Chapter Text
In a sunless world of monsters and madness, the Order of the Vigilant existed as a beacon of light for those who would fight evil. Currently, it consisted of 21 other knights, all either clerics, paladins, or fighters, and all devoted to Helm, the god of protection. Nicolai, a cleric, had joined the Order two years ago, in order to better accomplish good in the world.
Members of the Order lived at the Vigilant Outpost, which stood on the road between Barovia and Vallaki, conveniently located to be able to quickly send aid to either town in case of monster attacks. The walls of the outpost were 20 feet high, enclosing the barracks, the officers’ quarters, the mess hall, the training grounds, the infirmary, the armory, and the temple. Although they had sufficient housing to be able to support staff if so desired, the Order of the Vigilant believed that chores built discipline, so the knights were responsible for all of their own cooking and cleaning. Occasionally they would house visitors (typically travelers who misjudged how quickly sunset would come), but seldom for more than a night. Most people were not interested in keeping extended company with the knights, unless they wished to become knights themselves.
Yuri, as Nicolai would learn, was not like most people.
Nicolai did not meet Yuri when he first arrived at the outpost. However, the next morning, Nicolai heard from one of his comrades that a man had arrived at the gate in the dead of night, bleeding profusely and begging to be given shelter. Of course, the captain would not turn away a person in need, so he had been healed and allowed to rest. He had apparently slept through breakfast, but at lunch, Nicolai was able to see this mysterious visitor for himself. He sat down on the opposite end of the table from the man, who was already embroiled in conversation.
The newcomer was easily distinguishable from the knights, mostly because everyone in the Order wore a standardized set of grey clothes, in contrast to his white. But the man’s appearance was also quite striking—he had light blond hair and crystal blue eyes, and while he was muscular, he was thin and small-framed. Unlike Nicolai, he didn’t have a trace of facial hair. It was hard to determine his age—at first it appeared from his looks as though he was obviously younger than Nicolai, but something in his eyes made Nicolai second-guess that impression.
His hands were not calloused from manual labor, but Nicolai could discern the faint trace of multiple scars on the visible parts of his skin. His more recent injury was also apparent, mostly from the claw marks that had cut up the left side of his shirt and into now-healed flesh. The shirt was entirely clean of bloodstains, however, which puzzled Nicolai. Perhaps he simply possessed a skill with laundry that evaded others? Despite the obvious marks of battle, his appearance was not diminished for it—if anything it gave him an air of heroism, which combined with his fair looks and his light color scheme, gave Nicolai the impression that he could be a fierce seraph of Helm, come to earth to aid humans in the fight against darkness…
“... and the rest of the knights would agree with me,” asserted the indignant voice of Galen, the knight beside him. The other men near them nodded, looking annoyed, and Nicolai was embarrassed to realize he had apparently been too busy staring to pay any attention to what anyone had said. He’d noticed that the visitor had a smooth, melodic voice, and he knew that they’d been arguing, but he had no idea about what. Rather than nodding along anyway, he kept a neutral expression and resolved to quickly determine what it was he’d missed. The newcomer glanced at him, smiling slightly, before resuming speaking to Galen.
“Of course; all the Helm-worshippers agree with you, so therefore your assessment of Helm must be accurate,” he replied, hinting at sarcasm.
“Tell me, would Mystra agree too?” Ah. Now Nicolai was beginning to see why this had been an argument...
“Helm’s worthiness has nothing to do with Mystra’s death!” Galen said defensively.
“‘Death’ is such a neutral word, isn’t it?” the visitor mused. “Isn’t ‘murder’ more accurate? You know, that murder your own supposedly righteous god committed?” ...And there it was. The single most controversial topic one could possibly bring up with Helmite knights.
“Helm was given the duty of guarding the celestial stairway by the supreme god Ao himself,” Galen replied, affronted. “It was only just for him to obey Ao and prevent Mystra from passing.”
“Seems to me like Helm was just an asshole. After all, Ao was barring the heavens due to the theft of his tablets, which was completely unrelated to Mystra.”
“Helm tried to resolve the dispute peacefully! He warned her not to pass and she intentionally disobeyed him!”
“So to summarize: ‘that bitch deserved it’? For the inconceivable crime of wanting to meet with Ao and talk things through with that stuck-up bastard?”
“YOU ARE THE MOST BLASPHEMOUS, DISRESPECTFUL, IRREVERENT…”
“Wait,” Nicolai cut in, wanting to interrupt with something before Galen strangled their guest, “Where did you even learn all this? To my knowledge, this type of divine history is not taught in other places in Barovia.”
The visitor shrugged and leaned back in his chair, seemingly unperturbed by Galen’s anger. “You guys have all these religious texts sitting around, so I read a couple. I didn’t have anything better to do.” Nicolai was skeptical of that; the Order’s religious tomes were some of the driest around. Most knights only read them because they were required to, and even the more devoted would struggle to get through. Finishing one was nothing less than deliberate, probably indicating a particular interest in the subject. Curious.
“Anyway,” the man continued, turning back to face the group of knights, “my impression is that both Helm and your order here are about one thing: mindless obedience to authority. Lawfulness over logic, rules over reason. Claiming you’re about protecting things, regardless of if that protection is beneficial. I think Helm killed Mystra because he was too scared to disobey orders. You’re all the same, aren’t you? If your captain gave you a blindingly stupid command, you’d do it anyway, yeah?”
Nicolai felt himself bristle at the insult, and yet he was likely still the least aggravated among the knights, intrigued as he was by the mysterious visitor. Had he intentionally chosen the topic to maximally piss people off, or did he just not have the common sense to notice the obvious consequence of the conversation?
“Captain Novak is a great leader!” a knight named Andrei protested. “She would never give a stupid order.”
The visitor laughed, like Andrei had told a joke.”Sorry, it's just... that comment is completely typical, and completely irrelevant. You’re just disregarding the premise. Call it an imaginary scenario if that makes it easier. Do you obey stupid orders? Yes or no?”
There was a period of silence. It was an odd question for sure; people in Barovia tended to be fairly conformist, as a rule, with only the occasional adventurer from the outside world stirring things up. Of course, stirring things up typically got you killed (or thrown out of town, which was equivalent). Knights were braver than the average commoner, sure, but disobeying orders just because you disagreed with them was against the Order’s protocol. Still, no one wanted to admit to doing stupid things. Even with the sense that the visitor was incorrect, his framing of the dichotomous question made it difficult for anyone to explain how.
“This is not simply a yes or no answer,” Nicolai said, seemingly the only one of the group to broach the dilemma. “First of all, there is the question of why the orders seem stupid. Captain Novak is more experienced than me and knows things I do not. Seemingly foolish orders may be reasonable orders that I do not understand. And of course, truly foolish orders may not be from the captain at all; it could be a doppelganger, or it could be that she is under the influence of enchantment. In that case, it would be righteous to defy the command. If I were to speak with the captain and respectfully ask her to explain her rationale, then I might produce an obvious answer for your question.”
The visitor listened attentively as Nicolai spoke, but then waved a hand in dismissal. “Let’s disregard those cases though. For whatever reason, you can’t get an explanation, or at least a sufficient one.”
“Something private or time-sensitive?” Nicolai suggested.
“Yeah. Maybe you even know something she doesn’t.”
“Well, if I truly believe that I have reason to know better than the captain, then perhaps I would disobey, and pray that the consequences of my actions would vindicate me.”
“So you admit that your oaths and tenets aren’t so binding after all? That you follow orders only when it’s convenient?”
“Our oaths and tenets fundamentally bind us to principles, not people. We follow orders from the captain because we have faith in her as an executor of those principles. If the captain would order us to obviously violate the principles she claims to represent, then it is she who has truly disobeyed.
“However,” Nicolai continued, watching the visitor look at him in fascination, “there are also the cases when we must follow inconvenient orders, when we must do things that seem ‘stupid’ as part of a greater cause. There are many plans that require the cooperation of all involved, in which the group can achieve much more than the sum of the individuals. The fact that the captain can rely on us gives us power to accomplish much more than if she doubted us. Violating her orders may break her faith in us, diminishing that power. So, defiance should not be done lightly, and should not be done without taking responsibility. If I disobeyed her for my own reasoning, but I was mistaken, it would be just for me to be punished. That is what an oath of fealty means—not unconditional obedience, but a promise that disobedience would require exceptional circumstances.”
The visitor pondered this explanation. “So then, do you believe that Helm’s actions were righteous?”
“Perhaps,” Nicolai said non-committedly. “Certainly Mystra’s death was a tragedy, and Helm would say the same. But if he had made an exception, others would surely learn of this. It might have provoked Ao’s wrath or invited other, less justified gods to also seek exemptions to his guardianship. Moreover, gods would know Helm was not true to his word, which would cause him to lose many opportunities, on the span of eternity.”
“....’Perhaps’?” the other man questioned, focusing on Nicolai’s initial answer and seemingly quite surprised at it. “And yet you still worship him, accepting the possibility that your god may be flawed?”
Nicolai nodded. “Yes. The gods are not infallible. However, that does not mean that the spells Helm grants us are any less effective at fighting evil and aiding innocents. It does not make the principles Helm stands for any less worthy. It certainly does not stop us from striving to do as much good as we can possibly achieve.” He found his voice rising as he went on, and at the last sentence, he punctuated his point with a thump of his hands against the table.
Tanith—one of the youngest knights, and Nicolai’s roommate—started clapping, punctuating the near-silence of what Nicolai now realized was an unusually quiet volume in the mess hall. It was apparent that much of the room had been listening to Nicolai speak, a fact that Nicolai had been blissfully unaware of, focused as he was on his conversation. It was probably a good thing, because Nicolai was typically not much of a talker, and certainly not when compared with Ivan, his younger brother. Now aware of the attention, Nicolai resumed sitting awkwardly in his chair, eating some food in place of having to say anything further. Tanith, realizing that he was the only one clapping, did the same. Gradually, everyone else resumed their normal eating and lunchtime conversation as well.
The visitor’s hands were steepled in thought. Eventually, he spoke again. “You have a fascinating perspective, and one I hadn’t considered before. I’d be interested in discussing more later, for sure. It was nice to meet you…” He paused, awaiting a belated introduction.
“Nicolai,” Nicolai supplied.
“Nicolai,” he confirmed, as if tasting the name in his mouth. “I’m Yuri.” Then he took his plate, not entirely empty, and left. Yuri… it was a lovely name.
“Good job handling that arrogant little asshole,” Galen told Nicolai shortly afterwards, giving him a friendly slap on the back. Nicolai really hadn’t thought of it that way though. Somehow, despite the fact that Yuri had spent the whole time arguing with him, often in a very confrontational tone, Nicolai found him… charming? Maybe that was the wrong word. But for all that Yuri spoke like he was just trying to prove the knights wrong, Nicolai also got the impression that he was deeply interested in their answers, almost searching for something.
And then there was the other bit, which was that somehow, being challenged on his convictions brought out a side of Nicolai that did not normally appear. It wasn’t like he was shy or anything, but for most topics, Nicolai would just not know what to say or how to say it eloquently. But on the topic of morality and duty? It brought a feeling of passion to Nicolai that didn’t normally arise, and he liked it.
—-
After a few hours of chores and cantrip practice, Nicolai found himself with a bit of free time. He’d asked where Yuri was staying, and he learned that he had been housed in the infirmary, which was a building located adjacent to the training grounds (for obvious reasons). Nicolai decided to venture over there. However, he encountered Yuri outside, stabbing a target dummy with a sword.
“You should be aware that the training grounds are only for use by the knights of the Order,” Nicolai informed him. “Also, training hours are from 8 am to 11 am and from 4 pm to 6 pm. I believe it is at least one hour until the latter timeframe.”
Yuri turned around to look at Nicolai, smiled in acknowledgement, and then deliberately stabbed at the dummy some more. Nicolai, though he’d once dreamed of sword fighting as a child, had since realized his specialty was in spellcasting, and thus had not personally trained with the target dummies or used any of the Order’s martial weapons. Nevertheless, he recognized that the sword Yuri was using was not the same make as those from the armory. Which implied that this was Yuri’s personal sword, and that Yuri was likely a swordsman of some skill. Somehow the more Nicolai learned about the visitor, the more mysterious he became.
“I thought that you were still recovering from whatever injury you acquired. Are you feeling well now?” Nicolai asked. Yuri paused in his one-sided sparring.
“Can’t say I ever feel well, really,” Yuri said. “But the day I’m not feeling well enough to fight is the day I get myself killed.”
Well, that was an interesting response. Nicolai wasn’t sure how to interpret it, so he opted to ask a tangential question instead.
“When will you be heading out? I presume you want to reach whichever town you’re heading towards before it gets dark.”
“Hmm, you presume entirely wrong,” Yuri told him. “I’m not particularly interested in heading out to town, and I’m not afraid of the dark.” Nicolai raised an eyebrow.
“There are many things in the dark to be afraid of,” said Nicolai, as Yuri smiled to himself. “Are you not from around here?”
“You could say that,” Yuri responded.
“And if you are not going to town, where are you going?” Nicolai asked.
“Hmm,” Yuri responded, “I might just stick around here, I think.”
“Now that is quite the amusing idea,” Nicolai laughed. “You realize you would need to follow rules occasionally, yes?” Yuri shrugged and sheathed his sword.
“Actually, maybe I should handle that stuff now. Where can I find the captain?”
“At this hour, she is probably in her office, near her quarters. I can escort you there.” Nicolai offered, beginning to walk in that direction. Yuri followed. In practice, it was a bit of an excuse to see what in the hells Yuri would say to her. Whatever Nicolai expected, it hadn’t been for him to say he planned on staying, given the opinions he seemed to espouse over lunch. Was there some other motive he had for wanting to stay here? For all that he seemed so unafraid of the world, was there someone or something he was trying to avoid?
The walk was not long, and they arrived at Captain Novak’s office. Nicolai knocked politely on the door, and the captain bade them to come in. Svetlana Novak was a woman in her late 40s, and one of the most experienced clerics in Barovia. She was a talented leader who took the task of shielding all of Barovia from evil upon herself. Paperwork was lined up in neat piles on her desk, and she moved a stack to the side as they walked in.
“Ah, it is our visitor,” the captain remarked. “Yuri, was it? I trust your stay has been comfortable? Do you need an escort to town?”
Nicolai turned to see Yuri’s response, and to his surprise, the man’s entire demeanor had changed. He looked nervous now, with his eyes deferentially angled towards the ground and his posture demure. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and uncertain, even a little bit scared.
“Of course, Captain. I’m so so grateful to you for taking me in after I was attacked. It’s just… well… can we talk about this in private, actually?”
Captain Novak gestured for Nicolai to leave, and he left the room in a state of confusion. That had been… odd. Very odd. Was Yuri alright? Nicolai wondered what the results of their conversation would be.
—-
As it happened, Nicolai found out at dinner that night. A few minutes into the meal, Captain approached the front of the mess hall and rang a bell, signaling that she had an announcement to make. Conversation quieted, and knights all turned to face her.
“Members of the Order of the Vigilant,” she began, “our order was founded for the purpose of fighting evil and protecting the innocent. As followers of Helm, it is our duty to shield those in need from those who would harm them. A man named Yuri Miklovich arrived at our gates last night, injured by evil forces, and we have reason to believe that they would pursue him further. The Order of the Vigilant is better equipped than anywhere in Barovia to offer him guardianship. Starting today, he will be staying at the Vigilant Outpost indefinitely.”
Now that was surprising. It matched roughly with the intentions Yuri stated in the courtyard, but Nicolai had not necessarily expected Captain Novak to agree. What, exactly, was pursuing Yuri? Did the captain even know? Nicolai looked around, and saw Yuri himself sitting off at a side table, seemingly unaware of the unusualness of the proclamation. Several of the knights who had been offended by Yuri’s lunchtime questioning were muttering and grumbling. Galen looked especially disgruntled, and stood up.
“Captain,” he saluted, “With all due respect, there are a lot of people threatened by a lot of things out there. Why should our outpost be turned into a free inn?”
“Charitability is a virtue, and if other people feel sufficiently threatened to leave their homes and seek shelter with us, then we should take them in if we can,” the captain asserted, “However, Sir Galen, rest assured that our guest will be partaking in an equal share of the non-combative outpost duties. Because summer recruitment is in a few weeks, we’ll wait until then to see about assigning him a room, and he will stay in the infirmary until then.”
Galen still looked unhappy, but it seemed as though he did not wish to argue further with the captain. The infirmary was also a less than ideal place for someone to stay. Between that and the chores, Nicolai supposed that Galen might at least be satisfied that it was a good deal less pleasant than a free inn.
The captain continued with a few announcements—who had done the best in the day’s training, whether there had been any trouble spotted since last night (no), etc. Nicolai, for his part, was curious to see more of Yuri and his strange circumstances.