Hear O Ladies and Lords. Listen O Royal Highnesses to my tale. A tale about bravery, deception and Love. A tale of sorrow and duty towards the gods and ones ideals. Hear the tale of the Worlds most famous hero, how the brave paladin, prince of the royal house of elves, therefore able to achieve paladin status, sinned against his high held ideals and in atonement took on several a thousand years quest against evil that newly ended. Hear O listeners the start of it all how the brave Paladin became the legendary hero, the Wanderer
Artar Dahl 64 AC antechamber
Little lights could be seen in every window in the city. Singing came from the streets as the people celebrated this new thing that was called peace. The banners of the castle were clearly outlined as it shone with the light and festivity of the rulers. The elven king had arrived as the last one the same day with a small escort, only ten men were, before the final entrapment, a thousand would have been considered hazardous. Then the celebrations had started and probably were not finished for many days yet.
A small manor building outside of the city waved a single banner showing six axes. A little breeze made it unfold before it settled once more. Seldom more than a breeze managed to reach the bottom of the valley and even so far north in the mountains no more than a thin layer of snow fell. The outlying mountains caught the snow before it managed to reach the valley. This night showed no skies however as the stars and the North Star in particular, blinked brightly and made the snow glitter on the ground. The snow just a thin layer of powder-like crystals made the heavy trees around the manor glimmer in the dim starlight. Inside laughter could be heard and voices from friends well known to each other in a merry celebration.
“And…hickup…excuse me then I hit the ogre so hard…burp…sorry…that it never rose again. And do you know what the king said?” Lutriandil listened thoughtfully to Ash’s story and the others roaring laughter as he stared into the fire. Merriment was not his style. Feelings could make a man forget his watch and be hit of an enemy’s hidden knife. Emotions disturbed concentration. The many years of war had etched an alertness into the elf’s soul that would not let go. Finding himself almost smiling of the ending of the story he rose and made his way to the door.
“Are you going, Lutriandil” the soft voice of Asrith stopped him. The elven cleric made her way to were he stood and stopped standing a bit closer than necessary. “Come join the festivities. It is peace.” She touched his arm gently. Shaking of a feeling of dizziness as he looked into her eyes he looked quickly away. A feeling that ran close to fear only, but in his hearth and not so unpleasant made his voice harder than he meant it to. “Have you forgot the oracle? His words did not say peace. Forgive me lady but I feel for some fresh air.“ Altiaran came over to the two. “You, leaving us brother? Check if the rulers have what they need wile you’re out then. We must not be bad hosts.” Then he nodded and went back to the others. “Come back soon, Lutriandil.” Asrith looked up at him, stood up on her toes and gave him a gentle brush of her lips before she headed back to the table.
The elven prince made his way out shaking his head as to drive away the strange feelings that made his thoughts dizzy. Feelings, they did destroy one’s focus. Strangely he found himself wondering if this feeling was worth the risk. It was peace. He would check with the rulers if all were to their satisfaction and return shortly. Suddenly the way to the castle seemed far longer than he remembered. Asrith…It meant Starshine on the language of the first ones, a beautiful name for an even more beautiful lady.
The large axe almost hit him in his head. Only his battle training made him fast enough to dodge it. He cursed the feelings that had made him walk into such an ambush without even a weapon. His hands would do. He jumped the opponent while the axe still was falling. His hand numbed as it struck armour. He would have more mobility than his enemy would. It was hard to wrestle in plate armour. He gripped for his opponent’s helmet at the same time that he tripped him. As they fell he thought he recognised the face of the man. He had trained him a couple of years ago but he had lacked the skill to become paladin. His fist made the young man stop fighting. Sending such an untrained man to kill him, the enemy could not know anything about the battle skills of the six. Unless he had not been there to kill him that was…
The guards at castle stood very silent. A closer examination shoved they were nailed to the wall with their own spears. Lutriandil began running. The next guards were lying were they had fallen. Traces told about a short fight. Probably caught by surprise. A servant, his clothes bloody crawled towards him as he reached the fore-chamber. Quickly the elf bent down and uttered a healing spell. “Who?” The servant starred frightened at him. “Mailclad, men Sire. They came onto the balustrade and ordered the rulers to surrender. When the Lords would not they shot, they shot all. A large man clad in black even went around smashing their skulls with a large axe. Claiming he was granting them ‘the final peace’”. Slowly the elf rose from where he had crouched beside the wounded man. “You will run to the manor and tell the others this and ask them to come here.
The inside of the large feast hall was covered with fallen bodies. Quickly he checked if anyone were alive. Then he sniffed the air. Oil. A steady drip of oil came from several caskets placed around the room. Already the floor was partially covered with the stuff. Then he noticed the small balls of guano lying beside each casket.
As he came out of the door the first explosion came. Delayed blast fireballs. He had seen them before used in the war. Whatever would be remaining after the fire would not nearly anything that could be resurrected. “Brother! Help!” Luitriandil ran, in his heads he could hear the mental screams from his fellow paladins. Asrith, she was in danger. They were in danger. He caught the scent of burning wood from afar the city was burning. It had to be magic, nothing else could set ablaze a city with half a million inhabitants this quick. The warm air carried him as on wings through the city. Somewhere he heard the voices of screaming inhabitants. It rose steadily. A woman clad in her best clothes jumped burning out of a window and hit the ground just before him. He ran past the burning and screaming body and ran towards the manor. Somewhere on the way he ran past the body of the servant, his troth cut
The screaming in his head reached a crescendo. He could feel his brother’s pain as he burned. He could feel the body of Nesuth, the strongest of them as it crumbled under the weight of the roof he was trying to hold. He could feel as Nerim desperately hammered his fists against the sealed door his hair burning. Through the eyes of Aloran he saw Ash throwing himself on his sword as he realised there was no way out only a choice of how to die. The heavy cosy wooden walls of the manor was a death trap that fell inward. As he listened to the screams he remembered Rion had mentioned that from now on he would only memorise spells for merriment and fun. The magician could not have teleported out. He remembered stout Raffraff how he always had a joke and did not care if Lutriandil did not laugh but told another. He felt the roof falling.
The manor was burning, the flames raging. He could almost feel the magic that kept the fire alive and burned his friends. He noticed a small figure running. “Longfingers” had not been at the party, he had gone early claiming he had important business. Important business betraying his fellows that was. Lutriandil had never trusted the thief. Him running proved his guilt. Not thinking of anything but revenge the elf ran after the gnome. The traces in the snow were easily followed. Someone had run before the gnome. Probably one of his murdering friends. For the first time in his life the young elf let his feeling flow freely. The anger gave him a strength he almost did not match even with the help of Vita.
He could soon see the gnome. He was fighting someone. When he came closer he noticed it was Nathorant. The paladin was wielding his axe expertly as he fought the thief. But somehow “Longfingers managed to disarm him nonetheless. Before the gnome had the chance to kill the seventh of the paladins Lutriandil rammed him in the back. He grasped the shortsword as it fell from the hands of the startled thief. Then he ran it through his back.
“I thank you for your help, Battleleader.” Nathorant picked up his axe carefully. And brushed the snow away from it with his black gloves. Nonetheless I think you have misunderstood a bit. It seemed that your temper got the best of you. You see there is a reason why your now departed, and I’m afraid quite innocent, comrade followed me.” Lutriandil noticed there was blood on the paladin’s axe. “ You see, if you only had taken the time to ask what was going on instead of just killing him, you would have known that it was I that killed the others. The Paladinus Muerti did their first job on their climb to greatness today. By my command all your celebration has fallen quite literary into ashes. “ The tall man smiled. “I could say that I had got a better offer. But that would have been a lie. The truth is that I’m fulfilling my oat to Muerti. And a Paladin keeps his oaths. Nothing personal but he also asked me to kill you.” He readied his axe for the blow. The only thing Lutriandil could think was that now he would be united with Asrith. If the goddess forgave him this sin, he did not think so. He did not feel he deserved it. “We meet again in Muerti’s kingdom. For there you will go when a dark paladin kills you.” Lutriandil closed his eyes and waited. Then he heard the scream.
Daevig stood over Nathorant, his muzzle bloody as he ripped again, then breathed cold, then ripped. A cold glimmer of rage shone from the dragon’s eyes as he tore the fallen paladin to little pieces. When he was finished he looked at the elf. Then he looked up into the sky. The North Star was starting to shine brighter and came closer and then the knight Lutrandil was surrounded by soft light.
“Forgive me!” Lutriandil knelt in the snow. He had broken his paladin’s oath, he felt the powers being stripped away. He had killed innocents by running by when they needed help and knew it was too late to save his fellows. He had killed in rage and stabbed his enemy in the back without even a warning, and the man was innocent. “Condemn me!” He did not deserve forgiveness. In many years the paladins’ codex had been his fundament. Now he had broken all his oaths. “There will be a time when they are reborn. All are reborn. Until then you will walk the earth and receive the same punishment that you gave the dragon. Eternal life. A eternal life following the codex, having the paladins powers, watching all known die of age. Then you will learn what can be learnt. For there will be another war. Then you will have peace. You will know when the time comes. Child, you are forgiven, do now your atonement.”
Artar Dahl 13197 years hence:
Asrith… Her hair…. The Wanderer looked down in the valley. The castle still stood. It had been built by dwarves. So many years... And still the traces of the manorbuilding could be seen outside were the city once had been. Not many years now till fulfilment. He could fell Aloran or more correctly his soul to the east. That would be Kazad Thirith. Nerim was with him. Altiaran was to the south, The Goddess Hall. He hafted his shield and climbed up onto the back of Daevig. The enormous dragon spread his wings and flew to where the old paladin could intercept them. The Wanderer looked back at the valley. Asrith, I will be with you soon! The final battle was beginning and he had to find Aloran to instruct him.