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"The journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single footstep..." The quote, likely said aeons before he had even taken his first breath in the world, had been bouncing around the Paladin's mind quite often as of late. As he looked to the east, the shadows cast by the slowly sinking sun stretched out as far as his sharp elven eyes could see. Inhabitants of the small dwellings that dotted the landscape were just beginning to start the fires for their evening meal, and pleasant smelling wafts of smoke began to puff out from stoutly bricked chimneys. Children, both human and elven, were still at play in the fields and nearby forest, their singsong shouting and tinkling laughter in sharp contrast to the heavy clinking and clanking of the warrior's armor and the slow trot of his ethereal steed. Sheridan observed all of this with a bit of passive indifference however, his mind lost in thought over the last few days of his journey. And what a journey it had been thus far. Sheridan glanced down at his still aching leg, a fiery reminder of what had gone wrong in Ilshenar. Deep within, he groaned at the thought that he was once again headed to those wild, untamed lands.
"One never knows when a Quest might befall them," the Paladin's father often mused to his son before bedtime. "But of this be certain, utinuamin (my son)... The Quest will always find you. And when it does, Sheridan - be true to it. For you never know if it may be your last!" As a child, Sheridan took comfort in these otherwise foreboding and morbid words of his father's. He still drew strength from them, years and years after he last heard them. Many a Quest had found Sheridan over the centuries, and he never once balked at their beckoning. He merely nodded in his silent way and went to task with all his might. Stories were still told in villages and towns of the seemingly invincible Elven Paladin of Eldador. But, as they often do, those stories take on a life of their own, growing much beyond their original content in fantastical and hyperbolic fashion until a single menacing beast slain becomes 2 and then 10 and then 20 and a simple peasant child becomes the Princess of Such and Such rescued by the towering 6- (no, 8!! I saw 'im wiff me own eyes!) foot tall Paladin, with rippling muscles, divine countenance, and armor glowing with all the power and blessings of tel'Valarra.
"Tel'Valarra..." the Paladin whispered aloud. They were often to blame for the spurring on of Quests amongst his people. Eldador was no stranger to the whims of the Valar, the very deities they worshipped. Many a fine Warrior or Druid or Priest of Eldador found him or herself at the threshold of the King's (now Queen's) study asking for his (her) blessing and leave before dashing off into the wilds of Sosaria, each seeking whatever it was that would make them whole. Whatever gave them purpose. And while Sheridan had often been the target of the Valar's chores, it had been quite some time since he had been blessed with a Quest. That is until just three nights before... He had been sleeping...
*****
Sweat rolled off the Paladin's brow as he feverishly tossed and turned, fighting with the very bedsheets that clung to his soaked body. At long last he lay still, panting heavily in the wake of the hellish nightmare. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open to stare vacantly at the darkened ceiling of his bedroom. A soft breeze was blowing in past gauzy curtains from the nearby window, a welcome breath of fresh air to calm and cool his nerves. Kicking back the embattled bedsheets, Sheridan swung his legs over the edge of the bed and eased himself out onto the stone floor. He stood stretching, peering out into the heavily wooded forest of Eldador and sighed deeply. The same nightmare that had plagued him since he was a young elf had once again paid a terrible visit, and still was weighing heavily upon the Paladin. When it came, it brought dread and pendulous doom... but when it left him, there came a void - a pit of despair and longing deep within his core. "Will I truly end up... alone?" Sheridan surprised himself with the barbed question, spoken breathily aloud and from the heart. He had never really been able to formulate those words in either voice or thought, but tonight's nightmare had been as potent as ever. And the true meaning of the awful near-nightly torment seemed as clear as ever.
Sheridan sighed once more, catching a glimpse of his haggard and sweaty face in a mirror, and turned to go back to sleep. But out of the corner of his eye, before he could fully turn away from the window, deep in the forest below, a flickering, ethereal glow pulsed out to him. The warrior did a double-take, trying to focus on the glowing pulses of azure light. Tendrils of airy luminescence beckoned him forward and Sheridan could not resist their call. He dressed quickly, slamming boots onto his feet, and draping his robe and cloak heavily around him. As an afterthought, he grabbed for his trusty mace and looped it into his leggings. One never knew...
Eldador was eerily silent as Sheridan made his way from his front porch and into the woods. Seemingly, not a creature stirred for miles... no faintly calling birds nor throaty voiced frogs nor rustling undergrowth could be heard. But Sheridan was far too focused on the lights to notice or care and he noiselessly pressed on. What seemed like hours passed while the wisp, as he could now identify it, dashed and darted its ghostly way through the forest. The creature broke into a clearing, the Paladin close behind, before it finally ceased its ambling and quietly hovered in the center of the ring of trees.
"What are you, that has brought me this far from my home in the dead of night?! By Manwe I command thee to answer!" Sheridan's voice, filled with emotion and confusion echoed loudly, sounding like the blast from a battle trumpet amid the quiet serenity of the forest. The wisp shrank at his harsh words, then began to brighten until the rays of purest light blinded the Paladin where he stood. Gasping out in shock, the Paladin collapsed to his knees as the wisp finally began to speak.
"Elven Warrior... Holy Paladin of Manwe... Sheridan of Eldador. Darest thou speak to me in such a chiding manner? I, who have brought you out from the depths of your horror-filled reverie? And now have brought you to the brink of a final answer to your anguished question? Shame, dear Paladin... I thought you wiser and more grateful than that!"
"An... answer...?" Sheridan whispered. His eyes remained clamped shut, his hands before his face shielding it from the piercing glare.
"Why, of course my dearest Sheridan. You, who have served so well and for so long... Surely you thought it proper to be rewarded for your service...?" In truth, it had never crossed the Paladin's mind to be rewarded. His father and teachers taught him that being sent on a Quest in the first place was its very own reward. But tales of unimaginable favor and reward spoken over pitchers of elven ale and mead had not escaped his ears. But surely... these were mere tales, given gusto and courage to the words by the alcoholic magic the drinks had worked. ...Right?
Sheridan could feel the light waning in intensity and he slowly peeked one eye open and then the other before dropping his arms to his side. The wisp had coalesced into a humanoid shape that Sheridan recognized immediately. His glistening and glowing body floated slightly above the ground much like the wisp had only moments before. His broad shoulders and thick arms were crossed, the silhouette of reverant feathered wings rising gracefully behind him. And grasped tightly in his hand, a blazing sword of white fire. His head was that of a majestic eagle... the symbol of the Valar Sheridan has worshipped since he had been able to form words. Perhaps even longer than that... The muscular form stood resolutely, glowing defiantly under the pale Felucca and Trammel moons.
"Heru Manwe...! My lord!" Sheridan rose up on one knee, head bowed nearly to his chest. "Forgive my chastising tongue dear Manwe, for I knew not in whose presence I was."
"Come, my faithful son. We have much to discuss. The Quest waits for no one..." The Valar Manwe extended his hand to the kneeling Paladin. As Sheridan grasped the mighty hand, a jolt of searing energy gripped him, whipping his head back and sending him sprawling backward in slow-motion. Time slipped forward, skewing his perception and distorting his thoughts, yet of the task to perform, all remained clear in his mind. Sheridan knew what he must do - three hours of discourse with the Valar was captured in the blink of an eye and understood, committed to memory, before his body even tumbled its way to the ground. As he struck flatly, he lost consciousness... a smile upon his pale lips. "A Quest! A glorious Quest indeed!" was the last thought the Paladin had as sunlight began to spill its way over the mountains to wash over his sleeping form.
*****
"One never knows when a Quest might befall them," the Paladin's father often mused to his son before bedtime. "But of this be certain, utinuamin (my son)... The Quest will always find you. And when it does, Sheridan - be true to it. For you never know if it may be your last!" As a child, Sheridan took comfort in these otherwise foreboding and morbid words of his father's. He still drew strength from them, years and years after he last heard them. Many a Quest had found Sheridan over the centuries, and he never once balked at their beckoning. He merely nodded in his silent way and went to task with all his might. Stories were still told in villages and towns of the seemingly invincible Elven Paladin of Eldador. But, as they often do, those stories take on a life of their own, growing much beyond their original content in fantastical and hyperbolic fashion until a single menacing beast slain becomes 2 and then 10 and then 20 and a simple peasant child becomes the Princess of Such and Such rescued by the towering 6- (no, 8!! I saw 'im wiff me own eyes!) foot tall Paladin, with rippling muscles, divine countenance, and armor glowing with all the power and blessings of tel'Valarra.
"Tel'Valarra..." the Paladin whispered aloud. They were often to blame for the spurring on of Quests amongst his people. Eldador was no stranger to the whims of the Valar, the very deities they worshipped. Many a fine Warrior or Druid or Priest of Eldador found him or herself at the threshold of the King's (now Queen's) study asking for his (her) blessing and leave before dashing off into the wilds of Sosaria, each seeking whatever it was that would make them whole. Whatever gave them purpose. And while Sheridan had often been the target of the Valar's chores, it had been quite some time since he had been blessed with a Quest. That is until just three nights before... He had been sleeping...
*****
Sweat rolled off the Paladin's brow as he feverishly tossed and turned, fighting with the very bedsheets that clung to his soaked body. At long last he lay still, panting heavily in the wake of the hellish nightmare. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open to stare vacantly at the darkened ceiling of his bedroom. A soft breeze was blowing in past gauzy curtains from the nearby window, a welcome breath of fresh air to calm and cool his nerves. Kicking back the embattled bedsheets, Sheridan swung his legs over the edge of the bed and eased himself out onto the stone floor. He stood stretching, peering out into the heavily wooded forest of Eldador and sighed deeply. The same nightmare that had plagued him since he was a young elf had once again paid a terrible visit, and still was weighing heavily upon the Paladin. When it came, it brought dread and pendulous doom... but when it left him, there came a void - a pit of despair and longing deep within his core. "Will I truly end up... alone?" Sheridan surprised himself with the barbed question, spoken breathily aloud and from the heart. He had never really been able to formulate those words in either voice or thought, but tonight's nightmare had been as potent as ever. And the true meaning of the awful near-nightly torment seemed as clear as ever.
Sheridan sighed once more, catching a glimpse of his haggard and sweaty face in a mirror, and turned to go back to sleep. But out of the corner of his eye, before he could fully turn away from the window, deep in the forest below, a flickering, ethereal glow pulsed out to him. The warrior did a double-take, trying to focus on the glowing pulses of azure light. Tendrils of airy luminescence beckoned him forward and Sheridan could not resist their call. He dressed quickly, slamming boots onto his feet, and draping his robe and cloak heavily around him. As an afterthought, he grabbed for his trusty mace and looped it into his leggings. One never knew...
Eldador was eerily silent as Sheridan made his way from his front porch and into the woods. Seemingly, not a creature stirred for miles... no faintly calling birds nor throaty voiced frogs nor rustling undergrowth could be heard. But Sheridan was far too focused on the lights to notice or care and he noiselessly pressed on. What seemed like hours passed while the wisp, as he could now identify it, dashed and darted its ghostly way through the forest. The creature broke into a clearing, the Paladin close behind, before it finally ceased its ambling and quietly hovered in the center of the ring of trees.
"What are you, that has brought me this far from my home in the dead of night?! By Manwe I command thee to answer!" Sheridan's voice, filled with emotion and confusion echoed loudly, sounding like the blast from a battle trumpet amid the quiet serenity of the forest. The wisp shrank at his harsh words, then began to brighten until the rays of purest light blinded the Paladin where he stood. Gasping out in shock, the Paladin collapsed to his knees as the wisp finally began to speak.
"Elven Warrior... Holy Paladin of Manwe... Sheridan of Eldador. Darest thou speak to me in such a chiding manner? I, who have brought you out from the depths of your horror-filled reverie? And now have brought you to the brink of a final answer to your anguished question? Shame, dear Paladin... I thought you wiser and more grateful than that!"
"An... answer...?" Sheridan whispered. His eyes remained clamped shut, his hands before his face shielding it from the piercing glare.
"Why, of course my dearest Sheridan. You, who have served so well and for so long... Surely you thought it proper to be rewarded for your service...?" In truth, it had never crossed the Paladin's mind to be rewarded. His father and teachers taught him that being sent on a Quest in the first place was its very own reward. But tales of unimaginable favor and reward spoken over pitchers of elven ale and mead had not escaped his ears. But surely... these were mere tales, given gusto and courage to the words by the alcoholic magic the drinks had worked. ...Right?
Sheridan could feel the light waning in intensity and he slowly peeked one eye open and then the other before dropping his arms to his side. The wisp had coalesced into a humanoid shape that Sheridan recognized immediately. His glistening and glowing body floated slightly above the ground much like the wisp had only moments before. His broad shoulders and thick arms were crossed, the silhouette of reverant feathered wings rising gracefully behind him. And grasped tightly in his hand, a blazing sword of white fire. His head was that of a majestic eagle... the symbol of the Valar Sheridan has worshipped since he had been able to form words. Perhaps even longer than that... The muscular form stood resolutely, glowing defiantly under the pale Felucca and Trammel moons.
"Heru Manwe...! My lord!" Sheridan rose up on one knee, head bowed nearly to his chest. "Forgive my chastising tongue dear Manwe, for I knew not in whose presence I was."
"Come, my faithful son. We have much to discuss. The Quest waits for no one..." The Valar Manwe extended his hand to the kneeling Paladin. As Sheridan grasped the mighty hand, a jolt of searing energy gripped him, whipping his head back and sending him sprawling backward in slow-motion. Time slipped forward, skewing his perception and distorting his thoughts, yet of the task to perform, all remained clear in his mind. Sheridan knew what he must do - three hours of discourse with the Valar was captured in the blink of an eye and understood, committed to memory, before his body even tumbled its way to the ground. As he struck flatly, he lost consciousness... a smile upon his pale lips. "A Quest! A glorious Quest indeed!" was the last thought the Paladin had as sunlight began to spill its way over the mountains to wash over his sleeping form.
*****