Ak'horra

Chapter 1: The Cleansing

"Myr-be-praised", you mutter under your breath.

It was a fierce battle; you were alone against the goblin horde. But here you stand triumphant.

And there, behind you, through the forested mountain path, stands the Holm, free of the goblin menace.

And here, now, you kneel: naked, trembling, alone...

Ah... But is a paladin ever truly naked (or alone) when he holds his god's blessed blade? Tarnished though it may be by the blood of the enemy... Though his muscles may tremble from the fatigue of battle and the cold, cleansing waters above...

Calm. You chastise yourself. It is ever a struggle, as He wills. The holy waters tumbling above you flash with His silver light. You are here to cleanse the warblade in victory, here in this holy pool beneath the emerging light of the moon.

The water cleanses the body; the cold sharpens the mind.

"Breathe it in," you advise, the sharp waters of the falls biting into your back as you immerse yourself in them. "Sharpen the mind."

"Breathe it out," you remind yourself. Your chest tightens from the sudden blast of heavy, frigid water. Myr lights the path, and that path you follow, for you are Myr's right hand: his sword.

The now-tacky blood on your holy blade seems to hiss as it evaporates underneath the pummeling waters of the falls above the bathing pool. You wait, solemnly, holding onto the memory of the lives you claimed, wretched as they may have been... Careful fingers smear the blood into thinner and thinner streaks. The moonstone in the hilt of your blade shines. You take a deep breath.

Your own naked skin steams as it too is cleansed of the rotten goblin blood; the thundering falls lashing your hot flesh like a strict mistress. They had to be slain. They were goblins. They bled the Holm. And now they're dead. The moonstone glows. Yes.

The water cleanses the body; the cold sharpens the mind.

But...

Rotten blood, you rethink to yourself. Is that Myr's judgment, or your own? Your heart skips a beat, cleansing itself by those same waters... Perhaps skipping from the icy cold pummeling your masculine frame... Hmm...

What was this feeling? It couldn't be doubt. It certainly wasn't guilt. It was an honorable battle. By Myr's guidance the path was cleansed. Perhaps the loss of life was enough to engender this stirring. You need to meditate.

Deep breaths. Solemn... breaths. "Myr-be-praised."

Your silver warblade, cleansed by the holy falls, flashes, immaculate. The moonstone gem glitters in the twilight, trickling silver light into the falls and the bathing pool. You hold it up to the approaching dusk, watching as it reflects the golds and violets of the setting sun, shattered a million-fold by the fragmenting water refractions of the pool and the falls above you.

You turn to the shore. Your meditations await. You must contemplate on the battle: forge anew the connection to your god. The waterfall recedes from your shoulders as you wade through the pool.

At last you notice her.