to explain where he was going. The third time, his anger brewing, he shot the Sword a fierce look and nodded towards the temple without saying a word. For the first time in his life, Cedrych actually saw a Sword back down.
He finally passed through the gates to the Temple District and into the plaza outsides the temple. His complicated decision was now reduced to a simple choice of direction. Left to the temple, or right to the Northern Square and out the main gates of Midor, leaving his city and his life forever behind.
He stood there, unmoving, for a few seconds, although it felt like an eternity. All of the questions that had tormented him flashed through his brain in a last vain attempt to find some answer, some guidance, some comfort. What would Sir Trestan do? Did he want to die for someone who didn't believe in Midoran?
But no answers came, only one last question – where can I do the most good while still serving Midoran the best way I know how? In the end, it was the only question he thought he could answer.
He took one last look north to the city gates, turned left and headed to the temple. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: The Morning
Posted: 13 Feb 2006 04:57 AM |
Sir Aaron Trestan was not one of the original paladins of Midoran, although he was one of the first few generations of paladins after Midoran cured Aristi of the terrible disease that had plagued the city. It was said he was one of the first knight-errants, and a few actually maintained that the term “knight-errant” was derived from this name (Aaron = errant).<snip>
((not sure where you came up with that, but if it is was not considered canon before, it is now.
- Paul)) |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
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"...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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Five Days Later
Posted: 19 Feb 2006 03:16 AM |
It had been difficult convincing Uwe to give him his room back. Having seen Cedrych wear the red armor of the Righteous Swords, he wasn’t terribly excited to have him anywhere in his inn, but much less rent a room to him. But after much persuasion, a few extra coins and a reminder that Cedrych ate a prodigious amount of food and always tipped well, he had finally consented.
Uwe hadn’t looked completely convinced, but Cedrych paid him little mind. The man had nothing to worry about.
It was over. That’s all there was to it. It was done.
He was done.
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He had been on his way back to Midor when he heard the rumblings. Fearing the worst, he double-timed it the rest of the way, reaching the outskirts and city walls when he had stopped in his tracks. And it was not just because he was out of breath.
In Midoran’s name, the light! It was, he thought at the time, the most beautiful light he had ever seen….a cruel irony, to be sure. He had seen the lights arc though the sky, like a rainbow, although he could not see where their rays ended. It would have been an idyllic scene, if not for the rumblings and what could now only be described as explosions.
His first reaction was to head into the city and find out what was happening. But as he approached the gates, he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He actually looked at the bodies that hung in front of the city passed by the bodies. He couldn’t remember…have I just stopped looking at them every time I enter the city? Do I just look away out of habit now?
He stopped and looked up at the city gates. The guards’ attention was all on the lights coming from the city. And in one moment, he knew what he had to do. Acting with quickness and agility that belied his weight, he cut down one of the bodies and, before the guards knew what was happening, was away in a flash.
They had given just a short chase, but really, they were chasing after someone who had cut down a dead boy. Plus, the Inquisitors would undoubtedly find the perpetrator soon enough. And it wasn’t like there was a paucity of dead bodies in the city. A replacement would be found soon enough.
And so, Cedrych found himself all alone on the Great Plains. He buried the man. He didn’t know him or what his crime was, if there had been one at all. But the man needed a proper burial, and Cedrych gave him one, albeit a month or so late, judging by the decay.
And so ended Cedrych von Maistlin’s first, and he thought hopefully, last act of rebellion against Midor.
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You can’t fight a god.
The rumors had been coming in all day. The Isle had sunk under a giant tidal wave. A giant sea monster had eaten the island. The Isle had been destroyed by a huge fireball.
But all the rumors held the same theme: it was a divine act. Divine fire. A god-like tidal wave. A monster send by Midoran…divine retribution. Plus the light he had seen coming from the temple. He could only speculate, but based on what he had seen, of course it had been headed towards the Isle.
It wasn’t just that a god was abandoning him. A god was actively trying to destroy him, or at least what he stood…well, what he had stood for. There was no point in discussion, consideration or debate anymore. There was no need anymore for endless meditations. And he was tired of putting his feelings down on paper –how many more ways can you say that your heart is heavy, your soul torn, your body worn?
He recalled the words of Rosen, the young paladin – paladin was the right word, definitely for that one. She seemed to still have the bright air and spirit of a young knight – he had met just recently. You make light because you refuse to see the light, or some such. And he had winced at her words, for she was right. He had been trying to make the best of a bad situation, refusing to see the situation for what it was. And finally, when he had decided to see the light, or confront it rather, it had hit him like a ton of bricks.
It was over. He was done.
He smiled again at the thought of Rosen, so willing to play the martyr. Maybe her generation of graduates from the Academy – he snorted, it wasn’t like she was much younger than him – might still have the optimism, tenacity and faith to fight what was happening, assuming they were any of them left. Had he once been like her?
He recalled his first few days as a knight-errant after graduation. He remembered meeting Illumina outside the Four Winds and talking to her about the greatness of Midoran, and being challenged by Laura, apparently a priestess of Vastaldorium. How he had loved that encounter, finally being able to argue for Midoran against a heretic priestess. To preach on behalf of his god. It has been a rush like no other. He had been so sure of himself, so willing to insult her belief, so willing to tell her she was a fool.
Now who was the fool?
And not just a fool, but a hypocrite. How many time had he told Ulalume that he would never wear the red? He knew his reasons for joining the Swords were complicated, but ultimately it came down to the fact he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his city and his faith. He has been so blinded by his faith, that he couldn’t see that his faith had left him.
And it had, of course. He had felt it, the moment he had cut the body down in front of the city. The link to Midoran, his faith, his city…his home…gone, in an instant. No drama, no flashing lights, no buzzing in his head, no voice from above. Just a tiny tug in his throat, and the realization that something was gone, his link to his faith severed forever. He wondered if Midoran might have just killed then if not for being busy with other things at that exact moment. He snorted again…more likely, the god simply didn’t care a whit about him.
And that was fine with Cedrych. He was done. There would be no long nights of soul searching, no bouts of depression or lethargy, no last lingering doubts that he might be doing the wrong thing. There was nothing left to argue. His oaths had been given to a god who wanted nothing less than his death -- they were meaningless now. The question had been answered with such certainty by Midoran that any second thoughts were simply foolish. And he was tired of being the fool. And he was tired of trying to save people who didn’t want to be saved. And he was tired of duty and beating himself up for things that he couldn’t do a dang thing about.
He had been led his whole life. First, his father. Then the priests at the seminary, then the teachers at the Academy, and then Midoran. Now, perhaps, was his opportunity to finally lead himself…to find out who he really was.
And just lead a simple life. He had dabbled in smithing as a paladin, and now he considered taking it up as his profession. He had always wanted to take up baking too. And if he needed money badly, he could always go on expeditions with Lucius and Macha -- there always seemed good money in that. And perhaps he could find a good woman who didn’t think he was too ugly and could handle his corny sense of humor. A family, a few friends, a beer by the fire…a good life. It was better than seeing your friends die, wasn't it? Nothing wrong with a simple life....
For now, he set the set of red armor in the corner next to the suit of white armor. He hoped he would never need to wear either again. Midor had existed for 1000 years. The people -- and he paused here -- the people would be fine, with or without him. Yes, they would be fine and get through it, whether led by Vidus or the Aristi or whoever...they always had been.
His thoughts strayed back to a beer by the fire. Moderation had been the byword for the Order, but...and it took him a moment to get used to the thought...he wasn’t a paladin anymore. And he certainly wasn’t a Righteous Sword. He was nothing, just Cedrych von Maistlin.
He hoped Uwe was well stocked tonight, because he felt a long night coming on. He smiled. He deserved it.
He was done. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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A Letter to His Father
Posted: 24 Feb 2006 02:27 AM |
For the first time in four nights, Cedrych von Maistlin was in his room at the Four Winds, stone cold sober.
Three consecutive nights of drinking had not been his plan. But the first night had been needed and in fact turned our great, despite the incessant pounding in his head. He was confused initially by the chorus of cheers from the patrons in the common room when he finally showed his head in the early afternoon. But then he learned he had bought the whole Inn a round of drinks the night before…several rounds of drinks actually. Well, that cleared things up, he thought, although not his head.
The second night? Well, he blamed that on his healthy constitution. Plus, he wanted the experience again. It was fun cutting loose and being the life of the party, or at least thinking he was, which was a marked contrast to people’s reactions when he was a Righteous Sword, or for that matter, even when he was a paladin. People were always reserved around paladins, as if they thought they were being judged…which, he snickered, was probably right.
The third night was clearly Dorian’s fault. That was supposed to have been the day he was going to get new supplies, to start his new life. But at Johe’s shop, he had run into the man, and well, that had ended those plans. He hadn’t seen Dorian in a long time, and the two caught up at the Broken Masks, helped by something called the Mindflayer.
Things had evolved, or rather, devolved from there, helped along by Balthor showing off his drinking ability and goading him into having another Mindflayer. There had been another man there for a bit….was it Erick Aidanson, or Aidan Erickson? He couldn’t remember. And Macha was there. He was sure she had been horrified by his behavior. As was he…his experiences over the previous two nights were no help at all in preparing him for the effect of the Mindflayers. But he wasn’t worried. He needed to get it out of his system, and it had been great to see everyone, especially Dorian.
He recalled his and Dorian’s conversations when they had first met. Full of spirit, he had spent hours trying to get Dorian to see the light, to see that there was a purpose in life beyond fighting in a mercenary group. He doubted his words had any effect, but Dorian had said at the Masks that he had admired Cedrych for his philosophy and outlook on life. Key word being “had,” of course, as he had also made some comments about being disappointed that Cedrych had lost his faith or some such.
It wasn’t a discussion he wished to have, because people just didn’t understand it. He hadn’t lost his faith, didn’t they see that!? His faith had lost him, rejected him, tried to destroy him. Saying he had lost faith in Midoran was like saying he had lost faith in Tarik. They were both so foreign to him now that he found it hard to believe he ever had any faith in Midoran.
And in the end, he didn’t really care what anyone thought. His battle was personal, just as the task was he had asked Dorian to perform for him. He couldn’t enter Midor anymore, so he had asked Dorian to deliver two letters for him. One would be to his father. The first and probably last letter he would ever write to him. He didn’t want to, but a part of him needed to…to explain what had happened.
Which was why for the first time in four nights, his room at the Four Winds was not spinning around him.
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Dear Father:
By now, you have probably received the news. I have been exiled from Midor and branded a heretic. Should you continue to read this letter, and I have no idea if you will, I would advise you to burn it as soon as you are finished. Just having it with you might be enough grounds for arrest.
I know this news disappointed you greatly, far more than I can express. It was your goal, after all, to see one of your sons became a paladin. I was never really sure if you really wanted paladins in the family, or you just felt it was the best way to reclaim the lost glory of the von Maistlin family, now lost so many decades ago.
But now both of us have failed you. For that, I am truly sorry, although you must have realized that I never wanted to be a paladin. I can still remember how angry I was when you came for me at the seminary. How did you put it? Roderych didn’t make it...I will take that phrase with me to the grave. I hated you. Or perhaps, I just hated you more.
The irony is, now all I want is to remain a paladin. But as you know that is impossible. What’s done is done. I tried to remain a paladin for as long as I could before His Grace gave me an ultimatum (yes, you’ll be pleased no doubt that I’ve met the Red Bishop in person). I tried to serve as a Righteous Sword, for the sake of Midor. But I could not do that either, not after what happened to the Academy. I have forsaken Midoran and everything I have ever know.
So I sit here, father, all alone in some inn, writing to you, counting up my failures, as I suspect you are too. The seminary. The Order. The Swords. Midoran. Being your son – all failures. Are they all my fault? I don't know, but as you were so fond of saying – the ledger doesn’t see how’s or why’s or because’s. It just sees number, results -- in the black or in the red.
Speaking of business, I’m sure my news has caused you much consternation as you consider your reputation around Midor. I say this as a matter of fact, not to belittle you. You and I have never been close at all, but I have never done anything on purpose to hurt you. I simply wanted to serve Midorn and avoid you. I suspect that you are known well enough that your business will recover. I do fereventl hope this. And of course feel free to discredit your heretic son when appropriate. I suppose that’s the least I can do.
If I sound like I am wallowing in self-pity, then at least give me some credit for realizing it. However, my outlook is surprisingly positive. For the first time in my life, I finally have control over what’s going to happen. I am starting a new life with no connections to Midor.
You will doubtless never hear from me again, so this letter also serves as a goodbye. I don’t really believe you need one from me, but I did want to leave you with something, because for whatever it’s worth, you are my father, and I, like yourself, carry the von Maistlin name.
I don’t know for sure how Roderych would have fared in these times, but I suspect he wouldn’t have had so much trouble being a Righteous Sword. Perhaps that is the jealously of the younger brother speaking, but I envision him in red all too easily. Perhaps you would have welcomed that.
But I'm not so sure. You were a strict taskmaster and would not hesitate to deal harshly with those who wronged you or did not pay up on time. But I also remember you would show mercy on occasion. I especially recall the time when Sir Ossic died, and you allowied his young wife time to pay back their debt slowly, despite being many months overdue. There are other occasions I could cite, though I don’t wish to belabor the point.
The current leadership in Midor does not believe in mercy and many of the other things you taught me, however crudely. I don’t know if you agree with His Grace on everything, father, but I can tell you for sure that he expects you to. Please be careful in your dealings.
I’m sorry for any pain and embarrassment I have caused you.
Your Son,
Cedrych
**************************************************
It was an awful letter. Nothing he had planned on writing had made its way to the parchment. It was disjointed, removed, choppy, all over the place. It had caused him no sentiment. If anything, he felt coldly distant from it.
But there it sat on the desk, ink still drying, and he could simply not make himself write another. Is that how you really want to end your last letter to your father? he thought to himself. But no answer came.
He folded up the letter carefully and placed it in a scroll tube. He would find Dorian on the morrow and give it to him.
The other letter would simply have to wait. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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A Letter in Code
Posted: 27 Feb 2006 07:47 PM |
If fighting a god is a bad idea, then insulting the daughter of one probably isn’t smart either. Yet, Cedrych had done so, ripping into Macha about something, in truth, he knew little about. He hadn’t meant to, of course, it was the self-pity talking, something he stridently tried to avoid.
But the last thing one wants to hear while wallowing in self-pity is that somebody else understands how you feel. The whole point of self-pity, he thought, was to feel as bad as possible, worse than anyone else in the world. Having someone tell you that they feel as bad as you…well, it ruins the whole effect. And apparently made Cedrych quite angry.
They had made up, with Cedrych apologizing quite profusely. For a while, she was still quite cool to him and didn’t seem to want to talk with him much anymore. And he was surprised how bad he felt at the thought. He very much enjoyed his conversations with Macha. She was smart, a good listener, curious, and spoke only when she had something to say, a trait Cedrych knew he was lacking. He would have hated to lose her as a friend.
Fortunately, they had both calmed down, and had even spent a good deal of time talking about paladin codes. During their conversation, he had slipped very easily back into the role of righteous paladin, something that made him both apprehensive and just slightly pleased.
Dorian had been there too, so he had given him the letter to his father with instructions to leave it in a certain place outside his father’s house where Cedrych was sure he would find it.
That meant one letter left, a far more difficult one.
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Cedrych wasn’t sure if he should even write to Father Certos. A letter from him could easily endanger the father, and there was a possibility that he was still loyal to Vidus. Cedrych was certain the recent events relating to the paladins and the Isle would have shocked the priest, but he also knew the man was retired and getting quite old. He had devoted his entire life to Midoran. Cedrych wasn’t about to decry the man for remaining loyal in his final years. And it wasn’t as if Cedrych was taking such a strong stand anyway.
But he cared deeply for the father, and he wanted to help him if he could. So the obvious idea was a coded letter, something that Father Certos would recognize, but no one else would.
Fortunately, they have even studied codes briefly at the seminary, and he remembered one that he and his colleagues had worked on briefly. A simple code to be sure, but one that would elude most anyone who glanced at it briefly. And really, if any suspicion was raised, the jig would be up anyway. An Inquisitor wasn’t going to waste time deciphering a simple code; they had their own ways of finding out information.
It would begin with the letter writer: Melios Lisant, a former pupil of the father’s and friend of Cedrych’s, now dead. Cedrych doubted few if anyone knew who Melios was or that he had died in the pyre outside the temple. But even if Father Certos didn’t know Melios was dead, he would undoubtedly be shocked to find a letter from him. Cedrych knew that Melios had never written to the father since they had left the Academy.
He wrote Melios’ name on the outside of the letter, along with the quote: “Every other religion is a falsehood in the true light of Midoran, Chapter 14, Verse 6” and underlined the number 6, lightly and crudely, as if the writer had accidentally pressed the pen against the paper at that spot. Because it wasn’t Verse 6, it was actually Verse 5. Cedrych hoped the father would realize the discrepancy.
On a separate piece of paper, he wrote a few instructions to Dorian. This delivery would be more difficult, if only because the father spent most of his time in the temple or in the retiring priests quarters. But on Friday, if he still followed his schedule, he would have lunch at the Unicorn at noon sharp. Just like Cedrych, the good father was meticulous and punctual about his meals.
**********************************************
Dear Father Certos:
I am pleased to write this day. The city of Midor is alive again with righteousness. You said that Midor would soon be rich in justice soon once again. I am happy to agree and am pleased to join Vidus’ cause. No more will heretics thrive any longer. His grace’s leadership is indeed righteous, and cleanses Midor like a sword.
I appreciated receiving your letter after all the news of the isle. The paladins lost faith, I am certain. If they were quite unsure before, there is no doubt of Midoran’s will now and forever. My own thoughts? Good riddance. The path to glorious enlightenment is long, but clear for those who believe.
For the immediate future, I will now attend my duties in Midor. It seems though that righteous conflict does beckon in the future, although not soon enough for my tastes. Lie after lies comes from elves in Ferein. Their actions are intolerable. Midor must protect its own, yes?
I am preparing for war, although am, to be frank with you, uncertain of my role in it. Of all the things I have, your wisdom is most helpful. Your thoughts always strengthen my resolve mightily and remind me of the blessed position I have to serve Midoran. If you recall the last chapter you tried to teach me, I need some words of advice and help with the entire text before leaving. Perhaps while I’m still in Midor?
If I go, I will send my thoughts and the occasional letter when I can. I hope to know soon of my orders for the impending conflict. Whatever the winds Midoran sends in my path, I can only verily pray and hope for a chance at battle.
You will continue gardening, yes, and are in good spirits and very well?
Walk always in Midoran’s light,
Melios Lisant,
Righteous sword
P.S. my mother is sick and may soon be dead. Nevertheless, she thinks of you! |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: The Delivery
Posted: 28 Feb 2006 05:28 AM |
The pain in the morning came like slashing daggers of an assassin. How much did he have to drink last night, and what exactly happened? Only disoriented memories of last nights happenings bubble up inside his mind. Don’t remember much, but far too much anyway. He chuckled at the line of thought, having yet to even dare open his eyes. Was it day or night? He hoped it was night, the morning light would surely kill him with it’s brightness as he slowly opened his eyes, squinting at his surroundings. It was dim in there, definitely indoors. Few empty broken bottles decorated the small room both left and right. Ah, this was at the Broken Mask and his apartment. He reached out for one he vaguely remembered leaving nearby that had still some of that sweet burning liquid inside. What caused this has the only way to heal this...
Dorian grinned to himself at his line of thinking. Then shrugged, downing quickly some bitter contents of the nearly empty rum bottle, before he struggled to stand up once again. Some hero he was couldn’t even manage to pass out on his own bed. He sighed deeply, fiddling with the empty bottle still in his hand. He wished that letting go of the burden he carried would be as easy as he had been told, but no. It’s not really how it’s. Only way for him to let go, to forget was the bottle. With an angry frustration he tossed the empty bottle at wall, shattering it immediately. He was mostly angry and frustrated at himself, for not being able to do anything right, not being able to forget so easily and for the constant drinking. Sylunè and Macha both had been right; he was just a spineless coward who couldn’t get out of the swamp of sorrow he had sunk into. Now he had even brought a little kid into the mess he was in. Fourteen summers old, who wanted to be a mighty swordsman, and a knight. Knight part he couldnt promise, but swords training, yes. He only hoped kid would grow with some integrity and sense of honour, unlike he himself who lacked both. He was glad for the fact that the kid wasn’t in there today. Wonder where he had gone for the night. He’d apologize Blake later; he had some letters to deliver into Midor. Ceydrich, a man who he had admired from the first time they met, a brave man. A man who had not lost his will to live even though his god had abandoned him, his home had exiled him and people like Dorian kept taunting and challenging him. And still Cedrych had spoken that he’d become a smith or a baker, the will to continue after all that was impressive, to say the least. Dorian thought he never could face the same kind of perils and still had the courage to carry on; he was a mess as it was. His troubles seemed so little and pointless in the sight of what he had witness and rumours he had heard. He sighed deeply as he pushed himself to be so brave and walk out of his tiny yet very messy room, his last line of defence against rest of the world.
Dorian left a quick message to Margaret, the tavern’s keeper, telling her to say whoever might come looking for him that he had gone to the holy city, to Midor. Making sure he had the money for boat rides to there and back and the both of the letters given to him by Cedrych. Headache, like hammer constantly beating an anvil, ringing in his head. His code of honour, his god, his saviour the booze had once again betrayed him, as does everything else good and decent in this world. Face lined with darkness he began his journey through the seas. The mercenary made a quite few gold with gambling and working for the captain on his boat ride to Midor, roughly about enough to pay off the trip there. Hard work on a ship was a good change form his aimless wanderings in the wilderness and drunken ramblings with Macha and others. He felt a little bit renewed with the trip to Midor, the fact that he could focus his mind into the task at hand and not into wallowing self pity really made a difference. He was glad he took this trip. Only one piracy attempt on the ship was made, and that was nearly in the beginning of the ship. Everyone on the crew were, as always, amazed at his talent to kill others. Still he couldn’t help but wonder when being efficient death bringer would bring that much awe, but healers were all left in background and paladins, the defenders of virtue were all mocked, what was wrong?
The first leather was quick to be delivered, not much confusion finding the man in the house he was told he would find Cedrych father. Finding Father Certos however proved a little more demanding task. Apparently he had to wait for the right day and time for his annual meal at Unicorn. The place Macha had thought as home once, now she was afraid to even enter Midor. Dorian worked the few days he had to wait for the right time mining and working at the forge, more mindless labour, it was good for him. He knew it was, next few days passed quickly with work and drinking at Slaughtered Dragon. He managed to avoid worst fights and legal distributes somehow, though he did kill a few thugs trying to rob him in docks. They thought a single drunken, somewhat well dressed and most of completely scarless man couldn’t fight back. Well… They were proven wrong. The time arrived eventually to deliver the final letter. He walked through Midor with stern determination, making his way to the Unicorn as quick as his feet would allow. He could leave as soon as this task was done. At the door he hesitated a moment, it was soon noon. I’m sure he’d recognise the man from Cedrych descriptions. He didn’t want to linger with the zealot a moment longer he had to, did the priests blessing him even have a slightest idea how much he despised, yet admired them at the same time. To have the courage and the faith, to follow some thing, some ideal so blindly. It was absurd. Dorian just couldn’t understand,
The actual meeting took place excatly at noon, the man fitting perfectly Cedrych description did arrive just at the time as he told. He had even detailed the colour of his clothing perfectly. Dorian waited in a shady corner for the man order his meal. Then he was well on the way, he lunged forward, tossing the rugged and slightly now damaged letter on the table he was having dinner. With a raspy voice murmuring to him “It’s from a mutual friend. You’ll know whom once you read it.” He heard a voice saying behind him as he strode his way to the door of Unicorn rather quickly, he hadn’t bothered to stop and listen “Bless you child.” Hmph, another blessing from another god. Maybe it was the long red coat that made them make the mistake of thinking him as one of the faithful, he didn’t care really, he had done what he had promised to do. Cedrych was one of the few men he’d have been blessed to meet after he resigned himself from the mercenary group. He had always been an honour to drink and fight alongside, he’d probably follow him to the abyss and back if he was asked to. Thought the warrior as he pushed the door open and lunged his way out of the inn. Making his way to the docks in haste, not spending a moment longer here than he had to. The gods always made him nervous, specially the one looking after this city. |
Nightmare this may be, but it's not a dream. |
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Nearing Bottom
Posted: 03 Mar 2006 09:19 PM |
Cedrych looked at himself in the mirror, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Oh sure, he had always been big, but most of the taunts were off the mark, especially once he had joined the Academy. His generous bulk had been marked by muscle, not fat, and if his eating kept him from being a paragon of physique, his training ensured that he was quite fit and, on occasion, quicker than his size belied.
No longer. The weeks since leaving the Order and the Swords had seen a major transformation in his body. Of course, lying around, eating and drinking prodigious amounts and generally not training (or doing much of anything else) had taken its toll, but he was surprised at how fast his body had changed. He hadn’t touched his sword in two weeks, and he wondered how he might fit in his armor would the need arise.
But it was more than just physical, as he rubbed his temples. He simply didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He loved talked with Macha and Dorian, but ye gods, their conversations always returned to the same things and always left him feeling empty (not to mention quite drunk) for they never reached any conclusion. And he could find no comfort or direction in his words and thoughts. Sometimes he talked like a paladin of Midor, other times like a Righteous Sword, and still others, like Midoran was a foreign concept to him. There was no right or wrong or perspective or direction or guidance or beginning or end. Just waking, eating, drinking, talking, sleeping. Repeat.
He was worried too. He had heard nothing from Father Certos after Dorian’s successful delivery of his message. Did the good father simply not care? Was he in prison already somewhere? Or perhaps, worst of all, had he not been able to decipher Cedrych’s message?
He slammed his fist on the table. I should have focused more on the quote on the envelope, he thought. In the context of the line from the Book of Midoran, “Every other religion” meant, of course, all other religions. But in common usage, “every other” meant skipping a certain number of things. Hopefully, the father would put that and the wrong number together: Every other…every other six….every sixth word.
So reading every sixth word of the letter, the coded message read:
Dear Father Certos:
I am pleased to write THIS day. The city of Midor IS alive again with righteousness. You SAID that Midor would soon be RICH in justice soon once again. I am happy to agree and AM pleased to join Vidus’ cause. NO more will heretics thrive any LONGER. His grace’s leadership is indeed RIGHTEOUS, and cleanses Midor like a SWORD.
I appreciated receiving your letter AFTER all the news of the ISLE. The paladins lost faith, I AM certain. If they were quite UNSURE before, there is no doubt OF Midoran’s will now and forever. MY own thoughts? Good riddance. The PATH to glorious enlightenment is long, BUT clear for those who believe.
FOR the immediate future, I will NOW attend my duties in Midor. IT seems thought that righteous conflict DOES beckon in the future, although NOT soon enough for my tastes. LIE after lies comes from elves IN Ferein. Their actions are intolerable. MIDOR must protects its own, yes?
I am preparing for war, although AM, to be frank with you, UNCERTAIN of my role in it. OF all the things I have, YOUR wisdom is most helpful. Your THOUGHTS always strengthen my resolve mightily AND remind me of the blessed POSITION I have to serve Midoran. IF you recall the last chapter YOU tried to teach me, I NEED some words of advice and HELP with the entire text before LEAVING. Perhaps while I’m still in MIDOR?
If I go, I will SEND my thoughts and the occasional LETTER when I can. I hope TO know soon of my orders FOR the impending conflict. Whatever the WINDS Midoran sends in my path, I can only verily pray and HOPE for a chance at battle.
YOU will continue gardening, yes, and ARE in good spirits and very WELL?
Walk always in Midoran’s Light,
MELIOS Lisant,
Righteous Sword
P.S. My mother IS sick and may soon be DEAD. Nevertheless, she thinks of you!
Or:
“This is said rich (Cedyrch). I am no longer righteous sword after isle. Am unsure of my own path but for now it does not lie in Midor. I am uncertain of your thoughts and position. If you need help leaving Midor, send letter to for (Four) Winds. I hope you are well. Melios is dead.”
He laughed at the line, “I hope you are well.” Now why did I include that in a coded message? But he had wanted to be sure that the father knew he was sincere in whatever direction the father had decided to take.
It was quite possible that he would never again hear from the father. He felt physically ill just thinking about the possibility. How long should he wait before giving up? He looked around the room, his eyes settling on his old suit of paladin armor, gathering dust in the corner. More importantly, how long could he wait?
He was drowning, slowly but surely, in an ocean of ennui and melancholy. How many times had he told himself and others that he was going to start his new life, mining and baking? Yet, many weeks after leaving Midor, he hadn’t even managed to get a pickaxe yet. It was, in a word, pathetic.
He needed something, whether it was a letter from Father Certos, or something…because otherwise, something was about to give, namely him. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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A Letter to Father Duvados
Posted: 10 Mar 2006 03:29 AM |
Something had indeed happened….something quite unexpected, something that led Cedrych to write a letter to a father, a different father, the third father he had written to over the past several weeks.
How ironic it was that only through Byron and the Aristi had he been able to meet Father Duvados. Why Byron had asked him to join the effort to rescue Lillian was still unclear. In fact, the whole rescue effort was unclear, since Cedrych hadn’t actually been involved. He was supposed to have been part of the second wave, but the second wave never actually left because Markus had invited some people who hadn’t been cleared, and there was a big argument, and then some Aristi leader named Grace called off the second wave (and she was a whole other story) , and then…and then at that point, Cedrych needed a drink, because it was all just too bewildering…If this was how the Aristi ran the rebellion, Vidus had nothing to be afraid of.
But apparently the first wave had rescued Lillian, although, it would seem, mostly through the work of Father Duvados, whom Cedrych would later learn was a former Inquisitor and priest of Midoran. And the father had ideas and plans…of a new path devoted to the true ideals of Midoran. It was an appealing idea and interested Cedrych far more than he wished to admit. And so he and the father had talked for hours – about Midoran, the Aristi, a new faith….
His head swimming with ideas and thoughts, Cedrych found it difficult to sleep after their meeting, so he did what he always did – put his ruminations on paper. And so he wrote his first letter to Father Duvados, cringing slightly as he wrote “Duvados” and not “Certos” at the top of the parchment.
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Dear Father Duvados:
I cannot tell you how….torn….I am to meet you and hear of your ideas. You must know that I very much enjoyed speaking with you on that night that Lillian was rescued. It has been too long since I spoke with someone of the Midoran faith.
Yet, I fear you have given me hope, and this is not something I am quite certain I wish to experience again. Just as the jilted lover is afraid of another relationship, I am fearful of placing my trust, principles and faith in a new path. Recently, someone asked me, if the Aristi also strive for many of the same goodness and principles that paladins did, why wouldn’t I just join their cause? Is the widower, married for 50 years, able to just transfer his feelings and relationship on to some other person immediately? Perhaps others can, I cannot.
Thus, I am intrigued to hear of your situation and would like to help you if I can. Yet, I find myself unable at this point to rationalize some situation where I could immediately renew my vows to some god. You mentioned some other aspect of Midoran, some different path, before the rise of Vidus, that might lead us to enlightenment. But has not Midoran spoken? Has he not made his decision clear? I am unsure of how I follow some aspect of a god that has forsaken what I believed in. As we discussed, I fear that we might simply be god-making, making some false distortion of the true divine simply to appeal to our sense of righteousness and security.
I heard someone say recently that she would not believe in a god that didn’t help her out in some way. Is this how badly faith and the divine are misunderstood in these times? That the divine should serve us when we should serve it? This is how the false gods continue to grow in strength. How else does one explain three so-called goddesses of beauty? Is the divine really so concerned about beauty that we need to have three goddesses concerned with it? Hardly! They are simply a reflection of what we mortals consider important – powerful people who pander to those who worship beauty, nothing more.
I do not wish to follow this path, simply to salve my soul at the altar of a false divine, fashioned out of principles that are expedient. Unfortunately, I fear I must place Midoran in this group of false gods now as well, leaving me with…little. Some principles, a little faith, perhaps, yet no one or no thing to place them with. And little resolve to seek out this true divine on my own, a damning thing for a paladin of Midor to admit.
In my darkest thoughts, I have wondered if all of this is a test…that the rise of Vidus and the red Midor is some great, awful test that Midoran has contrived to assess the mettle of his followers. If it is, I have failed, in many ways, for I cannot fathom a test that involves the destruction of his most holiest site and the deaths of so many. Perhaps the failure was the rise of Vidus himself, and we are simply paying the price of failure? I shudder at the thought…
Thus, as you can see, I have no direction at this moment, yet I continue to move forward, perhaps a little like the priests whom you are expecting later this week? I am glad you did not ask me to join you when we talked, for I am not sure what I would have said. And if you ask me again, I am still not sure what I would say.
But I wish to believe in something, I think. If my life after leaving Midor is any indication, I simply do not well without guidance, as childish as it sounds, yes?. Perhaps my own failing, or a weakness of all paladins, that once you take away our direction, we simply cannot find our own path by ourselves?
So I will listen to you and help you if I can, albeit with a weary heart and a troubled soul, and a little bit of hope. And I will endeavor to be there when the priests arrive.
Cedrych von Maistlin
P.S. Have you spoken with Lillian? I hope she is progressing and would like to speak with her when I return. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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