"My name is Lethwin, and this is the story of how I became the Oathbreaker."
With darkened, gloom-filled skies overhead, I trudged through the pouring rain and swallowing mud, accompanied by my fellow warriors, my brethren from the holy order. Their footsteps brought a cadence that kept my mind steeled on our mission of decimating evil. We were all clad in only the finest weapons and armour, befitting the holy warriors who serve the Purifying Flame - a diety that seeks to destroy evil in all its monstrous forms.
We travelled from our city haven of Bykeep, where our holy order is most prevalent, to these savage lands that could disgruntle even the most battle-hardened warrior. Weeks were spent battling and purifying all we came across in the name of our god. The god's messenger, Grinvul, an old frail man with straggly white hair, guided us, ensuring we didn't stray from our target.
"A great evil lurks beyond Bykeep, far into the savage lands in a village called Darsoon. Our god, the great Purifier, demands its purification."
It was demanded, and so it shall be. After all, who are we to stand against god as simple men with simple minds. So the men gathered, and we set off. In the rain, snow, hail, or storm, it mattered not; our faith kept us warm and protected us through it all.
As the weeks passed, our expedition of three hundred men stood firm and as tired as we may be, we arrived at our destination and brought hell with us. With a raise of my hand, the men stopped abruptly. I was no mere soldier but a commander, ordained to become the Purifier's next chosen, with this purification being my final test. All the soldiers under my command followed my every word when Grinvul did not receive orders from The Purifier. Kraxal, my lieutenant, although bitter at my forthcoming reward, stood in line without qualm, showing the utmost respect to me and our god.
I remembered gazing at the village as we lay dormant in the forest, like thieves in the night. For such a holy order, we skulked like rats far too much. However, I never had these thoughts at the time; only after everything fell apart did my mind truly open to the horrors we wrought. We reap what we sow, and I am doomed to agony like the rest of my brothers.
"They are unsuspecting, commander Lethwin. Let us purify them without delay."
Lieutenant Kraxal was eager to purify. His fingers tapped the grip of his sheathed sword as they itched for action, and his brown eyes twitched with anticipation as he stared at Darsoon. Although he was ten years my junior, I admired his zealous nature. He reminded me of myself, and although his hair and beard were neat and black, while my hair and beard were long, greasy and grey, he respected who I was. After all, age wasn't a determinate factor in our ranks within the order; instead, our actions determined the reward. This hierarchy was why Kraxal grew silently impatient, not daring to speak out of turn, but his rage bubbled under the surface, which I could see as clear as day. I was a merciful commander, however, and I wasted little time in what would be the massacre of Darsoon.
"Spread our troops in the forest surrounding Darsoon. None shall escape purification. On my signal, we commence."
All the men were brimming with ferocity as I spoke, their ears yearning to hear the signal; this is what the Purifying Flame did to us. It trained us to kill in its name without a second thought, and in doing so, we became the perfect soldier. Especially I, growing up in the order, it was all I knew, all they ever taught me, and all I ever dreamed of. The world outside the Purifying flame was dark and suspicious at best and downright evil at worst, or so I thought anyway, but I digress.
With my men in position, I gripped the battle horn with purpose. The horn was adorned with engravings of flames and swords in a spiral pattern to inspire and remind us who we were and why we fought. I inhaled deeply, my lungs now full of the grotesque savage lands air and exhaled gladly. I blew on the horn with such force my cheeks were aching for hours afterwards, but the signal was sounded, and the shockwave of initiation rippled throughout Darsoon and our souls. The birds were the first to move, thousands scattered from the dying trees of the forest, fleeing to escape the cacophonous roar of war. The sheer number of birds that fled partially blocked out the little sun that poked through the dingey grey clouds. Light from above wasn't on our side, but the flame from within us was. What came next was louder than I had ever heard. The roar of adrenaline-filled zealots and the rhythmic reverberance of swords banging against shields enveloped me. It was such a warm feeling.
I realise now how evil my brethren were, but I was one of them, and their warcries invigorated me. I roared with conviction as I charged with relentless purpose into Darsoon with my men.
By the time we made it halfway to Darsoon from the treeline, the alarm bell of the village had rung loud, but it was no use; our warcries drowned out the noise of all that opposed us, and we were undeniable in our goals.
I was older, in my mid-forties, and the younger generation was fast, sprinting ahead of me with no sign of slowing down, bathing in purification before I could even reach the village. The blood-curdling screams of villagers that once soothed me to sleep when I was their commander instead now haunted me as I became the Oathbreaker.
I joined the fray the first chance I could. A man mid-twenties stood in my path with a pitchfork in his hands, trembling with fear as piss soaked his trousers. Even encapsulated with uncontested fear and horror, he still stood against us... against me. I unsheathed my sword and walked unblinking towards the villager. He gained a certain level of respect from me, and In return, I offered him the time to decide his next action as I slowly closed in. However, there was no action. He was petrified, unable even to move, and before I knew it, my blade had pierced his stomach. Blood trickled from his mouth, but I only stared disappointed in him. I sliced across, and his intestines spilt out, decorating the earth as his blood with the mud and creating a colour even fouler.
He didn't scream, though, or even say a single word; he simply fell to his knees and quietly whimpered like that was all his body could eke out. It was pathetic to see, so I opted to quickly finish the job by taking my blade and piercing his heart. The clothes on his back poked out, signifying I went straight through his body, and as I withdrew my sword, the air left his lungs as he collapsed in the filth. He was an unnamed man, yet he stuck in my mind after all this time.
One soul was purified, and I turned to meet the next, but all I saw were my brothers-in-arms, a sea of shimmering metal stamped with our flaming insignia, the emblem of authority to fulfil any cause we as just.
The fighting was quick. I say fighting when I mean massacre. Not a single soul fought against us. Instead, they all quivered and shrunk under our holy might.
"This was my final test?"
I had that thought for a moment before I slapped my face, embarrassed to question the grand design of our righteous god. Once the annihilation was completed, Grinvul arrived in his carriage, safe and sound, only when the area was secure. The carriage door opened, and he uttered few words.
"Build the pyre for the final test."
The door slammed closed, and like ravenous dogs, the men flew into a frenzy, destroying every building in sight, nearly levelling the entire village for wood to build the pyre. The pyre was a wonderous ceremonial creation worthy of purifying even the most vile creatures. In the centre of Darsoon, it was assembled for all to witness, not just men but the gods, too.
I remember Grinvul exiting the carriage, and as his foot touched the mud, we all kneeled in respect. After all, this man received messages directly from the Purifier; if we showed no respect to Grinvul, then we showed no respect to our god. Grinvul slowly dragged himself towards me with weak constitution, eventually standing over me purposefully.
"Your final test. Burn the evil that is presented to you. Proceed to the pyre, Lethwin.
His words resonated with me, and I was prepared to burn all evil in the Purifier's name. I was desperate to know my target, the pinnacle moment to proclaim my love and admiration for my god and all their glory.
"Thank you, Holy Messenger Grinvul. Praise be to the Purifier."
Every time I say that name now, I can feel the bile of its teachings climb up my throat, but I can also still remember the happiness and honour it used to bring me.
With hastened desire, I ran like a child would run to the store for sweets. I couldn't have been happier in that moment, and it was to murder someone, to set the pyre alight and watch them melt away as their souls intertwined with the flames.
As I grew closer, the pyre gained in magnificence. Such quick assembly was marvellous, the craftsmanship sublime, and such a grand pyre was worthy of a final test. I praised my fellow man for their selflessness in its creation, but a cry from the pyre suddenly overshadowed that praise. It wasn't the cry of a man or a woman, not even a child, but a ... baby. It lay on the wood with simple cloth wrapped around its body as it screamed so loud, almost like it knew what was going to happen to it. I took a step closer, but my legs struggled to respond as I just stared at this baby with ... sadness? Why was I sad? This was my final test, my forty-five years of servitude, where I was to become the next chosen, and I was hesitating. It wasn't like me at all.
"Your grand commander, Lethwin, will now purify this evil soul. Evil takes form in all potential avenues, and I was instructed to bring you all here so Lethwin could fulfil his final mission and become the Purifier's next chosen."
It was almost like Grinvul knew I was unsure, and his vile words inspired the men to roar and goad me into the pinnacle of evil, the murder of a baby.
"BURN THE EVIL! BURN! EVIL! BURN! EVIL!"
The chants pounded inside my skull like a beast trying to escape, demanding the critical culmination of a massacre most foul. The baby's cries never relented either, screaming so intensely it turned blue, but that may have been the cold air freezing it. I couldn't help but see myself as a baby lying on that pyre. I was an orphan, abandoned on the order's church steps, and here I stand forty-five years later, about to murder myself. The seconds of indecisiveness turned into minutes as the men grew weary from my idleness, their killer tendencies only being superseded by their respect for my devotion to the Purifying Flame, or so they thought.
I reeled with indecision. My steady hand now shook with worry as my blade grew heavier, the tip once pointed at the innocence of a child now pointed towards the muddy ground, mixed with what I now see as innocent blood.
I had finally decided.
I stabbed my sword into the mud and began taking off my armour as the men watched on with confusion; even Grinvul was perplexed by my actions. Nevertheless, they stood silent and respectful, but little did they know I was moments away from betraying everyone and everything I ever knew.
I was physically fit but old as well. My speed wasn't what it used to be, so I needed every advantage I could to use against the younger, ambitious warrior. I took off any unnecessary weight; the heavy plate mail fell off as the weight lifted from my chest. Even the baby had stopped crying briefly like it now trusted me and knew what I was about to do. I didn't dare take my sword with me; I couldn't risk the added weight slowing me down even for a second.
The bitter air was nippy as I stood in my common clothes. I picked up the baby as discreetly as I could and walked eastward towards the treeline and in the opposite direction of Bykeep. The men watched on still, but their curiosity peaked as they began to murmur to each other, needing to understand the purpose of what I was doing. It wasn't until the vitriolic roar that erupted from Grinvul that anyone acted, but I was a good hundred feet away by that point, and I lashed into a sprint, not for my life, but for the baby's.
"OATHBREAKER! BRING THEM BOTH TO THE PYRE!"
Grinvul's roar felt like the Purifier had possessed him entirely, so irate at my betrayal that it would come directly to mortal grounds to voice its disapproval.
The only remnant of my devotion to the Purifying Flame was the pendant on my neck that suddenly grew red hot as it cooked the flesh on my chest before exploding into multiple pieces, scaling my body over. Even the brand on my face heated up, melting my flesh as I gritted my teeth, trying to bear the pain. The Purifier was enraged beyond any sensible doubt, and I was the victim of his unbridled wrath.
I was ordained to become the next chosen, and I spat in the Purifier's face for a baby's life, a life I now share the same fate with, and I regretted nothing because my eyes were now open.
End chapter