The Fallen Paladin

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part 1:


Cane clutched his crucifix tightly as he knelt upon the dust-covered floor. A being, draped in cloaks, lay next to him, a pool of crimson liquid shining brightly compared to the dull, faded colors of the ruined house. Shafts of light filtered through the broken roof, revealing the particles of dust that hung in the air as if by magic. It was all like a dream.

Cane sat in silence, the terrible act he had just committed slowly dawning upon him. He glanced around the room, torn tapestries hung upon the wall, showing pictures of lost beauty and grandeur. He rocked back and forth, clutching his crucifix tightly in his bloodied hands, his sword left forgotten, lost in a nearby corpse with only the hilt visible. He mumbled a series of words, all of which where lost to the fire which hissed as it began to spread across the room, thick smoke puffing towards Cane ominously, like some daemon coming to claim his soul, for he had done something more terrible than simply murder. He had murdered while being a paladin, a holy warrior, a fighter of infinite purity who battled for goodness and justice and righteousness. He had done all that, but now he had taken it a step too far. He had not captured or immobilized his opponent. He had killed it.

Cane stood up, oblivious to the thick smoke that snaked around his legs, covering the corpse in a foot high wall of blackness. He moved towards the cadaver, jerking free his sword which came out in a soft sucking sound. Cane felt detached, his actions and his thoughts strangely different. He thought that the sucking sound was disgusting, but his body continued to drag out his steel, the thin blood groove of his sword working magnificently. Cane felt the tip of the blade scrape through the ribcage.

He holstered the sword, not bothering to clean off the weapon. It slid in, the thin layer of blood lubricating the blade, the usual sound of metal upon metal gone, and instead he heard a soft hiss as it entered the holster as if he had oiled it. Cane was not use to such noises. This was his first true murder.

He moved out the house, his eyes drying as the heat grew, the flames now licking the tapestries, quickly spreading to the damaged thatch roof. Cane continued his walk out the house, amazed that he, most brave and courageous and holy of all knights, could commit a murder. He was above such things. He had always thought that knights that did such things where lesser men than himself.

“How things be. Once a knight of unmatched rank and prestige, and now a murderer. I cannot believe it is now so. Perhaps I should have respected all knights, not thinking myself greater than them? Perhaps I should not have judged them so, as now my penalty will be far more than it may have been.”

Cane walked outside, vowing that regardless of his outcome, he would never judge others, for he now knew that judging someone is a dangerous thing. Cane had believed that he had held the voice of god, but now knew that no man does, not even a grand knight who had done more good deeds than there are fish in the Endless Ocean.

He lifted his hand, covering his eyes with his shiny armor as the sun assaulted him with bright light, something that he now wished to avoid. He knew that above, the gods where deciding his fate. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a group of heavily armed men standing around the small house, weapons drawn and standing at the ready, their faces set in cold, expressionless masks. At the fore, a tall balding man stood, his potbelly visible beneath his breastplate that had been squeezed around his bulbous belly, his breathing rapid as he struggled to draw breath under the armor, the leather straps creaking with every short breath, lengthening the moment.

“Under the laws of the Kingdom of Aryol, I am hereby held responsible to detain you, less you resist, upon which I am compelled to use lethal force,” the man huffed, wiping a thick line of perspiration off his brow with his pudgy fingers.

Cane stood motionless, the tension of the moment almost tangible. Many of the guards knew of Cane’s battle prowess. It is very difficult to be victorious in battle and only immobilize your opponent. Only the best fighters in the world could accomplish such things, and when such a fighter turned to murder, he was near unstoppable. Cane drew his sword, the hot flames having already dried the blood to a thick paste upon his blade. He held it vertically across his chest, the point biting into his neck.

“I do accept the consequences of my actions, and will offer no resistance. I am a damned man, and there is no reason why I should fight anymore, for I have no motive to fight. The essence of my life has been taken from me after my sword took another.”

Cane kneeled low; slamming his sword deep within the scorched grass before the guardsman even comprehended his words. Forever, regardless of his station – on this world or the next – Cane would be a master swordsman. Cane then pulled off his heavy plate helmet, placing it upon the crafted paladin sword.

He stood up, his eyes brimming bright red with tears he would not shed. He could not shed them. He would retain his last pinch of dignity.

“Very good me’ Lord, I had expected as much from the likes of you. A warrior and man to rival the great King Elon himself, you are fine in my books, for I think no man perfect,” the balding guardsman said as he walked forward, setting a thick set of shackles upon Cane’s battle-scarred hands.

Cane enjoyed his walk as the guardsmen escorted him towards the nearby town hall where he would hold for the night before traveling to Calcuth, capital of the Lightside of Aryol and home of the Paladei. The ground was still wet from the cold mid-spring night, small droplets of dew sitting upon the tuffs of brown grass like diamonds, the first new shoots blossoming between the old blades like a wooden frame picturing a set of jade gems. The sun was still rising, no more than a golden blanket covering the tall ice-capped peaks of Oudthan Mountains. A weak smile covered Cane’s face as the first rays of sunlight hit him, the day does not seem angered. He would loose his soul, but at least it was upon a fine day. The gods could have unleashed their wrath, striking him with lightning and rains, but today it was a good day. Cane was lucky, the gods shunned him, but they did not wish to smite him.

Cane walked past the children playing in the streets, dirty – but happy – faces all around. They smiled at him, uncaring of his terrible deeds. Why could he not have acted such as they did? Cane watched as the town hall loomed in front of him; its tall, pointed roof and warm cream color strangely evil to him. Cane hated that building at this instant, for it would bring his judgment.

 

The_Apprentice is not a fitting name for you. I was impressed by this section of your story. A very good start for a novel or short story. Let me know when the next section of your adventure unfolds. As far as being a critic goes, I found very little wrong in the spelling and grammar. Nice work.

 

Very good, though some parts make it sound like Cane has never killed before, which is a bit weird for a paladin.

Is there any more?

Edit: Just saw that this is 'Part 1'

 

Woah! thanks guys. I apreciate the feedback. After writing my previous peices (Auolon's crusade, Aulon's etc..) I thought I needed to restart, as not only was my story lacking,but my characters seemed 2d. I think I am beginiging to grasp this 'deeper' character stuff, and would love to hear your views on my characters and what they require to seem more realistic.

As for Cane's first murder, yeah, that's correct. He has never killed before, simply disabled or incapcipated his opponents. You'll find out what happened later =)

Working on the next peice now !
Thanks,
The_Apprentice (aka, Cheynne Todd)

 

A very good story although whenyouhave He lifted his hand, covering his eyes with his shiny armor as the sun assaulted him with bright light,

might I suggest shining instead of shiny.

 

Changed my master copy. Thanks for that bro, the story seems to run better now. Next peice should be done shortly.

 

Overall very good. I think you captured the essence of a fallen paladin very nicely, as well as how you described the lead guardsman. Very good details, which really give such a minor (?) character shape.

However I wonder. How is it that he "enjoys" his walk? He just committed a grievous act, one that strips him of everything he's sofar lived for. (being a paladin, his god) how can he enjoy a walk then?

The children are a good touch, which brings a good amount of "innocence vs lost innocence" along. I think someone at that point would smile at the sight of innocence and realize the bitter truth about himself at the same time. Sort of a bitter sweet moment.

I'm definetely looking forward to the continuation of your tale.

 

Woah! I had never expected such good feedback ! thanks so much guys.

Looking over my story, I have to agree with you. There definatly is a problem with that bit. Perhaps he is simply accepting the ineviatable? regarldless, I need to make the point stronger.

Next peice should be up tommorow or the following, depending if i can finish my homework first.


---- Edit-----

Didn't manage to finish my homework,but managed to write the next peice. Rushed it a bit, hope it's still enjoyable. If not, please tell me how i can improve it - or did I just rush it too much?

---------- part 2--------------

The guardsman pushed Cane into the small cell, “You’ll be ‘ere for the night”

The cell was small circular room, with naught but a small, lice infested bed with linen that looked as if it had begun to rot from the dampness of the underground prison. The convicts had chipped away at the walls, scratching their days left onto the cold granite. Cane could see how slowly the markings become feebler as the prisoners gave up hope, resigning themselves to live – or most often die – within the tiny, god-forsaken room. A small bolted window dominated the cell, shining feeble light into the room that was only just capable of penetrating the oppressive darkness, leaving dark shadows in the corners. Cane’s skin prickled as he heard the sounds of the prison, the cries of criminals going mad, the laugh of the cruel prison warden, and worst of all, the regular drip as water fell from the moldy roof into a small puddle on the cell floor, timing every long second.

“Sit down mate, chance being ya’ll stay here for awhile,” a low voice came from the one of the shadows, “I know I have.”

Cane tensed as he squinted into the darkness. He had thought himself alone in the diminutive cell. He could see nothing besides darkness and a soft white glow of a man’s eyes staring back at him.

The man stood up, moving out from the darkness. He was short, standing at Cane’s chest height, but held a power about him that Cane could not place. He was scruffy looking, with the first rugged growth of a beard and long greasy hair that lay on his shoulders. He was shirtless, with a large scar running across from his right arm to his left hip. He was filthy, with large patches of black grime covering his body.

“Nice to meet ya mate, I be known as Scryf,” the man said, a big grin spread across his face, his first four front teeth solid gold. He held out a filthy glove-covered hand for Cane to shake.

Cane was a little uneasy about the man’s appearance. He was use to the company of noblemen, of barons and duchesses, of princes, queens and kings. Cane awkwardly grabbed the man’s hand, squirming slightly as he felt the sticky muck rub off onto him.

“I am Sir Cane R. Redworld, pure fighter of the Lightside and justice-dealer to the wicked.”

“Well, ain’t that fine? I be here, rotting away in this four by six,” Scryf complained, kicking the urine basin against the wall in a spray of yellow liquid, the bowl clattering as it rolled around the floor, spraying out the last of its remains, “and I got me a Paladin for company? What did you do to get into this here place, scum? You get some ‘o your own medicine?”

Scryf slumped down onto the bed, his narrow chest puffing in and out, his face red in anger, “I did nothing no other man wouldn’t do. I had been stealing to feed ‘me family. Then some ol’ high and mighty paladin comes over, bangs me over the head with the flat side of his blade, and puts me in this here prison. You show me a man who wouldn’t have done what I did, and I’ll show you a coward.” Scryf said, his eyes narrow, daring Cane to challenge his words.

Cane sat down next to him, the rotten bed squeaking in protest under his weight. Cane felt queasy as he looked at the soiled linen, its original color lost underneath the countless stains that had seeped into the never-washed bedding. Cane was a Paladin, he didn’t belong here, yet in the last day his life had been turned upside down. What he once thought he was, he is now not. He is lesser man today and would do anything to reclaim his land, his servants, and his honor.

“I had been tracking down a rogue magician who had been using his terrible spells upon all he came into contact with, trying to raise himself an army which he believed, under his rule, would be capable of defeating the Others, uniting the entire Kingdom of Elon as it once was. Several times I had come close to catching him, placing his most trusted and respected advisors in prison. In revenge, he came after my family. I found him a few days later, near here, hiding in a rundown hovel,” Cane said, flexing his right hand as if he no longer trusted its judgment, “I killed him.”

“Good man!” Scryf said, grasping Cane’s shoulder in a sign of friendship, “It seems we are not as different as I had thought.”

Together, they sat in silence, slowly realizing that even though they had come from lives far apart, they where now in this boat together. Scryf had dealt with Paladins, so he too would go with Cane to Calcuth tomorrow, to be triad, and most likely hung as Cane would.

Both men spent the rest of the day in silence, thinking deeply about their current situations. Cane was sitting in one of the shadows, clutching his crucifix, an item the guards had let him keep. He prayed to his god, begging forgiveness. He knew that if he prayed for the next year, doing naught but sleep and pray, he would probably still be damned. He could not stop trying though. His god had been his life. He could not simply shrug of the terrible guilt he felt. He prayed so hard he could not hear the noisy prison around him, he could only hear his voice and his heartbeat. The loud thump of it in his chest, the inevitability of death, the knowledge that one day he would go to the 7th Lower Hell, where only daemons, vampires and oath-brokers went, sent chills down his spine, chills which Cane knew weren’t from the icy cell. Cane was going to go hell.

While Scryf, who had his arms folded underneath his head, was sleeping upon the prison cradle. He wasn’t thinking about his soul, or even about his family. He was hungry. And he wanted to have sex. He couldn’t get either in prison, at least not the type he wanted.

Cane watched as the day passed, as the meager light began to fade, the window’s sunbeam snaking its way off the far wall, back across the floor, until it was just a small silver pool of moonlight shining softly. Cane could not sleep. He was still trying to accept his situation. He held the bars of the window, peering out to the heavens; millions of stars filled the sky, as if Kazi, the Night Bringer, had dropped candles along the firmament so that the angels could still find their way home to the Farplane. His eyes made their way down to the ground, He watched as the drunkards and street boys rushed to find shelter from the cold night, sleeping in doorways and in stables and any other refuge they could find. Cane stood there, motionless, watching the world go by for hours, thinking of what he could do to reclaim his respect, and more importantly, his soul.

Cane watched with a calm fear as the nearby grooms began equipping the horses and prison wagon for the weeklong trip to Calcuth. He watched as the horses where tacked up, and as the prison guards began bolting down the bars to the windows and doors, assembling the makeshift cell that would be his home for the next week. Cane smiled grimly, how that differed from his citadel near Hydra’s Ocean.

[ February 22, 2004, 16:51: Message edited by: The_Apprentice ]

 

Very nice. It's a good read.

"He came after my family" implies he killed them, no? That would point to vengeance, which might indeed be grounds for a paladin to fall. But that aside, how is it bad for a Paladin to slay a person who inflicted evil upon the world? Is his god dogma that those who break the law should be punished by a court of law instead by the blade? I guess my question is, why does his god make him a fallen if all Cane has done was slay an evil person? (I don't the vengeance part weighs heavy enough to justify a falling, because the rogue magician did evil deeds anyway)

 

Thanks so much bro!

The reason Cane is bieng punished, is that he was simply a holy soldier, and was instructed to bring the evil to the courts of law, where - as I hear of that time - the tribunal are supposidly granted wisdom by the gods, giving them to knowledge and strength to make the correct decision.

Cane didn't do that. He took the law into his own hands. Sure, he had a good right to do it - I think many people would - but as a Holy Knight, I am kinda trying to get at him bieng beyond our morals. Hopefully, within the next few peices, this will be explaied.

Thanks so much for taking the time to comment on my stories. You guys have no idea what it means to me. And please remember, I apreciate all feedback, fore or against.

Once cannot improve ones self unless he is told the negative.

 

Ah, I see. Going beyond what's generally considered moral here on earth (or actually in the west, but that's a whole other debate ) might prove very interesting when done right. You might want to hint at/explain that a bit more in the beginning though, as currently it's a tad confusing.

I have no bad points sofar, but I have noticed that you starts each alinea with "cane this" or "he that". You might want to look into that. You don't need to have each alinea starting with its subject. It's not annoying when it's a short story, but if you plan on making it longer and go on like this, it could become so. Emphasis on could.

Sofar, I got nothing else

 

Thanks !
I apreciate that..mmm...looking at my story, I really do seem to do that often. Will keep my eyes open.

I have only been writing for a year, and notice problems like this, both with grammar and plot.

My biggest problem is I get so lost in my own stories, I forget I have to keep the readers informed of whats happening =) I see that it could be confusing for you, and apologise for it. Will try and figure a way out of to inform the readers.

Thanks again!
The_Apprentice (aka, Cheynne Todd)

 

Apologize? Heh, there's no need to.

If you've got more where that came from, let's hear it.

 

The holy symbol - a crucifix? Now what are the odds of an instrument of torture (the very same instrument of torture as in our world) becoming a holy symbol? Or do messiahs all across the many worlds get crucified?

All assuming, of course, that this is not in our plane of reality.

 

This is a good story, keep it coming. I dont suppose you could make the next part longer, it just seemed a bit brief, i like the way youve built the suspense for your next parts by keeping the reader guessing a why a paladin, who is meant to be kind, caring and very non-evil, would commit such an act as murder?

 

Woah
Aik ! I remember you...you always give constructive critisism...even with my old peices... once again, you have not dissapointed me.

What a stupid thing to overlook ! I create a paladin, in an alternate universe, but I forget to remove one element which is so 'earthy'!

Thanks bro.
Will also lengthen the next peice.

Cya guys.