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--
"Here is truth for you. I offer you a life of ceaseless devotion to others and often forsaking your own concerns so that others may be first served. You may very well die long before the full span of your years; if you serve as a paladin in a time of strife, you will be fortunate to reach thirty. If you survive, you may be alone for years before you find someone willing to love you for both a man and a paladin, if you should ever find her at all. There will be some who either think your goodness and compassion to be just a mummer's sham, or hate and fear all that you stand for and will seek to destroy you however they may, with words or weapons. This is what I offer you.”
He said nothing.
--
"To be a paladin, Mathias, is not a pleasantry out of storybooks. We are not warriors happily gifted with miracles to complement our mastery of the sword. Ours is not a profession, to be changed for another one as easily as a new pair of boots. Many think of us as having a calling, one which binds you to the duty and service of others. It is a complete devotion to a way of life, as a paladin is the symbol that every person of our lands knows they can believe in to find goodness and hope. Not many can travel our path, and many who begin the journey will find it too difficult to stay the course."
--
“I speak of the darkness that exists in some people, Mathias, in response to our very existence. As paladins, we are always inimitably vulnerable to the torments of those who cannot bear a symbol of sheer goodness, and feel the need to try and corrupt or destroy us however they can. I’ve experienced stupid fools in taverns trying to starts fights with deliberate blasphemy, and I’ve experienced sadists who take pleasures in trying to break a paladin by whatever torture their cruelty devises.”
“Then why do we do it, Atanasio?”
She cupped his cheek with ivory fingers. Her touch was like a drug. “Because someone must.”
He said nothing.
--
“Is this the day I fall?”
“ . . . A-Atanasio?”
Nothing. Mathias waited, though, even as the room became a stinging wet blur that drowned Atanasio in complicit silence. Even pivoting towards the broken body of Hannah Cobb and the door, he was killing seconds or hours of this dream he could see and smell, and that could bleed all over him. And Hannah, gods, Hannah. Paladin of Illmater, shattered and abused and ravaged and … and dead. Why wouldn't someone wake him the hells up? Mathias could never imagine Atanasio hesitating, yet now he could see her starting sentences in her head to stop them, could see the steel cords of muscle beneath her hand bundle around the grip of her longsword.
What did she just say? The day I fall? He didn’t know what to do.
Didn’t know wha-
"Dry your eyes, Mathias." There. The final, reworked product. Satisfied with it, Atanasio looked forward and fronted the exit. "You'll need them to see where you are going."
--
"How did you know where to find Hannah?"
"How does the dove know to land on the third red roof? With Tyr’s guidance." said Atanasio.
Mathias blinked. Atanasio built herself sturdy – arms crossed, feet planted in the stainless and immaculate carpet. The longsword sat obediently beneath the shapely form of it’s master. Her half-smile cured in the anemic light - now she can stare hard at me without blinking back, thought Mathias. She didn’t blink. "Atanasio, I don't...I just want this to be over…"
"I just want you to do your part," she told Mathias.
He couldn’t look at her. Mathias found himself hard pressed to look at anything in there. No altar to tether himself to, no practice dummy to fight, no chair to sit in to play the violin he still didn’t have.
"We leave tomorrow for the warlocks hideout. The warlock that murdered Hannah."
Mathias walked back out through the kitchen, knowing Atanasio would slump him like a sack of potatoes before he reached the foyer. But she didn’t. She'd save up for the ride back to the barracks, when his and her tongues would become localized, where they’d strip their clothes and shed all the pain and the terror and the horror and the tension with moans and sweat. She’d at least opt for a place where the air wouldn’t slick her throat. So for now, Atanasio held back the flood. And Mathias staggered out the front door with his fealty unquestioned. Thank Tyr for small miracles.
Very small – they were supposed to be paladins, after all.
--
The arch druid of the Woods will aid us in flushing out the warlock’s from his hiding place." Mathias stated without turning from the bindings on his greaves.
Atanasio stared at something indiscriminate between his shoulder blades and answered him. "I'd kiss you, Mathias, but then you'd just pass out, and then I’d have no one to watch my back."
"You could kiss me after," he suggested, his attention still turned so he didn't notice Atanasio’s smile fall a bit at the melancholy in his voice.
"But I wouldn't be kissing just to pass time, Mathias," she purred teasingly, pushing off the locker and moving directly behind him.
"You…would have my undivided attention…" She unfolded her arms from beneath her chest, one hand on his shoulder and the other moving up to cup his chin, both gently turning him to face her. "…you think you can handle that, Cornivus?"
"Aye." He calmly and quietly breathed, his measured, easy answer unnerving her for some reason as she looked up into his eyes. There was a time, she vividly remembered, that she could literally look down her nose at him, usually to teach him…something. She still imparted what wisdom and experiences she could, she just had to look up now – usually … nothing. He’d grown up – so they had grown closer in ways that didn’t really matter. Further apart in ways that did.
"Good," she whispered in return, the sound and smell of lacquered leathers and oiled steel bringing her back to the present, "then you can handle telling me what is wrong with you."
He pulled his face away from hers and turned out of her grip, back to the greaves on his other leg.
"It can wait until after," he sighed, his hands moving again to readjust.
"I don’t think it can."
“What did you mean when you asked if this was going to be the day you fall?"
She eyed him. Then she deliberately scanned their surroundings. First behind him, where a shadow of a statue of Tyr stretched beyond her peripheral sight and blanketed the vast floor of the temple barracks. Now behind her; in front of the wooden pews that were fully exposed and gleaming beneath the afternoon sun through the glass dome lay the altar. Shorter pews lay at its foundations like loyal subjects. Finally she looked above her. Nothing but the ceiling, empty and white. She eyed him again.
"It that all?"
"Aye." They began walking.
"Mathias, all I can say to that is, you have your own way of following Tyr’s will…" Mathias craned his neck to the marble arc they passed beneath, reading its inscription though he had memorized it long ago, "…and I have mine."
|THAT JUSTICE BE TEMPERED WITH MERCY
KNIGHTS OF THE MERCIFUL SWORD
NEVERWINTER|
He said nothing.
--
"Here is truth for you. I offer you a life of ceaseless devotion to others and often forsaking your own concerns so that others may be first served. You may very well die long before the full span of your years; if you serve as a paladin in a time of strife, you will be fortunate to reach thirty. If you survive, you may be alone for years before you find someone willing to love you for both a man and a paladin, if you should ever find her at all. There will be some who either think your goodness and compassion to be just a mummer's sham, or hate and fear all that you stand for and will seek to destroy you however they may, with words or weapons. This is what I offer you.”
He said nothing.
--
"To be a paladin, Mathias, is not a pleasantry out of storybooks. We are not warriors happily gifted with miracles to complement our mastery of the sword. Ours is not a profession, to be changed for another one as easily as a new pair of boots. Many think of us as having a calling, one which binds you to the duty and service of others. It is a complete devotion to a way of life, as a paladin is the symbol that every person of our lands knows they can believe in to find goodness and hope. Not many can travel our path, and many who begin the journey will find it too difficult to stay the course."
--
“I speak of the darkness that exists in some people, Mathias, in response to our very existence. As paladins, we are always inimitably vulnerable to the torments of those who cannot bear a symbol of sheer goodness, and feel the need to try and corrupt or destroy us however they can. I’ve experienced stupid fools in taverns trying to starts fights with deliberate blasphemy, and I’ve experienced sadists who take pleasures in trying to break a paladin by whatever torture their cruelty devises.”
“Then why do we do it, Atanasio?”
She cupped his cheek with ivory fingers. Her touch was like a drug. “Because someone must.”
He said nothing.
--
“Is this the day I fall?”
“ . . . A-Atanasio?”
Nothing. Mathias waited, though, even as the room became a stinging wet blur that drowned Atanasio in complicit silence. Even pivoting towards the broken body of Hannah Cobb and the door, he was killing seconds or hours of this dream he could see and smell, and that could bleed all over him. And Hannah, gods, Hannah. Paladin of Illmater, shattered and abused and ravaged and … and dead. Why wouldn't someone wake him the hells up? Mathias could never imagine Atanasio hesitating, yet now he could see her starting sentences in her head to stop them, could see the steel cords of muscle beneath her hand bundle around the grip of her longsword.
What did she just say? The day I fall? He didn’t know what to do.
Didn’t know wha-
"Dry your eyes, Mathias." There. The final, reworked product. Satisfied with it, Atanasio looked forward and fronted the exit. "You'll need them to see where you are going."
--
"How did you know where to find Hannah?"
"How does the dove know to land on the third red roof? With Tyr’s guidance." said Atanasio.
Mathias blinked. Atanasio built herself sturdy – arms crossed, feet planted in the stainless and immaculate carpet. The longsword sat obediently beneath the shapely form of it’s master. Her half-smile cured in the anemic light - now she can stare hard at me without blinking back, thought Mathias. She didn’t blink. "Atanasio, I don't...I just want this to be over…"
"I just want you to do your part," she told Mathias.
He couldn’t look at her. Mathias found himself hard pressed to look at anything in there. No altar to tether himself to, no practice dummy to fight, no chair to sit in to play the violin he still didn’t have.
"We leave tomorrow for the warlocks hideout. The warlock that murdered Hannah."
Mathias walked back out through the kitchen, knowing Atanasio would slump him like a sack of potatoes before he reached the foyer. But she didn’t. She'd save up for the ride back to the barracks, when his and her tongues would become localized, where they’d strip their clothes and shed all the pain and the terror and the horror and the tension with moans and sweat. She’d at least opt for a place where the air wouldn’t slick her throat. So for now, Atanasio held back the flood. And Mathias staggered out the front door with his fealty unquestioned. Thank Tyr for small miracles.
Very small – they were supposed to be paladins, after all.
--
The arch druid of the Woods will aid us in flushing out the warlock’s from his hiding place." Mathias stated without turning from the bindings on his greaves.
Atanasio stared at something indiscriminate between his shoulder blades and answered him. "I'd kiss you, Mathias, but then you'd just pass out, and then I’d have no one to watch my back."
"You could kiss me after," he suggested, his attention still turned so he didn't notice Atanasio’s smile fall a bit at the melancholy in his voice.
"But I wouldn't be kissing just to pass time, Mathias," she purred teasingly, pushing off the locker and moving directly behind him.
"You…would have my undivided attention…" She unfolded her arms from beneath her chest, one hand on his shoulder and the other moving up to cup his chin, both gently turning him to face her. "…you think you can handle that, Cornivus?"
"Aye." He calmly and quietly breathed, his measured, easy answer unnerving her for some reason as she looked up into his eyes. There was a time, she vividly remembered, that she could literally look down her nose at him, usually to teach him…something. She still imparted what wisdom and experiences she could, she just had to look up now – usually … nothing. He’d grown up – so they had grown closer in ways that didn’t really matter. Further apart in ways that did.
"Good," she whispered in return, the sound and smell of lacquered leathers and oiled steel bringing her back to the present, "then you can handle telling me what is wrong with you."
He pulled his face away from hers and turned out of her grip, back to the greaves on his other leg.
"It can wait until after," he sighed, his hands moving again to readjust.
"I don’t think it can."
“What did you mean when you asked if this was going to be the day you fall?"
She eyed him. Then she deliberately scanned their surroundings. First behind him, where a shadow of a statue of Tyr stretched beyond her peripheral sight and blanketed the vast floor of the temple barracks. Now behind her; in front of the wooden pews that were fully exposed and gleaming beneath the afternoon sun through the glass dome lay the altar. Shorter pews lay at its foundations like loyal subjects. Finally she looked above her. Nothing but the ceiling, empty and white. She eyed him again.
"It that all?"
"Aye." They began walking.
"Mathias, all I can say to that is, you have your own way of following Tyr’s will…" Mathias craned his neck to the marble arc they passed beneath, reading its inscription though he had memorized it long ago, "…and I have mine."
|THAT JUSTICE BE TEMPERED WITH MERCY
KNIGHTS OF THE MERCIFUL SWORD
NEVERWINTER|
He said nothing.