My father was a great man. There is no arguing this and I have neither reason
nor inclination to do so. I have been told of his greatness since I was a child
and I witnessed it for myself as I grew older. Even my jaded eyes could see the
way faces would light up on the street when he walked past, the countless hours
of work he put in to ensure this city flourished, the hope and stability he
offered to the citizenry. There is no question that my father was a great man.
What many would likely find curious is that being a great man does not always
translate into being a great father.

My memories of him during my childhood are scarce. If he was not on a mission he
would dutifully visit my mother and myself weekly. If he was gone it could be
months before we would see him. My mother was resigned to the situation. No,
resigned is likely not the right word; indifferent perhaps. I knew from an early
age that their marriage was not a love match. They treated one another with
respect, compassion, and the vague sort of fondness that you might witness
between long time compatriots. No, there was no love between them.

Whether he loved me or not, I cannot say. He was always kind. I never went
without anything I needed. He did not spoil me but nor was he overly strict. I
do believe he taught me everything he knew. Yet there was no great affection
between us. When I was very young, he would sometimes look at me very intently,
his sad eyes searching my face; for what I could not say then. With the
knowledge I have gained since then, I would say he was looking for the features
of the children he had dreamed to have in his youth rather than the one he had
dutifully had in his later years.

He began to spend more time with me when I was nine. I remember we would swim
together. I am, of course, a natural in the water but he showed me how to move
just a bit faster, how to dive deeper, what to seek out in the sea and what to
avoid. It is the Merian way for a father to pass these things to his children as
his father passed them to him. My father was always very attentive to his duty.

Once I reached ten, my true training began. He would work me for hours at a
time. First it was my footwork and reflexes. How to move, when to move. How to
dodge, when to dodge. How to fall, when to fall. Drill after drill. Hour after
hour. Day after day.

Once I could move with something akin to his own grace, the blade work began.
Advance, retreat. Parry, riposte, disengage. Coule, coupe, croise. Attack,
counter-attack, feint. Again. He showed little mercy in the training. The end of
a day would see me with bruises, cuts, and blisters. My mother would tend to me
herself in lieu of a nurse of manservant. She would never say anything but on
days when I returned to her particularly battered, she and father would have
long discussions in his study. The next day was usually somewhat easier. I never
complained. It is the Paladin way for a father to pass these things to his
children as his father passed them to him.

As hard as it was, I treasured the attention he was lavishing on me. I, like
most young boys, idolized my father and wanted to be just like him in as many
ways as I could.

During my childhood, Mother and I would spend two months in the spring at her
family's estate. My father would accompany us there and stay for a few days
before returning to his duty. If he could not personally escort us home, he
would see to it that we had an appropriate guard. The roads were not safe at
this time. The Tainted, the slang term for those afflicted with Kethuru's touch,
seemed drawn to the roads and could be quite vicious.

I enjoyed our time at Mother's childhood home but it never felt like home to me.
I suppose that is only right as I was my father's heir, not hers. Cousin Josenth
would inherit the Serole Seat.

We wintered at our own estate. My grandmother showered such affection on me; I
suspect she was attempting to make up for my father's lack. Still, I enjoyed it
immensely. It was home. I learned the family's history here; a long progression
of men and women who, for good or ill, made their mark on the Basin. I learned
of my responsibilities as the Scion. They were not as great as they would have
been when the Empire was still intact but it weighed heavily on my mind as a
child.

My childhood came to an end when I reached the age of thirteen, the traditional
age a child is squired to a Knight. I showed my first hint of rebellion at this
point. My father had chosen an aged Knight for me. It would be a safe assignment
involving little more than book learning, storytelling, and the fetching of tea.
In short, boring. I envisioned something slightly more exciting. It is
ultimately the child's decision who they Squire for and I was determined to go
my own way. Looking back, following my father's will would have saved me a great
deal of anguish but stubbornness is a family trait.

When the time came, I chose a young Knight that was considered something of a
radical. Sir Taroth Gullnet. He had no noble blood and was not even of a lesser
house. He was, however, quite popular with the people for his achievements in
curbing the movements of the Tainted and his overall charming personality. I
wrote him a letter requesting to be considered as a Squire for him and his
response was enthusiastic. Were I older, that would have been a warning sign for
me. What Paladin would be enthusiastic about squiring the Lord General's son
against the Lord General's express wishes? At the time though, I did not give it
much thought.

My father did not yell when he discovered what I had one. My father never yelled
that I can recall. He simply looked at me. His eyes were sad, as usual, but also
held a spark of anger and more than a little concern. He told me he would speak
with Sir Taroth about my room, board, and equipment allowance. And that was
that.

I learned many things as a Squire. My father had taught me how to fight but Sir
Taroth taught me how to kill. He believed a Squire learns best in the field and
we were constantly on missions. He volunteered for the most dangerous, dirtiest
jobs that few other Knights had any interest in. I grew up quickly under his
tutelage. He taught me that a Paladin's true power comes from learning to wield
the fury of the Supernals. Our job was to manifest their will in the Basin. To
be their sword and shield. Their judges. But most importantly, we were their
executioners.

The Basin in those times was a dark and dangerous place and our missions were
far from the careful oversight of the Keep. Mercy for the Tainted may have been
the official policy but it was certainly not Sir Taroth's and it was not mine.
He had a group of likeminded Knights that generally accompanied us on missions.
In the beginning it was enough for us to simply hunt down the Tainted and put
them down.

As I grew older and became more skilled, it became something else. We had many
long conversations regarding the will of the Supernals. I became increasingly
devout. I would spend long hours in the Cathedral seeking guidance. I
participated in as many pilgrimages to Celestia as I could. I rarely visited
home, preferring to spend what little free time I had listening to the sermons
of the Celestines. It was around this time that we decided death did nothing for
the Tainted except end their threat. If we wanted to free them from their
affliction, something else was needed. We needed to drive the affliction from
them. Force it to release its hold on its victims. That was when the torture
started.

It was a hidden thing. We knew the Keep simply could not understand why we did
what we did. They did not see what we saw. They did not understand how important
our work was. That is what we told ourselves at least.

By the time I was Knighted, I was a master at creating pain. I relished the
screams I could draw from the Tainted. Then, I told myself it was because it was
the Taint that was screaming out, fleeing from my holy wrath. Now I would simply
call it sadism. Most seemed to not notice anything amiss in me. I carried myself
as a Paladin should. I spoke as a Paladin should. No one could see the darkness
that stained my soul. Except my father.

Several months after my Knighting, he had us followed on a mission. I shudder to
think of what was reported back to him. Some of my fellows had come up with some
more creative ways of "driving out the darkness". Apparently they felt that
sexual violation would shock the system of the victims enough to loosen the hold
of the Taint. It was also agree to be far less "messy". I preferred to stick
with my blades. I was not yet twisted enough to have an appetite for more.

When we returned to New Celest, there was nothing to indicate anything was
amiss. We wrote our reports as usual. We cleaned our gear and visited the
quartermaster as usual. We visited the Cathedral for the Celestine blessing. We
retired to our individual quarters satisfied with another mission well done.

They arrested us while we slept. It was a quick and quiet. The interrogations
started in the morning. I was defiant and firm in my beliefs. We had done
nothing wrong. We were doing the work of the Supernals. I imagine my fellows
said much the same.

It was a delicate matter. There was a growing sentiment in the city that the
Tainted deserved no mercy and that New Celest as a whole was being too lenient
with them. It is unlikely anyone would support the depths of depravity that we
had sunk to but the Keep was not releasing the details and we looked like "such
good boys" that the populace could not believe us capable of anything truly
horrific.

Were we given a normal trial, we likely would have been released with little
more than a slap on the wrist. However, my father had not yet retired as Lord
General. He called for a Celestial Judgment. There was much uproar over this. A
Judgment had not been used since before the Fall and even then it had been a
very rare thing. Why bother the Supernals with such a trivial affair.

He was insistent though. He argued that since our primary defense was that we
were doing the will of the Supernals, we could not be judged by mortals. If we
were truly doing the Supernals' will there should be no punishment at all. Yet
only the Supernals could say what their will was. Thus only the Supernals could
judge.

It was grudgingly agreed to eventually. The Celestines performed the appropriate
rituals. A pilgrimage was organized. The Ecclesiarch gained the agreement of the
Supernals themselves. I felt no fear. I did truly believe what I was doing was
right. I felt I would be fully vindicated by the Supernals. I eagerly awaited
the Judgment. I do not know whether my compatriots did or not. We never saw one
another after our arrests. We each had our own separate Judgment.

Those who witnessed them said the others wept for mercy. They said they crawled
across the golden sands, seeking some escape from the Supernals' gaze. I cannot
say. I was not there. I simply know what I experienced.

I had been to Celestia before but the normal pilgrimages are month long affairs
full of prayers, fasting, sermons, and meditation. They would generally wind
their way up through Ethereal, to Water, and finally to Celestia itself. This
was a quick trip using the Pool of Stars directly. I cannot say it was
particularly comfortable.

The Light was unbearable after the many days I had spent in my windowless cell.
My eyes burned but I refused to close them or shield them in any way. I would
look fully upon the glory of Celestia and stand proudly on her sands. My captors
left me to it.

I cannot describe the Judging. It was not gentle or compassionate. The touch of
the Supernals can be a harsh thing for a mortal; especially a mortal with a
stained soul such as mine. Suffice it to say that I was disabused of the notion
that my actions had any sort of approval.

The actual Judging took little time. The punishment did not. Every wrong I had
committed against a Tainted was returned to me. Every cut, every blow, every
petty little torture. Every thing except the killing blow. If I survived, I
would be considered cleansed. If I did not, well, I would still be cleansed.

I survived. I did not feel cleansed. All of my illusions had been stripped from
me. I was not a hero. I was not a devoted servant of the Supernals. I was a
sadistic monster who took pleasure from the pain of those who could not help
their affliction. I was a twisted and depraved individual who nodded approvingly
when my "brothers" raped those we were pledged to either save or offer a quick
release from their torment. I was the lowest of the low who corrupted the
holiest of teachings to serve the basest of my impulses.

I was sent home to recover from my punishment. I had no visitors but my mother
and grandmother. I was disgraced. I had dishonored myself, my family, and my
profession. I was discharged from the Paladins. I was the only one who had
survived the Judgment and it is possible they were uncertain what to do with me.
Feverish as I was, I was only distantly aware of these events.

Once I had recovered, I was disinclined to move from my chair by the window. I
neither ate nor slept. To close my eyes was to once more face the demons that
resided in my soul. To eat was to offer sustenance to the body that had
performed atrocities. I considered taking my own life but could not bring myself
to disgrace my family even further. I felt certain I would die soon enough. Why
rush it.

My father came after six days. I heard him enter the room and could hear he and
Mother speaking in hushed tones; she urgent, he calm. I heard the door close and
then after a few moments his steady steps on the floorboards. As he neared I
could smell the well-oiled leather and tangy steel of his armor with subtle
undertones of incense. These were the scents that always clung to him. As a
child I found them comforting. The smells of safety. I yearned to take comfort
in them again but did not. One such as myself did not deserve comfort.

I could feel his gaze on me but I could not raise mine to meet it. I stared
intently at my hands; lying still and lax in my lap. I traced the multitude of
new scars that adorned them with my eyes. I watched as they picked absently at
the soft blanket Mother insisted cover me. I did not raise my eyes.

It was not his anger I feared, of course. My father was not a violent man and
had never raised a hand to me outside the sparring chamber. It was not his
censure. Of course he would censure me. I censured myself. In truth I am
uncertain what I was afraid of. I could not lose his love as there was no love
between us.

I suppose I feared seeing a full manifestation of the indifference that always
lurked at the edges of our association. No matter how little true familial bond
existed between us, there was always the connection of father and son. Lord and
Heir. I was to step into his shoes, carry on the family work, and carry on the
family name. I was the last and most important duty he had to fulfill. We both
knew I had failed him completely. I simply did not want to see confirmation of
that in his eyes.

We sat in silence for some time before he spoke. At first his words were just
noise. My mind could not comprehend what he was saying. Once I understood, my
head snapped up and I stared at him in disbelief.

"What?” I attempted to say but my voice was hoarse and defiant from disuse. I
cleared my throat and tried again, "What?"

"I have failed you as a father." He repeated, his voice as sad as his eyes.

I stared at him blankly. What a ludicrous notion. He had done his duty by me. I
may have wished for more as a child but such things were left behind with my
toys and boyish fantasies.

"You may not see it now but you will. When you have your own child. I did not
teach you the things I should have taught you. I taught you how to fight but not
why. I taught you how to be a Paladin but not why to be a Paladin. I knew
something was not right with Taroth and his minions but I did not fight to see
you Squired elsewhere."

I knew not what to say. So I said nothing.

"You have strayed far from the path. There is no denying that. Yet you are
young. Only sixteen years. You are the product of your influences and my
influence was not strong enough. I did not care enough. You have failed but your
failure is my failure. We have failed."

I shook my head mutely. This was wrong. I could feel it but I could not find the
words to explain it. So I merely shook my head in denial.

"You do not understand but I know that you will eventually. Enough of this
though. There is no point wallowing. We must simply move forward and make the
best of what we have. What do you wish to do now that you are recovered?"

"Die." I stated, weariness, guilt, and shock lending a brutal honesty to my
tongue.

Father nodded, unsurprised. "I am sure you do. But you will not. It is a
cowardly thing to wish for in any event."

I frowned slightly. That stung.

"I will not mince words with you. You are fully aware of the severity of your
crimes. Your punishment has been carried out and the Supernals were merciful
with you. Likely due to your youth."

'More likely due to my father and their known fondness for him.' I thought but
did not verbalize.

"You will never again be a Paladin. You have broken our vows. However, to sit
and be useless for the rest of your life is a poor penance for the crimes you
have committed. Angst has its place in novels and theatre but not in my House.
So, what will you do?"

I shrugged, a bit angry at his cavalier dismissal of the pain I was in. He could
not understand and clearly did not wish to.

"You are thinking I do not understand what you are going through. Or that I do
not care. You are right. I do not. I cannot change what has happened. Neither
can you. But you are my son. You will overcome this. You will make this right.
You will be a better Merian than you have shown thus far. You will be better
than you believe you can be. I will help you. I will be there with you."

I felt a swell of emotion I could not identify. Pain, regret, frustration,
annoyance, hope, fear. The only possible manifestation of it all were tears and
I refused to cry in front of my father. I choked them down and simply nodded. I
felt him reach out and grasp my shoulder and I leaned slightly into his touch.

"Now. Get up and get dressed. We have an appointment in an hour. And for
Elohora's sake eat something. You are worrying your mother."

And I did. He took me to the Celestial Institution, a forbidding place where the
afflicted were given a safe place to live, willingly or not, and various
Celestian scientists and priests researched their condition in the hopes of
finding a cure. I was given a job as an orderly and spent my days caring for the
afflicted and keeping them from hurting themselves or others. I did not enjoy
the work but felt it was a fitting penance so never said a word.

Eventually, the Institution overseers decided I could better serve elsewhere and
I started assisting in the research towards a cure. I still possessed my
Supernal given power of the Sacraments and my specialization was the effect of
Celestial power in varying doses on the afflicted. My treatise on the subject
was well-received.

Throughout this time and for the rest of his life, I saw my father every day. He
made a point to share a meal with me and discuss the happenings of my life. He
calmed my nerves when mother announced she had found a bride for me. He debated
my theories on the afflicted and provided insight from the perspective of one
who had seen the change caused by the Taint firsthand. He took me to visit the
ruins of old Celest and swim in the foul waters of the Sea of Despair. He was
there for the birth of my first child. I saw tears in his eyes for the first and
only time in my life when I told him we had named her Marilynth.

When my father passed, the city wept. The Basin wept. The Angels wept. I did not
weep. It was clear that I was in no way the great man my father had been but his
strength was in my blood as well. That strength was what the city still needed
and would likely always need. It would not do to let them see me cry.

My father was a great man. The circumstances and tragedies of his past may have
left him incapable of being a loving father or husband. We may have never had
the loving bond and relaxed camaraderie that I witnessed and coveted with so
many other father and sons. No, he was not a great father in the traditional
sense. In the end though, he was father enough for me.

-- From the writings of Professor Yaneth Inalai, only son of Lord General Dolph
Inalai