The temple's stone walls, ancient and weathered by time, seemed to radiate a faint warmth as the first rays of dawn filtered through the narrow windows. Borgak knelt in the quiet sanctuary, the polished steel of his greatsword resting across his knees. His head was bowed in reverence, but his mind was a battlefield of turmoil. The divine light of the gods still flickered in his soul, but it warred with the dark fury that churned just beneath the surface a fury inherited from the orcish blood that ran through his veins.
Borgak had always known that he was different from the other paladins. While they embraced the serenity and peace that came with their connection to the divine, Borgak felt the pull of something darker, something violent. His orcish heritage was not something he could escape, no matter how deeply he buried it beneath layers of armour and faith. And now, with the unsettling visions that had begun to plague his dreams, that darkness was rising once more.
His dreams were always the same. He stood at the gates of a ruined city, Kharith, its once-proud towers crumbling into dust. A terrible darkness loomed within, a seething force of pure malevolence that threatened to swallow the world whole. In every dream, Borgak charged forward, sword raised high, ready to do battle. But no matter how fiercely he fought, no matter how many enemies he felled, the darkness always overwhelmed him in the end. And every time, just before the shadows consumed him, a voice echoed in his mind a voice he had come to recognize as the will of the gods.
"You cannot fight alone. The light is fading. You must protect the innocent, for only through them will you find redemption."
Borgak opened his eyes, the weight of the divine command still heavy on his soul. He had taken an oath to protect the weak, to defend those who could not defend themselves. But how could he do that when he could barely control the rage within him? The gods had entrusted him with their light, but it felt as though it was slipping away with each passing day.
He stood slowly, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the temple floor. His armour, battered and scarred from countless battles, clinked softly as he adjusted the straps. Borgak was a warrior through and through, his body forged in the crucible of war. But beneath the scars and muscle, he was a man haunted by his past.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his childhood a time when he had been nothing more than a half-orc bastard, rejected by both human and orc societies. His mother, a human woman, had tried to protect him, but the cruelty of the world had taken her from him when he was still a boy. His father, an orc warlord, had never acknowledged his existence, leaving Borgak to fend for himself in the harsh wilderness. It was the light of the gods that had saved him, pulling him from the brink of despair and giving him a purpose. But now, that light felt distant, as if the gods themselves were testing him.
With a deep breath, Borgak sheathed his greatsword and turned to leave the temple. As he approached the massive oak doors, a voice called out to him, gentle but firm.
"Borgak."
He turned to see Brother Vaelin, the head priest of the temple, standing in the doorway of the adjoining chamber. The old man's face was lined with age, but his eyes still sparkled with the wisdom and strength of a man half his years. Borgak had always respected Vaelin, not just for his faith, but for his understanding of the world beyond the temple walls.
"Brother Vaelin," Borgak said, inclining his head respectfully. "Is there something you need?"
The old priest approached, his footsteps slow but steady. "It is not what I need, my friend," Vaelin said, his voice soft but knowing. "It is what you need."
Borgak frowned, unsure of where this conversation was headed. "I do not understand."
Vaelin smiled gently, gesturing for Borgak to sit on one of the wooden benches lining the temple walls. Reluctantly, the half-orc paladin obliged, setting his greatsword beside him as he took a seat.
"You have been troubled of late," Vaelin began, folding his hands in his lap. "Your prayers are no longer filled with peace. Instead, they are burdened with something heavy, something dark."
Borgak said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly. Vaelin had always had a way of seeing through him, of reading the turmoil in his soul, and Borgak wasn't sure he was ready to face that truth.
"I've seen the way you wrestle with your faith," Vaelin continued. "You feel as though the light of the gods is slipping away from you, as though the rage in your heart is too great for even their mercy."
Borgak's fists tightened at his sides. "You don't understand," he muttered, his voice low and strained. "You don't know what it's like to feel this… this rage. I fight it every day, but it's always there, just beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to take over. The gods gave me their light, but what if I'm not worthy of it?"
Vaelin was silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "I may not understand the full weight of your burden, Borgak, but I do know this: The gods do not choose their champions lightly. They see something in you, something that even you cannot see. The light is not slipping away from you. It is you who are turning away from the light."
Borgak's eyes snapped up to meet Vaelin's, the old man's words hitting him like a blow to the chest. He wanted to argue, to deny it, but deep down, he knew there was truth in what the priest said.
"You have faced many battles in your life," Vaelin said, his voice gentle but firm. "But the greatest battle you will ever face is not with your sword. It is within yourself. The gods do not expect you to be perfect, Borgak. They do not expect you to be without fear or doubt. But they do expect you to stand, even when it feels like the darkness will overwhelm you."
Borgak lowered his gaze, his thoughts racing. He had taken an oath to protect the innocent, to stand as a shield between them and the forces of evil. But how could he protect others when he could barely protect himself from his own inner demons?
Before he could respond, Vaelin spoke again. "I know you've been having the dreams. You see Kharith, don't you?"
Borgak's head jerked up, his eyes wide with shock. "How… how did you know?"
Vaelin smiled softly. "The gods speak to me, too, Borgak. I've seen the same visions. Kharith is waking, and with it, an evil that could consume the world. You are not the only one being called to face this darkness. There are others. Five souls, drawn together by fate, or perhaps by the will of the gods. You are one of them."
Borgak's heart pounded in his chest. The prophecy. He had heard whispers of it before, but he had never truly believed it. Five souls, were chosen to stand against the darkness rising beneath Kharith. Could it really be true?
"What am I supposed to do?" Borgak asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Vaelin stood, placing a comforting hand on Borgak's shoulder. "You must go to Kharith. The gods have chosen you for this task, Borgak. Your strength, your fury, and your light they are all part of the plan. Do not fear the rage within you. Use it. Channel it. For it is only by embracing all that you are that you will be able to protect those who need you most."
Borgak stared at the old priest, his mind reeling. The path ahead of him was clear now, but it was a path filled with uncertainty and danger. Kharith was not just a ruined city; it was a tomb, a place of ancient and forgotten magic. And yet, the gods had called him to this mission. They had chosen him, despite his doubts, despite his rage.
With a deep breath, Borgak rose to his feet, his greatsword once again at his side. "I will go," he said, his voice filled with newfound resolve. "I will face the darkness, and I will protect the innocent, no matter the cost."
Vaelin smiled, his eyes filled with pride. "The light of the gods shines through you, Borgak, even in your darkest moments. Remember that, and you will never be truly lost."
Borgak nodded, his heart steadying as he turned toward the temple doors. The weight of his oath, once a burden, now felt like a guiding star. He would go to Kharith. He would face the darkness. And he would fight, not just for the gods, but for the redemption he so desperately sought.
As he stepped into the morning light, the first rays of the sun breaking over the horizon, Borgak felt a sense of purpose settle over him. The journey ahead would be long and perilous, but he was ready. Whatever lay within the ruins of Kharith, he would face it with the strength of his sword, the fury of his orcish blood, and the light of the gods.
For he was Borgak, half-orc paladin, and he had sworn an oath that he would not break.
And thus, Borgak's journey to Kharith began, his heart torn between the light and the darkness. The path ahead would test him in ways he could not yet imagine, but his resolve was unshakable. The call of Kharith had reached him, and now, there was no turning back.