Paladin the path begins

Tar’vid woke up to semi-darkness as the moonlight beamed in through his window, the dust sparkling magically. He felt rejuvenated after only such a short period of rest, perhaps part of the saints blessings he thought swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Tar’vid turned his thoughts towards his impending departure, he’d be totally alone for the first time in his life and the thought scared him. Standing on the floor he heard the usual sound of his boots on stone, realising he’d been so tired he hadn’t even undressed.

“This is it” he said to himself with a cold acceptance of his situation. Tar’vid carefully packed what little he owned into a small bag Tar’son had left him beside the doorway, tying the small bag to his belt.

Tar’vid knelt by his bed, offering a prayer to the saints.

“Sah’ravel guide me on my path, as Tar’mine protects my soul from the darkness,” he said reverently.

As he stood up he heard the Initiates prayers from the courtyard begin from below, their rhythmic chanting of Sah’ravel’s prayer feeling like a send off for him. He walked over to the window, taking in the sight of Whitecliff castle at night one last time. The Great Sah’Raine bell rang out for midnight as he left his room, the emptiness seemed haunting in the dead of night, perhaps the next initiate that lived here would follow in his footsteps he wondered, giving the room one last gaze before walking away for perhaps the last time. Tar’vid made his way to the gatehouse as quickly as he could muster, throughout the barracks the novices he met bowed their heads in reverence to him, it felt strange to him being looked up to as he realised it was probably the same look Tar’son received from them on a regular basis.

He found Tar’son waiting patiently in the cloisters, his face lost in thought as Tar’vid walked over to him pensively, and though some part of him still hoped he might be asked to stay he knew such a thing could never happen, once he had finished his path Tar’vid knew he would take on a role like his mentors. Tar’son finally noticed him as he stood beside his mentor.

“In a way Tar’vid I’ve always dreaded this moment... ever since you were the last of your unit”

Tar’son embraced him with fondness, Tar’vid saw his eyes glisten in the moonlight as they broke their embrace.

“Come now, this isn’t for others to see” Tar’son said, his voice wavering a little.

They walked out into the courtyard once more, Tar’son leading him into the gatehouse. It was taking all Tar’vid’s will not to let his emotions overwhelm him now. Tar’son halted inside the gatehouses entrance, Tar’vid heard a deep breath as his mentor composed himself.

“This is it” Tar’son said, “unlike any other... you are as a son to me Tar’vid, since you were a boy I’ve raised you and now... I’m so proud of the man I’ve raised”

Tar’son placed a hand over Tar’vid’s face, uttering a prayer in a language he didn’t recognise before a bright light dazzled him for a moment.

Tar’son hugged him one last time before placing a hand strongly on his shoulder, Tar’vid knew he was on the verge of tears and he clenched his jaw trying to stifle them.

“Go now a man Tar’vid, and in ten years return to us a Paladin brother, you will face many trials and dangers in the world, but always remember, the saints themselves deemed you worthy of such a task and that I love you” Tar’son told him, tears flowing down his cheeks.

Tar’vid turned away from his mentor... his father, walking swiftly with tears in his eyes. He passed under the gate of the great gatehouse and over the drawbridge unwilling to look back, only when the night was silent once more did he wipe away the tears with his sleeve, feeling the coastal wind pulling at his tabard, spraying him with salt water from the coast.

Tar’vid passed through the town in a daze, he couldn’t remember passing by many of the places he knew well. There were few people around at this time of night, and in the darkness of the town’s buildings it would be difficult to see his tabard, though the blade at his hip would be enough to deter trouble. He heard noise from the tavern a few streets away, the raucous laughter and the fast paced music of a violin still loud at this time of night, he was sorely tempted to stay the night... though he knew well that he couldn’t, the faster he was away from Whitecliff the less likely he would be to try and remain, after all the saints had judged him worthy to walk the path as a journeyman of the order, it was his duty now to make them proud of him. He reached the edge of town in the early hours of morning, passing by farm buildings that began to appear beside the road, his mood was dour as he heard the last of the cows, pigs and other animals rustling in the fields, soon they would be herded into the town to stay out the winter months. Reaching the peak of Pike’s hill a short time later he turned to look back at Whitecliff and its castle one last time, it was truly a sight to behold especially with only the moonlight to see it by.

“Farewell,” he said to the town sadly, though his mood seemed somehow lifted at the sight. With a deep sigh Tar’vid turned his gaze back to the road as he walked away from the only home he’d ever known.

Tar’vid had decided to go north upon reaching the crossroads on the Veldran road, for though Vieldon to the south was rife with the plague he wasn’t confident enough in his healing prayers to do anything effective there. Fernhaven, however, lay nearly a weeks travel from Whitecliff, and perhaps there he could ply his trade during the coming winter as healers were always sought after, and besides Fernhaven was a busy port town, in the spring he could always take a ship abroad, it was something he’d have to think about later on he decided.

The first few days were pleasant enough, he met several farmers heading to Whitecliff with what livestock and crops they had left, though apart from that he met no one else... but at least it wasn’t raining.

Tar’vid detested rain, especially now that the small amount of food he had was running low. He came upon a small logging village a few hours later as the rain finally started to let up, the gates were barred and the words ‘Keep out, Plague’ were scrawled upon a makeshift plaque, though the wood seemed new and the paint barely dry. Tar’vid knew something of the plague that had swept the south lands of Vieldon, having treated several victims as practice during his training over the years, though he had found his limits quickly as the healing prayers took a great toll on his body, causing blood vessels to rupture in and around the brain from the strain. He tried to lift the wooden bar across the gate braces, thinking perhaps there may be people within he could save, but it was far too heavy and he gave a grunt of frustration as it dropped back into place heavily.

“Hello!” he called out... there was no response but decided that perhaps anyone alive may be too sick to answer back, and besides he wanted to see for himself, if he could save even one life today he’d feel a lot better about leaving home. He skirted the walls for a time until eventually finding a place that was low enough for him to get a hand hold. Lifting himself onto the wall he silently thanked Tar’son for the hours of training each day that he’d endured, keeping him at the peak of fitness.

He dropped over the wall, landing softly on his feet. The village was deathly silent though, as the plague was equally deadly to all life he now noted... finding the rotting carcases of animals by the wayside, their bodies covered with the same sores he’d seen on the many plague victims in Whitecliff. The smell was horrific and he pulled his tabard up around his nose and mouth to block out the putrid stench. Tar’vid continued making his way through the village, stopping at houses along the way to check for survivors, but there were none to be found, only the rotting bodies of the dead. He hadn’t thought he would be affected by the sight of so much death as he’d been accustomed to it early on in his life, the brothers and sisters of his group had died to the purification rituals one by one until only he remained, but this was different, he felt sick to the pit of his stomach. He tried to put all thoughts of the rotting corpses as far to the back of his mind as possible, carrying on regardless, but going through house after house, seeing corpse after corpse, for hour after hour it seemed his search was pointless. He came to the last and largest of the houses, and though it was still only the size of a Whitecliff farmstead it still dwarfed the other dwellings considerably. Tar’vid slowly pushed open the wooden door with a creak, stepping in cautiously. This house had the same stench of decay, though not as strongly as the others, he found the walls had been washed with a salt-lime mix that the occupants must have thought would stave off the disease, but like all probable cures or remedies it hadn’t worked, as it seemed only a prayer of healing could destroy the plague. He was immune to the plague though, along with numerous other poisons and diseases, but as he always reminded himself he’d been a lucky one, for how many thousands had died through the trials he’d endured and survived. Tar’vid was broken from his thoughts sharply, hearing a crash from a nearby room, he rushed to the closest door, and finding it lock he leaned against the far wall, kicking open the locked door and finding a woman near death collapsed on the floor, her skin was pale and blotched with plague sores. He rushed over dropping to his knees beside her, frantically placing a hand on her shoulder, seeing she was only moments from death.

“Lay still,” he told her, untying his belt and sliding the leather between her teeth, knowing that the power he would unleash would be painful for them both.

“This is going to sting... it’s so you don’t bite off your tongue” he told her quickly, seeing the fear in her eyes. She nodded slowly and he hoped that meant she understood him. Tar’vid stretched out his hands, intoning the prayer of Salnah. He said the words confidently, keeping his voice steady and making the words almost rhythmical, flowing from him as if it were another’s voice.

His hands began to glow with holy power as he started feeling the headache that always came with the prayers, for a few moments he saw no change, thinking he had failed. Then came the bleeding as his nose erupted with blood, he started to go light headed immediately, feeling his body sway slightly as he felt the first droplets of blood dripping onto his outstretched arms. His mind told him to grasp more power as he felt blood begin running from his ears now, but he resisted the urge, his mental training blocking the urge that would surely lead to his death.The woman sighed, not the wheezing release of death, but a healthy gasp, sucking air into newly healed lungs. Tar’vid was elated as her flesh turned back to a healthy shade of pink, the sores healing, fading, then falling away.

“First times the charm,” he said out loud, moving his hands away slowly, the light dimming from his sight as he fell backwards, the strain on his mind too much as he felt blood begin seeping from his eyes and running from his nose like a stream. Then all seemed calm as a cold white light fell over him.

Tar’vid woke with a start, the unfamiliar surroundings jarring to him. He was in a bed and stripped to the waist, he lifted up the sheet over his legs... definitely to the waist he thought, letting out a sigh he surveyed his surroundings, the room was bright with the walls covered in the same salt-lime mix, several armchairs sat arranged around a large fireplace which had a small fire burning away, Tar’vid also spotted a woman sitting in one of the chairs, he leaned up onto his elbows making the bed creak. The woman looked over to him smiling broadly, she was pretty he thought as she swept her long dark hair over her shoulder. She came over to him, leaning over him he saw her green eyes looking down at him warmly.

“Where?” he croaked painfully, his throat felt raw and dry.

“Don’t speak, don’t move okay?” the woman told him gently, holding him in place.

“You’ve been out for a few days... though I must confess, I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

She left him alone for a moment, returning with a mug of water that she raised up slowly, pressing the mug gently to his parched lips.

“Slowly now,” she said to him, tipping the mug slightly more for him, “I’m Lilian by the way and who might you be... I had always thought Mages would look more garish, wear bright colours you know” she said, gesturing at the jarring yellow curtains on the wall.

“I’m Tar’vid, a Paladin... well a journeyman, definitely not a mage though!” he croaked, shaking his head, speaking was painful and he wished he’d kept his response shorter.

She left him alone again as he sat up, his body aching badly as he did so, though his head felt fine again.

Lilian returned a short time later with a bowl of cold water, Tar’vid carefully lifted his legs over the side of the bed, Lilian placing the bowl carefully in his lap. He looked down into the clear water, recoiling in shock at his reflection, almost spilling the contents of the bowl. A blue cross, the cross of Tor’Dorvan was marked over the left side of his face, the centre of the cross his left eye. He thought back to his parting with Tar’son, perhaps he had marked him... though it was equally possible the saints had done so at his judgement.

“What’s wrong?” Lilian asked concerned.

“It’s nothing,” he told her, forcing a smile.

“It’s just the first time I’ve seen myself for some days now, it’s kind of a shock,” he said, placing the bowl down on the bed and standing awkwardly, stretching his legs out.

“That’s a shame, It’s such a handsome face,” she said, biting her bottom lip and running her eyes over him, she laughed going back to the fireside happily.

He walked over to her, the feeling having returned to his legs, he sat down beside her, looking at her as she stared into the flames.

“What will you do now?” he asked, looking around the room, knowing everyone else in the village was dead.

“I’ll go back to Whitecliff, my cousins live there. They run the Wilted Flower tavern, though I expect a well respected Paladin like yourself would never frequent it” she said teasingly, stroking his arm.

He smiled and Lilian nudged his ribs, making him wince.

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry!” she said in shock, clasping her hands to her cheeks.

Tar’vid laughed, which was also painful and she smiled once more, nestling her head on his shoulder.

“What will you do sir Paladin?” she asked, looking up at him as her eyes sparkled in the firelight.

“I guess I’ll carry on north to Fernhaven” he replied, rubbing at his sore throat.

They carried on talking into the night, and when his throat became too sore to speak she told him stories of her own childhood, many things he had never experienced himself, she told him of her first love, Tar’vid’s experience of such things being virtually nonexistent.

“It’s hard to explain, I guess it’s like being truly happy, you’ll know it when it happens. Sorry, I’m not being very clear” she said, holding his hand gently as she continued to speak. She fell asleep a while later, Tar’vid watched the last of the flames die down thinking about what she’d told him, of what he’d missed out on, love and fun were foreign concepts to him, Tar’son and the other Paladins had tried to give him a normal childhood, but after several incidents in the town they had simply added more training to take up his time, the eventual deaths all of his brothers and sisters had robbed him of friends, the kind many Paladins had for life. perhaps he had loved Sah’Nah, but she had died when they were thirteen, could he know love that young he wondered.

When dawn broke it was time for them to part company, Lilian hugged him, kissing his cheek gently.

“May Sah’ravel guide you, and Tar’mine protect you,” he said happily, smiling at her.

She had pulled him close and kissed him on the lips, parting after a long time.

“I hope we meet again, Tar’vid the Paladin,” she said, smiling broadly, her face a little flushed.

“As do I Lilian” he replied with a smile of his own.

“Perhaps when you return to Whitecliff you can find me,” she said with a smile, laughing and punching him lightly on the shoulder. She walked away casually then, waving back before she jumped over the break in the wall. Tar’vid wondered if they indeed would meet again, he belted on his sword and left the ruined village behind him.

Tar’vid hadn’t met a soul in days now he realised, though he had come across several looted convoys, bandits he had thought, finding axe and knife wounds on the bloodied bodies left behind on many of the bodies had only confirmed his suspicions. He began to worry about Lilian and the several day journey she had to Whitecliff, the only comfort he could take was that the bodies were weeks old now. She’s in the hands of the saints now he thought.

The night was closing in as he came upon a ruined tower a short way from the roadway, it seemed as good a place as any to rest he thought passing under a stone archway. The tower was falling apart though he noted, moving amongst the ruins, the stone having eroded badly after decades of neglect and disuse. Entering the centre of the building he found the cross of Tor’Dorvan branded into the stonework in several places, perhaps this place had been a Paladin outpost at some point, though if it had been it was long abandoned by the order now. He decided to spend the night here none the less, though he felt a welling in the pit of his stomach and he drew his blade keeping it close by... just in case. Sitting against probably the only stable wall inside what he assumed had been a larder he tried to sleep, though there was something wrong about this place... he could feel it in his bones.