Matters of Conscience
Fade was fine, apart from a splitting headache and exhaustion from maintaining her spell for so long. Fel looked like she would be all right, she was drenched with sweat when she finally reverted back from her cat- form. She apologized profusely to Elfsong for attacking and then became a little distant. It was almost as if she was afraid they would make her leave, or maybe she feared attacking them again.
At any rate, with Fel's help they were able to pick up Virgo's trail, it wasn't particularly hard to do, it seemed she was more concerned with getting away than making a stealthy retreat. Plus Fel had a superior sense of smell, she could tell them stories every time her nose pulled at the air.
"She tripped here, her scent has dirt mixed in it. She reeks of frustration and anger. I don't think she knows we're following her, but she's not taking any chances. This way." She led them further into the forest, following the trail of smells, and broken plants that Virgo left behind. She stopped and sniffed at the air, "She's calming down now, coming off the adrenaline and getting tired. She'll probably stop to rest soon."
Knight looked at his friends, they were all breathing heavily and looked as tired as he felt. "We should probably do the same. How much ground have we gained, Fel?"
"A good amount. She still has a bit of a lead on us, but even if she keeps going all nigh, we could probably overtake her tomorrow. She's smells pretty tired though, if she doesn't stop soon, she'll stop anyway."
"Good, let's make camp."
It wasn't long until they had a fire cooking food, and the five sat around it, watching the flames dance and tending to their injuries. While they treated cuts and bruises, stitched some and bandaged others, and tried to keep the rabbits they had caught from burning, they talked about things that they had done, or planned to do. They chatted about the weather, the closeness of the trees, and the poor quality of the food that they had bought when they set out.
Knight simply sat and watched his friends talk amongst themselves, not really listening to the conversations. His thoughts kept drifting back to the battle that day. He stood up and walked out of the warm light of the campfire and into the cold dark of the forest. The others saw him get up and go, obviously bothered by something.
Fel turned back to the fire, "What's up with him?" The others shrugged; Knight wasn't the most expressive of people.
"I haven't seen him like this, ever I think," Blade remarked. "I mean, he's sunk into himself before, but this is the worse I think."
Elfsong worked on patching her cloak, "Maybe one of us should go and talk to him, try and figure out what's wrong." All eyes turned on Blade.
"What, me?"
"Why not? You've known him the longest, not only do you know him better than the rest of us, but he may feel more comfortable talking to you."
"But I don't know what to say to him!"
"You probably don't need to say anything. And if you do, you'll probably know what to say. You're not getting out of this."
Blade sighed and stood up, popping her back, "Yeah, I kind of figured that." She bent down and pulled a piece of meat off the spit and popped it in her mouth. "Ho-o-ot!" she said as she walked away. The other three went back to their conversations, although it drifted back and forth from what might have been bothering their friend.
He stood there, back against a tree, looking up at then night sky. He had pulled his hood over his face, hiding it in shadow. It was almost eerie, a hole of black where his face should have been. His shoulders slumped heavily and one hand held his arm where he had been hurt earlier.
As Blade came closer, she noticed that something that wasn't a tree stuck out of the ground in front of Knight. She realized that it was his sword, Requiem.
"It looks brave, even noble, doesn't it?" Knight's head turned toward Blade and then shifted to his sword. A hand pulled back his hood and exposed his face to the moonlight. Blade nodded and stood next to him, looking down at the sword, blade shining in the moonlight. "I know it's true heart, though. A cruel, merciless, sadistic killer that revels in death, only truly happy when bathed in the blood of men.
"I hate it with a passion."
Blade looked at her old friend, genuine concern plain on her face, "How can you say that? The sword is just a tool; it has no life beyond what you give it. And I know you are none of those things."
"I'm not? How many men died by my hand today? How many more will? How many don't need to? I cannot deny the thrill and satisfaction I felt in battle, the satisfaction when my blade killed another human. How can you say I myself am not evil?"
She stood on the other side of the sword from Knight, "You know what I see when I look at this sword? I see determination and compassion. I heard what you yelled at those men, I saw your face when another man fell to your sword. You have a good heart, and a determination not to let evil hurt others. If that is not good, I don't know what is."
Knight's hand tightened on his arm. "I hate this life Blade, but it won't let me go. I've tried countless times to give up my sword and live a peaceful life, but it's like this sword is a ghost, hundreds of ghosts, hovering by my ear and singing its dirge." Knight pulled his hand away from his arm, blood stained his skin, "I take men's lives, and this is what I take in return. Not a fair trade if you ask me."
Blade looked at Knight's hand and realized what he had been holding, "My god, I thought you said you were fine!" She looked at his arm, "This hasn't been treated at all! Do you want to die from infection?" She pulled a bandage out of her small healing kit and, none to gently, began to tend his wound. "I don't know about whatever it is you think you owe the dead, but those men attacked of their own free will and were prepared to accept the consequences. Yes, we've all killed, and that's not something to be proud of. But think of all the people we've saved. Not just the ones that were there, but also all the others that would have been hurt if we hadn't ended it there. You are doing a good thing." She tied off the dressing and stood in front of him. "Despite all the bad that happens, there's enough good that I can't think of anything I 'd rather be doing, or anyone I'd rather be doing it with then what you and I, and Fade, and Fel, and Elfsong are doing right now. And if I had the chance, I would do nothing different."
Knight stood silent for a moment, and then fell forward and wept on Blade's shoulder, a tear for every man who died, and two for all who lived. Blade let him cry as long as he liked, patting his back and offering comfort and encouragement. And when he straightened, his eyes were dry and a smile appeared. "Thank you, Blade. I'm truly favored to have you as a friend."
She smiled back at him, "And I'll always be your friend, and I'll always be there to help." She started to walk back to the camp, but stopped and turned, "Are you coming? Or are you going to stay out here with the gibberlings?"
Knight nodded and looked down at his sword again, this time; he didn't see an instrument of evil and destruction, but as a friend to those who had none.
He grabbed the hilt, pulled it free from the ground, and with a twirl, sheathed it. He and Blade walked back to the camp together, and Knight thought to himself, "Maybe I can do this after all."
--I didn't leave a note last time so I'll leave one now. If you haven't noticed by now, I enjoy prattling on about my creations and have no reservations to do so endlessly. It becomes a real struggle to keep these little notes from turning into full-fledged rants. But that's not really what I wanted to talk about this time. What I wanted to talk about is the emotional impact of what I write, more specifically on me. The last chapter, Knock-Down Drag-Out War, while not only being named after a Weezer song, was also the first actual battle I've written and not a little fracas. And I must say, I felt rather guilty about killing so many without reason. So, to alleviate my guilt, I wrote the preceding. I feel every story should have this kinda character development anyway. Someone once told me they thought it was cliché, but then I realized that why they're clichés. Because they're used a lot and are generally true. So here it is in it's all it's cliché, emotional glory. Elven Romantic is probably fairly happy at about this point in the story too, since this chapter leans more toward the kind of story she likes. And now to do a rant check on this author's note. * Rolls d20+2d8 * Failure! 'Till next time peeps.
Fade was fine, apart from a splitting headache and exhaustion from maintaining her spell for so long. Fel looked like she would be all right, she was drenched with sweat when she finally reverted back from her cat- form. She apologized profusely to Elfsong for attacking and then became a little distant. It was almost as if she was afraid they would make her leave, or maybe she feared attacking them again.
At any rate, with Fel's help they were able to pick up Virgo's trail, it wasn't particularly hard to do, it seemed she was more concerned with getting away than making a stealthy retreat. Plus Fel had a superior sense of smell, she could tell them stories every time her nose pulled at the air.
"She tripped here, her scent has dirt mixed in it. She reeks of frustration and anger. I don't think she knows we're following her, but she's not taking any chances. This way." She led them further into the forest, following the trail of smells, and broken plants that Virgo left behind. She stopped and sniffed at the air, "She's calming down now, coming off the adrenaline and getting tired. She'll probably stop to rest soon."
Knight looked at his friends, they were all breathing heavily and looked as tired as he felt. "We should probably do the same. How much ground have we gained, Fel?"
"A good amount. She still has a bit of a lead on us, but even if she keeps going all nigh, we could probably overtake her tomorrow. She's smells pretty tired though, if she doesn't stop soon, she'll stop anyway."
"Good, let's make camp."
It wasn't long until they had a fire cooking food, and the five sat around it, watching the flames dance and tending to their injuries. While they treated cuts and bruises, stitched some and bandaged others, and tried to keep the rabbits they had caught from burning, they talked about things that they had done, or planned to do. They chatted about the weather, the closeness of the trees, and the poor quality of the food that they had bought when they set out.
Knight simply sat and watched his friends talk amongst themselves, not really listening to the conversations. His thoughts kept drifting back to the battle that day. He stood up and walked out of the warm light of the campfire and into the cold dark of the forest. The others saw him get up and go, obviously bothered by something.
Fel turned back to the fire, "What's up with him?" The others shrugged; Knight wasn't the most expressive of people.
"I haven't seen him like this, ever I think," Blade remarked. "I mean, he's sunk into himself before, but this is the worse I think."
Elfsong worked on patching her cloak, "Maybe one of us should go and talk to him, try and figure out what's wrong." All eyes turned on Blade.
"What, me?"
"Why not? You've known him the longest, not only do you know him better than the rest of us, but he may feel more comfortable talking to you."
"But I don't know what to say to him!"
"You probably don't need to say anything. And if you do, you'll probably know what to say. You're not getting out of this."
Blade sighed and stood up, popping her back, "Yeah, I kind of figured that." She bent down and pulled a piece of meat off the spit and popped it in her mouth. "Ho-o-ot!" she said as she walked away. The other three went back to their conversations, although it drifted back and forth from what might have been bothering their friend.
He stood there, back against a tree, looking up at then night sky. He had pulled his hood over his face, hiding it in shadow. It was almost eerie, a hole of black where his face should have been. His shoulders slumped heavily and one hand held his arm where he had been hurt earlier.
As Blade came closer, she noticed that something that wasn't a tree stuck out of the ground in front of Knight. She realized that it was his sword, Requiem.
"It looks brave, even noble, doesn't it?" Knight's head turned toward Blade and then shifted to his sword. A hand pulled back his hood and exposed his face to the moonlight. Blade nodded and stood next to him, looking down at the sword, blade shining in the moonlight. "I know it's true heart, though. A cruel, merciless, sadistic killer that revels in death, only truly happy when bathed in the blood of men.
"I hate it with a passion."
Blade looked at her old friend, genuine concern plain on her face, "How can you say that? The sword is just a tool; it has no life beyond what you give it. And I know you are none of those things."
"I'm not? How many men died by my hand today? How many more will? How many don't need to? I cannot deny the thrill and satisfaction I felt in battle, the satisfaction when my blade killed another human. How can you say I myself am not evil?"
She stood on the other side of the sword from Knight, "You know what I see when I look at this sword? I see determination and compassion. I heard what you yelled at those men, I saw your face when another man fell to your sword. You have a good heart, and a determination not to let evil hurt others. If that is not good, I don't know what is."
Knight's hand tightened on his arm. "I hate this life Blade, but it won't let me go. I've tried countless times to give up my sword and live a peaceful life, but it's like this sword is a ghost, hundreds of ghosts, hovering by my ear and singing its dirge." Knight pulled his hand away from his arm, blood stained his skin, "I take men's lives, and this is what I take in return. Not a fair trade if you ask me."
Blade looked at Knight's hand and realized what he had been holding, "My god, I thought you said you were fine!" She looked at his arm, "This hasn't been treated at all! Do you want to die from infection?" She pulled a bandage out of her small healing kit and, none to gently, began to tend his wound. "I don't know about whatever it is you think you owe the dead, but those men attacked of their own free will and were prepared to accept the consequences. Yes, we've all killed, and that's not something to be proud of. But think of all the people we've saved. Not just the ones that were there, but also all the others that would have been hurt if we hadn't ended it there. You are doing a good thing." She tied off the dressing and stood in front of him. "Despite all the bad that happens, there's enough good that I can't think of anything I 'd rather be doing, or anyone I'd rather be doing it with then what you and I, and Fade, and Fel, and Elfsong are doing right now. And if I had the chance, I would do nothing different."
Knight stood silent for a moment, and then fell forward and wept on Blade's shoulder, a tear for every man who died, and two for all who lived. Blade let him cry as long as he liked, patting his back and offering comfort and encouragement. And when he straightened, his eyes were dry and a smile appeared. "Thank you, Blade. I'm truly favored to have you as a friend."
She smiled back at him, "And I'll always be your friend, and I'll always be there to help." She started to walk back to the camp, but stopped and turned, "Are you coming? Or are you going to stay out here with the gibberlings?"
Knight nodded and looked down at his sword again, this time; he didn't see an instrument of evil and destruction, but as a friend to those who had none.
He grabbed the hilt, pulled it free from the ground, and with a twirl, sheathed it. He and Blade walked back to the camp together, and Knight thought to himself, "Maybe I can do this after all."
--I didn't leave a note last time so I'll leave one now. If you haven't noticed by now, I enjoy prattling on about my creations and have no reservations to do so endlessly. It becomes a real struggle to keep these little notes from turning into full-fledged rants. But that's not really what I wanted to talk about this time. What I wanted to talk about is the emotional impact of what I write, more specifically on me. The last chapter, Knock-Down Drag-Out War, while not only being named after a Weezer song, was also the first actual battle I've written and not a little fracas. And I must say, I felt rather guilty about killing so many without reason. So, to alleviate my guilt, I wrote the preceding. I feel every story should have this kinda character development anyway. Someone once told me they thought it was cliché, but then I realized that why they're clichés. Because they're used a lot and are generally true. So here it is in it's all it's cliché, emotional glory. Elven Romantic is probably fairly happy at about this point in the story too, since this chapter leans more toward the kind of story she likes. And now to do a rant check on this author's note. * Rolls d20+2d8 * Failure! 'Till next time peeps.