It is difficult to explain my struggle to one who has not been touched as I have. It is a daily battle that takes place inside my mind, while no sign of it can be allowed to appear to the world. I have faltered, even failed, but the nature of the conflict is such that no victory may be final, except my total defeat, and I have not fallen that far yet. Each failure means it will be slightly harder the next time, until I am completely overcome. But for you to truly understand this conflict, I feel you must know the nature of my enemy – myself.

I was only twelve, perhaps thirteen when the Prince of Chaos touched my life. Alas, that it were so and that I have some excuse! But it was not the Prince that touched my life… my life that touched the Prince. I have always had a love for the copper metal, an inexplicable fondness that sometimes leaves me staring at some piece copper jewelry, ignoring all the gold and silver that surrounds it. One Monday afternoon, the regiments of my town returned from a campaign against the hordes of chaos, victorious, and fewer in numbers. The captain of the knights of white wolf was carrying a long pike on the end of which was the most beautifully shaped copper amulet I had seen and I have not seen one more beautiful since. In its center was what appeared to be a raindrop, solidified, and encased in the intricate copper lace. I sneaked behind the weary warriors, and followed them to the temple of Ulric, where they met with a lone, white-haired, leathery-faced, priest. The father seemed as unable to take his eyes from the pendant as I was, though he wore a frown, not the half-dazed, over-awed expression that I realize must have been on my face. I followed my two elders deep into the temple and beneath the ground until they reached a small cell, with blank plaster walls two simple wooden chairs, and a rough table. I stayed just outside the room, and pressing my ear to the door I could overhear part of their conversation (they had not said a word all the time I had been following them). "At last you return… I was beginning to fear you were dead, or the other." "I will not falter and these battered plates you see here prevented the first." "Let us not talk too long, even in this sacred place, we are not safe. We will not be safe until I destroy The Joyful Tear" "Of course… I trust you are prepared, I do not wish to have to ride all the way to the dwarvan runesmiths tonight." "I have always been prepared, since before we met."

After a moment, the priest started to chant. The sound did not seem to contain the groupings of words you would expect, but rather long flowing passages - one atop the other, until all you could hear was "a chant".

In hindsight I can see how foolish my actions were, but at the time I could not resist what I intended to do, and no amount of sorrow will change the past.

I looked through the keyhole of the sturdy oak door, to see the back of the Captain. The priest seemed to be in a trance, and his body was moving back and forth gently. I opened the door just enough to let me into the room, and noticed the lighting. The torch the priest had been carrying had been extinguished, and the majority of the light in the room came from the amulet, though a faint glow surrounded the priest’s hands, which seemed to reach out to the jewel within the locket. I realized what they intended to destroy. I could no longer control my actions. I struck the captain on the top of the head, somehow managing to knock him out, next, I hit the priest, and overturned the table on him. Jumping, I grabbed “The Joyful Tear”, and fled with it. This potent magical item led me to commit countless sins, from petty theft, to murder and blasphemy, to dark rituals before I found a runesmith who could help me get rid of it and destroy it.

I fear, though, that my soul will forever be tarnished by my acts, no matter how many crusades I lead, no matter how many battles I fight against the minions of chaos, no matter how noble I seem and how nobly I act, my soul will forever be trapped. I will always struggle with myself, with my lesser urges and desires, and I will finally lose the war and become no more than a beast at the beck and call of the Prince of Chaos.

By K G Gan