not all of it came out for sum reason. trying again
One
1
Traveling
“You came to us young and impulsive Syn'x, you were not even clothed and you were not yet ready to see the outside world. You understood little of hatred, nothing of deceit but plenty of pain” he paused, the dark eyes of the old man clouded over with worry and without even trying Syn'x’s heightened senses picked up on the old man aura of worry and of loss, though his curiosity burned inside of him the years at the temple had taught him discipline over his emotions as well as his powers, such as they were. None of his curiosity showed upon his face as the mask of iron discipline stayed in place. “We have nurtured you, allowed you to choose your own path, happily this path was with us but now…”
“Are you displeased with my service milord Abbot?” the voice that spoke was strong and mature that held an obscure mixture of worldly knowledge and the rarest of all qualities, innocence. “…Of course not my friend, but your apprenticeship has ended and it seems that for now at least you are no longer needed here” seeing beyond his pupil’s iron tight control he continued “do not be sad Syn'x, you have simply outgrown us, you are a priest of Loyn, first and foremost and it maybe that we will see each other again, you are certainly most welcome here”
“And yet you cast me out!? Why? What could I have ever done to you or our order that is so bad to deserve this, this punishment?” the iron control slipped and it hurt the Abbot to see the suffering in his friend’s eyes.
“This is NOT a punishment…. ahh…. my friend, have you learned nothing in your time here? Our God does not punish, he merely teaches and loves all, perhaps you being trained as a warrior priest was a mistake, in any order they are rare, especially ours, but we need the Knights of the Rose and they need us, they provide protection to us and we provide healing to them follow me…” he released his spirit and scanned the soft battlements with the eyes of his spirit viewing the training areas for the Knights as well as those for the priests.
The fortress, for that is what is actually was, was offset by the fact that the customary granite walls were actually made from soft limestone and though the fortress did have a central water supply it was more a sheltered lake rather than wells, the protection for which was a thick mass of trees cultured and befriended in loving harmony by the priests. It had both a keep and a Cloister. The love that Syn'x found here was beyond description, these priests and some knights due to their religious belief or mage birth had some powers or similar abilities that Syn'x had. Apart from this, there was only one other structure of note, the council chamber that seated both The Council Of The Rose and the separate Council Of Loyn that controlled every single priest of the God in the known world and of the multitude of Gods and Goddesses Loyn was one of the three largest worshipped Gods in the known world. It was here that the two spirits floated to.
“Do you remember the first time you appeared before this council?” asked the Abbot
“Yes”
“Let me refresh your memory” with a wave of his spirit hand the scene blurred to five years earlier, the Council was in full session, with every member was looking curiously on the strange bewildered man that stood before them. The man was naked, showing an Elven build that bespoke the nobility of that race, the muscles though perfectly proportioned would later turn out to have characteristics of the Dwarven community, the dexterity and reflexes of a Halfling with the pain resistance of what appeared to be a Troll.
These Priests however could sense few of these things, they were able to deduce that whatever he was he had free will, that much was obvious and though he was obviously a magical construct of some sort, his features being without any symmetrical imperfections that mark even the beauty of the elves, he was still in part at least, of the natural order his body being alive not dead. The spirits watched again as the frightened young man was examined by the priests, obviously as curious about them as they him. At one point the High Priest tried to test his reaction to new situations, he launched a lightning bolt to the right of the man’s head. The reaction was spectacular, the hazel in the mans eyes darkened to jade, as did the rest of the man’s eye and his own lightning, as dark as his eyes, was shot from his upraised hands, the High Priest managed to put up some protections and these saved his life. Instead of dying he was thrown across the ornate room higher than the council chairs, past the central table and into the wall on the opposite side of the room, breaking three ribs and fracturing his skull. The priests were speechless not just because a mere man-child could harm the greatest mystic in generations or the fact that he was able to cut through centuries of protection spells and cause ANY damage at all but, because the man was on the floor weeping openly and could only whisper in anguish, between sobs of absolute hopelessness,
“Help me, help me please”
“Most of us are granted abilities by our God, we can heal, defend and protect the innocent.” he paused and even with sprit eyes managed to see everything that is or ever would be of his friends soul. “Few in the council, let alone the rest of the order can release the spirit as we do, I gain this ability through years of study and the devotion to and the love that exists between myself and my God”
“I do not?”
“No, you are much too young, both physically and to our way…” his eyes softened “what does it feel like? To use your powers I mean?”
“Like I'm reaching into the darkest parts of my soul, I become filled with this black hate, that stays in my mind like oil and with a mere thought I shape and release it” the look that Syn'x’s spirit face had when describing these things was enough to make the Abbot, a man of the world as well as some years, shudder right down to the very core of his being.
“You always said it was bad but…” a sudden thought came to him “what is it like, exactly, when you release your spirit?”
“It used to be the same as when drawing on the rest of my powers”
“Used to be?”
“Recently I keep in mind the face of our God and it is like the darkness is lifted, the chains gone even as the worries of the flesh fade away…”
“It is the same for me…come brother…. let me help you pack”
Syn'x sighed, his bags where packed, three carrying provisions to the next town, probably Runtford, one carrying spare clothes and another carried his Ritual kit. He looked himself in the mirror seeing his light plated boots; dark padded trousers, silver chain mail shirt and bracers overlaid by the green robe of his order and wondered at what kind of man he really was, an angelic face he had, though not in the classical sense, his eyes hazel and not blue, his hair was also hazel and though tinted with flecks of silver could never be mistaken for the blond of legend. The face did not make the man though, he never really could understand the way that the people here could be taken in by such faces, not that he would ever turn against these people here, he chose this path and he loved these people, but knowing less of this world he knew more, he knew to look with his spirit eyes, with his priestly powers upon the soul rather than trust a smiling face. He looked round his room; halfway between a bedchamber and a cell it held the only things that he valued in life other than people. Books covered one wall rare and not-so rare were placed side by side equally loved, A miniature tree, sat on the hole that passed for a window and window sill, he stroked and assured of it’s love continued to see and tidy the room in which he had spent 5 years. A table and chair that was a gift from his brothers in the order and though it probably didn’t mean anything to them it was a strong reminder that these people and the Knights that lived with them were the fist people to ever show him kindness. Sighing once again he closed the door to the room that held all traces of who he actually was. Walking down the stone steps was strange now, he never noticed how hollow and empty walking out of the Temple of Loyn actually was, but then he reflected, had only left to gather herbs and treat the illnesses of the unnamed hamlet that was a mile away from the temple proper.
He had been ordered by both councils to begin his journey, a period of two years (ish) in which the candidate would look for the place where he belonged, to see before it was no longer an option, which path he wanted to take, the warrior, the man or the life of the priest. Syn'x’s choice came earlier than most, he being a warrior priest, not that being one was bad but, a warrior priest, if that’s what Syn'x wanted to remain, had to choose which took priority, to become a Knight with religious sympathies or a monk who taught their fighting skills to people who couldn’t fight and sought only to fight in defense of themselves. Then again he could simply be a priest, a pacifist who fought nothing but healed everything, even his enemies, or a man, probably a sorcerer without the duties of celibacy, prayer and vegetarianism. Without however the love of his God and having to use the darkest parts of his soul to fulfill his whims
Looking now at the chestnut stallion that would carry him away from here he saw his life in its company, traveling on the road or seeing to its bed for the night. His thoughts were not so much romanticised as honest, he would be spending a lot of time with this horse, it was best he got used to thinking about it often so that he never mistreated it and he therefore was never mistreated. Anyway the horse was sturdy and would carry him through any place that he desired to go, he was trained by his brother priests and in, that if nothing else, he trusted. Placing a hand on the horse’s rump he soothed the animal, telling it of his peaceful intentions and filling it with the calm of his pious soul. Apprentice Go’lan passed him his Everwood staff that he strapped to his back and a small dark bladed dagger, which was put into the side of his boot and a silver steel rapier, which was placed into its scabbard on the side of his belt. Pulling up his hood and tightening the cowl cover his face his nudged the horse with his legs and it left at a steady trot.
It was a pleasant day and he was able to make good time, still he wondered at the face of Apprentice Go’lan as he left, though he appeared older, twenty-five or twenty-six and though Go’lan was only twenty he still saw the man as an older brother and he was sad to know what was in his face as he left, he saw the pain, the loneliness and the envy that his leaving caused. As he was taught he saw that, all the anguish and the secret longing and accepted that as part of life, something that he could not change could not heal, no matter how much he cared for his temple friend. It was hard though, bitterly hard and he prayed to his God that he could have the strength to accept these things, as he must, if he was ever to travel outside the temple ever again. At the thought of the temple he held his emotional controls in place even as the heartsickness of it all stabbed like knives of fire throughout his soul, he remembered life with the priests, with Go’lan teaching the village children, of meditating in spite of the cold waterfall that was under him and vividly swearing, in his own blood to be a Page of the Rose. Then he remembered something else, something he missed as Go’lan passed him his staff, he had slipped a note into his saddlebag. He had deliberately avoided the village, their was too many memories for him there, for a man in pain memories weighed down but for a mystic whose whims were weapons, the temptation to loose himself in the past was one that found he could not face. Not yet. His being a mystic worried him, people priests included usually were not, as the Abbot said, true mystics but, rather had the ability from years of study but it appeared that he was. Whether he was created with it or whether it was forced upon him worried him greatly, but then he mused it hardly mattered whether he was given them or he was born with them, it simply helped him to help people.
The sun was setting, the achingly beautiful prayer of setting was upon his lips before he could even think, and he mourned the loss of the sun, mourning that which helped those upon this world to live even as he knew that everything must rest, even it appeared, the Sun and he moved to the shelter of the trees letting the horse drink on a natural stream nearby he took out the note from his saddlebag but, the light was now too poor to read so he used the staff to channel his God-given power to lighten it’s entire length for both warmth and light. The woods protected him, he was the student of their father, Loyn God of Wood, Beasts and Wisdom had marked this one, though he knew it not, the Gods subtle hand was upon him and the mark of his love was stronger than any mystic talent. Syn'x read the letter
“Brother,
Even as you read this I am less for part of my soul stays with you.
The Abbot guided not doubt in his infinite wisdom has asked you to leave us, and I am uneasy to see you go, you must understand that we all wish you the best, find some happiness, keep to your vows and perhaps when your two year journey stage is up you will be allowed to return to the temple.
Go’lan”
Tears stung his cheeks as he read the short and hurried letter, feeling the warmth of care that radiated from it and he lovingly even slowly folded the letter catching the scent of his friends and the underlay of earthy tones from the temple itself. He would reach Runtford around noon tomorrow; he was in no real hurry. Even as he finished his small campsite by the light of his staff and realized that night had truly set in he found himself turning to the light footfall of Elven steps. A ordinary human, an Elf even, would not have heard the noise, nor here the almost silent sound of a dagger being slipped from it’s sheath. He went about his camp as if he hadn’t have heard these telltale noises, staring at the stars in as much wonder as any child across the world, the light slowly fading from his staff and just as the intruder was about to plunge their knife into his exposed back his hand came up, the staff flying from the ground ten feet away to land in his hands and coming up in the classical block knocking the katana from the attackers hand. His staff still had some light and he knew a small thrill of fear, which was quickly stifled as he stared into the bottomless pits that made up the eyes of his adversary.
The eyes of a Dark Elf.
His laughter rang out over the peaceful wood.
She was shorter than he was, though not by much, and slightly more angular, her dark eyes were a mask and her spirit was hidden from him, he sensed that she had something, something growing weaker by the day but something still strong enough to keep him out at the moment. He didn’t push, that would be very bad manners and unbecoming one of his order. Then again if you were looking for bad manners this Elf took the biscuit.
She had flown away from the dimming light of his staff, using her racial gifts to jump high and away, the light being a great pain to her and all those of her kind. That he had no problem with, from all the horror stories of her kind that he heard he had no problem with distance between them. The problem that he had however, was the short bow stretched taut with a very nasty looking arrow pointed right at his heart.
“Give me your horse and your food” her voice, for her femininity could not be in question, was low and melodic expressive of both the fact that she was a full-grown woman yet overlaid with both weariness and anger.
“Why?”
“Because I hold the bow and you will die if you do not”
He smiled. Her bow, which she had trusted so much before suddenly broke, the holes for the sting healing, causing it to snap and the arrow fall harmlessly to the ground.
“All men die Lady but, It is not my day to start that journey. She sniffed the air in contempt.
“Priest” she spat the word “which demon gives you power?”
“I am and no demon gives me power. I simply use my power in the service of my God” the slight emphasis of the word God was the only emotion that slipped through his guard.
The intensity and the strangeness of the man before her had held her enraptured but the urgency of her current situation returned in force, as she was about to laugh in his face and she did something she would never do under normal circumstances. She swallowed her pride.
“Please let me have your horse and food. They will not bother you.”
“They?” he paused and said, “What did you do?”
“They persecute me only for the colour of my skin”
“Then I must help you”
“I tried to kill you, to steal from you…”
“Even so”
“Why would you do this…act?” her eyes turned to flint “what payment do you expect? I will not lie on my back for you; neither will I be some freak for you and your kind human…” she trailed off stonewalled by his face. It was a mask of composure, of forced tranquility, a young priest she guessed, for he could no keep the emotions from swirling in his oddly haunting hazel eyes.
“Madame” he began, relying on stiff formality to distance himself from this woman, to help him put aside the stories of her kin and help her on an individual basis, to put aside bigotry. To keep the beast that was his burden caged forever and to do good. “You obviously have not met many Priests of this world” he turned his back on her, as far distant as another world, which they both reflected at exactly the same time.
Hoof beats sounded and six cavalrymen came into view. The pair moved closer together, the Dark Elf pulling the cowl over her face while collecting the katana. They wore the Duke of Na’main’s livery. All were human, like the Duke himself, who was a bigot that prided himself, his lands and his people on the racial purity of the Human race against all others, which were deemed inferior. All but one dismounted, the officer looked down haughtily upon them.
“Surrender the Elf,” demanded the officer, the chipped tones of the northern gentry annoyed Syn'x and the bored tone with which the man commanded it, if you please, did more than annoy Syn'x, it angered him. Through this all his face remained impassive, his emotions like a smith’s fire, tight and hot, strong but controlled.
“What crime has she committed?” even as he spoke the light of his staff began to increase highlighting for the first time not only his silver chain mail and his striking face but also his priestly robes that were overlaid with the sigil of Loyn, seven tinted antlers, seven for a King.
“She spied upon our camp Priest and is a security risk I cannot allow”
“Is it in your nature to kill anyone who walks into your camp?” he paused “these are the Free Lands commander, there are no nobility in this Republic and this begs the question why are you even here?”
“That is none of your concern Priest….” He was half right anyway, as a priest it was none of his concern but as a sword champion and page of the Rose it was, he touched his mind briefly and found that this was a raiding party of fifty men to attack the Republics new mithril mine. “…Besides look at her skin, she cannot be allowed to live.” He paused “And she is an Elf The finality and hatred in those words chilled the young priest and the fire of his anger turned ice cold even as it blazed with new life.
“No where” he paused, in part for emphasis, but only in part “is that written”
The officer’s tone became condescending, almost as if he was taking to a small child who knows no better
“Think of what her people have done to us in the past, how can you shelter her now?”
“The past is dead Captain, all beings can be better and she is not her people, she is….”
“Isovienwen The Raven Haired” came the haunting voice of the Elf across the breeze.
“Isovienwen and though she did not ask for sanctuary I give it freely to any who are hunted unjustly and she is”
“There appears no way to reason with you Priest. Goodbye” said the Captain, ready to crush the impetuous youth.
“We both know this is not, nor will it ever be, about reason Captain.” The Captain gave a swift nod to his men, who had formed a loose ring around the pair. They stood back to back. The Captains men drew their swords. Syn’x lifted his staff and pointed it at the Captain and shouted an intelligible word. The captain was thrown sixty feet and hit a tree, unconscious and out of the fight, his horse reared. The five men closed in.
Isovienwen ran at three, beheading one and holding the other two at bay with her Katana. Two hits from his Everwood staff and the two men that attacked Syn’x were unconscious both with a concussion. He turned to see Isovienwen deal a viscous backhand slash to the throat of one even as she jumped up, high up to escape the one who had maneuvered behind her. He watched in stunned amazement as she turned the tables on him and landed lightly behind him, before her attacker could move, could even think, he found himself with her Katana through his heart. She saw Syn’x and smiled. She walked towards him; he was surprised she did not run, he reflected that he might have preferred that. He watched flip her Katana so that it’s blade pointed downwards ready to stab those that he had knocked unconscious. He could not allow butchery; the Priest in him had sworn against it, the man in him was reviled by it. He began an incantation his right hand forming the swift gestures and genuflections of his God, his eyes fixed unblinking upon Isovienwen. Isovienwen suddenly could not move, her muscles had become like rock, she could not even speak.
“No” spoken so softly, but with the force of his talents to back it up, his voice became one of iron cast finality. She looked at him and he did not even have to concentrate on her to hear her thought, so strong was the hateful emotion that spawned it. They are a security risk, they will hunt us and they deserve to die
“What is it with you people? By the Gods, what drives you girl? Do you not see that by sparing them, you not only do the right thing you become better than any of them, prove them wrong about you, about your heritage” His spell had begun to wear off now and she forced her jaw open
“I do not want to deny my heritage weakling..”
“You think me weak still, after all that you’ve seen?”
“I think your soft at the best”
“So what do you want to do? Maim, kill, destroy, revel in the blood and innocents and babe’s to assuage the hatred I feel streaming from you”
“What do you know?”
“About hatred? A lot. Like you I was born only for hatred, murder and blood. I changed what I was, I grew into something different, something more, something stronger”
“Liar” she spat
“I do not lie” he stated, again in that soft almost deadly voice “ and neither will I kill or let someone be killed in cold blood or allow the weakness of hatred to control me”
“Weakness? There is nothing stronger than hate”
“It is sad that you believe such” he said, The soldiers woke and carried the Captain away without making too much noise, trying not to draw attention to themselves as they left, leaving the horse.
“What do we do now?” she said suddenly uncomfortable with the line of thought that he was provoking
“We?”
“Like it or not those soldiers will give away my position and as there are about forty of them there is little chance of me taking them alone” he shrugged, not really caring whether she stayed or went, more worried about the soldiers out for his blood. “What’s the plan?” she paused “should we use the horses to try and escape?”
“No, but bring them there anyway” he said while pointing a little further into the forest she brought him his chestnut stallion and brought the Captain’s horse, a bay gelding, over to where he had pointed and watched him in open suspicion as he walked in a circle around her and the horses calling upon his God. Never had she known someone like him, not in her Masters, who had made her an assassin of her own kind and certainly not in her dark dwelling kindred. He was strong but not cruel, caring but not soft, dangerous but not a threat. Not yet at least. She also wondered at herself, wondered why she had stayed with him, she could have easily evaded these children but she chose, in one impulsive moment, to stay. What had made her do it? Maybe it was the fact that he was handsome? No, she was too far into her Immortal life to be stopped by a pretty face. It was something in his eyes as he looked at her, of this she was sure but what exactly she could not tell, having no reference in her long memory by which she could decipher what it actually was. She had not known that look in the Dark masters she used to work for, those hideous creatures for which she had no name but who had raised her since she had been left by her own race. He had finished and her body tingled as she felt the magic wash past her forming a dome of power breaking her train of thought.
“When they search for sign of us now that will not be able to find us” he said softly
“We are invisible?”
“No, it is more like they know were here but they find nothing wrong with it” seeing her puzzled look he continued, “They have been encouraged not to pay attention to us” he smiled a bittersweet knowing smile “We are safe as long as we don’t speak above a whisper and move too fast”
“What if they have a mage with them?” she asked
“When you sleep tonight keep your gear close”
“Should we not take watches?”
“No, if they break through my power I will be the first to know.” He looked at her tenderly “perhaps you should sleep now”
She thought for a moment then she spoke
“I will but answer me this first, why did you help me?”
“I can’t explain it truly I can’t…I just had to I suppose”
“Mind share” he was about to ask what that was exactly when she grabbed his head and in one impulsive act changed both their lives forever. He felt her thoughts, at first indistinct feelings then pieces of her life, her birth he saw, her banishment for her ‘deformity’ and with a shudder he first felt and then gazed full upon the twisted faces of her Dark Masters. He had no words for them; he could not describe anything so disgusting, inside, his mind failed in search for a way to describe something so corrupt and evil. Above all he saw that no one had bothered to show her the concepts of right and wrong, only need. He saw her escape, after years of dealing death for them. How long her life was he did not really know, time was not a concept that could be accurately described in the mind share.
For Isovienwen it was different, she felt his birth and saw the Wizard that had created him and felt with him the pain and the disgust that he had for serving one as vile as his Master. The strongest emotion of all she felt from his early years was disgust at himself, not for being this man’s slave, for in that he had no choice. No he was disgusted in the fact that he had a place within himself that was so evil, so dark that it gave him powers to do these things with, more than that, this dark place of his soul actually enjoyed inflicting pain on other people and was willing, eager even, to do his masters bidding. She saw his Masters death at the hands of him, saw the true face of his dark half in that moment, not just the eyes but, in the one time that his darkness had reveled, she saw it’s face, that face of some deep dark evil that was, thankfully, eternally caged behind the priests emotional controls. She shuddered knowing now deep evil in the purest form she had ever seen and she realized that no matter what her Masters or even her kin could do they was as children when compared to the depravity and evil of what was in the kind Priest. She hoped it was never loosed. She also found in him an Iron code of morals and virtues, based around the alien concepts of right and wrong and tasted with him the joy of doing the right thing. She broke the contact, her own belief system shaken to the core.
Without a word she turned away and went to sleep, her mind troubled. That night her sleep was not a dark oblivion as it usually was, that night she dreamed and her dreams were of the silent eternal and loving beauty of the stars.
Syn’x was no less shaken, his sleep was untroubled but, he did dream.
He found himself sitting on a log in the middle of a campsite under stars that were not his own and a campfire that was emerald green. Sitting opposite the fire was his God. In appearance he looked almost normal, a little over 6 foot 3” with tanned leggings made of cowhide and a bare chest he could have passed for a country logger. What set him apart was not his forest green eyes alive with intelligence, wisdom and amusement, nor his dark brown hair that, though almost black, was shining with a vibrancy and life that no earthly being could ever have. No, it was none of those things, it was rather the seven tinted antlers that protruded, quite matter-of-factly, from his head. Syn’x quickly knelt before his God.
“My Lord”
“My son” the voice of Loyn was deep, rich and earthy. A voice full of life. “Sit down. You troubled child? Why did you seek me out?”
“I did not my Lord,” he paused “though I am ill at ease” he admitted
“Your subconscious called to me then” seeing Syn’x perplexed look he had to laugh “ Are the ways of the mystic still so strange to you my belovéd boy? I was called because you needed me, you cannot always control your emotions and your subconscious is very powerful, anyone’s is, but yours more so, you being a mystic” As Loyn had spoken of his mystical abilities Syn’x’s face had grown troubled.
“But that’s the point isn’t it, I’m not even a member of any race, just a killing machine, just a mystic designed to destroy, I’m just….” Despair overwhelmed him and he could not finish the sentence
“This?” finished the God and waved his hand even as he did a cage appeared with Syn’x’s dark power inside it. It was humanoid but huge, standing a full foot above the God, it’s dark eyes without compassion, without mercy, it’s teeth razor sharp, it’s colour black with white symbols on each hand and a white strip following the spine, it’s barrel-chest pure muscle. It wore only black leggings. It’s voice was hatred as it screamed at he who caged him. Loyn waved again and the cage shimmered as if in summer heat and disappeared. “We both know that is not true”
“It is. I’m just a covering for it, a cloak for it’s evil” he sobbed
“That is not true” He said again, he chose his next words carefully “If that was true, why were you able to cage it?”
“It is not caged”
“It is”
“By you?”
“By you” said his God “The beast in you is a desire made by your creator, one which you have caged, buried and hidden, a desire to break and murder and kill. You held it with you latent mystical abilities, do not blame yourself that, untrained and unknowing it killed your creator, he served the darkness, Ironically it destroyed him. You are trained now and can control it.”
“When you look into my future what do you see?”
“Why do you ask?” Something was hidden in Loyn’s face, something which prompted Syn’x to push further.
“Tell me what you see Old Father, please?” their was such a longing in his eyes that he could not bear to refuse.
“The reason you, and everyone is sent on a two year journey is because they reach a turning point in their lives, a point where several possible futures appear based solely on how that person leads their life”
“Are you saying that I have several….”
“Futures? Yes. Come with me and I will show you a piece of each” the scene blurred and he found himself in a meadow and before him were seven pieces of clothing. The first he recognized as the Beasts dark leggings and he recoiled. “Yes, that has always been a possibility, if you were too weak or if you gave in. Remember, never give in to despair, it’s father is hate and hate is the beast’s key to freedom. If you were to touch it now you would see a piece of your life as the beast” Syn’x backed hastily away. His God’s eyes never once judged nor condemned him, not even when he almost gave in earlier, because he loved the races and all of them can fail, can fall. It was one of the things that the God’s loved about them, they themselves were defined the moment they fought for the world in the before-time and could not change, Loyn could no more command the sea’s than a dog become a cat, he was the forest God and always would be. Unto the end.
Next he moved to his priest staff, the Everwood gleaming softly in the light from a midday sun that did not exist. He touched and saw himself, old and wizened sitting upon the council of Loyn as it’s head, and he felt the peace of that moment, almost perfect, shattered by the fact that the beast still stalked in it’s cage. Even as High Priest he could not come to terms with what part of him was. He shook his head and took a moment to think. Did this mean that the Priesthood was not for him? Or could he never fully come to terms with the beast and all that it represented? He looked to Loyn, knowing his God would be reading his thoughts and found neither a conformation or a refusal in his face. He sighed, suddenly feeling very hollow and drained. He knew that if either was true then he had failed as a Priest regardless, for it was not only about overcoming other peoples flaws and accepting who they were, helping them heal and be whole both physically and mentally but, also about healing yourself and overcoming your flaws. The Beast was his and it was a huge one. He moved on
A sword, dented plate, worn chain mail shirt, scuffed steel plated boots, battered steel legs guards, a notched sword and a old small round shield and rusting gauntlets. These pieces were the mark of a solider, a warrior born. Without touching it Syn’x whispered “ could this be me?”
“Of course it could” came the voice Loyn from behind him “ You were designed to be a solider. Now find out what kind you could become.” Steeling himself he touched a gauntlet and saw himself some fifteen years older, the morals for which he stood for had been traded for a soldiers humor and pragmatism, The Beast was accepted here somewhat, the soldiers pragmatism allowed for his personality in combat because it kept him alive, but it was still on a leash, still kept under control, still fighting him. He passed on.
Sorcerer’s robes, a vibrant and rich silver that shimmered as they played over his hands were next and he again experienced himself at the same future point in his life but this time he saw himself on a hill overlooking a fortress. Dark Dwarves and Trolls hunted there and he would fight them he knew. The beast was accepted in this future, not controlled for there was no need, it was a part of him, a voice and because it was accepted he was at peace. He felt an absence however, he could not see any markings of his God, nor feel any link to him, his morals were still there for the most part, though without the Iron discipline that the Priesthood provided. He did not want to abandon his God. Not ever.
Rough brown wool greeted his eyes next and in a flash as his fingers brushed the robes he saw himself and some brothers of his new order teaching young peasants and nobles to fight, they themselves sworn to self defense only and saw himself respected even loved, his faith strong and path clear, there was no danger here, no hatred and no pain, but there was longing. All his life, in one form or another Syn’x had been fighting, the beast mostly, here it was at peace appeased by the daily rituals the monks performed and could easily be swallowed up by history, and with the ability to teach fighting but, not actively use it yourself seemed to make a mockery of what he was. It was fine being a Priest, fighting was not a trial his Priest-self had to endure; they were safe in the temple, away from everyone else and at peace because they had little interaction with others. The temptation to fight was never there before after all he had seen however he had to wonder whether that was all he could do with his talents.
The next piece of clothing confused him, for it was not actually clothing, just a dagger in it’s sheath. He touched it and screamed. He saw himself, not five years older than he was, stabbing himself through the heart with this dagger and ending his own life. The way of despair whispered the mind of his God. That was always a possibility, as much as succumbing to the Beast was and he accepted what it was. He moved to the last.
This was unlike anything he had ever seen and the sight of it stirred his soul. Before him lay a suit of silver armour. Unlike the previous set it was not battered, it was in almost pristine condition, looked like a normal silver steel suit but he sensed a mixture of silver steel and mithril and was amazed that he managed to afford such a thing. Still without touching the armour he looked harder at it and saw the sigil of Loyn on the helm. How can a priest be a warrior? Confused he moved to the two swords made of mithril and silver steel,
One was a long dueling sword, and like all dueling swords was of Elven design, being long, light, razor sharp and made to be fought with single-handed. The other was a short sword that spoke of the skill of the dwarves, obviously the armourer was a dwarf given the intricacy of the design, it was light and like everything else, make of the curious amalgamation of metals. Both swords, he was surprised to see had wooden hilts that were pieces of his Everwood staff. The whole thing was layered in spells of protection and endurance. He touched the armour and cried out softly.
The first thing he felt was an absence of hate, anger, lust or greed. This armour was designed to protect and though the swords were designed to kill, the wearer did not do it with hate in his heart but, rather obscurely love, and he felt that he as this man, prayed for every soul that he sent on it’s way.
The second thing he felt or rather saw was more simple and straightforward. A meeting room with seven chairs, seven Lords of Light, seven judges, seven warriors, seven war masters, seven philosophers, seven poets and seven Champions. Beyond petty Kings, above earthly pleasures and answerable only, like all priests, to their God. He saw this order becoming a thing beyond him, started by him but lasting unto the end of man, unchanging, uncorrupted. He saw, for the briefest moment, the faces of the other six and heard their names, Diarmuid, Petre, James, William, Tyrone, Danry, named after the famous King of legend, and Liam who would be the second in battle even as Syn’x must be the first, the head of the order. The Lords of the White Flame, they would be called. He saw a future council and knew how new Lords would be chosen, the main sword of the last lord would be transported there, along with an amulet, upon their Lords demise and become transparent calling another Lord to the council’s task and becoming corporeal only for them. The amulet then, being attached by invisible hands around their neck to sink in and be absorbed by the new Lord. The dented armour of the departed Lord appearing magically on their shoulders ready to be repaired and put to use.
Lastly he saw himself and his Seven, he saw them fight, eloquently, beautifully, in homage to love, light and life even as they killed, outnumbered and alone against a sea of enemies. In this time there was a threat, he sensed, even now the temple had heard rumors of them, The Monks of Depravity they were called and they served Chaos. He knew that the army that faced them was theirs and he saw that he had little hope of survival. As a priest accepted that and as a mystic he had seen himself die in a multitude of possible futures. However, this being the time of journeying he had to ask
“If I choose this path is this end certain?”
“You will stand upon that pass against an army with darkness at its core” He agreed
“What is this thing, this future?”
“I do not truly know” he replied, his voice full of sorrow, “This has never been done before, not once has a priest been asked to kill”
“What happens if I do not choose the armour, not to me, but the rest of the world, do the brothers take it for their darkness?” His God silence answered him and he tenderly, lovingly reached for the armour and what could be his doom.
He awoke with a start, with sunset nearly gone he saw their magus ride over the hill with the remainder of the raiding party and the Captain with a bandage on his head and a new horse. He swore softly into the breeze. He woke Isovienwen.
“Saddle the horses” he said quietly