People call them the Judge. There are other nicknames for this being, of course. Justice. Equalizer. Balance. Redemption. All of these and more their names are through all eternity. A being who watches the world feeling no pain nor pleasure at what is seen. A being who feels no love, nor do they feel hate. They can feel respect, and honor. Kindness and compassion. But also can they feel disappointment and anger. Their job, from the time of their creation, was to be called upon when two individuals had a dispute. But, this being, it was dangerous to call upon them. For their judgments were final, no recourse once it was called out, and the judgments always came true. The ritual to summon the eternal Judge still existed, though most thought it mere myth and faerie tale now. Until that fateful day. The child was thin, was injured, desperate and despairing. A mere beggar in the streets that the entire village ignored, one of many orphans left to such a sad fate. They called out to the gods, a plea to speak to the Judge. The village needed to learn the value of an innocent heart. -- Anon Guest
A measure each of cold grave soil,
Of sweat wrought in honest toil,
Defeat's ashes, winnow'd in winds of change,
And innocent blood, shed from rage... -- from the nursery rhyme How to Summon Justice
They'd beaten her for no reason. Again. Until she fled once more to the shelter of the abandoned temple. Nobody else dared enter that tumbled ruin, and she reasoned that it had to be bad, just like her. She had to be bad, otherwise why would they hurt her like they did?
There was an old god in there. Abandoned and forgotten like their temple. Stiff and straight and faded. Paint that had once made it colourful was so flaked off that the underlying stone was all but bare. She had to crawl through quite the labyrinth just to reach it, but the place where the god still stood was sheltered and out of the weather. She had made her camp -her home- there.
Like the old god, she had many names. They called her all of them: Scat, Shoo, Spit, one that rhymed with 'spit', Clod, Stupid, Scum, Bitch, Gitoff, Bigonn, Gawanwitcheh, and Thief. The old god was named many things, too: Judge, Justice, Balance, Redemption, The Equalizer, The Last Resort. They were both abandoned, without anything but weeds for food and a fallen roof for shelter and punky wood to make a fire.
A circle wrought with callus'd foot,
A plea for help, and all made good,
Be careful of how thee wish,
Ne'er expect it if thou'rt rich.
She trod the circle around her weak little fire, trying to find anything to cook and eat. She tripped and fell into the bowl at the old god's feet. Blood and tears and filth fell off her and she said one word, not that she expected anything out of it.
"...help..."
After all, nothing had come of it all day, nor all week, nor all month. Winter was edging in and she knew it may well be her last. She didn't expect anything at all, only to die miserably. Alone, unloved, unwanted, and finally unmourned.
She did not expect a being of light to step out of the stone and help her out of the bowl. They had upon them a sword and a set of balance scales. The being took one look around them with blindfolded eyes and said, "This is not a good place for a child."
She said, "It's the only place I have."
"Truly," said the being, "you are in need of me. Will you accept my Judgement?"
She knew no better, so she nodded.
"Then take my hand, and become my Blade."
In a moment, there was nothing left but scattering leaves and a few specks of blood inside a circle. An unwatched miracle had occurred.
Legends tell of a child taken to the Divine Plane by the mercy of an almost-forgotten god. There, given food from the god of the harvest and the god of plenty. There, given training by the god of combat and strategy. There, given tutorship from the god of knowledge. There, given the armour of righteousness, the shield of innocence, and the blade of Justice itself.
There, she was given a name. Call her Blade, both Paladin and Warlock at the same time. Willing instrument of Justice.
She visited first those who thanked the gods that she was no longer a presence in that town.
Flanked by the god of Justice, she would make believers of them all.
"Who are you to thank the gods for the death of a child?" Blade demanded. "Your own most beloved will wither before your eyes and you will hear someone thanking the gods for it."
"No," protested every single offender. "They did nothing. They don't deserve it."
Only then did Blade show them her former self. "I, too, did nothing. Yet you were thanking the gods that I had likely starved to death, this winter gone. The fate you are thankful for shall be visited on someone also undeserving. Made different only by the fact that you care."
The god of Justice looked every single one of them in the eye with their blindfold and said, "Rejoice when their suffering is over; for only those undeserving of the suffering they receive can enter true paradise."
Beware the Blade of Justice. She who can strike down the undeserving, and speak justice into existence. She who can cut both ways. She who fell upon those who did not care. She who routed those who gave as little as they could in order to only appear virtuous.
Beware the Blade of Justice. She cuts down the unjust with the same hand that raises up the suffering. She moves in the world, and wherever she treads she leaves the world in upset. If you are weighed in the balance and found wanting, you will suffer in the place of those you made suffer.
Rejoice, for the world is being made fair. One unjust person at a time.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / gavran333]
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