Closed The Zealots (Miro)

[Imass]

The Zealots
1st Fall, 512 AV
On March to Sunberth
The Plague Camps

The Plague Bearers where full of vigor despite the sickness cast upon them. The quarantine established by Ser Imass had divided itself into two sections, the healers lead by Lady Nira’lia and the out riders lead by Ser Imass. The healers stayed back with those who were too sick to ride, whilst those who were more able bodied went forward and paved a way for them. Astonishingly, the out riders were getting better after the fever passed over them. However, those who were tent-ridden continued to get worse every day. At night the camps would lay two stone throws apart, but Vayt was confined. Wrenmae of the Vayt Marked, was with the healers and even that short separation from the others was causing miracles. Ser Imass fell into fever for two nights, but today he was already standing and eating. Some of them were even ready to fight. The Knight attributed it to the gods blessing and strengthen them. The Plague Bearers where climbing and uphill battle so moral was important. Although he was weak and tired, Ser Imass would make sure they remembered what they were here for.

~~~

Ser Imass stood in front a group of squires and he spoke his mind. He spoke raw words that rang true. Nothing was filtered, nothing memorized, but everything was from the heart. The Knight meant what he said and said what he meant. He announced to everyone his stance and acted on them; he was no hypocrite. His loud and clear voice cut through valley and reached the ears of all who would hear them.

“We are the Knight’s Syliran! We are no timid cravens, no mere cowards! We make a stand for all that is good and just in this world! It does not matter what the consequences bring! When destiny is staring us in the face our response is courage! When danger crosses our path, we don’t run or hide, we pick up swords and fight! When darkness covers our world, WE are the single flame that lights the path! War is our common cry! Peace is what we fight for! Family is what we die for!” His voice was full of passion and emotion.

Looking into the knight’s eyes would reveal at least one thing: the words he spoke were one hundred percent real. His voice rang true, because he had confidence in what he was saying. That is how truth worked at its very core; if you do not believe it, then it is a lie. He was a self proclaimed worshiper of Tyveth and he spoke about what he believed in, despite the consequences. He took the truth from his heart and he believed these words with all his moral fiber.

A squire wearing a bucket helm swung a flail with great strength. His grunts could be heard through his armor. Through the narrow eye slits of the helm, one would be able to see eyes dead with exhaustion, but none-the-less he swung any ways. Despite exhaustion, he would continue training no matter what. He would never let down his comrades. Never. The swoosh of the flail was like beautiful musical instrument to Imass’ voice. It went around the squire’s head over and over. As long as Imass talked, he would not stop swinging.

Imass continued. His eyes were just now beginning to redden, but his cold, hard gaze remained steady, “They think we fight for mere power! They think we fight for our own selfish goals! In no other way could they be so wrong! We fight for values, we fight with honor, and we fight for those who cannot defend themselves! We are loyal by our hands and mouth! Listen to those curs no more! Riches mean nothing to us! Money can’t buy courage!”

A young female squire wielding a longsword swung it at a wooden post. Stands of long, black, sweaty hair covered her uncovered head. Her emotions were bleeding through her pours like holy water. She swung over and over at the post, each time harder than the last. She swung with all the energy in her body, letting out a grunt of exhaustion each time. Regardless of fatigue the squire continued. Her eyes were full of burning passion. She was feeling it for real. She would continue with the exercise, because letting down her fellow comrades in training was just as bad as letting them down on the battle field. The girl’s eyes shone with exhausted passion as she striked the wooden post.

“Look to your right! Look to your left! These are you brothers and sisters! These are the individuals who have your back forever – no matter what! These are the individuals you fight for! These are the people you die for! Know deep in your heart that every man who wears the Syliran colors will be at your side when darkness consumes the world! I promise you now, I would eat a blade for any of you and I expect the same back from you! Always faithful! Always loyal! Let that be your creed!” The Knight’s face was almost on the verge of joyous laughter, but his eyes always remained grim in their redness. There was much joy in his worlds, but the harsh reality was always on their backs; they would always be warriors.

A squire in full plate rode by on a horse. He leaned over completely horizontal to the horse; his face was almost scraping against the ground now. A gauntleted hand reached out and grabbed a piece of cloth in the dirt. The feat of agility and strength was not over yet. Hoisting himself up on the saddle again, he leaned over the other side and grabbed another flag mere yards away. The Knights wore full plate, but they were no lumbering giants. They could fight with just as much speed and quickness as another other warrior in Mizahar. Swinging off the horse, the squire sprinted in full plate back to Imass’ position and passed the flag off to another who was waiting. The second man in full plate sprinted immediately at the horse to do just the same.

The amazing feat of knighthood was not over yet. The initial squire began to chop his feet and do the down-up exercise. In full plate he dropped to the floor on his belly, did a push up, and then jumped back onto his feet. His face was wizened and red from the strain and lack of rest. He was breathing heavily. His face and hair was slicked wet with sweat. Despite all this his eyes shone. He would not stop his training. He would push himself to the overlode point and beyond that. He had reached his second wind long ago and would not stop, not as long as Imass motivated him. It was his duty to train his body past the breaking point so that he might be a better soldier on the battlefield.

“Honor is earned, not given! Perseverance wins battles! Dreams require sacrifice not just effort! Think it in your mind and it will become reality! Working hard pays off! HUZZAH! We are bonded together today as brothers and sisters through blood, sweat, and tears! Always faithful! Always loyal!”

[Miro]

"Oh god no, not again. Please, stop, I can...I can...I can't! Miro rest on his knees, knelt over in the cool shade of a tall tree. His body was mostly unclothed, yet it burned with ache and fever. The sickly wizard removed his hands from his mouth, shifting them to hold back his hair. A quick stream of vomit was withdrawn from his stomach and deposited onto the grass, causing him to feel slightly better.

The burning hot kid wiped the remnants of vomit from his mouth with his hand. He focused on his hand, wracking his mind to pour an amount of water from his hand to clean it. It took several moments for the djed to build before the trickle of water washed it clean. What a pitiful state he found himself in. The initial sore that marked him as plagued had been treated regularly, though he did not feel cured.

Things were not so bad however. Others had much worse symptoms, some of which were horrifying. Miro was vomiting, but there was no blood in it. He rested a lot, but was not in a coma. His fingers didn't blacken, his body never convulsed. Even his fever was slight when compared to others, though his Ice Reaving mark told him otherwise.

The boy worked the strength to fumble onto his feet. His arms dangled as his knees quivered to support his weight. He managed however, treading slowly to the other side of the tree, nice and clean. Here he had full view of the knights training, which was a marvel. Armored warriors, sick and tired, yet not slowing for a moment. Just like in the stories, nothing could break them, not Vayt nor Dira stood a chance.

The party was halted for the time being, leaving opportunity for the knights to set up. It seemed illogical, taking things such as training equipment, but it was not a waste. Each piece of equipment got its share of use, each person carrying their weight and then some. Miro plopped down in the grass, taking a cross legged pose and placing his hands in his lap.

He needed to meditate, but he did not feel it necessary or possible to shut his eyes. Instead, the boy watched the hard working knights toil away their remaining energy. It instilled great pride, shutting away some of his aches and helping him to find his center much easier. With a sigh of slight relief, the wizard began to strain himself to excite his djed.

It was not necessarily difficult, but there was a definite lag, almost as if his djed felt thick. And though it flowed like a river of honey, it was definitely moving. How sweet the results would be. Miro directed his djed to a point, pulling itself to build in the crown of his head. Though the relief would be great, it was not time think about it and lose focus.

No, he wasn't going to slip up now. He had something to prove. The knights, if any were to look, they'd see it too. The deep feeling inspired from watching steadfast determination. It grasped the boy's heart and mind, urging him to join them in hard work as well. A familiar voice boomed forth, that of Imass. The man had offered Miro a position among the ranks, but at the time he did not feel he had earned it.

Today that was going to change. Miro was no coward, no craven! Ignoring consequences was one of his many talents, and now was the time to display it for all to see. The wizards djed seemed to flow much easier, reaching its destination and accumulating much more quickly. It was time for things to change. This sickness was only a weight to train his body. The pain and weakness of today, it was the strength of tomorrow.

Miro's mind flashed with the image of a steady stream of water slowly crystallizing. The flow would begin to lag and become thick with ice. Yes, water just like that is what he needed to create. It would still flow and trickle down, but would be as cold as possible. He clenched his eyes shut tight and pushed the djed through, causing freezing cold water to pour from the top of his skull in all directions.

The strained look quickly turned to that of relaxation as the water dripped from his face to his shoulders and ran down his body. Part of him almost expected the water to sizzle and evaporate before it could reach the ground, though it never happened. Ecstasy from relief cause the amount of water produced to lessen, but he would not allow it to stop. For a chime more he would allow the waters to cleanse his body of ailments, then it would be time to train.

All to quickly it came time for him to stop. Reluctantly, he did, shrugging off his attachments to the relief as quickly as he could. Miro forced himself to climb to his feet and gazed out at the training knights once more. Imass was still speaking in his proud confident tone that echoed across the camp. How anybody could ignore the call to arms was beyond him, but it did not matter. Only cowards could turn a deaf ear to such words.

Any and all hesitation fled the young man's body as he walked towards the field. Such charisma, to influence the mind so much without using hypnotism, truly a gift from the gods. The Akalak warrior was one deserving respect and admiration, and though respect was not in the stir-blooded kid's nature, he would fight against his very essence to show it.

"Ser Imass, proud knight of Syliras and Akalak warrior extraordinaire, may I steal you away from your men for a moment?" Miro halted a few feet away, standing tall and clasping his hands behind his back awaiting acknowledgement. "I have reconsidered your offer, and would like to request your permission to be tested worthy of being your squire, a Syliran Knight in training."

And though acting in such a manner was foreign, it did not come difficult. Such a manner of talking seemed right, fluid, almost impossible to deny. "Please, though I know little of the order, I beg of you Ser, please consider me!" With one last effort to show his position and feeling, the boy bowed his head so that his chin rest on his chest. He did not know if the offer still stood, but he ached to reverse his decision, whatever the cost.

[Imass]

Thus Miro approached Ser Imass and petitioned joining the Knight's Syliran at last. The Knight Imass had proposed the idea into the mixed blood's head several days before when the plague had arrived to the Syliran and Zeltivan camps.

The Knight turned to the skinny man with a grim expression, but a twinkle of somber happiness was in his golden eyes. Ser Imass stepped forward and placed a gauntleted hand on Miro's shoulder; he proposed a silent gesture for the magician to raise his head. He looked the Vantha in the eyes and noticed his changing colors. He had heard of these men before, but had never seen it for real. Ser Imass knew the journey ahead would be tough for Miro, but none the less he would teach him everything he knew, just like his former Patron Longhorn did.

Ser Imass could hear the conviction in his voice. He could feel the man's passion just as he had felt it back on the night of the Unavoidable Discussion. This man had shown great courage in his words and he had shown to Imass all the signs of honor.

"Miro," The Knight started, the squires still training vigorously in the background, "I will gladly accept you as a squire. I knew you would join, the gods themselves revealed it to me! Young Miro, you are welcomed to the Knight's Sylir with open arms!" The Knight stared into Miro's eyes without blinking. Imass always showed respect to everyone; especially those who decided to take up the cause. Unless Miro did anything to prove himself wrong, Imass would respect him innately. He showed this through a gaze that met Miro's with brave intensity. He meant every word he was saying, to the core.

"Once a Knight -- a Knight until death! Miro I have faith in you brother! I believe in you! All that I ask is that you believe in me -- that you have faith in all your brother-in-arms! From this moment onward, it is no longer 'me' or 'I' it is 'us' and 'we'," Imass waved his hand slowly, pointing at each squire training, "You will join them Miro and you will learn our ways. We will strengthen your body, harness your mental toughness, and mold you into an honorable warrior! And above all... you will never be alone in this world. We are family until death!"

Ser Imass turned back to the group after listening to Miro's response. He spoke in a loud clear voice, his face ever grim, "Mizahar is filled with good and bad! We have taken a stance of truth and honor! Who are we?"

Everyone responded in unison, no matter how exhausted they were, "We are the Knight's Syliran!" This was repeated several times until Imass was satisfied.

"Excellent! Steady... relax!" Everyone lowered their training gear and began to jog back to Imass' position. He gave everyone a break to set up the torches.

~~~

The sun was slowly setting, filling the sky was gold amber rays; behind it the yellow autumn moon was rising to its place in the sky. The air was crisp, clean, and chilly. Already torches were lit. The squires had changed out of their training garbs and were wearing their cleanest clothes. They were now formally inducting Miro into squiredom. The squires stood in a half circle around Imass. Miro stood directly in front of the squires. He was given a padded surcoat with the Syliran colors and the standard of the Windoak blew solemnly at his side. All the squires around Miro held torches.

Thirty minutes before the ceremony, Miro was left alone to meditate on his upcoming oath. Imass sat down with him briefly and explained that great courage and faith would be required in the Knights, especially on their journey to Sahova. He told Miro to pray for guidance and faith and determination to help him on the path ahead.

Ser Imass was grim faced as ever; the conviction in his eyes flickered in the fire light of the torches. The Akalak Knight wore the same padded surcoat. He had his Lakan at his belt and his blade at this side. Imass closed his eyes hard, and then opened them again.

"First of all, let me tell you how honored I am to be your patron Miro," Imass said in a clear voice. He then looked up at the other squires, "I am honored to lead all of you! I am even more honored in the fact I get to fight alongside you on the field of battle! Miro there is another honor I must bestow on you tonight though..."

Ser Imass produced from behind him a long sword and scabbard. Drawing the polished cold-steel blade, he held the new blade up to his face. The glimmering cold-steel shimmered a bluish hue like ice water. The steel was cold to the touch, but beyond beautiful. The craftsman who created the sword had put a lot of effort into it. The pommel was had a new leather grip and was balanced precisely. It was a true work of military art.

The Knight continued to stare at the sword for a good time. The air was solemn and full of tension. All eyes were on Miro, all smiles were on Miro. Everyone was glad to get a new member in this time of need. The Akalak looked at the long sword long and hard, then he kissed it. Putting the point on the floor, his cloak fluttered in the wind. He stared Miro in the eyes and started the creed of the Zealots.

"I will conquer all that has not been conquered before," Ser Imass began in a rumble. His voice was grim and full of zealous conviction, "Defeat will not be in my creed."

He paused, letting every word sink into Miro, "I WILL believe when other's have doubted me. I will prove them wrong. I will always strive to obtain honor on the battlefield and the respect of my comrades."

The Knight lifted the sword again, this time saying the words into the blade, "I will train my mind and my body."

"I will acknowledge the fact that my opponents do not expect me to win. I will acknowledge that everyone will say I am wrong. I will acknowledge that people may despise me no matter how hard I work to help them...BUT I WILL NEVER SURRENDER! WEAKNESS WILL NOT ENTER MY HEART!"

Ser Imass was now getting more and more intense, "I will look to my right and left, my comrades. I will look at those who brought me into this world, my parents. I will look at the gods who bless our cause...and I will draw strength from them!"

The Knight lowered the glimmering blade, holding the blade with one hand on the flat and another on the handle. He looked into Miro's eyes again, "I will gladly go out on the field of battle and I will do everything I can do get to that battlefield and when I get there I will arrive violently! I will arrive on the cutting edge of battle and win by any means at my disposal, but through honor and chivalry!"

Ser Imass stepped up the intensity some more, "I accept the fact that my comrades expect me to move faster, fight harder, and be stronger than our opponents! I shall never fail my comrades! I will always keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight!"

"I will shoulder more than my fair share of the task at hand, whatever it may be, with all my energy! Gallantly I will show all of Mizahar that I have chosen to be an honorable warrior, selected to uphold the values we hold most dear!"

Now Imass approached Miro and stuck the ice-cold long sword into the floor in front of him. He gripped the pommel of the sword and motioned Miro to do the same. Together they held the long sword, "My heart will be the fuel to drive my body forward, even when all my energy is gone! My soul will be the energy the fuels my mind towards victory! I will never stumble! I will never lose focus! As long as my heart still beats I will never give into the evil that is weakness and I will FIGHT that evil with my dying breath!!! HUZZAH!"

Ser Imass stared Miro in the eyes and gripped his hand strong. His conviction was coming out of him like pure emotion. He meant every word he said and believed whole heartedly with passionate fervor, "With all my energy will I met my opponent in battle! Not only will they not challenge me, but they will not stop me from victory! I vow to defeat them on the field of battle, for I will be better trained and better disciplined!"

"Defeat?! Retreat!? Nay, these words do not exist for you anymore! I will never leave anything but the very best on the field of battle! AND UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WILL I EVER SURRENDER!!!!" Imass gripped even harder. The squires with the torches came in closer, giving Miro all the positive energy they could.

Imass' face was almost in tears now as he spoke from the heart, "I will rise when I have fallen! I will fight when all darkness consumes the light! I will always look to the east for the sunrise! I will not falter! I will rip the heart out of my enemies’ chest and leaving it still beating on the ground, because he cannot stop me!"

"My opponent may not fear me, but he will respect me! And if he does not, I will make him respect me with all that I have to give! None will say that I haven't given all I got to give and none will take my glory and honor! History will remember me! No one will deny me! No one will defy me! No one can tell me who or what I am or what I cannot be!" Imass finally finished his description of what it meant to be a squire and joining the knighthood.

Imass released Miro's hand and grabbed the cold-steel sword for himself. The sword flickered in the light, "Miro if you accept everything that I have said, and then give me an oath you will do everything in our power to uphold the standards I have laid out. Your comrades will expect nothing less of you and you can expect nothing less from them."

[Miro]

There were still feelings of doubt for if Miro was worthy to be a knight, but Imass gave courage. There was a lot he did not understand, but he trusted in the cause enough to put away his doubt. The Syliran Knights worked harder than any on the camp and sought the safety of all. They were noble and honorable, a hard working and well organized family that would serve justice 'til death. To be a knight meant that sacrifices must be made, a fact he had accepted.

What Imass and the knights offered the wizard was a family. People who would encourage him, work with him, keep him safe. And he would have the chance to return the favor. No, not the chance, the honor. To have a duty in their holy mission. He had heard the Akalak speak of it often, in talk of the gods revered by the Syliran Knights. Tyveth especially stood out, god of honor, justice, valor. It was apparent what holding these values close could do for a person.

Miro would never be alone again. A family, brothers who would give their lives for him. To push him to find his potential. A life of honor and meaning, to put faith in Imass. The wizard nodded his head, sending a fist out to tap the tall Akalak warrior on his chest. "Of course I believe in you, in all of you. None train harder and none hold their duty more sacred. I know very little of your ways, or what to expect. But, we know just how to fix that, huh?" The boy smiled, eager to please his friend.

"It would be a great honor for me to call you brother, Imass. To call myself a squire of the Syliran Knights. I will learn and accept my duties well. To worship the gods most worthy of praise, the ones who will guide us in upholding justice. To walk beside you would mean I had dedicate myself to carry honor in my every movement, and to have only the truest intentions in my actions. This is the fate I wish for more than anything."

Imass called out to his squires, issuing a chant. They showed their dedication and effort, as if they were never to be too exhausted. Just as quickly he issued training to stop, calling for torches to be lit. The Akalak took Miro aside while the squires would set up for initiation. He spoke of the morals and laws he was to uphold in his every action, helping to show him the path he was to walk. To follow the ways of a knight, there were many things in himself he would work to change.

Miro was to meditate and reflect on the path he would set before him. He would do whatever it took to serve along side Imass and to uphold Tyveth's ways. To carry honor, justice, to act with valor and support his brothers. It was an easy choice, but that was only part of it. He would protect without second thought, but the ways of Yahal troubled him. His life was anything but pure. This would be his greatest dedication. As he reflected on the ways he would strive to abolish from himself, his mind eased greatly, coming to find peace and acceptance.

The squires gathered around as the sun began to drop. Imass once again greeted him, but this time it was different. He looked at him as a brother, one he trusted with his life without doubt. He was given a surcoat, it would display his pride and honor on his chest. For a moment he took in the piece, ready to adorn a new title, to dedicate himself to the noble order of the Syliran Knights. It had been only a childish dream until recently.

Miro pulled the surcoat onto himself, and looked down over his body. The large tree, it would be the brand to mark him a knight at last. The Akalak began his speech, all of the squires gathered around him, ready to adopt another brother. There was no doubt that his family would embrace him. He would work his hardest to learn the skills to protect and serve the knights from now on.

Imass began to produce something from behind his back. It caught the mixed blood off guard, the peculiar sight. As it was unsheathed, the initiate could only stare on in awe, joining the Akalak in admiration. Miro could sense the coolness without touching it, see the icy hue that defined the steel. He could only imagine how such a marvelous piece handled. The looks in the eyes of his brothers, it inspired a deep feeling of love in the soon to be squire's heart.

With a flourish of the blade, Miro's patron began the creed of the Zealot. The words hissed from his tongue, a dark stern tone, as if each word was bathed in the same blood the warrior had. The words were not just a speech, they were a code, the way adopted in this ritual. Doubt, fear, loneliness, surrender, weakness, these things were turned from the soul, only to be replaced by greater themes.

To be bold, brave, among his brothers, never surrendering, never faltering in his efforts, he would always carry onward. To train his mind and body beyond what he imagined to be his limits, to be faster, stronger and smarter than any would expect. All but his brothers that is, they would know. He looked on at them, nodding to each in acknowledgement. They would be his strength and encouragement in the times to come. No burden could ever be too much for the Syliran Knights.

Imass plunged the blade in the ground before Miro. The tall Akalak knight grappled the pommel, signaling the initiate to do the same. And as Miro held the blade, the symbol of knighthood, with his most honored brother, something began to change in his heart. He bowed his head, listening to the words spoken carefully. Tears began to form in his eyes, a manifestation of his happiness that the ways of old had finally come to an end.

New beginnings in his heart, Miro stared back into the eyes of the brother who gripped his hand. Imass spoke, even harder still. Somehow still gathering intensity and passion, applying more pressure to his grip. The heart of a squire started beating, hard and fast. "Never back down, never surrender, never give in, always climb back up. No denying what I am, who we are, why we do what we do. We are the Syliran Knights, for glory and honor, duty and faith, we serve our cause hard and 'til the end!"

Imass took the glorious sword in hand, flourishing it about as the light split across its keen edge. With one final expression, the blue man offered out the last words that Miro would hear apart from the Syliran Knights. Of course there was only one way in which he could reply. He would swear an oath before his brothers, before Tyveth and Yahal, before the entirety of Mizahar. He stood up tall, hands clasped behind his back and took a deep breath.

"Sir Imass, I am honored and privileged to hear such words, not just from a Syliran Knight or a friend, but from a man with your integrity and vigor. I am touched deeply by all of you." Miro narrowed his eyes and let out a slight nod to each of the squires gathered around one by one. "My brothers here, the gods reigning over the holy path that has led us this far, the love experienced even before our journey has begun. There would be no greater meaning and pleasure in my life than to join the family, to take up arms along side you all in your cause! No, not your cause, our cause!" The mage threw his fist to the sky and let out a loud grunt.

"I have known so little until now. Never knowing what it meant to belong so justly, never having but a shadow leading me on my path. But it is as Imass told me, the gods themselves lead us to this point. They orchestrated our journey this far, bringing us together to find our noble cause. There is no doubt that they will lead us still onward, and with you men by my side, I will never falter or come up short. I can not. Not when it would mean that my family would take a hit in my stead. Morwen, may I do you greater service now than ever before."

Miro dropped his head and closed his eyes, ready to decree his faith and conviction. "Come close my brothers, join me in my praise of our divine patrons." With those words, the squires came in closer, still keeping distance due to the torches each held. "Tyveth, may you lead us down the righteous path, to guide us in every choice, and stun the world with our honor. And in battle, may you inspire us to shine with a glorious light never before seen. Wysar, your hand as always will guide our hearts and souls. With you in mind our bodies are strong, our wills boundless, each action as restrained as it is powerful."

For the finish Miro rose his head and opened his eyes, staring up at the skies and clouds. "And of course, my sweet winter mother, Morwen. May your coming grace shower the cities and wilds of Mizahar. The clouds already are eager for your touch. Even now though I feel your presence and hand pushing me forward. May you bless all of my brothers, bless Syliras and all those who seek shelter in our cause. Know that each day your heart beats within my chest and that my every movement is in your name, for you honor." Closing out the words, the squire could only walk forward to embrace his brothers. Each one received a hug, each but Imass.

The proud squire walked up to his tall Akalak brother, holding an arm out bent at the elbow. Miro's hand was poised, ready to take and pull Imass in close. It was hard for the young wizard to restrain his emotions and fight back the tears, but Wysar and Yahal served him well now. "Truly there has been no greater gift and joy than what I have received now. I only hope that someday I may stand where you are and inspire another brother the way you have today. Pride that shakes me down to the bone."

But even before Miro could finish his words, Ender began speaking, causing his mind to roar with unwanted words. Until now he had said nothing, gave no opinion, no say of regret or doubt. It was easy to forget him. Would he offer chastisement or congratulations? "Well, well, well, I see now. This is all another game, another ruse of yours. You almost made me believe you were serious, even sounded genuine and true. Very clever guise Miro. I'd almost go so far as to say I am proud of you. There is no need to respond, no need for one of your EVER SO WITTY retorts. I needn't be played on as well, for I already know. This will only last long enough for you to take from it what you might, like all things."

[Imass]

Ser Imass stood silent and tall in front of Miro. The grim face of the warrior stared into the Vantha's eyes in fiery melancholy. The new squire Miro poured his heart out before the Knight's Syliran and Imass was pleased. There were no secrets between the brothers in arms and now was the perfect time to let everything out.

Squire Miro proclaimed his faith and love, then raised his fist in the air. The whole troop responded loudly with a grunt, but Ser Imass remained quiet; his grim, golden eyes ever starring at the Vantha's. Everyone remained respectfully silent as Miro continued his noble testament; the Akalak hung on every word. The men where letting their hearts pour out and Miro was doing the same. He even called upon Morwen's name to bless the Zealots. He made solemn vows to work his life for the Knights Syliran. Imass could not be more proud for Miro. Where he a weaker Akalak or a Konti he would break into tears, but solemn vows kept him grim.

The Worshipper of Morwen then bowed his head and the Zealots gathered closer. The smoke from the torches was ignored as they prayed. Miro spoke more vows and proclaimed his religious zeal. He prayed for Tyveth's honor and Wysar's strength. However when he prayed for Morwen's blessing, Ser Imass actually felt something. He felt his heart flutter; he felt faith. The Knight knew right then and there without a doubt that Miro was the real deal.

Ser Imass stepped forward and clasped Squire Miro's arm and the two embraced. He knew for sure he could trust the Mage. Squire Miro was another caliber of person, an honorable magician, unlike Wrenmae and the rest. Before any other words could be said, one by one each knight stepped forward and embraced Miro as well.

The Knight then held up the icy-blue, cold-forged sword. He stared at the blade and spoke a silent prayer as the group waited anxiously. He prayed to Yahal and Tyveth. He blessed the sword and let loose all his positive energy into the blade. Closing his eyes, he felt Miro's faith begin to embed itself in the weapon. Everything that was happening at that moment felt real and powerful. Imass knew this was the biggest changing point in Miro's life.

Finally, Ser Imass presented the sword to Miro, "A warrior takes his sword in hand and clasps the shield close to his heart," Releasing his grip from the blade, the Knight paused as Miro looked at the beautiful weapon, "A warrior engraves vanishing memories into the sword and places his finely honed skills to the test." Ser Imass drew his own blade now and stared the icy blue-eyed Vantha in the face, "Speak from the sword! Write history with your sword! Live by your sword..."

The whole group backed up now in a wide circle, but Ser Imass remained unmoving, "...and die by the sword... Miro remember this always; there is but one absolute truth in this world and that is the blade. Only in a fight for blood can one know the true nature of a man."

The Knight raised the sword over his head, pointing it to the sky for all the Gods to see. The huge Akalak towered over the squire and was thrice his girth easily. The grim faced Knight paused for a long while contemplating the great honor he was about to perform. Finally after a minute of silence, the Akalak erupted, "Your words rang true Squire Miro, none doubt you here, but we are warriors and I mean to see the real you! Show me your conviction!!!"

The Warrior swung down at his squire with as much speed as possible.

[Miro]

Miro was finally awarded his prize, his pen to write history with. The Squire gripped the blade tightly in his hand as he felt it out. It was a larger blade than what he was accustomed to handling, but well balanced. Behind the extra weight he could feel power, but it did not come at the cost of control. It was a fine weapon, and an even greater gift.

An inspired feeling of awe rose up in his chest. Imass paused for a moment and began to speak in a grim tone. There was no doubt in the man's mind that the feeling was mutual, the air was thick with tension. Miro could feel the heat pouring from Imass, his desire to fight. It was only rivaled by the Squire and his newly acquired blade.

With his sword, he would make a name, and he would start now. The blade would be an extension of him, his will carried through it. It would display his name with every slice, and all would know his conviction. The boy watched Imass' raised sword carefully, anxious of what would come next.

Imass dropped his blade down on Miro, but he was ready. The wizard redirected the latent energy in his left arm to his right. A torrent of Djed surged out of his arm, through his core, and into his right. His left arm became lame while his right doubled in speed and power.

Miro steadied his feet and raised his sword across his chest to swat the oncoming blade to his left. His eyes followed the blade on its path down, his body adjusting the direction of his own accordingly. The steel glided swiftly through the air, meeting the raw force of Imass' fury with a clang. The wizards arm, even empowered was no match for the recoil of such a clash. His arm rebounded off and away, slow to regain composure, but he was unharmed.

There was no doubt in his mind, two of his arms did not match one of Imass'. Miro staggered slightly, but regained his balance and restored the balance of his pathways. It was likely that he was still on defense, but with the Flux to assist him, it was only a matter of time before he found his opening.

The Squire would not back away, and he knew that Imass would not either, as it should be. He spread his feet and took a steady stance, ready for the next attack. His heart boiled with passionate words."I hold Conviction in my hand, and with it you shall know new meaning to the word. I am Miro, Squire of the Syliran Knights, and I will not turn away, I will not be bested!"

[Imass]

The Knight brought his blade down on Miro. He kept eye contact with him the whole time, but the Vantha was looking at the man's weapon. Suddenly, Miro's sword shot up and met steel on steel with Imass. Swinging the sword down, he felt the reverberations go up his arm and shoulder from the squires block.

The Akalak twsited his sword down under Miro's blade, then back up into the original position of sword overhead. Imass knew he could have finished Miro at that moment, but that was not his goal here. The Knight's Duty was to gauge his squire's abilities and give him one of the most important lessons of his life.

Noticing that Miro's footwork was staggered, Imass stepped forward and took advantage, "You have just showed me the Conviction of a child! Show me the real you!" The Knight aimed the pommel of his sword right at Miro's face, then flicked his wrists forward to bring the blade down. The cut was aimed at the squire's neck. The Knight swung fast, but he did not use as much power as before. He would not accidentally injure Miro.

As soon as Steel crashed again, Imass raised his sword up high again and swung with the same attack over and over, constantly pushing forward.

[Accolade]

Hello gentlemen

Because of the complications that happened in the thread that you mentioned Miro, this thread has been null and voided. You may PM me with any questions you have on the matter.

Good day.