Chapter Twelve
Decades ago, Tyr's Hand was essential for the wartime economy of Lordaeron. It was not just out of the kindness of the Alliance to eliminate a peasant uprising in the city during the Second War but rather the financial blow to humanity losing the port city would be. Everyone, from the lowest miner to the chief economic advisor, was essential for the gold to flow from one hand to the next. Granted, it was to no one's surprise that some hands received fewer coins.
Even a few short years ago, the city's funds were bountiful. The coffers were brimming and the exchange of goods and services never ceased. Despite this, if one were to ask the commoners, the bounty was too consolidated. While the wealthy flaunted their material goods, the vast majority lived paycheck to paycheck, if they were lucky, while grueling through tough, manual labor. Despite the cries from the peasantry and common folk, King Terenas did little to stop the widening wealth gap. Bureaucracy and the infamous aristocrats of Lordaeron would see to that.
But that was then. King Terenas was now six feet under alongside the bureaucrats and aristocrats that held many back for so long. Leave it to the undead to reset the social and economic order of Lordaeron. Granted, it is human nature for individuals to grasp for power when there is a power vacuum. Absent any strict system of regulation, human greed will rise to the top.
And that's where the merchants come into play.
"Oye, ye'! I got a load of Silvermoon Timber with your name on it! Hell, buy ten and I will be a generous man and throw in another for free!"
"You would be a fool to not purchase a charcuterie board of the most savory boar meat and delicious jams from the bountiful forests of Elwynn."
"Gentlemen, with my patented oil treatment, your wife or mistress will perish the thought of leaving you for another man! All it takes is a dollop applied directly to your…"
Without crowns and heritage to dictate who had control over the wealth, those that were cunning in the art of the deal were the ones to rise to prominence. While the Scarlet Crusade were the guardians and governing body of the remnants of humanity in Lordaeron, the scrupulous traders and businessmen were the ones that ran the flow of gold. From the grimiest to the most prestigious, the traders ran the streets.
The trade district was bustling even more so than usual today. That was to be expected with beautiful summer weather Tyr's Hand had been experiencing recently. The gorgeous sunrays and adequate temperature made it appealing to buy and sell. This kept people in good spirits. Good spirits tend to make the coin purse more loose.
Up and down the streets, traders and sellers barked, demonstrated, and haggled their goods to any possible buyer. Most of the tents and booths the sellers drove their businesses out of were permanent- some even had sconces so that business could occur well after sundown. Others were more temporary, serving as a momentary location for travelling tradesmen from Hearthglen or perhaps as far away as Stormwind. Surely, a difficult travel across the plaguelands or a trying voyage by sea would be well rewarded with high profit margins.
"No, can't say I have seen anything suspicious or anything of the sort from what you've described."
The lumber trader, leaning over his desk adorned with coin purses and important legal documents, had repeated this statement at least three times since Daellin and Demetria had entered his tent. Every repetition of the statement seemed to make the tent lower and lower to the point that Daellin might hit his head with the luxurious royal purple silk.
"Perhaps, just perhaps, a more detailed explanation would jog my memory," the trader slyly remarked as he twirled the tips of his imperial mustache. Everything about the trader was in proper condition- from his glossy black hair to the magenta robes hand sewn from overworked and woefully underpaid seamstresses.
Daellin looked away from the trader for a moment, sighed ever so quietly, and replied, "Unfortunately, that would be classified Scarlet information. I think our time here is done."
The paladin, making sure that he did not knock over an expensive bauble or trinket, opened the tent flap and exited without another word.
The trader raised an eyebrow, looked Demetria Silverstrand up and down a few times, then smirked.
"Thank you for your time," Demetria quickly said before flying to the exit of the tent.
Behind her, she heard the trader wonder aloud, "Oh, the pretty coin that one would fetch…" before rejoining her companion outside the tent. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the sunlight.
With a gentle hand shielding her eyes, Demetria remarked, "Well, that was most informative."
"More like a waste of time. Arrogant prick," Daellin grumbled as he looked down the street. There were more regal booths like the one they just exited ahead. Some were royal blue with gold while others were a shade of purple that he had never seen before. All had the same sort of shrewd man running his business.
"Not necessarily. After five conversations that went the same way, we can conclude that the conspiracy has not reached the pearly gates of the elite. That does narrow the possibilities," Demetria replied, making sure that her voice was soft enough for only Daellin to hear. In the sea of loud voices and even louder purchases, their conversation was safe from any eavesdropping.
Daellin relented and nodded. "That is fair." The paladin continued to look around his surroundings. There's a reason I don't make my way out here often. The street was packed to the brim with walking bodies and bobbing heads. Some heads were more hot-red than others, surely no doubt from a spurned deal. With all of the people swaying and moving, it looked like the street was swallowed by a current from the Forbidding Sea. Too cramped.
Realization struck the paladin like a bolt of lightning. With concern in his eyes, he snapped back to Demetria and asked, "Where is Isillien?"
Just like Daellin, worry grew over Demetria's face. "I-I don't know. He was supposed to meet us outside of the tent after we finished with that trader…"
The two holy individuals snapped their heads left and right as best as they could in the crowd to find their lost sheep. "For Light's sake," Daellin swore. One job. One job, Lightheart! Keep the inquisitor in view at all times!
"Okay, he couldn't have gotten far. The crowd is too tumultuous for that set of rotten gums to make much headway," Daellin frantically said.
"Agreed."
"I will take the north end, you look down the south. If you find the geezer, don't let him go on his own and we will rendezvous-"
"Ah! What's this about a geezer with rotten gums?"
Demetria and Daellin looked down and saw Isillien, rotten gums and all, perched over his gnarled cane. His toothless grin and knowing eyes sent a shiver down Demetria's spine while Daellin breathed a sigh of relief.
"We were just talking about an old dog we saw," Daellin replied to the Grand Inquisitor. The paladin and the priest flew to Isillien's side, making sure that they did not lose their highly respected companion again. "Where have you been?"
Isillien groaned but it sounded more like a pained whistle. "Oh, you know. Around. I believe you'd say 'being one with the people?'" Isillien asked. Now that the other two were close to the inquisitor, he brought his cane close to his body. The curved end of the wooden rod shielded Isillien's face.
Daellin did not reward the Grand Inquisitor with a response beyond one halfhearted nod, creating an uncomfortable silence among the trio. While their small corner of Azeroth was devoid of conversation, the rest of the trade district was the complete opposite. Despite the presence of the Scarlets right in the midst of their livelihood, it was business as usual for everyone on the street. Off to the trio's side, a humble elderly lady was showing off odd trinkets to a couple, claiming that the objects held mystical properties; the most prominent property being giving a pair of lovers the undying passion they experienced the first moment they laid eyes on each other.
"So," Demetria broke the uncomfortable silence while swinging on the soles of her feet, "what is our next move?"
Daellin answered, "Continue with the mission. Even if we can hypothesize that the wealthy traders from afar know nothing, we have to be sure about the local traders and citizens. There's more ritzy traders and opportunistic buyers that might know something. Anything."
Isillien groaned again, this time even louder than before. The pair of lovers near them gave the inquisitor a questioning look before returning to gawk at the nonsensical lovers trinkets. Such a daring expression towards the Grand Inquisitor would normally result in being locked in the dungeon for days. The couple must not have known who they were disturbed by. Thankfully for them, Isillien was too busy with his babysitters to notice such a brazen display of disrespect.
"Oh, enough with this already. We have been at this since before the sun gave up for Light's sake! You are really interrupting my beauty sleep!" Isillien bemoaned. "Wouldn't it be simpler to just pull a few people off the streets and have a chat in my office."
One of Daellin's carotid arteries tensed from hearing Isillien's suggestion. He took one step closer, making sure that his body towered over the frail inquisitor. "That is the last thing we are doing, Isillien. We agreed to just talk with the locals for information. Nothing else."
Isillien drly laughed. Each chuckle viciously moved the pronounced lump in his throat up and down. "Oh! You are right, Lightheart. How could I forget? I am in the company of Dathrohan's loyal servant. Poor old Isillien can't have any fun…"
"I am more than the Grand Crusader's loyal servant," Daellin spat back. Damn straight you can't have any fun. Light knows what kind of twisted fun that knocks your shriveled rocks.
Each trader and potential buyer all had the same response- they had no idea what the trio were talking about. Some were completely oblivious while others would try to lure out juicy details they could acquire to then turn around and sell the information for a profit. Truly, the height of greed. Still others just wanted to get away from the Scarlets as quickly as possible- mostly due to Isillien.
"I am telling you, Sir Lightheart, I know nothing of any plots or devious doings. You know that when I'm not here making an honest living, I am at the tavern," the trader said as he hung up another rack of lamb. It must have been a busy day for the man as there were several empty crates soaked with salt and blood in the rear of his booth.
"I know, Dmitri. You're a fine man. After all, you are the reason that Tyr's Hand has to tap new kegs every week," Daellin replied.
While Daellin was leaning over the countertop making sure to avoid any questionable liquid, Demetria's eyes could not be any wider in amazement. Every time Dmitri chopped, diced, and hung up a piece of meat, she oohed and ahhed. She looked like a child at their first Darkmoon Faire in absolute wonder of all of the amusements. Instead of the world renown games and rides of the Faire, before her were fresh and savory meats from various animals were what captivated her.
"What's that one!? Where did you get that big bloke?" she asked as she nearly jumped out of her shoes. The hunk of meat was dripping with blood and splattered with salt, indicating a fresh kill.
Dmitri laughed. "Why, pretty lady, this was a Silverpine Silverback! The most ferocious of bears in our neck of the woods. Their fur is one of a kind but their meat is what's so special about 'em." The rotund butcher leaned over the countertop and added, "If you have the time, I'd love to share with you how we nabbed this sonofabitch."
"Okay!" Daellin loudly said as he stepped away from the counter, "It has been a pleasure, Dmitri, but we really need to get going. So much to do with so little time. I'm sure you understand."
Dmitri laughed as he, too, stepped back from the counter. As he went for another chunk of meat to process, he responded, "I better see you at the tavern soon!"
As Daellin nudged Demetria, still captivated with the butcher's process, away from the tent, he wondered who Dmitri was hoping to see at the tavern. It was only a fleeting thought as he had more pressing matters to attend to.
"Ah, so did the butcher reveal everything and we can head back home?" Isillien remarked. The inquisitor was hunched over on a bench, watching the pair cross the busy street. His shriveled fingers grasped his gnarled wooden cane, shaking the rod to the point that it felt like a tiny earthquake was shaking the foundations of Tyr's.
Demetria shook her head. "No, but I got to see Silverpine Silverback meat for the first time! The largest slab of meat I have ever seen!" she squealed.
The Grand Inquisitor grinned, revealing his gums, and began, "Oh, then I would love to show you-"
"Well then! On to the next stop!" Daellin declared.
"So, where to next?" Demetria asked with a pleasant smile. Her teeth shimmered in the sunlight as much as her golden robe. Both were a stark contrast to Isillien's muted grey robe and notorious dental situation. Daellin's attire that day, a red tunic and linen trousers, was a midway point between the two. Standard yet slightly fashionable, which was something incredible for the veteran paladin. After all, the man lived in either ceremonial robes for services or in thick layers of plate and mail for battle.
Daellin sighed, "On to the next one." The paladin started his way to the next tent, a towering structure with green and gold tapestries hanging all over. The air around the tent was irradiated with various perfumes and fragrances as dozens of women fought with each other to see who could be the next one allowed in.
"Instead of wasting our time with such monotonous trifles," Isillien croaked as he rose to his feet. The earthquake where he stood grew in intensity. "How about we take a page out of my book? I've found that if we select a few individuals off the street, a strong message is sent to everyone. We will get what we are looking for in a more timely fashion."
Daellin stopped in his tracks and snapped back to his inquisitor counterpart. "Isillien, that is out of the question. We aren't doing an inquisitorial raid," he grumbled.
"Giving up efficiency in favor of a relaxing day in the market with good company? While I am flattered I must insist we accomplish our objective posthaste," Isillien snarled.
Daellin took one step closer to the Grand Inquisitor. Thankfully, the bustling populace made clear of the trio, otherwise he may have run into an unsuspecting shopper. Despite the towering paladin's gesture, Isillien remained unfazed. Granted, his body quakes were still shaking the cobble below him. "Grand Inquisitor, this is my mission. You follow my rules," Daellin stated.
"This isn't a dainty church service. Crusade laws delegate command to the senior officer and, oh look, that would be me," the inquisitor grinned.
"Grand Crusader Dathrohan said-"
"Grand Crusader Dathrohan is not here and has no jurisdiction over my domain of intelligence acquisition."
"You-"
"Gentlemen!" Demetria spoke up as she rushed between the two Scarlets. Even though there were still a few paces between the two men, her intervention was greatly needed. "I think the summer sun is getting the best of us. How about we find a bench under some shade before we continue?" she asked.
Both men nodded slowly before relenting in their stances. It took some time given the crowded state of the trade district, but the trio did eventually find a bench under a willow tree.
One of Isillien's more notorious characteristics was his uncanny ability to never stop talking. It was evident in meetings, casual conversation, and in his more intimate settings in the dungeons. If there was a topic at hand, the inquisitor would know every inconsequential detail and minutia. In his mind, everyone in his immediate vicinity needed to know that Dun Gragen Reserve was distilled by the Khazbrad family three hundred years ago in the midst of a regional conflict that required using the hard spirit as an anesthetic. Since then, the liquor was notorious for being so strong that it brought the dead back to life. Furthermore, the Khazbrad's patriarch was having an affair that created a scandal throughout the dwarven lands that may or may not have sparked the conflict in the first place. Unfortunately for the patriarch, he met his end at the hands of both his wife and mistress.
Clearly, all of this was information a complete stranger on the street needed to know as Isillien casually limped through the city.
On top of his penchant for discussing any detail on anything, he snapped from topic to topic like a caffeinated goblin giving a standup routine. Isillien could go from dwarven liquor, to the state of Alliance politics, to the deforestation of Stranglethorn Vale, and finish with discussing the best ladies at a brothel in Southshore all in a matter of a minute or so. For such a decrepit man, it was difficult keeping up with his thought process.
"And that is how I ended up with a copy of Tigol's Guide to Apothecary Management for Beginners from the poor elven sod! Oh what a glorious day that was!"
While Isillien was nearly pole vaulting from the bench with his cane, Demetria was politely listening and Daellin was pacing behind the bench. Each heavy step the paladin took, the inquisitor would move on to a new topic. They had been at this for so long that the sun was starting to crest and the shadow under the willow was growing long. Still, the trade district was as busy as ever, with lines of people impatiently waiting at almost every vendor.
"Good thing the merchants aren't leaving any time soon. We will have plenty of time to finish our investigations today," Demetria wondered aloud as she diverted her attention from Isillien to the public.
"We could've already been done," Daellin muttered as he ceased his pacing.
"Oh, then our friend Lady Silverstrand would not have learned about the dastardly devil elementals that wreaked havoc on Arathi! Or, would you prefer listening more from our feminine guest?" Isillien cried out as he tapped his cane on the cobble.
Daellin grunted as he turned away from the others to look over the bustling street. After this, I am demanding a raise. Any compensation is needed for dealing with this. Lightheart was about to walk away and continue his mission when he thought about the inquisitor's proposition. To be fair, that does sound better than whatever the hell the old dog can come up with.
"So," the paladin began as he turned to Demetria, "how fares Hearthglen these days? It has been years since I have been to the jewel of the west."
The moment that the conversation did not revolve around him, Isillien snapped his attention to a single robin chirping in the willow tree above.
Demetria grinned and replied, "The city flourishes more with each passing day. We are blessed to be fortified with firm walls and protected by the valley and mountains. The mages continue their studies in the arcane to find any advantage in defeating the undead while the paladins and priests of the Light inspire the masses daily."
Daellin nodded. "That is wonderful to hear. It is encouraging that with Lordaeron in the state that it is, Hearthglen and Tyr's Hand still find ways to continue some semblance of normalcy. And I hear that your neck of the woods has prospered so much due to your concentrated effort."
"Oh, that might be saying too much. I am just a humble priestess, after all," Demetria giggled. "But I am flattered. I would say it has more to do with Lord Taelan Fordring than anything else."
Isillien's ears twitched. "Pfft, Fordring…" he mumbled under his gums while in the middle of his intense staring contest with the robin.
"How is young Fordring? I have not seen him since he was a little lad tripping over his two left feet while sparring with wooden swords," Daellin asked.
Demetria took a moment as she contemplated what to say. "Well, no one will say that Grand Crusader Dathrohan went easy on him. However, the training he gained will do wonders. He has also taken to my advice quite well. In such a short period of time, he has earned his title as Lord of Mardenholde Keep and leader of Hearthglen and I expect his promotion within the Crusade to follow suit soon enough." The priestess gathered her breath after her long winded explanation.
Daellin smiled. "That's good to hear. It amazes me to see the next generation of Lordaeron grow so quickly given the circumstances. His father would be so proud…" A slight summer breeze brushed past them, shaking the fragile limbs of the willow tree ever so slightly. The robin sang a pleasant song that stood out from the noise of deals being made.
"Fordring is weak," Isillien grumbled, disrupting the pleasant tone.
Shocked by such a statement, Daellin asked, "What? What did you say?"
Isillien chuckled. He pointed the end of his cane at the robin, pretended to squash the crimson bird, then turned to face his paladin counterpart. "Taelan Fordring is weak. His aptitude leaves much to be desired and is too dependent on others to serve himself, the Crusade, or Lordaeron. He would still be sucking on his mother's tit if he could. I can't entirely blame the chap, however, it is his bloodline that holds him back."
Daellin took two steps towards the still-sitting inquisitor, making his towering presence known, just as Saidan Dathrohan did at the meeting the previous day. "It is one thing to insult a fellow Scarlet, Isillien, it is another to insult an entire lineage that has served Lordaeron for decades," he said with gritted teeth.
The Grand Inquisitor was not amused. He flicked his cane at Daellin's feet while mouthing shoo shoo like a housewife to a feral cat going after a bag of oats. "A lineage that knows nothing but betrayal and failure. Or have you forgotten the unforgivable atrocity Tirion Fordring committed all those years ago?"
Daellin was silent.
"Let me remind you," the Grand Inquisitor hissed as he slowly stood up from the bench. Each of his vertebrae cracked under the tremendous effort to do such a simple physical task. "He was an orclover, a greenskin slut that spared the life of a devil and even went as far as assaulting his fellow man to defend the creature. As a knight of Lordaeron and the Silver Hand, he failed his duties to protect his kingdom and people." While Isillien's body struggled to persevere, his words flew out rapidly.
Daellin trembled in anger. "How dare you insult Tirion behind his back. He did what he thought was-"
"Was right? Are you telling me, Sir Daellin Lightheart, that it was right for Tirion to defend a greenskin and bring a sword to his fellow man? If that is the case, perhaps we need to hold another trial for yet another paladin that has lost his way," Isillien smirked.
The robin had had enough. The bird left the tense confrontation with a coo, leaving just the trio under the willow tree. Granted, Daellin's frustration was enough for a dozen men so it did not feel like just three people.
Still trembling, Daellin pointed a finger directly between Isillien's eyes. "I am not some apostate or commoner for you to play your games with, inquisitor. You do not know me. You do not know my faith," he growled.
Demetria quickly turned back and forth between the two Scarlets, peaceful hands raised. "Gentlemen-"
"Oh, I know more than you think, Lightheart. I know how you fought alongside Tirion Fordring during the Second War. Perhaps that is where the lost paladin learned to appreciate the green beasts."
"You!"
"Perhaps you, too, feel the same way for abominations against life? Oh how the congregations at the chapel would find such a notion interesting."
"Gentlemen!" Demetria shouted as she jumped to her feet. By now, a few in the crowd were observing the most tense transaction occurring in the trade district. "This is pointless and counterproductive! We have more important things to do than to besmirch names!" Her voice carried throughout the street. Seemingly every vendor, buyer, and passerby stopped whatever they were doing to watch the trio. Even a few guards down the way were invested in the Scarlet squabble.
Isillien cackled a few hollow laughs. "Ah, young lady…you are right. We do have more important things to do. We have wasted an entire day and now I am losing valuable beauty sleep. I shall take my leave." The inquisitor shuffled forward with his cane in tow, recreating the tiny earthquake around his feet with each movement he made.
Daellin instantly went to intercept Isillien's slow escape. "Apologize. Not to me but to Fordring," he demanded.
The inquisitor gave a singular laugh, a departure from his typical grouping of three chuckles, and replied, "Oh, when I make my way to Hearthglen… I will be sure to say a few words to Taelan." Isillien licked his chapped lips and continued his shuffle down the street.
Daellin did not go after the Grand Inquisitor. Not because the frail man had developed sprinting skills instantaneously or grew wings to fly, but because Demetria placed a gentle palm on his shoulder blade. "Let him go, Sir Lightheart. We can continue on our own. The cranky old man probably just needs his diaper replaced," she comfortably muttered.
Perhaps because of the jest at Isillien's expense or perhaps it was the hand placed on his back but Daellin found some level of calm to relieve his frustration. He still breathed heavily and the muscles in his lower half were still tensed, but at least Demetria brought some level of clarity to the paladin.
As he watched Isillien disappear into the crowd, lost in the sea of faces and gold, Daellin asked, "How can a man call himself Scarlet yet at the same time be so cruel towards those that have demonstrated faith and courage?"
Demetria shrugged and removed her hand from Daellin's back. "Perhaps he is jealous? Perhaps he wishes he could have what the Fordrings and you have in plenty?" she answered with her own questions.
What do I have in plenty? I am just a man, after all. As he contemplated, the willow tree above him swayed to one side drastically. The individual limbs and leaves created an orchestral arrangement that accompanied any summertime musical. It was only then that Daellin noticed the summer breeze was picking up speed, creating a soothing brushing sensation across his face. It reminded him of summers long ago, when the world was a more peaceful place. From his boyhood to adulthood, summer had always been his favorite season.
Remembering summers lost to the years morphed into the thought of how terrible the air was at Blackrock all those years ago during the Second War. The heavy armor and visor he wore as he fought at the base of the forbidding structure only compounded how badly his lungs were clogged from the thick air. He could visualize it now- fighting tooth and nail at the steps of an active volcano fighting the unending orcish horde. He could see his fellow paladins leading the charge for the Alliance. Tirion and Saidan fighting alongside each other like brothers. Gavinrad using his incredible size and sword skills to overcome his adversaries. Turalyon kneeling beside Lothar's body to muster the strength of the Holy Light. Uther leading the charge, inspiring the entirety of the Silver Hand.
But the bloodshed was incomprehensible.
Suddenly, his friends and close allies were being slaughtered one by one. Ahran appeared before him, not as a young knight, but as the boy he grew to be a close friend with on the farms of Andorhal. Without warning, the young boy was torn asunder, leaving behind a dark shadow on top of a pale horse-the death knight he encountered that nearly took everything from him. Daellin could not do anything. Try as he might, he could only stand there and cry out as the death knight encroached closer and closer to end him as well. He was helpless.
With the death knight right on top of him, the images of ash, soot, and blood at Blackrock dissipated like embers floating away from a fire. However, the visions did not end. The suffocating Blackrock air morphed into something far more nefarious. It was the smell first. The unmistakable stench of rot and decay. Just like a bolt of lightning, the necrotic energies that snuffed out life in Lordaeron struck Daellin, sending painful shocks to his spine and fingers. The air he breathed was filled with the aura of death and tragedy. Daellin could see the evacuation of Andorhal before his eyes once more. Innocent and knights alike being slaughtered at the hands of the walking dead. People he had sworn to protect, teach, and lead were dying on his hands. Try as he might, Daellin could not save them all. The chaos. The madness. The death.
The undead...they're coming…
We need to hold the line…
Uther!
Suddenly, something hit his leg, snapping Daellin out of these horrific visions. He was not at Blackrock. He was not at Andorhal. He was still in the trade district of Tyr's Hand. His body was trembling at an alarming rate and he struggled to find his breath. He looked down to see a rugged leather ball beside his feet, crawling to a halt. The ball was clearly far from pristine condition and well used. As a good toy should be.
"Daellin?"
Demetria was leaning close to Daellin, clearly concerned for her paladin counterpart. Daellin's own face reflected the same level of concern. His face was red and sweat was pooling under his hairline. The body tremors did not cease.
Before he could respond, a boy, no older than ten, ran up to the two. "Sorry sir… Jason doesn't have the best aim," he meekly said.
Just as sudden as his episode, Daellin's body relented and a glowing smile grew across his face. "All good, lad!" he proclaimed. Without looking, the paladin kicked the ball up to his chest and snatched it midair. About thirty yards in the distance on the opposite side of the bustling street, he spotted a group of boys eagerly waiting for their ball back so they could continue their game. "Say, isn't today a school day for you lads?" he asked.
The lad's eyes widened and he shuffled his feet. "Umm...yeah…"
Daellin laughed to the point he closed his eyes and rolled his head back. "I am not your headmaster or maid, I won't discipline you for your game of hooky. Here, let me show you that this old knight still has something left in him."
Daellin dropped the ball and dribbled it around for a bit, hoping to jog his muscle memory. After a few moments, he reeled back his leg and made direct contact with the ball, sailing it over the heads of the buyers and sellers on the street. Making a perfect right-to-left arc, the ball landed right at the feet of one of the impatiently waiting boys.
"Wow! I've never seen anyone make it move like that before!" the boy cried out in glee. "Thanks, mister! Umm...Lightheart, right?"
Daellin chuckled. "That is correct, lad. Now, go on and enjoy the rest of the day. Be sure to be home before sundown," he added with a wink.
The boy bobbed his head and ran off into the street, disappearing then reappearing on the other side with his friends. The boys did not go back to their ballgame but rather gleefully talked with one another and continually looked back at Daellin. The paladin returned their glances, waved, and smiled.
"My," Demetria began as she looked Daellin up and down, "you never struck me as the athletic type."
"I may have a few years on me but you are looking at Andorhal's top athlete. There's a plaque at the schoolhouse and everything," Daellin replied.
Demetria raised an eyebrow, deciding if Daellin's statement was fact or fiction. She giggled and added, "Apparently good with kids, too. I don't suppose there is a reward for such a thing, too?"
Daellin happily sighed, still watching the group of kids. They were now walking away and down an alley, surely to continue their game. "Children themselves are the reward," he muttered.
"Have you ever thought about having a few munchkins of your own?"
Daellin thought for a moment. He met Demetria's gaze and answered, "Sure, when I was younger. That was some time ago and times change. But I've always known where my life's focus should lie."
A silence fell over the two. The summer breeze, despite being light and humble, overpowered the white noise of the trade district. Dmitri's meat products intertwined with the pleasant aroma of summer to create an appealing scent.
"Here," Demetria broke the silence, "let's play a little game of hooky ourselves. We can pick up on the investigation tomorrow." Daellin received her kind smile invitation and responded with his own.
The walls of Tyr's Hand were famous throughout the years for being some of the most fortified structures in all of Lordaeron, thanks in large part to the formidable ramparts that protected the city from any outside forces. The ballistas, archers, and cannons were numerous and needed. At any given time, a horde of undead could challenge the integrity of the defenses.
Thankfully, the only thing assaulting the walls today was the summer breeze and the shimmering rays of the half-set sun.
"Truly, a remarkable sight," Demetria said as she looked over to the horizon. While the land close to the walls showed signs of life and greenery, it did not extend far. For miles on end, the plaguelands clung on to the decayed remains of life. The spines of trees served as pikes dotted the land. The ground was colorless and devoid of vegetation. The rivers that lined the area were still and unmoving. The fear that any given moment, the dead silence would be replaced with the shrieks and cries of the walking dead. But, for now, all was calm.
"You could say that," Daellin lingered. The landscape surrounding Tyr's Hand was all too familiar to him. After all, he came to this city as a young soldier and experienced his first large-scale combat during the peasant uprising. Years later, he returned as a refugee in his own kingdom as a Scarlet Crusader. "It seems like before everything was more…"
"Green?"
"Yeah...green."
"No need to be upset, Sir Lightheart," Demetria said as she tapped Daellin's shoulder blade. "If the Light wills it, we will see Lordaeron be restored to its glory."
"You're absolutely correct, Lady Silverstrand. The road may be challenging but the reward is worth the effort. The Light will always be there to guide us." A sense of pride swelled inside with each word Daellin spoke.
Impressed, Demetria said, "What a wonderful way to put it. Do you have that written down somewhere so I can remember it?"
Daellin lifted his libram from his side so that Demetria could see it. He gently shook it and added, "There's a couple of good words in here."
"Maybe one day, when this conspiracy is put to rest and we have a moment to breathe, I could read a few passages," Demetria wondered aloud as she turned her attention back to the horizon.
A frown grew on Daellin's face. Problem is, when will that be? We haven't gotten anywhere with the investigation. We can be at this for weeks, months even. Just sounds like more time spent with him… Mimicking Demetria, Daellin looked over the ruined land of Lordaeron and remarked, "The sooner that is, the better. Can hardly stand being around Isillien, let alone working with him."
Demetria nodded in agreement. "Thankfully for you, you have the moral high ground. Your devotion to the Holy Light makes you a better man than the Grand Inquisitor can ever dream of being," she said.
"Heh, devotion. Faith doesn't seem to demand much authority or respect nowadays," Daellin muttered. "Makes me wonder where my place is in all of this. Things were so much simpler before… all of this..." he gestured his hands at the plaguelands. Nothing out in the ruined kingdom responded to his thought.
Demetria furrowed her brow from what she heard. She turned to Daellin, ending her captivated gaze with the horizon. "Sir Lightheart of Andorhal, you are renown in Lordaeron for being just, true, and faithful. In my short time of being around you I can tell you exemplify everything good in the world. Those are all characteristics we need during these trying times. That is your place in all of this. You are worthy of your title bestowed upon you by Uther all those years ago as a servant of the Light," she rattled off before catching her breath. "With such a pure heart and love for life, you are entitled to have a strong will to convince and lead others. Any light heart needs a strong hand."
"Are you suggesting I should be a bit harder on Isillien?" Daellin asked with a raised eyebrow.
Demetria shrugged, winked, and answered, "I am merely suggesting that Sir Daellin Lightheart of Andorhal should grow a tougher spine in the face of adversity and men that stand in the way of his righteous path."
"You know," Daellin said as his laughs simmered down, "that sounded like what an old friend would say to me."
"Your friend would be right," Demetria added.
Daellin looked out to the horizon once more. The sun was just about to disappear entirely from view, leaving only the faint rays to illuminate Tyr's Hand for another hour or so. He heard Demetria yawn, indicating that it was perhaps time to retire for the day.
"A long day ahead of us tomorrow," Daellin muttered.
Demetria wiped away a tired tear from her eye and nodded. "Say, Daellin, which do you think has more shit, Isillien's diaper or his head?" she asked.
It started with one. One single laugh that filled the void of the plaguelands of Lordaeron. Then another. Like a crescendo in a musical arrangement, Daellin's hearty laughs grew in volume to the point he threw his head back and placed his hands on his hips for support. Demetria softly giggled at first, but then joined in the orchestra of laughter. The musical arrangement of joy bid farewell to the sun as Tyr's Hand. For the first time in years, genuine happiness welcomed the night in the city.