Warring Dogma - Rp Story

[ChainedDragons 1374]

Spoiler

 

 

Warring Dogma - RP story

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Hart stared at the ceiling of his bedroom from his bed. The young man removed the hook from his arm, running a hand over where his right should be. Having nothing there was still something to get used to. "..." Hart pulled his pillow under his head. Thoughts from the day lingered in his mind. 

 

"If I fought I would have slayed thousands of Adunians, not stumble around an abandoned camp like a crazy person."

 

Hart rolled onto his side, staring into the rhythmic flames of the fire place across from him. The horse leather couch sat between him and the fireplace, the brand of the holy see glaring back at him. His thoughts rambled as his body tried to seek out rest. He closed his eyes so he didn't have to stare at the reminder of self questioning before him. Did he deserve to be a knight?

 

He hadn't even killed a man yet. Eighteen and yeet to draw blood. Was this something to be proud of? Or ashamed.. Hart could recall all the battles he took part in during the war. Sure he did his damage. Maiming and injuring his foe but he never stayed behind to check if he took a life or not. Was that not enough? What did it take to be morally good?

 

"Reflect on the righteousness - or lack thereof - of your actions."

 

Harts eyes began to grow heavy as he pushed the past conversations to the back of his mind, burying them with sweet calling of rest. The flames of the fire place lulled Hart into a deep slumber, his thoughts turning to plague him in other forms...

 

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Hart found himself on a battlefield. It was empty. Dull and grey, only scarlet being of contrast in the war banners that tattered in the winds. Blades of grass bore blood and bone like badges of honor. Scattered armaments and broken bodies hide away beneath the muddy mire. Hart observed his surroundings with some uncertainty.

 

There were only two paths to take. One choice to make. On one side of the field stood a tall, dark, and foreboding treeline. The forests arms clawed up at the sky like jagged crowns, bare limbs beckoning the nordling to return to his roots.

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Hart turns to face the forest. It didn't scare him. He knew what lay within the trees. He could see the all familiar stag waiting for him, keeping tucked away between the comforts of tree trunks. Their storm greys met - a foreign kinship Hart couldn't explain or say he understood. It just was.

 

On the other side of the battlefield he could see an open meadow, exposed to the scrutiny of the sun beaming down on it. All the plants beneath the rays remained rooted and bent to what gave them life. As if worshiping the ball of fire for its radiance and dominion over them.

 

Hart regarded the exposure with discomfort. His head turns back to the forest. For a moment he considers walking to the invitation of red and dark. He was jarred from his thoughts, his shoulders flesh screaming to life as the ink in his shoulders made themselves known. Inky coils released themselves from his skin, taking on the forms of ravens.

 

The right raven inked of black commanded him to stand firm and to march towards the sun - he had been on the path so long it was cowardice to abandon now.

 

Hidden heathen - you hold onto ways of the vile. Relinquish your comforts and praise the perfection before you. You shalt not be a beast amongst the flock. Repent.

 

The left raven inked of white urged him to return to the old ways. They were safe. They were understanding and would respect who he was.

 

Lost Child. Come home - it isn't too late to return the wind whispers. Answer the snow and bite of cold. The north is calling.

 

Hart clawed at the pain in his shoulders, crumbling to his knees. His own flesh revolted. He hears a wail. The stag was being dragged from the shelter of the forest by vines and roots towards the sun.

 

"No leave it be the beast belongs in the forest!" He cried out, watching the mighty animal wail and paw for a chance to escape. 

 

Ibless is in your heart. 

 

"What?"

 

Hart could hear the ravens whispering to him, their phrase getting louder and louder as the stag was dragged across the battlefield towards the meadow.

 

Ibless is in your heart.

Ibless is in your heart.

Ibless is in your heart. 

Ibless is in your heart.

Ibless is in your heart.

Ibless is in your heart. 

 

 

The phrase repeated louder and louder. The ravens cackling in his ears as the teen fought cover them. He squeezed his eyes shut only to find when he opened them himself being the one dragged towards the suns blazing meadows. He scrambled to paw at the earth, his limbs not obeying his commands. A flurry of feathers flew at him as the sun blinded him. All he could do was scream.

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Hart awoke screaming, clawing at his eyes as tears ran down his face. The teen desperately clutched at the Lorraine around his throat, trembling as he whimpered in the dark of his room. The fire was dead. The moon was high. The dreams would keep coming. Another night has past. With the morning comes a truce of the dogma.

 

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[[This took me too many days to write to be honest but I wanted to write something covering Hart's feelings of his actions of the war and how he is struggling with fully letting go of his past path. While yes he said goodbye to the All Father there are still things he subtly does in his name, clinging to these small traditions like one clings to a good memory. Hard to progress forward in your new religion sometimes, even if you agree with a lot of its teachings. I hope you had a good read - no meta of course]]