Vitan stood in the tower's chapel, casting his glowing golden eyes this way and that, appraising stained-glass depictions of his own Legend. It was odd to him, how militarised the mortals had imagined his deeds - or re-imagined, as the case seemed to be - and blindly followed the belief that the God of Life was in fact, some kind of warlord.
Warlord.
"So tell me," Vitan said finally, to the small group of knights and their squires, all dressed in brilliant blue and silver. "What Legacy does this so called Holy Order of yours hold?"
Trinton stepped forwards immediately; the man had gained an annoying amount of arrogance from his supposedly humbling near-death experience. "We have stood for a thousand years, and once ruled the lands a hundred miles from here, in every which way. Our causes were just; we fed the poor, we rejuvenated the destitute and safe guarded the honour of our peoples."
Vitan's aged guise twisted in contemplation. "Explain."
Trinton's new found arrogance faded. "Explain what, your Grace?"
"Safe guarding honour, what did that entail?" Vitan asked, genuinely perplexed by what he perceived as a riddle.
"We kept them from erring into a life of crime and sin. We punished those who would not listen, and released those whose minds were beyond-"
"Released," Vitan chuckled. "You mean you killed them, yes?"
One of the knights removed his full helm, revealing a handsome face and burnished long hair. "Non-repentent murderers. Slavers. Thieves. Any, who would not listen to your teachings of compassion, your excellency." The knight finished with a curt nod, and a smug smile.
Such hubris? In my presence?
"So after you killed the killers, the slavers and the thieves, did you then kill those who had killed these 'criminals and sinners'?" Vitan asked, smiling warmly, as the chapel suddenly grew colder.
None answered his question, as each of the knights and even the arrogant Trinton predicted Vitan's line of questioning, and where it was going.
"And now, having gorged on the blood of your kin for a thousand years, you are left with this worthless piece of marble, shut away in some forest. How grand, this tale of yours," Vitan said mockingly.
Trinton shook his head, "we were outlawed by the Mage Lords, your excellency. We fought many wars to keep your memory alive, but we were faced by too many enemies. This tower is all that remains of your following."
"Incorrect," retorted Vitan. "It doesn't seem to me that I've had followers for a thousand years, and this is something I must very much rectify, if your kindred are to survive the coming storm."
The knights and their Grand Master gasped at Vitan's proclamation, though none dared deny him. Trinton was about to ask for the God to expand on his meaning, when a distant horn bleated in the distance.
A knight drew his sword, prompting his comrades to do the same, "the bandits, they are upon us once more!"
"Bandits?" Vitan asked, sighing as he sensed the mortals' bloodlust surge to the surface.
Trinton nodded. "They have moved into Silverwood of late, driven here by the strife in the lands beyond. There are many small communities here, and we try to protect them all. However, we have too few men, and now there are many scorched hamlets that stand as monuments to our failures."
"Take me to these bandits," Vitan said with finality. "I will show you the wrongs of your ways."
