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<blockquote data-quote="RedTonic" data-source="post: 5617518" data-attributes="member: 98994"><p>Since the previous was rather short, here is an introduction to our paladin.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">*****</p><p></p><p>This long, cluttered room in the Order's headquarters had once been a smokeroom and still smelled faintly of hams. The swarthy, hawk-nosed man tapped softly on the podium as he watched his dozing students. The heat rolling from the hearth in had made some novices doze off during his lecture on relativism, which he had carefully considered decades ago and updated infrequently to avoid heresies. None of the cretins in the room had the slightest appreciation for his work in law and ethics. Amin al'Farhad cleared his throat, waking one of the youngest, whose slit eyes opened wide. The kobold stammered a sibilant apology, which the paladin did not acknowledge.</p><p></p><p>"Redemption is that process by which each of us atones for our transgressions and allows the Light to resist our innate sinfulness. Through transcending our natures, we become closer to the will of the Benevolent Orders, blessed be their names. There is one path to Light, and that is the Law. Those among us who are most strictly held to the Law do so for the reward of being better able to serve their Benevolence. </p><p></p><p>"All mortals are capable of redeeming themselves--and the greatest deed any paladin can achieve is to accomplish a fellow man's rebirth into Light. However, among us walk those who will, time and again, turn from the Light and walk shadowed lands. The antinomian heretics must not be suffered. There are those among us who are dedicated to the ways of the damned," he made a sign to avert the Watcher's gaze, "and even among us fiends whose very essence is that of evil, and to whom the divine love of the Benevolent Orders, blessings upon them, is direst poison."</p><p></p><p>He admitted, privately of course, that this collection of would-be paladins was probably the most eclectic group he'd seen. Several were not even committed to a deity, yet had blessings, which was uncommon--and several of either stripe didn't even utilize heavy armor. The senior paladin, who was originally from the capital, had come to realize that this far from any civilized center, the people tended to wear more leather and hides. Thankfully, most of Ceteran was too well-settled for the smellier habits of many of the tribal humanoids. Among these rural greenhorns were, gods forbid, women; there was even a winged kobold in plate, somewhere on the grounds. Al'Farhad had recently reconciled himself to the oddities of the rural posting--he had resisted, for some time, the less civil ways of the country, yet over time he'd come to accept the charms. The women paladins weren't so bad; at least none were noble ladies, so he didn't have to worry about being challenged to a duel for hitting any of them during sparring, or for seeing them in revealing states of dishabille.</p><p></p><p>"To the ends of redemption and justice, a paladin of the Order of the Silver Horn should strive always to capture his mortal foes where possible. To slay a great foe of Light is honorable and good, but to evoke a change of heart through justice is great and mighty. To the criminal, to the blackguard, give quarter; show mercy. Through the power of the good you do to others, you further open the door of their souls to the Light." He spoke further, delving into the relationship between redemption and sacrifice.</p><p></p><p>Closer to the hearth, sandwiched between bookshelves, a trio of more senior members of the order quietly studied. The presence of acolytes and full members of the order in lessons was not unusual. Part of the Order's ethos was that to revisit these simple lessons was a way to incorporate them more fully into one's moral health, improving the well-being of one's soul through the lessons the Benevolent Orders had passed to mortalkind and a way of warding one's soul and hardening it against the whispers of the Forbidden. Among them was a local lordling from the Hel-Halmar clan. The boy was amiable enough, a third son with no place in his father's household but to find an acceptable status elsewhere in society and reflect honor to his small clan. He was the only one in the family with a martial leaning--the rest of them were not much more than glorified merchants of horseflesh--barely more than commoners. Still, the gleam of nobility seemed to be searching for a window in Mikaelus. In Amin's opinion, this acolyte was one to watch.</p><p></p><p>He was, however, not yet pledged to a sect--though with his name, it was a foregone conclusion that he would follow the Lord of War. "Mikaelus. In this vein of sacrifice, why don't you briefly tell us of how our tithing system works?"</p><p></p><p>Mikealus tried to smile at Amin, his green eyes glinting in recognition. He vividly remembered his first bout with this lecture, how good men and women had fallen before the merciless barrage of virtue and enlightened speech. It had been a slaughter. Al'Farahad's request for an answer had, sadly, been the closest thing to a joke that was ever produced in this pork-scented tomb, and the horseman was of the opinion that students needed to encourage this in the speaker as vigorously as possible. Moral relativism was not a joking matter, of course, but when drowning you did not care what you were holding onto so long as it kept you above water.</p><p></p><p>Besides, the only other way to break up these lectures was through inappropriate questions that flirted with heresy. Mikealus had even opined, in those first days, that it sounded like wisdom to fall from grace, as the act of willful redemption would necessarily bring you more in harmony with the Light than you were already. Playing the system, as it were. There had been many careful whispers and ethical discourses after that comment. He had learned to keep such fanciful impulses to himself, where they banged around in his chest until smoothed out, and given a proper space in his heart. Or something like that.</p><p></p><p>Turning in his chair loudly enough to rouse a few of the dozers - not that he turned away from Amin, but enough so he could look over his shoulder and speak to everyone if he needed to, Mikealus decided to return to the straight, dry, and narrow. But with purpose! He was not so experienced as Amin... but who doesn't think they can out-speak a speaker when they're bored to tears?</p><p></p><p>"By way of tithing, not only do we follow the letter of the law, in serving the Throne of Thorns, but also the spirit. Giving freely from the whole of our possessions necessitates temperance, enhances our appreciation of that which remains, and makes sure that our every action can - potentially - do good, as our labors are returned to the Order, and the people." Maybe. Hopefully. More than once, Mikealus had quipped that the Silver Horn's tithes all went to the wine cellars and the hearthfires, assuring that the young stayed drunk and the old stayed comfortable. An uncharitable thought created in a fit of pique after lessons much like this one, but really, a reasonable assumption, that one's good was being squandered by another's lack of virtue. A healthy concern.</p><p></p><p>"Practically, though, those who have our compensation accounted by books and bookkeepers are simply required to present a tithe to our lord or quartermaster. Land-owners and lords, in turn, must sum up their crops and possessions, and make an equal donation. The poor are taxed in accordance with the law, and a share of what they pay is held separate, as tithe."</p><p></p><p>Well there. He'd crossed the whole of Ceteran off somewhere in there. Everyone in this room had watched their mother or father pay one of those, before, cursing under his breath at how small the crop had been, or how sparse the meals were going to be from now on. He'd tried to get everyone's attention for Al'Farhad: he could do nothing else but hope that the 'jokes' would keep coming. From here on, the hard part would be keeping himself awake. He would remain faithful to his usual strategy of pretending the lecturer was staring at him, and him alone, which meant he had to listen to every nuance of the speech, and react to everything. Made him look a bit like a spasmodic troubadour unless his head was down, but it kept him awake.</p><p></p><p>"Indeed. And for the upkeep of the Temples, which is the upkeep of the Soul." Amin nodded slightly to the youth. "As he says; practically. In the spirit of returning part of one's bounty to the people, so too does what we tithe flow into the Temple to provide that which man needs to do more than merely survive. In this we do more than charity--the contribution of each man goes to the salvation of souls, elevating the status of the giver. Since the end of blood sacrifice in the fiftieth year of the Empire, at the order of Naraanbatar the Merciful, blessed be his name..."</p><p></p><p>Amin droned on a time, knowing that his students' wills would be challenged. Still, those with the mettle to aspire to greater things would absorb this knowledge one way or the other. He offered the easy way to gain virtue--memorization. The rest... <em>Peace be upon them that they never learn virtue through suffering or bloodshed.</em> Behind the podium, where none could see, the made the sign to ward off the gentle hand of the mother of death and the wandering eye of the great darkness. </p><p></p><p>Several students had nodded off again when a knock came at the doorframe. The converted inn was not so busy a place that Amin hadn't heard the man's approach, but truthfully the paladin had not expected interruption. A grey-haired warrior dressed in dark tunic and breeches stepped in; Barad'durh. The old paladin nodded at Amin in silent greeting and folded his arms to wait out this section of Amin's lecture.</p><p></p><p>In due time, Amin returned the nod. Barad'durh ibn Jibril strode swiftly to the back of the room and touched Mikealus lightly on the shoulder. He leaned in to briefly whisper something to the boy, and gestured for Mikealus to follow him from the room. Amin did not bat an eye. As soon as the two departed, he continued his discourse, this time targeting the flagging heart of a young half-orc.</p><p></p><p>"Come with me."</p><p></p><p>To his credit the young paladin had given only a slight start at the knock, which he passed off as a more exuberant nod than necessary. It helped him pretend he was still fully awake and aware, made the blood move a little bit more around his bones. The pork-stink was half-imagined, he was sure, but absolutely cloying... and the fire was only getting warmer. The words of Amin-ji would only grow heavier and sleepier to Mikealus' ear as time went on. He'd tried his best to rouse the crowd, which was already falling prey to sleep again. He did not want to be their hero - to loudly awaken them by volunteering the next paragraph of this speech time and time again... they'd learn nothing, and he would have attention rather unbecoming of his station.</p><p></p><p>...Not that being called out to speak with and elder did not place some notice upon him, but at least it was not intentional on his own part. He pulled himself out of his place gracefully enough, and took the time to crane his head respectfully towards Amin from the back of the room. He did not wait for a response, as his intention was not to draw attention away from the speaker - he'd done enough of that today. Rather, as he escaped the self-imposed enlightenment he'd very nearly made it out of in one piece, he turned his focus towards the dark-clothed man whom had summoned him.</p><p></p><p>The air outside was fresh and quick to rouse tired eyes. Mikealus fought the urge to address the older man until it had been made clear he had something to say in return. He smiled at his good fortune to require the paladin's attention, and made sure to speak to him with respect, not merely the genuine relief of being called away. "Barad'durh-ji?" Mikealus' back straightened. "How may I be of assistance?"</p><p></p><p>"Well--let us move somewhere away from prying students first," Barad'durh replied amiably. The elder man led the way to a room on the second floor which served as a rather cramped office for himself and Septimus ibn Rashid, a middle aged officer of the order who had been consigned to desk duty after an unfortunate accident lamed him. Septimus was known for his sharply bitter tongue, and luckily the office seemed to be, for the moment, well clear of his presence. Barad'durh waved Mikealus to an old wooden chair on the opposite side of the desk and sank slowly into his own. Its padding was his main concession to the demands of age and comfort, aside from a smokeless brazier currently collecting dust beneath the open window.</p><p></p><p>"Sit, sit, please. The novice today isn't quick on his feet so I'm afraid I have no coffee for you--or me, for that matter." It was clear that Barad'durh was more amused than annoyed by whoever had been assigned as gopher for the Old Men's Platoon for today. "Hospitality aside. . . A good word has been put in for you--you are being called to join a patrol to the Village of Cane for Weaving Most Excellent Mats. I'm sure you know of it; it's a tenday's ride from your father's lands. If you perform well, you will be doing more than town patrols from henceforth. I predict that your future will be quite busy.</p><p></p><p>"You will be under the command of Houshang al'Pacem, along with a company of 3 initiates. The patrol departs in two days, at dawn, from Sungate; make ready, and be certain to requisition appropriate rations and. . . It's my understanding that you already have a mount," he winked, "So you know what remains. As well, inform your mother." Barad'durh coughed. The rather formidable woman was sometimes referred to as the shadow ruler of the town, local lord notwithstanding. Doubtless no one in the Order wanted to have to face down her wrath if she found out that her son had left without performing his due diligence in regards to filial piety.</p><p></p><p>Ah yes. Mom. Carina Graveth had not always been the unmovable juggernaut of internal politics, family favors, and draconian judgments she was now. According to Muna and Sallah, it was not until Mikealus had been born - his name positively demanded in its entirety, with a forcefulness the family had never seen before - that she had changed. Before her youngest baby was born, she had merely been a practical, no-nonsense Lady who's upbringing was well-grounded enough to keep her head out of the clouds. She had been smart, efficient, and unimpressed by rank or status, except when it was necessary to pay due diligence to an inflated ego. Her little boy, who had his grandfather's eyes and chin, somehow sparked a fire she had kept cool and quiet since marrying Janaab Sayyid. From then it looked as though she barely aged a day throughout his raising - she plied him with bedtime stories she'd never even whispered to the other children, seemed to be shaping him for... something.</p><p></p><p>Mother had cried tears of joy when she learned that she was the first Mikealus spoke to about joining the Silver Horn. He was not an ignorant boy - he was quite aware of his mother's overbearing nature, the claws she had lovingly sunk so deep into him - and knew that she had claimed him as her own, and that his father had surrendered the child to her willingly. While towering over him, Carina worked tirelessly to change Ceteran for inscrutable reasons. Mikealus had done the only thing he could do - respectfully and humbly accepted his lot, paid gratitude and love to both his father and mother, and struggled to live for himself. It was, in fact, his self-surprise - that he could reconcile the difficult decision of loyalty to himself and to his family - which gave him that confidence to test himself against the Will of Thrones.</p><p></p><p>After handling the Dragon of House Graveth his whole life, even the gods could challenge him with little greater.</p><p></p><p>From the plain wooden chair, in the unassuming little room, Mikealus' smile beamed up at Barad'durh. He had always appreciated the man's ease, his beneficence... and was rather glad that he, of all people, had been the one to grant him these orders. Never mind that something as basic as a patrol was handed down to him as a rare jewel of advancement - he was grateful for it, and fully intended to prove himself by it. Never mind that the village had one of the most foolish names that he could not stand to mouth - he would follow the four tenants, and do the best he could.</p><p></p><p>"Yes, sir. I will begin making my preparations immediately." It would take little enough to speak with the quartermaster and collect his things. If it went quickly - and he had little doubt it would - he'd mount Harrow after, and return home for supper, and to inform his mother. Was she responsible for pulling these strings, he wondered? It was a shameful thought, and one he hoped was false. She knew he wanted little more than to reach glory under his own power, as hard as that was to do as a mere Greenhorn. "I will meet Houshang-ji at Sungate in two days... if not sooner. Thank you, Barad'durh-ji, for this opportunity. I will not shame the Order."</p><p></p><p>That would be pretty hard to do. Any act of heroism or greatness would probably be so stunningly unexpected that it would be talked about for years. ...it was all Mikealus could hope for, really. He'd take it.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RedTonic, post: 5617518, member: 98994"] Since the previous was rather short, here is an introduction to our paladin. [center]*****[/center] This long, cluttered room in the Order's headquarters had once been a smokeroom and still smelled faintly of hams. The swarthy, hawk-nosed man tapped softly on the podium as he watched his dozing students. The heat rolling from the hearth in had made some novices doze off during his lecture on relativism, which he had carefully considered decades ago and updated infrequently to avoid heresies. None of the cretins in the room had the slightest appreciation for his work in law and ethics. Amin al'Farhad cleared his throat, waking one of the youngest, whose slit eyes opened wide. The kobold stammered a sibilant apology, which the paladin did not acknowledge. "Redemption is that process by which each of us atones for our transgressions and allows the Light to resist our innate sinfulness. Through transcending our natures, we become closer to the will of the Benevolent Orders, blessed be their names. There is one path to Light, and that is the Law. Those among us who are most strictly held to the Law do so for the reward of being better able to serve their Benevolence. "All mortals are capable of redeeming themselves--and the greatest deed any paladin can achieve is to accomplish a fellow man's rebirth into Light. However, among us walk those who will, time and again, turn from the Light and walk shadowed lands. The antinomian heretics must not be suffered. There are those among us who are dedicated to the ways of the damned," he made a sign to avert the Watcher's gaze, "and even among us fiends whose very essence is that of evil, and to whom the divine love of the Benevolent Orders, blessings upon them, is direst poison." He admitted, privately of course, that this collection of would-be paladins was probably the most eclectic group he'd seen. Several were not even committed to a deity, yet had blessings, which was uncommon--and several of either stripe didn't even utilize heavy armor. The senior paladin, who was originally from the capital, had come to realize that this far from any civilized center, the people tended to wear more leather and hides. Thankfully, most of Ceteran was too well-settled for the smellier habits of many of the tribal humanoids. Among these rural greenhorns were, gods forbid, women; there was even a winged kobold in plate, somewhere on the grounds. Al'Farhad had recently reconciled himself to the oddities of the rural posting--he had resisted, for some time, the less civil ways of the country, yet over time he'd come to accept the charms. The women paladins weren't so bad; at least none were noble ladies, so he didn't have to worry about being challenged to a duel for hitting any of them during sparring, or for seeing them in revealing states of dishabille. "To the ends of redemption and justice, a paladin of the Order of the Silver Horn should strive always to capture his mortal foes where possible. To slay a great foe of Light is honorable and good, but to evoke a change of heart through justice is great and mighty. To the criminal, to the blackguard, give quarter; show mercy. Through the power of the good you do to others, you further open the door of their souls to the Light." He spoke further, delving into the relationship between redemption and sacrifice. Closer to the hearth, sandwiched between bookshelves, a trio of more senior members of the order quietly studied. The presence of acolytes and full members of the order in lessons was not unusual. Part of the Order's ethos was that to revisit these simple lessons was a way to incorporate them more fully into one's moral health, improving the well-being of one's soul through the lessons the Benevolent Orders had passed to mortalkind and a way of warding one's soul and hardening it against the whispers of the Forbidden. Among them was a local lordling from the Hel-Halmar clan. The boy was amiable enough, a third son with no place in his father's household but to find an acceptable status elsewhere in society and reflect honor to his small clan. He was the only one in the family with a martial leaning--the rest of them were not much more than glorified merchants of horseflesh--barely more than commoners. Still, the gleam of nobility seemed to be searching for a window in Mikaelus. In Amin's opinion, this acolyte was one to watch. He was, however, not yet pledged to a sect--though with his name, it was a foregone conclusion that he would follow the Lord of War. "Mikaelus. In this vein of sacrifice, why don't you briefly tell us of how our tithing system works?" Mikealus tried to smile at Amin, his green eyes glinting in recognition. He vividly remembered his first bout with this lecture, how good men and women had fallen before the merciless barrage of virtue and enlightened speech. It had been a slaughter. Al'Farahad's request for an answer had, sadly, been the closest thing to a joke that was ever produced in this pork-scented tomb, and the horseman was of the opinion that students needed to encourage this in the speaker as vigorously as possible. Moral relativism was not a joking matter, of course, but when drowning you did not care what you were holding onto so long as it kept you above water. Besides, the only other way to break up these lectures was through inappropriate questions that flirted with heresy. Mikealus had even opined, in those first days, that it sounded like wisdom to fall from grace, as the act of willful redemption would necessarily bring you more in harmony with the Light than you were already. Playing the system, as it were. There had been many careful whispers and ethical discourses after that comment. He had learned to keep such fanciful impulses to himself, where they banged around in his chest until smoothed out, and given a proper space in his heart. Or something like that. Turning in his chair loudly enough to rouse a few of the dozers - not that he turned away from Amin, but enough so he could look over his shoulder and speak to everyone if he needed to, Mikealus decided to return to the straight, dry, and narrow. But with purpose! He was not so experienced as Amin... but who doesn't think they can out-speak a speaker when they're bored to tears? "By way of tithing, not only do we follow the letter of the law, in serving the Throne of Thorns, but also the spirit. Giving freely from the whole of our possessions necessitates temperance, enhances our appreciation of that which remains, and makes sure that our every action can - potentially - do good, as our labors are returned to the Order, and the people." Maybe. Hopefully. More than once, Mikealus had quipped that the Silver Horn's tithes all went to the wine cellars and the hearthfires, assuring that the young stayed drunk and the old stayed comfortable. An uncharitable thought created in a fit of pique after lessons much like this one, but really, a reasonable assumption, that one's good was being squandered by another's lack of virtue. A healthy concern. "Practically, though, those who have our compensation accounted by books and bookkeepers are simply required to present a tithe to our lord or quartermaster. Land-owners and lords, in turn, must sum up their crops and possessions, and make an equal donation. The poor are taxed in accordance with the law, and a share of what they pay is held separate, as tithe." Well there. He'd crossed the whole of Ceteran off somewhere in there. Everyone in this room had watched their mother or father pay one of those, before, cursing under his breath at how small the crop had been, or how sparse the meals were going to be from now on. He'd tried to get everyone's attention for Al'Farhad: he could do nothing else but hope that the 'jokes' would keep coming. From here on, the hard part would be keeping himself awake. He would remain faithful to his usual strategy of pretending the lecturer was staring at him, and him alone, which meant he had to listen to every nuance of the speech, and react to everything. Made him look a bit like a spasmodic troubadour unless his head was down, but it kept him awake. "Indeed. And for the upkeep of the Temples, which is the upkeep of the Soul." Amin nodded slightly to the youth. "As he says; practically. In the spirit of returning part of one's bounty to the people, so too does what we tithe flow into the Temple to provide that which man needs to do more than merely survive. In this we do more than charity--the contribution of each man goes to the salvation of souls, elevating the status of the giver. Since the end of blood sacrifice in the fiftieth year of the Empire, at the order of Naraanbatar the Merciful, blessed be his name..." Amin droned on a time, knowing that his students' wills would be challenged. Still, those with the mettle to aspire to greater things would absorb this knowledge one way or the other. He offered the easy way to gain virtue--memorization. The rest... [i]Peace be upon them that they never learn virtue through suffering or bloodshed.[/i] Behind the podium, where none could see, the made the sign to ward off the gentle hand of the mother of death and the wandering eye of the great darkness. Several students had nodded off again when a knock came at the doorframe. The converted inn was not so busy a place that Amin hadn't heard the man's approach, but truthfully the paladin had not expected interruption. A grey-haired warrior dressed in dark tunic and breeches stepped in; Barad'durh. The old paladin nodded at Amin in silent greeting and folded his arms to wait out this section of Amin's lecture. In due time, Amin returned the nod. Barad'durh ibn Jibril strode swiftly to the back of the room and touched Mikealus lightly on the shoulder. He leaned in to briefly whisper something to the boy, and gestured for Mikealus to follow him from the room. Amin did not bat an eye. As soon as the two departed, he continued his discourse, this time targeting the flagging heart of a young half-orc. "Come with me." To his credit the young paladin had given only a slight start at the knock, which he passed off as a more exuberant nod than necessary. It helped him pretend he was still fully awake and aware, made the blood move a little bit more around his bones. The pork-stink was half-imagined, he was sure, but absolutely cloying... and the fire was only getting warmer. The words of Amin-ji would only grow heavier and sleepier to Mikealus' ear as time went on. He'd tried his best to rouse the crowd, which was already falling prey to sleep again. He did not want to be their hero - to loudly awaken them by volunteering the next paragraph of this speech time and time again... they'd learn nothing, and he would have attention rather unbecoming of his station. ...Not that being called out to speak with and elder did not place some notice upon him, but at least it was not intentional on his own part. He pulled himself out of his place gracefully enough, and took the time to crane his head respectfully towards Amin from the back of the room. He did not wait for a response, as his intention was not to draw attention away from the speaker - he'd done enough of that today. Rather, as he escaped the self-imposed enlightenment he'd very nearly made it out of in one piece, he turned his focus towards the dark-clothed man whom had summoned him. The air outside was fresh and quick to rouse tired eyes. Mikealus fought the urge to address the older man until it had been made clear he had something to say in return. He smiled at his good fortune to require the paladin's attention, and made sure to speak to him with respect, not merely the genuine relief of being called away. "Barad'durh-ji?" Mikealus' back straightened. "How may I be of assistance?" "Well--let us move somewhere away from prying students first," Barad'durh replied amiably. The elder man led the way to a room on the second floor which served as a rather cramped office for himself and Septimus ibn Rashid, a middle aged officer of the order who had been consigned to desk duty after an unfortunate accident lamed him. Septimus was known for his sharply bitter tongue, and luckily the office seemed to be, for the moment, well clear of his presence. Barad'durh waved Mikealus to an old wooden chair on the opposite side of the desk and sank slowly into his own. Its padding was his main concession to the demands of age and comfort, aside from a smokeless brazier currently collecting dust beneath the open window. "Sit, sit, please. The novice today isn't quick on his feet so I'm afraid I have no coffee for you--or me, for that matter." It was clear that Barad'durh was more amused than annoyed by whoever had been assigned as gopher for the Old Men's Platoon for today. "Hospitality aside. . . A good word has been put in for you--you are being called to join a patrol to the Village of Cane for Weaving Most Excellent Mats. I'm sure you know of it; it's a tenday's ride from your father's lands. If you perform well, you will be doing more than town patrols from henceforth. I predict that your future will be quite busy. "You will be under the command of Houshang al'Pacem, along with a company of 3 initiates. The patrol departs in two days, at dawn, from Sungate; make ready, and be certain to requisition appropriate rations and. . . It's my understanding that you already have a mount," he winked, "So you know what remains. As well, inform your mother." Barad'durh coughed. The rather formidable woman was sometimes referred to as the shadow ruler of the town, local lord notwithstanding. Doubtless no one in the Order wanted to have to face down her wrath if she found out that her son had left without performing his due diligence in regards to filial piety. Ah yes. Mom. Carina Graveth had not always been the unmovable juggernaut of internal politics, family favors, and draconian judgments she was now. According to Muna and Sallah, it was not until Mikealus had been born - his name positively demanded in its entirety, with a forcefulness the family had never seen before - that she had changed. Before her youngest baby was born, she had merely been a practical, no-nonsense Lady who's upbringing was well-grounded enough to keep her head out of the clouds. She had been smart, efficient, and unimpressed by rank or status, except when it was necessary to pay due diligence to an inflated ego. Her little boy, who had his grandfather's eyes and chin, somehow sparked a fire she had kept cool and quiet since marrying Janaab Sayyid. From then it looked as though she barely aged a day throughout his raising - she plied him with bedtime stories she'd never even whispered to the other children, seemed to be shaping him for... something. Mother had cried tears of joy when she learned that she was the first Mikealus spoke to about joining the Silver Horn. He was not an ignorant boy - he was quite aware of his mother's overbearing nature, the claws she had lovingly sunk so deep into him - and knew that she had claimed him as her own, and that his father had surrendered the child to her willingly. While towering over him, Carina worked tirelessly to change Ceteran for inscrutable reasons. Mikealus had done the only thing he could do - respectfully and humbly accepted his lot, paid gratitude and love to both his father and mother, and struggled to live for himself. It was, in fact, his self-surprise - that he could reconcile the difficult decision of loyalty to himself and to his family - which gave him that confidence to test himself against the Will of Thrones. After handling the Dragon of House Graveth his whole life, even the gods could challenge him with little greater. From the plain wooden chair, in the unassuming little room, Mikealus' smile beamed up at Barad'durh. He had always appreciated the man's ease, his beneficence... and was rather glad that he, of all people, had been the one to grant him these orders. Never mind that something as basic as a patrol was handed down to him as a rare jewel of advancement - he was grateful for it, and fully intended to prove himself by it. Never mind that the village had one of the most foolish names that he could not stand to mouth - he would follow the four tenants, and do the best he could. "Yes, sir. I will begin making my preparations immediately." It would take little enough to speak with the quartermaster and collect his things. If it went quickly - and he had little doubt it would - he'd mount Harrow after, and return home for supper, and to inform his mother. Was she responsible for pulling these strings, he wondered? It was a shameful thought, and one he hoped was false. She knew he wanted little more than to reach glory under his own power, as hard as that was to do as a mere Greenhorn. "I will meet Houshang-ji at Sungate in two days... if not sooner. Thank you, Barad'durh-ji, for this opportunity. I will not shame the Order." That would be pretty hard to do. Any act of heroism or greatness would probably be so stunningly unexpected that it would be talked about for years. ...it was all Mikealus could hope for, really. He'd take it. [/QUOTE]
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