[center] [b]Curlow [/b] [/center] The once festive streets of Curlow began to dissipate as the crowds of celebrators return to their homes and jobs as the sky grew a pinkish hue and the sun began to set. The sounds of bands and cheering slowly transformed into independent strumming of idle musicians who have yet to evacuate the stage and the soft muttering of those walking away back to their business. Under soft breaths some people joked and laughed about the indecent monk and his flight from the paladins. Concerned words asked if he was arrested while others claim he got away with his accomplice. Among the loose bands of people walking to their business Stephan and Benoroux casually walked the cobblestone roads on their way uptown to the palace that glorified the capital of Charlin with its tall spires and extravagantly designed architecture that shouted the greatness of the old golden age of Roland. Benoroux was kicking a stone along with himself with his hands deep in his tailored pockets as the pair trodden past friends smiling and the hard workers of Curlow closing shop and dusting off their calloused hands. “Stephan,” Benoroux said as he focused on his tumbling stone, striking it with the inside of his boot “How did you like your first festival of Roland?” Looking toward the waning sun Stephan replied, “I did enjoy it, in some ways it reminded me of the festivals back in Ka’lae. Funny to see how even across the continent, in a land that had been lauded as the enemy only a few short decades ago, things can be so familiar.” He scratched his head and looked down before continuing, “makes me wonder why we even fought back then. That aside though, who was that man the paladins chased off?” Stephan had a feeling he knew though, at least why the man was chased if not who he was. Benoroux sighed, “Yuwanists are forced to be tolerated, Dryadicism is welcomed, The Red Gods are questionable and often better gone, but then there is the Monodominics.” “See, that man was a Monodominic, a native religion of central Charlin, but one that doesn’t recognize any of the gods, one that does not recognize Justinian as a supreme deity, so they are hunted by the Paladins as heretics, but for reasons other than simple persecution,” Benoroux paused, clearly he was at odds with this policy, “I hate to say this, but it may be a little harder for someone not very familiar with our culture to understand why. I’m not questioning your intelligence of course.” Stephan just nodded, “Some things just are then. I don’t know your people Benoroux and I won’t pretend I have any right to pass judgement. Whatever the reason these Monodominics are hunted I am sure some think it the right thing, and others think it wrong. One side just has a few more members. It’s always that way really. I remember before the plague, back in the Dominion the Senate had declared the Justinians not fighting us were to be tolerated. Of course that didn't mean they went out of their way to protect them, and the other side happened to be a bit larger. I was only ten when I saw my first dead man, hanging by a tree with a sign stuck to them.” Stephan seemed unsettled at the memory but he continued, “it’s always that way.” “A sad world,” Benoroux said understandingly, “The part that is saddening is not the state of the world, but rather the fact that it needn’t ever be in that state.” Stephan had little to that to say and merely nodded again. Benoroux kicked the stone out of reach, clearly done with his idle game, “the Monodominics are more than just a religious sect, they are a heart, a heart that feeds these lands with hope and valor since time immemorial, and the Paladins know this, and they want it.” “The Paladins may be the heroes of the people in this new day and age, but they want it all. They want to be the heart like the Monodominics are, they want to know where the Monastery is, the Monastery that had legitimized every Charlin king since Roland. They want that power that such an ancient order holds, the power to unite all the lands like Roland. They want the artifacts to pretend that they are Roland and his mighty riders of yore. They want to be Charlin, not just the Paladins of Krax.” Benoroux crumped his old face as if perturbed by the idea, “whether that is a noble goal or not, I don’t know. The Paladins are not malicious as a whole, but..” The old man trailed off as his mind flurried with the images of the stories of Roland of the Monodominics and myths of old, “they are not Roland.” Stephan sighed, “I understand the sentiment somewhat. How many in the Dominion still try to regain a power long lost to them? I used to think like that too, another war and we’d be sure to win, the Somnus lands would be ours once more. People get tangled up in old glories don’t they? In these times it seems everyone wants to be some lost hero or to possess a power that was never theirs to have.” The old boyar nodded, “Yes,” he said softly, “Lost.” Up in the mountains of Roland the sun was now lost under the black horizon. The owls were hooting along with the few and far in between whinnys of some sleepless horses. The white stoned Monastery took on a dark blue hue under the guise of night save for the areas where soft orange light poured out from lonely lanterns and soaked the immediate area with their glow. The usual emerald grasses that carpeted the serene grove and fields of the tree surrounded sanctuary were alight with small golden fireflies that blinked their way across the fields, giving life to the sleeping arena. The indecent Wilxham and Edvin rushed through the grasses with a tired vigor. As their bare calloused feet padded across the tiles of the courtyard they huffed and stared blankly at the doors to the altar room, they knew they needn’t run anymore, but it didn’t hurt to get dressed as soon as possible. Wilxham slammed into the wooden door as he caught the brass knob of the portal, safely launching himself inside the altar room. A few seconds after, Edvin trailed in behind him. The youth came to a rough and sudden stop, nearly falling over as his shin slammed into a low backless pew. Edvin bit his lower lip in pain, suppressing a shout at the expense of waking up the entire monastery. He shook his head as if physically forgetting the sharp sting in his leg. Edvin scanned the dimly lit room. Only a few candles that refused to burn out gave the room it’s ambient glow. The glow illuminated the room just enough to illustrate the rows of old pews that sat facing an elevated step that supported a mundane white column podium. On top the podium held up by brass claws was the horn of Roland. The horn looked new despite its ancient origins and was made of a light wood that looked freshly cut with steel bands constricting it into its cavalry horn shape. The youth couldn’t resist the alluring aura the horn gave off and slowly walked towards it, ignorant to Wilxhams disappearance. As Edvin approached the altar, he noticed the grooves in the wall behind it. In these grooves stacks of old books sat idle, with ancient writings covering their yellowed sheepskin pages. Edvin stepped up onto the elevated platform and pressed himself against the podium as he scanned past the horn, not wanting to walk behind the podium for some unknown reason. He strained his eyes trying to make out the words but the insufficient light forced him to concede to investing his gaze into the horn. Now that he was close enough to even smell the sap of the horn he could make out the surface details of the wood. The horn beared an unending pattern of ancient symbols so small and burnt into the wood that it caused Edvin to squint as he tried to read the old monodominic writing without success. The former paladin ran his fingertips lightly across the marks, feeling the bumps and soft grain of the wood. Eventually he fell into thought. All he could hear since he left Curlow was the accusations of the paladin that tried to arrest him. The shouting was still ringing in his ears, [i]how could that fool turn on him?[/i] He thought about how he got here, how his new friend was the very man who stunted his mission. A mission he put his honor into, sworn in front of Marc Galenon no less. Galenon, the name that surpassed Roland. Here under his fingertips is the very item that stole him from his honor, what the [i] Monodominics [/i] stole from him. Edvins fingertips wrapped around the horn as if trying to choke it as he clenched his teeth. He was a traitor. He had failed, and for what? He is Master Paladin Edvin, no… he [i] was [/i]. The paladins words stung him, he was no longer a paladin, he was no longer welcome in Charlin. Edvin was confused, and it was all this damn horns fault. As he lifted the horn off it’s claws he grinded his teeth and his face began to redden when suddenly a familiar voice rang behind him. “Hey Edvin, I found a new robe- What in the whispers name are you doing,” the newly black robed Wilxham hissed in surprise. The youth spun around, horn in hand. Wilxham inhaled deeply as he studied the enraged face of Edvin in the dim light, watery eyes reflecting the candle light. The monk held up a sympathetic palm as if trying to magically make Edvin calm. Wilxham spoke softly, eager to keep everyone else asleep, “Edvin, what are you doing?” “I am a paladin,” Edvin growled between his teeth, “these tricks won’t hold me anymore.” “You are more than a paladin, Edvin.” Edvin lifted the horn high above his head and Wilxham scrambled over to the youth to intercept him. His bare feet scuffled against the cold stone tile floors as he lunged for the horn. Edvin was quick however and juked the monk, spinning behind the altar where the vague outline of a scabbard nailed to it nearly snagged his loose robes. “Edvin, please,” Wilxham whispered, “the paladins would sooner see you dead than welcome you back, to them you are a traitor, but to me you are family!” Edvin ground his teeth as his throat rumbled with a scream, “you are liar!” His yell echoed and bounced across the entire room and cut the silence of the monastery with its shaking rage. He shouted at the monk, who seemingly was shoved back by the words by every syllable, “you tricked me into this life, stole my honor, and tried to keep me preoccupied with some false book, as if I were a child.” “No, please, Edvin, you don’t understand, you are a monodominic, it was foreseen in your blood by Freg, you belong here.” By this time swarms of monks began bursting in through the door, each with a concerned look on their tired faces as Edvin threatened to smash the horn. The monks began shouting concerns and questions at Edvin. The youths eyes panicked as he was surrounded and as they darted back and forth he saw the glint of metal hidden in a hollow of the podium where the scabbard was held. With a quick lunge he grabbed the hilt of the metal and drew the sword out of the scabbard that was nailed to the podium with a screaming shriek of unearthly metal. The sword was light like a gentle breeze, but felt heavy at the same time. It was simple looking, with a round plain pommel and straight cross guards perpendicular to the long tapered blade. The blade bore the same unending marks that the horn did, except these ones glowed a lively blue as Edvin held the sword tight in his hand. Edvin felt a rush as he held the sword in one hand and the horn in the other. As he let out a bellowing cry every monk stood silent, and gave up trying to subdue the young man. Edvin swung the blade a few times in the air, the sword whistling with each stroke. The panicked eyes of Edvin turned to curiosity as he took in the sudden surprise of all the monks. Wilxham stuttered incoherently with large eyes not believing what he was witnessing. An old hand was laid on the monks shoulder as the abbot walked past him. The old abbot walked up to the startled Edvin, his eyes squinting with age. Edvin stood with his mouth agape, completely dumbfounded at the strange reactions. “My King,” the abbot croaked before falling to his knees before Edvins feet. Like a wave subsiding from the altar, every monk fell to their knees before the pink faced Edvin. A single muttering was offered from Wilxham, “only the blood of Roland may wield his blade.” “The paladins don’t want you Edvin of the Monodominics, but Charlin does.” [hider= things to know] - C'mon do I have to spell it out? [/hider]