Freedom to Betray
An excerpt from the many writings of the late Burnnoc, Paladin of the Order of the Right-Hand Sword
Throughout my travels of Sanctuary, there is one event that I'll never fail to forgot, not for an instant. When senility hits me and I forget my own name, I'll never forget my trials against the abomonations known as Terror, Hatred, and Destruction. The three prime evils, the very embodiment of what is wrong with the world. When I started out as a simple farm-boy, I always thought it would be my brother who would be doing these "grand" adventures, going off to slay the undead, save a damsel in destress, and doing all sorts of heroics.
It's true that my brother, Inochi, was the one who supposedly slew Diablo in the dungeon that lay below the very heart of Tristram. Only I knew the of the stone that he carried from the pits of Terror himself. The first Soulstone. Within it lay the very being of Diablo, who soon manifested himself into Inochi. Now, you have heard the tales and songs of how I defeated the three Prime Evils. Oh, how I wish I had never gone through it all! But there is one part of this amazing story that I find to be very memorable, and not at all as terrifying as my battle against Baal.
Her name was Draconess, although I doubt that was her true name. I met her at the besieged camp of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye, or Rogues as most people know them. But she was no Rogues, at least, not part of a band of Rogues. She was a Mage-Hunter. Forbidden to study the arcane arts, she was trapped here while the passage to the East was consumed by demons. Day and night, she did nothing but sit and stare at the cattle, as if she hated them with her very being. Her eyes had a fire in them I never knew could be seen in a human.
Sometimes I doubt her humanity, but not in a bad way. She was not possessed, not by demons at least. She was possessed by a will to do her duty, to do what she grew up to do, what she was trained to do. She was possessed with skill, and a fiery spirit. I was later to learn that she had a love that she would never be allowed to meet. I'm ahead of myself, and I'm running out of ink, so I will try to hasten the story.
I was awaken by the sounds of screaming from the tent next to mine. It was Draconess' tent. I ran in, and found her jumping around, kicking high into the air, and punching low to the ground. She was simply training. I recognised the skill as martial arts, a very unique style of fighting that I had wished to learn on my own time.
In what seemed to be less than an instant, she threw two high-kicks to the air, and then landed a nice third kick into my face. I must note that she started at the back of the tent, and I was at the enterance. Luckily for me, I had an iron will, and didn't flinch at all from the blow, though I must admit I was wishing for the chance to be alone so I could cry and ask my mother why life was so unfair. Ah, but that is not a Paladin's life.
"Nicely done," I commented, "But a little on the weak side." I thought she was going to kick me in the head again, judging by the look on her face. I was delighted to find that she was wearing nothing but a short silk nightgown, but I chose not to comment on it. The last thing I wanted was a face full of metal. I refer to the swords she wore on each hand. Apparantly Mage-Hunters, or Assassins, were trained to wield weapons fitted onto gloves called Katars. Although I have always been a graceful fighter, her weapons made my two-handed sword appear very clumsy.
"What do you want?" she spat out at me.
"Do you ever have time to sleep?"
"The body doesn't need sleep. That only makes one less-alert. Training will wear away the need for sleep."
She continued lecturing, apparantly very facinated with the idea of sleep being weak-minded. I took this time to look around her tent. All she had was a pouch, which was closed, and a strange staff in the back.
"Are you trained in staff-wielding?" I interrupted.
"Huh?"
"You have a staff in the back of the tent. What would a Mage-Hunter need with a staff?"
She turned around to match follow my stare. She squeaked and ran to grab the staff, and hid it behind her back, as if that would make me forget it existed.
"It's nothing! Just a souvinier from my latest kill! Get out my tent before I add your armor to my collection!" she yelled.
It was then I realised she was dabbling in the arts forbidden to Assassins. She saw this in my face, and she dropped the staff.
"It was given to me by the strange wanderer that came here a few weeks ago, before the troubles began assailing the Rogues." she said.
Perhaps I should explain. About a week before I entered the camp, a wanderer had entered the camp, and an evil seemed to follow. I was to later learn this was my brother, Inochi, who was slowly letting the essence of Terror win his very being.
"He said it was perfect for me. 'You need to know how wonderful it feels,' he had said. He was, of course, reffering to the feeling of touching the arcane magics!" At the mention of magic her voice became louder and joyful. "And it does feel wonderful! I've never felt more alive than when I was using the mysterious mana to pull at the other realms, and drawing them into this world!" She looked up at me and gasped at what she had done. Draconness had just told me a secret that could cost her her life.
"If your brethren find out," I said, "You will surely die."
"You know what I face?"
"I know all about how your kind are trained to avoid corruption, drawing power from your mind so that youc an defeat the evil magi who summon demonic powers."
"But the mind is limited!" she argued, probably just as she would someday hope to argue to her peers. "Magic is an eternal substance of power that I can control as easily as my own mind!"
"It is not so true," I said solemnly, remembering my brothers own struggle with demonic powers. "The very force of magic will escape into a real-life nightmare if you do not know how to control it. It takes will, strength, both physical and mental. It also takes respect, but a respect that should also be controlled!"
She frowned as if she were going to cry. I realised then how much mystery the arcane arts must be to one who has been trained to draw from within for power.
"They're after me right now," she said. "I will die soon unless I can get through to Lot Gholein, but those damned demons are blocking my path to freedom!" She looked at her Katars sadly. "My freedom to betray my very life.."
As a Paladin I have learned that what is right, and what is safe are not neccaserily the same. Just because she is part of an order that demands that she never touch outer magic, does not mean the dissobediance is evil. Some of the most famous Paladins are written down in the history books as being rebels and heroes. I could see now, that if she denied herself magic, she would deny herself true freedom to breathe. She would be in her own air-tight container of slavery. Whether it meant her death or not, there was no way she should be allowed to deny herself this ability.
I stood tall, my armor clanking against itself as I shifted. "I will help you reach Lut Gholein," I announced, "but I will need your help to defeat the demons which defile the Rogue Monastary."
Once again, I saw the fire in her eyes. The skill returned to her body, as she quickly dressed into her light armor, wielded her claw-type weapons, grabbed the staff, and exited the tent. She was not betraying her very life, she was fulfilling her rights to live. We set out to the wilderness...
Note: So, what'd you think? Pointless? Good? Please give me praise or constructive criticism by writing a review. If you want me to write a second chapter or a sequel, then please, say so!