Aurimus

I was born and raised in Bint, the city of Morality. It was a small village, and the Saint of Morality didn't have much to proselytize. Most of my life, I feel as though I have been able to bask in the golden sun and peer over the gleaming roofs of the Velikan temples of nearby cities. Even as a child, when plague swept through my town, the sun would still grace us, just as it always does. Other people struggled to maintain a state of normalcy, as people fell from sickness while attempting to maintain their actions of the day, or elected to go off social script and rest to recover. I maintained my script, continuing to work as a stable hand. I nearly died in the fields as I shoveled manure and the plague infested my body, but some flame in me ignited, and I pressed on. Even as my parents begged me to rest, I refused.

I hadn't paid much thought to virtues and sins aside from what I interacted with personally. Guards devoted to order, priests devoted to wholesomeness making visits to ensure all were clean and healthy, even worshipers of gluttony hosting public feasts. I didn't really understand the depth of the beliefs, and I only tended to see the good. Of course, it's always been difficult to balance sin and virtue, and it's been something that added an uncomfortable layer of stress to my daily life. Thoughts about things like how Patience and Lethargy almost always conflict, despite one supposedly being good and the other being bad. This stress would mount, but wouldn't crack the surface until much later.

As soon as I could wield a gladius, I began training. Many times my sparring matches would need to be broken up, because I would simply refuse to concede, even when bloodied. Earlier in my life, I had little interest in the art that every other Velikan was so obsessed with. However, as I began to train and draw blood, I realized that this was my art form. A sword could cut through flesh and fabric much like a brush could color a page. I wanted to chase this art, but I soon realized that I simply wasn't the strongest. Perhaps I could set myself as my own canvas?

I began to express myself in the way that I allowed myself to be hurt. Those who trained me could see that I had something special, and invited priests to examine me to see if I had potential of joining an order of sin or virtue. The thought of it honestly excited me; Being able to only focus on one sin felt like it would be liberating. The priests of masochism were unimpressed, as I didn't enjoy the pain I felt. Those who worshiped recklessness and wrath were disappointed by my self control. Even Tenacity didn't fit me, as I did indeed stand strong, but I had no purpose to stand. It was a priest of Perseverance who took interest. She was old, and her skin was marred almost completely with scars. She didn't look happy, but she looked confident. I felt as though I could trust her to hold me up if I couldn't do it myself.

I was 15 when I left my family to Aurs, where I would train in perseverance. The city was much larger than Bint, with it's structure built high on a platform of wrought stone. From the outside, the city appeared much more like a fortress. This was no doubt due to both the city's devotion to perseverance, but also the fact that it was right on the edge of civilized lands; Directly to the north was the Bah-Bah lands, where humans act as animals. Those in Aurs trusted the city's great structure to keep them safe, and despite it's proximity to these dangerous lands, it was indeed one of the safest places to live.

Never before had I encountered so much sin and virtue. In the small town of Bint, seeing people actively partake in greed, lust, and other sins like unreliability was new to me. It only increased my confusion on the nature of sin and virtue.

I met the Saint of Perseverance, named Aurs, of course. She was a harrowing sight. Her body was beyond brutalized; Her legs were missing and even parts of her bowels were visible, partially preserved with dust and salt, and tenuously held in with cloth strips. Despite this, she refused help as she moved, using her one remaining arm to pull herself along. What body she had left was similarly destroyed; covered in cuts, ancient scars. One of her eyes was missing, half of her face no longer emoted, and yet, she persisted. In fact, one could say she even thrived. She refused anyone's help as she pulled herself along, she would make jokes provide insight so profound. Despite her physical state, she was someone who I felt as though I could confidently rely on. 

I felt drawn to pledge my loyalty to Perseverance, and Aurs was very quick to warn me that this was a dangerous path. In private, she told me that sometimes even she wished she had died when the bearsnake had taken her lower half. She warned me that perseverance meant survival beyond what might be comfortable. That surviving, at times, is suffering. She laughed and said that she was allowed to show a lack of tenacity, because "That's not her job". Then, she encouraged me to make pilgrimage to each of the temples and consider their place in the order of sins and virtues. She assured me that it would be wise to spend time in Aurs after, to fully comprehend what perseverance means. I didn't hesitate, as I fully trusted the Saint's words.

I joined a common pilgrimage path; Thankfully, pilgrimages such as this are very common for those becoming a priest, so there was a common road that easily linked each of the cities. And since pilgrimages were quite common, I would end up traveling with people. My travel group changed consistently, but I did feel a special kinship with everyone I traveled with. No matter what sin or virtue they sought to accomplish, I could feel that we were all people seeking a way to devote ourselves. In a sense, I could feel like we were all, in the end, trying to find focus. Have something to focus on and not need to worry about juggling every virtue and sin.

My travels were long, and I began to learn things about myself. I didn't much enjoy pleasantries, and I had some sins that I simply didn't care for. Lethargy, bigotry, cowardice, falsehood, injustice, and more I found to be very irksome. The city of Vispe introduced lust to me to such a degree that nearly frightened me. Shortly after leaving Vispe, I met a fellow traveler who was also on pilgrimage; A fellow named Lysander. We were both about the same age, and we bonded over our travels. At first I was suspicious of him for his choice of lust as a focus, but he didn't seem as obsessed as some of the others I had seen. He was much more talkative than I, but I was more than happy to listen to what he had to say about various things. He was one of the few people who could make me laugh without any irony. He seemed to enjoy my company as well, considering we began finding lodgings together. 

It was entertaining and enlightening to compare our takeaways after visiting the different temples. As it would turn out, one raised in Vispe ends up having a much different outlook on life than one raised in Bint. He had much better insight to the nature of lust, and better explained how "It's like love, but with no ropes to tie you down afterward." He was far more cynical than I. I had a more simple, stoic way of looking at things than him, and he was always interested in hearing my perspective- Although sometimes that was because he found my simplicity "charming." It felt as though we could both speak "off script" with one another. 

We began taking our time on this pilgrimage. We would watch people we had enter a city with end up leaving far sooner than us, as we took extra time to explore the culture and the people. More often than not, this curiosity would provide us better insight into the people of the empire. For instance, places we had assumed to be more sinful, such as Lec (Chaos), ended up being far more exciting and interesting than expected, what with their free markets and uncouth entertainment. On the contrary, a beautiful place like Noca (Diligence) was indeed very clean and functional, but the people there seemed to focus so much on the maintenance that they could never enjoy it's fruits. These details would be missed by the average pilgrim, who's trail would only take them to the temple and push them out of the city as soon as possible.

An ordinary pilgrimage takes 2-3 years, however ours was beginning to look like it might take us four or five. Ordinarily, I would be frustrated at the lack of progress, but I began to look at it differently; Perseverance has nothing to do with the speed of which I move, only my mental and physical strength as I do so. There was no reason I couldn't slow down and enjoy my time. As for Lysander, he simply claimed that he enjoyed spending time with me.

Lysander's form of art was paint, and he painted many people during our pilgrimage. Based on his devotion to lust, his paintings were always very indecent. When he asked if I could be his subject in his next painting, I allowed it, but only on the pretense that he would not draw me so lewdly. Lysander begrudgingly agreed. When I saw the painting, while it was not inappropriate, he had illustrated me in such an intimate, provocative way, I blushed. From then on, Lysander insisted on me as his muse. I allowed it, and even modeled for him. I was simply enraptured by the way he depicted me. It was as if his depiction of me was not out of lust, but out of complete admiration. He admired me as I modeled for him, and the time I spent modeling was time I spent admiring him as well.  Occasionally, particularly in the lands between major cities, our modeling sessions grew more... Intimate. Suffice it to say, we both knew each other's bodies very well, and I finally understood lust.

Rome was a wonderful time. Together we walked through rose gardens, laughed, held hands, and when no one was looking, snuck a kiss beneath the lover's arch. Visiting the grand temple of love, I realized the true meaning of the virtue. While many saw love as a lifelong commitment between a man and a woman, it's truest form is simply the care you have for others. It was with this that made me realize that I truly, deeply, loved Lysander far more than I lusted after him. Considering that Lysander seemed to be considering switching to love rather than lust for his clerical focus, he must have had the same opinion. 

As we passed through the city of Wrath, an incident occurred. A drunken man, apparently a priest of wrath, decided to make Lysander a target for his violent outburst. I had been around the corner when it occurred, and when I came back, I had found Lysander unconscious, being attacked by this man. I dove in, accepting the hits of the staff in his stead. Once the man had tired himself out, I grabbed his staff and beat him with it until he fled. Lysander cared for my bruised back after the fact, and chastised me for getting in harm's way. In my mind, I had taken one step closer to being the mountain I wanted to be. 

A growing knot of fear began to grow in the back of my mind as we continued our pilgrimage. My mind was set on perseverance, and a part of me knew that Lysander would not be interested in joining me at Aurs. I thought of the words of Aurs herself, about being prepared to withstand despite losing everything.

It took years, but I finally returned to Aurs. Lysander was optimistic, and promised to visit me in the future. He left me with a polished stone that he had painted, of him and I beneath the lover's arch. He left me with a pit in my heart, but I knew that I would need to press on. If I could withstand violence, I could withstand distance.

Aurs was impressed with my pilgrimage, and I began my official training. I was made to stand atop the temple holding a log on my shoulders in the hottest of mornings and the coldest of nights. I allowed myself to be used as a training dummy for guards. I trained for combat while wearing armor stuffed with wool on hot days in order to impede my movement and increase discomfort. These are only a few examples of the training I willingly approached in an effort to empower my resilience in the face of any trial. Lysander occasionally visited, always touching my new scars and expressing concern. He didn't understand why I would do this to myself. I would always retreat, putting up walls in my mind to block out the pain I felt.

Soon, I was entering proper war excursions. I was a moving bloodstain on the battlefield, taking out barbaric foes one at a time without mercy. These primitive animals couldn't understand the pain I'd been through. I could see their horror when their weapons did nothing to slow me down. I didn't think twice about it; I hardly considered them human, despite their humanoid shapes.

Years went by. Lysander still made visits. I was growing distant, and he could tell. I had been commanding in the front lines against forces of barbarians, sowing fear on the battlefield with my resilience and cutting down those who dare stood in my way. When a battle turned sour, I would draw all attention to me and allow my allies to recuperate by accepting untold abuse at the hands of my foes. I had done it. My name was well known among soldiers, and the sight of me sowed hope in them. I was finally the rock that others could rely on. The mountain that supports a city, baked in the golden sun. Unmovable. 

Lysander made a visit. He carried with him his possessions, and with cautious excitement, informed me that he planned to move to Aurs so we could be together again. He spoke not to me, but to the rock I had become. The mountain. Without a single word, I turned and left him there. I could not be shaken from my task; I had many men to support on my haggard shoulders. 

It was years later that I was forced to come to terms with something. I was led a team of soldiers to march through a camp of barbarian soldiers. At this point, this violence was mindless to me. However, as I stormed into a tent and sliced a barbarian across the chest with my greatspatha and they collapsed, something different happened. A nearby soldier dove over the unconscious soldier, their back to me, crying frantically in their language. A crack formed in my stone heart. Here I was, in the exact stance as a certain drunken wrath cleric had been all those years ago. These barbarians weren't animals. If what I had done for Lysander was an act of love and perseverance, then this barbarian was clearly doing the same.

The weight of my actions began to weigh on me. The many I struck down, I had never stopped and considered them being capable of love. The souls of the dead piled onto my shoulders, of all the fathers and mothers that would not return to their awaiting children and loved ones. My eyes shifted outside the tent to soldiers who continued their slaughter, aware of the lives they were consciously ending. I considered the sin, the complete imbalance of sin that was staining each and every one of my own forces here. The weight of virtue and sin together contradicted in my mind. This dogmatic rule took control of my actions. Something deep in my mind, programmed by years in this society, spoke: I had committed so much sin. I must now commit virtue.

Acceptance. I accepted that all sins must be weighed by virtue, and all virtue must be weighed by sin. Flexible. I allowed myself to shift, and virtue take control. Mercy. I cut down the tent with the two barbarians, making it seem as though the tent itself had collapsed and no one was there. Valor. I stepped before another Velikan soldier, blocking his path from a fleeing barbarian. Justice. I cut down the Velikan soldier before me, slaying him in exchange for the many lives he had taken. Enthusiasm. I shouted a declaration of justice as I charged the next Velikan. Tenacity. I didn't stop, until each Velikan soldier was dead. Wholesome. I sat down washed the blood of my men off my blade. Peace. I felt nothing as I reeled from these actions. Balance. I was on the path to meeting my sins to my virtues.

By the time I returned to Aurs, I was reeling with confusion. The clerics of perseverance assumed that I was simply the last survivor of a failed raid. I didn't tell them the truth. That night, I was prepared to leave. I couldn't comprehend the immense sin I had committed, slaying my own men. Different parts of me were shouting that I had done the right thing, and others were screaming about how much of a failure I was. I didn't persevere; I allowed myself to be shaken. But was it the right thing? As I gathered my things, I found an old stone. It's paint was mostly faded, but it still bore the faint depiction of myself and Lysander. The mountain cracked, and I found myself spilling out of it. 

The system of virtues and sin was flawed. It lead to the death of beauty and love. I could see hypocrisy in everything. I could see the evil in virtue, and the good in sin. In any case, I could still feel the stain of evil on my back, the souls of the dead clawing away at my mind. I had to repent. I had to leave Velika. It was all just too much. Memories of my time with Lysander was like a calm in the storm. I wrote a letter to be sent to him, and gave it to a messenger on my way out of Aurs. From there, I was on a death march. My mind calmed as I walked, and pushed every other sin and virtue from myself.

I am a mountain, baked in the golden sun.