Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: The Monastery

As written by Peachy00Keen

Lorainne padded softly down the hall in worn leathers, comfortable on any night, sweet with the smell of grass. She sang gently to herself, a hymn she had heard many times in her years at the monastery. Her fingers traced aimlessly over the countless nicks and scores in the blade of her sword -- it was in need of repair. She recounted the numerous battles and struggles the weapon had endured, confidently by her side, unquestioning, silent, and obeying. It was her truest companion. It spoke to her, in its own way. She ran her fingertips over the slightly off-color flecks of the filler metal she had used to patch the weapon in the past. It gave the sword character, in her mind, never truly erasing its past, never completely rewriting its history, just like her own life.

As she rounded the corner into the forge, her eyes remained on the blade in her hands. The forge was a solace for her, rarely frequented by others. The familiar silence was quickly interrupted by the gentle clanking of metalworking tools. She shuffled to a messy yet abrupt halt. The words of the hymn caught in her throat, the air seeming to stop in place. Her eyes fixed on the figure by the fire, and the room suddenly felt much, much hotter. Slowly, she began to back away, as if retreating from a powerful predator, hoping she had not been spotted.
 
As written by Rōnin

Lorainne would not have escaped Savien's attention if he'd been blindfolded. The knight heard the soft whispers of her footsteps on the floor long before she entered the forge, the echo of her soft hymn preceding even that.. His looked up from his work as she entered the forge, eyes quiet and searching.

"Sister," he acknowledged, pressing two fingers to his lips. He straightened up she moved to leave the forge. "Please, don't let me keep you. Plenty of room in the forge." Thick brows furrowed over his eyes. "...Lorainne, isn't it? Forgive me, I can't place your last name..."

How he knew her name at all was impressive enough. They had never met before - an anomaly in of itself. There were fewer than three hundred paladins in the entire city, and most of them shared the same living quarters. Savien, usually out at all times on some mission or errant, rarely slept at home. He came back mostly for rest and medical attention, leaving almost as quickly as he'd come.
 
As written by Peachy00Keen

She froze. Was this the first time someone had addressed her directly? It seemed like it. Maybe the first in years. Certainly since her schooling. She glanced uncomfortably around the room. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, but nothing came out.

She paused, took a deep breath, met his gaze, and nodded firmly. "DuMont," she said quietly, barely audible over the crackling of the forge. She did not move and did not attempt to say more, still unsure why he spoke to her. Most didn't even look her way, let alone pay her more time and attention than a brief nod of acknowledgement. She fiddled uncomfortably with her sword and shifted her weight form one foot to the other, the soft leather of her moccasins rubbing against a patch of sore, chafed skin at the back of one of her ankles. She winced.
 
As written by Rōnin

"DuMont," he tasted the name, nodding, "I'll remember it." The knight returned to his work, tapping neat lines into the hilt. "Lorainne I remembered instantly. Looked at your file, once." A few clinking nicks. "Lorainne like 'Lornaine'. Lorriane like 'Loura Teramont', a woman I used to know." A faint distance entered his words, syllables slowing and echoing with the tinge of memory. The clinking slowed. Savien blinked before the surfacing visions...

And then snapped to. He cleared his throat. Loura Teramont. There was a name he hadn't said in a while. The knight picked up his sword, turning it over and placing a thumb under a silver-lined etching. 'LOURA TERAMONT', it read.

"Forgive me. I ramble." He shook his head and rose from the workbench, turning to the forge to check his silver.
 
As written by Peachy00Keen

She cleared her throat and walked toward the forge. "Why...?" she inquired, her voice small, uncertain. "Why the name?"

Lorainne placed her sword on a workbench and began heating a pot of silver in the forge. As the metal heated, she waited, out of the way, beside her sword, her fingers tracing the simple yet elegant hilt. It was inscribed with a simple phrase: "Selene Protects Me." She muttered a brief prayer to herself and waited for either the metal to heat or the man to answer. She was certain that at least one would happen eventually.
 
As written by Rōnin

"Hm?" Savien looked up, "oh. You meant Teramont." He nodded and looked into the forge. "She was. Ah. A woman." He almost winced as he spoke the words. "Well. That's obvious enough, I suppose..." An annoyed grunt. He wasn't much for small talk, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt. It wasn't a terribly personal or private story.

"My first year after taking the silver," he began, "I was assigned to protect her. Loura, that is. She was a witness in a trial against a Garoux drug trafficking ringleader." A small smirk. "A reluctant witness. All in all, I think she hated the Order almost as much as the packs. Always told me she was choosing the lesser of the two evils." He glanced back at Lorainne. "You ever had a run-in with them? The packs?" A deep, forlorn breath. "Brutal fighters, every with them. Dangerous even if they don't shift. Doubly so if they do."
 
As written by Peachy00Keen

"No, I have not," she checked her silver; "They sound terrible." She returned timidly to her previous position beside the workbench. "I usually travel far out. It's better for me. I'm not..." she breathed, "I'm not really a people person. I just don't know how. I work better alone." She let out a little snort, "I'm pretty sure everyone here but you now thinks I'm mute. I guess I'm not really worth anyone's time. But that's okay."

Lorainne idly slid her foot in and out of her moccasin.
 
As written by Rōnin

Savien's brows furrowed. It was unusual to find a knight so alone and friendless. Monastery life was strict and suffocating, but it tended to be welcoming and familial among its members. Paladins risked death or worse every day - they could not afford to do so alone.

Of course, that was only Savien's experience. He supposed it was possible that not everyone was as welcome or included.

"You're a knight of the Order," he looked at her, voice strong and quiet, "you are my sister. My family." A small hint of a smile. "You matter very much."

The knight grabbed his pincers and removed the now flame-red mug of molten silver. He balanced it expertly, pouring it into a cylindrical casing.

"Those are strange shoes," he looked suspiciously down at the moccasins she was stepping out of. "...fuzzy. They look like slippers, but they're not..."
 
As written by Peachy00Keen

"Oh, these?" She looked down at her feet. "They're basically slippers. I got them on one of my outings to a small village up north. They were having some issues with a raiding group or something like that. I haven't heard from them in a while. I hope they're okay." Lorainne smiled, thinking back fondly to the small northern village. "It was kind of funny. It was like a village out of time. They were quite primitive, but very welcoming and nice, once they realized you were firmly on their side of things. They were big on yak herding or something like that, and boy, did they know their way around brewed beverages. Very friendly once the ale started flowing."

She wiggled her toes in the moccasins, enjoying the soft fur against her sore skin. "Yeah, they're kind of a hybrid between shoes and slippers. They were a thank you gift."
 
As written by Rōnin

"It's a very different world outside the city," Savien agreed, "for as advanced as Lutetia is, it's outlying towns and hamlets are lucky to have functional plumbing. Caranhall is one of the better ones, and even they're decades behind us."

The knight grabbed the funnel with his mitts and stooped over his sword. He began layering the dents he'd made in his hilt with a light coating of molten silver.

"Not many paladins will take missions outside city limits. I do." He nodded, tracing the curves of the name with the spout. "There's something refreshing in meeting people who are removed from the politics of this place." He thought of Pandora. "Something fresh. Innocent."
 
As written by Peachy00Keen

"The difference in society is quite astounding. It amazes me that people can lead such different lives and live on the same continent. It truly is astounding. I do love traveling outside city limits though. People don't always know what to make of me there. It's refreshing." She walked over to the forge and checked on her silver: still melting. "Do you ever find long rides to just be kind of... I don't know... grounding? It's like, in prayer, I feel close to Selene, I do, but I just feel so... free and, I don't know... powerful maybe, when I'm riding out on the quiet roads with nothing but the sky, the earth, my armor, and my bike around me. It's like, if there was a time to be with Her, that would be it. It's kind of meditative." Lorainne blushed; "I don't know, maybe that's just me. I probably sound loony."
 
As written by Rōnin

Savien's smile was soft and knowing. He finished tracing the nicks in his sword and deposited the remaining molten silver into a tempered mold. "Solitude is a knight's greatest respite. We all need time with ourselves now and again. To rest. To contemplate." He watched the silver cool. "I've felt it sometimes, when I errant. En route to some Lightforsaken township or hamlet." A soft snort. "...usually it's more of a ... how shall I say it ... a weight. A consciousness of my responsibilities." He rose and hefted his sword. The freshly-minted silver glittered on the hilt.

"A knight is a sword," he said, "or a shield." He twirled the blade in his hands and looked at his sister. "Sometimes one, sometimes the other, but never both at the same time."
 
As written by Peachy00Keen

"I see it as more of a... A sort of levity I bring to people. Those in need. Sure, we're swords or shields for those who do not have them, but we are also a savior for the meek, a respite for the poor and unloved. We provide care for people who are abandoned, be it by other humans or by evolution, or so it would seem."

She sniffed, taking the silver from the fire and beginning to pour into the nicks in her own sword. "I don't know. I never give it too much thought. It leads me to wonder too much about my own situation and, well, I guess my own abandonment. I think that, to an extent, doing what I do makes me feel more at peace. It's like atonement for a sin I never committed but have had to bear the weight of since infancy." She tended to the molten metal with light, careful hands. "I've been weak, felt small, known abandonment... and yet, here I am. I'm still going. The Order gave me a chance. I believe it is my duty in life to give that chance to others."
 
As written by Rōnin

"The Light is our strength," he nodded, "by the grace of the Wick, all weakness purged, all frailty banished." He picked up his scabbard, thumbed the tip of the blade into the metal and sheathed it.

"We have different philosophies on knighthood," he turned to Lorainne, "but I don't think either of us are wrong. Just seeing a different side of the coin, so to speak." He slung the scabbard over his shoulder. "Compassion, empathy, altruism. These are essential qualities of knighthood. Things I need to work on, personally. I would do well to take a page from your book, in that respect." His brows furrowed. "But you must remember, sister. As Paladins, we are called to make the choices others can't - called to damn ourselves so others may find salvation. If the choice is between our personal humanity or the justice of the state...." His fingers flexed on the hilt of his blade, eyes hard and distant. He seemed to be remembering something.
 
As written by Peachy00Keen

She watched him curiously for a moment, finishing work on her blade. The freshly-patched nicks shone brightly. The next set would be patched in gold or copper, whatever was available. The patches made the sword even more beautiful; every cut, ding, and dent filled with color, adding character. It was, as they say, the journey that made a life into something grand. Why should the journey of her sword be treated any differently. Its story was a unique one.

Lorainne returned her attention to the other paladin. Trouble and worry lined his face, aging him far more than his lived years. She felt for him, she understood the weight he must be feeling, to some extent or another. She thought back to the northern village. Where were they now? Did they even still exist? If not, what had happened to their people? What became of their children?

She shook the thoughts from her head. No sense dwelling on contingencies. Her attention returned to Savien.
"Something seems to be troubling you, brother. What is it? Let me share your pain, so we may heal together."
 
As written by Rōnin

But Savien recovered quickly. His smile was slight, his brows furrowed and focused. His armor was back on.

"Some other time, sister," he nodded, "it's nothing so important that it needs healing." He turned away, belting on his sword and putting away all the equipment he'd used. "After all-" He glanced over his shoulder, "-what's a paladin without a few scars?"

When he was finished he lifted his sheathed blade up to his eyes and traced the freshly-minted name on the hilt one last time. NICOLE.

"I... enjoyed talking to you," Savien began with a pause, the compliment awkward but genuine. "I hope to see you around the city and the Monastery." A curt nod. "You have a good outlook. On life. On your duties. I know a few knights who could learn from you."
 
As written by Peachy00Keen

She smiled, a bit stiffly, as she was unused to such personal interaction. "I appreciate... well, having the opportunity to speak to someone. Do tell them I am not mute. It would be... comforting, I suppose, if I had more to talk to than these cold brick walls."

Lorainne bowed her head slightly and sheathed her own sword. "Brother," she dismissed him as she turned her back to him and faced the fire still burning in the forge. She stared vacantly into the flames, instantly lost in thought.
 
As written by Script

Inarin's sword arced through the air smoothly as he shifted stance, flowing from one drilled strike into the next. It had been close to an hour since he returned to the Monastery with newfound determination to push himself even harder. He'd kept to a routine of training ever since his conversation with Izaic the other week, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't improving quickly enough.

His muscles burned, and sweat dripped from his forehead, but he kept at the drill - thankful for the cool autumn air. The movements were gradually starting to become second nature, at least during training. In an actual spar, as had been proven earlier in the week, he still had to get over his habit of over-thinking. Training alone could only help so much with that.

The training yard was silent aside from the swish of his blade cutting through the air, the sound of his armour plates scraping together, and his boots crunching in the dirt. Most of the other proselytes and the monastery's tutors were away at the Aurellae, and he was thankful for the privacy.

He was going to have to take a break soon. Pushing himself was all fine and well, but it wouldn't do him any good to cause himself an injury. Just a few more repetitions. Just a few more...
 
As written by Emperor Jester

He was fresh from his tantrum and subsequent embarrassment with his peers, having just gotten back on the Monastery grounds within the hour himself. The training field hadn't been the first place Izaic had come to on his quest for solitude. No, that had been the dormitories for a quick shower and a change of clothes. While practicing in his armor would be the most effective way to train himself, even the seemingly indomitable proselyte had limits to how long he could go in full gear. So instead it was track pants, loose fitting boots, and a dark grey wife beater he wore, and honestly, he pulled it off very well. All he brought with him was a music player (with headphones), his dweihander, and a reusable water bottle big enough to nearly hold a gallon.

Thats what fell out of his hands with a moist crash when Izaic entered the yard and saw Inarin, his hazel eyes boring into his younger classmate with a look as sharp as blades, full of anger and confusion...plus some pride.
 
As written by Script

The crash almost prompted Inarin to fumble his weapon in surprise, torn abruptly from his thoughts by the noise and the sudden awareness that someone else was there. He lowered his sword and swirled around to face the sound, his expression one of concern - swiftly replaced by wide-eyed uncertainty when he realised just who had turned up.

"O-Oh..." Inarin's breathing was heavy, and his face red (for once with exertion, rather than embarrassment). "I-Izaic... h...hey?"

He trailed off uncertainly after his greeting, the look on Izaic's face giving him pause, and shifted nervously. Was he still angry about what had happened the other day? Inarin didn't have any reason to think otherwise. The fury that the older boy had displayed at the twins' teasing was still fresh in his mind, just as he'd started to think that Izaic wasn't so bad... And Val still had the bruises to show for it.

His mind couldn't help but linger momentarily on just what Val had been implying before Izaic punched him, and was quickly glad that he was already red-faced, as it served to hide the blush that followed.
 
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