Your Champion

Voah wanted to say:

'Your champion is dead. Wanting only to serve the Pillars by vanquishing the evils of magik and its wielders from this land… but it wasn’t that simple.

People welcomed her and did very little to thwart her. And they changed her, split her heart, made her instead want to bring the light of the Pillars to the people of this land... to teach them, to show them the pride she had for her glorious Gods... but.... she had found herself in confusion... unable to tolerate herself. Her judgement was clouded... or maybe her sight had become clear for the first time...'

She wanted to cry:

'Your champion was a tree… you planted a seed… she grew… she blossomed… you plucked her fruit for harvest… but then she was forgotten... with none left to nurture her… left to wither and decay…

Your champion needed you... Why have you waited until now to reveal yourself... after she has turned her back on your tenets?'

But Voah still wasn't sure exactly what drew her to Arcadia.

She wanted to confess:

'Your champion misjudged your will and intent and thus was lost astray. She learned truths that she was uncomfortable with. She saw no justice in this war. She found conflict in the tenets between the Gods and the Inquisition. She wanted no part in paving the way with the blood of innocent life in order for evil and perpetual hatred to break and conquer an untouched land.

She wanted to ask:

'Do you really condemn magik? Why? Is the Inquisition really following your will? Why are we killing innocent people, Vauxians, non-weavers, and children?'

This was the perfect time to get answers, she might not have another chance. But… How does one question the authority of a God to their face?

Voah was drowning in a deluge of internal, self-serving questions, but in this moment, she was done being selfish. She wanted to help people. To learn from them. To care for them. To serve others. To judge true, not simply execute stringent and questionable law. She did not wish to be a cause of pain, grief, suffering… and death.

She thought once again to her beloved Gonyaul. What would he do? How would he respond in her situation? He would not prostrate himself in fear of some God and weep, he would smile and wave... and welcome. He would speak to the Gods in his curious childlike manner and ask in genuine wonder, “What’s your story?”

She pulled out her sword and traced the trail of glyphs with her eyes, down the blade, across the sand and then to the God. From the bulging muscles of Vastad's arms, up to his proud shoulders and finally to the back of his head. Clusters of white hair rode like spectral war banners on the desert wind.

The only words that came out were, “What would you have me do? Tell me your true tenets... and I may be an Arbiter once more."

First she would measure the quality of Vastad.