Hope, Grief, and the Ghoul

[satinkira 6293]

Spoiler

 

 

“I am sparse in my chare to combat against this Anathema, for my treasured chosen seem so brusquely incapable of caging one filthy, sordid mutt of the Deceiver.”

“Why is that?”

 

Why indeed.

 

It was all in His shadow, Yandel now understood - or perhaps His light. The mortal actions were overshadowed by the divine. He had always known it, but now he understood it. The Ember in his heart, though young, burned bright with hope, and he could not but look to the golden sun and zealously grin for joy.

He comes!

XAN would come, and his Lord would surely set the world to rights. That would be the end of it. So Yandel did not despair, and he lived in hope, and thought the battle already won. Because he knew so little, and was so young.

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

And then the death of Aurae.

 

He had wept long that night, casting angry curses and lamentations at the earth that he clutched with his hands - for surely it was the fault of the spawn of the underworld, of the dark, of the hells beneath! It could not be anything else, and he was filled with furious grief for the loss of his teacher, of his friend and ally. And he felt so small; once, the understanding that the world was out of his hands had filled him with glory. But now he felt sickeningly minute, so unimportant. If only he had been there…

But Yandel only knew the magickal spell XANNIC FERVOUR, and he knew within his heart of hearts that if even his teacher had been felled, that there was little he could have done. But since when did grief follow the rules of reason?

He wept long, and mourned deeply.

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

So now what to do?

Yandel wandered down the road to Norland, pondering. It had only been just more than a year after he had first been given his Ember. He understood that he was capable of learning more, but that required a teacher, and the vast majority of Paladins had just been declared incompetent by his Lord, and Yandel had no wish to learn under the incompetent. He desired to change the tide of the mortal war - he desired, as all young men do, a glorious and historical future, and that seemed unlikely under Sunbreak. 

But what other choice did he have?

His travels were halted by the rattle of dead air. Yandel’s eyes squinted - some undead creature was striding towards him, armoured and with sword in hand, declaring grand nonsense about some Black Book and how all men were destined to fall under his blade, and how all of humanity was going to be slaughtered, so on, so on.

That skeleton mattered very little to Yandel, even as his mouth shone with gold - even as his khopesh, Dawnbreaker, glittered with light. The undead creature was charging now, and their blades met, and even as the skeleton laughed, Yandel cut its arm - cut its leg - and disarmed the ghoul, even as it screamed in agony for the Holy Magicks that burnt its soul, even as it bumbled forgiveness, that it had not realised that Yandel was a Paladin - but the skeleton mattered little to Yandel, and he beheaded it.

Those screams were not pleasing. They did not satiate his lust for revenge. But killing Darkspawn was not a morally conflicting matter, and the screams were unpleasant for their grating against the ear, not for their being. Perhaps a bit quieter, and he would not mind.

But these thoughts were of the wrong sort - Yandel quickly grasped that. And he decided that his priorities, whilst a pupil, would never be his magicks, or his teachings. That was not the point of the duty. He would take pride in what he embodied, but never for the sake of the power itself; it was never what was bestowed, but instead taken care of. The measure of his glory was not what power was obtained, but rather what power was halted; what lives were saved, and how many irredeemable lives were taken in the service of that ineffable more.

Yandel no longer thought himself quite so small. He made his way to Sunbreak.

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

[argonian 12875]

Spoiler

o7