Chapter Six
Still paralyzed in shock from Lothar's fall, Daellin and Ahran watched as Turalyon emerged from the hushed Alliance crowd and rushed to his fallen mentor's side. Even from this distance, the two Andorhalan men could see Turalyon's body shake violently. Threads of blinding gold enveloped the paladin and his immediate surroundings as he grasped the broken hilt of Lothar's sword. The waves of Holy Light lanced through the orc that downed Lothar, forcing it to relinquish his grasp of his hammer. The Light forced the orc to his knees, shaking more violently than Turalyon was, with the Silver Knight dwarfing the heaving brute. At this point, the Light was so blinding that the entirety of the orcish Horde shielded their eyes from its wrath. For reasons only known to the Light and the devout, the light was not blinding to the Alliance.
With a rush of adrenaline and inspiration, Daellin cried out, "For Lothar!" before creating a golden shield of Light around his body then jumping down the mountain ridge. The paladin was the very soul of throwing caution to the wind.
Ahran stood there for a moment, surprised by the sudden jump from his friend. "For the Alliance!" Ahran mimicked his friend as he, too, jumped forward and landed on the side of the mountain. The initial impact painfully reminded him to call upon the Light to protect himself in a rigid shield of warmth. Despite the outcroppings and crags on the mountain side, the paladin glided down the face of the mountain like the dwarves that skied down the cliffs of Khaz Modan in winter. While scaling down the mountain, Ahran noticed that the battlefield erupted once more into madness. The loss of the Lion surely reinvigorated both warring sides for different reasons.
While surfing down the mountainside was relatively easy with the shield of Light, the landing was not graceful for Daellin. Once he made contact with the ground level of the valley, he stumbled face forward and landed on his stomach. He quickly rolled over to his back, expecting to see an orc ready to strike. Instead, he met an all too familiar sight- the outstretched gauntlet of his mentor, Uther.
"C'mon lad, we have a war to win," Uther said as he pulled Daellin up.
Daellin nodded, "For the Light." Right after his response, Ahran elegantly landed from his trip with his sword already unsheathed and ready for combat- like an angel descending from the heavens. The three paladins exchanged knowing looks and nods before charging into the maw.
Members of the Alliance and Horde viciously fought against one another in flurries of swords, axes, and limbs. Blood sprayed from the limbs and necks from both sides before succumbing to death. Amidst the bloodshed and chaos, the men of the Light carved their way to where Lothar fell. As they struggled their way to Lothar's body and Turalyon, the paladin trio constantly had to parry and riposte their way through waves of orcs. One eager orc went for a second attack after a parry from Daellin but quickly met the business end of the paladin's sword though his neck. Another orc, completely naked save for his warhammer, was lanced through the abdomen by a bolt of Holy Light from Uther.
"Ahran, six-o'clock!" Daellin called out to his friend as he spotted an orc brute barging straight on. Without looking, Ahran covered his back side with his sword, parrying the axe attack. Following through with the parry, Ahran turned and lashed his sword across the orc's exposed head. It took a bit of strength for Ahran to pull out his sword from the skull of his fallen foe.
"I owe you one!" Ahran shouted back as he continued his charge through the throng of chaos.
"You owe me more than one!"
Ahead of the trio, the rest of the Silver Hand fought orc after orc with Tirion at the lead. "Lord Uther," Tirion exhaled deeply, "the orcs are staging a last ditch effort towards Turalyon's position, no doubt trying to rescue their chieftain. We need to reach him before they do."
"Aye," Uther muttered as he looked over the situation. The paladins were still a good two hundred yards away from the ramp into Blackrock where Turalyon, still glowing in radiant light, was fending off orcish fiends. Another contingent of Alliance soldiers were making their way to the fallen Lion's second-in-command but they, too, would need to cut their way through the enemy. "Silver Hand! To our brother's side!" Uther ordered as he charged forward, warhammer raised high as a beacon for his knights to rally around.
"You heard the man, let's go!" Daellin called out to the dozen or so knights. It felt odd to be barking out orders in the presence of those that trained him back in Stratholme, but he reminded himself how they were all equal in the eyes of the Light. Thus, it did not surprise him to see veteran paladin and initiate alike follow his example and push towards Turalyon.
"Left-side flank! A dozen of 'em!" Saidan Dathrohan proclaimed. Daellin turned to where Saidan was yelling from and saw several orcish warriors, dressed in simple leather or chainmail as well as crude axes and blades.
"Leave this to us," Tirion said as he walked up next to Saidan, viscously rubbing the top of Saidan's head like an older brother would to his younger sibling. The two held their large warhammers in preparation for battle. A gold aura resonated strongly around the two.
Saidan added to the rest of the Silver Hand, "Get your asses to Turalyon." Without another word, the two paladins charged into the heat of combat to protect the left flank. The rest of the Silver Hand continued to push towards Turalyon's position on the Blackrock ramp. By now, a pile of orc corpses had built up around the paladin yet he showed no signs of letting up. Daellin could not help but admire his brother-in-arms tenacity in the face of tremendous odds and grief. Nevertheless, they would need to cut off the waves of brutes with what they had left.
"Gavinrad, take the others to the right flank!" Uther ordered. "We will take the front and secure all sides of the ramp."
Gavinrad grinned and gripped his warhammer tight, "As you say, friend!" With that, the ferocious paladin took the other knights and continued forward, encountering an entire wall of orcs immediately. Despite the constant onslaught of orcs, the Silver Hand successfully established a line around the ramp. This left the two Andorhal men and their mentor alone at the base of the ramp. Before them, another wave of orcs, all armed with crude arms and blind with bloodthirst, charged towards the holy men.
"By the Light be purged, demons!" Uther roared as he swung his warhammer at the closest orc that dared to attack the venerated paladin. The green monster did not have the reaction time to dodge or even attempt to block the blow before being sent sprawling to the burnt red ground. Daellin, seeing his mentor's savage blow from the corner of his eye, recalled his experiences as an apprentice in Stratholme. Of course, back then Uther was holding back against the would-be paladins; Daellin had rarely seen Uther's blows at full strength and for the fallen orc it was the last thing he would see.
Daellin, inspired by the demonstration of raw power of his mentor, grasped the hilt of his sword tightly before engaging with an orc that had tried to decapitate the paladin with its axe. Like many times before, the knight used the orc's falling momentum against him by side stepping and thrusting his sword just under its ribcage. The orc growled in agony before Daellin sent a singing shock of Holy Light at the orc's head, instantly killing the brute. Satisfied with his most recent triumph, Daellin pulled out his sword and scanned for his next foe. It did not take long for the next orc to force his decision.
An orc lunged at Daellin from behind, sending both bodies to the ground. The paladin lost grip of his sword, as it was sent flying and landing several feet away from his reach. All the while, the orc, on top of the human, unleashed a volley of punches at the knight's exposed head. Daellin did his best to block and move his head away from the blows, but a few landed. Blood trickled down his nose and the bruises were beginning to mount, yet the paladin continued to struggle to get the orc off his chest. In between the blows, Daellin's blurred vision saw that the orc was reaching for a jagged knife sheathed on its waist. In a flash of an eye, the orc pulled out the knife and thrusted it towards Daellin's neck. Without a second to spare, Daellin clenched the orc's veiny arm. He had to use all of his might to stop the orc from plunging the dagger into his flesh. However, the orc's raw strength and bloodthirst was quickly overcoming the beaten knight. The dagger crept closer and closer to the point that the tip pierced the skin of Daellin's exposed neck. The orc grinned in pleasure, showing terribly stained and sharp teeth.
That same grin was sent flying a few feet to the side, with the rest of the orc's body falling limp on top of Daellin. Dark blood oozed on top of his armor and neck as he struggled to push the body off of him. "Need help?" a friendly voice asked as it kicked the body off of Daellin. Standing tall above Daellin was Ahran's cocky grin. He held out a hand, like many times before, which Daellin took and was lifted to his feet.
"I think we're even now," Daellin mumbled as he swatted blood from his cheek. However, there was no time for amicable banter as the battle continued to wage on around them. The Andorhalan men spotted Uther finishing off the last orc from the initial wave of brutes. After what seemed like an eternity of fighting that wretched day, it appeared that fewer greenskins were actively fighting. Daellin could see in the distance that many orcs were retreating back into the mountain range or out into the open charred landscape with their tails tucked in their ass cheeks. However, the Silver Hand was still in constant battle around the flanks of the ramp with the remaining greenskins, trying their best to protect Turalyon.
Daellin turned towards the imposing ramp up to Blackrock. Standing on top of an even larger pile of orc corpses, the battle tested Turalyon knelt in exhaustion. "Turalyon!" No response. Perhaps he could not hear his call or perhaps he was too tired.
"He is fine, lad," Uther calmly said. Despite his mentor's stoic words, Daellin was still frightened for the state of his fellow Silver Hand paladin. This fear for his ally melted away, however, as Daellin saw a new, faint aura of gold resonating from Turalyon. It was not the blinding force that lit the entire valley from earlier, but rather a more subtle embrace. Furthermore, he noticed that his mouth was moving, clearly speaking but to whom? It dawned on him that Turalyon was not kneeling out of exhaustion but rather to be close to Lothar's body. Even in death, Lothar was being tended to by his second-in-command.
Daellin's heart lightened at the sight of such compassion, yet a ping of sorrow for the loss of human life. "May the Light protect them both," he softly muttered. At this point, the fighting around the paladins at the base of the imposing mountain had simmered. The paladins took this opportunity to appreciate the respite from battle, breathing for possibly the first time since the battle began.
This sense of calm would not last. A heavy sensation of pressure and darkness quickly ended Daellin's serenity, as an aura of dread pressed down on him like a brick wall. The trio of paladins, all feeling the same sense of dread, surveyed the battlefield to locate where the disturbing presence came from.
It didn't take them long. Before them, emerging from the fog of war, a slim hooded figure holding a black scepter sat on top of a robed horse. Both the figure and horse resonated a visible dark aura that corrupted the land around them. Where a face would be, a black void with two crimson orbs pierced into the very soul of the paladins. In addition to the ghastly appearance, a haunting series of words incoherent to the human ear chanted in a rhythmic pattern, sending chills down the paladins' spines. With each series of words, the aura grew in size and more land decayed.
Ahran took one step forward and flicked his sword to clean it of vile orc blood. "Death knight," he spat out, anger dripping with each word. Daellin heard of these monstrosities from what his friend and others had told him. From what he understood, the orc warlocks had taken the corpses of fallen men and raised them into undeath to fight against their former brothers in life. The death knights had laid waste to many battles in Lordaeron and elsewhere during the war and oftentimes it would take several knights to take down a single soldier of darkness. Thankfully, he had yet to encounter such an abomination. That luck had run out.
Uther, keeping direct eye contact with the Horde's monstrosities, said, "Alright, Daellin take the right, I will take the lead and-" Before he could finish, Ahran had already decided the plan of attack all by himself. The young paladin brashedly charged towards the death knight with his sword raised high. Without even calling upon the Light for protection or launching a Holy shock, Ahran leapt at the mounted death knight, aiming to decapitate the void off its haunting body. Before Uther or Daellin could react to the unannounced charge, the death knight pointed its scepter at Ahran, sending a coil of dark energy at the paladin. The sudden attack caught him off guard as the bolt of darkness directly impacted his chest. The blow upended his forward momentum and sent him sprawling backwards. Daellin, terribly concerned, rushed to his friend's side while Uther ran towards the death knight.
Ahran was breathing, but it was labored and his face cringed in pain. Daellin immediately channeled the Light from his body into Ahran's chest. Like every time before, the Light flowed from one body to another, but this time there was something blocking the recipient in accepting the healing. Daellin felt a tinge of pain pierce through his hands, forcing him to retract from his friend. The pain was unlike any blade or spell that Daellin had felt before; rather, it was of an unholy nature. It felt like what rot on a tree must feel like. He tried once again to heal his ally but, once again, pain crawled up his arms the moment he touched Ahran, like cockroaches on decayed food.
"Daellin!" The paladin spun around to see that Uther was struggling in blocking the volley of dark bolts from the death knight. His mentor needed him to defeat the undead horror, yet his friend was suffering from a pain he had never seen before. After hearing another labored grunt from Uther, Daellin reluctantly stood up, grasped his sword's hilt, and ran towards the engagement. With Uther keeping the death knight occupied, he figured he could surprise attack it from the side. The sooner the two holy men defeated this monstrosity, the sooner he could attend to Ahran's agony. His feet flew underneath him as his mind went blank.
10 feet…
5 feet…
Just before Daellin went to swing at the mounted ghoul, he felt his feet lift up from the ground without his own accord. The same unholy sensation he felt from Ahran's body constrict around his legs and crept up his entire floating body. It crawled under his armor and on top of his bare skin like maggots on a corpse. He felt incorporeal tendrils slither down his throat and choke his lungs. His vision was masked in a haze of green and black. Daellin tried to call upon the Light to save himself but his mind was too muddled to conjure a coherent thought. His lungs felt like they were about to burst and his throat was about to snap. Any last vestiges of vision were gone and the crontriction wrapped around his very heart.
Before Daellin's life force was snuffed out, the death knight was tackled and dismounted by Uther throwing his whole body at the monster. Instantly, Daellin fell to the ground with a thud, released from the death knight's grasp. The shock from the impact awoke his senses as he struggled to breathe. The tendrils that clawed at his insides evaporated. In between labored pants and wiping his eyes, he turned to see Uther swinging his warhammer at the death knight. However, the unholy beast floated away from each attack with ease, almost as if it was the air itself. With a flick of its boney wrist, the death knight crippled Uther with an unseen spell, forcing the paladin mentor to double over in agony. The paladin unleashed cries of pain Daellin had never heard before.
I have to...help Uther… Daellin thought as he struggled to get to his feet, using his sword as support. He acknowledged his dire situation; his friend was unresponsive, his mentor under unholy barrage, and he was clearly outmatched in combat.
"Light," Daellin coughed with a little blood dripping from his mouth, "grant me this one last request." The knight, who only a few years ago was a naïve farm boy from Andorhal, mustered the strength to stand fully erect and stood valiantly several feet away from the undead monstrosity. His visage was barely recognizable from the dirt and blood but his eyes remained ever-focused. He pointed his sword at the death knight, still occupied with crippling Uther, but the younger paladin grabbed its attention.
Still hidden under its shroud, the death knight turned towards Daellin. "Foolish human," the death knight's whisper carried in the air. While the words were in human Common, the whisper wreaked of demonic fel and burned the paladin's ears like a hot iron. Daellin knew under the shroud would be the decomposed body of a man like himself, but that poor soul was long gone, replaced by the soul of a greenskin. If you could even call it a soul. The whisper chilled Daellin to his bones but he remained steadfast. The death knight, without warning, ended his torment on Uther and turned fully to Daellin, floating menacingly towards the paladin. Just like Ahran, Uther collapsed on the ground, struggling to overcome the necromantic energies that had pierced his very essence.
Daellin called upon his connection to the Light without uttering a word. He felt his bodily pain subside, if only for a moment, while his fear was replaced with confidence. Like it had done countless times before, the warmth of the Light rushed through his nerves and channeled to his finger tips. "Light, damn you!" he exclaimed. Daellin sent a scorching bolt of Light from his empty hand towards the death knight. The bolt shot through the air within a blink of an air, faster than any arrow could. However, it still was not quick enough, as the death knight countered it with his own bolt of fel energy. The two bolts clashed midair, creating an explosion of energy that forced the two foes back a few feet.
"Your 'light' has done nothing, paladin. You are alone and will die here alone," the death knight spat as it regained its composure on top of its skeletal mount.
"You haven't seen anything yet," a human voice answered the death knight's threat. Before Daellin or the death knight could react to this unexpected voice, dozens of holy bolts assaulted the cloaked fiend. Dust and earth scattered all around where the death knight was standing. Daellin snapped his head to see the source of the bolts. Standing in an aura of gold, Uther, with his renown furled eyebrows and intense eyes, pressed his attack. Never before had Uther been so focused, so angry. Bolt after bolt left his hand, adding to the righteous destruction aimed at his target. The very ground the paladin stood on resonated with light, fighting off the fel energy that corrupted the earth. With each volley, the golden aura grew in intensity around the paladin, forming what appeared to be a set of wings.
After a few moments of assault, Uther ceased his attack and collapsed to one knee with the aura suddenly disappearing. His pupil turned his attention back to where a haze of dust kept the target obscured. An eternity passed. Suddenly, two illuminated orbs met Daellin's own eyes. Dammit! Within the cloud of dust, a cloak of black and purple accompanied a low demonic murmur. Fel energy crackled all around like a thunderstorm. The haunting murmurs grew louder and louder.
Exasperated, Daellin knew what he had to do. With one last calming breath, he gripped his sword with both hands and charged forward, yelling out a bestrial roar. He faintly heard Uther call out, but his feet carried him too quickly through a motionless blur to even recognize what his mentor said. The only thought in his mind was the wellbeing of his close comrades. He prayed this last ditch attack would ensure their safety, at least long enough for them to retreat or for reinforcements to arrive.
The cloud of dust had dissipated just enough to reveal the death knight still standing, however, clearly injured by Uther's barrage. Its crimson eyes spotted the charging paladin and began channeling its unholy power as more fel crackled and snapped in every direction from its scepter.
Daellin's eyes were closed when he felt his sword make contact with a skeletal body. The cold sensation of the death knight's spells danced on top of his skin once more. Incorporeal maggots festered on his skin while his bones were chilled like the frozen ice caps of the far north. While his mind was clouded, a thought rested on his youth in Andorhal.
He could see himself running through the streets. He could see his mother scolding him for skipping school. He could see himself laughing with Ahran as they enjoyed a watermelon together. Ahran...
The cold was gone, the rot on his skin cleansed. The paladin hesitantly opened his eyes. Before him, his sword was pierced through the death knight's hood, right between the two red orbs. The impact of the blow lowered the death knight's hood down, revealing a heavily decomposed man's face with exposed cheek bones, red eyes, and wilted skin. Daellin knew that at one point, this was a valiant human knight just like himself, but now it was only an empty husk for the orc's hellish magic. With a haunting groan, the red eyes dissipated to nothingness. What was left of the bodily husk collapsed upon itself, freeing Daellin's sword and forcing the paladin to the ground. Even the skeletal horse the death knight rested upon evaporated. All that remained was a pile of ash hidden in a pile of tattered robes.
"I...I-"
A wave of anger fell over Daellin. He cried to the heavens above as he kicked the pile of ash into further submission. With each kick, a crackle of fel energy snapped at the paladin-the death knight's last attempt at the paladin. Still not content, Daellin plunged his sword into the robes, slicing and dicing what remained of the monster. Sheer anger and agony have a tendency to make the seconds feel like hours. Daellin may have spent eons destroying what was left of the Horde's abomination. While his will could have gone on until the end times, his body relented. The paladin panted as he stared down the few straps of cloth that remained. Even the ash and dust were scattered to the wind.
Daellin spontaneously shot a bolt of Light at the straps. "Light damn you! Light damn you all!" he yelled as the last remaining pieces of evidence of the death knight's existence burned to nothingness.
"Peace, lad. You are good, lad. You did good…"
Accompanying the soothing voice, a hand clasped Daellin's shoulder. Daellin turned to see Uther with a small smile but weight in his eyes. The student stammered and could not produce any words of gratitude. Instead, tears of pain and sorrow rolled down his face for the first time in quite some time. These weren't the tears of physical pain that a child experiences after a tough tumble, but rather the pain of tremendous emotional agony. Despite fighting a grueling war, striking down countless enemies, and witnessing the loss of allies, he had not felt this amount of pain before.
Daellin collapsed into Uther's arms, aching and heaving. The embrace was comforting. He looked up to see stoic Uther, still showing a hint of a smile. "Ahran," Daellin started, "What about Ahran?" he asked. He frantically crawled up Uther's body to see where Ahran last was. Ahran was nowhere to be found. Instead, another reassuring hand rubbed his head; each finger entangling in Daellin's wet hair.
"You know you can't get rid of me that easily, right?" a familiar voice asked. Daellin's gaze followed the hand to find Ahran's goofy smile, the same he had when the two made untasteful jokes as teenagers in Andorhal. Much like how Daellin was wrapped around Uther for support, Ahran was being held up by Turalyon, no longer glowing in radiant light but clearly exhausted as ever. During another more peaceful time, Daellin may have found it funny that the two young men were being held up by two paladins that brought them up into the Silver Hand.
"Looks like I am stuck with you," Daellin replied, trying to hide his puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. Ahran laughed but immediately went into a coughing fit. Without saying a word, Turalyon nodded to Uther and walked away with Ahran in tow. For the first time since Daellin rushed to Turalyon's defense, he looked around his surroundings to take in the state of battle. The fighting had finally ended. He noticed lines of orcs, all handcuffed and chained, being marched away while several members of the Alliance cheered in celebration. The battle had been won.
Three days later…
Since the Alliance's victorious engagement at Blackrock, they had been planning their next course of action. The commanding officers were alerted how hundreds of orcs that escaped the battle were in full retreat. It was clear to Alliance command that they were dashing towards their portal from the hell they came from. The only clue they had was from rumors saying the portal was hidden deep in the swamps east of Stormwind. In a stroke of brilliance, the commanders decided their course for action would be for the orcs to lead them to the portal and finish this war against the greenskins once and for all.
Meanwhile, the Alliance had other matters to attend to. The body of Anduin Lothar, the lion of Stormwind that fell at the hands of the Horde's warchief, was to be sent to his reclaimed city for a state funeral before being laid to rest. In his place, Turalyon stepped into full command of the combined might of the Alliance. As he was Lothar's close second-in-command and proved at Blackrock his willpower and determination, everyone supported the promotion without any reservation. Meanwhile, his fellow paladins were still regrouping from the intense battle as they prepared for their next move.
Daellin stood beside the campfire in the center of a dozen tents, completely still. His eyes were deeply entrenched in the dancing flames. Thankfully, he was only in his casual linens and not in his full plate armor, otherwise he would run the risk of being boiled. His skin was still dirtied from the chaos of war. The knights had been too busy with aiding the wounded to clean themselves and rid themselves of any reminders of this damned war. Eventually, the dirt and soot would be washed away but the scars will still remain.
Beside Daellin, Ahran sat upright on an elevated stretcher. He, too, was entranced with the fire. Since they enlisted as bright eyed men in Stratholme, moments of peace and quiet like these were few and far between. The two paladins looked into the fire for any hints of a peaceful life following the war. Since Ahran's close encounter with death, he had recovered for the most part. Hours of direct contact with the Holy Light overcame the dark magic that the death knight enwrapped Ahran in during their climatic battle. Despite this, his physical injuries would need more time. The same could be said for Daellin, as his arms and legs were wrapped tightly in fresh linen. His bloodied and soiled wraps that he changed out were the kindling to this cathartic fire. The fire will purge all evidence but the memory remains.
Despite being deeply engrossed by the flames, the two sensed a pair of heavy feet walking up to them. The two friends turned to see Uther, also armorless. He was adorned in his prayer robes with his libram swinging on his hip. Daellin and Ahran were aware of the amount of last rites given by the Silver Hand in the last few days. However, they both knew that Uther was returning from a prayer ceremony for the victorious Alliance.
"Would you like a summary of today's prayer, gentlemen?" Uther asked as he stopped in between his two pupils.
"You saying that takes me back to Stratholme," Ahran said, "the two of us skipping prayer."
The three chuckled in unison. Like the calm moments around the fire, jests of levity were hard to come by these days.
After the laughter ended, Daellin asked, "What are your orders, Sir Lightbringer?"
Uther furrowed his eyebrow by the remark and replied, "I'll need to get used to that…" Soon after the battle at Blackrock ended, Turalyon bestowed the title Lightbringer to Uther for his heroics in the face of so much adversity. Without Uther's leading the Silver Hand, who knows how the battle would turn out? It was a title that the humble man hesitantly accepted from his fellow paladin.
"Straight to the point, Daellin?" Uther asked rhetorically. "The Kirin Tor mages have informed us the location of the orcs' portal. We will mobilize within the day to put an end to this war, once and for all."
Ahran slowly rose from his stretcher, cringing slightly, to meet Uther. "We are at your command, Uther. Just give us the word and we will march with you," he proclaimed. He went to salute his mentor but relented when his arm refused to follow through.
Uther replied with a smile and said, "Your orders are to go home and rest."
Ahran scrunched his eyebrows. Daellin's mouth was agape. "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand," Ahran said.
"I think you do, lad."
Daellin and Ahran were speechless. While Uther had given the two several orders that made them mute, this was different. They looked at each other in dismay, trying to find the words to say in each other's faces. After a few moments, giant smiles grew on the Andorhal men. They both embraced tightly one another, which made both cringe slightly from the injuries. Off to the side, Uther smirked slightly at the sight of his two students' hug. It wasn't the first time his pupils embraced in such joyful manner. He prayed it wouldn't be the last.
Sensing their mentor watching, Daellin and Ahran separated and stood at attention. With a slight bow from each, the two paladins said in unison, "As you command, sir."