kyumills

title: the fighter
pairing: none
rating: teen
series: tales from the selene

summary: He is well acquainted with death. He’s stared it defiantly in the face for most of his career as a knight, and the King’s personal bodyguard and even much more now as a fighter. Here, however, he can just be himself. He can rest his head for a moment and relax before he moves on to another dangerous task.

----

He knows that not every member of the village militia, or even of the king’s army is a fighter. Not every member of the village militia has had the training that he has, not every member of the village militia has had the hardening experiences of war, and most certainly have not fought in battles as long and as gruesome as he has.

He supposes that his time as a knight prepared him for this very moment. Back before he turned to the life of a fighter, he was a knight for the Lord of Oceanus, and the perfect person to be called in by the King to fight the undead plague that had been rushing about Stellae; that is his mission in the central city. There’s been a plight of undead enemies in Stellae that need eliminating, and the King has called upon the most experienced of fighters from all around the kingdom to assist in eliminating them.

He is well acquainted with death. He’s stared it defiantly in the face for most of his career as a knight, and the King’s personal bodyguard and even much more now as a fighter. Here, however, he can just be himself. He can rest his head for a moment and relax before he moves on to another dangerous task.

He opens the door to The Selene and is greeted by the innkeeper, a man with honey-brown hair and a kind smile. . “Hello, traveller,” the fighter hears the innkeeper say. “Say, are you the fighter we’ve been expecting? I’ve heard word from the Adventurer’s Guild out in Oceanus that they’d be sending one of their best. Looking at the crest on your armor, you must certainly be one of theirs.”

The fighter nods. He’s traveled for days from the oceanside city to Tellus, the central city, to take up the quest. Sent to the city with a map, his shield and his spear, this fighter's ready to fight for this land with everything he had.

When the fighter looks over at the innkeeper, he sees the letter of the Adventurer’s Guild with the ornate blue wax seal. The innkeeper is careful when he opens it, slides his dagger ever so carefully beneath the wax seal; he keeps the seal whole as he opens the letter, carefully unfolding the letter. His eyes do a careful scan over the parchment before he grabs what the fighter could only assume to be the guestbook and quill, jotting down a quick name before looking back up at him. “Chanmi,” the innkeeper says, “That’s a beautiful name, dear adventurer—”

Choi Chanmi. A name he’d much rather forget. A name he never aligned with even though it was the one everyone knew. The name on the parchment from the guild, people he thought knew better than this.

“T-that’s not my name,” the fighter says, “That name there, written on the parchment. It’s not mine, it never really was.” The tightening in his chest comes back full force. It feels overwhelming, but he can’t help it, “They knew that, but they still…called me that. Ah, that’s so embarrassing–”

And really, he should have known they would do this. The Adventurer’s Guild was important, sure, but hardly ever accurate when it came to things like this, so he knew it shouldn’t have been so jarring to hear slip from the innkeeper’s mouth, but it was.

Chanmi is a name that, since this fighter was born, he has never aligned with. Using it like this, unprompted? It was a clear signal to what they truly thought of him.

The fighter snaps out of their internal dread when he hears the innkeeper“Please forgive me, adventurer,” the innkeeper replies. There’s a quill on the side of the logbook, a crow’s feather adorned with a golden quill tip, that the innkeeper picks up. He strikes out the name Looking back at him with kind eyes, the innkeeper continues, “Forgive my ignorance and allow me to rectify my mistakes. I can’t keep inaccurate records, especially if they make the guests in this inn feel unwelcome. So tell me, dear, what is your name?”

He feels the sincerity, the kindness behind the eyes of the innkeeper. He feels safe, safer than he’s ever have in his life.

“Chanhee,” he responds, placing the three gold pieces on the counter carefully, “Choi Chanhee.” The innkeeper carefully writes down his name on the guestbook, leaving the book open for the ink to dry. Then, he grabs one of the metal keys from the wall behind him.

“Well, Chanhee,” the innkeeper beams, “Welcome to The Selene. Your room is on the second floor, first door. There’s a bard at the beginning of the steps over there, they’ll tell you where to go."

Harnessing the powers of divine magic doesn't require intense study, like most other forms of magic. There is no special school, no special training, just togetherness with the pantheon.

Clerics are no ordinary priests; clerics are imbued with divine magic gifted to them by the gods. They are intermediaries between the mortal world and the plane of the gods, mouthpieces of the will of the gods. As varied as the god he serves, this cleric strives to embody the handiwork of his god; he is the conduit of Asclepius’ mighty power of healing.

When a cleric takes up a life of adventuring, it is usually because the gods demand it. This cleric knows as much. It involves braving the dangers of things outside of civilization, things that no ordinary fighter or paladin can take care of; things like smiting cursed evils of unholy origin or seeking holy relics. Of course, this cleric is no different: Asclepius blesses him with the divine power of healing to aid those injured in battle. Who is he to deny what Asclepius calls upon him to do?

To deny Asclepius’s will is to deny the divine magic that grants him his power.

This divine magic, as the very name suggests, has the power of the gods flowing from them. Clerics manifest this power as what mortals will call ‘miracles’, miraculous effects to benefit humanity. This is a power not given to everyone who seeks it out, but only those chosen to fulfill this higher calling, making true clerics like this one rather rare. Harnessing divine magic is not something that has to be practiced or studies. Formulaic prayer and ancient rites are learned, sure, but the real power of clerical magic comes from devotion to the deity in which they serve and an intuitive sense of their deity’s wishes; in this particular cleric’s case, the devotion to Asclepius and his mighty power of healing.

Clerics usually combine the magic of healing and inspiring their allies with spells that hinder foes. They can provoke awe, lay curses of plague, and even call flames from the heavens to consume their enemies. Clerics also depend on combat training to let them wade into battle with the power of the gods on their side.

How this cleric ends up at The Selene is rather simple: the need to help.

He’s heard stories of The Selene from the traveling priests, a place where brave warriors rest their heads after an evening of intense adventuring. Thousands upon thousand of brave adventurers frequent The Selene, many in dire need after battles that nearly claim their lives. Asclepius, as a great healer himself, gave this cleric intense and clear visions of this inn; in a way Asclepius himself had guided this cleric to this inn.

Thus it was settled. Who was he to deny the will of Asclepius?

The journey is long on foot; The Selene was three towns from the town in which this cleric was raised, the western most costal town of Medela, leaving him on a long seven day journey to the central city of Tellus. From Medela to Silva, Silva to Ornare, Ornare to Lapis, and finally to Tellus, the journey on foot is long and arduous, but the cleric finds it worth it in the end when he lays eyes on The Selene. He enters the doorway.

The innkeeper, from what this cleric can assume—a man with honey-brown hair and kind eyes—looks at him as the bell at the door chimes. “Ah, a cleric,” the innkeeper says, “What brings you here?”

“To help,” the cleric replies, “I’ve read plenty of stories of the battles fought by the residents of this inn. I’d like to help, if you’d accept it.”

“Of course I’d accept,” the innkeeper says, “A cleric with the mark of Asclepius? You must be an extensive healer.”

“Some could say.”

“We could use any help we could get, so thank the gods for your arrival young cleric. Follow the bard to your room,” the innkeeper smiles, “They will show you the amenities and help you set up the clinic in the back. We’ve long lost our medic and were in dire need-”

“Surely I must pay—”

“Absolutely not, your assistance in healing is more than enough,” the innkeeper smiles, “Now tell me your name, dear cleric, so I may keep it in the records.” The innkeeper looks up at him, eyes kind; he’s waiting with the quill in his hand.

“Most call me Youngjae,” the cleric says, “but friends call me Eric.”

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