by DeadPigeonGolem » Wed May 23, 2012 1:09 am
((Have done as suggested and hooooooly shit. Sarani'ka is gonna have a breaaaaaaaakdowwwnnnnn.))
((For that matter, Serra'tae is about to do the same thing.))
Serra'tae sat down hard.
As in: his knees literally failed him and he fell to the ground.
"W-what?" he asked. "No. No. Nononononononono. You're not serious. You can't be serious. You must have the sickest sense of humor! That must be it! Heh. Heh. Heha-ha hehe he haa haaaaaeeyaaaaaaagh...." Serra'tae curled up on the ground, crying in despair. Oh yes. Such a funny joke.
He remembered a time, about two years after he had joined the ranks of the Templars, that he had been called onto a purge as an extra hand for a Warden and her Templar. His heretical beliefs had been widely circulated and, while he had not been considered heretical enough for retraining our being executed, he had not exactly been well liked. So he had been given the rather messy job of flushing out tainted while the elder Templar cut them down and the Warden sealed them.
The fighting had been house to house. The three had quickly settled into a routine. Serra'tae would bash down the door with a mana blast or his shoulder and guard the rear entrance, forcing the tainted or corrupted out the front door where the elder Templar cut or blasted them. They were clearing the last residence when Serra'tae came across a tainted female and her daughter.
The female was weak, probably tainted accidentally during one of the many conflicts between the Kyorl'solenurn and their Ver'drowendar Foes. Her daughter had escaped the taint, though corrupted by her association with a tainted nonetheless.
The daughter had a broken ankle. Between muggers, inconsistent construction quality, and the simple press of people, it was a common enough injury in the streets of Chel'el'sussoloth. But the break was recent and she couldn't walk. Being in a home of tainted, she would have been condemned to death at the hands of any other Templar. If the mother hadn't been helping her daughter run, Serra'tae would have told her to keep quiet while he reported the all clear.
But when Serra'tae opened the door, the tainted mother was splinting her daughter's ankle. It was therefore impossible for Serra'tae to not do his duty. The mother had begged, weeping quietly while prostrated before Serra'tae's feet. She promised to come quietly, to die willingly under Serra'tae blade, only, please, please, let Serra'tae spare her daughter.
Serra'tae had calmly snapped her back under his boot heel while he drew his longsword and advanced toward the girl.
She hadn't been more than twenty. Serra'tae remembered that very clearly. So young, sitting in that bed, scrabbling back away from him despite the searing pain of her ankle and the screams of her mother. She had been very brave, in the end. Serra'tae remembered that very clearly as well. She had cried, pleaded for her life, that was all very typical. But when Serra'tae had quietly said that it was impossible, the girl had taken a deep breath, closed her eyes, and waited calmly for the end.
Serra'tae ended up winning the grudging respect of the Warden and the Templar that day. Heretical though he was, he certainly hadn't shirked his duty.
Now, with this new knowledge, with the knowledge that the very basis of the Kyorl'solenurn Clan lying broken at his feet, Serra'tae wept for that mother and that girl. Wept for the hundreds of tainted he had slain in the course of his "duty".
Wept for the countless souls he had condemned to the blades of his so-called brethren, his comrades in arms.
His fellow murderers.