Role

Chapter 3

The past years were not ones filled pleasure, and very limited joy. They were
tainted with the memory of battle, the memory of death, and unrelenting evil. Not
all of his crusades were marked with success; a handful of grievous scars would
prove that, but with each battle he felt more confident with his abilities, and
those skills he had learned while he studied with the Paladin Guild.

He always found himself troubled as he listened to bards and soldiers alike
glorify tales of battle, of death, and of great victories over their adversaries.
They sought riches, fame and glory that would attach itself to such tales, but
he had long ago learned that death and that battle was not glorious. Too many
people he had seen die before him, those he called friends, and even more of
those he called foes. No, such memories, not one of them could he recall being
glorious. Those memories were one of many things that served as a reminder for
why he had taken the oath of the Maran.

He has witnessed unconceivable horrors, terrible evil, unrelenting pain, and it
was such things that gave him strength to carry out his duty. Each day his faith
grew stronger, melding with his soul becoming one, even the creed as he first
heard it seemed to meld with him, each word embraced with willing arms. The
ultimate reinforcement however, was the knowledge of how many depended on the
success of his campaigns, and that at every moment he must be a beacon of hope
for all those who have been subjugated by the hands of darkness.

With a mere touch he was instantly awake, and with his eyes focusing, he saw the
outline of Ariel, a lady squire of the Fortress.

Dawn approaches. She quietly uttered, and then returned to her belongings to
prepare.

He rose slowly, his eyes however revealed nothing of pain, nothing but utter
dedication, faith, strength. They were alit with flames, burning with the most
righteous of fires. With a quick pause to give prayer to his Lady, he began to
prepare. First he prepared his blade, checking for any flaws that might hinder
its strike within battle, and then he refastened his armor, ensuring none would
fail at the least inopportune time.

With a stealth lithe he returned to the hill, perching himself at the top
surveying the land. The centurions had become lax, their lusting glances towards
the fire, hoping for warmth had abolished any night vision they may have had, and
this would be the perfect time to strike. Looking back towards the camp, he made a
gesture with his hand, and his brothers and sisters came to form around him.