A Hero Does What is Right

In the well-kept halls of the Brighton Estate, the platoon of white robes and golden arms was sent into a panic as each thought the objective obvious: some to continue the chase after the rogue mage, some to turn and support or heal their Lord, and yet others to tend to the wounded whose screams now echoed through the waves of dust that washed over all the mansion from its heart.

Lorelei and Cornelius both did their best to marshal some healers to join them in aiding Lord Brighton... until his command came clear.

<All efforts to heal and protect the wounded. Lorelei, guide these efforts; Cornelius, bolster their power directly. Leave the invaders to me.>

Lorelei obeyed her liege’s command, but not without a terrible worry: what if this forsaken child proved able? What if the Warden could not muster her spirit and faith? But she expressed none of these worries; she reassured the Hospitalers, guided their lot to the bottom floor, and had the Confessors and knights either stand guard or help lift the massive stones that crushed or pinned the knights.

The effort swept down the staircases of the main hall, each set of eyes risking, involuntarily, a glance at the siege wrought by the Hound on her master’s home. Each thought to support their Lord... but the Blessing held each to his or her duty, and the small platoon below was **** for help. Cornelius poured his mana excesses into the healers, Lorelei helped lighten the pain of those whose bodies might remain wounded after healing, and all toiled as their Lord commanded... leaving him to the task that now rushed at him from across the damaged hall.

There was no merit, no strategy, no logic to rushing in to try and save Galley. She would go into shock from blood loss; she was unhealable, save perhaps by a restore that John had never found reason to test; Lord Brighton was injured but still so absurdly powerful as to appear indomitable. Even if John managed to defeat him, he still had to find that relic that kept his powers in check and get through a legion to do it. Everything screamed the same grim conclusion: abandon the girl you've known for less than a day, find the machine, and use your portals to tip the scales.

John's anger allowed for no such consideration.

His invisible body cut a path through the clouds of smashed masonry and dust; despite being invisible, John's approach was obvious enough to those now benefiting from the warlock's curse. Galley, a stranger less than a morning ago, was gripping the stump where her right shoulder terminated in the grisly tearing left by the rapier in Lord Brighton’s hand. She stifled her screams even as she cried and slowly lost consciousness. John could barely even see her now; Lord Brighton's broad, scarred back filled the Gamer's vision.

Moira looked to the disarmed mage on the floor, to her father’s naked, horrific body, to the unfolding of events all around her... and, selfishly, found herself asking, Why couldn’t I stop this? Why did it come to this?

She looked to the path of Galley’s destruction... and there, almost perfectly visible to her unaided eyes, was the smoky silhouette of John Newman charging her father. Whatever illusion held him failed to hide the fury that painted his shadowed features.

I... I have to stop him... but he doesn’t deserve ****! He saved me, he helped me, he’s watched me grow and through him I’ve... I’ve found... How dare she? How could she think such halcyon thoughts amid this horror? Her selfishness cracked and shattered underneath this anger, wearing away all that Moira had grown up to be as a girl pretending to be a soldier, blessed with strength but too immature to realize it fully. As her emotions spiraled away from her careful control, she looked upon the last hour with a new, raw awareness: she had been powerless to stop her own father... and she had no reason to stop him, save her own desires. Why, then, did her soul still scream at the former Warden-Lord? Why, aside from her selfish desire, was this wrong?

John continued his dash towards her father; if the latter knew, he made no sign of it as he continued to look down on the body he had sundered.

The visage of the angel flashed in Moira’s mind. Her father’s face as he cut the arm from Galley Gallows. John’s twisted, panting expression as he ejaculated into her. Their moment of hands held in the dubious union of group sex. Her father’s catastrophic flesh rising out of a lonely marble bathtub. The shield being bestowed upon her by ceremony. John's determination to prove himself to the Order. John's fury at learning of the Order's past deeds. Her own reflection, of stroking her hair idly, of being lost in thought in the way that only a civilian could afford. Her locks of red hair... so familiar... Long ago, somewhere forgotten: her mother’s face-

Her mother’s face... emotional, joyful... firm. Stalwart. A juxtaposition of human emotion and a Warden’s resolve. Moira's mother knew the balance: she had found it, between being the merciless Paragon of the Order and the merciful Champion of Humanity. An ideal... one Moira had never truly considered until now. One she had never found herself so lacking in. One that she failed to be... and now, at the moment of truth, was her last chance to become her mother, to become the Warden of the Golden Rose she had to be. There, in that forgotten memory, of being cradled to her mother’s breast, Moira recalled and finally understood that strange woman’s disposition... the duality of a true Warden that she had never accepted.

Doing what was right was neither bound by the Order's law or the unfettered subject of human emotion... nor was it trite, philosophical hyperbole to be massaged by those in power. It simply was, and surrendering to it was the first step to becoming a Warden... the step that no one had ever taught Moira.

Until now.

John prepared to open with a barrage of serpent’s bites in hopes of enough criticals to stun the old man. He was nearly upon the man’s scarred back, his eyes concentrated on the base of the villain’s spine, when he was suddenly faced with a golden shield.

“By the light of the Lady!”

John covered and closed his eyes with invisible limbs and eyelids. Fuck-! He tried to turn away in time, but the blinding radiance was already in his eyes, earning a shocked gasp as he nearly fell to his feet. Shit, shit, I can't see... I can't fucking... calm down, calm down, kill that bastard-!

John was no longer the low-level Gamer Moira found the first time she used that trick on him; his eyes adjusted in seconds and took in the miserable sight revealed by settling dust: Galley's body over a growing puddle of blood; Lord Brighton, with a stained blade in his right hand, now turning to look upon John at profile; and Moira, still in her Academy uniform, now holding her hammer and shield to combat John... with streams of tears running from her eyes. Both men looked shocked to see her.

The three stood still for a beat, and John’s rage subsided at the sight of Moira’s grieving expression. He switched back to glamouring himself in Academy clothes, just like those of his wife... or his victim, as the father understood it. “Moira...”

“Don’t ask me to do it, John,” she commanded, her eyes glistening, “because you already know what I’ll say.”

“... Did you know? Did you really know what he commanded? Kids and babies-”

“What do you expect me to do,” she screamed, her grip on her hammer trembling, “let you kill my father? Destroy the Order? Betray everything—everyone—who relies on us for protection?”

“Do the right thing,” John urged, “and realize the truth: they’re- no, he is not protecting anyone!”

“We are protecting everyone! Whatever you saw... however horrible it might appear, it- I know,” she pleaded as John’s eyes grew wide, “I know it seems awful, utilitarian, inhumane, and everything else! I’ve always known that our enemies do their best to try and lead us astray however they can... and I know that... what you saw was probably not the best the Order has been. But I--we-- can fix that. I know we can... just like I know you don’t deserve to be forsaken.”

Lord Brighton’s growing calm broke, and he discarded the dismembered arm still in his grip. “Warden.”

Galley’s body no longer moved. John looked her over with his Eye, fearing the worst.

Daisy Dandelion Nippel
Level 34 Spellbreaker
<Galley Gallows>
HP: -131/2,824
Stats: Str 83 Agi 58 End 97 Int 11 Wis 24 Cha 11 Lib 14
Status Effect: Critically Injured (Stabilized), Minor Healing (+1HP/round)
Qualities: Breaker Arms (Damaged), Maimed (HP, strength, endurance reduced; missing right arm), Soulless, Spell Scent
R/S: +23
Formerly the Hound of Titusville, now an enemy of the Order. Abandoning her birth name the moment she learned of her power, "Galley Gallows" was one of the most powerful contract mage-killers the Order uses in the United States and Canada. She has only a few magical abilities, none of which rely on mana, the energy of the soul that she can never generate or awaken to. She is 27 years old, single, and has no friends, save perhaps you. She has recently lost her right arm, and with it the stability of her Breaker Arms. Her soulless nature makes most feel uneasy around her; she terrifies animals. Unfortunately, she loves dogs.

How is she healing...?

"Warden," Lord Brighton repeated, "you do not know what-"

“We are not executioners who move without thought.” Her voice was level; though her eyes remained on John, it was not a statement to him. “Whatever the truth is, I will find it... but I know part of it already: we are a **** for good. Whatever cruelties were carried out before in my name... I will destroy them, and build our legacy up anew.”

Her father bristled at being half-ignored... but he dared not move, not against his daughter and less so against his Warden.

“You could be... and maybe you once were,” John slowly whispered as he pointed to William, “but that man- for God’s sake, he just took Galley’s arm off! He wants to kill me! He’s a bloodthirsty monster-!”

“That’s quite enough.” John’s words were cut off as Lord Brighton finally spoke. “Warden, there is no grace in defying the will of Heaven. This mage-”

“The will of Heaven is unclear,” she retorted, her eyes never leaving John, “as shown to me when I spoke to its angel.”

Lord Brighton’s eyebrows leapt in so honest an expression of shock as to startle John. “You... communed-?!”

“John summoned her,” Moira replied, “and she forsook him the moment she saw him... and in her beautiful glow, I saw the Lady’s will, and saw that this man is doomed... but I was not tasked with hastening his end. Until now, I thought that meant I could save him somehow, if only so... I could keep him.” John’s lips pressed together until they hurt; the tattooed ring on his finger, gold-laced and rose-decorated, burned under his knuckle. “Until now, I had accepted that he really was judged unless I could somehow fix him... but now I see that my selfish desire was but a symptom of the Lady’s will: I am not tasked with grooming him into a husband...” Lord Brighton nearly sputtered at the claim... but fell silent as Moira turned to meet his eyes with a familiar, golden glow in her own. “... I am tasked with redeeming him.”

John winced as he looked upon her. Lord Brighton’s eyes began to shimmer as he saw his daughter anew: her red hair fiery, her eyes like pools of gold-specked water, and a soft halo cresting her visage as she spoke. Only now did he ever see it: her mother, his beloved... the Warden.

“As the Lady’s shield, I will protect even those she has abandoned... this is what I am meant to do.” Moira looked to John... and beyond him, to the path through life that had been hidden from her for so long. She could not blame her protective father, the many safeguards he had placed to shield her, or the distance he had kept between her and the other Wardens; did he know how he had stunted her growth? How he had given her so much and yet taken even more? Perhaps it was an involuntary fear, a fatherly worry, that he kept her slaying illusions and safeguarding an Academy against one enigmatic witch... but she was here now.

Now, upon that path, she saw them: the grinning, swarthy, and black-haired Dervish. The smirking, blonde, and blue-eyed Vanguard. They were her sisters in the war against the Abyss and all it would pour onto the Earth. The three Wardens, separated by oceans and continents, exchanged glances in this nebulous place beyond Earth, at this crossroads where only Gaia and her chosen might travel, and nodded to one another in acknowledging this rare event: a new era of realized Wardens, none of them men, all of them awakened to their calling. Her sisters did not speak, save with their souls:

WELCOME.

A pillar of golden light erupted from Moira, her hair fluttered in its fury, and the ceiling glittered with its radiance as all the dust was blown clear of the ruined Court of Brighton. John squinted as he tried to look upon her through his fingers; he could barely see her outline, but the pop-ups appeared all the same.

Moira has upgraded her class from Paladin to Warden! Moira is now level 30!

Lady Moira Brighton
Level 30 Warden
<Champion of the Golden Rose>
HP: 3,760/3,760 (4,060/4,060)
MP: 802/802
Stats: Str 67 Agi 37 End 61 Int 19 Wis 31 Cha 30 Lib 40
Status Effects: None
Qualities: Armor of Petals, Halo of the Lady, Holy Aura, The Golden Rose (Bulging Biceps, Inviolability)
R/S: +168
Heiress Apparent of the Brighton Clan, Holy Warrior of the Order, and, recently, awakened Warden of the Golden Rose. She has caught a glimpse of her destiny, as the Lady has ordained it, and is ready to walk its harrowing path. The strict tutelage of the Order's servants and seers is complete; the Warden is ready to serve... she need only decide what to do about her lust, her love, and what it means for the decades of celibate duty she must now carry out.

The light subsided... save behind the Warden's eyes and around her head. The shield and hammer glittered in her radiance. She stood tall, her hammer at the ready, between John and William as she stared at the former. "By my decree," Moira declared, "you will be taken alive, John Newman... and I will show you that the Order truly does serve the righteous cause of man."

Unconsciously, John read her new qualities… his head slowly shaking as he went.

Armor of Petals, divine passive, special mp cost
The Shield Warden in full bloom wields the many shields carried by those before her, like the petals of a realized rose, to provide a stalwart defense. As long as any part of the Warden’s blessed shield is visible to an incoming attack, it will deflect it as a free action. Each deflection performed this way costs 10mp. Armor of Petals can be suppressed.

Halo of the Lady, divine passive
The Warden is a holy symbol and bolsters her warriors while striking terror in her enemies. Her divine-blessed presence grants her and her allies temporary hp equal to [her level x 10], increases the health and mana regeneration for her and allies who can see her by [her level / 10], and causes fear in her enemies of lower level, up to a limit of mortal terror in those at half her level or less. As long as the Warden lives, she and allies who can see her will regenerate health this way, even if at negative HP or near-dying. Halo of the Lady can be suppressed.

John shook his head more violently as his eyes drifted over the last; his teeth clenched, and his eyes began to shimmer. No… no no no… c’mon… not… not her... Her frumpy attitude; her occasional moment of idle fancy; the way she bit her lip to try and not come the few intimate times they got to share. John had known so little about Moira… but he wanted to know more. He… liked Moira. Perhaps more, but it was ever the real Moira, the real, stuck-up, prissy, romantic, passionate, protective Moira that he had grown fond of… not… “Not her… please…” he whispered.

The Golden Rose, divine passive
The Lady’s blessing that fortifies the nerves and spirit of a Warden of the Order by shielding their mind, increasing their combat ability, protecting them from basic ailments, and fortifying their soul and heart against the corruption of the Lady's enemies and any hesitation in their duties. The Golden Rose is a lifelong, mind-affecting quality bestowed upon a Warden’s true awakening to her calling, lost only upon the blessing passing on from her soul.

The wording was familiar like a nightmare chased into the day. The Game was telling him what he didn’t want to believe. Lord Brighton had no such blessing; his “Memory” made no mention of that so-called blessing. The Sage and the Seer, too, were free from it… so why Moira… why…?

John’s eyes raised above the Warden… and John found what must have sparked this transformation… the man that cornered them all… the villain of John’s- no, of Moira’s life, now John was sure of it. Lord Brighton looked upon his daughter with wonder and hope in his eyes…

… and for the first time John had ever seen, the man truly and openly smiled at what he had done to his own child. He dies today.

"No… you won’t," John almost whimpered after an excruciating pause, "not as long as he lives…” ...and not as long as you’re Warden. John had made a promise… but that promise was to Moira. Moira, as far as John could tell, was now a prisoner of the cage John swore to never break. The solution was cruel in its simplicity: be her first, steal the Golden Rose… and whatever happened to John, between his paragon immunities and the insidious Rose, at least she would be free.

I will break one more promise, today.

Moira shook her head. "I cannot let you hurt my father."

"I will not let this warlock leave our grasp," Lord Brighton declared.

Moira looked to the floor as she weighed the words... and found it easy, too easy now, to see the righteous path. It would ever be before her, now.

John feared her answer, but asked, "Moira... what are you going to do?"

Moira looked back at him, her sad eyes glowing with the radiance of a new sun, and tapped her hammer to the artifact shield that still faced him.

Moira casts Lady's Mercy on her warhammer!

You tried to copy Lady's Mercy, but divine spells cannot be copied!

Lady's Mercy lvl6, divine, sustained
Enchant a weapon that can be wielded in one or two hands. It now deals only subdual damage. Anyone knocked below 0HP by a merciful weapon is left stabilized and **** for [skill lvl] hours, regardless of regeneration or anything short of magical revival by someone whose level exceeds that of the caster of Lady's Mercy.

Her hammer ignited visibly with her newfound power. "I'm going to do what's right..."

John raised his hands as he blinked away tears. “So am I.”

It was there, for a moment... a doubt. A hesitation. But her eyes flashed with that damned light of Heaven, and her hesitation turned to pity.