The Followers

Has it really been over a year since I last touched this? Even though I've had my excuses, it's impossible to look back at the dates and not feel ashamed. I should try to remember that writing down these meditations isn't for the sake of practicing strokes on paper.
 
I should also rethread the binding on this, since the string is starting to fray. Maybe when I do, I'll take out all the old writings and make them into a separate, finished notebook. After all, this would be an appropriate time to start fresh.
 
My life scarcely resembles what it was back then, or even months ago. Though I may still be a vagrant, I am no longer skulking along back roads or living hand to mouth. And, much to my own surprise, I am no longer alone. Instead, I have joined a small crew of my fellow fugitives aboard a previously abandoned starship. None are the sort of people I would have expected to work with so closely. In fact, if I had met the captain just a few years earlier, he would have been my enemy.
 
I can't help but feel indebted to him, and to all of them. The only reason my life has changed so much is because, by an incredible stroke of luck, we ended up in the same prison when they needed to recruit some muscle for their breakout. And what if they hadn't? By that point, I had nothing left save for an ounce of spite.
 
Those darker thoughts aren't ones I want to revisit. However, lately I've been seeing shadows of myself on the faces of other people.
 
As we looked to supply ourselves for whatever untold journeys lay ahead, we found ourselves caught up in the affairs of Aposa, a city on the planet Doth. It's a city populated with devout followers of Torm, the Hand of Righteousness, and it's not hard to imagine that he watched over it diligently in times past. Unfortunately, for reasons we have yet to understand, his guidance has faded along with that of far too many other gods. And so, when we found it, the city was full of the lost and misguided, each trying to figure out how to make sense of their lives again.
 
Maybe I shouldn't assume that I know how they feel. But it seems like a warrior's code and a paladin's oath aren't all that different.
 
Before I studied the code myself, I thought it was all meant as a measure of character. If you followed the tenets diligently, you could prove the strength of your body and spirit, and demonstrate to your lord that you were worthy of their favor. And if you failed in this, the punishment would be the crushing weight of your shame, which only redoubling your efforts could overcome.
 
But that's actually looking at things backwards. The code isn't a set of instructions that you have to carry out in exchange for a reward. Instead, it's a guide to help you find your own way in life, and to shape it into something you'll find worthwhile. Isn't that the whole reason we devote ourselves to lords and masters in the first place? So that, even as we wander in the dark, we will have a lodestar to help us find our way?
 
Because of that, the worst part of breaking away is not an injured pride. It's the doubt that seeps in through the cracks. You know that there's something wrong, but you don't know what it is or how to fix it. And it takes away the guidance you need, even though that's when you need it the most.
 
Which brings us back to Aposa. With Torm gone, and all his devouts searching for answers, the trickster god Cyric decided to provide his own. Once we uncovered what was happening, we were able to set things right: Our fae friend, with bright-eyed conviction, refused to let the leader of the city stay blinded by Cyric's lies. And our cleric, delivering the judgment of Kelemvor himself, exorcized Cyric's dark presence from the city. I'm not sure we could have asked for a greater victory, or a grander celebration to follow.
 
Despite that, when the paladins reflected on how things ever ended up the way they did, both the most steadfast and the most misguided came up with the same answer: They failed Torm. Something in their own soul had been lacking. Did he not have enough faith? Was all her faith simply not enough?
 
"Do you truly think that that was all your fault?"
 
It's the question the captain posed to her, the paladin who had been Cyric's pawn in all this. All things considered, it is a pretty good question.
 
If we look to someone for guidance, and yet we find that we've traveled down the wrong road, why are we so quick to blame ourselves?
 
Maybe that's the problem of looking to higher powers for guidance. Lords, kings, gods – we feel so small and so far beneath them, and feel that we'll need to prove ourselves worthy before they can help us. But if they're so great, then why should anyone be beyond their help?
 
Or maybe it's a problem with faith itself. We're asked to believe so much in those we follow, so much that we believe in them more than ourselves. The idea that they could fail us for any reason becomes so unthinkable that we aren't even allowed to raise the question. It's not the role of a follower to guide the leader.
 
As I said, I've felt indebted to the rest of this crew since they first recruited me. However, that's not what makes me want to follow them. And honestly, I've been struggling to put my finger on the real reason why.
 
From the start, I've chalked it up to desperation. When you've lost all sense of direction, and you run into someone who seems to be headed somewhere, does it really matter what the destination is? Following them can't be any worse than wandering about on your own.
 
But maybe I'm not giving my instincts enough credit. Truthfully, even after joining up with them, and after everything that's changed because of it, I still have no idea where I'm going. And, for what may be the first time ever, I don't really mind that.