Stain of Honor (Part One)

(Lately, I’ve been inspired by the World of Warcraft fan fiction on Life in Azeroth, my sister-in-law’s blog, so I decided to start a story of my own. This is the tale of Sir Thalenir Bloodbrand, a blood elf paladin slowly coming to terms with the misbegotten holy power inside of him.)

Clang! The clash of their swords resounded through the air. Thalenir glared at the young soldier with righteous fury in his eyes. He would not allow this dishonorable conduct to continue.

“Sir?” the soldier said, a look of confusion spreading across his face. As quickly as it had swelled up, Thalenir’s rage subsided. He blinked as if waking from a dream. Why had he done it? It had been involuntary, almost reflexive. A moment ago, he had been ready to kill his subordinate rather than allow him to dispatch the Wretched.

“Didn’t Lord Bloodvalor order no quarter, Sir?” the soldier asked, stepping back and lowering his sword submissively. He spoke the truth. The Wretched were to be exterminated with all haste to ensure the safety of the realm. It was their duty.

“Yes, he did,” Thalenir replied, though his voice conveyed no certainty. He looked down upon the Wretched and could think of no more appropriate title. Hopelessly addicted to magic, the pitiable creature held its hands over its sunken face in surrender. Distantly, he heard it pleading for its life.

“I’ll take care of this one,” he said. He was coming back to his senses now and his voice rang with its usual authority. “You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier said obediently. With a small salute, he added, “Glory to the Sin’Dorei,” and departed.

Thalenir turned his attention back to the Wretched. He felt nothing but contempt for the creature, yet he had been ready to kill an ally to keep it from harm. Why? Because it had surrendered? Because he felt mercy? These things had never troubled him before.

“No,” he stated aloud in proud denial of these weaknesses. Though he was speaking to himself, the Wretched cringed even lower in response, sure that its life was about to end.

He steeled himself against the doubt in his heart. He was a Blood Knight, one of the chosen defenders of Silvermoon. His loyalty was absolute and his duty was clear.

He concentrated for a moment, invoking the Seal of Righteousness. As the holy power rose up within him, he raised his sword and brought it down in a single, deadly stroke.

The Wretched fell limply to the ground, its blood pooling around it. Thalenir lingered over the creature for a moment, attempting to comprehend what had driven him to protect it. “It’s nothing,” he told himself. “I just wanted the killing blow for myself, that’s all.”

As he walked away, he wanted to feel certain of himself. He wanted to be the ruthless champion that his race so desperately needed, that he had always known himself to be. But the question still plagued him. Why had he done it?

Why had he felt mercy…?

Continued in Stain of Honor (Part Two)