Sir Garland's Repent

Quick Note: To better understand this (and make it a hell of a lot cooler to read) please go read Sir Garland's Bio first and maybe even the exploits right at the beginning of "The Necrolite" adventure otherwise you'll miss out on some really cool details in here.  Also know that Sir Garland and Coren might have something going that they don't know about yet.  Enjoy!

     "Allegiance, loyalty, fidelity towards our king, nothing else matters. All must follow the king. What must happen to those who oppose, Jacob?"

     "Annihilation."

     "And who will be spared, Simon?"

     "None can be spared."

     
     Garland felt a hand on his shoulder; he turned quickly.

     "What's wrong Garland?", the gigantic Drog asked curiously.

    "What? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that I should get washed up before it gets dark. I'm going to head to that pond back there."

     Drog nodded and seemed satisfied with the answer; he sat down to eat. Garland took off his armor and grabbed his backpack. He then proceeded to the pond, a short walk away into the forest. Garland was glad to get out of that armor, his skin needed to breath.

     Garland reached the pond after a while. It was getting close to sunset, he loved sunset. Garland took off his shirt and and bent down to drink out of the beautifully clear pond. He rubbed some of the cool, soothing water on his sore arms, letting the water run over his wards. That felt so good. He rubbed some on his chest. His hand brushed past a small dark spot covering his heart. He looked down at it. Oh, how he hated it. A small dark spot on his body, a huge black stain on his soul. He hated hiding it from his friends but he had no choice, he couldn't let them find out. His mind wandered as he stared at the small tattoo of the black grinning skull.

     Simon Garlandus, Skull Knight, first class

     Allegiance, loyalty, fidelity towards our king...

     "I was only a boy." Garland whispered to the man staring back at him in the water.

     Images of his mighty black war steed, Odin, flashed in his mind. His black plate mail and his trusty claymore. The thunder of horses charging, a brown cloud of dust rolling in the air.

     The first time he had to look into the eyes of an opponent he would kill. A farm boy, about his age. He was holding a falchion, probably a family sword. The boy wore no armor, but tried to look strong. Garland was highly trained in the arts of sword combat--the boy fell with ease. The piercing cry of a woman somewhere in the distance; probably his mother.

     The black knights riding into a mighty charge. Fifty strong against there enemies--about two dozen unmounted farmers, half are old men or small boys, armed with rusted swords and farming tools. A blood bath.

     "I was too young. They wouldn't let me see on my own." Garland whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek and dropping into the pond. Tiny ripples disrupted the perfectly flat surface.

     Slowly, Garland pulled the silver dagger from his belt. He put the dagger to his heart. A tiny trickle of blood dripped down his stomach as he applied a small amount of pressure.

     Tears were still falling.

     You have judged to many souls, Sir Garland

     He was right. The only person he should judge is himself, he was more wicked than any.

     "Help me Ra." he pleaded to the heavens, "What can I do to prove myself?"

     He received no answer. He deserved to die. He would plunge the dagger into his black heart...

     But Coren needed him. He would spare himself another day. Oh, poor Coren. He wished so badly that he could look into her beautiful eyes, and hear her beautiful voice, and hold her slender body close to him.

     But he knew he could never touch her. She was so innocent and pure, and the hands he wished to hold her with were covered in the blood of thousands of innocent lives. He would stain her forever. He didn't deserve her.

     He fell limply into the mud by the pond. As he wept to himself the sun finished setting over the mighty mountains, that lay ahead to the west.

- Many Thanks goes to Ash (a.k.a Sir Garland) for writing this -