Aenleros: A Light in the Dark
*the handwriting is shaky and weak, as if the writer were very, very tired*
Father Warreth wishes me to rest. I'll do so in a few moments, but not now. Now, I owe it to my Argent Crusade brother to record my thoughts, so that I can share them with him when he wakes and is able to understand what I say. It is by the Light's grace that he is able to wake at all, and I am grateful for the Light in returning his spirit to his body before it was too late to save him. I will need to be there to help him. Father Warreth says this close brush with death will effect him more than just physically, and I'm afraid he is probably right. How does one convince a man who was butchered so brutally of the inherent goodness of his fellow man? How can Anleron ever trust in the Light again, when he was unable to use it to protect himself from the shadow? I can only try to talk to him, convince him of the Light's love.
The shadow is what we were trained to fight. We paladins were not meant merely for war, but for war with a specific purpose, that purpose being to protect our world from those who wished to destroy it utterly, or corrupt it into a warped mockery of its former self. As much as I would like to save and protect all of my fellows, I am faced with a simple truth. Those who would corrupt our world, plague it and leave it to rot or burn it in dragonsfire, are the enemies of everything the Light holds dear. Truth, love, justice. There can be no peace when the shadow runs rampant, killing the Light's followers for its own ends. When the shadow goes to war, we paladins meet it in battle, and we will win, inevitably. No matter how dark it grows, the Light shines brightly, bringing hope and love to its followers. Even through the longest Northrend night.
Last night I was confronted with an enemy of the Light, one I'd thought to be a friend. Seeing the broken, lifeless body of Sergeant Bloodrend, butchered like an animal, I could taste the rage that my brothers in the Crusade talk about. A righteous fury, the anger of the Light. I can see how it consumed Anleron. I wanted nothing more than to smite my foe, to protect my brothers from his evil, but rash action in anger isn't the way of the Light. Wisdom is. Love.
I've never had to resurrect a fallen comrade as hurt as he was. I couldn't see the wound that killed him. I'm not even sure whether he was completely dead when he was crucified on his swords against the soft earth. He'd...been completely disemboweled, like the others who were buried yesterday at Light's Hope. I think that's the worst part. Seeing his intestines strung out like some obscene garland. I...it was a horrible sight. Because that was when I knew Anleron had been right about Nikkitah. The death knight slew our brothers in cold blood, all for doing our duty and protecting our people. Slew them brutally, and without mercy and without any hint of remorse. He professed that he wanted to do good, but all he brought was death. That is evil.
I wish I could save everyone. I want to, so badly. The Light doesn't like it when we have to kill, but to protect ourselves and the Light's followers, we must sometimes use its power to destroy the shadow.
I didn't use it that way last night, though. It exhausted me, but I was able to bring Anleron back. I need to rest now, before Father Warreth makes me drink one of the potions he prepared for Anleron to make him sleep. When I wake, I'll begin my training in earnest. My Light will be needed, because Anleron's rage alone was not enough to save himself, much less our fallen brothers. The Light will, as always, be our sanctuary in the dark.
A beacon of hope, in the long, cold winter night.
Father Warreth wishes me to rest. I'll do so in a few moments, but not now. Now, I owe it to my Argent Crusade brother to record my thoughts, so that I can share them with him when he wakes and is able to understand what I say. It is by the Light's grace that he is able to wake at all, and I am grateful for the Light in returning his spirit to his body before it was too late to save him. I will need to be there to help him. Father Warreth says this close brush with death will effect him more than just physically, and I'm afraid he is probably right. How does one convince a man who was butchered so brutally of the inherent goodness of his fellow man? How can Anleron ever trust in the Light again, when he was unable to use it to protect himself from the shadow? I can only try to talk to him, convince him of the Light's love.
The shadow is what we were trained to fight. We paladins were not meant merely for war, but for war with a specific purpose, that purpose being to protect our world from those who wished to destroy it utterly, or corrupt it into a warped mockery of its former self. As much as I would like to save and protect all of my fellows, I am faced with a simple truth. Those who would corrupt our world, plague it and leave it to rot or burn it in dragonsfire, are the enemies of everything the Light holds dear. Truth, love, justice. There can be no peace when the shadow runs rampant, killing the Light's followers for its own ends. When the shadow goes to war, we paladins meet it in battle, and we will win, inevitably. No matter how dark it grows, the Light shines brightly, bringing hope and love to its followers. Even through the longest Northrend night.
Last night I was confronted with an enemy of the Light, one I'd thought to be a friend. Seeing the broken, lifeless body of Sergeant Bloodrend, butchered like an animal, I could taste the rage that my brothers in the Crusade talk about. A righteous fury, the anger of the Light. I can see how it consumed Anleron. I wanted nothing more than to smite my foe, to protect my brothers from his evil, but rash action in anger isn't the way of the Light. Wisdom is. Love.
I've never had to resurrect a fallen comrade as hurt as he was. I couldn't see the wound that killed him. I'm not even sure whether he was completely dead when he was crucified on his swords against the soft earth. He'd...been completely disemboweled, like the others who were buried yesterday at Light's Hope. I think that's the worst part. Seeing his intestines strung out like some obscene garland. I...it was a horrible sight. Because that was when I knew Anleron had been right about Nikkitah. The death knight slew our brothers in cold blood, all for doing our duty and protecting our people. Slew them brutally, and without mercy and without any hint of remorse. He professed that he wanted to do good, but all he brought was death. That is evil.
I wish I could save everyone. I want to, so badly. The Light doesn't like it when we have to kill, but to protect ourselves and the Light's followers, we must sometimes use its power to destroy the shadow.
I didn't use it that way last night, though. It exhausted me, but I was able to bring Anleron back. I need to rest now, before Father Warreth makes me drink one of the potions he prepared for Anleron to make him sleep. When I wake, I'll begin my training in earnest. My Light will be needed, because Anleron's rage alone was not enough to save himself, much less our fallen brothers. The Light will, as always, be our sanctuary in the dark.
A beacon of hope, in the long, cold winter night.