A Page's Penance

BACKGROUND: Edhain catches one of the Templars' newer recruits, Ezreal, hunting the Mhuns of Moghedu and the Dwarves in Khauskin. Edhain points it out, sets him straight and takes him hunting for a while. When Phoenecia shows up, Ezreal admits to having killed innocents and asks how he can make amends.

Quarters of the Templar Provost.
The bare stone walls of this room have been covered with tapestries and other various artwork, bringing the room's naturally glum decor up to a welcoming cheer. Hidden behind the wooden frames and metal hangings is an immaculate grey stone barrier, kept clean and free of scuff. The equally dark grain of the floor bears no mark or marring either, any small debris has been swept away to leave it spotless. Along the northern wall of this office, there is a magnificent window taking up a healthy amount of space, centered, it leaves a few feet to either side of the windowpane. Heavy red shades have been drawn away from the glass, exposing the green of the Paladin gardens outside, allowing the sun's rays to cast a glorious light about the room during the day, and the twinkling of night stars to illuminate the shadows after dark. A coatrack of dark, polished mahogany stands here. A gold-trimmed, mahogany desk is here, a dainty, floral-painted tea cup and a jar of assorted rock candies atop it. A cushy, black leather armchair has been placed at it. A set of purple velvet curtains has been hung here. A circular, cream-colored rug with red patterning has been spread out here. A banner bearing an azure rose wreathed with ivy hangs here. An old, but well-preserved family portrait hangs here. A bookcase of dark, polished mahogany stands here against the wall. A large, inviting fireplace has been set into the wall here. A wrought iron kawhe table is here, a white, floral-painted teapot, a vase of cheerful pink and white flowers, and an elegantly shaped obsidian cup atop it. A plush, white-cushioned couch has been placed at it. A wicker waste basket rests on the ground nearby. A decoration featuring a large fish mounted on a plaque hangs on a nearby wall. There are 2 monolith sigils here. Page Ezreal is here. He wields a Delosian bastard sword in his hands.
You see a single exit leading west (open pine door).

You have emoted: "You know how to get into the guildhall, right?" Phoenecia asks offhandedly as she crosses the floor to take a seat behind her desk, motioning for you to sit in one of the chairs laid out within the room.

Ezreal's shoulders lie slumped, arms dropped at his sides as he allows the tip of his sword to rest on the ground. He shakes his head slowly at the inquiry. "I've never tried." At your motion he walks over to the couch, sword dragging listlessly behind him as he walks. He settles heavily onto the couch, bringing his blade to rest across his knees, face downcast as he simply stares at the weapon in his lap. Spotting a dried spot of blood marring the blade, he begins to frantically scrape at it with his sleeve.

Ezreal sits down on a plush, white-cushioned couch.

You have emoted: "You just push the gates in the choir room where Sir Ta'lionu is and you can go right on in," Phoenecia replies. She takes notice of your expression and frowns softly, saying nothing for a while as she opens her desk drawer and rummages through it. After a moment or two, she pulls out a rag and rises from her seat, moving over to sit in one of the armchairs near you and holding out the rag. "Here," she says quietly. "Use it to clean off your blade."

Movements becoming a panicked frenzy, Ezreal doesn't seem to absorb the words or offer, eyes widening wildly as he scrapes at the blade. His jerking movement carries his arm too far on one pass, however, and as he brings it back around the blade slices cleanly through the sleeve and his flesh, a soft torrent of blood sprouting from the wound. With a surprised yell, he quickly grabs the wound with his other hand to prevent the mess from spreading; his movement disturbs the sword, causing it to fall with a clang to the ground.

You have emoted: Phoenecia reacts instinctively, rushing forward and grasping at your arm. "Ezreal, calm down," she urges gently, though her tone is still somewhat commanding. "Try to relax a little bit." With a quick swipe, she tears off the ripped sleeve and pulls out a set of bandages from her bag, quickly wiping away the blood. Once the wound has been cleaned off enough, she narrows her eyes in concentration and holds her hand over the cut, a soft, soothing white glow surrounding both it and the wound, dispelling the pain and slowly knitting the flesh back together.

"I've stained my blade with the blood of innocents," Ezreal explains solemnly. Staring down at his arm, a small noise of wonderment escapes him as his arm heals. He pulls it gently away from you, regret dancing in his own eyes as he stares into yours. "I was so taken up with this," a short pause of silence fills the room as he raises his formerly wounded arm, a soft stream of leftover blood slowly trickling down his arm; he closes the hand into a fist, muscles bulging slightly with the force of his grip. The silence is broken as he abruptly brings the first to slam against his left breast, the clink of his fist hitting metal permeating the room. "That I forgot about this."

You have emoted: Phoenecia says nothing for a while, simply listening and watching your expression as she draws away, kneeling on the floor near you. "I'm not angry," she says finally, letting out her breath in a soft sigh. "We all make mistakes - even big ones. You didn't know, but if anyone failed here, it's not just you. The guild failed, and so did I." She lets her bloodied hands fall to her knees, falling silent again as she grasps at something to say. "You can't bring back the lives you took. Maybe no amount of apologizing can ever undo what you did. But you feel remorse for it, right?"

Shaking his head fervently, Ezreal speaks hastily atop your words. "Ignorance is not an excuse I plead," he says, "The failing was mine alone." He lets out a soft sigh, running his bloodied fingers through his hair. The crimson stains latch onto his blonde locks though he does not appear to notice. "Mister Edhain showed me that there is more to becoming a Templar than fancy work with a sword. I...I lost sight of this." A slight frown settles across his face as his lips draw to a thin line in his reflection. "I suppose it is past time for me to study and understand what it actually expected of me beyond martial prowess."

You have emoted: Phoenecia lets out a soft breath, nodding her head. "At the very least, you've come out with your humanity intact," she notes, offering the faintest of smiles. "I'll tell you now what I've told every recruit I've had under my tutelage. Life is far too precious a thing to throw away, even though at times we're forced to take lives. But every life we take is for the protection of something or someone else, or a lot of someones."

A light trace of Ezreal's natural demeanor returns as he mirrors your faint smile. "I will learn from this. I will make you proud from here on out," he declares, gaze wandering to his sword. He picks it up gingerly, setting it to the side to rest against his leg. As his eyes return to you, a look of steely determination now replaces the previous conflict. "My penance?"

You have emoted: Phoenecia manages a soft chuckle, a looking faintly impressed by your subtle change in mood. "Redemption is not something easily attained," she says firmly. "It's something you have to work for. Your penance will be to dedicate your life from this point onward to protecting others; make up for the lives you took by ensuring that others can live another day - people who might not be strong enough to fight for themselves." She nods briefly to your sword. "Your blade is an instrument of death, but it's also an instrument to protect. It's likely you'll end up bloodying it again, but don't dwell on the past. Focus on the future. Don't be afraid to use your sword to protect things important to you."

You have emoted: "But that's in the long term," Phoenecia continues, pushing herself to her feet and wandering back over to her desk and rummaging through the drawer again. "In the short term, I do have a few things you can do as penance."

Ezreal nods, continuing to listen intently to you.

Page Ezreal says, "Whatever is required of me."

You have emoted: After what seems like an eternity, Phoenecia straightens up and crosses the floor of her office, crouching before you again. In her gloved hands rests a simple book, which she holds out to you. "Since what caused this little incident was a lack of knowledge, we'll make sure that doesn't happen again," she says at length before flicking her eyes down at the tome. "This book is blank, but I'd like you to fill it. Whenever you go off hunting or exploring and find someplace new - or even someplace you've been before - I'd like you to make notes. About the people, the environment, the culture, the buildings. Anything you feel is interesting enough to write about."

Smiling faintly, you say, "It might help you sort out what places are 'good' and 'bad'. Sometimes things aren't so clear at first when you're in the thick of it. Sometimes you need a little time to think and sort through things before they do."

You have emoted: Phoenecia glances aside, her lips curling in a wry smirk. "And, well...I may also be making you do this to finish the work that I started in cataloging all of Sapience."

Ezreal's widen again at the request, a full sparkling of anticipation replacing his previously deadened demeanor. "I thought a penance was supposed to be a burden," he enthuses brightly. "I'd be more than happy to aid you with such!"

You have emoted: Phoenecia lets out a laugh and tilts her head slightly to one side, her dark blue bangs slipping from her hair ornament and falling over her eye, though she's quick to tuck the unruly strands back into place. "The guilt of your actions should be enough of a punishment. Your penance will be the work you'll be putting in to better yourself and not make the mistakes you did before. It's important to remember what happened, but don't dwell on it, as I said before. Dwelling on things only makes you miserable, and I've seen such things ruin good knights before." Her eyes shut in a brief, cheery smile. "And besides, I don't really see the point in making your life miserable. I think you show a lot of promise as a knight."

Ezreal accepts the book gladly, careful to ensure that no bloodstains mar the pages. A genuine smile finally breaks out across his face as he examines the cover. His gaze raises back to you, all forlorn emotions evaporated. "I will become a paragon of the Templars, here," he stops to tap his bloodstained fist, "Here," this time he raps the left breast of his armour, "And here." He ends with a sharp rap against his head. "I'll make you proud, Ma'am." As he pulls his hand away from his head he notices blood stuck to it from his hair; he laughs aloud at the sight. "Think I'll need a little bath."

You have emoted: Phoenecia rises to her feet, nodding her head. "I'll let you go. Be sure to put some mending on that cut to make sure it heals properly and doesn't scar," she says, nodding to your arm. "Consider yourself off duty for the rest of this month. It's been a bit rough for you these past few days, so I think you deserve some downtime." Her expression softens a little as she folds her arms and takes a step back from you. "And if you start having problems - like trouble sleeping or nightmares or jitters or anything like that - let me know and I'll try to help as much as I can."

Ezreal closes one eye in a squint as he recollects an unpleasant memory. "Aha, I woke to the sight of Lord Haven's disapproving stare earlier last month. I think it's not so much the dreams I need to fear but waking beside the wrong person." He chuckles softly at his own words until horrid realization abruptly dawns on his face; lifting both hands up, he waves them frantically. "That came out wrong! Rather uhhh...I...I need to fear falling asleep in the wrong places and angering the wrong people!" With a heavy sigh, he lets his arms fall back to his sides. "Thank you for the offer - I will be sure to. You've been a true blessing since I met you. Ah, I do have one favour to ask!"

You have emoted: Phoenecia's eyebrows quirk in faint interest, her antennae almost seeming to mimic her expression with their movements. "Name it."

Page Ezreal says, "Might I trouble you for a moon tattoo? I've recently learned Righteousness and it seems like a good way to slow the drain. And, if possible, a heavy bastard sword as well."

A small smirk on her lips, you say, "Simple enough. I'll do you one better on the sword, though. How about I design something custom for you?"

For the third time, Ezreal's eyes widen again as his eyebrows climb. One might wonder how his eyes stay in his head with as much exercise as they're getting! "That would be amazing...but would it not be too much trouble for you? I don't wish to burden yo-" A mischievous smile splits his face as he pauses, considering his words, "- well, maybe sometimes I do. But I don't want to be a nuisance."

You have emoted: Phoenecia scoffs, shaking her head. "I'm in the middle of designing some weaponry and other things for the guild shop, and I've enlisted Izlude in helping me redesign the guild uniform, so I've time on my hands when I'm not tending to our recruits."

 Ezreal's smile broadens, taking on a sly nature. "Ah! My only worry then will be that it's so pretty I end up not wishing to mar it by swinging it at things."

Smiling confidently, you say, "The things I make may look pretty, but they can take a beating."

With a nod to his shortsword, Page Ezreal says, "As I well know!"

You have emoted: Phoenecia lets out her breath in a huff and rests her hand on her hip, idly wiping off the dried blood on her waist sash. "Anyway, if you want to take me up on the custom weapon offer, just let me know what kind of design you'd like. It'd be just for you, so I wouldn't be recreating it for the shop."

Page Ezreal says, "Ah, I trust your eye far more than mine, Ma'am. I will cherish whatever you see fit to make for me!"

Page Ezreal says, "My sincerest thanks for the talk and your time. I'll go hunt down a river to dunk my head in now; until next time take care!"

Laughing quietly, you say, "Of course. You take care as well."