Forward:
One should not fight destiny, for such action can only lead to suffering. One must not allow the whims of fate to dictate one's life, for such inaction leads to sloth and melancholy of the soul. Only those who are fully aware of one's self, those willing to walk the fine line between surrender and rebellion, can be the master of their own lives.
Jasper Thorne
"Death is our only guarantee, it is the only promise that cannot be broken, the only experience mankind truly shares between us all. It is the only constant, a destiny as pure and simple as it is inescapable. However, despite this divine purpose shared between us all, some covet the means to warp this truth.
Our history tells us that our world was once filled with individuals of great power. These Echoes, as we know them today, were entities blessed with gifts beyond any creation of man. The Echoes were long thought to be immortal, indestructible, and utterly timeless but such power longs to be tested, and gods do not abide rivals. War soon overcame our world, and an era of blood and earth-shattering conflict lasted beyond reckoning. This conflict only ended once these Echoes vanished, either being destroyed utterly or fading into oblivion, leaving our world a desolate ruin. The only traces remaining of these Echoes is that of the very earth they walked upon. Stone and iron, dirt, dust, and bloody footprint, all contaminated by their very being, still litter our world. These remnants of their essence still contain small amounts of the fallen Echoes power and humanity quickly learned to harvest these fragments of divinity. This, however, was no idle fascination with the divine, as any who came in contact with these remnants gained incredible, though temporary, powers, leading to yet more conflict among those that remained. Our world has continued its grim march ever since, and these remnants have become more and more precious as the common sources are mined to depletion. Few, outside of our holy order, still have access to these tarnished bits of earth and stone. Of those sinners who willfully stand against us usually possess little more than ash and powdered stone endowed with but a whisper of the divine."
I sighed and slowly flipped to the next page of the ancient tome.
"So long as humanity hordes and covets these remnants of the divine Echoes, the natural order of life and death will remain tainted. And so it falls to our order, the Paladins of Quietus, The Still Echo, to do what is necessary to eliminate--"
My eyes seemed to cross as I struggled to read the same few lines over and again before, with another sigh, I closed the heavy thing as I leaned back, closing my eyes.
It didn't seem to matter how many hours I spent in study of the Echoes. I knew every word in this dusty book backwards and upside-down by now but unlike my sisters I found no tranquility or solace in the words written in this relic that itself was made and bound with ash and bone touched by the divine. Mother superior swore books like these were the only way to draw out the inborn gifts granted to us by the Still Echo but I had yet to see the fruits of her dogmatic teaching. My sisters were often gifted with incredible powers, granted to them by our holy relics, gifts of flight, strength, agility, with some being so blessed they could mimic and embody the very Echoes themselves… but I had only ever witnessed these miracles, never performed them.
I lay in the boughs of a tall weeping willow within our cloister's courtyard, and took a steadying breath as I began listening and it wasn't long before I could hear the spirits sing their bittersweet melody. They sang of the glory of Quietus, The Still Echo. They praised His domain and of that simple promise He gave to all beings, that of the quiet release from life. The song was all but silent, a whisper among the rush and desperate haste of the living, but, if I possessed any gift at all it was this, for here within this quiet courtyard the near silent choir of the ancient dead called out, resonating within all things. In this place of pale dappled light, the ancient dead sang glorious ballads and somber dirges all in worship dedicated to the old Echo.
I glanced around the courtyard from where I sat perched and watched from behind the wilting willow's emerald curtain at the other sisters of my order. They traveled in hushed groups readying themselves for the day, but my sisters and I were not the only residents of Gravestone Keep.
Slipping from my perch I landed softly next to a towering figure of stone, iron and bone. The stoic entity that stood watch over the courtyard was a construct I recognized as Keligon Amberlight, one of the eldest members of the Quiet, the ancient guardians stationed at the keep.
I stood with him, listening to the song that emanated from his body, that was both blessed and built using fragments touched by The Still Echo.
"The song wavers." Keligon's voice spoke within and among the spirit song itself. His baritone melody weaving into the choir as the other ancient dead sang within him. I only nodded, there was no denying his melody.
His helm, a thing of elegant silver encasing ancient bone and pale blue fire, tilted slowly. The fire that burned within his hollow eyes settled on the tome in my hands. "The old ways are strong. Words that bind old with new."
I frowned. "I know. I just can't focus today."
He nodded almost imperceptibly. "The Still Echo lives within. You hear our song even when elders struggle."
"Don't let mother superior hear you say that!" I said trying not to let the complement go to my head.
"Easy enough." The lich-fire of his eyes flickered for a moment, in what was almost certainly the equivalent of a smirk. "The festival approaches."
I nodded, glad that he had changed the subject, though I couldn't help but smile at the construct, as he knew full well how excited I was. "That might be part of the problem. I thought maybe reading might take my mind off the festivities, but I can't even sit still."
"You are nervous."
I chuckled. "Well, yeah. I've spent my entire life watching my sisters go out to collect the tithe, but now it's my turn. What kind of disciple would I be if I wasn't at least a little nervous?"
"Autumn gives way to winter as it always has. The earth again readies itself to enter its long slumber, as it always has, and the darkness and hush will bring forth the ancient dead to roam the land, as always." He nodded again. "These things are immutable, destiny fulfilled, trust that this festival will be no different."
"Yesterday is but a memory," I began, quoting the words I'd learn so well, "an immutable thing forged in iron. Tomorrow is a thing of glass, a promise all too easily shattered. All we truly have is today, a choice as malleable as clay." I brought the ancient tome up to my chest hugging it close. "I know the scripture almost as well as you do by now Keligon."
"Then you know that your hesitation and worry of what may be goes against your teachings. Focus on that which must be. Tomorrow will come, the festival will begin, and from there you will forge your own path. Do not surrender to fear, child, for we Paladins of Quietus must rebel against such darkness."
"Your right, of course." I took a deep breath, listening to the subtle swelling of the spirit song. "It can be far too easy sometimes for my mind to slip beneath that melancholy. It still feels like I have so much left to learn."
"And that is why you must go. This shelter has given you all that it can, your sisters and mothers can no longer teach you. It is the world itself, in all of her bountiful beauty and callous indifference, that will teach you now."
"And you say I shouldn't worry." I chuckled. "Well, I'm ready, whatever may come."