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"Know that forever shall I watch over you who hath given yourself unto me and trust in me to guide your steps to the land of silver dreams."
-Prologue Dream: The Quaking Knight-
There was nothing that anyone could say that would take away this endless series of shakes that ran through his body, stabbing at the bottoms of his feet like icy needles and clubbing at his forehead with a piece of hard wood lit ablaze.
"Don't worry" they said. "It will be fine." they claimed. "You have already passed the tests. All that remains is to name the oracle you shall serve."
His mind made it clear the autheticity of these words, or at least it attempted to by repeating the words of his comrades over and over again in an endless loop. The rough part was over. He had passed trials testing body, mind, and soul to prove himself of worth to those hand-picked by the goddess herself. Somehow, thoughts dwelling upon the level of command of those before him reaching, in a sense, literally to the top did not do much to help him feel better. What was once icy knives now felt like spears and what was once a fiery club was a tall red oak scorching with hellfire and swung by a bloodthirsty 20 foot ogre born with a savage instinct to swing his blunt weapons toward whatever part of the body of his prey made the most 'goo' come out.
These ludicrous illusions were of course just that; ludicrous. However, as his name was called, he looked past the black obsidian-colored walls and collection of shimmering white flames dancing along them to the skylight windows above the dome shapped room that the ceremony and ritual took place. Right about now, he would not complain too much if a massive ogre or some other beast plunged through that window and he was forced to draw his blade. At this moment, even possible death in the name of the goddess sounded like a suitable alternative to shaking before her like a cowardly child.
He had no reason to be afraid
He had no reason to worry.
This was an honor and, in some ways, a celebration.
Desperately, he tried to let the words of his companions and fellow Swords of the Lady sink through the thick stubborn skull.
The worst part was his armor. It was not that it was uncomfortable. No, quite the opposite. Custom-made and well fitting plates of black iron, it did not feel like full plate at all but more like a particularly heavy coat. The interior was laid with thick, durable, yet comfortable leather. He recalled being surprised at the difference between the suit he wore as a mere squire and that which he was given upon acceptance to the Swords of the Lady. One thing did not change though, and it was only now that he realized it: this armor rattled just as badly as his old squire gear when he was feeling nervous. A part of his mind, a foolish part, had already convinced himself that this was not a design flaw but placed there on purpose by a blacksmith with a sick sense of humor, far too much time on his hands, and a wealth of personal problems to vent his frustrations out on the rest of the world. Every single quivver sent a rythmic cacophony of clings and clangs given the perfect pitch and echo in the dome shaped room. Though he cared little for the opinions of most outside of the temple, he was quite certain the sissy-symphony that his oh-so-musical armor produced was heard by everyone in the city of Waterdeep at this point.
Several oracles were all lined up before him, beautiful maidens; some of which possessed power beyond the comprehension of most. Somehow, despite the fact that he had at least 5 inches on each oracle present, they seemed taller now and growing taller by the moment. Human, elven, and half-elven maidens stretched toward the skies looking down upon his pitiful quaking form of which the goddess herself now looked down from the moon in great dissappointment.
No, he could not do this.
This was too great an honor.
What if he could not live up to it.
How would he face the goddess?
How would he face those that have died in her name?
Everyone told him how brave he was, how focused and determined he was. Yet, it was all a lie. Too often did he wish to cry himself to sleep. Too often did he succeed by the skin of his teeth in what could barely even be given the title of accomplishments.
And then he heard her speak...
"Seig.... Do not be afraid my noble knight."
The clangs, the icy piercings within his feet, the secret wishes of ogres, and the mad mental images of blacksmiths taking their past 'daddy issues' out on the knight's equipment all faded in an instant.
Rinla stood before him with the same serene smile and grace she had even in the days when the two of them ran across the beaches of Aglarond as children. She was dressed in long, flowing robes of silver and blue bearing the marking of the goddess. The color and moonlight did well to add a unique accent to her plantinum blonde hair tied neatly into a ponytail that drapped far down along her back. Somehow, she could always make him calm with merely the request to do so. The world returned to normal and everything was where it should be. He stood before the honorable oracles and was thankfully the tallest one in the room once again.
Within Rinla's eyes of deep sapphire blue, the knight could see himself for the pathetic mess he was. He stood up a bit straighter and with a look of confidence force fed into his visage. If what he heard was not simply another manic illusion and she did indeed refer to him as "my noble knight", there was yet another reason for him to be brave and face the road ahead. He would no longer doubt himself. He would no longer question the forces that helped get him this far be it skill, luck, or fate.
He was Seig Rinaltus, Sword of the Lady in service to the goddess Selune and Guided Blade under the oracle Rinla Delvese.
-Prologue Dream: The Quaking Knight-
There was nothing that anyone could say that would take away this endless series of shakes that ran through his body, stabbing at the bottoms of his feet like icy needles and clubbing at his forehead with a piece of hard wood lit ablaze.
"Don't worry" they said. "It will be fine." they claimed. "You have already passed the tests. All that remains is to name the oracle you shall serve."
His mind made it clear the autheticity of these words, or at least it attempted to by repeating the words of his comrades over and over again in an endless loop. The rough part was over. He had passed trials testing body, mind, and soul to prove himself of worth to those hand-picked by the goddess herself. Somehow, thoughts dwelling upon the level of command of those before him reaching, in a sense, literally to the top did not do much to help him feel better. What was once icy knives now felt like spears and what was once a fiery club was a tall red oak scorching with hellfire and swung by a bloodthirsty 20 foot ogre born with a savage instinct to swing his blunt weapons toward whatever part of the body of his prey made the most 'goo' come out.
These ludicrous illusions were of course just that; ludicrous. However, as his name was called, he looked past the black obsidian-colored walls and collection of shimmering white flames dancing along them to the skylight windows above the dome shapped room that the ceremony and ritual took place. Right about now, he would not complain too much if a massive ogre or some other beast plunged through that window and he was forced to draw his blade. At this moment, even possible death in the name of the goddess sounded like a suitable alternative to shaking before her like a cowardly child.
He had no reason to be afraid
He had no reason to worry.
This was an honor and, in some ways, a celebration.
Desperately, he tried to let the words of his companions and fellow Swords of the Lady sink through the thick stubborn skull.
The worst part was his armor. It was not that it was uncomfortable. No, quite the opposite. Custom-made and well fitting plates of black iron, it did not feel like full plate at all but more like a particularly heavy coat. The interior was laid with thick, durable, yet comfortable leather. He recalled being surprised at the difference between the suit he wore as a mere squire and that which he was given upon acceptance to the Swords of the Lady. One thing did not change though, and it was only now that he realized it: this armor rattled just as badly as his old squire gear when he was feeling nervous. A part of his mind, a foolish part, had already convinced himself that this was not a design flaw but placed there on purpose by a blacksmith with a sick sense of humor, far too much time on his hands, and a wealth of personal problems to vent his frustrations out on the rest of the world. Every single quivver sent a rythmic cacophony of clings and clangs given the perfect pitch and echo in the dome shaped room. Though he cared little for the opinions of most outside of the temple, he was quite certain the sissy-symphony that his oh-so-musical armor produced was heard by everyone in the city of Waterdeep at this point.
Several oracles were all lined up before him, beautiful maidens; some of which possessed power beyond the comprehension of most. Somehow, despite the fact that he had at least 5 inches on each oracle present, they seemed taller now and growing taller by the moment. Human, elven, and half-elven maidens stretched toward the skies looking down upon his pitiful quaking form of which the goddess herself now looked down from the moon in great dissappointment.
No, he could not do this.
This was too great an honor.
What if he could not live up to it.
How would he face the goddess?
How would he face those that have died in her name?
Everyone told him how brave he was, how focused and determined he was. Yet, it was all a lie. Too often did he wish to cry himself to sleep. Too often did he succeed by the skin of his teeth in what could barely even be given the title of accomplishments.
And then he heard her speak...
"Seig.... Do not be afraid my noble knight."
The clangs, the icy piercings within his feet, the secret wishes of ogres, and the mad mental images of blacksmiths taking their past 'daddy issues' out on the knight's equipment all faded in an instant.
Rinla stood before him with the same serene smile and grace she had even in the days when the two of them ran across the beaches of Aglarond as children. She was dressed in long, flowing robes of silver and blue bearing the marking of the goddess. The color and moonlight did well to add a unique accent to her plantinum blonde hair tied neatly into a ponytail that drapped far down along her back. Somehow, she could always make him calm with merely the request to do so. The world returned to normal and everything was where it should be. He stood before the honorable oracles and was thankfully the tallest one in the room once again.
Within Rinla's eyes of deep sapphire blue, the knight could see himself for the pathetic mess he was. He stood up a bit straighter and with a look of confidence force fed into his visage. If what he heard was not simply another manic illusion and she did indeed refer to him as "my noble knight", there was yet another reason for him to be brave and face the road ahead. He would no longer doubt himself. He would no longer question the forces that helped get him this far be it skill, luck, or fate.
He was Seig Rinaltus, Sword of the Lady in service to the goddess Selune and Guided Blade under the oracle Rinla Delvese.