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<blockquote data-quote="Mortepierre" data-source="post: 1862421" data-attributes="member: 9765"><p>And with this post, we conclude the Prelude series. Next time, the heroes finally meet in Chapter 1: the Vault! <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite2" alt=";)" title="Wink ;)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=";)" /></p><p></p><p><strong>Prelude - part 4: Pain and Remembrance</strong></p><p></p><p>Drachenhold - Duchy of Pellham</p><p>399 AC - St-Martha Monastery</p><p></p><p>It was still early. The sun was rising in the sky, slowly dissipating the mist that surrounded the monastery and filled its cloister. Matriarchs were leaving their cells and converging on the main chapel for the morning’s prayers. In their white robes, hastening in silence, they looked like pale ghosts fluttering through the corridors.</p><p></p><p>In alcoves, along the halls they traversed, armed men stood by in shadows, unmoving, their eyes never leaving the Matriarchs for as long as they were in their field of vision. They all wore a white tabard embroidered with 3 blue tears arranged in a triangle.</p><p></p><p>Once the last priestess had entered the chapel and its doors were closed, half the warriors left their alcoves, assembling in a large hall whose thick walls would dampen down any noise coming out of it. Even the heavy wooden door was padded with this aim in view.</p><p></p><p>Wooden shields and various weapons hung from the walls. All the weapons were blunted in some way though. Flails, hammers and mauls had been padded, and the blades had had their edge dulled.</p><p></p><p>One of the fighters, whose only distinguishing mark - apart from his serious look - was a white armband, came to stand in the center of the hall. Holding his forearms so that they crossed in front of his chest, he struck the palms of his hands once.</p><p></p><p>The warriors put down their own weapons and shields near the entrance and equipped themselves with those displayed on the walls. Then, they stood - evenly spaced - around the hall.</p><p></p><p>The fighter’s gaze came to rest on each of them in turn. Some bowed their head in deference, but none flinched. Seemingly satisfied, the man left the center of the hall, taking his place in the circle formed by the others. At his command, they all went down on their knees. His voice, when he spoke, was calm yet could be heard throughout the large room.</p><p></p><p>”Morwyn, Queen of Heaven, we are gathered here to honor you through our acts and our prayers.</p><p></p><p>Shield our eyes with selflessness, that they may not covet another man’s wealth.</p><p></p><p>Slow down our blades as they strike, that we may give quarter to our enemies.</p><p></p><p>Give us the courage to resist challenges that may result in bloodshed.</p><p></p><p>And grant us your wisdom, that we may distinguish truth from falsehood.”</p><p></p><p>As he finished the prayer, the others struck up the ritual reply, their voices as one.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Not for us, Lady. Not for us but for the sole glory of your name!”</strong></p><p></p><p>They all stood up then, ready to begin their daily training session. All but one, that is. One man was still on his knees. He was trying to get up but seemed to be experiencing difficulties doing so, as if the act was painful. Indeed, he had to use his shield as a kind of improvised cane to succeed.</p><p></p><p>Master Arnulf, knight-commander of the monastery’s contingent of Faithful Sons, caught a glimpse of it.</p><p></p><p>“Brother Kalveig, you seem to be in need of exercises. You will open the session with Brother Fearig, aye?”</p><p></p><p>Kalveig grimaced before answering “By your leave, Master”. He equipped his shield and his flail, and advanced towards the center of the hall, waiting for his opponent. The latter joined him shortly.</p><p></p><p>The two saluted and, on Arnulf’s signal, began to fight.</p><p></p><p>Fearig was young, barely past twenty, having just completed his four years of training and earned his tabard. Strong and stocky, he wielded a bastard sword two-handed, probably because - as the son of a nobleman - it was his preferred weapon. Some of the older knights frowned but remained silent (1).</p><p></p><p>In comparison, Kalveig looked almost old and tired. He was tall and wiry, in his early thirties. His flaxen hair fell on his shoulders like an unruly mane, and his long moustache was in serious need of a trim. His blue eyes were lusterless and just added to his dejected look. At least, that is how he appeared to the casual observer.</p><p></p><p>To an experienced fighter, the view was more nuanced. Kalveig’s grip on his flail was strong and the way he was holding his shield indicated he knew how best to use it. Still, it was hard to determine if he was just faking disinterest for this battle or his heart truly wasn’t in it.</p><p></p><p>After the first few passages of arms, Fearig became convinced his opponent had chosen to be on the defensive. That didn’t displease him. He liked to be the one giving the blows. He was just disappointed Master Arnulf hadn’t selected a more worthy adversary for him. He had heard a few unsavory rumors about Kalveig and they all alluded to the fact that he was a failure, perhaps even a drunkard.</p><p></p><p>Righteous indignation filled his heart. He would teach the man a lesson! Kalveig was neither fit nor worthy, and he would expose him for the pathetic wretch that he was. After which he would magnanimously offer to escort him out of the monastery and give him a few silver pieces to get drunk at the nearest tavern. He felt sure Morwyn herself would smile on him for removing such an embarrassment from her holy house.</p><p></p><p>He began to pound on his opponent’s shield.</p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p>Kalveig sighed while deflecting yet another attack.</p><p></p><p><em>So obvious. That kid hasn’t got a clue what he is doing. Does he seriously think he can batter me down just by using his sword like a maul?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>There he goes again. Morwyn’s mercy! He doesn’t even guard his left flank anymore. Against a gnoll, he would be dead meat by now.</em></p><p></p><p>He winced as pain lanced through his left leg.</p><p></p><p><em>Can’t take.. much more.. of this.</em></p><p></p><p>He gritted his teeth and concentrated on Fearig, analyzing his movements.</p><p></p><p><em>His next attack is going to come from the left, aimed low. His own left flank will be completely open. Good. One blow ought to do the trick.</em></p><p></p><p>Fearig attacked once again, putting all his strength behind his strike.</p><p></p><p>Kalveig waited for the last possible moment before raising his shield as much as he could, leaving himself completely defenseless.</p><p></p><p>The sword scored a solid hit on his left armpit, sending him flying to the floor in a heap.</p><p></p><p><em>Sweet Lady! The pain!!</em></p><p></p><p>He gasped but consciousness refused to elude him.</p><p></p><p>Most of the other knights stood aghast, though a few of the younger ones exchanged derisive comments.</p><p></p><p><strong>“DESIST!”</strong></p><p></p><p>The tone of Master Arnulf’s voice was enough to silence them all. It was clear he would brook no further insolence.</p><p></p><p>He crossed rapidly the hall to stand over Kalveig.</p><p></p><p>“The session is over. Resume your duties. Not you Brother Fearig! You will go to your cell and meditate over the Second and Third Virtues until such time as I deem you worthy to join your Brothers again!”</p><p></p><p>He waited till they had all left the room. Then, and only then, he went down on his knees and gently helped Kalveig to lie on his back. The latter was wheezing, sure sign he had one (or more) broken rib.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf shook his head and sighed. He cradled Kalveig’s head in his lap.</p><p></p><p>“Why Kal? Why do you persist in pulling that kind of stupid stunt? You could have handled that kid with both hands tied in your back, even on a bad day. Fact is, I was counting on you to help me beat some caution into that - may Morwyn forgive me - dumb head of his.”</p><p></p><p>Kalveig was looking at him, his eyes no longer lusterless, just.. weary.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf sighed again but then frowned as he spied blood dripping from Kalveig’s left thigh. He swore.</p><p></p><p>Gingerly, he removed Kalveig’s chainmail and swore again, louder this time.</p><p></p><p>“Kal! You miserable son of a she-troll! I ought to..!”</p><p></p><p>The thigh was cut almost to the bone and had been bandaged only superficially. The bandages were soaked in blood. That Kalveig had managed to move - not to mention fight! - for so long without collapsing was miraculous.</p><p></p><p>“You have done it again, haven’t you? Who was it this time?”</p><p></p><p>“The.. merchant”. Kalveig coughed. “The one who was.. ambushed by bandits.. on the southern road.”</p><p></p><p>“Damn it, Kal! You know as well as I do that, as long as you reside at the monastery, you are <em>not</em> authorized to go through the Rite of Transference without a Matriarch or a White Hand to supervise your condition during the whole process. That’s the second time this year alone!”</p><p></p><p>“Had to..” He wheezed. “The man would have.. died by morning.. from infection. I can’t.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s a lie and you know it! Even if it isn’t, it was for the gods to decide, not you. Now hold still while I patch you up and-”</p><p></p><p>“Arn, no! Must.. suffer.. more” Kalveig’s gaze was almost feverish.</p><p></p><p>“Don’t give me that look Kal! I am sick and tired of covering up for you. And for what? You can suffer all you want, it won’t bring her back. It won’t bring Le-”</p><p></p><p>“<strong>NO!</strong>” Kalveig’s hand had struck like a snake and now held Arnulf’s throat in a viselike grip.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf choked.</p><p></p><p><em>Morwyn’s mercy! So strong yet!</em></p><p></p><p>“<strong>Never</strong>.. say.. her name!” Kalveig’s eyes clouded with tears and his grip relaxed, the rest of his strength finally spent.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf jumped back, coughed several times, and started massaging his throat while eyeing Kalveig with pity and disgust at the same time. The latter was now sobbing on the floor, the living embodiment of despair.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf’s face clouded over as he approached the wounded warrior again. Laying his hands on Kalveig’s leg, he called upon Morwyn. Slowly, a soft silvery light suffused the wound. The blood stopped flowing and the flesh started to mend. Little by little, the gash closed till nothing but a pink scar remained. The light didn’t stop there. It spread to the rest of Kalveig’s body. Broken ribs knitted, and bruises disappeared. Kalveig’s breathing eased. Even his sobbing quieted down.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf stood up and turned his back to him before talking again. When he did, his voice held only the barest trace of pity.</p><p></p><p>“It has been 5 years Kal. No one can change what happened. I know you wish you could - we all do - but you can’t. Sometimes it happens, even to the best of us. Dying won’t change that, and no amount of suffering will ease the pain you feel.”</p><p></p><p>“How could you possibly know how I feel? <em>Your</em> charge didn’t die on your watch! (2)” Kalveig’s voice sounded almost reproachful.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf whirled round to face him again.</p><p></p><p>“That’s right, but if she had I wouldn’t be squandering the Lady’s gifts to indulge my self-pity. Except you don’t indulge it, you wallow in it!”</p><p></p><p>Kalveig had the good sense to avert his eyes in shame.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf came to kneel in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulders.</p><p></p><p>“Deardre and I loved L.. <em>her</em> as a sister. Her death affected us too, but we chose to live with it, rather than be destroyed by it. No one blames you for what happened. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent it. Foul sorcery held you in its grip, for crying out loud!”</p><p></p><p>Kalveig was shaking his head slowly, on the verge of tears again. “I should have done.. something. Arn, you don’t know how hard it was to watch helplessly as they..” His voice broke and he put his face in his hands.</p><p></p><p>Arnulf sighed deeply.</p><p></p><p>“Look Kal, you can’t go on like this. And I can’t continue to cover up your behavior. When I found you in that tavern, 4 years ago, and brought you back to the monastery, I hoped you would come out of it. But you haven’t, and it’s destroying you piece by piece. You have refused to set foot out of this sanctuary ever since and, at first, I thought it was for the best. Now, I see I was wrong. Staying confined here won’t help. Nothing will. You need to go outside and <em>live</em> again!</p><p></p><p>You should be Master of your own monastery by now. You have been wasting your skills and the powers the Lady entrusted you with long enough. Most of us choose the Path of the Healer, very few the Path of the Martyr. But you did and I always envied you for it. That’s right, <em>envied</em> you! Why? Because it takes a special kind of courage to walk down that path. I saw it in you back then, and I still see it today.. even if you can’t. We need you out there, showing pups like Brother Fearig that being a Faithful Son isn’t about glory and killing but about preserving life.”</p><p></p><p>He got up.</p><p></p><p>“I am going to talk to the abbess about it and request a new assignment for you.”</p><p></p><p>Kalveig looked up at him, panic-stricken.</p><p></p><p>“Arn, please! I.. I can’t. It’s too soon!”</p><p></p><p>“You can and you will, <em>Brother</em> Kalveig. You can accept the mission or resign for good, but either way you’ll be out of this monastery before the end of the week. I suggest you to take a bath and shave in the meantime. Remember, a healthy soul begins with a healthy body.”</p><p></p><p>Arnulf left the room, leaving Kalveig to his inner demons.</p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p>“.. and so, you see Holy Mother (3), I think it would be best if Brother Kalveig was-”</p><p></p><p>The abbess raised her right hand to interrupt him.</p><p></p><p>“Master Arnulf, you have never been very good at beating around the bush. Why don’t you get to the point and tell me what you <em>truly</em> think Brother Kalveig needs?”</p><p></p><p>Arnulf raised an eyebrow to try to convey the impression he didn’t know what she was talking about.</p><p></p><p>“Tell you what. Let us pretend for a minute that you are still a young hot-headed warrior and I a stubborn young woman hellbent on redeeming villains. Back then, didn’t we swear over a campfire that we would always be honest to each other?”</p><p></p><p>Arnulf chuckled.</p><p></p><p>“At times, it feels like that was an eternity ago. We were still unused to the realities of the world.” A rueful smile made its way across its face.</p><p></p><p>They looked in each other’s eyes and, beyond, in each other’s soul. They both carried scars that neither time nor spell could erase. In a way, it had made them stronger.. but it was also a burden they couldn’t share with anyone else.</p><p></p><p>“Deardre, I am at my wit’s end. I tried patience, giving him comfort, yelling. Heck! I even tried to shame him. But nothing worked, and-”</p><p></p><p>“.. and you can’t find the strength to lie for him anymore?”</p><p></p><p>He looked at her, surprise and embarrassment in his eyes.</p><p></p><p>“Oh come now, Arn. Did you truly think I hadn’t noticed? Every time he sneaked in the infirmary, I had to deal with young Matriarchs awed by what appeared to be a <em>miraculous recovery</em> the next morning. If I hadn’t done all I could to cover it up as well, this monastery would have become a place of pilgrimage by now!” she snorted. “I know few Faithful Sons dedicate themselves to the Path of the Martyr these days but I haven’t forgotten what they are capable of when they do.”</p><p></p><p>“I am sorry, I didn’t want to lie to you but he is.. was my-”</p><p></p><p>“.. your friend? Aye, I remember that as well. You received your tabard on the same day as I recall. You two could have been brothers.”</p><p></p><p>Arnulf balled his left fist and put it over the tears embroidered on his tabard in silent remembrance.</p><p></p><p>“I know how you feel, Arn. Leandra and I took our vow the same day too. She was like a sister to me.”</p><p></p><p>“Were you.. angry with him? For letting her die, I mean.”</p><p></p><p>Deardre sat back in her chair and watched the ceiling for a while before answering.</p><p></p><p>“I was.. at first. I may be a priestess but I am still a human being, you know? Later, I forgave him.. if there was something to be forgiven to begin with. It’s not as if he was truly responsible for what happened, eh?”</p><p></p><p>“No, only a Mage Guard (4) would have stood a chance from what I understand. But he blames himself for it anyway.”</p><p></p><p>“That was only to be expected. That notion forms the foundation of your training, after all.”</p><p></p><p>They both remained silent for a minute before she spoke again.</p><p></p><p>“Given he has full command of his powers, I think we can safely say he retains Morwyn’s favor. But would it surprise you to know Leandra has forgiven him as well?”</p><p></p><p>He looked at her in shock. “You spoke to her spirit?!”</p><p></p><p>She shook her head. “No, I am not a High Matriarch. But right after you brought him back to the monastery, I talked to one of the Lady’s servants. He was willing to run an errand for me.. an errand of mercy. Lea loved Kal very much, perhaps more than he knew. She was quite distraught over his condition. She couldn’t do anything about it, of course. Not directly anyway. But she interceded with the Lady on his behalf and, apparently, the goddess granted her wish for she came to me in my dreams and showed me what needed to be done.”</p><p></p><p>Arnulf hazarded a guess. “The Rite of Atonement?”</p><p></p><p>Deardre shook her head again. “No, nothing as drastic as that. I was told to wait for a sign. That is why I allowed you to think you had successfully kept me in the dark for so long.”</p><p></p><p>He could read in her eyes that she had been hurt by the deception but, most of all, by the fact he hadn’t requested her help immediately. Silently, he resolved to seek her forgiveness later. Right now, the important matter was to take care of Kalveig.</p><p></p><p>“In fact” she continued, “your timing couldn’t have been better for I finally received the sign yesterday. Watch but no matter what happens, please remain silent.”</p><p></p><p>She took a small silver bell on her desk and rang it thrice. Immediately, light footsteps echoed in the corridor outside her office. Arnulf stood up and walked to stand behind her; not only because it was proper but also in order to better see who she had just invited to join them.</p><p></p><p>The door opened to admit a young Matriarch. From the look of her, she had probably just finished her novitiate. She entered, keeping her eyes down as befitted her station.</p><p></p><p>“You summoned me, Holy Mother?”</p><p></p><p>“Indeed, Sister..?”</p><p></p><p>“Siubhan, Holy Mother.”</p><p></p><p>“Ah yes, Sister Siubhan. The High Matriarch of Widdershin spoke highly of you in her missive.”</p><p></p><p>Siubhan blushed.</p><p></p><p>“Tell me child, what paths did you choose when you took your vow?”</p><p></p><p>“The Erudite and the Healer, Holy Mother.”</p><p></p><p>“But you are primarily a White Hand (5), correct?”</p><p></p><p>“By Morwyn’s blessing, Holy Mother.”</p><p></p><p>“And why did you request assignment to this monastery in particular?”</p><p></p><p>“It was not so much the monastery as the person to whom it is dedicated, Holy Mother.”</p><p></p><p>“You feel special reverence for St-Martha, a priestess who was burnt at the stake for heresy?”</p><p></p><p>“She was a devoted White Hand before she fell from grace, Holy Mother, and the fact that the White Lady saw fit to grant her sainthood despite what she did prior to her death is - to me - a shining example of Morwyn’s limitless forgiveness.”</p><p></p><p>Deardre threw Arnulf a <em>see what I mean?</em> look but the latter only furrowed his brow in puzzlement and shrugged in response. He still couldn’t see what she had in mind.</p><p></p><p>“I have a mission for you, child. That is, if you feel up to it..” continued Deardre.</p><p></p><p>“I will humbly accept whatever task you entrust me with, Holy Mother.” Siubhan bowed low.</p><p></p><p>“Excellent.” Deardre opened a drawer, took a small casket in it, put it on the desk and pushed it toward Siubhan. “This box contains a gift from a man we healed a few months ago. A silver key to be precise. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, but I have been recently informed by a messenger that - apparently - it entitles us to some kind of recompense. The only problem being that someone has to fetch it. Since, right now, I cannot spare any of the more experienced Matriarchs for such a task, I thought you might relish the opportunity to travel a bit before spending your days cloistered here, hmm?”</p><p></p><p>Siubhan blushed again.</p><p></p><p>“You are to travel to Weston. It is a small village near the Suressian border. There, you will meet a man named Kel Varnsen. He will explain to you what needs to be done to <em>collect</em> the reward. While you are at it, I would like you to investigate a rumor I heard about a strange sickness that seems to plague the natives. Solve the problem if you can, or come back to us with enough information if you can’t. Of course, you won’t be traveling alone. We will assign a Faithful Son to protect you. Since this is your first official mission, Master Arnulf here will select a veteran.”</p><p></p><p>Siubhan looked up a brief moment and her eyes caught those of Arnulf. The latter had to bite on his tongue not to gawp.</p><p></p><p><em>Blue-green eyes, just like Leandra’s!?!</em></p><p></p><p>Deardre stood up. “May Morwyn watch over you, child. Her mercy is, indeed, infinite...”</p><p></p><p>**********</p><p>(1) Faithful Sons consider piercing/slashing weapons to be reserved for the most experienced warriors because it is more difficult <em>not</em> to deliver a lethal hit with them.</p><p></p><p>(2) Morwyn’s clergy is the main source of magical healing available since druids are reviled and the only other deity granting cure spells - Rontra - is considered by most (except farmers) as <em>outdated</em>. Since Morwyn’s priestesses usually don’t wear armor and are peaceful folks, it is traditional for each priestess (aka <em>Matriarch</em>) to have her own Faithful Son bodyguard (the Faithful Sons being Morwyn’s holy warriors). The latter has one duty that he must fulfill above all others: keep the Matriarch he protects alive at all costs, even if it means sacrificing his own life. For a Faithful Son, there can be no greater disgrace than surviving the Matriarch he was assigned to defend.</p><p></p><p>(3) When a Matriarch has become powerful enough (read: when she reaches a certain level), she has to go through a test. If she succeeds, she is then elevated to the rank of Holy Mother and – usually - put in charge of a monastery.</p><p></p><p>(4) A holy warrior of Tinel, god of magic. Supposedly, Mage Guards are among the toughest opponents a spellcaster can face given their innate spell resistance.</p><p></p><p>(5) Among priestesses of Morwyn (aka the White Lady), those who specialize in healing are called the <em>White Hands</em>. It is also the name of an order of lay healers sponsored by the clergy. Generally, anyone who has a gift for healing is called a White Hand among commoners. At times, it makes things a bit confusing but it shows how much tradition has come to associate Morwyn with the act of healing in human culture.</p><p></p><p>**********</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mortepierre, post: 1862421, member: 9765"] And with this post, we conclude the Prelude series. Next time, the heroes finally meet in Chapter 1: the Vault! ;) [B]Prelude - part 4: Pain and Remembrance[/B] Drachenhold - Duchy of Pellham 399 AC - St-Martha Monastery It was still early. The sun was rising in the sky, slowly dissipating the mist that surrounded the monastery and filled its cloister. Matriarchs were leaving their cells and converging on the main chapel for the morning’s prayers. In their white robes, hastening in silence, they looked like pale ghosts fluttering through the corridors. In alcoves, along the halls they traversed, armed men stood by in shadows, unmoving, their eyes never leaving the Matriarchs for as long as they were in their field of vision. They all wore a white tabard embroidered with 3 blue tears arranged in a triangle. Once the last priestess had entered the chapel and its doors were closed, half the warriors left their alcoves, assembling in a large hall whose thick walls would dampen down any noise coming out of it. Even the heavy wooden door was padded with this aim in view. Wooden shields and various weapons hung from the walls. All the weapons were blunted in some way though. Flails, hammers and mauls had been padded, and the blades had had their edge dulled. One of the fighters, whose only distinguishing mark - apart from his serious look - was a white armband, came to stand in the center of the hall. Holding his forearms so that they crossed in front of his chest, he struck the palms of his hands once. The warriors put down their own weapons and shields near the entrance and equipped themselves with those displayed on the walls. Then, they stood - evenly spaced - around the hall. The fighter’s gaze came to rest on each of them in turn. Some bowed their head in deference, but none flinched. Seemingly satisfied, the man left the center of the hall, taking his place in the circle formed by the others. At his command, they all went down on their knees. His voice, when he spoke, was calm yet could be heard throughout the large room. ”Morwyn, Queen of Heaven, we are gathered here to honor you through our acts and our prayers. Shield our eyes with selflessness, that they may not covet another man’s wealth. Slow down our blades as they strike, that we may give quarter to our enemies. Give us the courage to resist challenges that may result in bloodshed. And grant us your wisdom, that we may distinguish truth from falsehood.” As he finished the prayer, the others struck up the ritual reply, their voices as one. [B]“Not for us, Lady. Not for us but for the sole glory of your name!”[/B] They all stood up then, ready to begin their daily training session. All but one, that is. One man was still on his knees. He was trying to get up but seemed to be experiencing difficulties doing so, as if the act was painful. Indeed, he had to use his shield as a kind of improvised cane to succeed. Master Arnulf, knight-commander of the monastery’s contingent of Faithful Sons, caught a glimpse of it. “Brother Kalveig, you seem to be in need of exercises. You will open the session with Brother Fearig, aye?” Kalveig grimaced before answering “By your leave, Master”. He equipped his shield and his flail, and advanced towards the center of the hall, waiting for his opponent. The latter joined him shortly. The two saluted and, on Arnulf’s signal, began to fight. Fearig was young, barely past twenty, having just completed his four years of training and earned his tabard. Strong and stocky, he wielded a bastard sword two-handed, probably because - as the son of a nobleman - it was his preferred weapon. Some of the older knights frowned but remained silent (1). In comparison, Kalveig looked almost old and tired. He was tall and wiry, in his early thirties. His flaxen hair fell on his shoulders like an unruly mane, and his long moustache was in serious need of a trim. His blue eyes were lusterless and just added to his dejected look. At least, that is how he appeared to the casual observer. To an experienced fighter, the view was more nuanced. Kalveig’s grip on his flail was strong and the way he was holding his shield indicated he knew how best to use it. Still, it was hard to determine if he was just faking disinterest for this battle or his heart truly wasn’t in it. After the first few passages of arms, Fearig became convinced his opponent had chosen to be on the defensive. That didn’t displease him. He liked to be the one giving the blows. He was just disappointed Master Arnulf hadn’t selected a more worthy adversary for him. He had heard a few unsavory rumors about Kalveig and they all alluded to the fact that he was a failure, perhaps even a drunkard. Righteous indignation filled his heart. He would teach the man a lesson! Kalveig was neither fit nor worthy, and he would expose him for the pathetic wretch that he was. After which he would magnanimously offer to escort him out of the monastery and give him a few silver pieces to get drunk at the nearest tavern. He felt sure Morwyn herself would smile on him for removing such an embarrassment from her holy house. He began to pound on his opponent’s shield. ** Kalveig sighed while deflecting yet another attack. [I]So obvious. That kid hasn’t got a clue what he is doing. Does he seriously think he can batter me down just by using his sword like a maul? There he goes again. Morwyn’s mercy! He doesn’t even guard his left flank anymore. Against a gnoll, he would be dead meat by now.[/I] He winced as pain lanced through his left leg. [I]Can’t take.. much more.. of this.[/I] He gritted his teeth and concentrated on Fearig, analyzing his movements. [I]His next attack is going to come from the left, aimed low. His own left flank will be completely open. Good. One blow ought to do the trick.[/I] Fearig attacked once again, putting all his strength behind his strike. Kalveig waited for the last possible moment before raising his shield as much as he could, leaving himself completely defenseless. The sword scored a solid hit on his left armpit, sending him flying to the floor in a heap. [I]Sweet Lady! The pain!![/I] He gasped but consciousness refused to elude him. Most of the other knights stood aghast, though a few of the younger ones exchanged derisive comments. [B]“DESIST!”[/B] The tone of Master Arnulf’s voice was enough to silence them all. It was clear he would brook no further insolence. He crossed rapidly the hall to stand over Kalveig. “The session is over. Resume your duties. Not you Brother Fearig! You will go to your cell and meditate over the Second and Third Virtues until such time as I deem you worthy to join your Brothers again!” He waited till they had all left the room. Then, and only then, he went down on his knees and gently helped Kalveig to lie on his back. The latter was wheezing, sure sign he had one (or more) broken rib. Arnulf shook his head and sighed. He cradled Kalveig’s head in his lap. “Why Kal? Why do you persist in pulling that kind of stupid stunt? You could have handled that kid with both hands tied in your back, even on a bad day. Fact is, I was counting on you to help me beat some caution into that - may Morwyn forgive me - dumb head of his.” Kalveig was looking at him, his eyes no longer lusterless, just.. weary. Arnulf sighed again but then frowned as he spied blood dripping from Kalveig’s left thigh. He swore. Gingerly, he removed Kalveig’s chainmail and swore again, louder this time. “Kal! You miserable son of a she-troll! I ought to..!” The thigh was cut almost to the bone and had been bandaged only superficially. The bandages were soaked in blood. That Kalveig had managed to move - not to mention fight! - for so long without collapsing was miraculous. “You have done it again, haven’t you? Who was it this time?” “The.. merchant”. Kalveig coughed. “The one who was.. ambushed by bandits.. on the southern road.” “Damn it, Kal! You know as well as I do that, as long as you reside at the monastery, you are [I]not[/I] authorized to go through the Rite of Transference without a Matriarch or a White Hand to supervise your condition during the whole process. That’s the second time this year alone!” “Had to..” He wheezed. “The man would have.. died by morning.. from infection. I can’t.” “That’s a lie and you know it! Even if it isn’t, it was for the gods to decide, not you. Now hold still while I patch you up and-” “Arn, no! Must.. suffer.. more” Kalveig’s gaze was almost feverish. “Don’t give me that look Kal! I am sick and tired of covering up for you. And for what? You can suffer all you want, it won’t bring her back. It won’t bring Le-” “[B]NO![/B]” Kalveig’s hand had struck like a snake and now held Arnulf’s throat in a viselike grip. Arnulf choked. [I]Morwyn’s mercy! So strong yet![/I] “[B]Never[/B].. say.. her name!” Kalveig’s eyes clouded with tears and his grip relaxed, the rest of his strength finally spent. Arnulf jumped back, coughed several times, and started massaging his throat while eyeing Kalveig with pity and disgust at the same time. The latter was now sobbing on the floor, the living embodiment of despair. Arnulf’s face clouded over as he approached the wounded warrior again. Laying his hands on Kalveig’s leg, he called upon Morwyn. Slowly, a soft silvery light suffused the wound. The blood stopped flowing and the flesh started to mend. Little by little, the gash closed till nothing but a pink scar remained. The light didn’t stop there. It spread to the rest of Kalveig’s body. Broken ribs knitted, and bruises disappeared. Kalveig’s breathing eased. Even his sobbing quieted down. Arnulf stood up and turned his back to him before talking again. When he did, his voice held only the barest trace of pity. “It has been 5 years Kal. No one can change what happened. I know you wish you could - we all do - but you can’t. Sometimes it happens, even to the best of us. Dying won’t change that, and no amount of suffering will ease the pain you feel.” “How could you possibly know how I feel? [I]Your[/I] charge didn’t die on your watch! (2)” Kalveig’s voice sounded almost reproachful. Arnulf whirled round to face him again. “That’s right, but if she had I wouldn’t be squandering the Lady’s gifts to indulge my self-pity. Except you don’t indulge it, you wallow in it!” Kalveig had the good sense to avert his eyes in shame. Arnulf came to kneel in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Deardre and I loved L.. [I]her[/I] as a sister. Her death affected us too, but we chose to live with it, rather than be destroyed by it. No one blames you for what happened. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent it. Foul sorcery held you in its grip, for crying out loud!” Kalveig was shaking his head slowly, on the verge of tears again. “I should have done.. something. Arn, you don’t know how hard it was to watch helplessly as they..” His voice broke and he put his face in his hands. Arnulf sighed deeply. “Look Kal, you can’t go on like this. And I can’t continue to cover up your behavior. When I found you in that tavern, 4 years ago, and brought you back to the monastery, I hoped you would come out of it. But you haven’t, and it’s destroying you piece by piece. You have refused to set foot out of this sanctuary ever since and, at first, I thought it was for the best. Now, I see I was wrong. Staying confined here won’t help. Nothing will. You need to go outside and [I]live[/I] again! You should be Master of your own monastery by now. You have been wasting your skills and the powers the Lady entrusted you with long enough. Most of us choose the Path of the Healer, very few the Path of the Martyr. But you did and I always envied you for it. That’s right, [I]envied[/I] you! Why? Because it takes a special kind of courage to walk down that path. I saw it in you back then, and I still see it today.. even if you can’t. We need you out there, showing pups like Brother Fearig that being a Faithful Son isn’t about glory and killing but about preserving life.” He got up. “I am going to talk to the abbess about it and request a new assignment for you.” Kalveig looked up at him, panic-stricken. “Arn, please! I.. I can’t. It’s too soon!” “You can and you will, [I]Brother[/I] Kalveig. You can accept the mission or resign for good, but either way you’ll be out of this monastery before the end of the week. I suggest you to take a bath and shave in the meantime. Remember, a healthy soul begins with a healthy body.” Arnulf left the room, leaving Kalveig to his inner demons. ** “.. and so, you see Holy Mother (3), I think it would be best if Brother Kalveig was-” The abbess raised her right hand to interrupt him. “Master Arnulf, you have never been very good at beating around the bush. Why don’t you get to the point and tell me what you [I]truly[/I] think Brother Kalveig needs?” Arnulf raised an eyebrow to try to convey the impression he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Tell you what. Let us pretend for a minute that you are still a young hot-headed warrior and I a stubborn young woman hellbent on redeeming villains. Back then, didn’t we swear over a campfire that we would always be honest to each other?” Arnulf chuckled. “At times, it feels like that was an eternity ago. We were still unused to the realities of the world.” A rueful smile made its way across its face. They looked in each other’s eyes and, beyond, in each other’s soul. They both carried scars that neither time nor spell could erase. In a way, it had made them stronger.. but it was also a burden they couldn’t share with anyone else. “Deardre, I am at my wit’s end. I tried patience, giving him comfort, yelling. Heck! I even tried to shame him. But nothing worked, and-” “.. and you can’t find the strength to lie for him anymore?” He looked at her, surprise and embarrassment in his eyes. “Oh come now, Arn. Did you truly think I hadn’t noticed? Every time he sneaked in the infirmary, I had to deal with young Matriarchs awed by what appeared to be a [I]miraculous recovery[/I] the next morning. If I hadn’t done all I could to cover it up as well, this monastery would have become a place of pilgrimage by now!” she snorted. “I know few Faithful Sons dedicate themselves to the Path of the Martyr these days but I haven’t forgotten what they are capable of when they do.” “I am sorry, I didn’t want to lie to you but he is.. was my-” “.. your friend? Aye, I remember that as well. You received your tabard on the same day as I recall. You two could have been brothers.” Arnulf balled his left fist and put it over the tears embroidered on his tabard in silent remembrance. “I know how you feel, Arn. Leandra and I took our vow the same day too. She was like a sister to me.” “Were you.. angry with him? For letting her die, I mean.” Deardre sat back in her chair and watched the ceiling for a while before answering. “I was.. at first. I may be a priestess but I am still a human being, you know? Later, I forgave him.. if there was something to be forgiven to begin with. It’s not as if he was truly responsible for what happened, eh?” “No, only a Mage Guard (4) would have stood a chance from what I understand. But he blames himself for it anyway.” “That was only to be expected. That notion forms the foundation of your training, after all.” They both remained silent for a minute before she spoke again. “Given he has full command of his powers, I think we can safely say he retains Morwyn’s favor. But would it surprise you to know Leandra has forgiven him as well?” He looked at her in shock. “You spoke to her spirit?!” She shook her head. “No, I am not a High Matriarch. But right after you brought him back to the monastery, I talked to one of the Lady’s servants. He was willing to run an errand for me.. an errand of mercy. Lea loved Kal very much, perhaps more than he knew. She was quite distraught over his condition. She couldn’t do anything about it, of course. Not directly anyway. But she interceded with the Lady on his behalf and, apparently, the goddess granted her wish for she came to me in my dreams and showed me what needed to be done.” Arnulf hazarded a guess. “The Rite of Atonement?” Deardre shook her head again. “No, nothing as drastic as that. I was told to wait for a sign. That is why I allowed you to think you had successfully kept me in the dark for so long.” He could read in her eyes that she had been hurt by the deception but, most of all, by the fact he hadn’t requested her help immediately. Silently, he resolved to seek her forgiveness later. Right now, the important matter was to take care of Kalveig. “In fact” she continued, “your timing couldn’t have been better for I finally received the sign yesterday. Watch but no matter what happens, please remain silent.” She took a small silver bell on her desk and rang it thrice. Immediately, light footsteps echoed in the corridor outside her office. Arnulf stood up and walked to stand behind her; not only because it was proper but also in order to better see who she had just invited to join them. The door opened to admit a young Matriarch. From the look of her, she had probably just finished her novitiate. She entered, keeping her eyes down as befitted her station. “You summoned me, Holy Mother?” “Indeed, Sister..?” “Siubhan, Holy Mother.” “Ah yes, Sister Siubhan. The High Matriarch of Widdershin spoke highly of you in her missive.” Siubhan blushed. “Tell me child, what paths did you choose when you took your vow?” “The Erudite and the Healer, Holy Mother.” “But you are primarily a White Hand (5), correct?” “By Morwyn’s blessing, Holy Mother.” “And why did you request assignment to this monastery in particular?” “It was not so much the monastery as the person to whom it is dedicated, Holy Mother.” “You feel special reverence for St-Martha, a priestess who was burnt at the stake for heresy?” “She was a devoted White Hand before she fell from grace, Holy Mother, and the fact that the White Lady saw fit to grant her sainthood despite what she did prior to her death is - to me - a shining example of Morwyn’s limitless forgiveness.” Deardre threw Arnulf a [I]see what I mean?[/I] look but the latter only furrowed his brow in puzzlement and shrugged in response. He still couldn’t see what she had in mind. “I have a mission for you, child. That is, if you feel up to it..” continued Deardre. “I will humbly accept whatever task you entrust me with, Holy Mother.” Siubhan bowed low. “Excellent.” Deardre opened a drawer, took a small casket in it, put it on the desk and pushed it toward Siubhan. “This box contains a gift from a man we healed a few months ago. A silver key to be precise. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, but I have been recently informed by a messenger that - apparently - it entitles us to some kind of recompense. The only problem being that someone has to fetch it. Since, right now, I cannot spare any of the more experienced Matriarchs for such a task, I thought you might relish the opportunity to travel a bit before spending your days cloistered here, hmm?” Siubhan blushed again. “You are to travel to Weston. It is a small village near the Suressian border. There, you will meet a man named Kel Varnsen. He will explain to you what needs to be done to [I]collect[/I] the reward. While you are at it, I would like you to investigate a rumor I heard about a strange sickness that seems to plague the natives. Solve the problem if you can, or come back to us with enough information if you can’t. Of course, you won’t be traveling alone. We will assign a Faithful Son to protect you. Since this is your first official mission, Master Arnulf here will select a veteran.” Siubhan looked up a brief moment and her eyes caught those of Arnulf. The latter had to bite on his tongue not to gawp. [I]Blue-green eyes, just like Leandra’s!?![/I] Deardre stood up. “May Morwyn watch over you, child. Her mercy is, indeed, infinite...” ********** (1) Faithful Sons consider piercing/slashing weapons to be reserved for the most experienced warriors because it is more difficult [I]not[/I] to deliver a lethal hit with them. (2) Morwyn’s clergy is the main source of magical healing available since druids are reviled and the only other deity granting cure spells - Rontra - is considered by most (except farmers) as [I]outdated[/I]. Since Morwyn’s priestesses usually don’t wear armor and are peaceful folks, it is traditional for each priestess (aka [I]Matriarch[/I]) to have her own Faithful Son bodyguard (the Faithful Sons being Morwyn’s holy warriors). The latter has one duty that he must fulfill above all others: keep the Matriarch he protects alive at all costs, even if it means sacrificing his own life. For a Faithful Son, there can be no greater disgrace than surviving the Matriarch he was assigned to defend. (3) When a Matriarch has become powerful enough (read: when she reaches a certain level), she has to go through a test. If she succeeds, she is then elevated to the rank of Holy Mother and – usually - put in charge of a monastery. (4) A holy warrior of Tinel, god of magic. Supposedly, Mage Guards are among the toughest opponents a spellcaster can face given their innate spell resistance. (5) Among priestesses of Morwyn (aka the White Lady), those who specialize in healing are called the [I]White Hands[/I]. It is also the name of an order of lay healers sponsored by the clergy. Generally, anyone who has a gift for healing is called a White Hand among commoners. At times, it makes things a bit confusing but it shows how much tradition has come to associate Morwyn with the act of healing in human culture. ********** [/QUOTE]
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