Difference between revisions of "Thaddeus (Chapter 2)"

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#REDIRECT [[Thaddeus (Act I)#Chapter 2]]
For his rebellion is as the sin of pride,
 
 
 
Because rejects the teachings of the wiser.
 
 
 
To come with sacrifice and prayer
 
 
 
Is to consecrate the soil, sheep, and oxen.
 
 
 
-- Visions of Akarat, c. 15, v. 22-25
 
 
 
 
 
Outside of the Rogue encampment, the fields were sodden with the constant drizzle of rain.  While not exactly a wilderness, this was untilled soil, covered with wild grasses, flowers, and only a few trees.  The ruts caused by the passage of many wheels, come down through the high pass of the Rogue monastery, were filled with standing water and mud.  Though flowers did grow in the fields, something had trampled most of them into the mud.  Trees were cut down, and left to rot, nothing good was made from them.  Thaddeus had been told much of the subtle signs demons leave, so he could recognize their disguised presence.  They made no attempts at subtlety now, not here, in their strength.
 
 
 
The fields held no demons, merely corrupted animals and a few wandering zombies.  Quill Rats might once have been porcupines, shy creatures which do not shoot their quills, but after their alteration, they were hostile, hateful, and prolific.  The zombies were nothing more nor less than the mortal remains of the recent dead, infected with a demonic spirit.  While the spirit is willing, these decayed remains are far from sturdy, and they seem addled by the disintegrating brain.  Often, they forget an enemy is present, even while being cut to pieces.  Clearing the field was not dangerous, but there was a cave in the middle of the field.  This must be where the demons were gathering for their assault.
 
 
 
Evil was strong in the cave, and Thaddeus knew this would not be an easy battle.  Before entering, he bowed his head in prayer, and considered the ritual of sacrifice, anointing his blade with his own blood.  The ritual was an old one, older than Akarat's prophesies that were the foundation of Zakarum; many argued that such a bloody ceremony was not fitting for the church of Light.  It smacked of the older religions, of the energy that could be taken from death and pain, demonism and black magic.  The Protectors of the Word teach that the sacrifice of one's own life and body is of a different character than taking it from an innocent.  The offering of another is a violation, but offering yourself is a devotion.
 
 
 
Staring at the blade, it occurred to Thaddeus that another important part of the ritual might be the need for courage.  In the seminary, it is easy to talk about the nobility of sacrifice, ignoring pain selflessly, just drawing enough blood to anoint one blade.  It doesn't seem like much, but it is very difficult to actually do.  There in the field, when you must deliberately injure yourself, and know it will hurt... Thaddeus was no more fond of pain than anyone else.  He'd never done it before, and while part of his mind knew he should, to protect the Rogues, another part quailed at actually bringing his blade to his own flesh.
 
 
 
All the arguments went through his mind.  The body is merely a vessel for the soul, the light's blessings will close up the wound, pain is nothing to the devoted, the needs of others must be paramount, and on and on.  Twice, he brought the blade to his shoulder, and twice put it down; when he had to drive it in, his strength left him, his belly quivered with fear.  Maybe it won't be so bad in there, part of him thought.  Maybe I won't need a sacrifice to conquer the beasts in the cave.  Surely, serving the light, the word, and my fellow human beings does not require me to shed my own blood in some archaic ritual!
 
 
 
All of a sudden, Thaddeus understood.  He was to be a warrior of the light, and must place himself in far greater danger than this if he was to serve.  If his suspicions were correct, one of The Three was here, sending demons out over the countryside.  And if his courage failed him over such a trivial thing... how could it stand if he was facing the Lord of Terror himself?  Staring at the blade, Thaddeus knew the ritual of sacrifice was not an offering of blood; what need had the Light for blood?  Sacrifice was an act of courage, conquering the terror within.  Any warrior would need to face fear; even one who wished the blessing of the Light could not be excepted.
 
 
 
Calmly, a prayer in his mind, Thaddeus drew his blade to himself a third time, and a trickle of blood washed over the steel.  It did hurt, a lot; pain always seems worse when you know its coming.  The blood on his sword congealed almost instantly, and a throb of power seemed to warm its length; it almost felt like an echo of his heart was in his hand.  After it was over, it wasn't nearly as bad as Thaddeus had feared.  He almost laughed at his nervousness, and resolved never to fear anything again.  Fear really does eat at a warrior's heart, and if he was to be a warrior, he could never allow it into his heart again.
 
 
 
Inside the cave, Thaddeus met his first actual demons.  Fallen are small, impish things, with red skin and sharp horns -- exactly what demons are pictured to look like, except that they are tiny, weak, cowardly and pathetic.  Some depictions of the infernal make the enemy of man out to be merely misunderstood, rebels of grand poetry scoffing at the intolerant heavens, which could not control them, and therefore cast them down.  There was nothing grand or poetic about these creatures, very little that might lend itself to the illusion that evil was liberating.  Killing them brought out much the same emotions as crushing a particularly nasty bug.  More powerful Fallen, dressed like primitive shamans, would resummon their brethren, so Thaddeus learned it was best to kill them first.
 
 
 
Many creatures had been marshaled in the caves: the Fallen, a great many Zombies, and hairy, man-like beasts from the mountains.  They were supposed to be peaceful creatures, timid and rarely seen, but now their eyes were full of empty hate.  They attacked slowly, but without mercy, and took many blows to kill.  In the rear of the cave, Thaddeus found the Zombie lord who must be leading these demons; at least, he was the most powerful creature in the cave.  Maybe the spirit moving the rotting flesh was a particularly nasty one, but its rotting brain could not possibly be of much use to it.  Twice, while Thaddeus was striking its followers down, the Zombie wandered off to another part of the cave, and he had to go and find it again.  When the last of the creatures had been exterminated, the air of the cave seemed to clear.  Thaddeus bowed his head in prayer, thanking the Light for granting him the resolve to do what had to be done.
 
 
 
By the time he returned to the Rogue encampment, all the injuries he received in the caves had healed, thanks to his prayers to the Light.  Word of his deeds seemed to have preceded him; Kashya must have sent one or two of her Rogue scouts to follow him, though he hadn't noticed them while he was there.  Akara was especially pleased.
 
 
 
"Your return is a joy to me.  This victory, though it may seem small, has given us all hope, and may restore my faith in humanity.  While you were gone, I took the liberty of examining the relics you brought with you.  I hope you do not mind."
 
 
 
"Not at all, prioress," Thaddeus said.  "I had hoped you would.  When I came, it was to bring these to your monastery, and ask after one of my order, who was with you."
 
 
 
"Yes.  I have not seen Ahlus since that fateful day when we were forced out.  I fear she has fallen, along with many others.  Which brings me to the relics.  Normally, these things would be stored in a place of reverence, but with the situation we are in, that is not possible or advisable."
 
 
 
"The disposition of the relics is a great concern.  There is nowhere safe for them?"
 
 
 
"They should not be kept safe," Akara said, bringing the scepter Knell Striker from its case of polished wood.  "These things are weapons, first and foremost.  They were meant to be used, not kept safe in a box.  I think you should take up the scepter, and use it."
 
 
 
"No, please, lady," Thaddeus stammered. "I am an acolyte, not even indoctrinated into the order of Protectors.  A worthier hand than mine should bear the scepter."
 
 
 
"Whose hand, then?  A great darkness has fallen over the land; I cannot believe that these things have not come to us for a reason.  We must take back our monastery, and you are the only one of your order who is near.  I cannot believe there is no reason for that, either."
 
 
 
"But I have not even completed my seminal studies... the Knell Striker is of such holiness, I should not even touch it!"
 
 
 
"If you doubt your worthiness, then we shall let the scepter decide itself."
 
 
 
Akara closed the lid of Knell Striker's case, and set the scepter down.  The rain beaded on the oiled wood, and as Thaddeus watched, the scepter slowly turned of its own accord, until the haft pointed directly at him.  "Take it up, Paladin.  It has chosen."
 
 
 
Knell Striker was heavy in Thaddeus' hand, the iron knobs on its head polished bright.  The power in it was awesome, it felt ready to leap and crush down anything in its path.  "Thank you, great lady Akara.  I do not know what to say."
 
 
 
"Then say nothing.  But you may want to visit our blacksmith.  While you do not seem to be injured, your armor is desperately in need of repair.  Curious, that."
 
 
 
Thaddeus left, wondering if lady Akara really was blind.  Perhaps the Sightless Eye had gifted her with knowledge far beyond anything he knew.  For her part, Akara dropped the thread she had looped around a knob on Knell Striker's head.  A slow pull on the loop had been enough to turn the scepter, but there was no need for the boy to know that.
 
 
 
At the northern end of camp, among the merchant wagons, Thaddeus found the Rogue's blacksmith.  She was, as you might expect, a woman, but quite a large one, with very blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
 
 
 
"Hi there!" she bubbled, "I'm Charsi.  You must be the new warrior in camp!"
 
 
 
"There is no other who I have heard from, so yes, I must be.  I am Thaddeus.  You have many weapons and things for sale, I see."
 
 
 
"Oh, sure!  That's a pretty sad looking set you've got there.  Thinking of trading up?"
 
 
 
"I've a sword for sale... and perhaps some of your studded leather and a pot helm.  This coat has served me well, but something stronger might be necessary."
 
 
 
"Yeah... what's with all these scratches on the left shoulder?"
 
 
 
"Ah... nothing.  Have you any lances here?"
 
 
 
"Nope, none of the big stuff.  It's really hard to get supplies here, and all my best tools are back in the monastery.  Wish I could get you something, though... maybe a spear?"
 
 
 
Looking at Knell Striker, Thaddeus shook his head.  "Perhaps I should not.  Though I am not completely sure what I ought to be doing."
 
 
 
"Hey!  I just thought of something." Charsi smiled. "If you want the best stuff, go see Gheed, right over there.  He's great, he's got a lot of funny stories and knows a lot about all kinds of things!  He's been to Lut Gholein, and Kingsport, and the Amazon islands, all over!"
 
 
 
"Thank you, I shall," Thaddeus smiled.  Charsi seemed like a nice girl; a bit silly, perhaps, but it was good to see that someone could still smile after all these people had suffered.  Gheed also could smile, but Thaddeus liked his smile much less.
 
 
 
"Hello there!  I'm Gheed, and I can already tell I'm going to be your best friend in this whole camp.  If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask!  All I ask in exchange is a bit of gold, a small gem, things that would be useless to a holy man such as yourself.  The taint of material wealth is the downfall of humanity, that's what I always say!"
 
 
 
Try as he might, Thaddeus could not believe Gheed would ever say that, even though he'd just heard it from his own lips.  Zakarum preaches charity towards all; he should not assume the worst of someone on their first meeting.  Nonetheless, avarice hung about Gheed like a cloak proudly worn, and despite all his teachings, Thaddeus could not find it in him to think well of him.  "Wealth is not a destroyer of virtue; the love of wealth is humanity's downfall.  In itself, money is no more than a means to an end.  The goal towards which it goes depends on the one who is putting it to use."
 
 
 
"My sentiments exactly," Gheed grinned.  "I hate those who think of nothing but money!  A drain on our spiritual strength and resolve.  If only others saw things as I do."
 
 
 
Thaddeus smiled.  "You must be offering exceptionally low prices for your wares.  As the need is so great, who could do any less?"
 
 
 
"Not so fast!  Heh heh heh.  May I interest you in this fine sword of triumphant virtue?  I guarantee its performance for life!"
 
 
 
"My life, or the sword's?"
 
 
 
"The two will be the same, of course!  Perhaps a helm, then?  It comes with a back plate!  Those pesky little devils might try to sneak up behind you."
 
 
 
While Gheed's wares were beyond reproach, as far as Thaddeus could tell, he felt no overwhelming need to give him any business.  In fact, he wondered how Gheed could get any business at all, he seemed so untrustworthy.  Either he sold only to the unwise, or he had some other, less savory line of business to make him his real money.  Feeling that virtuous behavior should be its own reward, Thaddeus bid him good day, and returned to the field.  Walking to the Rogue's monastery, fighting demons every step of the way, was going to take a long time, so it was only sensible to start off as early as possible.
 

Latest revision as of 13:09, 12 February 2017