Breandan
03-24-2006, 03:48 PM
Note: I just wrote this off the top of my head, took about ten minutes or so, so it's pretty raw.
The knife twists, and I feel a new surge of pain shoot through my back. My legs grow weak and I collapse to the ground. My name is Alexi, and I am dead. My sight fades to gray, then nothing at all, blind, sightless as my life ebbs out of the wound in my back, my price for stealing without permission of the Thieve's Guild. Through the heart he pierced me, this unseen assassin. The last sounds I hear are the laughter of the Guildmaster as I die, bound and laying before him, one of his killer’s daggers between my shoulder blades.
A bright light assails my eyes, and I look up into it. It fills me with awe and joy, and I feel every pain, every worry, every regret blasted from my very soul. No longer am I a simple street-thief, a cutpurse stealing to put bread in my empty belly, I am one with the light. No weight, no sorrow, no hunger, only the joy and wonder fills me. I guess this means I am dead. No regrets, though, for life was never too kind to me. The streets of the lower ward of the city of Kazur are filled with the sorrowful, the broken, the hopeless, and only in death do they find release.
The light fades, and I find myself before a mighty throne. No architect in the entire Azhurian Empire could have ever crafted such a masterpiece; larger than any building in lower or upper Kazur, and shaped of marble and gold like the palace of the Duke. The light fades enough for me to see the massive figure in the throne, shining like the sun. He is massive, an armored warrior larger than any giant, and I feel awe in his presence. I think he is a god, but which one I have no clue. I was not very attentive to the faiths of Azhur, not much point in them when you are scrounging for food and stealing what you can to stave off starvation. Then I see the scales, like those the merchants use in the trade ward, only much nicer and ornate. I see many weights on the left-hand plate, and a glowing ball of light in the other. It hits me, this is Ølvir, the Arbiter of Justice, one of the ancient gods who’s worship was forbidden by the Emperor.
“Alexi Nikolav,” Ølvir says in a voice that booms in my head, “You have lived a very scant life, filled with unlawful acts of theft and trickery.”
“But, I…” Before I can finish the sentence, he points at the balanced scales and a wave of terror overwhelms me that he will cast me into the Hells.
“However,” he says, “You did so in desperation, and while your actions were not within the bounds of the laws of your realm, they were not unjust.”
Relief begins to creep in, but I sense something else is coming, and I await it with apprehension.
“I offer you a choice, thief,” Ølvir says, “One that will tell the tale of your true character. You have known the injustices of Azhur, of its emperor and his followers.”
“Most assuredly, my lord,” I reply with heartfelt anger at what I have known in the entire sixteen years of my now-ended life.
“Given the chance, if it were within your power, would you change it, cast down the Emperor and his cult, throw off the shackles that he put on your people, and bring justice to your realm?”
I think for a moment. The Emperor is a half-god, or so they say, a powerful sorcerer in a realm where such magic is very rare. Many have tried to overthrow him, and the palace walls in the capitol of Bakor-Azhur are decorated with the skulls and rotting heads of all who have tried. Then I remember the people I knew around me, the women who suffer daily the violations of his soldiers, the children run down by the Duke and his men, the people who were taken, screaming, into the temples of the Emperor’s priests to be sacrificed, and all those who, like me, lived bitter, starving, nightmarish lives without hope, people to whom death is a welcome release from torment.
“Were it within my power, my lord,” I say with as much determination and confidence as I can, “I would do so, yes.”
“I see truth in your heart, mortal,” Ølvir says, “Know then that you shall be my instrument, in my service until you succeed in your mission or die.”
“But, my lord,” I gasp, “I am already dead, and I know nothing of war, I don’t even know my letters!”
“Have faith, Alexi,” He says, and I feel a radiance of determination, warmth, and a sensation I have never felt before, much less so strongly that it fills my being- hope.
And then, the light fades, and I see nothing. Darkness surrounds me.
I wake, lying on a bed in what looks to be an inn room. I raise my hand to my head and am shocked to see a huge forearm and hand, muscled and sinewy. Knowledge fills my head, wisdom and understanding of the teachings of Ølvir, knowledge of weapons of war, and the shaping of arcane magic granted by His divine grace. I sit up in the bed, my body much changed. Sickly and waif-like no longer, I am now strong and healthy, with lean muscles over a much larger frame. On a stand in the corner rests a set of armor, plate-and-maille unlike any I have ever seen. Yet, strangely, it is as familiar to me as my threadbare rags had been but moments prior. I see the sword in the scabbard that leans against the wall. Ølvisnautr it is called, Ølvir’s Gift, and I know it like the back of my hand, my old hand that is, though I have never held it. I understand my duty, my purpose. An army waits to be raised, an emperor overthrown, and an empire to be freed.
My name is Alexi, and I am a Paladin.
The knife twists, and I feel a new surge of pain shoot through my back. My legs grow weak and I collapse to the ground. My name is Alexi, and I am dead. My sight fades to gray, then nothing at all, blind, sightless as my life ebbs out of the wound in my back, my price for stealing without permission of the Thieve's Guild. Through the heart he pierced me, this unseen assassin. The last sounds I hear are the laughter of the Guildmaster as I die, bound and laying before him, one of his killer’s daggers between my shoulder blades.
A bright light assails my eyes, and I look up into it. It fills me with awe and joy, and I feel every pain, every worry, every regret blasted from my very soul. No longer am I a simple street-thief, a cutpurse stealing to put bread in my empty belly, I am one with the light. No weight, no sorrow, no hunger, only the joy and wonder fills me. I guess this means I am dead. No regrets, though, for life was never too kind to me. The streets of the lower ward of the city of Kazur are filled with the sorrowful, the broken, the hopeless, and only in death do they find release.
The light fades, and I find myself before a mighty throne. No architect in the entire Azhurian Empire could have ever crafted such a masterpiece; larger than any building in lower or upper Kazur, and shaped of marble and gold like the palace of the Duke. The light fades enough for me to see the massive figure in the throne, shining like the sun. He is massive, an armored warrior larger than any giant, and I feel awe in his presence. I think he is a god, but which one I have no clue. I was not very attentive to the faiths of Azhur, not much point in them when you are scrounging for food and stealing what you can to stave off starvation. Then I see the scales, like those the merchants use in the trade ward, only much nicer and ornate. I see many weights on the left-hand plate, and a glowing ball of light in the other. It hits me, this is Ølvir, the Arbiter of Justice, one of the ancient gods who’s worship was forbidden by the Emperor.
“Alexi Nikolav,” Ølvir says in a voice that booms in my head, “You have lived a very scant life, filled with unlawful acts of theft and trickery.”
“But, I…” Before I can finish the sentence, he points at the balanced scales and a wave of terror overwhelms me that he will cast me into the Hells.
“However,” he says, “You did so in desperation, and while your actions were not within the bounds of the laws of your realm, they were not unjust.”
Relief begins to creep in, but I sense something else is coming, and I await it with apprehension.
“I offer you a choice, thief,” Ølvir says, “One that will tell the tale of your true character. You have known the injustices of Azhur, of its emperor and his followers.”
“Most assuredly, my lord,” I reply with heartfelt anger at what I have known in the entire sixteen years of my now-ended life.
“Given the chance, if it were within your power, would you change it, cast down the Emperor and his cult, throw off the shackles that he put on your people, and bring justice to your realm?”
I think for a moment. The Emperor is a half-god, or so they say, a powerful sorcerer in a realm where such magic is very rare. Many have tried to overthrow him, and the palace walls in the capitol of Bakor-Azhur are decorated with the skulls and rotting heads of all who have tried. Then I remember the people I knew around me, the women who suffer daily the violations of his soldiers, the children run down by the Duke and his men, the people who were taken, screaming, into the temples of the Emperor’s priests to be sacrificed, and all those who, like me, lived bitter, starving, nightmarish lives without hope, people to whom death is a welcome release from torment.
“Were it within my power, my lord,” I say with as much determination and confidence as I can, “I would do so, yes.”
“I see truth in your heart, mortal,” Ølvir says, “Know then that you shall be my instrument, in my service until you succeed in your mission or die.”
“But, my lord,” I gasp, “I am already dead, and I know nothing of war, I don’t even know my letters!”
“Have faith, Alexi,” He says, and I feel a radiance of determination, warmth, and a sensation I have never felt before, much less so strongly that it fills my being- hope.
And then, the light fades, and I see nothing. Darkness surrounds me.
I wake, lying on a bed in what looks to be an inn room. I raise my hand to my head and am shocked to see a huge forearm and hand, muscled and sinewy. Knowledge fills my head, wisdom and understanding of the teachings of Ølvir, knowledge of weapons of war, and the shaping of arcane magic granted by His divine grace. I sit up in the bed, my body much changed. Sickly and waif-like no longer, I am now strong and healthy, with lean muscles over a much larger frame. On a stand in the corner rests a set of armor, plate-and-maille unlike any I have ever seen. Yet, strangely, it is as familiar to me as my threadbare rags had been but moments prior. I see the sword in the scabbard that leans against the wall. Ølvisnautr it is called, Ølvir’s Gift, and I know it like the back of my hand, my old hand that is, though I have never held it. I understand my duty, my purpose. An army waits to be raised, an emperor overthrown, and an empire to be freed.
My name is Alexi, and I am a Paladin.