Varis Nailo - Half Elf Paladin

The dim room is filled with a fetid, wet heat as the blue-skinned creature steps toward him. He tries to move away but his feet feel glued to the floor, and the creature slips past his guard, slamming its fist into his stomach. His vision dims as, impossibly, the spell-wrought steel of his cuirass caves inward, tearing into his abdomen. He falls to his knees, blinking away stars, and looks up into the malignant smile of his adversary. The creature’s tentacles writhe obscenely as they wrap around his head, engulfing him. There is a searing pain at the front of his skull then-
Sun. Sweat. Blood. He gags at the stench of unwashed bodies and days-old death. Flies bloated with carrion hum in his ears, drowning for a moment the cacophony of bestial roars and terrified screams. A whip cracks.
With a gasp Varis opens his eyes, the rough-hewn roof beams of his small chamber coming into grey focus in the deep gloom of midnight.
The spartan pallet is soaked with sweat, though a spring chill still hangs in the air. As his breathing settles, he feels a presence at the back of his mind and reaches to it, comforted by its familiarity.
“Adon, Arael’Tan.” Peace, Heart-Brother.
Tuevel’s presence is like a hand on his shoulder, firm and steadying. He relaxes aching muscles and sits up.
“I am well, Armathor.”
He feels rather than hears the great stag’s snort of amused dismissal, the tone shifting to concern.
“Dala’Ansrivvar?” Battle memories?
The half-elf is still for a long moment, his gaze shifting from the ornate axe in the corner to the black and red-steel plate hanging from pegs on the wall. Such tools at his disposal, and yet…
“Adomhoar nha tel'lyth Ath Akh.” Unrest is the child of duty.
Again the sense of amused dismissal.
“You grow maudlin, Godslayer. Come, find me and we will walk.”
He pushes from the bed and dresses quickly in a simple black tunic, leaving behind his armour and weapons. Silently he makes his way out onto the hard-packed dirt of the training yard. The moon is days from full, glowing brightly in the cloudless sky, it’s pale light matched in the gateway by the pearlescent hide of his friend.
From the tip of his antlers to his dark hooves, Tuevel stands nearly fifteen feet tall, and about the same from haunches to shoulder. His pelt shines like spun silver in the moonlight as he turns and walks past the red stone walls of the Order’s barracks and out into the night.
They make a strange pair as they wend their way through the streets of Daring – the sandy-haired man padding along barefoot, the great silver stag dipping his head to bring moss-green eyes level with his companion. There are few others out at this late hour, and none who feel inclined to make themselves known.
Time passes in companionable silence, the moon slipping from its zenith, before finally Tuevel speaks.
“A quiet night, for so great a gathering of souls.”
He stops, turning his head to look at his friend. In the moonlight, the pattern of silver whorls and swirls engraved in his black antlers seems to shimmer and flow.
“This peace is your gift to them, brother. Not yours alone, but a part of it.”
Varis shakes his head slightly.
“Perhaps. Yet I also bring misery. Death. A light in the darkness draws many eyes.”
The great stag is silent for a while, then it turns to look at the young man.
“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you cause as much harm as good. Perhaps. But if that is so, you are the only one who can change it.”
“How?”
“By choosing to. Choose to be better, to strive harder, to be kinder.”
The great head turns to where a window glows with the light of a candle - perhaps some scholar late at his books. The flickering light splashes across the packed earth of the street, making shadowed canyons of the old wheel ruts.
“See how far that little candle throws it’s light - so shines a good deed in this weary world.”
He turns back to his friend, a new glow lighting the deep forest green of his eyes.
“Choose. Choose to be better than you have been. Choose to be the light in the darkness.”
They stand there, at the centre of the city that has become their home, as the slow moon sinks toward the horizon and the eastern sky begins to glow faintly. Then without speaking they turn and walk back to the red stone walls, and the hope of a new dawn.