'Many a strange creature has been added to the Lands through magick. Some are mere curiosities, created simply to see whether they could be. Others are formed with the will and intent of their maker ensorcelled into their very being. The true purpose of such a creature may often be most surprising,' Ramblings of an Unknown Mage, Chapter the Third: On Creatures and Creations
To the Lord High Paladin I am a curiosity picked up in a far bazaar of the East. Feral, he called me. His 'small feral creature' as I hissed my kitten defiance in a way carefully calculated to amuse and engage his base protective instincts.
"Such a fierce creature," he mocked. "Come, you can guard my castle." He was delighted to discover I could smile and grinned back as I purred my little heart out. I was his creature from that moment onward.
It was in this manner that I came to reside in the Alabaster Castle of the Paladins. I grew up, watching from the shadows. Every movement. Every meeting. I kept hidden the fact that I could dissipate as a fog under the door, infiltrate the tiniest cracks in the walls. Even more secret, the fatal venom tipping my softly sheathed claws.
When the old chaplain died there was an uproar. Clearly, he had been attacked in a most grotesque way and the castle was searched for evidence of infiltrators. Actually, it was simply that his heart had failed, the look of terror frozen on his long face after seeing me slipping away beneath the door into the night. I hadn't even had to kill that one. There were, of course, others. Found purple in the face from poison. Drowned in their baths. Passed out in their meals within the privacy of their chambers.
There were inquiries that followed. Searches of the grounds and knights' chambers. On these occasions, my Lord would look at me with great sorrow - sharing his private grief with me alone. Stroking my soft, wisp-like fur. "There are enemies among us," he would say. Breeding mistrust. Rotting that great old Order from the inside out.
Many of the Knights have left. The Order is fracturing under the strain. There are accusations flying through those great halls like poisonous daggers. None may be trusted. In a few short years, the traditions of centuries may be undone. Hardly the work of one, gently grinning, little cat.
Soft paws is what my real Master calls me. He who created me from the leftover fragments of order and balance. Sometimes it is necessary to foment chaos. Only in its wake can true order be restored. He is happy with what I've accomplished here and now my path leads elsewhere. I feel the pull of his summons as I sit, quietly bidding goodbye to my hapless, sleeping 'rescuer.' When he awakes, I too will be gone.
Flavor text: 'Sometimes restoring order means first causing chaos.'
This is an entry for the Steemmonsters contest here:
https://steemit.com/contest/@steemmonsters/steem-monsters-common-card-fantasy-story-contest-week-4
