Yoan Valkoniv

Cleric of Tempus


(Reads better in a Russian accent)

Where there is war, there is Tempus; but here, in the mist, there is no war. The cursed army that plagues this land has no foe that is equal. It is slaughter that claims this land, and there can be no honor in slaughter. I believe that is why Tempus has allowed this mist to swallow me. I must bring war to this land.

I am Yoan Tempeki Valkonov, son of Sotnik (High priest) Yuri, Breaker of Ice. My father taught me to hear the voice of Tempus, not here, in head, but here, in heart. He speaks to all men, gives path to their swords and arrows and actions. When you fight, you fight in his name. But when you do not fight, you cannot hear Tempus, and when you cannot hear Tempus, there will be slaughter. You will watch as father, brother, mother, and sister are struck down around you. You will be forced to listen to the voice of others, and suffer in their command. This is not his will.
This is what my father has taught me, and this is what I have seen with my own eyes. When I was a younger man, my heart was angry. I had heard and seen the gifts Tempus bestowed upon others — my elders, my kin, Sotnik Yuri — but I had not heard him for myself. I had mistaken his wisdom and love of war as desire for strength and for power. I have come to learn it is these things, yes, but it is also not these things. I felt I was destined for greatness, and I had to prove I was great. I took command of slaughter, and of this, I am not proud.
My offense against his will should have earned my death and that of my comrades— for some, that day, it did — but when it was over, we learned of a fate much worse than death; Dishonor. When we returned to our families, Tempus had already spoken to Sotnik Yuri. We were struck down, our weapons gathered and broken, and we were cast out in to the world with nothing, the brand of the dishonored burned into our backs. Many of my comrades sought their death, giving into their angry hearts, so full of rage. Their dishonor haunts
I wandered for years, fighting my own dishonor, the cold,and the monsters of the North. Alone, there was no voice but my own. One does not speak to one’s self. There is only listening. I heard my own voice, so full of anger and hate, but little else. These things are not safe when you fight war against the world. Anger causes mistakes, and hate disrupts judgement.
It was not luck that lead me back to Tempus. It was I who sought his voice,, to bring temper to my anger and purpose to my hate. Tempus will speak to all who listen, and alone I had learned to listen. When his voice filled my heart again, He did not speak of dishonor and did he speak of redemption. His words were clear and still they echo in my heart: “Where there is war, there is will. Where there is slaughter, there is no will. He who does not have will serves death. He who has will serves Tempus.”
That is my purpose, to give will to those who serve death, so that they may hear Tempus in their heart.

Yoan Valkoniv

A Trip Down Memory Lane Craev