The still-young paladin kneels in the temple of Helm. He is adorned in silver armor. The metal on the armor seems to hold no special ward of any kind. The only defense it puts forth was the comfort of it's weight on the man's shoulders and the steel to take blows for him when he was too slow. A grey hood hangs behind his head, soaked from the storm outside. Lightening illuminates the room momentarily, doing well to dwarf the light from the candles. He does not flinch. In his long walk with Helm, in his vigilant pursuit in his quest to put a stop to injustice, he had learned not to flinch. He knew no fear. Perhaps sheer stupidity was the cause of this, him being young and naive. He couldn't show fear, just as a lie could not slip from his tongue. Not as long as his oath stood guard at his teeth. His armor and hair drip with rain drops that had found sanctuary on him after their exhilarating descent from the heavens. Though one single teardrop finds it's way from his eye and drops to the floor, unnoticed by anyone but the carpet. He speaks softly to the cold air around him.
"Helm, please, guide my footsteps.. Guide every swing of my sword and shield. Now, more than ever, Helm.. I need you."
"Helm, please, guide my footsteps.. Guide every swing of my sword and shield. Now, more than ever, Helm.. I need you."