The Shrew of Silvermount

Interlude - The Covenant

In the vast expanse of our world, there are two primary sources of mystical power, from which mortals can draw upon to cultivate a diverse array of skills and unleash spells of immense potency.

These sources are known as the Arcana and the Divination.

The Arcana represents an inherent capability within the souls of all sentient races — those who possess the faculties of reason and language. Arcane power is bound by blood and further divided into two distinct categories: the Noble Arcana and the Common Arcana.

Conversely, Divination entails the mortal ability to harness power through their unwavering faith in an entity or ideal. There is a myriad of methods through which mortals can commune with the celestial realms, seeking to channel divine authority upon the earthly plane.

A paladin is one bound by oath, a sacred covenant forged with the divinities that rule over the land. These sentinels are the only who can bear, through their devotion, the divine authority in their hands — the true emissaries of justice and watchers of calamity.

They wield blades adorned with sacred flames, piercing the darkness of the deepest night with the keenness of their steel. Among these devoted warriors, there are those who swear by the ashes — entrusted with safeguarding the remains of the departed and the flame of the living.

"Shouldn't you ever repeat that mistake," whispered a knight, his voice muffled by his ebony helm. "Hesitation will be your demise."

The man brandished a glaive at a young girl. Despite her wolf ears and tail, it wasn't her appearance that held his gaze, but the fierce determination radiating from her eyes as she tightly gripped the sword.

"I have no desire for a sword!" she protested. "I wish to master the same weapon as you!"

The child's hands trembled beneath the weight of the steel she wielded, yet she pressed on, holding the blade aloft before her armored mentor with unwavering determination.

The paladin leaped forward, stamping down on the girl's blade and embedding its edge into the garden soil.

"You will master the use of any weapon, or employ any trick or strategy at your disposal," he asserted. "Your adversaries will not fight fair; why should you?"

"But... wouldn't that be a breach of our oath? To resort to deceit?" she questioned.

"In the heat of battle, survival outweighs honor. If you cannot preserve your own flame, how can you protect others?"

The girl strained to wrest the sword from beneath the knight's boot, her grip so fierce it scorched her skin. Yet, as the pain of her blisters surpassed what a child could endure, she faltered, releasing her grasp on the sword's hilt.

Blowing on her palm, she sought to quench the agony with her frigid breath. The man shook his head, releasing a weary sigh as he sheathed his glaive behind his back.

"The path of iron and fire was forged for men, and even they lament what they sacrifice in their devotion to the oath."

Kneeling before the child, he laid a hand upon her shoulder.

"There are other noble paths to aid the downtrodden, to bring justice to this world," he continued. "Were it not for the deaconesses and the nuns in the monastery, many of us — that live by the Oath of Cinder — would falter in our journeys."

Yet, as she listened to his consoling words, she sharpened her resolve, meeting his gaze unflinchingly through the slits of his helm.

"But none of it will bring my family back," she countered. "The only path I must tread is this."

"I seem unable to shake you off, don't I?"

She stepped closer.

"Please," she implored.

"As you wish, but first, a word of caution."

Lifting his foot from the sword, he handed her the weapon with reverence—his hands one on the hilt, the other on the blade.

"Just as love breeds hesitation, hatred fuels recklessness; never allow resentment to cloud your oath, for our power rests solely upon it," he cautioned. "Should you ever break your divine vow, the heavens will hardly trust your devotion again."

The girl wielded and sheathed her sword, bowing respectfully to her mentor.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"But never forget my words."

Standing tall, the paladin tenderly placed his hand upon his apprentice's head, caressing her dark locks and furry ears. Her tail wagged with the loyalty of a faithful dog, as if reuniting with its master after a long day's labor.

"Hesitation is death," she echoed. "I shall never forget."

He nodded in approval, acknowledging her resolve. It was a pity to witness the innocence of the girl wilt in the face of the harsh reality of steel and bloodshed. 

But it was her chosen path.

And under the Oath of Cinder, the freedom of the living is absolute.