Maybe I'm a Lion

[Demondaze 0]

{{I play a text based RPG called Lusternia, and this is a scroll I submitted to the Paladins, as written by Vidarr, an Aslaran Paladin}}

 

Humans have this romantic attitude towards the Aslaran. They see only the beauty of our coats, the subtle grace and power as we move. No, it is not beauty - beauty is far to warm a word. What they see in us is strength, nobility, pride. They see us as Lions, and they do not think to look past that.

 

I sit here now, by the failing light of the fire. It will go out soon, undoubtedly, and I suppose I should be trying to raise it, but sunrise will come in an hour or so. There is no point.

 

You know, she looks so very peaceful when she is sleeping. That gash in her arm is healing nicely, I think. I wish that, for once, I could sleep. I do not object to keeping watch, of course I would not, given the sheer density of creatures after our blood in these tainted lands. If I so much as shut my eye for ten seconds they?d be upon us. No, I just wish the pain would let up long enough for me to relax my muscles, to get a moment of peace and stillness before we start out again on the morrow.

 

It is only fair I warn you, Pages and unblooded Squires alike, nothing they tell you can prepare you for what it is really like out here. It is all because of that damned romanticism again, that misty look that envelopes a man?s eyes when he thinks of wandering Paladins on a mighty quest. Those noble warriors battling evil with swords and magic, searching for justice, or truth, or, at the end of the day, anything to still the nagging doubt.

 

Ah, yes, so noble are we. So exciting. Nobody ever bothers to tell you about the blood. I have lost so much of it over the past few months, in one way or the other, that it is a wonder I am yet alive. Not a day goes by where I don?t pick up some new wound, and beneath my fur I am beginning to look like something of a patchwork quilt of scar tissue. I do not think I will ever be able to pass for ?normal? again. My arms ache, more or less constantly. They do now. My swords are responsible, I know. They are balanced well enough, though I strongly suspect I have a habit of over-extending myself, meaning I have to strain my forearms horribly just to keep the damn things level, or to stop them from clattering to the ground in a fight.

 

And of course, I can not stop wielding these blades. It?s my quest, isn?t it? I have a mission now, an evil alliance to destroy, and the shadowy figure behind it all, shrouded as he is in eldrich mystery, to be dealt with. To be honest, I can not even remember why I am doing this. It started with a case of petty theft and suddenly I was in it over my head, engulfed in a torrent of mysteries and criminals. But, then, who am I to argue with fate? So I go onwards, allowing myself to be carried away with the adventure, the struggle, the battle, and look where we?ve ended up now.

 

In some stinking swamp, or bog, or whatever the hell it is with thick peat coating my fur, flaking and itching and dried into a solid coating that smells worse than those damned sewers in which I would once hunt rats. I know that if I scratch at it, I will only end up pulling the fur from my arms and legs ? I?ve done it before, we both have, and in time you learn to cope with it, I suppose.

 

The armour gets painful after a time, as well. I do believe mine is starting to rust, and the money is running out. It weighs, it is far too much of a burden, and we generally just grab enough coins to keep us fed and watered. If I tell her that we are going to have to attempt to salvage my armor, then we will have to go hungry for a time, and I will not allow her to suffer. Not that it?s likely we will be returning to New Celest in the near future, so there will be no shopping. We will scavenge, as we usually do. I miss the city; I miss the Paladin's Hall, hell, I even miss the damned Gnome tunnels.

 

It is the air, I think; it is so moist and hot and sticky that it gets into our armor. I feel like it?s gotten into my very bones.

 

It is nights like this that I want to curse everyone who ever spoke to me of 'destiny' . Everyone who contributed to my growing obsession with the life of the wanderer, with the search for money and powerful foes. With battling the Taint and being adored by townsfolk the planes over. With shining breastplates and heroes? welcomes. And I do curse them, frequently, in a non-stop string of words - some that make sense, most that do not. But I need things to fill the silence, to take my mind from the pain and the blood. Oh, the blood! It is a hundred times again worse than the peat and the mud and the dirt. Be it mine, be it hers, be it even the blood of a rat or a pitiful Fink, I cannot bear it.

 

The battles themselves are frantic, and exhausting, and they never seem to stop. We run on our adrenaline and our fear ? yes, even I, proud Aslaran I may be, am still afraid of whoever or whatever assails us, because, as I say, I am only human. More, or less. We are there for each other, though, and I know I would never be able to cope on my own. We watch each other?s backs, we see to it that we both pull through. That it?s the enemy who falls into a bloody, crumpled heap, and not us.

 

It is funny. Everyone says the Viscanti are evil, that they are the purest darkness to come of the taint. But when we climbed that mountain, she went blue, she sneezed and coughed and sniveled, much as the humans we were to gaurd. Her nose was red and raw, if I remember correctly. So, perhaps she?s not as different as they say. I care not in either instance. She is my comrade, my companion, and the best friend I have ever known. She has saved my life countless times; she has grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and hauled me backwards just in time to prevent an enemies' blade finding purchase in my hide.

 

Sometimes the magic of the Holy Light makes her faint. It is frightening, to see it happen. The blood just drains from her face in a instant, and she is white as snow, murmuring incomprehensible things, and finally collapsing to the ground. Sometimes she doesn?t come round again for days. But she insists that we carry on, I suppose we both do. We can not quit, we have to use all our strength; she has to cope with the scowls and the dirty looks, and the fainting and the prejudices, and I have to struggle with my armor and sword and my... my faith.

 

But to everyone else she is the epitome of everything touched by Taint ? she is beautiful and swift and dark, and frosty, and cunning and difficult to understand ? and I think that I am the only one who truly knows her. The others remain wary of her, perhaps even distrustful. She does not seem to mind, as she has little difficulty speaking to them whenever we meet.

 

They all think she is beneath them, do they not? They place her down on some distant pedestal. Evil. An incarnation of darkness. It is hard to believe it is the same person, sometimes? Ah, but she is only human. In a purely metaphorical manner, of course.

 

When we get back to New Celest I want to go to the Hall and actually eat a proper meal, sit at the bar and drink some ale, laugh and exchange jokes with whoever happens by. I want to get staggeringly drunk and stumble to my room afterwards, singing and cursing and smiling. I want to quietly enjoy my pipe in the silence of an empty forge. I want to go for long walks with my friends, I want to know if they have earned their promotions, if they have changed since last we met. I want to be prideful and notorious, want to be able to sleep until noon, want to go for a day without hurting. I want to be happy. I want her to be happy. I want to see her face without the hood, want to see her smooth features and delicate smile.

 

But, then, this is my life. We are Paladins, and we fight, and we sweat, and we bleed. And this may not be what I want, but it is all that I have got. And yes, it will do. It is hardly ideal, and certainly not the fantasy. Nor is it dashing or noble or terribly honorable. It is life and death, and it is pain and torment but by the fates, it is also euphoria and adrenaline and pride, it is companionship and the closest of friendships and these bonds tie thicker than blood. And fates willing it will last forever.

 

This is more than simply my job. It is in my blood. It is as simple as picking up my swords and putting one foot in front of the other. And I will do it, and I will smile through the blood and the dirt. When she wakes up, we will go onward. And someday, we will find a cure for the Taint, and I will purify my friend, and the Tainted Lands, and, fates willing, this god-forsaken swamp.

 

But until then, we will scour the basin, search the furthest planes, battle the Taint and the Tainted, and find this mysterious schemer. We will fight on as Paladins, as defenders of the light, as champions of justice, and as guardians of the shining bastion that is New Celest.

 

And I will do it not because I am a Paladin, and not because I love her, but because I am Vidarr of New Celest - and because, when all is said and done, maybe I am a Lion.