Author Topic: The longest path (Read 1475 times)

Aphel · « **on:** November 01, 2012, 01:45:24 pm »

[SIZE=10]Sundance, Hilm Military Field Camp[/SIZE]

Just a few miles up.
And a few miles down.
Piece of cake.
His feet hated him for every step on this trail, nothing more than a twisted path over roots and stones to an outpost, a tower with a few barracks and a wall around it all. It was cold on this side of the hill, especially when the trees stood that close together. William was sweating and loosing water by the gallon, still. His tunic was soaked and uncomfortably cold, and sack full of sand excoriated his shoulders. It hurt, and quite much so, but it was nothing. It all had purpose, to keep him in shape, to prepare him. He woke from a nightmare and was still fighting the aftermath that kept him in his grip, long tendrils pulling him back to wastelands and terror. It was better to not dream at all, he had felt more healthy back then. But at least nobody was sharing his tent when he woke covered in sweat and instinctively ducked behind his shield. But there were no arrows, no dark magics. Just a cold morning near Sundance.
So time to suck it up and soldier on. At least I have found the guts it takes to do something on my own, on my own terms. Exercise didn't help him to fall asleep much. Meditation helped, a bit, but still, his mind was in an odd state of turmoil. Many things he thought of as truths he found out to be lies, and what appeared to be strength seemed weakness now. Despite loathing his time in Fiorez City, it had helped him hone off many weaknesses he had harbored before. He nevertheless felt alone, doing his job, yes, but still alone. Of course, he would never have said so. Just suck it up and soldier on. No time to be a loathsome character. It was hard enough to fight of the contempt and disregard for the things he observed and experienced. To not be disgusted and know that to find a more correct path was much harder for others as well was a day to day trial. He learned much from their training, and another useful lecture: to be ignorant, to shut himself off completely, let go, let the beast inside every mortal do the job. To control and harness its powers...fundamentals of warfare and societies. He thought about that a lot. Not that anybody would give him a true for his views on that, ever. They're all big heroes, generals, statesmen, whatever. Strip them naked, push them in the dirt, do not let them sleep, make them sit still in ice cold water, make them bleed - in the end, they were mortals, fragile, scared. Schizophrenic, as well. Too much talk about the Conducts, about law and order and punishment - in the end it was still the rule of the strong over the weak. For some time, he even doubted the value of Toran's words for those that followed him -- because if you need to recite or cite them so often, did that not mean you either could not remember them, or that something else was wrong? And if it was just another form of the rule of the strong over the weak, as The Chosen One and Hector by their choices of action, would that not mean that there was no point in settling disputes in a more civilized manner? He was sure he would be selected out of the order soon enough, because they thought the he was weak. They played their games with him -- tell him that he was not worthy so that he would try harder, for example. So that he would conform, march in line, no matter where they lead him. He was expendable, even if their words were different.
Not the way of Toran.
But he observed it that way. He remembered so many things recently, things he rather would forget -- because he wanted to answer, to explain, to clarify. But what did it, what would it matter in the end? Not at all. The so called family ... next time somebody wants to settle a dispute with a blade, I could crush him or her if I have the chance. A blade is not a toy, and if they want to settle disagreements by determining who is stronger, not who is right, he could do that. There was a reason he was frowning upon it, and in more than one way.
Sometimes, he would meet a patrol on his way up or down. They would look at him oddly, the young man with the scars and the sweat soaked tunic and the big sack over the shoulders, with an ankh dangling from his neck on a simple cord. Some greeted him, others did not. Nobody knew who he was. He didn't knew who they were either. His feet where hating him, tho, and it was hard to keep consciousness firmly in his grasp sometimes. Especially with an empty stomach. Especially in the morning.
The last few miles he would be out in the open, exposed to the cold wind running up the steep and twisted path. Sometimes, his feet and knees where big lumps of pain when he reached the top and used a rope to make a punching bag from the sack of sand. He had picked this hill because it was the highest and steepest around. He picked it because the hill reminded him of something, of somebody. He picked the hill because he loathed him, because he disliked every stone, every root, every forced step up, very sliding step down. And when he reached the top, he wondered if it was worth it getting up, and when he was at the bottom, he wondered why he bothered running up there. He woke up in the morning, nightmare -- it was good that Lance had assigned him a tent that was seldom used by others than himself, so nobody saw him waking reaching for his shield and hiding behind it. Some noticed him waking too early and not going to sleep again, doing runs around the camp. It was good training, and when somebody noticed, he started running up the hill.

Some of the soldiers were members of a newly formed scouting or some other light infantry unit. Some young, but most of them older, more experienced. Scraped together after their units have been smashed to bits and pieces. Their commanding officer was a woman with red hair and a scar across her face. She had a local accent.
"What're you doing, soldier?! Rank, name?!" Striding over from the barrack towards where he had put the punching bag up on a tree. He was ignoring the pain in his legs and focused on the punching bag. Trying to place his blows dead center for now, with as much force as possible.
"William Leox. I am a paladin of Toran."
She watched him working away at the punching bag with fists, elbows, shin and foot.
"It's quite unhealthy what you're doing here. Whose permission have you?" Her voice was used to yelling, commanding, demanding answers and obedience. He wasn't answering quickly, it was hard to focus.
"Train as you fight, Ma'am...and... I don't need ... anybodies permission."
He couldn't see her slight frown after hearing that statement.
"My men say this is the third day you're doing this."
"Correct...I was...transferred here...got some...days off."
To much babbling, in his opinion. She was beginning to pace up and down. So too much talk for her as well.
"Couldn't you have picked another hill?"
"No."
He looked at his bruised knuckles and continued.
"You must hate yourself, soldier, or be outright crazy."
"We train as we fight. This...is nothing."
It was nothing. Nobody yelling at him to go faster. Nobody around that wanted to stick him a knife between the shoulders at first opportunity.
"I must report this to your commanding officer. Who is your commanding officer?"
"Speak to Commander...Lance Stargazer...can I ... finish my training please?"
"As you were."
And she strode away. Soldiers, yes. None of them really like war, they liked to get out of one, not into one. Too many wars. Too many dead. Tomorrow, tomorrow he should rest. Yes.
Tomorrow. He would sleep better. No more dreams of fanatical ragtag armies fighting over wastelands in the twilight. No more dreams of the pits opening up and the deep returning to the surface after the realms of the surface fought each other over ideologies that were all nothing but masks for greed and sloth. Civil war over who was right. And he refused to believe that the fate of humans, dwarves and elves would consist of more than pain, blood, ashes and racial bigotry.

Aphel · « **Reply #1 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:42:14 pm »

Sundance, Hilm Military Field Camp A batch of letters, send by means of the Company of the Star Office of Sgt. Leon Adams

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Mylady Elohanna Reid, apart from your work as a member of the Angel's Guild, I have heard that you are following the Lifegiver, may His gentle Light shine always, as well as are an instructor at the Tower Academy of Hempstead and a trained spellweaver. Rumours of the good work that you and your husband Andrew William Reid have done have reached my ears, and I fought with your husband during the last days of the incursion of the Deepening Dark in the Siphe Principally. Albeit it might appear as an odd request, I would like to ask you if the experience you and your husband collected in your years in regards to the War of Blood, the Deepening Dark and the Planes of Existance could help in my attempt at broading my knowledge. I wish to understand the sources of power that forces like the Deepening Dark taps into, and the ability to drain life. Such corruptions must not be allowed to life, and I would like to include sources outside the Church of the Hand of Virtue in my learning. Beyond this, I would like to inquire if there is any kind of special talent or knack that one must have in order to learn spellweaving. The war in Fiorez showed me that we lack men and women who are able to defend us all against the influences of darker arts. I wish to inquire how complicated, expensive and time intensive it would be to create a program aimed at training the skilled and not so skilled to help against these kinds of threads. A war as this one leaves orphans and shattered people behind, and I think that it would be a good way to teach them how to defend themselves, give them a purpose beyond the rebuilding. This is, at least for now, a formal inquiry, I am lacking funds and political backing to put such things in motions, but it can't hurt to know. May you carry the light for those that lost their way in the twilight, Respectfully, ~William Leox, Paladin, Order of the Longsword

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Mylady Faewen, It is a long time since we last met, and I still did not forget your question in regards to war and conflict and violence. The war against the Deepening Dark is almost over, but I fear its aftermath will be feeled for generations to come, both in wounds to the souls and the land. I am almost sure that more war is soon to erupt, be it in Fiorez, be it elsewhere, and there is enough conflict and misery that pleagues our time. I would like to inquire, with all due respect to your profession as a healer and follower of the Lifegiver, if you think that it is possible to create a program for orphans and those that lost all to join the ranks of the healers. Especially for the children and adolescent of this conflict, I would like to see an opportunity to get an education both of profession and morals beyond the firm rules of this faith or that faith. In cooperation with other organisations, orphanages and academies, in your opinion, what do we need? How much time would it take to set it up, in your opinion, and how long would the training take? How do you estimate the chances of success? Do you think it is possible by means of skillful negotiation to coordinate a lot of effords? We stand strong together or will fall divided, Respectfully, ~William Leox, Paladin, Order of the Longsword

Aphel · « **Reply #2 on:** December 29, 2012, 07:55:59 pm »

Llast, Mistone

Outside, the noise of the city faded away with falling dawn and the sounds felt as familiar yet strange and alien as the dust on his skin. One hour, each day. Not more, and not less. It was an hour without thought, memories, anything conscious apart from the work that needed to be done. But the memories, and the thoughts and the wishes, they came and never truly went away, obnoxious bystanders with gray faces, no matter how hard he tried to make them go away. The carving knife scraped, and the wood sounded and vibrated like bones. Bones. Yes. At first, he wanted to make it from bones.

The camp stretched out into all directions, and amidst the soldiers and workers carrying out their tasks, William found himself in the military encampment near Sundance. He paid for his passage with a bag of coins and walked into the rows of tents stretching out into all directions. Finding the command tent should be easy. Always was.
An young, bearded bowman studied him with a distrustful expression, and William stared him down. Calm. Cool, harsh like Krashin ice and just as indifferent to death and suffering.
"Lieutenant, here's a paladin of the Great Leader!" the bowman yelled slightly over his shoulder without leaving William out of his eyes. A scout. That would explain the knife sheath attached to the left shoulder instead at the belt. Or maybe it was just a platoon with loose regulations.
The lieutenant was a almost as young as the bowman and wore the insignia of the Company of the Stars. He frowned, snorted, gave the bowman a nod and addressed William.
"This way."
He led him towards the main pavilion and asked him to wait, the Commander was out for a patrol through his camp. Getting an overview, too.
William crossed his arms behind his back and studied the layout of the camp, found himself searching for weak points, found himself thinking on how to attack it efficiently, found himself defending it in the case of utmost chaos and disorder. Lance and all officers would claim that they would do admirably, but where was the breaking point, where was their breaking point? And, more importantly, did the enemy know of it and how to exploit it?
Jingling armor and blades announced the return of Commander Lance Stargazer and his entourage. He seemed to be a bit more tired since William last saw him, but still moved with the same joyful stride and the calm smile William remembered him to have. Compared to the people in Fiorez, his demeanor was of preposterous joyfulness, even though William knew that he simply had spent too much time among well trained, no-nonsense war machines and scared veterans.

"Now, what do we got here?" A smile betrayed the commander's good mood. "Greetings William. Welcome to Sundance." His voice was calm, yet joyous. As if William was a lost son returning home, but he wasn't. Not really. His face is harder, more guarded than when Lance met him last. He has grown some muscles, and his cloak and whole appearance appears more fit for a knight errant than any parade ground. He still wears his old, heavy cloak, but his armor underwent some changes. The thin layer of protective paint gives it a dark hue and makes the with great care and a lot of patience engraved names a lot more obvious, at least in this light.
When Lance approaches, he stands at attention with drilled, quick precision, and he salutes.
"Just another soldier, Sir Commander Stargazer!"
His voice is not necessarily sharper or louder, but it has a new sound to it. Determined, but there is something new as well, a certain confidence and hardiness. He doesn't lose the salute or stops standing at attention, but he studies the Commander with a calm expression in his eyes that look like many eyes around - of those that have seen and experienced too much. But there's something new to them as well, a concealed, intense expression. Must have been ages since he smiled himself, last.
"Thank you Sir for welcoming me. I came with reassignment orders, Sir. Have you been informed?"
His tone is clear, and straight to the point. Still, something amused the Commander.

"Perhaps just another soldier, since we are all here to fight and protect those who can't protect themselves isn't it? And that doesn't make me less happy to see how one of my former students its developing."
He paused before continuing.
"Alas, I was in the knowledge that the term of your service with the Garra has come to an end, I received a note of you being sent back to us.", Lance said and continued in a more formal voice, "At ease, soldier. Take a seat and tell me how is the Principality? How are the people that were sent towards the principality 16 months ago? How are Marion, Marinus and Hector?"

William stood at ease at once and smiled a smile with certainly mixed expressions.
"Thank you, Sir."
He sat down a bit reluctantly, as if used to standing all the time.
"Marion got into the seventh rank, as did the Lady Eliza Karlgarl. They both did well. Hector is fine as well, I expect him to gain some ranks within the Shining Hand. Marinus is missing in action as far as I can tell. With all due respect, next time we need more clerics - a paladin can't cast strong enough blessings for all kinds of wounds, nor can he ward people against what we fought. I had people dying of wound infections or grave wounds I could not heal. Toran provides, for sure, but spellweavers and healers certainly help. The Chosen One said it was too dangerous for clerics in Fiorez."
He frowned slightly and continued to speak in a much calmer, lower voice.
"Not many civilians left in Fiorez City, Sir Stargazer. Lots of orphans, economy will be difficult. I guess it will take some years until they come back to full strength."
He clenched his left hand to a fist and rubs his knuckles in thought.
"I buried too many fathers, sons and daughters, too many died in my arms."
He looked up, still frowning, but the frown goes away slowly while he looks at Lance.
"Lord Jaedon Siphe will claim the Garra won. The Chosen One will claim that Toran was victorious. The soldiers from Nesar will claim that they won. Don't ask me who of them is right or wrong, Sir. Be it Nesar, dragons, Lord Siphe, Hilm - as ambitions as they all are, as large are the fields with the dead."
His frown returns.
"They gave me medals, acknowledgments, that sort of thing. I don't feel that it means anything at all. Pieces of metal. Melt them, make a pot or a hammer out of them, something useful. Could have done without them." He shakes his head.
"Oh, and the Lord Siphe kicked me out of his Garra."
He then leans closer and whispers something into Lance's ear, only for him to hear.
"Make what you want from it. I'd like to mend things with her, but no time for that kind of stuff.
I worry. If he doesn't get around marrying one of the two princesses, he needs to turn to the Racta again. Nesar is stronger than us, and they support the enemy. Trouble's brewing, Sir. Lots of trouble."
He leaned back again and looked at the Commander again with the calm, guarded eyes.
"That's the news from Fiorez, Sir."
He paused for a moment, then reached into his satchel and held a book out to Lance.
"My old diary. You can read it, at you discretion. I'd like to give it to you for safe keeping, if that would be possible, Sir. I'd like to start a new one. Study book, this time."

Lance listened intently as the report went on, not interrupting, perhaps a bit saddened on the missing Marinus.
"I see.
As for your request for clerics, as you could understand clerics are special people, and its not like we can "train" them to feel the call, even here and in Huangjin we don't have all we'd like, at this rate I am sorry to hear about the loses, and yes the victory on a war only means that lots more could have died, there are no true winners at war.
I am glad to hear that Milady Eliza is well, her importance for this crusade goes way more than the simple raising on ranks or the marriage with Siphe, as it stands now she is the only link on the diplomatic things, at least that plot worked."
He frowned, his expression one of regret and reassurance before he continued a bit more sarcastically.
"Also, I don't order who goes and who doesn't to that Principality from Hilm or the other way around, apparently that is only them having that right. There are wars fought in the field of battle and others in the halls of court, and I swear I hate the diplomatic ones, yet one has to learn how to fight them. You may forgive my ramblings on this account, just measuring the results of the situation on agreement to your report.
Nesar is stronger than us, maybe, and maybe they want us everyone to think that, there has been some movements from them in that regard, yet It wasn't Nesar who has to fight the worst this continent has to offer, another thing that will have to consider, they may threaten but it will be costly for them to act, they are governed by Corathites if you didn't know, and as you know those of their ilk are cowards, this doesn't mean I've underestimated them, but i also don't overestimate them.
And yes the situation has been trouble some since the start. In regards to the dragon, I have a question -did it went to sleep as our "intel" said it would once this battle was over?

About the rest - I won't do anything of it, it was quite obvious that those two were in love since long ago, Siphe is a strange man, some lack of confidence, and yet in my experience he is an honorable man, I do hope that all the pain that has been this war is worth in the end, there has been many casualties yes, and not only physical ones, there are things that never will be the same again."
The Commander smiled a bit, in a sad way and more to himself. "And yet again I am rambling."
He took the journal then looked at the cover, nodding before skimming over a few pages and notes. Then he closed it, placing it on a heap of reports and notes waiting to be looked over.
"And now that you are here, and the term in the Garra has come to an end, what is what you plan to do?", he said with a calm voice, as if to sooth William, who smiled a little, polite, shy.

"You're not rambling, Sir. I can't look inside your head and read your thoughts, and I am very glad that you share them with me. If all conversations where finely honed, it'd be quite a bit dull.

I am not entirely sure if the Dragon is gone or asleep. If he is asleep, I'd like to know what put him to sleep - even after the Chosen One killed another of his self's or spawns or whatever they were, his forces and he attacked. I hope the Shining Hand looks into it, not that we are overlooking some nefarious plots right in front of our eyes. I'd do it, but I am lacking the training, the authority clearing and so forth. There are more competent people that can do that, I guess."
He didn't say anything in regards to Siphe and Hilm and Nesar, but he glances towards the exit of the tent and outside with a thoughtful, intense look.
"It'll be known how things develop."
He paused for a moment, thinking. His baritone is calm and thoughtful. Patient.
"My grandfather, who adopted my father, had a library. A small one. Private. Even had a small shelf only for stories that could be read to children."
Again, he smiled, as if lost in a fond memory.
"Quite possible that he shouldn't have had a library, I am not sure. He died when the house burned down, by now, I have the feeling that somebody did it on purpose. What I'd like to do is to read a lot, study a bit. Being to create my own library, in a sense. There are many paths through life, many things that should be documented, and a lot to be learned from the deeds that are forgotten but to some pages of parchment hidden away somewhere.
Study various things because knowledge is a valuable tool for those that walk on the path the Great Leader walked before us. I'd like to write down what I learned in the training in Fiorez, and build and improve that training. Train a lot. Learn about warfare, strategies, tactics. Rhetoric as well, organization. Maybe I can find a way to contribute to improve our capability to win conflicts of all kinds. Maybe do some philosophic work for the church as well, depending if I am allowed, and if I am not, well, even I am allowed to have spare time activities."
So that is what I would like to do after some rest and spare time. I feel exhausted, and some time away from combat would be good so I could regain some strength and balance, if I may." He looked at Lance.
"But I would like to hear your thoughts and ramblings on that, Commander. Things you might think are important to consider."

The older paladin listened intently, nodding a couple of times, as old mentors and veteran commanders do.
"I do agree with you, indeed study would give us the ability to react to the impediments, but let me tell you that usually its never as easy as in the books. I thought that you would be in the need of some rest, been at least a year and half since you arrived here, I am sure that you may wish to see how your brother is doing.
I wish I had the time for going with you to Mistone, I'd show you a shrine I build on the hill near Llast, I used to go there for meditation and have a lot of good memories of the place. Before you go to Llast I'll give you a letter that will allow you entrance to my office in the temple. Feel free to skim through the books I have there for strategy and such, please don't take any of them outside the chamber, that is the only request I have for you in exchange. They may not be the most updated but they would give you some extent on history and battles of our world. The tactician who wants to work to live the future, has to learn from the victors of the past, that is what my teacher said when I was younger."
The he paused and looked at him for a moment, as if to take measurements for how to approach the next part of what he wanted to say.
"Raelyn was here for a time, but she went home some months ago, you probably be able to see her in Llast.
And the other thing - I'd like to hear about the training there, it was supposed to be about fighting the Garra and our enemies in Khul, and that intel is always welcome.

As for the dragon.. I think i have not explained myself on this. I am speaking of Rectafieroz not the Deepening dark here, I've faced the spawns of the Deepening One, and believe me its nothing compared to Rectafieroz. The red dragon was supposed to go to sleep after this cause he was deeply wounded and needed to rest after all this battles back in the day the Khul was putting us on Siege. This of course its unconfirmed intel, and hence why i wanted to hear if you heard something on Fiorez City - that name would be so good to be changed though.
The situation here is mostly under control, with the horde on the run and the moral down, there are squads on the run and has been thru all the month, I sent an edict for Hilm to be mourning for all this year, there were too many deaths. And yet we still have to think of those who are still alive, and to keep them that way.
You are free to stay the time you want of course, I've already made arrangements for you to have a tent and if and when you decide to move let me know i could arrange a faster trip to Llast than the long way by ship."

William nodded slowly, then bows his head to Lance.
"Thank you Commander. That is very generous of you. I will try and make good use of it, has been some time I last studied and learned."
Falling silent for a moment, he then continued,
"We're not on good terms anymore, Raelyn and me, maybe some people who said it in the past were right and I have no heart and no emotions, maybe it's just not thing for me, that love and family stuff..."
He frowned before addressing the next issue.
"I plan to adapt and improve those lessons from Fiorez. Maybe I should go to Huanjing for a bit, or to the dwarves and their halls, and train and learn a bit more. It'd take time, but might help me create some new recruiting and training standards...
As far as the Dragon is concerned - he did not come to the fight when we pushed back to the border, and none of the Fire Giants were to be seen. That is as much as I know, unless I forgot something...I'd like to rest a few days, and then head back. Is the fast way only in one direction?"

Lance smiled a bit at him.
"When I was young , I was far less patient than that, I had great feelings for a responsibility that was brought upon me by the delusions of my past, it took a way more patient man than me to teach me the true value of books and study, I was all about getting out and "save the day" if you know what I mean. I am happy I don't need to teach you that, just as an advice, since it can't go both ways, I know you'll do what is right on the moment and you have judgment on your own, just don't let the study to forbids you of the joy of helping others with more direct action."

Nodding slowly a bit after hearing the about Raelyn, he just added, "I am sorry to hear, it was a lesson hard learned for me too. I didn't mean to bring back sad memories."
He then returned to the other things he wanted to talk about.
"I am more interested in to learn the drills they use, since that is the how the Cult trains currently their troops, that would tell us about the norms and routines they do and as well of their formations, improving its something that can be done yes, but I'd like to hear or read a report of your time there if you won't mind. I mean a report made as an officer, I'll complement that with the diary notes that you so kindly left me here.

The fast way can be arranged but for now it is just one way, since it will be used as a special request, that portal in Hilm that leads to the Blackford castle on Mistone, we tend to keep the access restricted for good reasons -- our enemies can't learn of this, as you'll surely understand."

William was quiet, very quiet when the Commander spoke, glancing around and especially towards the tent entry, maybe being a bit too vigilant for his own health. But his calmness covered most if it, maybe it was some sort of new stress resilience and its side effects.
"I think I understand what you are saying, Sir. With all the trouble I had recently, one does develop some kind of reputation, and my own might be gone to greener pastures. But I let them think what they think, in the end, I only need to defend my own actions from me and Toran, nobody else."
After a brief pause he continued:
"What I wanted to say - I am doing what I can, for every deed there is a time and place. There is enough evil and injustice in this world. Right now, I plan to see if the things I thought I learned and noticed are correct. I am lacking information, and I need to remedy that as fast as possible. I need to find those people that I can trust in certain questions, and, with all due respect Commander, I doubt that you have the time to answer all my questions. Or spend enough time with a certain topic to answer them, I assume. Of course, if you know accounting and such things to great detail and enjoy talking about it..."
He looked outside again.
"With all due respect, Commander, but I would rather write the training schedule down and maybe be so bold to ask if you could help me with coming up for a better training schedule and so forth for our own troops, building on experience and all that. Maybe we also could find a solution on what to do with the orphans an all as well. I think I'll stay here, at least until I wrote down what I learned and we talked about it properly."

Lance smiled a bit.
"Reputation is important but I am not speaking about what you experienced in the camp, I am giving advice based on my own experiences, just that. I understand your desire of starting fresh, but reputation its something we may strive for, we have to lead by example and yet what you say its true, its to your principles and Toran we should reply first, we should look to inspire people to be better."
He waved his hand dismissively.
"Well.. you may have chance to test the fruits of your training in the field, and sadly there is no training that would prepare one for a war, the academic part allows one to understand the why's but once the war and the battle start, one has to learn how to react, yet I know that you may have your share on this wisdom, and to prepare the information on academics for war its always advisable. I am glad that you see the time and place thing, makes this words easier."
Lance laughed.
"You are of course welcome to stay, I assumed that you would before you returned, I'll assign you a tent to stay for the time being, if wanted to join the efforts of reconstruction then I'll assign a more permanent dwelling and a unit to serve under. For now Rest, Sundance needs all the tranquility we can have for now... I do hope to receive the reports on troops and the enemy movements and see if we can stir the limits of Khul a bit. Those cowards...."

William nodded.
"A tent is enough for now. Thank you Sir."
He reached for his helmet and hesitated, tapping on his helmet briefly.
"Something to consider then. Thank you for your time, Commander. If you need my skills, I will be ready, rest or no. Only in death, duty ends."
He then saluted and waited for being dismissed.

"As usual William but its only through life that we have the joy of serving, for the greater good, of course if you are needed you'll be called, but we had a very rough time on this war.. and more its to come, so for now rest. And let me know any plans you have," Lance said with a fatherly smile.

"I plan to write a few things down, Commander. The training schedule, and my thoughts on it, among other things. Need to write a few letters. Test a training schedule, Sir. It's hard to find joy in life and your duty if you buried so many sons, daughters, fathers for a war between two dragons, killed from things that a corps of healers, spellweavers and priests could have prevented to happen to them. Joy is something that rarely happens to me, Commander. I suppose it is hard to understand. I looked out for my siblings. I tried to look out for my fellow students. I tried to look out for the men and women around me in battle, those that did not take offense because of their rank." He fell silent for a moment, continuing to speak slowly, his voice way more mature, convicted and firm than during previous conversations.
"I have received enough criticism for when I said that "I am dead.", and in its depth I should talk with a priest of the Hand of Virtue and the Lifegiver about it. It is a complex matter, and I did not have nearly enough time to write about it. The Chosen One said I was lacking respect and understanding for the Conducts. That I could not stand up for myself. It weights on me, this matter, and I am of half a mind to dismiss it altogether. Her upbringing was different than mine, and maybe she things that arguments can be best settled with a duel of blades, and be it on how each of us deals with the fact that we must face and accept death and our own mortality."
He shook his head slowly.
"It is not the way that I was taught. I fight to kill, not to settle a mere dispute. I fight to defend, and only because others showed so much hostility that all other options are gone. Nothing shows more weakness than hitting somebody else with a fist because you do not like his or her stance on whatever it is that you are quarreling about under normal circumstances. That's the way I was brought up. That's what I came to understand by reading Toran's teachings. I found that accepting death and suffering and something that is inevitably connected with life, yes, to accept that with my birth my death became a certainty. It is something to accept, to understand. I am mortal, and thus, I must die eventually."
"It does not mean to deny life. It means that I must make a choice - faced with my own fate, I could simply give up and do nothing anymore. Or I could just go on, despite my own mortality, draw strength from the fact that my time is finite, limited to a certain amount of days and hours - and that in each moment, I must try to do things to the best of my abilities and beyond, I must follow the conducts and teachings Toran has set out for us. The pledge you Commander and I took - " He looked at Lance with a calm, thoughtful expression and continued, "it speaks of bringing glory to Toran's name. Toran is not interested in whatever glory is brought to his name, so I read, so my father, mother and grandfather taught me. Only that we do the good and right things. Sometimes, that means to stand firm in the battlefield, to kill our enemies on what is little less than a field of controlled slaughter, glorified by others. Sometimes, it means to lend our backs and arms to rebuilding efforts, sometimes, we lend our shoulders, arms and cheeks to rebuild ruins of the soul. Is there glory? No. Not in these things. I chose to stand up, faced with my own mortality. I chose to do what is good and right, but I do not do it for glory, honor, or whatever else there be. I do it, for it is the essence of my being, the core of my soul. Duty, protection, combat - I chose to carry on. To keep going, no matter the circumstances. My grandfather said that the path of the Guardian is the hardest, but also that one must not let go ones abilities to waste, and that the most ordinary person can find a strength inside that helps her or him achieve the most extraordinary goals, far beyond what others thought that she or he was capable of."
He flexed his fingers and rested his palm on the pommel of Sacrifice.
"Some can push themselves far beyond the gates of pain and misery, others cannot. This world is a world of strife, pain, suffering, originating in conflicts old and new. It requires guardians that stand vigilant in the twilight when all others are asleep. I wonder where the guardian was in recent conflicts. I wondered until I understood that I cannot blame anybody, but that it is my role as well. It was a hard lesson, and I dislike all the talk about price. Life is no currency to be spend to achieve a certain goal, not in warfare, not in the discussion of fates."
He tapped the pommel of the blade.
"This blade should be called Endurance - for others did the sacrifice, but I chose to go on. And it seemed that nobody understood my choice, my thoughts..."
He smiled a bit in a thoughtful manner.
"Thank you for listening to me, Commander. Thank you for listening to my rambling. I will talk with a priest, eventually." He fell silent. "I need to go to the healing tents as well. Working out is not really putting me to sleep anymore, and despite meditation, some things are hard to put aside."

"You don't find joy you say." Lance couldn't help to smile a bit to himself, perhaps having heard those words more than just once, perhaps entertaining himself with a thought or two.
"Tell me then Will, please humor my question why is that you fight for? In ten words? Why to suffer all that ? Why to die protecting?", he left the question floating in the air and looked William in the eyes.

"I meant to say that it is hard to find joy, Commander, not that it is impossible. Why should joy be what I work for and what motivates me?
Did I not answer this question already? Did I not say that our own mortality puts a choice before us? There is nobody else to walk my path, but me. Are you setting up a rhetorical and philosophical trap here, Commander?"
His eyes were calm, focused, and had an intense expression hidden within them. There was not hostility or confusion in them.
"The answer to your question is: Because nobody else can. With all due respect, Commander, do you think all in life happens for a reason? Do you think that there is glory in death? Do you think Toran will be very pleased with you if you die for his glory? Do you think that is what I seek, Sir? To fight and to die? Like the rest of them? The Leaders do the leading, but the soldiers do the dying."
He pushed his cloak back over his shoulder and pointed towards the direction were Fiorez City is. The light danced off the names engraved into each piece of his platinum half-plate. He seemed agitated, and clearly so. His voice had volume now, and the thoughtfulness is almost gone, replaced by a grim confidence.
I buried men that died to infected wounds after surviving the night of terror and onslaught of beasts and dark magics. Nobody should die alone. I had so many last wills to consider, so many prayers to be spoken. I saw so many drown in the own blood, or die from horrible injuries. Do you think somebody ordered me to do such a thing, Commander? Do you know how it is to dig graves and make sure that they do not come back from the dead, and all with great respect?
I had boys a year older or younger than me, shooting their friends with arrows while they were being dragged away by those abominations. Do you think I do not know what I fight for? Do you think I don't care at all, Commander? Half of Fiorez City is empty, limping, scared or maimed in soul and body, not to speak of all the orphans this war created. Do you think anything of this I find joyous or tolerable, Commander?! Do you think I did it for these metal tokens they call medals? Do you think I did all of this for Toran, for glory and whatnot?
I walk this path, because there have to be guardians. There have to be protectors. There have to be those that fight the thread long before it becomes known, and even die as unknown and unsung heroes. If I die, but four families keep their son, their father - wouldn't you rather send me than those other four?
This was a rather pointless war, since two dragons found it a jolly good sport to see who is stronger. Khul is looming, and Fiorez is in the middle of Nesar and Hilm, both wanting a piece of the cake. There will be war again, if not here, then somewhere else.

I fight, because I have a faint hope of peace. I fight, because Toran chose me to fight. I do what I do, because only I can do what is required of me. I do not need glory, I do not need fame. I need training, education, to help me with the task set before me and to be at the very best at my capabilities. I certainly don't need feasts, balls, paintings. My so called joy is that there's another conflict settled, people cared for, an objective reached. More smiles on the streets. For that, sometimes one must give up one's own smile, but the path that the Hand of Virtue walked and teaches us to walk is not an easy one. To me, it is really as simple as that. You either accept the suffering, the pain and death, or you don't. Toran cannot take the decisions away from you, it is something you have to do yourself. I could have left the order, the training program - I did not. I am, who I am. If you do not like it, Commander, I will be off in the hour. I do not have to apologize for who I am. If I do, eventually, I should leave this order, this church and this place."

Lance looked at him, his amusement mixed with concern, smiling a bit with his usual soothing nature.
"Those were hardly ten words you know? It seems by your words that you expect me try to trap you with words. Would I get threats of farewell each time I ask to know you a bit better?

I don't expect you to enjoy things like war of course. By your words I think you assume I am totally an outsider than the things a war can bring, and believe me I am not, I know well enough the toll that death can put on a man, I've even had to order the death of one of my brothers, which was not an easy choice.

I don't want you to leave, unless of course you want to do so, education comes first yes, each choice and each word that we find is part of that, and I am just trying to exercise Empathy with you. If that is uncomfortable, I am not proud enough to not apologize for the inconvenience. And that is still who I am.

There is no war with a point really, and yet they are necessary evils that we have to face, and yes the world needs guardians - if it was in my hands I won't send anyone to die, and yet it happens, no matter how much prepared we are, we all die. Its just the mortal's hope to do something significant with our life . And yes I am sure that all my brothers same as you are ready to face that death, that is inevitable. Each path its different, indeed only you can walk yours.

And yet I am kind of stuck on your words there: The Leaders do the leading, but the soldiers do the dying. That sound ironically as a truth then tell me Will. What you want to do?"

He tilted his head, all his words said with calm and patience looking at the young man with an understanding demeanor, who quietly listened and shrugged his cloak back to a much more calm position, the cloth covering his shoulders and upper arms. But his eyes never stopped studying the Commander with an observing, almost unsettling intensity after his outburst - not hostile, not shy, not demanding answers or challenging. More to discern the truth and the conviction behind Lance's words, and to put up a wall for himself.

"That is a very good question, Commander Stargazer. I do not know for certain."
His face was unmoved.
"Instead of speaking of leadership, of commanding - be the first into battle. Never demand loyalty, never think of any soldier less or more, any rank or title. First in the fight, last one out. Never demand or command anything that one would not do himself, or be able to do himself. Of course, this will not work with a normal army, with normal soldiers, and with a normal elite that leads them."
His fingertips were slowly drumming Sacrifice's pommel.
"It might also mortally offend kings, queens, the Chosen One, maybe you as well Commander."
He makes a subtle motion with his hand, as if pushing something off the table or waving smoke away, a slight frown on his forehead.
"One could also rework the strategies and the training as well as organization and command structure. I have a dream, Commander, and in my lifetime I doubt that I will see it come to pass. Quite possibly, it will horrify you, remind you of past mistakes gone into history now. Maybe I will be tried and court-martialed for it."
The perspective didn't seem to bother him too much, if at all.
"But I suppose you would rest safer if you know - or, for that matter, did not know - that there is a group of people, an order, a company trained and equipped with the best experience and craftsmanship have to offer. An order of monks who gave up even their old names, lives, to form the first and last line against what terrors and evils lurk there. Who make sure that conflicts are quenched long before they erupt, and if they erupt, can put them to end. Trained in mind, soul and body, they could be the guardians, a new breed of warriors. How would one create such a force? How would one organize their faith, teach them, keep them disciplined? But even if they are without a name, maybe without a face, would you not call them guardians still? I can almost taste the illusion in these dreams. It would be best if we speak not of such things again, as they are most likely nothing more than the ramblings of a confused, young mind."
He smiled slightly and self-ironic.
"I need more experiences before I can talk more properly about these things. What I dare to say, however, is that the way war is fought by those that follow Toran, be that Paladins or more regular forces, can and must be improved. It should, in my opinion, even be rethought if the Conduct of Virtue in its teachings does not make us unable to wage war effectively. Honorable combat is quite diametrical to the fact that war is about doing as much damage to the enemy as possible, and that wars are not won in honorable duels but in how many men and women are slaughtered, how many towns and farmland burnt. If something is worth doing, like waging a war against evil, then it is worth doing it properly. I do doubt that we have the elite troops able to close whatever gate to whatever dimension, pit, or Toran knows what the enemy has.
It was Steel's mercenary group who delivered a fatal blow, doing the right thing in the right time - not to say that they did our task, Commander. Only my opinion, so no need to take it seriously."
He frowned a bit.
"In regards to what you mentioned in the beginning, Commander - Beacon Bael was quite sincere in what he said. The Commander of the Shining Hand was quite sincere in what he said, and so was Captain Jillian and the Chosen One. I doubt that I fit into certain circles. Too much of those calculated smiles, calculated agitation, calculated provocation - even if it is done intuitively and for a good purpose. Too much attention is spend to the question "Who are you?". I am certainly that I am nobody's brother in Toran's order. I could be anybody. Maybe I am too quiet, too passive as they claim. Maybe there is no person you could get to know, Commander. No member of the family, if you want, or some estranged cousin who keeps to himself."
Again that motion with his hand.
"We are an order with a cause and a creed. It is just that our language lacks the words to describe the bond that connects each member of the order. Coming to think of it, calling you Brother-Commander Lance has a nice ring to it, Sir. And calling the Chosen One Sister-Commander Daniella..."
His cheeks subtly twitched.
"I might try it to address others in such a manner, one day, to keep them at their toes and test them and how they stand to the whole family thing. Humility, too. And nothing leads quicker astray than to blindly put one's loyalty and faith into somebody."
This time he smiled honestly. It is an much too old smile in a young face.
"I would like to put all this "Who are you" thing aside, if I may, Commander, and focus on what I can do, here, now, and in the future."

Lance smiled knowingly once he received the answer he expected, then again retaking his usual calm tone, he replied:
"We may do as you say then and put it away for the time being, as with each one path that question its and can only be answered by you only with Toran as your guide and his example of course.

I am not horrified at the thought of different points of views either William I consider myself quite patient and open minded, but one should think twice before putting doubt on what the conducts offer, maybe it was just a misunderstanding on the understanding since those conducts its what make us different from our enemies, what trust can a guardian or a protector do if suddenly he decides to act against this virtues "for the greater good"

Words have power, I've learned that in all the time I've had in this life, so before planning and acting one should know where one is standing and what one wants. Take this not as a lecture or an order, Take it just as an advice of someone who appreciates you.

As for what will you do.. and the future, its hard to really know without knowing where to start, I do think that the first of it will be to take that rest and to greet the knowledge that this war had brought upon as was the plan.

I am glad to hear such open words and such, and also can tell you that somehow its contradictory, Don't ask anything that you won't do yourself, that is totally a motto worth living with. As for offending people, I'd be careful on that, cause Toran orders us to do the right thing but that doesn't make us fools. Empathy its as you know one of the conducts, and one should try to see where the other person is coming from before acting somehow as that.

Again this is an advice.. somehow a philosophical rambling of someone who had more than one lesson on pride, even if i never had myself considered as someone prideful," Lance's said, his smile soft and sincere.
"As for the future then.. Its that a question on what to do? or would you like to chat about what that future holds for you? As always I'd be willing to give advice when needed and if desired."

He looked at him, leaning over the desk, placing his hand over the diary William just gave him.

"The future, then."
He set his jaw straight and a small frown formed on his forehead.
"I am not looking for a career, nor any position like yours Commander. I want to train my skills, and I will do so. I doubt that I will be able to best the best warrior in the world, or that I could debate the most cunning speaker there is. Nor will I be able to master teachings and blessings known to clerics. But neither of that does mean that I cannot push myself further than others can. I am just another follower on the path of Toran. But there are people I would like to speak and learn with, places I want to visit, alliances I want to forge. If that is possible, only time can tell. There is a lot of work to be done."

"So the future its to work hard to achieve a goal, that its not for sure that is achievable? Just working hard? ... In any case William and take this in the very strict intent of the question: How can I help you to get there?"

"Teach me what you know and learned. Tell me about strategy, history and the experienced past. Get me in touch with the people you know and value." William said quite directly. "I appreciate the offer, Commander. In return, what can I do for you? I can't stop an army on my own just yet, not do I have the credentials and experiences for delicate political work - nothing that could not be learned and achieved, I suppose. Four eyes see more than two - any special missions you need done? Something looked into and reports written? As a new, fresh face around I will have some disadvantages, but also advantages."
He smiled a bit.
"I appreciate the offer, Commander."

Lance looked at him directly as well.
"It has been my intent to teach you and show you all those things since day one on the program William. I can try to help yes, but without knowing what is what you are looking for its hard for sending and connect you with the appropriate people, and this is an advancement of sorts, so we'll see where this goes and how the learning go. The only thing we can do is try isn't it?" His tone softened a bit.
"For now rest for the days you need, and by rest I mean rest, recover your energy and help your body be ready so it won't fail you by the time its needed. We'll see then once the dust settles a bit. As for the opportunity , you have nothing to thank me, I do it gladly and without expecting any reward or consent, just if any the respect a teacher deserves.
I'll let you know if something is needed, for now the squads are formed and they are on the way towards putting the rests of the horde away. And again I'd be quite interested in read this diary and the report of the drills and the training."

William nodded once with a sincere expression and saluted the Commander.
"I best see to that tent then. Sir."

It was good to be out of that pavilion, very good. He could breath free out here, felt somewhat more comfortable. Alone with his thoughts. And of course, he had to build the tent by himself, and nobody told him where the mess tent was. He washed his clothes and cleaned his kit. Camp duties. Went for a run. Tried to sleep.
That's how it all started, maybe. The whole episode with the training. Coming back home. All of it. He cleaned the ankh with holy water, rested it beside his futon close to his blade. Sleep wouldn't come for a long time, the moon shining through the blinds of his window, painting silver stripes into the nearly completely empty room. Llast has had troubles with accommodation, nowadays, most things were moved to the Citadel in Huanjing, so William got his own small, tiny room, little more than a broom closet really. It was enough - for him anyway.
When he finally found sleep, he had another of those dreams. He dreamed of the Citadel and cherry trees, it's petals black and crumbling to ash between his fingers, of burned and scorched ruins, pillaged, plundered. Despite his helmet the air tasted like lightning, brittle grass breaking under his heavy black boots. So many memories, one name for each cobblestone, and those once proud statues defiled. He walked towards the gate, burst open and smashed to splinters. The sun rose blood red over an eerie silence, no crows on this field of slaughter and death. When he stood in the gate's archway, staring over the torn and tortured lands outside, he saw them coming, creatures from the deepest pits, the blackest nights, once alive, now corrupted, mutated beyond recognition, snarling with their many mouths and snouts. He remembered being young and full of hope once, but now, only death remained. Maybe this was his punishment -- to walk the battlefields eternally, fight of corruption and send them back to their pits or graves. The Black Blade had even now, in the radiance of dawn, a dull and dark gleam to it, as if it was meant to cut the fabric of light itself in half, should need be. He fought the creatures, and killed them, only to have the corruption vanish and see that he had cut down those he loved while they slowly turned to ash, drifting away in a cold and bitter breeze that swept over the lands. Above the horizon he saw the shape of dragons fighting, and he slowly began to walk down the long path ahead of him, temptations left and right, ghostly faces of people he once knew, or once knew him pleading with him to take of the armor, and put down the sword. By now, he knew his enemies, by now, he did not fear and see clearly through their disguises. There no longer was a point in trying to save anything or anybody, no chance of redemption. The only option was a quick, merciful death to his enemies, or he would die himself.

After those dreams, he usually woke with his heart beating fast and covered in cold sweat, as if he had dreamed something else, something more gruesome. He got out of bed early, stretched, did push-ups and other morning training in the first hours after dawn. Simple breakfast, then back to study and training until noon. Temple and community duties, training with other members of the church who had the time to train with him in all sorts of combat. He slept even less than before, but enough to seldom feel physically exhausted. Mentally, his resolve was tested, and occasionally, he had to stop studying and learning to gain a clear mind again. Meditation. Training. More studying, more work, more meditation. But it didn't help against the dreaming. Not at all. He began to take it as a bad omen, for something that was wrong with him, or with something that was coming. Maybe it was another of those things Lance and Daniella called "tests".
He wrote a piece called "Arid", about deserted, old places after war. Philosophy and meditation of the desert. Refusal of militarism and why it all was about conflict. But he couldn't refute himself, that in his heart, he was a warrior, a killer. That it estranged him from the rest of those around him. He gave up on it, on the essays on loneliness and all that. Nobody would understand how one could be lonely if you had the Great Leader at your side. Those pages were sheets filled with inked misery, annoyance and irritation. With Raelyn leaving and John passing away, something had cracked, a seal that had kept him from being himself. Now, that he had nobody close to care about but himself, was tired of the discussions and all that. He wanted to see something done, preferably something realistic. It was good to put one's energy, creativity and skill towards a constructive goal and achieve something that was new or had been lost before. The kind of tasks he did he found to be necessary but dull, something to excuse the long hours of studying, training, crafting.
He bagan to sketch the armor he dreamt of, and wrote down his thoughts on life and death and other philosophical things. He did so with great care and methodology, but it did not ease his mind.
"There was nothing I could do..."
He did not blame her. He tried to hold her and comfort her, but only half his heart was in it, the rest had evaporated. Jhon was gone now, as well, and he was unable to grief any more. There was nothing left in him, no tear, nothing. Killed himself, left no letter of good-bye.
No arms to hold him.
Nothing.
Buried already, letter stuck somewhere.

Now, there was nothing he could lose anymore but his life, and that was already forfeit. No house, no love, no brother. Bad dreams. He felt that he should rebell and yell, scream and tear things apart, but he couldn't. Tiptiptip. The feather's pointy edge against the table. Things to consider. No heritage, nothing.
He was a nobody. He had shaved his head and beard, and that was it. Nothing to write. Nobody to see.
Once, I have been human. Now I am just a paladin. When did he feel good the last time, and was that important at all?

And at night, the nightmares weren't getting better. Once the mask has been made, he dented it -- took his sword and took his anger to work on the mask, before setting the small ankh of gold into the forehead, smoothing the edges, engraving the prayers into the inside of the mask. The he wrapped it into linen cloth, and hid it among the few possessions he had brought with him. Bags and pouches, and that cloak he purchased together with a pair of boots from Görm. New set of jewelry, too. This whole world was hooked on magic to get things done, it was kind of an arms race. Something else that troubled him, if he followed the train of thought.

"There was nothing I could do..."
He growled and kicked the Beacon he was sparring with in the knee, using the moment he staggered to push his leg behind his, then pulling his leg forward abruptly, taking the Beacon's heel with him. His opponent landed rather ungracefully on his back, and William was on him, ignoring the longsword, closing the distance and pushing the Beacon down, his lower arm pressing his throat down.
"I give up."
William glared at him, then jumped to his feet and out of the reach of the Beacon, picking up his blade and helping him back to his feet before handing the blade back.
"Well fought. You good for another round?"
The Beacon cleared his throat and croaked: "Yeah, let's try that again."
Meditation in the evening at shrine outside Llast. All that remained were memories, a plant in his room, those in the garden of his now sold childhood home, those in the garden of the Blairs. He felt betrayed and knew he betrayed himself because he wanted to be like they wanted him to be, which he was not. If anything, he was himself.

Aphel · « **Reply #3 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:37:11 pm »

[...] “We only have a finite counts of heartbeats between birth and death”, the fox said to Fahid, “You are a son of the desert, you count and measure the stars to navigate the sea of sand. Be it stars or sand pebbles, their number appears infinite. Only when you notice them change and slowly run out you begin to realize their worth to you and you realize what they mean. They are like drops of water for you, but it is too late – you are like a man surrounded by easily accessible water, you do not know the worth of a drop of star, sand, or heartbeat. How then can you claim to know who you are and that you know your duty and what to do?” [...]

Aphel · « **Reply #4 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:41:39 pm »

Mistone

After another large batch of soldiers is rotated back from Hilm Castle, a few strange occurrences are reported to Fort Llast before beginning to collect dust on the desk of an overworked scribe: a tall man, dressed in an armour black as night with an equally coloured platinum mask shaped like a human skull with a golden ankh on the forehead is seen and encountered on various occasions. Sometimes taking the role of a healer of the body, healing sickness or injuries with touch, bandages or whispered blessings. Sometimes acting as a counsellor and somewhat of a healer of the mind for those struggling with the hardships of life or those in mourning, those who spoke with him assume that he himself has a harsher life behind him than he likes to tell about - of course, nobody would admit to speak with a masked stranger dressed in black about matters of death, soul, purpose in life, sense of life and afterlife. On occasions, he just cleaned the graveyards of weeds, the stones and inscriptions of dirt, before moving on. On multiple occasions he claimed to follow the Great Leader, but never told his name to anyone, saying that he was an "order of one". Twice he - nearly - got in trouble for trying to teach a group of soldiers a new trick or two without the proper paperwork. One rumour is that his presence scares away bandits, while one trader claims to have travelled with a man fitting to the description. Another traveller tells of somebody who thinks saw a demon in a black armour, because "humans don't fight like that", while a less superstitious fellow says that "whatever weird things you Toranites breed in those dark cellars of yours" certainly might be weird, outright odd and crazy, but at least has a tendency to be a good fellow. Of course, these rumours were all pretty much irrelevant to Alice. Firstly, they were adult stuff, secondly, they did not exists in her world she explored with Toots, a ancient dire bear in disguise because he couldn't be seen obviously. It made a lot of sense to her once he explained it, after all, who would think that a button-eyed, ragged toy was actually a creature as large as the hut she was living in? One day, while scavenging through some leftovers of the woodworkers to find parts for the magical air-ship she wanted to build, she noticed a tall man just standing there in the shadow of the major's house. He wore black armour, a blade and a skull with the ankhythingy on his forehead. "Who are you?" "I am, obviously, a man with a mask." Alice blinked and decided that he was just as dumb as the rest of the adults. "Hm...what are you, then?" "An idea." Then he turned and walked away, knocked at the major's door and entered. Alice noticed a small bag lying around near to where he stood and picked it up, peeked inside and then ran home to her mother to tell her the good news.

Aphel · « **Reply #5 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:41:30 pm »

Letters to various places

Over various weeks, people that couldn't be more different find themselves to be recipients of letters of the same format. While the exact wording is always slightly different, they are similar in their content to a large degree. One letter reaches the postal office of a temple of Vorax, inquiring about the feasibility of training with them to "improve my own combat, tactical and strategical abilities to serve the Great Leader to a better extent". One letter reaches the Tower Academy of Port Hempstead while another one goes to Spellgard, inquiring about whether or not there is a possibility for a warrior to learn about the the "Al'Noth, the planes, the pits and fundamental matters". One letter reaches the Wolfswood Rangers, inquiring about the feasibility of staying with them for a while and whether or not his presence would be tolerated in the Wolfswood. One letter reaches the infamous mercenary Steel, thanking him for his role in Fiorez City and inquiring about the possibility of a meeting to "discuss politics, history, and recent events". One letter reaches the letterbox of Former Hand Quantum Windword, inquiring about a meeting to "discuss matters of faith and politics". Another letter reaches the office of the Shining Hand, inquiring about if he would have a chance to "study combat against undead, pit creatures and other corrupted beings as well as how to battle the expressions of Al'Noth they generally use".

Aphel · « **Reply #6 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:41:06 pm »

Alone

It was all about the mask, at least at first. His second skin of black platinum made him feel more human, more like himself. It had a ... good feeling to it. Not be a paladin, dressed in uniform and colors, but the simple garb of a day-labourer or in the black half-plate of a mysterious man. He noticed that he even spoke differently - more calmly, sombre, his voice more than just a little deeper when he wore the mast, and more with slang and with less fancy words when he wore the simple garb. In both persona, it was hard to gain trust at first, but led to insightful encounters. He had looked for something like this all his life, he felt, for a way to be distant yet close. Tend to the rites, to the suffering and mourning when he was in the mask, do a different approach when just being another worker looking to earn a few coins. Staying under the name of John Hunter whenever required, while his skull persona had no name, he learned many things that might have remained hidden from him if he had been travelling like usual. The long hours of talk with the sick, dying, mourning and suffering people did nothing to fill the void in him, but it eased the pain a little. How to describe it? He had no idea. Nor did he knew how good he was at the things he did - listening, talking about the trials and pain in life, about uncertainty, death, pain, suffering, the meaning and sense in life. He often felt old, very old, and more than once his excuse why he wore a mask was that the war from which he came scared him and did not make him quite pleasantly to look at. Sometimes saying that he couldn't do what he did if he took it off sufficed. He still noted the names of those who died when he was close into his special notebook and recited ten names each dawn and dusk, ending his litany with "They passed on, so we see a new dawn." in the morning and "They passed on, while we stay to face the night ourselves." in the evening. It was slow, laborious work. The famine had brought a lot of conflict, pain, suffering and death, and the best he could do was to slowly take people by the hand, metaphorically, and show them their own strength and helping them with the choices they had to make by being there, listening, occasionally giving them a broader perspective on things. Bandits and raiders where one problem, but the corrupted creatures that thrived from the weakening of their enemies by the famine - those where of a different matter and nature. He served as a guardian, tactical advisor, or simply as a tall, menacing man with a blade whenever the need arose, keeping track of where and how often certain creatures were spotted or fought. More than just a few times he used what he learned in the Siphe Garra, mixing it in personal combat with his own style and when faced with other situations applying the teachings of the leadership program. At night, the dreams still came and went, plaguing him and tearing at him, but even after he met Orn, he couldn't talk to her about it. He couldn't create a new weakness for himself and for her, even. The cut from what happened in the past, from all those hateful arguments - all those shards of broken dreams still cut him, and while it would be good to cradle somebody in his arms he loved, to smell warm skin and hair and feel the heartbeat of somebody else - it wasn't something he could bring himself to reach for. He would only endanger them, create more suffering with follies made out of love. Sometimes, when he had to or nearly had to vomit because it all was too much, when he couldn't battle exhaustion and pain anymore, he felt the void in himself, that and the comforting feeling that somebody was trying to heal him as well. The Great Leader knew that he was far from perfect, maybe he also knew that it wasn't a certainty that a woman could fill this void. Maybe close to wound or sooth the itching scar. It was then when he wanted to be rid of all those human weaknesses, when he knew that no comforting touch could help him. A feeling of being encumbered, pulled to the depths of the ocean from the weight of the memories and experiences while fighting at it with a great fury - this world was not a great world, and there was nothing he would ever change most likely. Which did not mean he would stop doing so, pebble by pebble, but sometimes he was close to. Not even Toran could help him at those times, he had to help himself, and that was all what Toran wanted. He wrote, page by page, of his experiences during the travels, on matters of religion, philosophy, politics, using a cypher so that only he could read it with sufficient ease. Sometimes it was another piece for the work he had titled "Arid" and wasn't sure what he was going on about or what it would become. Sometimes it was more complicated, theoretical stuff. Maybe he should ask Orn or somebody else to talk about it, instead, but - was there anything to talk about, really? Or would it just be better on patient parchment, encrypted and sitting there as a reminder read often? But those phases came and went, and then he found himself back at studying warfare, politics and issues of society and civilisation, sleeping and eating little while knowing he did it as an apology to Toran because he was an paladin unfit for anything else. Things went in circles from there.

Aphel · « **Reply #7 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:41:04 pm »

Alone

He woke from another one of those dreams, covered in sweat that glued the dust and hey of the old barn to his skin. But the barn was empty, motes like snowflakes drifting in the beams of moonlight coming from the cracks between the planks. Orn was up in the night sky and he had quite the feeling that there was nothing, once more. Just a dream. Just a dream. Sometimes, in his dreams, Orn and Ausir were of a deep, red hue, and the sun rising and setting over the wastelands was red, fuzzy, and its light stung on his skin. But then again, it was a dream, only a dream. He left the place at first light and headed into the first direction his feet took him. It was good to get away from it all, from his past and present and all the possible futures. Train, do some work, study. There was a letter tucked into his journal, and he remembered stargazing and cuddling with Orn. He suddenly felt old for no particular reason, very old. Grey granite, maybe, chiselled and enchanted to stand guard for evermore. He had been a child, once. Maybe he still was childish, irresponsible in some sort of way. He had gotten the letter yesterday, and it was already bad enough that he was struggeling to accept loneliness as something his path did to him. He read it, twice and then some more, and almost immediately after it begun to write down six pages, the letters resting next to him, side by side:

Quote

My Dearest William, I came across this poem during my studies, and it inspired me greatly. The first thing I wanted to do was share it with you. You are in my heart, may the days be short so once again I can be in your presence. In Torans Light, Orn

Quote

*In a separate piece of delicate paper is this poem written in blue ink in elegant calligraphy: Don't Quit When things go wrong as they sometimes will; When the road you're trudging seems all uphill; When the funds are low, and the debts are high; And you want to smile, but you have to sigh; When care is pressing you down a bit Rest if you must, but don't you quit. Success is failure turned inside out; The silver tint of the clouds of doubt; And you can never tell how close you are; It may be near when it seems afar. So, stick to the fight when you're hardest hit - It's when things go wrong that you mustn't quit.

Aphel · « **Reply #8 on:** January 26, 2013, 08:55:15 am »

Port Hempstead

Trading city, trying to retrace the time since he last was here while trying to cope with the wake of hands touching his back and holding him. There was a dark grey lump of memories pushing tendrils out once more, the cold draining touch of their tendrils something he had gotten used to. Flipping through letter he had picked up from the post office, people reacting to the contract he offered. There was more to do, even, logistics and all the other kinds of things you need to think about before going on a long travel once more. The air smelled of salt, fish and city, as it always did in Port Hempstead.

The famines, the war, the rebuilding efforts were now things sorted orderly. Paths to be taken, strategies to be developed and run, boiled down into tactics and implemented. He nowhere had enough trues, nor had the church, maybe somebody different should think on a strategy for that. Servants were cheap these days, and the faith could be a better master and employer if the resources were there. He put buying slaves to give them freedom onto the stack of things to consider for later as soon as his situation changed. There was this letter from Celador, he had to organize the transaction between him and the Krandor hospital soon. A round table next to the restaurant. Lance had been with them here, back during the program, when they went to Port Hempstead. The same halflings still owned the place, the prices went up a lot, but he could pay for it.

He looked at Orn, the wind picking up a few strands of her hair, golden in the cold, grey evening. She smiled, her ankh proud around her neck, balancing two bowls of soup in her hands. She was a lot more mature than him, and at the same time, how could he determine that?

He tried to forget the wooden box with the blade and the letter from Lance, tried to forget Hilm, focused on her. Had a date, maybe, not a good time to feel like he was feeling. He could feel himself smile back, and at the same time somebody else looking at him. There was a faint whisper, and he turned his head, senses alert.
Nothing.
He smiled at Orn. "Thank you sister."
But he couldn't help to think about the consequences of his actions. Did he truly love her? Had he truly loved Raelyn? Was he still on the right path, or were his feet slipping and he no longer worthy of serving the Great Leader? And where should they go now, Orn and him, at dusk? Could he face the consequences of having a family? Was he able to protect her, and, if it went down that way, the love they felt for each other? Sometimes, the touch on his shoulder seemed to wane, he was responsible for his own actions, responsible for the paths he took, and not only since now. But, if he looked at Mari and Hector, he wondered what path Toran had for him in store, and at the same time knew that it was only him alone that could determine that. Their small bond slowly broke apart as life went on, and both Hector and Mari had the markings of people destined for greatness. If he could have a say in it, he would make Mari Daniella's squire, so she could learn a bit more. If he took up learning from Lance, he and Mari then could probably try to continue the work of both of them in the future.
"Something on your mind?"
He smiled at Orn.
"Just possible futures."
She reached out, rested her hand over his and gave him a gentle squeeze. Toran's ways were complicated, and he hoped he was worthy of her affection.

Aphel · « **Reply #9 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:34:16 pm »

A small wooden box arrives for Daniella Stormhaven, containing a small necklace with an ankh craved from hickory, carefully smoothed and crafted with great care. Alongside is a letter, neatly folded and written from a sure hand.

Dear Lady Commander Daniella Stormhaven,

I did search long and thouroughly for words to write this letter only to find myself lacking where it counts. It fills me with joy that you and Lord Siphe were blessed with a daughter. May she with her joy and laughter be a source of happiness for the both of you, and heal the wounds and sooth the scars and memories and worries that you both rather want to forget. Each of us deserves happiness and hope in their lives, and I hope that you and your daughter will be the source of happiness and hope for many in and beyond the young nation. I pray for the safety of your young family, knowing that it is not enough.
There is a tradition among the Leox family to send a small wooden token to those we carry in our hearts and in our mind and have been blessed with a child, so just as Miss Jillian Stuart-Alexander I send you this small ankh. I do not have the trues for a luxurious gift, and I hope not to offend with it.
As from where I am now, I am very limited in what I can do to keep you and your daughter safe as would be my duty as your former student. I will keep you in my prayers,

With best wishes and highest hopes,
~William Leox

Dear William,
Thank you for the beautiful and thoughtful gift. I know that she will cherish it once she is older. Thank you again.

~Daniella Stormhaven
The gusts seldom reached his desk, but even with closed blinds the candle flickered occasionally, the weather from outside like a cold wet breath hovering over him. Well, at least one page was finished before he had to put ink and quill aside because the parchment began to welt slightly. He wished Orn was here, and maybe he should not have such thoughts, on the other hand, it would be some much nicer and certainly happier. William carefully opened the small stove in the corner of the room and flicked a piece of wood in.
Inefficient usage of resources. Another problem. It would get worse over time, unless they get something going soon. And infrastructure, living conditions and resource usage would be the least of his problems if whatever storms were brewing in Nessar and Khul hit Fiorez and Hilm. Divide and conquer, attack the weakest link or what they hold dear. Sure, many possible strategies, but how in Toran's name was he supposed to find out which strategy they would use? It was all about power and spheres of influence, something not even Hilm was immune to.
Maybe he had to think about it from a different direction.
Daniella and her baby could be killed. So could Jaedon, any of First Rank and the representatives of Hilm and Nessar. Anything to cause conflict or weaken the state. And that was just from Nessar side. There was also Khul and Rael. Rael was a more immediate concern, no way to let him build his empire idly. Molvaren in Khul.
Al'Noth strike.
Intrigue.
Attack on infrastructure.
Strengthen enemies of my enemies.

Studying the ink drying on the tip of his quill, he listened to the weather outside, pondering what this was about anyway. Power, obviously. Hm. Fear, maybe? Uncertainty? Vanity? Influence from powers that had no right to mess with this place? Tragedy of the mortals? The ink shimmered dark in the candlelight, harbinger of though fixed to parchment. Orn had been right. He should write her a letter, but there was a dark, confused spot in him that Raelyn and the death of Jhon had left behind. He loved Orn. He had loved Raelyn and wasn't sure if he was still. What did he mean with love?

Oh.
Out of love, possibly, but love to whom? Tragedy, indeed. The ink had a deep, dark hue and told of the shape of the things he hadn't finished thinking yet.

Aphel · « **Reply #10 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:51:54 pm »

~A letter to Orn~
Dear Orn, my Love,

This is my third attempt to write you a letter, and the third time I feel my thoughts dry up in the attempt to find words to write. I have looked up towards the moon you share your name with, and tried to make a poem that would be able to make a follower of Ilsare cringe.
Days like these, it's easier to find words for the dead and for novels than for the people we should talk with and write to. I can't explain it, not yet.
I buried two men today, a son and his father, and held the rites and spend the days talking with their family. The bandit attack left them shattered, wounded, with many of their material wealth damaged or destroyed. I did what I could for them, did my best to heal their wounds of both body and mind, although the people trust their neighbours more than the followers of Toran nowadays, or maybe both equally little. The brother will take care of the family, and I left them some trues. Their dog died as well, and the daughter of the family told me to take care of one of the pups. The pups still tried to nudge their mother and suck her milk when she was already dead from a quarrel wound to the side, in the chaos, of course nobody noticed until the end. It is impressive how the pups were something the others clung to automatically, busied themselves with to have something to do, making it easier to cope. Maybe this is why we love and write and care, because it makes it easier to cope.
To me, Marius and Julian Hystarn are just two more names in a book filled with the names of the dead. I wrote onto the first page when I began this list in Fiorez “We died so you could face a new dawn”, and it is growing longer ever since. Did I do a good deed? Maybe so. I couldn't prevent it, just help them to cope with it, use the gifts Toran gave me to help with the injuries and dull the pain. I am sure those scars will never go away truly, will just be hidden, but at least I tried to help them with the first steps. Maybe it was too soon, maybe it was just what they needed, somebody to talk to that could understand them beyond listening and giving condolences. It is no joy to be a paladin of Toran at most times, but it certainly is what is needed. Your grandfather asked my once if I did not find any joy in my duties, and at times like these, it's even harder to properly answer that question. You see, you endure various things, help, and try not to become a bitter cynic unless it's direly needed.
There's just no way to explain what you mean to me, because, I guess, you are how I cope, with my love to you. I wish you were here, now, so that I could take you in my arms and feel the restlessness, the loneliness ebb away because you're close and I love you. How to describe it, I do not know. I tried, wrote four pages and discarded one. Maybe I should sleep, but I can't – I am seeing the moon and thinking of you, the puppy whimpers, and I need to stay awake as the night can be full of hideous things. These people need rest, and so do I, eventually, but I can endure and do a little bit more than them. I wish you were here, I miss you and your eyes and smile and face and hair and smell and all of you. I am trying to come back to you as soon as I can.

With love,
~William

~Another letter to Orn~
My beloved Orn,

I cannot stop thinking about you, your eyes and the taste of your lips. I am a bit afraid that this might become a love letter full of kitsch and lack of meaning, but I am so very tempted to write down my thoughts, as if to find the meaning in them that is hidden from me – then pen is such a merciless revealer of things, mundane and important, and some best stay hidden. But I can feel your love and your trust, even if you are not close. I remember your touches, as if the feeling of your arms around me is burned into my memory. The light I share with Toran is different, it is a back to back kind of thing, a deep friendship of sorts, a bond of ideas and ideals and trust. With you, it is different, with you I share what is abbreviated with many words, all failing their task. It's love, care, trust, responsibility, romance, desire, intimacy and many more. They're attempts to describe feelings, impressions, thoughts, and were I tasked with writing them into a work, I would give it my best and nevertheless fail to achieve the unachievable. There are so many ways and ideas to see it, and right now, I am trying to come to terms with the memories of us. We merged our souls on so many occasions, you, freely giving your ear and words and heart selfless and with love. And I, coming to terms with the ghosts that haunt me, with the things that happened and their meaning, I was so lost without you. The thought that it is me who makes you happy, who makes you smile, who makes you feel warm and comfortable and safe – I can't describe what that means to me, at least not properly. Happy, and fulfilled is a good description. Loved.

What we share and shared is both a destructive and creative force that drives so many things. It is glorious, mysterious, beautiful, something that opened my eyes just like your love, your words, your laughter and your kisses. Now, things have a new perspective to them, a new depth that I knew before but never understood, and even now I am doubting that I got it. It's to mighty to tame it and describe it with words. I let go of some things, thanks to you, and I long for the moment we hold each other again, against whatever the future holds for us. And whatever happens, I pray I will never stop loving you, never stop caring and protecting. I have an obligation, something that is both archaic and old as the bones of the world as it is noble and so important that it never made it into the Conducts of Virtue. Empathy, Conviction, Humility, Sacrifice are so closely tied to it – your grandfather carved “Sacrifice and Commitment” into the blade he send me, and it is telling that Toran held out his hand protective over the days we met, so that our fates might be entangled and that we both might find out something new and deeply important.

I can't wait for the moment we meet again, maybe talk about these things, I certainly want to know what my beloved thief thinks of it.
With love,
~William

PS: I think the puppy is missing you. I have a name for her now – how about Pax?

*A small package comes with the letter, something soft wrapped into a waxed leather sheet. It is one of William's shirts, plain, simple, and a bit worn on the seams and sleeves. It's not really dirty, but from the smell he wore it for some time. A note is tucked to it*

Sweet thief,
I hope that helps a bit if you miss me too much and can't sleep. I can supply you with those, I hope. Don't chuckle!
I love you, a lot,
~Will

~ A letter from Orn to William ~
My Love,

How is it even in words you disarm me? Leave any thoughts I had in my head gone! The only thoughts remain are filled with the sounds of your voice, of your laughter. I can hear your voice speaking your love to me. I am wearing your shirt as I write you this letter, pretending it is your arms that are holding me and it's your body covering mine. When we see each other next do not be surprised that I am wearing it beneath my clothes.

Tell me everything, anything, I love hearing your thoughts, your needs, that you cannot stop thinking of me or needing me. I will tell you right back that it is the same for me. My love for you grows everyday, you are the first thing that I think about when I wake up, and the last thing when I go to sleep. In my dreams you are there holding me, and we are sharing our souls with one another. At least now I have your shirt, so I am not as sad when I wake up and you are not there. Sometimes I lay in my bed at night, wondering what you are doing, how you are doing, where you are. At night I look at the stars and wonder are you looking at the same ones that I am. You are so special to me, and I thank Toran everyday for having Him bring you into my life.

Toran... We share a love of Toran, and in our hearts He is first. You may agree or disagree with that statement, but as you said the light you and I share with Toran is different. What I am trying to say my Love, serve Toran secure your love for him, fulfill His calling, He is our friend our Leader, our guide. I will be right beside you, understanding what Toran asks of you and me.

Do not think to much on our love William, what I have seen it cannot be explained or understood. The heart knows what it wants, and it does not see anymore then that. The beauty of it that we can see each other grow as individuals and as a couple. If we do not loose focus on what is important and keep our faith in each other then we will love one another. I trust you, and keep your love and happiness in my keeping. I loved what you wrote to me. Do not let me go William, hold onto me tightly. Feel my love as I love you.

Give Pax a kiss on her nose for me, and tell her I have saved her some beef bones for her. (love the name)

Until we can see each other again, keep yourself safe for me with Toran's grace. I miss you as much as I love you.

Till then my Love,

~Your Orn

Aphel · « **Reply #11 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:53:39 pm »

~ Notes on roles in warfare ~
Inflitration
Scouting, hitting targets of high value, hit-and-run tactics, guerilla warfare
Typical equipment: Ranged weapons, light armor, small blades
Typical Al'Noth support: Illusions, Mobility, Wards, Destructive

Mobility
Moving troops and goods, securing these while on the move, providing mobile support
Typical equipment: Ranged weapons, light armor, small blades, staff weapons
Typical Al'Noth support: Illusions, Mobility, Wards, Summons

Siege
Attacking, defending and creating fortified positions
Typical equipment: Ranged weapons, medium armor, small blades, staff weapons
Typical Al'Noth support: Wards, Summons, Destructive

Tactical
Bulk of the army, fewer to no specialists, adaptable to various tasks
Typical equipment: Adaptive
Typical Al'Noth support: Adaptive

Support
Logistics, healing, training, recruitment
Typical equipment: Light or heavy armor, small and long blades
Typical Al'Noth support: Wards, Summons, Restorative, Alteration

Each branch brings forth their own leadership cadre which is centrally trained to improve smooth communications and cooperation.
Specialists have better skills and equipment than Tactical branch. Separation after ranged/close combat, light/heavy infantry irrelevant.
Users of Al'Noth are training with the troops they will be serving in during various stages of their training.
All members have to pass the same basic aptitude and fitness tests.

~ Note, Fiorez-Hilm analysis ~
Losses during the Deepening Dark incursion most to be reduced to absence of sufficiently trained spellweavers and healers. Wards to strengthen attacking troops to magical attacks or defend positions against magical bombardment lacking. True?

Aphel · « **Reply #12 on:** October 09, 2013, 03:55:48 pm »

~ Remembering grandfather ~

“They say the way of Toran is the way of the longsword, of the good fight and the good war. Deluded nonsense, you should know better.”
Dripdripdrip. He tasted dirt and blood between his teeth, pushing himself on his feet, the cobble murky and slippery. The old man had a face like granite, chiseled, somber, hard and stern, yet his eyes – patiently like stars, faint but piercing. Rain dripped down the longsword. William licked his teeth and found them all in place, slow footwork on the cobble, muscles trembling, aching, burning. But he knew. He had seen the blade, the one he would inherit if he was ready. He had seen the books, heavy and covered in leather, and begun to decipher their codes line by line, page by page, and know that their secrets would be his when his grandfather deemed him worthy.
“Stance.” Grandfather pointed to the boy's uncovered left side a bit. “Vom Tag, useless but still a good choice. Handle closer to the body a bit.”
And seconds later, he would have pushed him over, again, the blades just touching twice – old man's strong, young boy's weakness, breaking open his defense and pushing it aside, letting the waster bounce off his helmet, closing the distance between them both.

“Again.”

Once they were inside and dry again, grandfather began his riddles again, his questions. Is it acceptable for a follower of the Great Leader to kill a tyrant? Is it acceptable to sacrifice a few for the benefit of many? What was morally good, and why should it be?
“And don't you stop with the pushups, or you get some extra weight on your back.”

Once, he had heard his father arguing that grandfather was being too demanding and harsh. “Life is more unforgiving. I gave you some leeway, true enough, because it was your choice after all. William is strong in spirit and mind, and until he finds an apprenticeship he might as well learn something useful for the rest of his life.” Father had a very strong opinion on the matters of fighting and reading. Working in his shop was easier, in a sense, but difficult in another manner: Don't work against but with the fiber, see the wood and its grows through your tools so that it would not break under the first sign of stress. Sharpening tools in the right angle, keeping the right temperature in the workshop for gluing parts together. Seeing which wood was good and which was bad by the way it behaved after cutting and drying. Judging the quality of salvaged wood, setting prices, how to bargain and outright haggle. Sources of wood, exotic wood, that sort of thing. William was happy when he visited his father or his grandfather, new challenges and new knowledge to be found during the first few days before it became outright tedious and exhausting. Of course, he couldn't possible moan and complain, nor would he – he was in a good environment, something to eat, something to drink, people that cared about him and a place to life.

The task his grandfather had given him before locking him into the study read: “What is the way of Toran?”
He had one sheet of parchment, and one sheet only. William thought of the words of Lieutenant Neshak, a follower of Toran from the tribes of the Desert. The sand was racing, running down the hourglass. One sheet, one task, one hour. Staring out of the window, where regular city life slowly went on and into the evening, he tried to catch the elusive figments of thought again that escaped him days ago.

The way of Toran is neither the best nor the strongest way in life. It is not the way that leads to perpetual war we seem to be predisposed for, and it is not the path of bodily or mental strength. It is the path of spiritual strength, of endurance and wisdom, of perpetual work and readiness. There is nothing fair in life or war. The path of Toran is not the path of War.
The way of Toran is the way of the undrawn longsword, presenting one of the pinnacles of swordsmanship: winning without fighting, enduring without resorting to fight.

Aphel · « **Reply #13 on:** October 09, 2013, 04:00:01 pm »

~ To love and be loved ~

He kept Orn's letters in a small, sealed box so wind and weather couldn't ruin the ink and the parchment. It was a small, simple thing he had crafted himself when confined to an Inn during similar weather. Right now it supported a candle that went out long ago. That candle hadn't been cheap at all, but the warm light it radiated was way better for reading, writing and a romantic talk than the smelling, flickering oil lamps. He remembered having seen more spartan but incredibly elegant oil lamps on his travels, those didn't even flicker that much. He should get one.
But still.
This candle had been completely worth the trues so far.

I will inform her parents that I will marry her. I won't ask for permission, simply state my intent.
William bit his lip and stared into the gray darkness of the room.
But would that be wise? I can support her, I am young and have the abilities to. But do I need to kick in the door like that?

He missed her, now. He had woken after another one of those dreams, and when she was around, he rarely had them. Pax sighed in her sleep, possibly hunting a hare she could never get.

How could this be wrong, immoral or even a sin? There were times when he was the paladin, her protector and the protector of others; when she was the pristess with the powerful connection to Toran and the rethoric of a diplomat and ambassador. And then there were times when they just were themselves, souls and bodies in the need of warmth, comfort, good food, love and the feeling of safety from the darkness and the bad weather outside. He loved to love her, surprise her, make her blush, make her feel safe. He felt a bit naïve and foolish as well, but it was good to be loved by an actual person. There were things he found himself doing and admitting to in Orn's presence he didn't knew he had in him. Writing. That six and a half new pages on his desk, that came into being just like that. He wasn't sure what he was writing, and that remembered him of grandfather, hunched over a stack of parchment, scribbling away fast.
“What are you doing, Jero?”
“I don't know yet, and don't ask me!”
Grandfather never liked it when he was disturbed when writing. Now he understood why. He wondered if he should read it to Orn, but then again, she might be full of praise and joy – that didn't give him any idea on whether it was good or bad. It would never be a book, or anything to read for anybody but him. Well, and Orn maybe. He needed a pen name, or he would never ever be accepted in any rank anymore.

He would go and ask her parents. Be honest, forward. It was his and her life, and the only one they would ever have, soul stones or no. The wounds of the past, and wishes of the parents. It was hard to not go where the parents had gone before, learn from mistakes and hurt and not enter the same vicious circle again. He missed her, much. He learned to accept that, but still. He tried to be honest with himself. Without Raelyn, he wouldn't be here. He should write about it, because he didn't find any words for it any other way.

Aphel · « **Reply #14 on:** October 09, 2013, 04:01:11 pm »

~ Grove of Slumber ~

He slipped his boots off, feeling the dirt and grass between his toes. This place was strange. The animals avoided him, but they were there, watching him, minding their own buisness. He had heard of it. Druid groves.
Was he allowed to be here?
Then again, there was a birch, silver and gold – a symbol of Toran, or at least one could think so. So if he was decent, kind, unobtrusive and not wearing too much metal, he could walk around here. He knew. It was a very peaceful place. So very different to other places he had visited. A place for meditation.
In the middle of the circle of trees, he found a boulder with an inscription, carefully read it and stood there, his palm resting on the boulder, feeling the stored warmth of the sun.
Jhon's kind of place.

He stood there long, thinking, then sat down to meditate, his fingers finding the small wooden ankh, a copy of his brother's he had made. The original was ash, but this one … this one belonged somewhere else.

Celador and Caly were having some couple time. Another thing this place seemed to be predisposed for. Life and death, love and destruction. He meditated long, before he finally rested the ankh near the boulder, between the flowers and the grass. It would rot, become part of the soil, and nourish a new generation of plants. He somehow knew that Jhon wouldn't want it any different.

They left, not too long later, eager to going back to adventuring. Celador and Caly were eager, materialistic, hungry, but William felt that he had left something behind in that grove, but took something more important with him. He felt the weight of it, the spiritual weight, but had no idea what it was. Just … feeling even more estranged from the others.

Aphel · « **Reply #15 on:** October 22, 2013, 11:35:30 am »

~ Visiting the Citadel ~
Poppy petals swaying softly in the wind, a color so red even on a gray day like this one. Grandad always brought poppies to this grave.
“Will, there's something important.” The old man rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. “Humans are predisposed for war, and each generation can only do so much to prevent the next one from repeating the same mistakes. Keep the memories of the dead always vivid in your mind, they have been gone before you and for you, so that you can see a new dawn and can live a good live. You owe them that much. You understand?”
William nodded, the hand feeling heavy on his shoulder.

Orn understood, sequeezed his hand softly before letting go and remaining behind. These were special graves, tended and cared for regularly. And no matter of their position, the craftsmanship of the coffins – coffins! He hoped they had been burned at all! - the graves overshadowed the other places of remembrance. King graves. No matter now.
He knelt in front of the grave, his hand resting on the guard of his blade, its tip on the polished stone floor. He spend some time to remember the writings and teachings of Navarre, and whispered the oath of the paladins once more, finishing with his own litany of remembrance. He prayed at Kharls and Chaynce's grave as well. He new knew either of them, but there was something he had to say to Chaynce, even if he couldn't hear it.
“Your love trained us well, and even if her and I never did get along too well in recent years, she did a good job. The fires of war forged adults out of the children that we were back then, and I hope that we can be a reason of pride for you, your love and the Great Leader. Your love found a new love, moved on. She gave Lord Jaedon Siphe a daughter, and found a bit of peace after your loss. Hold out your hand over her, you and Toran – my mortal hands are not enough and bound by rules and regulations and orders. You have gone into the twilight so that I and others can see the new dawn, and I remember you Chaynce Baldu'muur. May I prove worthy to fight until twilight calls me, and I pass through the veil. Always vigilant, always faithful.”

He got up and returned to Orn. “You're a mystery”, she said. He was sure she hadn't heard what he had whispered to the coffin.

Aphel · « **Reply #16 on:** October 23, 2013, 05:34:58 am »

~ Dreams of Sanctuary ~

Some dreams he remembered, some of them he wrote down, inspirations for Arid. Others were just strange, inspirations for what he was doing and planning and thinking about. One of them was the dream of Sanctuary, of a multitude of places hidden by runes old and powerful, hidden by sand and rocks red as early dawn. Citadel was the largest of the places, a self-sustaining fortress build for eons of war passing it unscathed, a wonder of craftsmanship and architecture. It had seen dark and savage times but it was always rebuild again.

He had found the place in one of his early dreams, and when he thought that it was a symbol for the castles and fortresses in all of time, he noticed that it was different. It wasn't an amalgam of dreams nor a symbol, it was an idea for a place to be found or created. Sanctuary was a set of shelters build to contain life and civilization in the times that the forces of chaos, disorder, death and corruption flooded the land.

In one of his dreams he found a rune and instinctively knew its meaning, and thus became the gatekeeper, the guardian. It was all rather confused, and he wrote down what happened in his dreams in the language that he and Jhon had used to communicate without the girls knowing what exactly they were talking about. A code, meant for hiding the meaning from those who should not know -- another art he should learn about. He remembered something along the lines of:

“By dawns early light, owl calling knight; asking for the stone key's return to mother ocean. Remember poppies and cake, owl said, wisdom conceals the truth in a lie so to not wake the wrath and envy of the on-lookers.”

Nobody would ever read that with pleasure. Some inspirations for Arid, poetic sentence structure and such, but it formed how he thought about things and how to write them down clearly. But Sanctuary, the Citadel --they were not ready to be written about yet, had to remain in his mind or obfuscated by strange poetry. There were plans and studies to be made, books to be read, places to be found -- maybe even outside this realm of existence.
Orn called him bard-tongue, and he began to unravel for himself the reasons why. The more he wrote and read, the more eloquent his behavior got and the more refined his thoughts.
One day, he was out patrolling when he noticed that he could write down last nights thought to great detail and with such words that it was easy to cast it into a more or less strict form, and he let it grow and ripe until he sat down during a break to note it down and tuck the parchment into his missing report log. In the evening, he wrote it again, with ink and quill this time, read it over and began to elaborate on his mission log. Travel diaries, experiences flowing into contemplative observations gaining sharpness by experience in how to set stanzas. There was so little time to learn how to write, still, it was as useful as forging good tools or weapons and armor. There was a certain skill to it, to know how to fold and form, how to temper and harden to create sturdy objects suitable to the task they were to fulfill.

Aphel · « **Reply #17 on:** December 01, 2013, 06:29:46 pm »

A journal entry, written in uniformly letters

GUR NEG BS JNE VF BS IVGNY VZCBEGNAPR GB GUR FGNGR. VG VF N ZNGGRE BS YVSR NAQ QRNGU, N EBNQ RVGURE GB FNSRGL BE GB EHVA. URAPR VG VF N FHOWRPG BS VADHVEL JUVPU PNA BA AB NPPBHAG OR ARTYRPGRQ.
NYY JNESNER VF ONFRQ BA QRPRCGVBA. URAPR, JURA JR NER NOYR GB NGGNPX, JR ZHFG FRRZ HANOYR; JURA HFVAT BHE SBEPRF, JR ZHFG NCCRNE VANPGVIR; JURA JR NER ARNE, JR ZHFG ZNXR GUR RARZL ORYVRIR JR NER SNE NJNL; JURA SNE NJNL, JR ZHFG ZNXR UVZ ORYVRIR JR NER ARNE.
OR RKGERZRYL FHOGYR, RIRA GB GUR CBVAG BS SBEZYRFFARFF. OR RKGERZRYL ZLFGREVBHF, RIRA GB GUR CBVAG BS FBHAQYRFFARFF. GUREROL LBH PNA OR GUR QVERPGBE BS GUR BCCBARAG'F SNGR.

Aphel · « **Reply #18 on:** December 01, 2013, 06:33:41 pm »

At the end of a day, sometimes in between, he could spare some time for himself – a few minutes maybe, to write or to think. At good days, it was maybe a page, maybe two that came out in the end. Sometimes it was just half a page – but he had enough time to think, to form, shape, sharpen and mold words so they would not escape him when he was writing. Of course, that was not always possible; the tasks of the day mostly occupied his mind completely, he did however find a corner of his mind that was able to think through things while they were happening, reflect them and uncoil on paper. Writing was a way to calm down, relax, to be free. He decided that nobody should see his writings, unless Orn wished to see them. Compared to the works of others, things he had read, they felt young, inexperienced and amateurish.

They were, unlike his dairies and writings from his time in Llast and up to meeting Orn, of a very different nature. The tone changed to a more calm, contemplating, philosophical and poetic timbre and lost its teaching, almost analytical approach. Now, he wanted to tell stories like they had happened, in the context they were happening in. Mortal stories of failing, fighting against nature, against themselves – the three kinds of conflict, they said.

The nightmares however, the nightmares never truly left him. Images of failures long done, torn visions of the future, and then always the Citadel rising from the red dust of his dreams into the steel sky from which a black sun loomed and cased hot sandstorms over the wasteland, dry and cracking, splintering until nothing but unrecognizable pieces remained.

Sometimes he woke then, his senses alert and his mind wide awake, glad to have escaped the dream's iron clutches. Struggling to go back to sleep, listening to the sounds of the night around him, he contemplated the faces born from what-ifs and its myrad of children and relatives. It was true, he missed Orn's embrace, her way of being close to him and calming him with something as simple as an understanding smile.

And so each day and each night brought forth filaments of lingering thoughts who would chose the company of inkwell, quill and paper when time allowed for it. And then they spilled on parchment, sometimes slowly and sometimes like a torrent of glacier water rushing forth from the highest reaches of the mountains.

He wished he could weigh each word on a really fine scale, judge their effects – but once written, they grew to have their own dynamic, influence and effects. Often he had to remind himself of the lessons of caution and patience, sometimes, especially when in the end he saw the poem or contemplation, he noticed that there was such a thing as being too careful and patient. Writing, indeed, was hard: not only because words are fickle, elusive, hard to tame things, but also because figures and comparisons, exaggerations and allegories, repetition and metaphors provided a plethora of tools, techniques that could be possibly combined – but which combination lead to the intended goal, and which one was obfuscating what he wanted to say or even distorting it? Like sword and combat skills, these things needed to be practiced, experienced and improved on by doing it over and over again, each time differently, and then learn from one's mistakes.

Days passed, far from those he knew, amidst strange faces where life and his path as a paladin was nothing but confronting him with confusing, complicated and outlandishly strange situations – in these days, the language that had slept within him grew from a simple roadside flower into kaleidoscopic lilac bush. He tended to his writing skills as he tended to his physical and mental things.

And when the time came, he tested what in the garden would survive the harshest winter as he tested and had been tested before.

Aphel · « **Reply #19 on:** February 02, 2014, 07:58:05 am »

A collection of notes

I.

They should come from all walks of life and with all sorts of skills, unified by a common desire to train, teach and instruct students in various disciplines that will enable them to be the warriors, healers and scholars of tomorrow.

II.

One of the foremost lessons the students should learn is the endurance of hardship, both mentally and physically. It would be best to locate the school in a place that distinguishes itself by being in inhospitable, almost hostile environment. What the school needs in building materials, food and such should be the responsibility of the school itself.

III.

While the school should accept students from all walks of life, there are four rules each student need to fulfill before she or he can be accepted:

Upon entering the school, she or he will lose their name, hair and any identifiable gear. The school needs to provide simple clothes for each student. A new name will be selected for them after the initial trials and initial four months from the wall.
During the attendance of the school, the student is barred from any rank, title, or heritage. All are equal. A third of the student's wealth, derived from what she or he would inherit from their parents, belongs to the school.
Any student is barred from possessing personal items or keep them with her or him, unless the rites of passage have been completed or are rewarded at the instructor's discretion.
Any student is forbidden to leave the grounds of the school as specified by the head of school without being accompanied by an instructor at all times.

IV.

Students should only be accepted at the beginning of a harsh season, making escaping from the school hard and force them to think about the consequences of their actions. With the end of the first trial period, the roads should be somewhat travelable again, at which point a student can chose to leave the school. He or she will never be able to attend the school again, but all items, titles etc are returned to her or him.

V.

The first four months are to strengthen all students, mentally and physically. At the end of it, all students should be able to communicate in a common language, be able to read and write, defend themselves with hands, sticks and the like, know the teachings of their respective deity as well hold themselves, their gear and their accommodation to a high but simple standard.

VI.

Aside from runs with and without gear and backpacks, swimming lessons and training to endure the elements, tests in all disciplines will take place, at the end of which the students are given necessary gear and then a specified mission which they need to accomplish during a four day march.

VII.

Upon completing these trials, in showing determination, skill, leadership, camaraderie, adaptability and courage, the students shall be given their names from the wall (in which the names of dead people are inscribed). They are to learn whatever this person was good at the last time this name was chosen for four more months while training progresses into a more combat oriented part. Those who distinguished themselves in leadership positions will be singled out, separated from their peers and placed under an even harder regimen than before. Mock fights and sports between groups should take place to train them, with ever changing rules. While during the first months it was possible for instructors to intervene to avoid unnecessary injury and take care of wounds, this will be strictly forbidden at this point. Any student leaving at this point will go in shame and cannot turn around. Her or his friends will witness the leaving together with the rest of the school. Any name quitting will receive a harsher regimen the next time this name is chosen. Students going for leadership positions should be pushed hard and encouraged to leave on their own accord, instructors are to maintain a careful balance. Any student leaving at this point should be supervised by their respective deity representative on the outside of the school.

VIII.

To leave the school, it should be told that they can do so at any time by ringing the big bell in the middle of the school and stand there until an instructor will arrive and tell them what to do next. The instructors should be encouraged to not react immediately during the first phase, and even outright ignore it until a student rings so often it goes on the nerves or does something similar during second phase. All students need to stand a time to be specified by the head of school in the arrest cell, facing the wall with the tenets of the school and learn them by heart. They can request to see the head of school to recite them, if the headmaster is satisfied, the student is allowed to lie down and sleep until the day in the arrest is over, at which point there will be another conversation with the headmaster. At this point, the student can chose to leave, finally, or return to her or his class.

IX.

Civilians, if they seek shelter in the school during the Harsh Time, should be defended against come what may by the members of the school. They are not to speak with the students and kept in separate quarters. The headmaster will decided together with the head instructors on such matters, similarly if the civilians ask for help after the Harsh Time. The same rules apply. If necessary, older students shall man watchtowers and similar structures if their training has progressed sufficiently far. In return, the civilians should supply a meager amount of food to the school.

X.

The students will be organized in classes, older classes are tasked with taking care of younger classes. It is not allowed to help with training regimen and similar tasks unless it is in courses which deal primarily with studying knowledge from books and parchments.

XI.

Students stealing food, gear or trying to cheat during trials, are to be punished severely. Students disregarding the rules of the school in regards to school property shall be punishes severely with labor.

2. Curriculum

3. Counceling

4. Overall concept

Cannot work on those who bring not a certain mind-set with them and are sufficiently durable and resiliant. Suspect high chance that things get out of hand in the worst possible way. Better means to achive goal, but need to study this further.