Davian

Repentance and Sanctity

The words of a young paladin, encased in a sacred libram, unravel before you written in neat scrawl, the first chapter revealing itself plainly.

Hallowed

Eternal War. Hatred Unbound. Impossible Darkness.

 

This was the truth of Azeroth that I, Davian Rosswald, was born into.

 

Each lustful and hatred filled battle permitted by the visionless mortals who sought to enact their own fleeting ambition with their ultimately meagre power. Forests of tranquil being, struck down for murderous intent, the slaking of bloodlust by means of industry and further development of their already finely tuned killing abominations of steel. Ancient kingdoms, laid waste to by their own citizenry, lured by the temptation of dark powers. Goodly princes, turned to evil ambition, their blades turned black with necrotic influence.

 

What good can exist in such an evil world?

 

This is the question fools ask, for they do not realize the deliverance of the evil comes not from the world. . .

 

So, then, the question transforms to its true, and grotesque, nature. Its words as though flailing and accusatory judgements, already knowing the most base nature of mortals and their sickening pleasures.

 

What goodly vessel can commit such evil?

 

And thusly it is spoken and asked, the ancient and undeniable truth, the drive for our “goodly” natures to lust for power as if it is our ambrosia. I have seen this evil in the race of men, in the hearts of elves, in the deeds of dwarves, all races guilty and damned to darkness, the evil that lies deep in their souls, resting until weakness bids them to rise to their truest and most nefarious ways. In the end, we are irrevocably and undeniably flawed in a most serious and errant manner.

 

Yet there is grace amongst us, for though we are little different than beasts, there is one factor which lets us face against the evil within our souls, the pressing darkness against our hearts.

 

In ancient times, in a kingdom long since descended into ruin, there was a prophet who saw the truest vision of the mortal spirit, ensorcelled by a higher power and brought into the glory of the Divine Light. Her name, Mereldar, forever remembered by the chosen few who know well the traditions of the Divine Light in all its glory. It was she who brought us the five holy tenants of the Church and she who knew their importance. Their great and holy forms, speaking in a song too divine for us to ever replicate, giving us a holy prophet from whence our salvation might rise, that vision now continued in perpetuity through the unimpeachable wisdom of the Church of the Holy Light.

 

It was through this holy vision that we received the greatest gift of all, the shackles which would allow us to be truly good souls. By following the codes and tenants given e’er so long ago in a barbarous time, we may elevate ourselves past the evil intent our souls are so privy to becoming succor to. By forever remembering the holy vows we are bound to, by our keeping our dark intents in check by their divine guidance, we may indeed commit true good upon this world and shelter it from our antagonistic natures.

 

And so this, this constant battle against oneself is the truest expression of the battle for righteousness and it is constantly on the teetering edge, forever waiting to go over the precipice and give in to the oppressive and crushing temptation of evil. By keeping to tradition, by never trusting fully oneself, by fulfilling daily responsibility without question, by serving eternally, we might avoid such a despicable and callous fate and forever live in the Divine and Everlasting Light.

 

I, Davian Rosswald, was born in a time of war and I, Davian Rosswald, will die in a time of war.

 

For there is only one war and it has, will and always shall lie within.

 

The Balance of Three

Respect. Tenacity. Compassion.

Lo, the Virtues Three, so holy and hallowed.

 

Their guidance is the guidance of the Light in tradition and glorious dogma. Under their kind gaze, do we and must we judge our every action by these most revered standards, that we do not stray from the one true path. For in absentia, we are but broken vessels, to be filled with all manner of darkness, sickness and plagued filth that might seep into our open and flawed selves.

 

To follow one of these virtues, and to forsake the rest, is just as well to curse you to damnation as well as the abandonment of all. Yet still, the distinction between them is important, despite their paralleled necessity. Each required for the others to exist in whole and truth. A cycle of eternal unity between.

 

The first among these stands Respect, a worthy virtue. I shall respect my enemies, yes, this is true, but I shall respect them with shield in hand and furious litany in tongue. Can I not hold Respect for my own brothers and sisters, whose path I know is one of righteousness? In this time of eternal war, I shall have faith in the goodly souls what rest beyond my borders to defend themselves and, in their struggle, to prove themselves worthy of my respect in combat or in other deeds. Though I shall not hesitate to give such Respect, I shall not give it freely. That honor goes to my allies alone and in them I shall confer the ultimate Respect and obey their rightful orders as it is appropriate in the eyes of the Light and in the Lords who do share power above me in just cause.

 

The next virtue is one dear to my heart, one that endears others to be strong in a weak time, Tenacity. It is a time of darkness, of ever-lasting and grievous conflict, yet we will, we must, continue onwards. Tragedy rages, death roams free and the shadows encroach ever closer as the days grow shorter, but it is not enough to quell the spirit of goodly spirits. It is not enough to damn the worthy. It is not enough. Ever shall the tides of hell wash over us in their myriad forms and ever shall we rise against them. They shall erode us, yes, but even as they do we shall grow stronger, we shall replace those who fall wayward and we will emerge victorious by the twilight of the universe. When the end times shall be upon us, it shall go into the blazing Light of goodly deeds and righteous warfare. Yet, for that to be true, we must be strong. We must be vigilant and in the wake of this unyielding evil we must be and remain forever Tenacious.

 

Compassion. A harbor of the weak and salvation of the rightfully damned. It is the very cornerstone of our difference between the barbarous and the righteous. Yet, it is a simple thing to indulge the heart too often, too greatly, and give yourself to its weaknesses. It must be tempered. One must hold love and hatred in the same balance, giving equal measure to both, to despise the weakness in a strong world and to love the budding power within a fractured vessel. It is discipline that keeps the matters of the heart strong, that gives our Compassion strength and direction. To love the righteousness in the world and lives we seek to protect, but to boil out the evil that lurks in the soul of all mortal souls. Such as it is, it must be in this world. Compassion is strong, but without the discipline to hone it, it is as worthless as a dulled blade and serves only to cripple those that it shelters.

 

Within the three, all things are guided to a holy conclusion for while action beyond their powerful virtues is not impossible, it is for naught, for anything done outside their purviews shall turn against itself.

 

Such is the nature of mortal souls and their flawed existence, so prone to chaotic and self-destructive ends. Yet, by following these three great pillars of the holy powers that be, we can ascend to a greater form and build an eternal kingdom, a paradise by mortal hands.

 

Had we the time, that is. . .

 

In the Prism of the Light

The worlds and their heavenly bodies are ending, I can feel it, though few seem able to comprehend the idea, or perhaps possess the will to see it.

 

I am no seer, nor a possessor of great and powerful portents. No, I am but a man with faith, and it is that simplicity that allows me to see, or at least presume to see. Terrible creatures of power, corrupting influences, tragic secrets yet undiscovered, all encroaching on the goodly kingdoms of men and bestial lords of orcs alike in an all encompassing wave of darkness, ever washing against the battlements and wearing them down with every tide.

 

The world is ending and I shall not be found wanting.

 

It is a test of the world against me, I have come to realize. To show me the path, to set me upon it and then cast all hands against me, to cast me away to dark realms and corrupt ends. Yet, I have not yielded, not yet. I have not seen myself against the Light, against the Holiness of the tenets and the virtues, no, I still stand with them even as I write these prophetic words. Still, the Light does not preach prophecy, only the truth of things and their simple if not vague creeds.

 

Even I, as devout as I am, cannot feign ignorance to the plight of it all. It invades me, my every dream, my own nightmare manifest. My shield is heavy, my arms cannot bear its weight. My helm is sundered, my hands must remove it. My sword is dull, my grip wanes. My libram holds no more great words of wisdom, its knowledge depleted. I am alone, as all men must one day be, whether in death or in simple solitude.

 

Yet, there is no sadness. There is no despair, there is only a dull and tired feeling that shakes my body. In that moment, even my knees cannot stand to carry my weight, their force hitting the dirt and sending my eyes skyward. I know not what enemy assails me, I know only that I have fallen before it and so I plead with the forces above, those heavenly beings who have guided me my whole life.

 

In my dreams, they come and touch me, with their graceful forms, my burdens melting away beneath their kind gazes. In them, I see the eyes of my kin, whose lives I have never known, whose faces I have never seen, and I, in that singular moment of bliss, feel only one emotion.

 

It is Glory.

 

In those dreams, I am pressed upon by darkness unimaginable, but I do not fear.

 

In those nightmares, I am driven against by all agents of madness and despair, but I do not falter.

 

In those places, I am witness to the darkest parts of the human spirit, but I do not give in.

 

My shield burdens me, but I have no need of it. My helm is worthless, but I need hide no longer. My sword corrodes and breaks, but I have a far keener blade. My libram is gone, but its wisdom is in and shall always be within my heart.

 

For it is not what I hold in my hand, or what I adorn my body with, or what I should employ to dispatch my foes, no. The only weapon I have or ever will need has always lied within my heart and it is this weapon that I shall wield in the coming days, the end of days. It is the Light’s glory I shall carry with me until I fall upon the fields of battle. As cities burn around me, as the civilizations that have given rise to societies crumble, as lineages falter and men with them, I shall not fear. I shall not falter. I shall not give in.

 

And when I should fall, when my knees should give way and the Light’s agents should come to retrieve me in their eternal duty, I shall cast my voice to them and plead to stay. I shall plead to stay and fight for however long this pitiful soul might be able to fight. My body is for the goodness of this world and it shall be, now and forever. I wish to feel that glory, yes, but if I can fight, if I have the chance to save but one more soul, I will.

 

They shall find me an arrogant soul to bring to bliss, as I shall thrash and I shall fight and I shall resist all calls to retire my arms. The souls of men are weak, this is true, but I have seen the valor in them and in myself. It is my duty to use that strength for holy purpose until I am no longer able, until this body breaks or until the spirit does.

 

In the regard of the spirit, however, I have an impenetrable defense. An ancient ward, given long ago with no toll but to observe and practice. An oath to Respect, to be Tenacious, to be Compassionate and in all these embrace the glorious Holiness within all creatures, to celebrate their goodness, even when their natures force us to be enemies.

 

But the body shall fail me. It is inevitable. Yet, despite this I do not cower against it. I embrace it.

It is the nature of men to fall, but, though it may be hubris to hope for such, I shall die in holy martyrdom, amongst the many allied sins of our past and our future. Their barbs and treacherous arms shall pierce me, but I shall lay upon a pile of their discarded kin, a blackened mound to celebrate their pyrrhic victory. In it, I shall plant upon them the value of fear, the fear that I conquered long ago and I shall visit upon them a thousand deaths, in their minds. In their hearts. Upon the end of days, I shall remind them that none may escape judgement and I went to see mine gladly, with no regrets, no restraint and no hesitation.

 

And thus my story shall end in death, blood and, ultimately, glory. I look forward to it with mortal eyes.

The libram closes, its words fully expended now, ready to impart themselves again to another vessel.