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Agostino · Adventurer Joined: 22 Feb 2011 Posts: 41

What hand forges the will of man, and bends it to greater purpose? Agostino lay silent in his bed, crude blankets tossed carelessly in restless sleep. Every muscle ached in protest of the harsh demands he had made upon a body that was being forged as well.

Bereft of sleep, the bed was a tedious and tiresome companion, and so he deserted it to pad barefoot out onto the sands of the ludus. The quarter moon was frozen in a clear and starlit sky, illuminating all with her pale and wanton lumina. His skin turned pewter in the cold and dying light.

There was something comforting in the immensity of it all. Something that reminded him that, make his mark as he may, this world could not be broken. It was a vastness that afforded him the freedom to strike hammer to spirit with reckless ambition. To reach for the splendors this life had to offer with both hands, without fear of falling.

A gentle wind stirred the sands at his feet and tossed his hair heedlessly in its caress. Reverently, he fell to his knees in the sand and rested his hands on his thighs, head lowered in awed silence. The gesture hearkened back to a distant memory of ritual, long since forgotten. He lifted his eyes to the stars, his breath a silent spectre rising to the heavens. Dizzy and drunk with the motion of the world, he found his cup filled to overflowing. His spirit at perfect peace, he waited for sleep to find him.

Agostino · Adventurer Joined: 22 Feb 2011 Posts: 41

“They call you angel.”

Agostino feinted and lunged, raising his shield deftly to block a blow as the conversation replayed in his mind. His rage kept in-check, simmering just beneath the surface, he knocked the would-be thief to the ground and lifted his mace, his foot on the man’s throat. The thief’s hand opened in surrender, releasing the dagger to clatter onto the cobblestones. Quickly, Agostino switched his mind to the conflict at hand.

“There is never an excuse to steal in this world, Compagno.” He opened the leather drawstring waistpouch and emptied it, pouring a small pile of gold coins into his palm. He pressed the stack of coins in the thief’s hand and closed his bloodstained fingers around it. “Next time, just ask.”

He kicked the dagger, sending it skidding a dozen feet or more beyond the thief’s reach, then stepped back and grasped the criminal’s free hand, helping him to his feet. The delinquent gave a shifty look toward the dagger, but Agostino gave a sidelong glance and half a slight shake of his head, and the thief retreated into the darkness unarmed.

“You say they call me Angel. I am.” Mikhaeil had not offered more explanation than that, and none was needed.

For now, the night awaited, and with it, wine and rest. Agostino sighed heavily and ambled into the darkness. The paths of many men are fraught with angels and daemons. Paths that will lead them to righteousness or ruin. Let us hope that I have chosen wisely.

Agostino · Adventurer Joined: 22 Feb 2011 Posts: 41

“You would risk your life for an oracle you hardly know. Mikhaeil and Xoriah the same. Why?” Kaylor leaned in, his eyes the deep blue of midnight sky, searching Agostino’s face for the truth and sincerity.

Agostino thought a moment, his gaze resting upon his hands, fingers entwined in his lap as he considered his answer. Then he lifted his eyes to meet Kaylor’s. “Because they have faith in me, Signore. If I cannot have faith in those who first had faith in me, then I have lost already.”

Kaylor’s brow furrowed as he leaned back in in his chair. “The man is but a slave. A peasant.”

Agostino half-smiled and nodded, speaking in a soft but earnest voice. “Si Signore, he is. But a man nonetheless. I remember a scripture I learned when I was a child.” He paused, attempting to both remember and translate the words he had not heard spoken in over a decade. “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

The words seemed to strike hot iron deep within Kaylor’s spirit, as he removed his arcane headpiece and raked his fingers through his hair. His eyes betrayed the loss of nothing less than a portion of his immortal soul, as he gazed out the window into the snow. Agostino lowered his own eyes, seeking a way to change the conversation and allow the knight communion with his loss in private.

“But above all, Signore,” Agostino began intently, “I do this because I know that I can.”

Agostino · Adventurer Joined: 22 Feb 2011 Posts: 41

“Extend your reach! Again!” Mikhaeil lifted his defense as Agostino struck mace to shield against his instructor.

For what do I reach that is so far beyond my grasp? The gypsy recoiled and awaited.

“Again!” And the gypsy struck, his mace shattering splinters from the wooden shield he targeted.

I extend my reach to noble cause, and seek redemption. The impact resonated within his hand and arm, jarring bone and flesh painfully.

“Again!” Splintered shield raised, the angel stood before him, prepared.

What could be more noble cause than this? Heaven prepares me to battle hell. But I fight for the only family that I have known in this world. To fail them is to destroy us all. A primitive scream tore from Agostino’s throat as he struck once more. The wooden shield failed, giving way to a shower of shattered wood and iron that rained onto the sand at his feet.

Mikhaeil relented his defensive stance and stood upright, a slow smile spreading radiantly as the gypsy still stood at the ready.

Nothing is beyond my grasp, so long as I endeavour to reach. The day approaches when hell will crumble. I will not face such loss again.

Agostino · Adventurer Joined: 22 Feb 2011 Posts: 41

“How is it ever enough, Brother? This simplicity? What brings you the peaceful aura that settles upon your brow?”

Agostino smiled sincerely in response. “I give what I can to those who need it. My protection, my hands, my fire. This fulfills my desire. How, then, could wealth and fame give me anything more?”

A lost emptiness filled the expanse of his brother’s gaze, and quietly he spoke. “Perhaps it could. Freedom, I have found, is just an empty dream fulfilled.”

“Mio Fratello, let me tell you what freedom is. And what it is not.” He took his brother’s hand warmly with a firm grasp, raising it to eye level, still clasped in his own.

“This hand – is your hand. This hand belongs to you.”

He placed his open palm over the heart of his brother.

“And this is your heart. To beat for you. To give to whomever you wish.”

At this, Agostino smiled and released his hold as his brother opened his own hand and looked upon it.

“Freedom,” Agostino began thoughtfully, “it is the ability to love candlelight and the bird’s song on the night wind. Because when you are a slave, it all belongs to the one who holds the key. The candlelight, the birdsong – even the wind and the bird in the night, they all belong to the master. They are not yours to love. You learn to love the small things – a smile, a glance, a resonant note in the clear of morning. Anything larger would surely be missed if you tried to keep it for yourself.”

Mikhaeil looked back up to Agostino, his expression serene and knowing, but he remained silent as the words settled into the empty places that cried out for them.

Agostino lowered his head, entwining his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees. “I give, Signore, because I can. Because I am free to give. And I love fire and song and moonlight. This is freedom, Brother. It has nothing to do with shackles or the lack thereof.”

“Respirare la vita, Fratello.” Agostino lifted his head and looked earnestly at his brother, awash in the warmth of the candle’s glow. “Breathe life. Find your peace. With my freedom, I have chosen my brother, and my family. I will help you however I can. Extend your reach, Brother. Respirare la vita.”