Lost in a Tabletop Game [5E/SI]

[shadenight123]

Prologue

The water of the river was cold. The wooden bucket dripped precious drops of the water on the ground. My arms strained from the effort of holding on to the weight, my inwards feeling about the lack of a village well doing nothing to aid me in the task ahead of me. The bucket creaked slightly, the hinges holding fast against the wood, the metal circlets holding the nails and the planks together slightly rusted.

The metal handle dug in my palms, in my skin, and as I stepped carefully on the dirt road trying to avoid loose rocks, I glanced at the thatch roof of the house I shared with a few others.

The villagers of that house were like my family, but not really my family. I had been found under the shade of a tree near the village's brook. The nearby villagers didn't have the heart to throw me in the wilds, and so I had been taken in by a family lacking a son.

One extra pair of strong arms would do them good; and so I had been taken in.

I brought the bucket inside the house, finding it empty. Even my foster parents were elsewhere. The house, during the day, was no different than a brick oven. The stifling heat of the Summertide month would soon leave the place to a higher degree of heat in the month of Highsun, but I had to look forward to the Midsummer festivity. The village was too small to hold any grand festival or party of the likes, but there would be a bard coming in from outside, singing a few songs through the night near the brook.

There would be some candles lit in the brook, and the young couple of Berna of the Hayflowers and Javerick of the Wheats would be bound together in what passed as a marriage. A priest was going to come over to celebrate their marriage in the name of Chauntea.

I left the bucket near the fire pit, and then walked out, gasping for air.

There was a hoe propped against the back of the house, and as I grabbed it, I hoisted it over my shoulder. Next came a simple wicker hat, and looking as professional as a nine year-old farmer could ever be, I began to walk towards the fields. There was the hay to be cut, and I'd find my foster-father busy there.

He saw me arrive over the beaten path, trudging through the already cut parts of the field. "I've brought the water inside the house," I said, lifting a hand in greeting.

"Well done, son," my foster-father answered, taking a brief break to wipe the sweat off his brow. He had a piece of cloth wrapped around his head. Earlier in the morning it had been wet, but now it was utterly dry. "Cut the hay while I go freshen up by the brook," he added, passing me the scythe he had been using until then. "The wicker to tie the bundles is over there," he pointed at a spot nearby, and then was off.

I watched him go as I grabbed the scythe, and began to dutifully cut the hay without a question. The swinging of the scythe needed to be done with enough strength to cut, otherwise the grass would just bend down and a second passage would have to be done.

It wasn't that the scythe was the sharpest scythe in the whole world, but it was kept well enough to work. The blacksmith of the village was a surly half-orc, but he did good work. The noise of hooves on the dirt caught my attention. Horses were a lot of things, but they weren't silent at all. I turned my head in the direction of the noise, a group of horsemen heading along the path towards the village.

They had bright, shiny colors on their horses, and I recognized the priest of Chauntea among the horsemen. Good old Berya, a cranky half-elf with a permanent scowl etched on her face and kicks capable of sending any would-be prankster or youngster to eat dirt. She normally wouldn't come with an escort, but if she did, then something was afoot. I didn't know anything about any recent troubles, so I quietly resumed my scything of the fields.

After half an hour, my foster-father returned. He looked at the work I had done, said nothing, and took to tightening the hay bundles together. "Berya came with an escort," I said, huffing as my breath was labored from the work.

"Aye," my father said, adding nothing else. He was a man of few words, unless he got angry or drunk. Then he'd have a lot of words to say. Funnily enough, he never got angry and drunk at the same time, and there wasn't much beer to be drank in the village anyway, or wine, so the few times it happened was during happy festivities. It wasn't a bad way of life, a simple one perhaps, but not bad.

"Why?" I asked.

"Dunno," he said. "Doesn't matter."

"What if it's brigands?" I asked warily.

"Nah," he said, and the conversation ended there.

I scythed until I could no longer hold the scythe with my arms, and then quietly looked at my father's imperturbable expression. "I...How much should I cut for the day?"

My father looked at me, and then at the patch of the field that still needed cutting. He was making a quick count in his head, though it wasn't one made with numbers, but with other tools of comparison. A field in one day, then another day to sow it back up, till the ground, water the plants, take care of the beasts since it was our turn to handle the village's cows and so forth.

He pondered over it as my arms burned and shook, since I kept scything while waiting for an answer.

"Take a rest," he said in the end, standing up and taking the scythe from me. "Go tell your mother to start working on dinner. Come back afterwards."

I smiled in relief, and ran off with a skip to my step.

It was a sunny day.

It was a happy day.

-

My eyes opened to the morning noises. My from the awkward sleeping position of the night before. It had been a pleasant dream from my second childhood. My legs felt numb, crossed as they were. I had been deep in meditation, so deep that I had fallen asleep even though the ground was cold, and the temperature in the room chilly at best. There was warmth, but it came from within my chest.

My breath released a thin cloud of haze, my eyes focused on the sole source of light in the room, a flickering candle that had slowly burned throughout the entire night. I looked past the candle, and towards the window. The morning sky was a vibrant teal, not a cloud visible over the horizon. The chill of the wind's bite did little to assuage the pain in my cramped muscles, but as I stood up and stretched, I turned my gaze towards the armor stand, and the clothes upon it.

The symbol of Helm, God of Protectors, stood emblazoned on the left hand's gauntlet. After being lost for so long, I had found my path.

I was Shade of Shallowbrook...

...soon to be sworn Paladin of Helm.

AN: I won't be rewriting these; so expect different, yet similar, stuff.

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter One - Anwich

The Hamlet of Anwich had a hundred souls to its name and a guardsman to keep the law. Settled between two lowly trafficked roads, it was a half-forgotten plot of lands, in which the people's main survival hinged on the commerce of buckles, belts, shoes and purses made from the leather hunted in the nearby forests. A good chunk of the profits were handed to the local lord, Rewis of the Halley family.

My duties began at dawn, when the stirring of the divine within my chest would wake me up. The energy flowed through my limbs like a living, breathing thing. My eyes opened to a ceiling made of thatch and wooden poles, and after fully waking up with a wash from a basin filled with cold water, I'd offer my earnest prayers to Helm. The God of Protectors wouldn't give me signs, but the warmth within my body would renew itself if diminished from the day prior.

The washing and prayers done, my breakfast would consist of a true feast by all terms. A chunk of cheese and a piece of bread, left to mollify in a bowl of fermented beer.

The breakfast of champions eaten, I'd get armored, the chain-mail clinking as it settled over the padded clothes I wore beneath.

Then I would grab my sword, long an arm and half, sheathe it by my side and hoist my shield on my back. Afterwards, I'd leave for my daily duties around the hamlet.

It had been a week since I had arrived.

The villagers waved as I went by them, and I returned the gesture with a smile and a wave of my own. A few elderly people grumbled, goodheartedly I assumed, at how young I was to take over the place of the old Paladin of Helm. My predecessor had died of old age, peacefully closing his eyes one night. The village had realized something was wrong when he had missed the morning greetings, and had quickly warned the local temple of Helm in the city about it.

The string of fate had me pronounced a true Paladin of Helm on the same day as the letter requesting a substitute had come in the Shield-Fortress of Helm, and so there I was, due in no small part to my background as a farmer's son, keeping the peace and order in this quaint little hamlet.

"Cyne," I greeted the other local law-keeper. The man was middle-aged, and a threat only to himself whenever he wasn't pointing his spear at an enemy, but he was a good man. He smiled at seeing me, and extended a welcoming handshake which I returned. He was sitting at a table out by the hamlet's center, a table with a few sparse papers on it and another chair on the opposite side.

A deck of cards was in a corner, a local version of solitaire ongoing. It appeared the deck was winning, judging by how Cyne was doing his best to cheat the deck itself. This was the amount of work such a small hamlet had; nearly nothing, or absolutely not a thing.

If someone had a grievance, normally it would be solved by themselves, or by consulting the village elder. If that didn't work out, then it was time for the law to intervene. Some misgivings could last for generations, as Cyne had aptly narrated the incredible conflict between the Morley and the Picey over an apple pie claimed stolen and never paid for. Said feud gave rise to mud-slinging, dirtied blankets left to dry and sometimes to a scuffle between the youngsters of both families.

It was such a silly thing to get worked over that I couldn't help but think they were doing it on purpose to stave off the boredom.

"Shade," Cyne answered, "What does this word here read?" he lifted the paper for me to read.

"Ass," I said. "It reads 'Ass'."

"Oh to the seven h-" he held his tongue back as my eyebrow rose, "I mean, seriously? How does someone miss his ass? It's right behind him!"

I chuckled. "What's this all about?"

"Nearby hamlet, they've got a cattle thief," Cyne grumbled, "The list of stolen animals isn't that long, but adding an ass to it? Really! How does one not notice one's buttocks stolen?"

"You should have become a bard, Cyne," I said with a smile. "You've got a talent for comedy."

Cyne briefly glanced at me, and then broke out in a small laugh. "You saw right through me, uh? Nothing goes pass the Watcher's Eyes!" he slammed a hand against my shoulders, grinning all the while. "Well, just keep an eye out for this cattle thief, alright? You've pretty much met every villager already, so anyone foreign gets a stern look!"

I nodded, and then stood up. "Dry not to drink until this afternoon, Cyne. Two pairs of eyes are better than one."

"I hate this cattle thief already!" Cyne bellowed at my back, resuming his normal duties of holding his spear where it wouldn't poke anyone's eyes out, and playing cards.

My patrol didn't have any fixed points. The hamlet had a few huts for the tanning, a blacksmith that dealt with the buckles, and a couple of leather-workers that made the finished products. There were a few merchants that came over as a fixed presence once a month to buy the local products, and there would be bartering involved. It was the cycle of economics.

Once the proceedings were done, everyone would chip in and pay me. Of the amount paid, a part of it would go as a tithe to the nearest temple of Helm.

My boots were caked with mud, but I didn't let that bother me. The smell of manure in the air, the sight of the fields in my vision, the trees lush and verdant as far as my eyes could see, they were all a beautiful sight to take in. There was an actual river too. Its water was muddied, and frogs croaked near it. A few ducks quacked at my sight, ready with their beady eyes to challenge me if I dared near too much.

"No worries there," I muttered to myself, passing over the rickety wooden bridge to the other side of the hamlet. The hunters' families usually stuck closer to the forest, and they were the ones who normally required my attention. Mistakes could happen during a hunt, and while grievous ones would have me called, some minors one would need to wait until I came over for my patrol.

I steeled myself as I took the first step in the small clearing between the huts. I took a small breath.

Then I flung myself to the side as a ball of mud landed on the spot I had been a second before.

"Hit the shiny kettle!" a childish voice yelled, three more joining the chorus as I sighed, dashing for the side of the hut and hiding behind it, crouched low. A few seconds later, the would-be ambushing group came into view, and I launched myself upon them.

Two seconds later, and I had a handful of children in my hands; a gnome, and two halflings children to be precise.

I was still missing their ringleader, but the half-elf child in question hadn't run away at the sight of her comrades being captured, but instead valiantly flung her mud-ball straight in my direction. I let it harmlessly impact against my chainmail, and sighed once more.

"You do understand you're going to get in trouble, right?" I said as gently as I could.

"No we won't!" the gnome child chirped from under my left armpit, tightly squished together with one of the two halflings. "This is just a prank!"

"Yeah!" the two halflings chorused at the same time, a stereo-like thing being their shtick. "It's just mud."

"You let my underlings go!" the half-elf child said, "Or I'll throw another!"

Eril, believing Cyne, had been found near the forest edge a few years back. She had probably been the survivor of a bandit attack, or had simply gotten lost and her parents hadn't found her yet. She had been ten back then, and now that she was heading for twelve -nearly thirteen- she had put up a gang of children to spend the time with.

The two halfling twins Corrin and Cora Tanhill were natural followers and children of hunters, while the gnomish Boddynock Timbers -Boddy for his friends- was the son of a tanner.

"Sure," I said. "That just means you'll get twice in trouble."

The half-elf glanced at the mud ball in her hand, and then at me. She widened her eyes and looked right behind me. "L-look out!"

I briefly tensed, and turned around. I didn't let go of the children, because I was relatively sure there was nothing needing my attention right behind me. It turned out I was right, and as a mud ball actually hit the back of my head, I turned again.

"It wasn't me," Eril said, clearly defiant.

"Twice in trouble it is," I nodded. "Guess you lot now have to help me out during my patrol."

"D-Do we get swords?" Boddy asked, his eyes gleaming.

I let go of the trio of dunderheads and turned towards their ringleader, who didn't look the slightest bit inclined on nearing. "No, but you get to avoid troubling the rest of the villagers in one of your usual pranking sprees," I continued. "And I might feel inclined to convince Orin to make you four wooden swords, but only if you prove yourself responsible guardsmen."

"Pfui," Boddy huffed, "That sounds boring."

"Yeah, boring," the twins agreed at the same time. In a split-second, the trio had already ran back towards the half-elf ringleader. Eril grinned, and stuck her tongue out in my direction.

"Let's run for it!" Eril exclaimed, and with that said, all four rushed for the forest's edge laughing at having fooled the shiny kettle.

I didn't pursue them.

I knew where they lived, after all.

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter Two - Anwich

I folded. Luck wasn't on my side that particular afternoon. Cyne laughed, and then shuffled the cards some more. We were playing without any bets, or I'd have been unable to. It was apparently what Cyne did with my predecessor. A deck of cards, played in two, was more entertaining than countless Solitaires in a row.

The sun was lukewarm over our heads. The seasons were passing. I had come in the month of Tarsakh, and now Eleint was upon us. The month known as The Fading was a colder month, the name aptly given to show the growing of the nights and the shortening of the days.

"It's getting colder," I said.

"Yeah," Cyne answered, dealing the cards once more. "Might need to stock up on wood soon enough."

"Who can I ask for a hatchet?" I glanced at my hand, and grimaced. Honestly, I was really glad I didn't like gambling, and we weren't playing with bets.

"Orin should have a spare," Cyne said. "You can ask him."

I finished playing, stretched, and proceeded to finish yet another patrol. This time I came to a halt by the local carpenter, the dwarf happily smoothing a chair's base. A few blocks of wood rested against the corner of the quaint workshop, a large tarp keeping the rain away from the bulky pieces left outside.

"You didn't break a chair again, did you?" Orin asked, glancing at me. "You're heavier than old Matthias, you should be twice as careful."

"Nothing of the sorts," I answered. "Do you have a spare hatchet for cutting wood?"

Orin finished polishing the chair's base, and then cleaned his beard from chips of wood and sawdust. He moved towards the corner of his house, and pulled out a hatchet. "Keep it sharp, and bring it back when you're done," he added. "Though it's a little late to start cutting wood."

"I'll get started now to have something for the night, and hopefully finish in a week," I answered.

Orin glanced at the sky, then back at me. "Then I won't be holding you." He grinned as he found a pipe on a nearby surface, lighting it on fire to take a deep breath, and exhale a puff of acrid smoke. "Good chopping."

"May the Ever-Vigilant safeguard you," I answered in turn, and walked towards my house. From there, I took a straight road towards the forest. It wasn't like there were acceptable areas to cut trees, and areas where one shouldn't. I needed to find dead branches, cut them in manageable pieces, and then bring them back home. I could do that early in the morning, for a while during my lunch break, and in the late afternoon after my last patrol.

If I applied myself diligently, and worked hard, I would be done in a week, perhaps a week and a half.

I didn't go very far. A few good steps into the forest, and I had found a fallen tree to cut at my leisure. I would need to keep the wood inside the house to make it dry, but once I began cutting chunks, I was already in a rhythm, and ended up carrying an armful of wooden chunks while leaving more behind. I'd come back for them tomorrow, unless someone from the village found and took them.

It wasn't like there weren't countless trees to cut wood from in the vicinity.

The next morning, I woke up to a frantic knocking at my door.

I rushed for the door, half-expecting a wounded hunter on its last breath. What I found was instead Cyne, "We've got a missing person. I'm rounding up the villagers to help."

"Who's missing?" I asked, quickly scampering to get my armor and my weapons on.

"It's old Morrick," Cyne answered, stepping inside to help me with the chain mail.

I grimaced, "He was a hunter, wasn't he?"

"Hearing his family, the very best of the village," Cyne said. "Maybe he had a heart attack and died in the wilderness, but if he didn't, he might need serious help."

"Stay in groups," I said. "If it's a wild beast, I don't want it getting anyone else on its lonesome."

I walked out, Cyne running to alert more villagers while I instead began to search in the general direction of Morrick's hunting grounds. It was uncommon, but not impossible, for a hunter to misstep. The rains made the ground a bit more mushy than usual, and sure footing could crumble with ease. Though being old, a heart attack wasn't out of place. His disappearance probably hadn't been noticed till the morning. Some hunters preferred to hunt at night, after all.

Old Morrick was a gnome; it made even more sense for him to hunt in the middle of the night, since the lack of light wouldn't impair him. This made the possibility of a heart attack all the more likely. He could have fallen asleep on a log, but the thought of a prank didn't cross my mind in the slightest.

Sure, Gnomes didn't stop pranking people when they grew older, but their pranks got softer, and they were never malicious. Rather than faking his disappearance, he could have set off a glitter bomb in my drawers.

The forest was noisy as usual, the clinking of my chain-mail and the cries for Morrick ringing foreign to the critters. The favorite hunting ground of the Gnomes was a spot where boars used to make their nests. They didn't hunt burrow-creatures, like rabbits or foxes, which meant their acceptable targets had to come from the boars and deer, sometimes wolves.

The animals weren't really all that dangerous yet. The few wolves had food still, and while I saw a couple, neither dared to near. They were really overtly big dogs, at least until they grew hungry enough to attack.

The hunters and a few volunteer villagers were probably doing their job way better than I possibly could. Even so, I followed a trail through the forest, trying to find any trace of a gnome's passage. What I found was a golden boar.

Well, not really. There was glitter on the boar's snout, the creature grunting along with two smaller versions by its side. An arrow stuck, broken, to the creature's side. I was glad I had been the one to find the scene. The creature itself was bigger than me. It could easily rival a horse's size, and the two smaller boars weren't its children, but two female boars of normal size.

This meant trouble.

A Giant boar grunting along in the depth of the forest was dangerous enough, but the norm. If it had moved towards the outskirts, and towards the hamlet, then it meant it was lacking food and wouldn't hesitate to reach the fields for it.

I could have charged right there and then, but I didn't like my chances of succeeding. Since this was the area, I reckoned I could swing back after recovering the hunters and sending the villagers back to their homes. We'd then have to find Morrick's corpse, but he wouldn't be far from the place, and then give him a proper burial.

Also, we'd probably eat the boar in question for weeks to come.

I took a step back, quietly shifting away from the trio of boars, when a branch snapped and one of the boars grunted in surprise.

The giant boar turned its beady eyes towards me near-immediately, and we stared at one another for what felt like minutes. I unsheathed my blade and stood as tall as I possibly could, clutching the handle of the bastard sword, the favorite weapon of my God, without question.

Then, I slammed the pommel of my blade against my shield, letting the clangor ring through the forest. I slammed it repeatedly, with strength and speed. The noise echoed, the boars looked briefly startled, and then the Giant one charged at me without a second to waste, grunting and snarling with its tusks.

In a battle with a shield, one of the first things the trainers of the shield-fortress had taught me was that the closer the shield was to the swinging weapon, the less of an impact I'd feel. This was common sense, and meant that shield and sword fighters needed to stick as close as possible to their enemies, while covering as much of their bodies as possible, and yet being ready to thrust their shields to the enemy's weapon to parry the swing.

With wild animals, the tactics had never been discussed. One thing I knew for sure was that I couldn't stay still to let it tackle me, because it would come at me like a freight train.

I threw my body to the side, passing behind a tree as the boar's tusks slammed into the sides of the plant. The bark exploded, a large chunk of the tree now missing as sawdust and shards of wood flew in every direction. The tree creaked perilously, but didn't falter. The boar grunted, eyes half-closed from the explosion of sawdust, and I took that as the cue to slam my sword against the creature's horse-like side.

The blade, perfectly polished and well-kept, didn't break through the skin.

Boars, armored tanks of mother nature...

...why must you come in giant sizes too!?

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter Three - Anwich

I stuck close. My steps crunched the fallen leafs, the scattered branches, and my sweat grew cold. The giant boar's snout was rife with fangs, cruel and yellowish, spouting whitish foam. My blade tried to dig into the hardened skin, but bounced off. Swings were ineffective, the creature's toughened body a mass of muscles and old wounds. This was a beast of the forest that had survived countless assaults. Wolves hadn't broken its neck, hunters hadn't pierced its flanks, and even though I was a Paladin, I could do little but hold it busy.

Something shot through the undergrowth in my direction, smaller tusks biting into my flesh as one of the other, smaller boars grunted with vicious glee at having wounded me. I fell down on one knee, barely bringing my shield to protect my neck from the fangs seeking my throat. The weight of the boar met mine, refusing to yield. The warmth within my chest coiled and sprang, dulling the pain in my wounded limb until it harmlessly disappeared, bringing my full might to the task of holding the animal back.

The second boar did not charge, an arrow stuck into its flank as it sank on its knees, blood pouring out from the wound.

Reinforcements had arrived in a timely manner, and as I pushed the giant boar backwards, I rolled to the side to let it slide harmlessly past me. I got back on my feet just in time to stab my blade into the throat of the smaller boar, digging the steel past its skull and then freeing the blade a second later. The giant boar's angry snarl was eerily human in its anger, but also outright cruel in its savagery.

It dragged its forward limbs against the ground, growling as it charged. An arrow landed against its flank, but bounced off. I watched it near, and then drove my blade straight against its snout. I felt the impact, watched blood spray, felt the sting of the fangs against my gauntlet and the noise of the metal being crunched. The pain ran through my arm, but I roared and slammed the side of my shield against the beast's eyes.

It grunted, and I kept pummeling its face with each blow echoing in the forest stronger than the previous. The remains of my God's warmth spread towards my hand as I kept hitting the boar's face with a savageness that perhaps equaled that of the boar's own, the blade stuck in the creature's face, yet without truly killing it.

Two arrows struck the sides, one of the two actually digging through the flesh. "The paladin needs a hand!" it was the voice of one of the hunters of the village, another already letting loose an arrow. Some neared with spears, and began to dig them into the flanks of the beast who seemed keen on not letting go of my right hand.

In the end, it stopped biting on the steel and tried to wrench my wrist away. I let go of my poor gauntlet, and my blade, and grabbed hold of my shield with both hands.

The beast growled one last defiant snarl in my direction, spitting the half-chewed gauntlet on the ground.

With a roar of my own, I slammed the shield down.

There was a final whimper, and then the giant beast slumbered down, dead.

I fell on my back, gasping for air. A halfling hunter neared me, looking concerned. "You fine, big one?"

"Yeah," I took a deep breath. "He...he met with Morrick, he's got to be near here..."

"That I am!" someone yelled from over our heads. I glanced up, letting my body hit the floor at the same time. Tied to the top of a tree, an old gnome looked down at us with a bow in his hands, and a couple of arrows strapped to his back. "The other small one's mine, I killed it!"

"You old mad gnome!" someone exclaimed, "What were you thinking getting this deep in the forest!?"

"Oh shush! The best prey's always the one that fights back I say," Morrick answered with a grunt, "Now help me get down. I tied this thing too damn bloody well!"

At first, it was a chuckle. Then, it broke into a full-blown bout of laughter.

The boar was divided between all of the hunters who participated in taking it down, and the villagers who worked on cutting and preparing its meat.

A new problem presented itself by the next morning. One I hadn't accounted for. "I'm not sure I can fix it," the village's blacksmith said. "Swords and armors aren't really my thing. If I just need to hammer it back in shape, I can do that," he added, "But the gauntlet's going to need something more than what I can do."

I passed a hand through my hair, staring at the chagrined look of the blacksmith. "Well, nothing to it then," I said with a sigh. "I'll ask a merchant to bring me a new pair."

I walked out of the blacksmith with my half-chewed gauntlet in my hand, feeling its weight. I could have left it to the blacksmith for scrap metal, but I didn't want to. It wasn't the one with Helm's symbol, since it was the left, but it was still a part of the armor the Shield-Fortress had gifted me. A simple thing, a chain-mail with gauntlets, some working shin-guards, and a helmet, but it was good armor, emblazoned with the symbols of the God of Protectors.

"Helm," I murmured, glancing down at my left gauntlet's religious insignia. "I need to get better."

This could only mean one thing.

I had to train up a local militia.

I didn't have training partners because I was the only paladin in the village. If I trained someone up, then, of course, I'd actually be making a sparring partner. My first option went to my fellow law-keeper, but then again he was already dangerous enough with a spear in his hands, and I feared what he could do by mistake if given a sword.

Thus, as the voice spread through the village that I was looking for someone to teach the use of the sword, I did expect the children to show up -whom I sent away, since I was no fool, and wanted to set none of them on a dangerous path- but whom I didn't expect was the tanner's son.

"Ilbor?" I asked, "Does your father need help?"

"I..." he mumbled something under his breath. I raised both eyebrows. I was in the middle of a game of cards with Cyne, who seemed pleased to have his umpteenth victory in the bag already, and could allow me to stew a few seconds more in my soon-to-come defeat.

"You want what?" I asked again.

"I heard you..." he mumbled.

"For God's-" Cyne began, then glanced at me, held his tongue, and smiled. "Mighty, mighty benevolent gaze upon us." He grunted, drumming his fingers against the table's surface. "Out with it, boy!"

"Teach me the sword, sir," Ilbor blurted out.

"Is your father fine with it?" I asked back. It wasn't that I'd say no either way, but again, I didn't want to make a slight on the man. Ilbor was the firstborn, so he might have been selected to take over the family's business. He did have younger siblings, and perhaps one of them was better than him at the job, but I had never been the kind of guy to just ask someone his entire life history and family business.

"He doesn't see a problem as long as it doesn't bother our work," he added. He was a conscientious boy. I was actually surprised, and pleased, to hear that. He was built like a wardrobe, a bit slow on the uptake from what I had gathered and quiet most of the time, but not a bad person.

"All right, but there are a few ground rules," I added. He was, after all, Ilbor Morley of the notorious Morley family. "No using what I teach you to attack others. You do not swing a sword to attack, but only to defend. If I hear you've used what I taught you improperly, I will have you punished twice as harshly, understood?"

Ilbor nodded. "Second, don't think you're going to get your hands on a steel sword anytime soon. It's going to be a wooden one, that and a shield. You might get a few bruises, but it won't chop off any limbs." He nodded again.

"Third, and final, we'll be training in the late afternoon after I'm done with my patrols, but if you ever have questions, you can just hang around me while I'm doing them," I hummed as I looked at Cyne, "My trustworthy aide should know where I am depending on the time of the day, but I'm not that hard to find."

"That's fine," he said. "Thank you, sir."

"Then see you later in the afternoon," I said, waving him goodbye.

Things were looking up.

Thus it was obvious they'd come crashing down within the next five minutes, under the form of a fierce, green-haired Halfling girl. "Teach me the sword too!" exclaimed the heir of the notorious Picey family. She stood tall, as tall as a Halfling could be. I glanced at her with the same seriousness I had with Ilbor. The thought of a Halfling wanting to learn the sword wasn't as ludicrous as it sounded. They were tough, small, nimble and most importantly of them all, quite capable and strong, even for their diminutive sizes.

This still meant trouble. "Of course," I said.

I still remembered the tale of Romeo and Juliet, even though decades had passed.

Though in this particular circumstance, I felt they would both go directly to the stabbing part with one another. If that happened, I'd punish them both as I had said I would. This was also a good occasion to try to mend the feud between the two families.

Thus, the next afternoon I came face to face with three swordsmen to be, and after sending Eril packing because she was just a child, I remained with two.

"Let us all get along," I said, as I threw them both wooden swords fit for their sizes.

Heartrendingly, neither caught theirs with their hands...

...but comically with their heads.

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter Four - Anwich

Life in the village proceeded placidly. The Giant Boar accident was soon forgotten, and I finally had some people to spar with. It did wonders to my concentration the fact that one was a halfling and the other a stocky human, since I couldn't let my mind wonder during the training. Alone, they were both easily defeated. Together, they had a fighting chance. It wasn't their fault. I had trained for years in practicing motions, ingraining in my body how to bring the shield forth, how to swing the sword, pummel someone, stab one's eyes out and ensure the enemy did not press me in a corner.

If one was pressed in a corner, the chances of swinging back drastically reduced themselves.

"Don't trip on your feet, Flora," I said as I watched the Picey's heir tumble her way to flank me. "It makes noise, and tells me where you're going."

Ilbor was on my shield side, swinging the wooden blade with strength, if with a certain lack of skill. He was a methodical young man. He might not be quick on the uptake, but if I told him to swing a hundred times, he'd swing a hundred times. He'd probably die at the end of the hundredth swing, but he'd do it. "When fighting an opponent your size, bring the shield, if it's smaller, use the blade," I added, swatting the incoming swing of Flora. "If the enemy's taller, steer clear of its immediate proximity. It makes you easier to be overpowered. You need to move."

I swooped back, somehow watching with amusement as both naturally followed forth and ended up hitting one another. "Look where you're going!" Flora snapped from the ground, Ilbor down for the count too, if opposite of her.

"Sorry," Ilbor replied, chagrined.

"When fighting multiple opponents," I spoke as I gently tapped the top of both of their heads, "Guide them in and keep moving. A shield that stays still is only a weight. A shield that moves is a wall against evil."

"This is all Ilbor's fault-" Flora began, but I merely tapped her head again with my wooden sword, chastising her into silence.

"Do not blame others for your failings, just like you should not take pride for your achievements," I quipped. "Be what you do, and do what you are," I took a deep breath, wallowing briefly in the words of my own teacher. There was a soft breeze, and as I quietly stared into the horizon, my brief moment of inner peace was brutally interrupted as I swatted with my wooden blade an incoming swing away, twirled, and then slammed the blunt side of my shield into Flora's chest, sending the halfling to tumble back on the ground.

"Also, never be distracted," I added with a dry smile. "Keep an eye on your surroundings, the people around you, and always be ready." I tapped Flora's head with my wooden sword once more.

Ilbor nodded, while Flora grumbled something under her breath. "Remember," I continued, "It's not important to win against me. I am not your enemy, or a challenge to overcome. I am your teacher, we all succeed together, in teaching and being taught, or we all fail." I sighed.

"Philosophy, Smoshopholy," Flora snapped, dusting herself and aptly ignoring Ilbor's hand who remained awkwardly extended for a brief moment. "It's all talk."

I grinned at her. "It is," I said gently, "But it's the good kind of talking."

"Feh," Flora grumbled, "So I'm going to go left and you go right," she looked up at Ilbor, who nodded in reply. He was a man of few words. "Try to use your body for something for once, big guy. Women don't like it when they have to do everything. Hearing my friend Molly, you're a fish in life just like in bed."

The poor man blushed so hard it was a sight. "Wait," I said. "Molly, Cyne's daughter?" I looked at Ilbor's expression grow slightly panicked.

I then coughed and awkwardly looked away. "Y-Yes, s-sir!" Ilbor found his courage, and his words. "I-I am going to...to...marry her."

I nodded. Perhaps Cyne had yet to notify me of the event. I blinked, "Wait a minute," I zeroed on Flora, who took half a step back. "Was the priest notified? When is the marriage taking place?"

"Uhm...oh," Flora blinked, and then brought all too late a hand to her mouth. "I was just joking!" she blurted out.

"What? But Molly and I are..." Ilbor then looked from Flora to me, and paled. "Oh."

I craned my neck, gingerly let the practice wooden sword fall, and then smiled like a shark would if it had suddenly found itself in a swimming pool filled with lambs. I calmly began to drum my fingers on the edge of my real sword.

"Cyne's my comrade in arms," I said offhandedly. "I approve of your idea to learn your mettle before proposing to her, but I cannot approve consumption of the deed before marriage," it wasn't like the cities weren't more libertine, but out in the villages, certain traditions were to be taken very seriously, less feud develop over apple pies.

Flora was showing some kind of vindictive smile at having made a Morley pay for his ancestor's 'crime'.

"I understand heat may make men do strange things, but you must do the right thing, and ask permission from her father. I will bring you to him right now," I added. "Steel yourself," I continued smoothly, "Because I swear this to you," I clasped a hand on his shoulder. "You will ask permission, or I will see to it that you do."

He did. Perhaps I had to briefly stare at the edge of my blade, but it worked.

Unfortunately, with the real reason for training uncovered, he stopped coming to practices.

"Well then, Miss Picey," I remarked as I looked at my surviving trainee. "You ready? It's going to be twice as hard now."

Flora Picey scoffed, and took a stance with her practice shield and her sword. She was a small fortress, admittedly, one with a few openings I could exploit, but the form wasn't that bad for an apprentice. "Without him to make me trip, I'll show you what I can really do."

Well, admittedly, I watched with care expecting something strange or bizarre, but nothing of the sorts happened. She hopped around a bit more, and ended up tiring herself much sooner. Thus, all too easily her swings became sloppy, and I managed to drive my wooden sword against her stomach, making her groan after her umpteenth defeat.

"I see," I said awkwardly. "Conservation of one's energies is a thing too, you know?"

Flora looked up at me, her expression clearly annoyed. "Is there anything I'm doing right?"

I tapped my chin, as if in thought, "You are improving," I said. "You are still coming to learn, even though it's late, and we've both had our fair share of work. You have your fields to tend to, and the apple orchards. I can't think that's easy work. You are working hard. There's nothing wrong with not being able to best someone who's been at it for years longer than you, and whose whole job is about protecting others."

"But it feels like I'm always eating the dirt," Flora muttered, kicking a nearby pebble away. "Or getting hammered with a wooden sword in the head."

"Well, it beats being hammered with a hammer," I answered, "Or getting pelted with rocks, but seriously, you're one tough halfling, and you should be proud of that."

Flora smiled at my words, and then neared once more. This time, she slowed down her attacks and lasted a bit longer. There was improvement.

A few weeks later, and she left the village of Anwich behind to strive off as an adventurer.

None of the Picey actually took it out on me. They knew she had a bad case of wanderlust, as was common with most of the halflings who didn't find that special someone to settle down with, and so they actually waved her off happy for her decision. I was in the crowd cheering for her.

Thus, the peaceful and idyllic life as a Village Paladin continued for the likes of me, even though I had lost both of my sparring partners, and I wasn't desperate enough to actually accept teaching Eril and her gang of misbehaving children.

However, such peace could not last forever...

...and everything changed when the goblins' raiding parties attacked.

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter Five - Anwich

It was cold. Rather than stick our heads out in the center square, Cyne and I were hanging beneath a thatch roof, the village elder nearby under a blanket. It was the front of his house were occupying, doing our best to be nearby should something troublesome happen. There were some good feet of snow on the ground, the coldest months having come with the relentless and biting chill typical of the climate, really.

The three of us were sipping on warm, spicy, and dirty water that went as beer, and playing cards. Cyne had beaten me handily up to that point, but now the village elder was outright destroying us both at the same time.

I was starting to think that perhaps the elder of the village had in the past been a regional champion, or a powerful wizard who could coax the very fabric of fortune to give him a much needed boost.

"It's impossible," I muttered, staring at the cards in my hand. "It's the sixth hand I get like this!" I cried out.

"You've got really bad luck then," Cyne remarked, fishing for a good card. "You get better with time."

I hung my head low in disbelief, ready to lose yet one more hand. The noise of the snow cracking under someone's feet caught my ears. A figure came over the bend of the village's dirt street, waving his hands frantically. He slipped on the gathered snow, fell forward, and scraped his hands as he quickly got back up. It was Ilbor's stocky figure, and since his expression was as panicked as the day he proposed to Cyne's daughter, then it in turn made us all panic.

It was a good thing.

"Goblins!" he yelled. "They're in the fields!"

My heart turned into ice. "How many!" I barked.

"A...This many!" he lifted both hands. "And more!"

My veins soon began to chill too. I glanced up at the sun, half-clouded by the thick clouds of Roktar's month. This wasn't a scouting party, it was something worse. They were coming for the granaries and the livestock. "Gather the militia," I said. "Anyone who can hold a spear or a pitchfork and is willing to risk his life," I continued. I turned towards Cyne. "You go open the armory and get the spears out. I'll head over."

I ran down the dirt road, my eyes adjusting to the painful light of the overcast sky. Small blotches moved in the fields, the villagers down in the village already running away from it. There were practiced answers when it came to brigands and monsters. Depending on the circumstances, locking oneself in one's house worked. Otherwise, there were a couple of cellars.

If that didn't work, running for the forest was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing if the attackers didn't care about taking lives. It was a curse if the attackers came from the forest to begin with.

The blotches were headed for the closest granary, but as they dropped out of view beyond the village's houses, I was honestly baffled. Goblins were nocturnal creatures. There was no reason, not that I complained, for them to move during the day. Cloudy as the weather was, their sight would be not much more than a set of blurs. Yet there they were, trying to pilfer from a granary.

It was a matter of hunger.

It struck me like a sudden sixth sense. The goblins were hungry. They were hungry, and thus desperate. Perhaps I had a chance, even greatly outnumbered as I was. "Shiny kettle! Shiny kettle!" Eril waved her arms excitedly, holding on to a large stick. "What's the plan!?"

"Head with the others to Boris' cellar, and keep them safe!" I snapped at her. Hopefully, this would pacify her half-elf brain turned to mush. I stopped my running once at the outskirts of the village. The fields were barren, the produce already gathered and settled in the granaries. The livestock was inside the barns, and thus nothing obscured my line of sight to the goblins' presence.

There were a dozen of goblins clad in crude pelts, with stocky bows and jagged scimitars. They spoke in guttural verses, laughing as they tried to hack their way inside the barn. I briefly glanced behind, wondering where Cyne and the militia were, when the smiling face of Eril came into my sights.

"What did I tell you?" I asked her, curtly.

"I know when someone's trying to give me the slip," she said in a hushed whisper. She then peeked past me, at the goblins. "Are those...goblins?" she whispered.

"Yes, they are," I muttered back. "And there's too many of them for me to be able to deal with them, and protect you at the same time."

"So you were trying to give me the slip!" Eril snapped, and I stared at her in disbelief.

"This village is under my protection," I said in a hushed whisper. "You are a part of it too. Now be sensible, and let us grown-ups deal with it." Slightly out of breath, I saw Cyne and the few militiamen arrive holding on to their rickety spears that had seen better days, and wearing padded armor that would probably dull the sting of an arrow, but not stop it from puncturing. Scimitars would bite into the padding, and perhaps save the limb, but not stop it from bleeding.

"What's the kid doing here? Gave the slip to her handler?" Cyne whispered, and I nodded while Eril had the galls to look indignant.

"Here's the plan," I said. "There's twelve of them and...five of us," I ignored Eril's increased umbrage at being ignored. "I'll cover the distance first. When you see them drop their bows, you run in the mettle. Try not to scream or they'll get back to their bows as fast as they can."

"That's asking a lot out of you," Cyne muttered. "We can let them get the crops in the granary."

"No, we can't," I hissed. "They're desperate and hungry. They're just a part of a bigger company, and if they catch a whiff that there's food here, they'll come back in greater numbers. We need to deal with them, and quickly. Goblins are cowardly by nature, so kill enough of them, the rest's bound to fold." I stood up, craned my neck briefly, and then took a deep breath. I settled my helmet atop my head, looked at the ragtag group, and then straight at Eril.

"You take a single step out of cover before the battle is over, and I swear upon Helm's might and guard that I will have you wash the pigsties of the entire village as punishment throughout winter," I swore it, and the warmth within my chest eagerly accepted my pledge with the giggling of innocence. "Stay. Here." I walked out, shield and sword in hand, and then I began to dash across the field.

For the first half, I wasn't seen. Then, the arrows came sailing down. The goblins weren't poor shots, but all they saw was a moving blur. An arrow landed awfully close, but bounced off the shield. A second shattered against it. A third hit my chain-mail by my shoulder, but the chain held, and the missile itself slid off with the tinkling of steel meeting steel.

I gritted my teeth, my feet dug in the frozen mud, but they did not slip. My legs burned, my breathing came out as a haze, and soon I was upon them. My sword slammed into the guts of a small, greenish creature with crimson eyes and sharp teeth. The smell it emitted was fetid, like an open sewer. The blade sunk deep in the flesh, and then I pulled it free just in time to slam my shield against an incoming swing of a scimitar, parrying and delivering a nasty cut on the offender's neckline.

I swung back with my entire body, not twirling, but keeping my eyes on those closest to me. Everyone of those small greenish bastards turned to look at me as I weaved through a flank of their forces, hitting the third goblin with the pommel of my sword, and digging the sides of my shield in the face of a fourth. A scimitar swung and slammed into my back, but I bit back my tears as the sting and the bruise traveled upwards to my brain, only to choke out as the thrumming within me warmed my flesh.

My blade swung again, my breathing short, but the strike true. It split the forehead, spraying blood on the edge of the blade. An arrow landed on my shield, one of the goblins further away having chosen to nock an arrow on its bowstring rather than try to near in the mass. I kept moving. I saw the militiamen drawing near, as quietly as they could. Cyne slipped on the frozen ground, falling down with a choked cry.

The rest didn't stop.

Thankfully, they didn't stop.

A scimitar dug into my thigh, and I cried out as the chain-mail did little from making me feel the snap of the broken bone from the strength of the blow. I growled at the sight of the goblin's smug face, the warmth within thrummed, blazing like the miniature sun I knew it could become.

"With seared flesh," I mouthed, not much of a voice left in me to yell, "we witness the thunder."

My blade thrust, the pain in my leg a searing agony. The point of impact of the blade's tip shone with the searing light of the God's might, and a thunderclap echoed through the air, shattering the frozen ground and deafening the goblins nearby, who cried out as they clutched their ears. The one struck flew back like a broken doll, a hole the size of a fist in its chest.

I took a deep breath as the lull in combat allowed the warmth within to twirl to the edges of its ability and soothe my frayed nerves, setting the bone with an equally loud snap. I stood up, capitalizing on the opportunity granted, and slammed into a winded goblin the bloody edge of my blade.

The militia finally reached with their spears, and swung with the grace of drunken men. The goblins were half-blind, half-deafened, and thus they fell like wheat to a scythe.

Amidst their remains, I exhaled in relief at the sight of their corpses.

"We need to put up a watch tower of sorts," I remarked. "Granary's top should do," I wheezed out. "A hunter with a torch ready to be lit if they come back."

"Do you ever rest, Shade?" Cyne wheezed in reply, his hands on his trembling legs as someone near him, Ilbor to be more precise, barfed on the ground. "You did good lads," he added. "You all did good."

My eyes scanned the surroundings, and then moved to the outskirts of the forest. For the briefest of instants, a cold chill ran across my spine. The sweat on my back had begun to freeze, and it was the most uncomfortable thing I had ever felt.

Thus, we returned as triumphant heroes...

...but the night was cold, and carried its own dangers with it.

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter Six - Anwich

A hundred souls circa lived in Anwich. Of those, perhaps forty were able-bodied enough to withstand a goblin's attack, but not strong enough to fight on equal terms with them. Even if we had a dozen more spears than the six we had, it wouldn't mean anything. The hunters at least knew how to fire with their bows, but even so it would be harsh on those who couldn't see at night.

"The granary will be their first objective," I spoke to the gathered mass of villagers. "They'll aim for it if they see the village's well fortified. However, they're famished enough they won't hesitate to throw themselves on us, and even if they spend the night eating, the next night they'll be back for us." Overhead, the sun was ignoring the plight of the village beneath, and proceeded uncaring towards the horizon, to rest.

Some wolves howled in the distance, their guttural laments chilling the air as more than one villager looked on in fear.

"We'll be holding the granary," I said. "It's small, compact, and the goblins are stupid, but not so stupid they'll burn it down together with the food they need." Also, the walls were made of brick, rather than wood, mud or thatch.

"The granary's not big enough for the whole village!" someone yelled in the crowd.

"It's not meant to be," I answered. "The granary is, make no mistake, a last stand situation. Everyone else will need to hide in the cellars of the village for the night. We'll throw the supplies in there, and cover the trapdoors with dirt."

"We'll be sealed in!" another yelled. "Like rats!"

"Cyne went to get help from the city, and he'll back in a matter of days," I said grimly. "If we survive the night, we'll get you out. Goblins are dangerous when the sun's down, but relatively so when it's up. It's going to be a few cranky nights, but..." I looked at them all, "You'll be alive by the end of them. If nobody comes to get you out during the day, do not panic. Cyne will return with reinforcements and get you out."

I then looked at the six spears settled by my side. "This is going to be tough. I need twelve of you. The granary's upper floor has some windows, and they can be manned by hunters. Six people will have to hold the spears and stick with me on the lower floor, and through the night they might be wounded, or need someone to take over for them." Because they would be dead was left unspoken, but it was understood. "We don't have much time, so...I need those volunteers."

The previous volunteers walked forward again, and as some men joined too, I was left with a serviceable number. "I'm not going to be using a spear, but I'm helping too," Orin remarked, a large woodcutter's ax in his hands. The stocky dwarf carpenter was an inspiring presence to have. He was well-known in the village, and had been around for quite some decades.

Thus we quickly got to work, carrying what we could into the cellars and bolting them shut with the villagers inside. It was strenuous work, the fear of the sun dipping low redoubling our efforts. By the time the last of the cellars had been sealed and covered, and the granary barricaded where possible, I glanced at the volunteers inside the room. "Remember, the best outcome is that they don't breach the door," I looked at each of them, "Do not charge them. We have pots with water, and if you need to take a leak, take it in an empty pot. We might need it if they forego eating, and burn us down."

"Ha! Goblins!" Orin grunted as he took a seat atop a bag of flour. "I remember those nasty buggers were always a nuisance rather than a trouble, but then again we dwarves are stout folks! We know how to swing an ax from birth," he grumbled as he filched from one of his pockets something eerily similar to a reed, and then began to chew on it. "They've always been wusses, the lot of them. Mighty strange they'd go this far for food."

Something clattered in the back of the granary. I tensed, and then pinched the bridge of my nose as a very familiar figure, holding on to an equally familiar big wooden stick, emerged from behind a few barrels.

"I'm a volunteer!" Eril blurted out.

"You are an absolute hellion," I replied, strength briefly leaving my limbs as I slumped my shoulders. "Stay in the corner, and do as little damage as possible. Tomorrow, I'm ensuring you're thrown in a cellar with the others."

"Bah," Eril rolled her eyes. "I'm a good shot with my bow," she fished from her hiding spot, behind a few crates, a bow made of twigs and spider webbing for string. "I can help the others on the upper floor."

"No," I said flatly, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "No, you will not. You will sit, you will wait, and when the day comes, you will apologize to your parents." I turned thoughtful, "Who are your parents anyway?

"My caretakers," Eril said dryly, "Are me and myself."

"Old Morrick," Orin answered. "It's supposed to be him anyhow."

"Isn't he above us?" I said, "I'm going to have a word with him."

A gnome head appeared from the floor above, "I've got ears lad," he said, "And I ain't going to do a thing about it. Girl's old enough to do whatever the hell she wants."

"She's twelve," I replied airily. "Still under your care."

"She hunted a deer by herself, she's adult enough for the forest," Morrick replied. "Still giving her a roof and access to my pantry, but once she earns enough money, she'll be living by herself."

I lifted both hands up in the air, as if willing to throttle the old gnome's hardheaded neck, but then exhaled and let my arms slump down. "Fine," I said. Old Morrick retreated, returning to the upper floor and to his post. "You're an adult for the forest," I continued towards Eril, "but you aren't an adult for the law. Stay in a corner, and-"

Wolves howled. The wolves howled and snarled loudly as their running began to encircle the granary. There were laughs in high-pitched, snarling tones. The thrumming warmth within my body had greatly diminished, and yet to return. "People," I spoke firmly, "To your positions."

Crates were moved, and as the villagers took their places behind them, the door started to buckle. The guttural snarls grew in frustration. Over our heads, I could hear the cries of the hunters getting a clean hit in, or of frustration at missing. More beatings against the door happened. The door refused to yield, and so with a ferocious snarl something slammed against the door. There was the scraping of nails against the wood, and then more snarls of frustration.

The door kept rattling for what felt like hours.

Then, a hinge caved. "Steady lads," Orin grunted. "Just a hinge. The door's made by me, not gonna break that easy!" he laughed, a few others cheering on.

The second hinge began to rattle, and creak. The noises outside grew heated with glee. They had felt the door loosen, and as they redoubled their efforts, the second hinge soon broke. They pushed forward, but a stack of crates filled with rocks halted them. Thus, they had no choice but to push the door back. The moment they did, and a small green goblin neared eager to get in, a spear struck the creature's neck from the sides.

The small creature screamed loudly, but died as a second spear dug into its neck deeper still.

The corpse was soon replaced by another, and then another. The spears stabbed as quickly as they could, but thick shields covered in leather blocked the blows and the crates began to chip, and then break under the assault. Soon, the lower crate shattered and the upper one fell down, squashing a goblin to death.

The goblins breached the door, their shields moving forward to withstand the blows. The spears glanced against the leather, some stuck, but a couple actually shattered.

"Get to the upper floors," I snapped, plowing forward with my sword wielded in both of my hands. The blade dug sharply into the center of a goblin's shield, and it shattered the wooden circle, sending the goblin to stumble backwards, clutching its broken arm. "Bring the spears with you!"

My feet kicked from below, lifting up the shield of the second goblin, slicing at him in a diagonal slash. Nearby, Orin's ax dug into the flanks of a shield-goblin, shattering its shield and sending splinters in the air. His beard was matted with blood, but his swings were methodical, if lacking grace.

An arrow landed in a nearing goblin and its foaming mouth, making it gurgle and giving me the time to break its face with the pommel of my sword. "Get upstairs!" I snarled to the half-elf archer who was in so much trouble, she didn't even know the half of it.

Another arrow landed nearby, but the goblin swatted it away with its scimitar, a crude block of iron shaped like a sword, but not really worthy of being called like one. The opening gave me the time to thrust into its body, watching it crumple with a gagging noise of pain.

Blood began to splatter on the ground as my swings grew quicker, the twirling of my blade striking through whatever exposed flesh the enemy in front of me dared to show. The sweat poured through my back, and my arms. The chain mail tinkled from the sharpness of my movements, clinked from the blows it dulled and then broke as a peculiarly vicious thrust shattered the metal links.

A slightly taller Goblin snarled straight in my face, eyes flaming with anger, the lips curled in disgust. Blood dribbled warmly from my sides as my breath left me, the blinding pain shaking my whole body.

"We. Eat. You. Yes." The goblin cackled with joy. My left arm fell down sharply, my fingers dug into the blade's side as I wrenched the blade out of my wound. The warmth within my body was largely gone, spluttered out as the watchful presence of Helm over the proceedings dimmed. I had fought well. A paradise would await me. However, I couldn't do it.

"No," I hissed back. "I swear you won't."

My blood warmed my skin, even as cold crept from within me. The heat twirled through my arm, into my blade. Searing flames spread across it, much to the goblin's surprise.

"On broken knees," I growled, "We hold the weight!" the blade thrust, the flames igniting the blade with their heat and form. The air twisted, the goblin's eyes widened. He moved back, nimbly so, and grabbed hold of another goblin nearby to use as a shield. The creature didn't see what hit him, but died in a burst of flames, screaming hoarsely as it tried to roll on the ground, only for its boss to crumple its neck under foot.

I fell on one knee, the pain dimmed, but the loss of blood too much for my body to bear.

Then, the goblin laughed. He spoke in its guttural tongue, the other goblins starting to pour in with maniacal glee etched on their faces.

Briefly, I wondered if the others had been smart enough to pull the ladder up. I turned my head to glance, and saw it still there. They were looking at me from the upper floor.

The fools.

"Get up here!" now that I was looking at them, I could hear their voices. How long had they been crying for me to notice them? And how long had I ignored them, to ensure none could get past me?

The snarls and the laughter of the goblins had drowned them until now. I saw a few smile at the ladder, and try to near it only to receive a spear thrust. However, others had begun to grab the shields of their fallen comrades. The villagers weren't capable of fighting with spears against opponents wielding shields, that much was clear.

My vision began to blur.

The last vestiges of Helm's might shimmered within my frame.

"We eat all them. Yes. Crunchy taste good." The goblin boss gleefully told me, nearing with his scimitar.

I kept my grip on my sword. He'd eat them. He'd eat them all. The fools hadn't broken the ladder. They hadn't pulled it up. Those fools. Those damn fools.

"Ever-Vigilant," I whispered, my voice hoarse, "I must protect them."

The shimmering coals of warmth within me burned brightly, like a freshly stoked fire. The flames burned through my chest, up my arm, into my blade. It shone like a miniature sun. It burned like one, filled with the energies of a God's might and strength. It tinkled like a midday chime, crystal-clear in sound as it slit the throat of goblins' boss.

The others screamed as they clutched their eyes.

They stopped screaming once I was done with them.

I stopped screaming Helm's name once I fell on the ground outside the granary, the survivors of the nightly attack running away in fear and fright upon their wolves.

I needed a rest.

I really needed a rest.

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter Seven - Anwich

There was no respite for the likes of me. The goblin assault had been broken, but not defeated. My presence through the next nights was required, but through it the goblins refused to engage, skittering and skulking to the edges of the forest. Sometimes, they'd throw an arrow which my shield parried, or they'd have their wolves howl. However, they'd never near too much.

Goblins were fearful creatures, even hungry, they refused to die. Perhaps they had found food in the forest, which gave them pause on their need to assault our granary. Still, my eyes centered on road. Cyne, if he had been as fast as possible, would return on this day. It would be a welcomed respite, since my bones were threatening to creak and snap under the effort to stay awake through repeated nights.

A cloud of dust warned me of someone's high-speed arrival.

"Mielikki be blessed," old Morrick grumbled from my side, "Looks like Cyne came through."

"Good for us," I said. My eyes scanned the cloud, watching it part as horses rushed towards the village.

Cyne was in the back, a group of armed men in the front. The symbol of Helm shone from the armor of a few heavily armored men. Behind them, a few strange-looking people followed dutifully. One was clad in green, a bow strapped around his shoulders. A robed figure with the cowl covering most of its face on another. There was a pony trotting together with the group, a gnome on its back.

"Brother," one of the two heavily armored paladins of Helm spoke, both dismounting to near me. I extended my hand, clasping arms with each of them in turn. "You look weary."

"My vigil has been long," I answered. "I am glad to see friendly faces," I added with a sigh of relief. "These are the reinforcements?"

"Indeed," the second of the paladins spoke. "Anwich has always been a faithful village, it would be remiss to let it fall to the evil of the goblins."

"The village is still standing," the figure clad in green spoke, his voice gentle, his ears pointy. His hair was dark, the color of a tree's bark. "Perhaps there are not that many goblins."

"Nah," Old Morrick piped in from my side, "It's just our Helmite scared the crap out of all of them. They came running in for the granary in the first night, and this one," he patted the back of my leg as if I was some kind of prized animal, "nearly bit the dust holding them back. Got their boss too, so they're disorganized as heck right now."

"Indeed? A goblin horde without its boss is far less dangerous, but the danger in dealing with the boss itself is quite high," the elf said, his eyes zeroing on me. "You must be quite strong." I coughed awkwardly at the praise.

"The Ever-Vigilant aided me in my hour of need," I answered. "Though I have been discourteous, you must be tired from the trip. We do not have much, but I am sure we can find you some fresh drinks and food."

"How many are there?" the gnome asked, dismounting his ponies. Now that he neared, I realized it was a she-gnome, with short, bob-cut blonde hair and sparkling violet eyes. A crossbow was strapped to her hips, in diminutive size just like the staff she held on her back. A strange and fizzling backpack was on her back, and the fact it emitted plumes of white smoke did not assuage my worries. "Don't worry hun, it's just the potions' fermenting," she added as she caught my stare. "Nothing explosive."

I nodded, and then turned towards Morrick.

"Followed their tracks for a while in the forest," the old, mad, and definitely to be leashed gnome hunter said with a smile that told me that yes, he knew he'd be in trouble if he had told me that minutes prior, "Got a count of twenty of them, and a dozen or so wolves-riders. That's while discounting women and ugly children," he rubbed his gnomish chin.

"Then we must act with haste before they increase in number," the first paladin spoke.

"The village's hunters are willing to help, though I would ask you not to put them in undue dangers," I said. "Cyne-"

"My ass hurts so badly I don't think I'm going to live up to tomorrow," Cyne grumbled, massaging his back and interrupting my words. "I'm gonna call this one out."

"You can spread then good news then," I told him with a smile. "Make the rounds, won't you?"

"Sure, sure," Cyne muttered, dragging the poor tired donkey that had brought him all the way to the city and back to get some much needed rest.

I could use some rest too, but first I had to ensure the goblin problem was solved once and for all.

The two paladins were Bramzid and Tanar, of Shalevale and Mountnar respectively. The elf came from the verdant forests of Faehome, and his name was Erlan. The gnomish wizard Ivish Rustek came from Kandel, a city near the coast and on the other side of the perilous mountains of Aznar. I would remain to protect the village, and the four of them would move into the forest, seeking out the goblins together with the village hunters.

I stood vigil for the day by the granary, my shoulders slumped.

"Hey shiny kettle!" I glanced to the fields, where the figure of Eril came into view without her usual cohort behind her. She came to a halt in front of me, a bright grin on her face. "Heard from Cyne we got adventurers dealing with the goblins," she looked oddly pleased. "You think they're looking for a dead-shot girl to join them?"

"They already have their elf ranger," I pointed out dryly, "It's dangerous to stay here though," I continued. "You should stick closer to the center of the village."

Eril shrugged. "The way I see it, you're the safest thing in the whole village to stick close to, shiny."

I chuckled at that. "Perhaps so," I smiled. "Thank you."

Eril scrunched her brows. "For what? Saying you're shiny?"

"For the arrows," I quipped. "You did strike a goblin with one, didn't you?"

"Pfui," she waved a hand in dismissal. "I just got one," she stretched slightly, "You got like, what's that number? Ten and ten and ten?"

"Thirty seems a bit too much," I pointed out.

"Anyway," she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, "You were pretty cool back there, shiny kettle, how do you get a sword to shine like that?"

"The path of a Paladin is a hard and strenuous one," I spoke, starting to delve into the aspects of faith, of the order of Helmites, and what it meant to be a Paladin. After a few minutes, I realized Eril had gone away.

Thus, I sighed and resumed my vigil.

Unknown to me until much later, her cohort had been present.

They left a piece of paper strapped to the back of my chain-mail, the words on it clearly readable, even though written like chicken-scratches.

Kick me! 'Cuz I'm a dumbishiny kettle!

I laughed at that far more than I should have.

It felt good to be a valiant protector.

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter Eight - Anwich

The goblin menace dealt with, the colder months went by without much of a hitch, barring the occasional snowstorm which could be fought off with warm ale and fire, as well as thick wolf-pelts. Spring arrived as it was normal, and I received a letter from the city of Maneryt.

The birds were chirping happily as the snow had become nothing more than a fleeting memory. Flowers were growing on fields ready to be plowed, tilled and seeded. The letter, however, brought a sudden chill in my heart.

"Cyne," I said as I met with my colleague by the village's square, "It appears I'll be replaced. Be nice to the new Helmite."

Cyne's expression became turbulent, "What's this, a prank from our local paladin?" I shook my head, and placed the letter down on the desk. Cyne stared at the letter, and then straight at me. "What's this, serious stuff?"

"Serious stuff," I nodded. "A promotion to temple guard," I added, "In honor of my defense of this village from a goblin horde."

Cyne grimaced, "Guess it's the kind of stuff you can't say no to even if you wanted to, isn't that right?" he began to shuffle the deck of cards, "Well, that's a shame. I hope the next one's as good at losing as you are. Should notify the elder too," he gave the cards, looking dejected. "He'll miss your losing face too."

I laughed awkwardly, folded the letter back into my pouch, and then took the cards in my hand. I blinked as I looked at them. "Cyne," I said. "You've been cheating since the first time we played, haven't you?"

Cyne grabbed hold of the cards in front of him, and then cursed at the sight in front of his eyes. "Shit," he muttered.

I smiled. Mine was the serene smile of the forgiver of all crimes and sins. Cyne simply whimpered, grown-up man that he was.

Most of the people of the village were sad to see me go, a few thanked me for what I had done, some offered a piece of ham or cheese for the trip, and by the time I had done the rounds and had told the whole village, I just had to wait for my replacement to come along.

"Shiny kettle!" Eril's voice rang sharply as the half-elf girl had caught up to me. Her expression was one of shock. "There's an emergency!" she added quickly.

I steeled myself. "What is it?" I asked, "Goblins?"

"No! Worse! Dragons!" she bellowed, "I saw a dragon! It was this big," she widened her arms, "And it flew over the hill! It's...it's got to be in the forest!"

I snorted at those words. I shook my head. "Sure," I quipped dryly. "Such a mighty dragon I couldn't even see it fly," I sighed. "Try something like a hungry wolf next time, won't you?"

Eril pouted, and then began to walk by my side as I made my rounds. "The city's going to be filled with people, isn't it?" she asked. "Won't that make your job even harder?" she pressed on. "Why would you even do that? Don't you like it here?"

"So many questions," I chuckled in reply. "Well, I guess Maeryt's got more people than Anwich. However, I have been asked to protect the temple of Helm in the city, not the city itself. I will do my best, of course." I glanced at the fields, a couple of villagers throwing the seeds over the ground and stopping only briefly to give me a friendly wave of the hand. "It's been deemed that another Paladin who has experience with goblins would be a better choice to protect this village and uphold the law. You and your cronies better be nice to him, understood? He really might get you to wash your mouth with soap otherwise."

Eril stuck her tongue out in my direction, and then huffed. "It's cause we're the sticks that you're leaving, right?" she looked away. "I like it here."

"I like it too," I said gently. "But I am duty-bound to my superiors, and as Helm's will flows through their actions and words, so too it flows towards me. I must do as I am commanded for the good of all."

Eril's brows furrowed. "Sounds silly."

I brought my left hand down on her head, "Knowing that through your actions and your faith you are protecting countless innocents, Eril, is never a silly thing," I said quite seriously. "It's what makes me who I am."

"Then it makes you a silly person," Eril rebuked my words. "What's the point if you can't do what you like?"

"The point is that I like this village," I answered, "I like the villagers. I like them all, even the pesky brats," I sighed. "But I like protecting others too. If Helm wishes for me to head elsewhere, then I must follow the call having faith that I am most needed elsewhere. For my duties will end if I do not, and I do not wish to part with my task." I removed my hand from the top of Eril's head. "For my burden is my joy, Eril. The weight I carry is my pride. Though broken, I will still stand. Though shattered, I will still hold. I am a Paladin of the Ever-Vigilant, the Guardian, the Shield. If my arms must shatter in the name of his ideals, then rightfully I will let them shatter." I grinned.

"That's stupid, and your god's stupid too," Eril grumbled. "What kind of God would want the people believing in him to hurt themselves? No good god, that's who!" she huffed.

I shook my head. "Helm does not force us. We gladly obey of our own will." I knelt to be at her eye-level. Her eyes stared into mine as I gave her a gentle grin. "We are Paladins. Steadfast champions of our Gods, of the Ideals of our Gods, and we swear an oath, a great oath, that binds us to those ideals. Yet the oath plays only a minor role in it. It is our belief in the ideals that gives us comfort, that shelters us from doubt or fear. We are the shield that protects the weak. We are the chosen emissaries of our God's armed fist. We act not for ourselves, but for the glory of our God."

The warmth within my chest bubbled happily, as if pleased. "There is nothing else I would rather do in my life, than become a shield for those in need, thus, I am a Paladin." I smiled. "And you are no longer in need of me, but others are. Thus, to them I must go."

Eril didn't look convinced, but she knew she wouldn't be able to change my mind.

I would miss this village, just like I would miss its inhabitants.

The city of Maneryt had a trading outpost, some vivid commerce, and a ruined castle standing eerily over a nearby hill. The castle itself was being rebuilt under the combined effort of the landowners, mostly in order to ensure an added layer of safety to the roads traveled by the merchants.

A temple of Helm stood watch over the proceedings, the implicit reward would be a new temple of Helm within the castle's walls, once the castle repairs were over with. Thus, there was a need for more people to stand watch over the proceedings, and help around.

Thus my reward for my heroics...

...turned out to be pushing stone bricks uphill.

 

[shadenight123]

Chapter Nine - Maneryt

The Holy Shield was an inn. Someone, a long time before the true founding of the city, had wielded such a shield during the siege of the castle that now stood in ruins, and had used such a holy relic to defend against a demon's attacks. The shield in question was round, and made of metal. It had no particular holy symbol etched on it, and the fact it was crudely nailed to a wall told everyone nearby just how much of a truth there was to the inn's name.

However, the inn was visited by a certain kind of people, perhaps due to the name itself. Priests in robes and warriors of the faith were found in corners of the inn, speaking in quiet and somber tones among themselves. The castle's construction had brought in workers from various other areas, and their protection had been entrusted most often than not to mercenary groups, or faithful of various faiths.

Thus, in such a situation, I sipped at my lukewarm beer while trying my best not to jump at the loud ruckus a table down.

"So there I was!" the man bellowed loudly, "Grabbing hold of my sword with my teeth, my hands holding on to the back of the troll as the monster lunged for the village's sacrifice. I knew I had to be quick, so I went bam!" he slammed his armored fists against the table's surface. "Kneed him right in the spine! The bones cracked, but you know trolls, they don't care about that shit! But he slowed down, so I pulled myself up, grabbed hold of my sword with both hands, using my knees to hold up, and then-"

There was a brief moment of silence as the telltale sound of a sword being unsheathed echoed in the inn.

I kept sipping my lukewarm beer, not even bothering to turn around. Some of the paladins did turn their heads, and quite a few priests looked on worriedly at the proceedings. The man in question held his blade up high, one hand on the grip and one of the edge. "Then I thrust it right in front of the thing's neck, and began to pull! It was like cutting wood with a hacksaw!"

He sheathed the blade, and the whispers around the inn began once more, everyone having forgotten the spectacle already. I glanced at the man, finding him taller than me by a good head. The symbol of Torm was etched on the right gauntlet, differently from Helm's who was on the left. A greatsword, that had been the weapon he had unsheathed and then sheathed. Truly, the reddish hue of the hair and the thick beard made me think a barbarian had somehow gotten his hands on a suit of plate armor, but it was clear he was merely a faithful of Torm, in one of its...bolder incarnations, perhaps.

"So that's how you killed the Troll plaguing the countryside, Sir Bravus?" someone at his table asked. It was a priest, with whitish hair and wrinkles on his face. "What a feat it must have been."

"No, that's not the best part," the tall paladin said, "The best part is, get this, a Troll can move even without its head! I had to kick the head away, then cut every limb by itself! Torm saw justice on that day!"

I furrowed my brows. He could have used the divine will of his God to let his sword burn the Troll, couldn't he?

"Anyway, even that didn't work in getting Torm to look at me," the man hung his head in shame. "Perhaps an even greater feat must be done? He is the True and the Brave, so I fail to see what I am missing. That is why I am asking for your wisdom, as a faithful of the God Torm."

"So you have told me, and I see no reason to disbelieve you," the old priest remarked. "It is an odd thing," he acquiesced. "Perhaps there is something the god sees in you that you do not? Have you prayed him dutifully? Recited the scriptures?"

I finished my lukewarm beer, paid, and quietly made to leave.

"Shallowbrook!" someone called me as I was about to step outside. I stopped and turned, glancing around. "Shallowbrook!" someone called again, this time allowing me to pinpoint the location. It was an older priest of Helm, accompanied by a couple of younger ones and a few clean-shaved acolytes. "Forgive me, son, if I have not called you before, but I would like a moment of your time before you leave."

I nodded, and drew near. "Yes, Steeleye Norrick, may I be of service?" Steeleye was the title reserved to all priests of elder rank, regardless of their prowess, or the might of their miracles. It was a polite thing to say, and ever more politely did the old priest grin and shake his head.

"Some of my charges would like to hear about your encounter with a goblin warband," Norrick said, the other priests and the acolytes looking at me with vivid interest. "It is rare, and hopefully I wish it may not come to pass, but should such a thing happen again, I would rather have words of warning entrusted into the skulls of these young ones by someone who faced them, and lived."

I took a seat at the other head of the table, and took a small breath. I recounted the details of the day and the night, properly explained the reasoning behind the goblins' assault, and what motivated them. I pointed out their tactics, and their flaws. By the time I was done, a good hour had passed.

"Quite impressive," one of the acolytes whispered, "To face so many, truly the Ever Vigilant must have been witnessing the fight."

I shook my head. "The Ever Vigilant witnesses all of us, at all moments." I smiled. "How else would he know who is worthy of his miracles, and who still needs to learn?"

The Steeleye nodded, a wry smile on his face. The acolyte looked properly chastised, and humbly bowed his head in acceptance of my words. "Still," I added, "everyone had to learn once. So there's no shame in asking questions," I continued, humming thoughtfully. "And even then, to learn and to memorize are two different things." I grinned. "You can memorize the holy texts and you can recite all of the prayers, but if you do not learn from the words themselves, then how are they any different from simple books found at a library? It is the weight we give to those words that carry the wisdom of our God, and through those words, we find ourselves, and thus our faith grows anew."

"Quite the wisdom in someone so young," Norrick said, "I suspect your teachers were pleased to have such a wise pupil."

I chuckled. "Yes, and quite displeased when they realized that my calling went for the shield and the sword, and not for the miracles of our God. The Shieldfortress' chapel-master was quite affronted that such a wise head would be stuck within the confines of a steel helmet, to be banged on by swords and maces." I shrugged daintily. "Alas, I would have rendered the Ever-Vigilant a poor service, had I not followed through the path I knew I could undertake."

One of the priests looked at the table's surface, seemingly lost in thought. "The path the Gods trace for each of us is hidden to us mortals," he acquiesced. "How can we know truly that we are doing what is best for our God?"

Thus began a theological discussion. When you put together enough priests, acolytes and paladins, it was inevitable that one would spark.

Thus, in the quiet murmur of the inn, words were exchanged until the late hours of the night.

Some people went into inns to get drunk...

...faithful went into inns in order to study theology.