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The Life and Work of Erick Aidanson
Posted: 22 Feb 2006 12:20 AM |
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The Training of a Herald.
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I once was a Whitestone, now am I no longer.
I once had a father, now I've no father around.
And he dreamed once of mercy and justice,
alas, only peace he has found.
I'll carry anew what he carried to death,
now lain in the cold sullen ground.
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He loved the song of steel. He always had.
It is one of the few things that he brought with him into his new life. The hiss and the hum. The ring of steel on steel. Sharp, passionate. It was his means of affecting the world around him. They had taught him that much at the Academy.
The rest he had left behind: the dogma... his family... the mighty Midoran Himself. He was shamed to have taken part in it at all. He had hardly even felt like a man.
. . . . .
Erick Aidanson lowered his weapon and wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow, his mind back suddenly back in the present.
"Very good, Erick, that is enough for today."
His sparring partner, an imposing Sir Tonan, lowered his weapon.
"You've come quite a way in the past months. You have been training very hard."
"Thank you sir." He bowed his head, grinning slightly despite himself, and weary though he was.
Tonan tossed the training weapon to the ground and observed him for a moment.
"You will take lessons with The Priestess tomorrow."
"Now, perhaps you should attend to your meditations. That is all."
With that, Tonan dismissed him.
. . . . .
As the day was done, Erick made his way toward his tent, as he always did. .
This evening, however, he stopped along the way to take in the vista before him as he had in his first weeks at Haven. The Midor Mountains lay sprawled before him, skirted by forests far below.
He truly felt alive. And he felt like a man again.
The Code of Aristi had given him his manhood back. |
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The Fire
Posted: 27 Feb 2006 08:14 PM |
He still saw the fire.
He had hated himself for staying. But he did. He -was- just one man, but that particular excuse alway rang hollow to him. He had worn the colors of Midoran, the same as the rest of them.
He couldn't leave.
He couldn't fight. That would get him killed. Painlessly only if he were fortunate.
He thought himself to be the very definition of impotence.
It hadn't always been this way.
His rise through the Academy had run parallel to the White Bishops rise to power. His succession, the dissolution of the Conclave, the exile of the White Maiden, the emergence of the Righteous Swords. They had traded, little by little, the Ideal for what they were told was the necessary.
It had all seemed so natural, each a logical step following the last. Vidus Khain was a strong leader and a charismatic man, of that there was no doubt. He seized power and they had loved him for it. He had loved him for it.
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The Day of Light dawned red over the Isle of Midoran, and then fell completely black for a time.
He did not think it portentious, at first, only unhappily at how pleased it must have made the White Bishop.
At dusk they were assembled to one side of the plaza. Relegated, the remaining of the Paladin Order and students of the Academy directly behind. The position of honor rear the Lord Bishop was, of course, Red.
The evening air had settled chilly and damp over Midor, lingering from the storm that had swept over city after the estatic Procession of the Dawn of the True Light that afternoon. Blanketed in darkness and enclosed in towering marble architecture, the Plaza was surreal, cavernous.
Red torchlight danced madly on the looming marble walls.
The White Bishop strode out into the square draped entirely in crimson. He took up the lecturn in front of the regiments of Righteous Swords to his left and right and surveyed the gathered crowd. A father and his children. A Lord over his feifdom. He began without fanfare.
"For the past week we have meditated upon our sins. We have thought of how we have wronged others, and prepared for ourselves a list of our own inadequacies. For we are all inadequate in the eyes of Midoran.”
He paused a moment, surveying the crowd with a dissaproving eye. The White Bishop had a peculiar way of making one feel singled out in a crowd of thousands. Erick dropped his eyes to the ground. If the White Bishops gaze was deigned to be cast at the Academy students, he was certain that he did not want to be the one to meet it.
"Do you relinquish your sinful ways, and all the darkness that comes with our damaged nature?”
"We do,” he intoned with the crowd, cringing inwardly.
"Do you reject the temptations of our time? The heathens that foist false gods on our young? The malcontents that teach of ways that are not of the Just Hand?”
"We do,” he intoned again. The crowd was growing louder. He was suddenly nervous. Had his voice faltered? He stole a glance at the recruits to each side of him.
"Do you accept Midoran as the one and only true God, complete in power and majesty?”
"We do.” The crowd had grown thunderous. He began to feel the Eye of Midoran upon him. He longed to be anywhere other than right here, right now.
"This is our faith, the faith of our Church and God. You have declared your intentions, you have spoken the Truth.”
The White Bishop paused a moment.
"As always, enemies of our people, of our pure faith,..." he started.
What? Erick looked up. His fear was suddenly forgotten. This wasn't a part of the Mass, he was certain. He knew it by heart.
"...sought to destroy us," he continued, voice building to a crescendo. "This time in the form of rebels, paladins, even! Corrupted by false teachings.”
Whispers ran the course of the crowd, punctuated by shouts of anger. His blood ran cold. Another stolen glance around. The four Righteous Swords stood two to either side of their file.
Were they being guarded? His imagination ran wild.
"But our God returned to us, and he smote -ruin- upon those that betrayed him,” he thundered, his voice resonant in the Plaza.
The crowd fell silent.
"My people, I tell you this, the old ways show us truth,” Vidus said, in a hushed tone. Conspiritorially, he had thought.
Torchlight danced on the wildly on walls around them.
"The ways of our forefathers shall again be our ways. Midoran sheaths us in holy White, but during this time, as we remember the fall of evil and the rise of Midor, we must bathe ourselves in red."
"For the color of Purification is Red."
"The color of penance is Red."
"The color that washes away sin and iniquity is Red!”
"Tonight, we return to the old ways. Bring them forward." There was movement across the Plaza. Three... four figures were led out by a single Inquistor. Slowly, they were herded through the crowd to a position near the White Bishop.
Hushed tones and murmurs ran through the Paladin Order. They certainly hadn't heard anything about this.
“Before us,” Vidus began, “stand the condemned. Guilty of the worst crimes in Midor," he called out to the crowd. "Of heresy. Of demon worship. Of treason. And of preaching lies about the past.”
Confusion turned slowly to disbelief, then grew slowly to horror.
These ceremonies hadn't been practiced in centuries. Some of the Order stood in protest, but were heard or seen by none.
“As was done in the past, so it shall be done today,” he continued. “A sacrifice will be made, and the fire shall burn away our iniquity.”
“Bow your head in prayer.” A command, without ambiguity.
He did as he was told. Then, the sound of struggle rang out over the hushed crowd. Erick dared not look up. He felt, rather than saw the presence of the Righteous Sword around them. He thought he heard someone beg for their life. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes. This wasn't right.
“Oh Midoran, you are the God of Justice and Mercy. Tonight we also remember your discipline. May this sacrifice Purge our sins. We wash ourselves in red, so that we may shine, white and pure, in your service.”
Then, the 32nd Psalm.
The White Bishop lead the crowd in prayer and white light bloomed through the Plaza.
Then the crowd fell away, and the White Bishop called out alone.
The light coalesced into a single beam and immolated the sacrificed. Midoran himself seemed to be manifest in the column. People cried out in the crowd. He remembered little other than that and the terrible heat.
And that was it. He saw it written in many of the faces around him. Strained faith broken at last.
It was Midoran's unquestionable seal of approval.
...and yet he did not leave.
The next day he arose as if nothing had happened, donned the colors of Midoran, and began again his daily devotions.
((All due credit to Mykal, who actually penned the White Bishop's speech.)) |
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