This is something I wrote that actually happened to me in the online MMORPG called Aika. I wrote it as if the game was real.

Title: A Paladin's Allies

Planet of Arcan ruled by the Goddess Aika

The Country of Feonir on the Sky Continent of Lakia

Genre: Adventure/Friendship

Location: Amarkand


The Amarkand Camp


Caurana, ranked level 20 aitan (1) paladin of Captain Cromwell's 8th unit 9th company sighed in relief as the healing magic of her fellow aitan, the blue-haired cleric Yuha washed over her injured arm. It had been damaged by a violent gunshot wound courtesy of a renegade rifleman. Out of the fifteen or so Aitan in the 9th company of one-hundred soldiers, the silver-haired paladin of the narrow blue-eyed face was the highest ranking next to Captain Cromwell.

"How's that?" Yuha asked, lifting her hands away from the patch of newly healed skin.

"Better, much better," Caurana murmured, running un-gloved hands over the places where her wounds had once been. "Thank you," The paladin was off-duty for the night, dressed in a thick leather version of her usual armour gear, a long dagger tucked into the hidden pocket of her knee-length skirt.

Yuha flashed a grin: her eyes were different colors and she looked down-right scary sometimes but her bark was worse than her bite. "No problem,"

"Move, you stupid pran!" Cromwell's angry bellow rang through the rare peace of the hilltop camp as two young pran (2) voices were drowned out. Yuha and Caurana clamped their mouths shut, exchanging nervous glances.

"Master, there's really no need for shouting," the voice of Cromwell's Pran Halion reprimanded.

"He always screams at people. He's a complete jerk." Jexala, Caurana's Pran grumbled.

Caurana winced but Cromwell only responded with a grunt. "Cleric Yuha," He entered without being invited, sweeping the tent flap aside. Cromwell's Pran Halion, a teenager with long blonde hair peeked in, received a glare from her master and retreated reluctantly. The Cleric dressed in Ysafye armour stood, saluting with her wand.

"Yes, sir? The First Lieutenant is fully healed," she reported.

Cromwell studied the cleric with a critical eye before glancing at the lieutenant. Her armour, shield and sword were laid out on the wooden table to the left wall of the 10 by 10 (foot) tent and due to the lack of her Alfaeia helm, her gaze was unconcealed. However, she seemed to have become an expert at hiding her gaze with her hair. He could see the black-eye though and he glared at Yuha.

"Hmph," he grumbled, stalking towards the paladin, feeling her body wired with tension. "Those damned bastards…" injuring my most senior officer. Who do they think they are? "Scat, you! She's fine,"

"Of course, sir." Yuha saluted, stiffly and strode out. Almost immediately, shouts could be heard from Jexala as Halion tried to calm her down but the young fire Pran was not to be appeased.

"Master, Master, don't let 'im be mean! Hit him!" Jexala exalted as Yuha's Pran struggled to explain to do so would get Caurana in trouble.

"Relax, Jex," Caurana called, standing. "I'm fine,"

Cromwell clapped a hand on her shoulder and shoved her back into her seat, glaring at her. "You are not 'fine,'" he snapped, staring her down. "I sent you to take out Jones because you're the best bloody paladin we have here! What the hell happened out there? If that repulsive Pran of yours hadn't transformed and flown back to get help, you would have bled to death!"

Caurana's gaze turned steely as she matched her captain's gaze. They burned with an anger and fire he hadn't seen in the young aitan's eyes and he swore inwardly, stepping back to give her the space she undoubtly required. Rank or no, some young Aitan caved into pressure and bit off any and everyone's head who angered them. And as much as he hated to admit it, he didn't want that to happen to Caurana. It would look bad and with the way she was going, it be a shame to spoil her good reputation.

"Well?" Cromwell asked after a moment, folding his arms expectantly. "I'm still waiting for an answer, Aitan,"

Caurana stood stiffly, clenching her fists as she contained her own self-frustration. "Sir, Jones is a rifleman class and therefore carries a distinct advantage of long-range attacks. Also he is flanked by members of Club Dread. It is not something I can attempt alone,"

"I thought you had a brain, Aitan!" Cromwell barked sharply, but it didn't make her jump as it use to back in Verband. "Get help! This is war, not a revenge scheme! Why do you think we have companies?"

"It was hard for me to muster help; many of the Aitan here are not use to working with me nor I with them. It would hinder us at best and my closest comrades have been transfered."

"Make new allies. You can gather your own allies whenever you choose Caurana," Cromwell replied. Her eyes widened slightly at the sound of her name: he rarely spoke it, preferring to bellow Aitan, solider, lieutenant or officer at her a great deal of the time. "You know Jones gives us leads to Krauss,"

"I know sir," she replied moving to the tent flap and glancing out but making no further move to leave. "I want to find out what's happened to the Major as well; his pran Kiki is good friends with Jexala. It's getting dark, sir,"

It was a subtle hint: it was getting dark and the torches were being lit as the first watch trotted to their posts. "You plan on killing Jones tomorrow?" Cromwell asked pausing with the flap half-open.

"Yes, sir,"

"Get help, Lieutenant," Cromwell ordered. "That's an order; I don't care if someone's from another company. You're not a green-horn anymore but everyone needs help sometime," He turned on his heel and swept out of the tent without a word, striding past an angry looking Jexala as Halion jumped up to follow him. Caurana watched the Captain go with a calm gaze as the twilight descended on Amarkand.

"He sounded nicer today," Jexala noted, plopping her teddy bear on her head as she pushed her ruby-red sunglasses up on her nose and dusted off her red and white dress. Her long dark hair was tinted with red.

"He's really not that bad," Caurana shrugged as Jexala stared at her master.

"Aika bless me, he's brain-washed you!" the young fire pran shrilled.


Cromwell was always up at dawn, fully armoured and ready for battle-after Halion forced her breakfast down his throat of course. At least her cooking had improved, making the questionable dishes she served (like Nerine lasagna) taste good.

The teenaged pran was humming as she cleaned the dishes in the wash tub as Cromwell stepped outside. The sun over Amarkand had really struggle to force it's light to reach through the thick cloud cover and the morning watch was reviving itself with coffee. A few Aitan were up and sparring, a few others were still in. Cromwell scanned the hilltop camp briefly; he was never one to enjoy the scenery anyway-and strode rapidly to his usual lookout point, strategically placed so he could see Camp Dread just a mile northwest of them and barely five feet from the abandoned Sabrina Market.

Several Aitan and soldiers saluted as he passed and he nodded briefly in acknowledgment before settling down for his morning stretches. Some ten minutes later, he noticed a lone figure amoung the trees of the hilltop slope heading towards the smithy and supply tents. His eyes narrowed, his hand going to the long dagger at his side before the figure slid out of the trees and headed for Dread Market, a pran close behind.

"Caurana…" he realized as the fast-moving figure of the paladin wove through the tall grasses. He pulled out a spyglass, watching her as a Dreadful Warrior attacked. She cut him down, leaving him injured he noticed and sliced her way through several more attackers before disappearing into the grassy hillside south of their camp, causing a frantic hubbub and a search.

There were screams of panic as a spiral of flame lit someone on fire and Cromwell chuckled as the unfortunate thief rolled on the ground beaten by the clothes of those few who cared as the rest rushed in the direction in which the paladin had disappeared. A few were firing arrows. Cromwell swept the area with his spyglass but was unable to locate the reckless paladin or her pran again. He frowned; there was no other Aitan with her.

"Don't get yourself kill this late in the game, Lieutenant…"


Caurana jogged steadily through the market, a majority of the Club Dread members lurking behind boxes as they watched her pass but they had seen what she had done to their comrades in the past. They were not stupid. Caurana kept low as she approached the large wooden platform where she knew Mike Jones camped with a few of his Dreadful followers

"There he is, Jex," she murmured, peering over the platform cautiously. "Mike Jones," The rouge rifleman was half-asleep; he was kneeling with his hands and hand balanced on the butt of his gun, the firing end punched into the wood of the deck below.

"You're not going alone, again, are you?" Jexala whispered.

"I've got you don't I?"

"Yeah, but I mean aren't you gonna ask another Aitan to help?" Jexala whispered.

"Don't worry, I called Spadillo with the contact stone," the Karenian paladin explained. "He's en route, let's go,"

"Should we wait?" Jexala protested just as Caurana approached the stairs. She hastily threw up her shield against the blow of a Dreadful Punisher's axe and the blow shuddered through her whole body as she gasped from the impact. She smashed her shield into his face and lunged, her sword blade clashing against the axe. Why did she feel vibrations? The Punisher use his large blade to force hers down and she lunged back, her sword point up for a strike. What was the absurd thudding?

She nearly jumped out of her skin as a warrior's steed came skidded out of nowhere as the ground cracked and buckled sent her flying.

"Ow," she complained backing away as Spadillo, a powerful warrior in red armour made quick work of the Punisher (he was already dead on the ground). His steed and pran waited on the road as Spadillo pounded up the wooden steps, nearly splintered the half-rotted wood as Mike Jones came awake taking aim at the charging warrior. Caurana followed behind at a safe distance, shield up as bullets pinged uselessly off Spadillo's superior armour as his roar shook the air. His blade mercilessly swung down, once. Just once.

Mike Jones crumpled to the ground, his blood staining the wood. The Club Dread members fled immediately and Spadillo glanced around a moment before turning to a stunned Caurana and Jexala. Jexala's eyes were big behind her green-lens pink sunglasses with her mouth open. Her master looked a little more dignified about it, simply staring. Then again he couldn't really see her eyes from under the helm.

"There you go,"

Caurana nodded. "That was impressive. But you could have given us some warning,"

Spadillo grinned under the helmet and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Sorry about that. Hope I didn't get you in trouble with your captain,"

"He told me to ask for help," she assured the warrior. "Thank you,"

"Anytime," he nodded, bounding over to his steed. "I'll see you later," His pran hopped on as the steed charged off in the direction it came, bowling over several Dread members on its way.

Caurana shook her head as she turned to head back. "Warriors…"


(1) Aitan-are warriors with special skills, holy warriors I suppose trained to fight the dark forces that abound in their land.

(2) Pran: fairy familiars that grow with their master and aid them in battle with one of three type of elements that are found in the sky: fire, air or water.

Halion is a Pran of my invention

Plz comment. How did you like it? I may post a second chapter...