Vigil of the soul

[Torgar]

He sat there, motionless except for the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest, in time with his slow breathing. He had no idea how long he'd been there, as there was nothing to differentiate the time of day in the cave he was in. The fire burned low, but constant. A pale blue light that gave off no heat and require no fuel, a minor magic item he'd purchased from a merchant before coming here, to the cave. He stared at the golden gleaming stand, the source of his meditations.

I made you for a purpose, for someone I couldn't find, He thought to himself, at least, that's what I told myself. I always said you were for some champion I was seeking, that I was just wearing you until I found them, and THEY could use you for your intended purpose. He slowly blinked, his eyes long dried out from the length they had remained opened. He methodically started clenching minor muscles. His hands, his feet, his neck. Working the blood back into them so he could finally stand.

But the problem wasn't that I couldn't find your proper owner, was it? The problem was me. Slowly, he stood, his muscles aching from, he assumed, several weeks of non-use. He looked to the mouth of his cave, covered with an enormous boulder he was incapable of lifting, save for his spiritual magic allowing him to transform and move it. What day is it? How long have I been here? He asked to the spirit residing within.

In your measure of time, you have been here nearly one month, since entering. Our body requires food in order to sustain any further meditations. What you intend to get out of them is beyond me. The other presence in his mind was often confused at his reasons for much of what he did. That was the problem with spirits, without being part of the mortal coil, they simply could not understand mortals, even the long lived ones like him. They had known one another for nearly two centuries, but in all that time, they never really understood each other, even joined as they were now.

I told you already, I have to find them. The one who can use it like I can't. The one who can do what I can't. They call me things, things I'm not. It's because of the armor, it represents something I'm not, and it deserves to be worn by the one who can uphold what it represents. The other presence, he could feel it's confusion. In the confines of their shared mind, it was almost palpable. I do not understand. You created it, you infused it, it can not belong to any but you. Trying to find one that it will fully accept that is not you is futile. Why do you insist on entertaining this notion that something that is a part of you, somehow belongs to someone who is not you?

The elf paused at that. He hadn't thought about that, because he had never admitted it to himself. In the year he had worn the armor, he had never claimed it as his own, always stated he was holding on to it for the proper wearer to come along. A fabled champion to ride in, to fight the battle he could not. Champions are not born, however. He knew that much. Heroes are awakened, a potential realized at the point where one must become more then they are in order to realize their goals.

He had hated the word the first time someone attributed it to him: Hero. He thought it was because of the lives he'd taken in anger, in that dark place where rage could only be met with a greater rage. He'd lost his home forever in that rage. Forever expelled from his birthplace, away from his parents and friends, left to die adrift in the wilds of the world. He'd wandered for five years with his siblings, until finding a brief rest in that rainy valley of Sundren.

There his rage lessened, but could not diminish. Anger at himself, for actions taken in the darkest places of his heart. As he came to know a better peace in his life, he never let go of that anger at himself. The guilt. It defined him, dictated his actions as much now as it did then.

He stared at the golden armor, and realized his meditations could not continue with it within sight. The golden glint was too much a reminder of that grief he still had been unable to come to terms with. Any good that would come of that armor, could only come when that good was not because of the anger of an act who's victims could not longer suffer from.

He muttered the words of power, and assumed the enormous form of that iron giant, the golem. With ease, he moved the rock aside enough to allow himself to move through in his normal form. It was extremely foggy, hard to see, but he knew the way back to the city. He packed up the armor, carefully placing it back in his bag, and turned to leave the cave, knowing he would soon return, for a longer soul searching expedition. As he left the cave, hidden in the mountains, shrouded in the fog, he readied himself to assume that winged, devil form to reach the base and make his way to the city. As he did, a single ray of morning light broke through the fog, landing with exact precision on the spot the shaman stood upon, readying his spell.

The warmth of that light was a surprise to the shaman, given the height of the cave. Despite his hunger, he felt reinvigorated, ready for the trek back to the city. As he transformed, and flew down the mountain, he knew he could not simply leave the armor in storage, to gather dust as he searched for the answers to his questions. I know just the one who can use you while I find what I'm looking for. She'll keep you safe.

He landed in the town at the base of the mountain, and collected on a favor owed to him by one of the wizards he had "loaned" a rather large amount of elemental essences to for his crafting. One location spell later, he found the one he sought, charging her with both armor and cloak, until his return. It seemed fitting she was a paladin, a champion of Lathander. He knew she wasn't the one, but he knew that none but a devout of the god of sun could cleanse the taint his past had instilled in that armor, while he worked on doing the same with his own soul.

A new dawn was approaching. It was time to get to work.

[Torgar]

Cleansing the Soul

His body slammed forcefully into the rock wall, momentarily dazing him. Only by instinct did he dive to the side in time to avoid the enormous fist of rock that slammed into the spot where he just a second ago stood. Shaking his head to clear out the ringing in his ears, he turned to the giant being of rock that roared as it came at him again. His anger started to rise, and his hand started to glow, heralding the casting of a powerful spell. He closed his eyes a moment, and regained his calm, and the glow faded.

This again? Refusing to use the power you have at your disposal is foolishness. This fight would be over if you would simply accept your destiny. The dry, ever constant voice in his mind was very persistent. Always urging him to use his power, in any situation that called for it, and even many that didn't. Restraint is something I must learn if I'm going to change into something worth being, spirit. Magic isn't the answer to every problem, even this one.

The moment of calming and minor discussion cost him dearly a moment later as the giant fist came slamming into his chest, sending him flying across clearing, skidding to a stop near a small grouping of rocks. As he stood, checking to make sure nothing was broken or mangled, he caught sight of a single flower growing out of the rocky outcropping. A pure white rose, growing out of the narrow mountain valley he was currently trying his best to survive in.

How odd, how are you growing this high in the mountains, with no rainfall or soil to support you? The dry voice suddenly cut in. It's charging again, you might wish to move. Still, the elf couldn't take his eyes off the flower. Something about it pulled at him, called to him. Like a silently offered promise, on the edge of his hearing. When he felt the elemental start to charge his way, he knew that it would not stop until it slammed into this spot, and that would crush the flower.

Dodging wasn't an option. He refused to let the flower be crushed. He turned to face the charging being of rock, and started running at it, sword held forward. He knew accepting the charge head on was dangerous, possibly fatal, but he knew, deep down, that he had to protect that flower, had to learn why it was there.

The elemental charged, the elf charged. From behind the elf, a brilliant flash of white light surged forward, swallowing the elf in it's warmth. Momentarily blinded, the elf stumbled and fell flat on his face onto....grass. Where once there was stone floor, there was now grass. He blinked rapidly for several long moments, clearing away the blindness from his eyes, and took stock of his current location.

Gentle hills and lush green valleys as far as the eye could see. A soft golden light permeated the area, but no visible sun hung in the sky. Alright, I'm not on Toril anymore. Golden light suggests I'm not in the abyss this time, that's definitely a good turn. What was that bright light? Any thoughts, spirit? The usually talkative spirit within his head was oddly silent. Spirit? What, you aren't talking to me because I charged the elemental instead of blasting it? Still silence.

The elf did what he rarely did, and went looking for spirit within his own mind. He found...nothing. No trace of spirit anywhere. He felt silence within his mind for the first time in his long life. He knew he should be afraid of that, being alone within his mind, but he oddly felt...calm, peaceful. He came out of his mind, and took a calm view of the area around him. Wherever he was, the feeling of good and order was palpable.

I really should have paid more attention when our elders were teaching us of the planar realms, then I might know where I am. Oh well, hindsight. As he stood there, he took time to look himself over and realized his wounds had vanished, as had the beaten armor he had worn not moments ago. Instead he wore a simple white tunic with gold trim, with white trousers and white boots. On his hip was a simple longsword, with a golden lion emblazened upon the pommel.

He felt a steady pull towards his right, an sense that he was needed somewhere and he should hurry or risk being late. Still bemused by the place in which he found himself and somehow unconcerned with the change in his outfit and weaponry, he headed in the direction he instinctively knew was north.

After some indeterminate amount of time, he came across a simple wooden house set near a wooden fenced dirt patch. As he came towards the front of the house, the door opened, and an enormous lion came out of it. It walked upon two legs, covered in simple garments with an enormous sword strapped to his back. He looked at the elf expectantly, waiting for him to approach before speaking.

Come in, mortal. Food has been prepared in anticipation of your arrival. We've much to discuss, and you've choices to make. First, you eat. Please, come in. The elf knew he should be surprised at a talking, bipedal lion. Especially one that had apparently prepared him a meal, but for some reason, his innate sense of paranoia seemed to have been suspended in this place. He graciously thanks his host, and stepped inside to the sight of a near banquet sized meal set upon a simple wooden table. Again thanking his host for the meal, he proceeded to feast until sated.Once full, he turned to his host, and waited patiently for him to explain why he was here.

Tigen Amastasia, mortal elf of the prime material plane, you have been summoned to this, the plane of Mercuria, to be offered a choice. Long has your adherence to the tenets of loyalty and duty been watched, as well as your acts of dishonor, subterfuge, and anger-fueled acts of violence. Your kindness and compassion, and your rage and your hatred. However, this is not a result of a hidden darkness within you, but the influence of an outside force upon your own innate nature.

The lion held out his palm, and in front of the elf's eyes an image appeared, of a robed man, an elf in golden armor, and a man in dark blue armor standing in a temple in front of a robed and cowled woman and a large being of swirling energy. The golden elf strode forward, speaking to the dark swirling creature. "If you need a sacrifice to save her, then take my power, all of it. The valley needs Dain as he is, she needs him as he is to save her, but the valley doesn't need my power."

The image faded, and the lion looked to the elf. You offered up your power, everything you are, for a chance to save a friends soul, and to save the soul of the one you swore yourself to serve and protect. Such a willing sacrifice does not go unnoticed in this place. So, my lord, in his infinite wisdom, had deigned to offer you a choice. You may return to the prime now, and continue your search for peace. However, know that you will always possess the spirit of rage and anger, and that one day you will make come to pass the fall of the one you are sworn too by your actions.

The Leonal paused, allowing the elf a moment to digest this information. The other option is to become more then what you are, to give yourself fully to duty, obedience, and the advancement of good and order. I will train you in the tenets of my lords faith, and return you to the prime as something more then a mere vessel for power and destruction. However, such does not come without a price. If you agree to train under me, you will sacrifice all the power you once held, never again to be in touch with the spirits of your world. You will learn to rely on your own innate martial abilities, and should you prove worth, be granted the blessing of my lord to work his will where you are bound to.

The elf studied the tall, lion shaped man for several moments, his mind racing with the information presented to him. After several minutes, he looked to the Leonal, and had made his decision.

[Torgar]

Reforging the Soul

Alright, rule one: When the giant lion man tells you to "Defend yourself" right after you make a choice, do NOT just stand there like an idiot and let him hit you.Through the wall. With his claw...fist...whatever. Ow. The elf lay there for a moment, contemplating in just how many ways not dodging that first attack had changed things. For instance, there now was a giant hole through the wall of the small house. Second, there now was a large bruise on his chest where the fist had connected. Third, there now was a large claw swinging down at his face.

Wait a minute, that last one's important. DODGE! DODGING GOOD! The elf rolled to the side barely in time as the claw thundered into the earth not a hair later. Still, the impact sent him tumbling to the side for a not inconsiderate amount of distance. When he finally stopped, he hurriedly stood up, sword drawn watching for the lion's next attack. Alright, I've got the keenest eyes around, I should be able to track his movements without too much trouble...where did he go? Suddenly, there was a large shadow hovering over the elf, and he looked up. Well...balls.

When the elf woke up some time later, the bruise on his chest was gone, as was the hole in the wall. He appeared to be on a cot within the house, one he had not seen previously, despite the house having only one room. Stranger still, the elf didn't feel like he was in any pain despite having, apparently, had a giant lion man pounce on him from several feet up and crush him. Looking around, he did not see the lion man anywhere. Where did he...it...whatever, go? He swung his feet out of bed, stood up, and made his way to where the hole in the wall should have been, and laid his hand on it. It felt real. He knocked on it. It sounded real. So, he figured, it must be real then.

I must have been out a really long time, then. A hole that size would have taken weeks. Wrong mortal elf, you were unconscious for a mere fifteen minutes. You break very easily, we will have to work on that. "Are you reading my mind, or am I just that easy to read?" Both, mortal. We will have to work on that as well. Come, we've much to accomplish yet. This time, try using your sword.

*Fifteen minutes and 10 seconds previously* "I choose to become better, to be more." Good. Now, Defend yourself! The Lionel swung his very large, very furry fist into the not as large, hairless chest of the elf, sending him flying through the wall and into the gated field beyond the house, the elf landing some twenty five feet distant. *End of flashback*

Next time give me more then half a second to pull my sword out before redecorating the wall with my body. Sighing, the elf drew out his blade, and made his way through the door and walked to the gated field where the Lionel stood, waiting. If you relied upon your own abilities, and not that of that spirit that controlled you, half a second would have been more then sufficient. Now, this time you attack me. Try to land one pertinent blow upon me. When you can accomplish that, your physical training will be complete.

The elf, though not physically the strongest specimen of his people, looked over the lion man, with his lack of anything resembling armor, and assumed the training would be done without too much of a problem. After all, although not the greatest swordsman, he'd still picked up quite a bit from his adventures with Tornbrook. So, he took his stance, and attacked with the full force of his training in swords...

*A very long, yet indeterminate amount of time later* The elf lay on his front, face in the dirt, the Lionel once again untouched and he, once again, very bruised. It had been like this every...the elf wanted to say day, but there was no nights where he was, no passage of time to note. The sun was always in the same position, the temperature always the same, the wind always gently blowing. It was hard to keep track of anything resembling time, but if he had to guess, it had been like this for months now. Although, the elf couldn't be sure, besides sleep, he wound up unconscious quite often, and that tends to warp one's view of how much time has passed.

You are not unconscious this time. You are learning to not break so easily. Your body is learning what I am trying to teach you, Elf, why can't your mind do the same? The Lionel, as the elf had finally learned to call it, was referring, as he always did, to the elf's complete ineptitude with learning how to use a sword. Rather, in relearning. As had been apparent that very first day, he had forgotten everything he'd ever learned about sword play. The Lionel had, rather smugly the elf sometimes believed, explained that rather startling and...painful realization, after the elf had once again regained consciousness.

The spirit that once controlled you was a repository of knowledge that you accessed without consciously knowing it. That was it's purpose, to learn all it could from a mortal lifespan, and return to it's masters in the spirit realm with the information. By withholding key information from you, it forced you to rely upon it's powers completely. You will learn what you would have, had the spirit never chosen you as it's vessel into the mortal plane. You will come to obtain the power, the life, you were denied at birth.

At least the elf's religious training was going far better. Although a poor student while growing up in his village, he was far more apt to learn the lessons the Lionel taught him about honor, loyalty, duty, and the dogma of his patron lord. Indeed, without the distracting influence of Spirit, the elf found he was actually quite a fast learner. It was after one such lecture about the structure of his patron's temple's religious hierarchy that the elf asked the question that had been burning in his mind for quite some time.

"Everything I've heard, everything I've seen, tells me that Paladins and heroes are born, not trained. One does not become one or the other by choice, correct?"

Such is the determination of the gods, mortal, not the observations of lower beings such as yourself. The Lionel sharply responded. After pausing for a moment, however, the Lionel continued in a softer tone. In your case, the potential was always there. Indeed, had your life not gone down the path it did, you would now be a champion in your village, Paladin of your elven god-father, Corellon. Now that the spirit has been removed as a controlling influence, your true potential can finally be awakened, under a new lord's guidance.

As his studies continued, so did his training. Beyond swordplay, it was a physical conditioning to bring him to the form he should have taken over the course of his life but was denied. Slowly, he became stronger. However, larger muscles hampered his movements, slowed him down. He also found his innate foresight had greatly diminished, as a result of the loss of his spiritual awareness. His understanding of magic grew, as did his understanding of the gods. His understanding of his place in the world, of his role in the battles to come, also grew.

Every day, he got a little better. Every day a little stronger. Every day, a little more knowledgeable. Duty. Honor. Loyalty. Obedience. He would learn to live his life by these principles. Respect. Compassion. Empathy. He would learn to use these with those he was sworn to protect. Conviction. Righteous fury. He would learn to use these against those who would spread the cause of evil.

Sundren. He would protect it with his life, no matter the challenge. The valley deserved better, he vowed he would be better.