Simon
10-14-13, 12:02 AM
Through word of deed.
That was the one and only way to gain acceptance into the Lightwielder order. Well, that and almost a decade of scripture, combat drills, and countless mundane good deeds. The initiates of the order could boast that no kittens could be found on the highest tree branches in Radasanth. No blind man would ever need fear a busy street. No farmer's hard-grown apples would ever find their way into the hands of common snatch-grabbers at market. No orphans shall ever have to... It was rewarding to be sure, but Simon, an aspiring paladin youth, knew that there was more to knighthood than piggy-backing bum-legged old ladies across large puddles. There had to be. What of glory, and dragons, and the other stuff of myth?
Upon the exterior of the layered brown-brick wall that fortified the order's compound, was a yellowing poster. In bold red letters, faded by rain, it read enthusiastically "Test your mettle in the citadel!" Below that, the charicature of a cat-eared hero slashed down with an impossibly large sword at a dragon-winged villain in the throes of a magical spell. It had once seemed silly to Simon, but that day he found that he could not take his eyes off the poster. He stood with his eyes fixed on it as stubble-faced laborers and pudgy merchants mumbled rudely, pushing past the knight's bulky frame on the narrow road. A particularly gruff-looking dock-worker with a green bandana tying back his greasy black dreadlocks, was just about to shove through Simon's space as the paladin turned suddenly and grabbed the man about the shoulders. The dirty man tried to recoil but found the young warrior's grasp to be too strong.
"I've decided!" the youth remarked loudly staring intensely into the bewildered man's eyes.
"Hey now! Let me go, you hear?"
"I'm going to enter the citadel and test my mettle."
"Good fer you, ya tin-clad ape, now stop touching me!"
Simon paid the man no further heed, and instead moved to the poster and with a powerful sweep of his armored hand, tore it from the compound wall, and started north at a run. The citadel was only blocks away.
---
Simon clasped the iron band that held his braid in place shut with a click, and swung the length of hair back over his shoulder. The metal plates that protected the paladin's groin, hips and butt, grinded loudly on the stone bench in one of the citadel's many hallways. Beside him was a crumpled piece of yellowed paper, now forgotten. Moments later, he was ushered by an Ai'Bron monk through a set of double doors. The entire series of events since Simon decided to engage in combat at the citadel was a blur as the adrenaline coursing through his veins began to flow more generously.
Real battle. Real glory. Why have I not thought of this sooner? he asked himself, unaware that the fabric of reality around him was changing.
On the other side of the stone doors Simon came to his senses. His jaw lowered with slack. It seemed he had exited the building to find himself in a tremendous pumpkin patch that stretched for miles in all directions.
"Hey!" he shouted, as he wheeled around to find the doors had disappeared. Every few feet, orange globes dotted the soft, brown and green fertile earth. A bluish-grey mist clung to the earth like a blanket, made all the more eerie in the light of a bright full-moon overhead. Perhaps strangest of all, was the void of sound. Only Simon's own heavy breathing could be heard, and the heavy squelching footsteps of his armored boots moving slowly through the field. The monks had mentioned an opponent, but the paladin saw no one, and became aware of just how vulnerable he must look, standing tall in the low field, moonlight glinting off his armor.
That was the one and only way to gain acceptance into the Lightwielder order. Well, that and almost a decade of scripture, combat drills, and countless mundane good deeds. The initiates of the order could boast that no kittens could be found on the highest tree branches in Radasanth. No blind man would ever need fear a busy street. No farmer's hard-grown apples would ever find their way into the hands of common snatch-grabbers at market. No orphans shall ever have to... It was rewarding to be sure, but Simon, an aspiring paladin youth, knew that there was more to knighthood than piggy-backing bum-legged old ladies across large puddles. There had to be. What of glory, and dragons, and the other stuff of myth?
Upon the exterior of the layered brown-brick wall that fortified the order's compound, was a yellowing poster. In bold red letters, faded by rain, it read enthusiastically "Test your mettle in the citadel!" Below that, the charicature of a cat-eared hero slashed down with an impossibly large sword at a dragon-winged villain in the throes of a magical spell. It had once seemed silly to Simon, but that day he found that he could not take his eyes off the poster. He stood with his eyes fixed on it as stubble-faced laborers and pudgy merchants mumbled rudely, pushing past the knight's bulky frame on the narrow road. A particularly gruff-looking dock-worker with a green bandana tying back his greasy black dreadlocks, was just about to shove through Simon's space as the paladin turned suddenly and grabbed the man about the shoulders. The dirty man tried to recoil but found the young warrior's grasp to be too strong.
"I've decided!" the youth remarked loudly staring intensely into the bewildered man's eyes.
"Hey now! Let me go, you hear?"
"I'm going to enter the citadel and test my mettle."
"Good fer you, ya tin-clad ape, now stop touching me!"
Simon paid the man no further heed, and instead moved to the poster and with a powerful sweep of his armored hand, tore it from the compound wall, and started north at a run. The citadel was only blocks away.
---
Simon clasped the iron band that held his braid in place shut with a click, and swung the length of hair back over his shoulder. The metal plates that protected the paladin's groin, hips and butt, grinded loudly on the stone bench in one of the citadel's many hallways. Beside him was a crumpled piece of yellowed paper, now forgotten. Moments later, he was ushered by an Ai'Bron monk through a set of double doors. The entire series of events since Simon decided to engage in combat at the citadel was a blur as the adrenaline coursing through his veins began to flow more generously.
Real battle. Real glory. Why have I not thought of this sooner? he asked himself, unaware that the fabric of reality around him was changing.
On the other side of the stone doors Simon came to his senses. His jaw lowered with slack. It seemed he had exited the building to find himself in a tremendous pumpkin patch that stretched for miles in all directions.
"Hey!" he shouted, as he wheeled around to find the doors had disappeared. Every few feet, orange globes dotted the soft, brown and green fertile earth. A bluish-grey mist clung to the earth like a blanket, made all the more eerie in the light of a bright full-moon overhead. Perhaps strangest of all, was the void of sound. Only Simon's own heavy breathing could be heard, and the heavy squelching footsteps of his armored boots moving slowly through the field. The monks had mentioned an opponent, but the paladin saw no one, and became aware of just how vulnerable he must look, standing tall in the low field, moonlight glinting off his armor.