In the days before I began my travels, I would often find myself gritting my teeth against torn and bloody hands - ripped apart by the rough hilt of a training blade. I would grimace and hold my tongue, swearing to Cog that one day the blood staining my clothes would not be mine, but that of my enemies. Today I can’t tell. The vibrant green leaves strewn about the forest floor are splashed with red, especially the stretch between myself and my enemy. Today the almighty Selune has tested my strength against the great Tapire that lies wheezing not three meters away. Its head rests atop a gnarled root. The same one that nearly cost me my life minutes earlier. It will not look at me as it dies, but still I glare into its eyes. Daring it to challenge me further. I shudder with excitement when it does not.
The furor of righteous victory rises up within me. I have been tested and shown worthy of Selune’s holy blessing, and I embrace the feeling as it occludes lesser human sensations. It is a combination of ecstasy, excitement, and purposeful resignation that sends what can only be described as waves of power from my upheld hands. Selune bestows upon me the blessing of health and the scar along my left side begins to seal itself. The skin shudders and emits a slight white radiation as it once again becomes a uniform surface. Only a light scar commemorates the wound inflicted by the scourge of Kitford. In the daylight, one cannot see the moonrays that mend my flesh, but I sense them with more than my eyes.
Sun shines down through the sparse canopy above and daytime forest life hums, slithers, and chirps about. The woods seem not to recognize the death of one of their own. Not so different is the world of man. I rise to my feet, shaking the dirt from my hardened leather trousers and tattered woven overcoat. The Tapire has not yet drawn its last breath, and blood still seeps from the abrasion to its angular skull. I would put it out of its misery did I not respect it so much. Let it show the gods its strength. There is honor in that.
Usually, I take a trophy to prove my work is done, but today I already have one. I removed it from my side as it nearly took my life. Seven inches of biologically interwoven iron and ivory, courtesy of my late opponent and the earth that shapes its wildlife into worthy opponents for the brave. It is a radiant talisman of a job well done, and my blood will decorate it well in the hands of whichever Kitford merchant lays claim to it tomorrow.
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Cog whinnies skittishly as I approach, tusk in hand. Dumb beast still fears the Tapire by scent. Luckily he has me to guide him. Had the Volcaryn not made men, how miserable the world would have been. Some men claim that Volcaryn were mistaken when they cast out the human race from the fields of peace, but in my heart I know they could never make such a mistake. It was we, the mortals of the Centrum, who made the error of sin. It makes my blood seethe to think predators of the innocent renounce their benign creators in droves for the sake of vanity- a sin in and of itself. Another time, another day, did the sun and moon not shine so bright, this would weigh heavy on mind and soul. Today, however, the midsummer breeze and warmth of the great celestia soothe righteous rage into cool conviction. I am a hero, and I know it. I know my place below the gods, but I also know my place among the best of men. Tonight, I will enjoy that place under Kitford’s quaint wooden roofs. Smoke from its hearths already tints the azure horizon, and I am more than ready to return to the world of man.
I sheathe the weapon of my heart and god in a woven leather sling upon my back and flick my trophy into a travel-stained saddle bag. The jump onto Cog’s back is easier than it has ever been, and I revel in the strength of youth. It is the only feeling I have ever known, but I suspect that as age assails me Selune will save my body. It was meant for greater things, and I will soon discover the nature of that great destiny. I can feel it all around. It is in the tall Okieh trees to either side. In the shallow pulse of Cog’s torso as he prepares for a long walk. It is in the wary squirrel that watches me from the safety of height with large crimson eyes. I swear the eyes are smiling at me, telling me a hero’s journey is about to begin. I nod comically in its direction, and it slithers from its perch. A chuckle fills my breast as I urge Cog in the direction he already wants to go. Tonight is going to be a good night. I can feel it.