Taran's Journal - Part 3
The group had escaped yet another brush with death, some came closer to it than others but all were certainly shaken by the recent events. The foul and unusual “other world” they kept bouncing in and out of must certainly have taken a toll on them in some way.
Taran felt the armor that was bonded to him with a more delicate touch than before, discovering nuances in the beautiful and powerful, yet ultimately, the cursed nature of it. In a world where magic flows through the very veins of the ground like molten lava, perhaps too many take what it is and where it comes from for granted.
Santos had saved countless lives by now, and thankfully, just about everyone who had joined forces with this strange and now growing band of members. His ability to do this, he claims, comes from The God of Light and it would be hard not to believe him at this point. Even when dealing with those that serve Darkness there must lie truth in these entities that may stretch across a larger plane of existence. Even in Majeria itself, sits a world or worlds that layer over it or through it…Taran’s head hurt just trying to wrap his head around what they had all really been through and where they went.
As the others slept soundly, and deservedly so considering the unbelievable encounters they just experienced, Taran looked through that strange bag that holds so much now. “The List” was there, he didn’t need to look at it, the names on it were as bonded to him as the armor. There was another thing though that found his fingers. He had nearly forgotten he still had it with him all this time and for all these years. He fished out a small dusty, almost crumbling booklet and began to scroll through it. “Perceive that which cannot be seen with the eye.” The booklet was filled with these guidelines and ideas, but Taran had not considered them in this new more enlightened way before. In fact, since leaving his home and family after they were destroyed he had not thought about much other than revenge and his enemies. The training of his mind, sword, body and spirit had come to a halt with the death of his Master and all the others.
He read on, “The sword has to be more than a simple weapon; It has to be an answer to Life’s Questions…” The moon’s light was bright and the Dwarven writing looked particularly beautiful as he continued to read the codes and conducts of his warrior ‘ancestors’. “Warriors confront the evil that most people refuse to acknowledge” This one stopped Taran for a moment as he scanned his fellow companions. All were fearsome in their own right and mostly they had a good essence that he could sense. None as high as the Cleric of course and probably none as low as The Dwarf, but only a few Dwarves were given to the way of Samurai. So, this one was probably much closer to how Dwarves conduct themselves as far as he could tell from those he had met outside his own upbringing, which wasn’t so bad. No, the evil was not here but there was a looming sense of it. Somewhere. On this plane or perhaps another that sat right next to him. There cannot be light without dark. This moon would not be perceived as full and bright without it’s companion, darkness.
“A warrior is worthless unless he rises above others and stands strong in the midst of a storm” Considering what everyone had just weathered, it was easy to say that he could consider each of them Warriors in this sense. Taran chuckled, as he thought of the tiny gnome as a Samurai Warrior. In a way though, he was. His connection to nature and beasts were so strong that anyone thinking of messing with the seemingly small and insignificant woodland gnome, would soon regret that perception. “In fighting and in everyday life you should be determined though calm. Meet the situation without tenseness yet not recklessly, your spirit settled yet unbiased. An elevated spirit is weak and a low spirit is weak. Do not let the enemy see your spirit” These words reminded Taran of his youth, training tirelessly everyday to focus the mind and the sword in the same calm instant. Perhaps there was more connecting these Powers of Light and Dark than even Santos and his followers could understand. Or those that follow only Darkness. Something that exits on the very knife edge between them. His eyes drew weary and his mind had found some comfort in these old familiar words. “You can always die. It’s living that takes real courage”
Indeed. Taran thought to himself as he fell fast asleep.