Apologies for the wait! 2021 was a bit rough but I am excited to continue this series. I recommend a quick skim over Chapter Twelve to refresh your memory on the current state of the story. I promise the next chapter won't take nearly as long! Thank you very much for your patience! As a reward for waiting, this chapter is the longest yet! Without further delay, let us continue!
Chapter Thirteen
The sonically beautiful duet of two doves, the arrhythmic beat of dragged feet against cobble, and the occasional creaky wagon wheel were all the noise Tyr's Hand had on this sleepy morning. A layer of fog enveloped the city like a thick blanket, blocking out the rising sun and the warmth it brings. While not chilly by any means, it certainly was cooler than the previous day.
And a lot more quiet. Just like how Daellin liked it.
The paladin rested on one of the many benches that encircled the city's outdoor market. The market encompassed approximately two acres of open space in the lower level of the city. Far from the peering eyes of the Scarlet Crusade fortifications in the upper tier of the city, the market often served as a popular gathering spot for the farmers, laborers, and tradesfolk of Tyr's Hand. It had been like this for decades, before Daellin rode into the proud city as Lordaeron fell and even before the peasant riots of the Second War. In less than an hour, this market square would be bustling with bartering and haggling. The exchanges would be different from yesterday's market excursion. While the traveling popup markets of the trade district were a sight to behold brimming with goods and trinkets from far off lands, they were often reserved for those that had the coin to throw at the foreign traders. The daily food market here, however, welcomed all that called Tyr's and the surrounding land home. Daellin only had a limited amount of time before the city would join him in being awake.
Lightheart grimaced and rubbed his temple. When he woke up that morning, before anyone else as usual, he noticed a distinct buzzing in his ears. The annoying sound reminded him of a hive of bees, as well as the unnerving sound an arrow makes as it shoots past one's ear. Try as he might, he could not get rid of the persistent sound. "No doubt from those obnoxious traders," he grumbled as he leaned back on the bench. "Or Isillien."
It was still early but a few souls did brave the fog. Based on their gait and visages, it was evident that much celebration and debauchery took place well into the evening. The few that did brave the morning fog did so stumbling over their feet and doubling over to vomit. Perhaps many had partaken in a little too much Dalaran Port that the traders brought yesterday. In fact, a few of the elderly out for their morning walks were more spry than some of the young adults that labored to overcome their hangovers. Daellin chuckled and shook his head. Been there before.
While the elderly and a few adults braved the morning, there were no children playing. If Daellin had to wager, he would bet ten gold that every young child was still asleep, completely oblivious to the fact that their older siblings and parents were struggling with headaches and nausea. Daellin could not blame the kids much; if he did not have any responsibilities, maybe he, too, would sleep past five in the morning.
Before going to sleep the previous night, Daellin decided that he would begin the investigation on his own before meeting with Isillien and Demetria. He knew very well that Isillien would not wake up for another four hours. Those precious hours could be all the time he needed to solve this conspiracy that hung over the city like a haunting specter. The city market, always full of local farmers and townsfolk, would make for a decent place to continue his investigation. Surely, someone would reveal something that would help him find out who was behind his assassination attempt and to undermine the Crusade. Furthermore, the sooner he could solve this dreadful investigation, the sooner he could terminate his partnership with Isillien. After only one day working alongside the toothless Grand Crusader, he had had enough. Lady Silverstrand, on the other hand, was an unexpected pleasantry. Her grace and wit were a welcome addition. Surely she could cut through the fog with her presence.
The never-ending buzzing in his head continued. Determined to take his mind off of the arrows striking beehives in his ears, Daellin tapped Dawncrier's sheath in a rhythmic pattern to help distract himself. With each strike of the sheath against the ground, a dull half-note penetrated the morning fog. After a few measures, he began to hum a tune he remembered his mother would sing when he was a small boy. It was a sweet song and his mother's angelic voice only added to the joy. He recalled a time when he was bullied in the schoolyard by a few older boys and came home in shambles. His mother took him in her welcoming arms and sang the pleasant tune. Ever since then, during times when he felt alone, the tune would comfort him.
Dawncrier must have enjoyed the song as well. With each tap of his fingers, Daellin noticed the sword grow warmer and warmer. Soon enough, even hidden inside its leather sheath, the sword was as warm as Daellin's heart. A stark contrast to the cool summer morning.
"Can still feel that first time… the warmth," Daellin muttered to himself with his eyes closed. He could envision it now- Uther bestowing the grand sword to him at his knighting. Since then, the sword never lost its warmth. But the thought was fleeting. The image of Uther standing tall above him was quickly enveloping in flames. Andorhal was burning to the ground once again. The stench of decay penetrated his senses. Daellin grimaced as he shook the image out of his head. Try as he might, the flames grew higher.
"A lovely tune."
The sudden voice startled Daellin from his nightmare. The flames of Andorhal vanished and all that remained was the foggy market square of Tyr's Hand. Daellin looked for the source of the voice but could not locate it. He slowly rose to his feet and grasped Dawncrier's sheath tightly. Ever since that terrible night when he was inches away from succumbing to an assassin's dastardly plot, he had been more on edge.
"Down here, paladin."
Daellin obeyed the instruction. Lying against one end of the bench he was just sitting on was a disheveled old man looking vacantly out in the distance. His skin was wrinkled leather and his wiry white hair and beard obscured most of his face. He wore what could only be described as tatters for clothing, revealing much of his wrinkled body. What caught Daellin's attention the most, however, were the man's arms and legs. Vile bumps, lumps, and pulsating sores riddled his limbs to such a degree that his skin was no longer the color of leather, but rather of a ghost. While the man remained still, his boils pulsated at the same rate as Dawncrier's taps against the ground.
Daellin collected himself. "Good morning, friend. How are you this morning?" he asked sincerely.
The elderly man, not looking at Daellin but instead at the empty void of the sky, replied, "What does it look like, friend?"
The paladin did not immediately respond. Instead, he lowered himself to the man's level. He could now get a better look of the man's obscured face. His visage was as wrinkled as the canyons of Khaz Modan and his eyes were as white as the cold winter snow. Daellin cleared his throat. "Any day under the Light's grace is a good one. To walk on soil is a blessing that many do not get the luxury," he said calmly.
The destitute man half-blinked. "Can't say I do much walking nowadays," he grumbled. His left leg shuttered, as if it was a boat in the midst of a storm, when he spoke. A series of scabs that etched on the man's leg like a series of runes bubbled.
Daellin gave a pleasant and reassuring smile. "Then what do you do nowadays, friend?" he asked.
The leper, with half of a tongue, licked his chapped lips. "Wonder how I got here. How we all got here," he remarked as he slowly turned his head to look around the market. "My motherland…taken from me…" he groaned.
Daellin nodded slowly. So that is how it is. I understand. "I empathize, sir. I, too, am a son of Lordaeron. Everyday living under the current situation is a hardship placed upon us all. But it is a challenge I embrace. I know the Holy Light and the Scarlet Crusade will purify our homeland and return it to glory," Daellin proudly declared. His heart swelled and Dawncrier grew warm. The warmth of heart and steel must have cut through the fog as the dense layer seemed to lighten in the market square.
Eerie silence responded to the paladin. Daellin looked into the vacant eyes of the leper but could not find another word from him. He politely waited for him to respond. Awkward and quiet moments passed. A slight morning breeze passed through Daellin's hair like a lover's fingers entangled in the messy locks.
Then a low, drawn out drone interrupted the silence. The leper's head bobbled like the soars on his limbs. The destitute man broke out into the most disturbing and dry bout of laughter Daellin had ever heard. "Oh…oh…" he struggled to say in between dry chuckles, "that is a riot, paladin."
Daellin was mute as the dry laughs continued. He awkwardly smiled as he turned away from the leper for a moment. He noticed that the morning fog was all but gone and the summer sun was just beginning to crown over the city walls. In addition, a few tradesmen and farmers were beginning to set up their stands for the day. Soon enough, this market square, previously light on life, will be bustling as much as the leper's dry laughter.
"Tell me," the leper began as he calmed his stale laughs, "can you say such things with a straight face? That the Light will end our suffering?"
Daellin returned his focus to the leper, still staring out into the distance. "Of course. I have dedicated my whole life to the Light and it has never led me astray. It is my guiding star through the challenges the night presents," he calmly stated. His words seeped with faith as the leper's legs seeped with viscous oil.
"It may have never led you astray," the leper stopped for a labored breath, then continued, "but where did it leave the rest of us? I served this nation for years and yet here I am." The poor man weakly lifted a single finger to point towards where he had been staring at this whole time. Daellin followed the bony finger and saw nothing.
"I understand your frustration, friend," Daellin muttered lightly. "I pray you take solace in my words when I say we will bring righteous fury upon the Scourge and liberate Lordaeron." By now, more market stands were opening and the first wave of customers were flowing into the expansive market square. Nobody took any mind to the paladin and leper off to the side having the deepest conversation anyone would have at Tyr's that day.
"A story I've heard countless times," the leper groaned as his chest greatly expanded and decompressed. His words and breathing were both labored. Daellin was concerned for his fellow man's health, of course.
The paladin knelt down beside the leper and motioned towards the legs riddled with leprosy. "Do you mind if I provide some relief?" he asked as he motioned towards the stricken legs.
A cloud of dust escaped the leper's mouth as he dryly chuckled again. "Your kind have tried time and time again. Knock yourself out, paladin," he muttered.
Daellin nodded and hovered a hand over the terribly blistered leg. Now that he was this close, he realized that the leper's pale limbs showed hues of green and purple. The boils and scabs welcomed the paladin with a pulsating wave, as if the disease was aware of the paladin's presence. Despite the unsettling sight, Daellin called upon the Light to his outstretched hand. A radiant aura of gold flickered around his arm and hand as the tendrils of Holy Light skittered from his body to the diseased leg.
The leper grumbled as the Holy Light danced over his skin. As the moments passed, a few beads of sweat gathered on Daellin's forehead. While he was not expecting a radical physiological change in the leper's condition, he was concerned that his healing was doing little. Determined, he gritted his teeth and placed his golden hand directly on the grave skin. His fingers caressed over the ridges of the growths and ulcers, bodily fluids oozing over his fingers, but that did not deter the paladin.
Just like countless times before, the Holy Light and Daellin joined together as one. The glow that radiated from Daellin's body rivaled that of the morning sun. As the paladin channeled all of his strength and energy into the heal, the leper did not flinch. In fact, he did not show any emotion at all; a stark contrast between the two as clear as the full moon on a cloudless evening.
Despite all of Lightheart's efforts, the healing was doing little. Growing frustrated by the lack of results, Daellin strained his body to its limits. He could distinctly feel the pulsating fluids of the leper's vile leg as it began to stain his fingers. As the Holy Light combatted the disease, Daellin combatted his own stamina. All the while, the wretched elderly man did little but stare off into the distance, showing no signs of emotion.
Suddenly, without warning, the leper rolled away from Daellin. Before he could even react, the leper started yelping and crawling on his forearms away from the paladin. The look on the leper's face showed horror beyond imagination. His pale eyes were enlarged to the point they looked like they might pop out at any moment. Despite the clear pain he endured, the leper crawled with only his arms propelling him forward on the jagged cobble.
"Wait!" Daellin cried out. Without him realizing, the Holy Light's aura that surrounded his body ceased. The only source of light was the morning sun as it sent down its rays on the bewildered paladin.
The leper did not respond. It took a few moments of struggle but the haggard man eventually disappeared into a dark alleyway. While his body evaporated into the darkness, his labored breaths and coughing fits persisted for much longer.
"What in the world?" Daellin asked. That…was odd… His eyes were fixated at the dark alleyway that served as the leper's quick escape from potential salvation and healing. He did not even notice that a line of customers had formed for the nearest wheat stand right next to him. Based on the customers faces', it must have been a good deal on the grain.
"Oye, paladin, are ye' in line or just standing still lookin' pretty?" one of the prospective wheat buyers asked Daellin. The question startled him back to this plane of reality. He only shook his head apologetically and shifted away from the growing line. Now that he had regained his awareness, he tried to locate the source of the leper's horror. What could've disturbed him greatly? It was difficult to look over the growing number of citizens. The square was beginning to be packed like sardines. The shapes and masses that swayed in the market made everything from the cobbled ground to the morning sky indistinguishable.
But one thing did stick out.
"For the hundredth time you bloody fool, papers!"
Daellin found the source of the leper's terror- Valdelmar.
In a small clearing a few booths away from Daellin, Lord Valdelmar towered over a petrified man. The elderly man, riddled with wrinkles that marked decades of hard field labor, was fumbling through a knapsack. He was frantically looking for something in the raggedy bag, presumably the aforementioned papers that the Scarlet Lord of Tyr's Hand demanded. Even from a ways away, Daellin could see Valdelmar's devilish grin reflecting off the old man's bald scalp. It was a smile devoid of any compassion for his fellow man; it was a nefarious smile that reeked of malicious intent.
Valdelmar closed the gap that provided some level of protection for the elder. The Lord bent down, his sheath sticking out of his belt menacingly, and yelled, "We don't have all day, old man! Papers!"
Just like when he ran into the fray during the Second War and the fall of Lordaeron, Daellin rushed towards the opening. While the market square was filled with people, the clearing around Valdelmar was growing wider, just like a school of fish avoiding a shark. The air brushed past his ears as he quickly pushed himself past several citizens minding their own business. Daellin swore the summer air was getting hotter than usual with each step. It was disturbingly familiar.
The vendor's trembling hand suddenly went still. "I b-beg your pardon, sir. I-I don't have-"
"What's that!?" Valdelmar loudly asked as he cupped an ear. "Can't find your papers!? What a shame." Valdelmar's fiendish grin grew into a full, toothy smile and his eyes narrowed on the vendor. The Scarlet Lord gripped his sheathed sword's hilt.
"Valdelmar!"
Daellin emerged from the crowd, sweat pooling around his forehead. He panted to collect his breath in the middle of the growing clearing, choking on ash that was not there. With the emergence of Lightheart, more and more people diverted their attention away from whatever wheat vendor they were waiting for and to the developing situation. Soon enough, a ring of onlookers surrounded the two high ranking Scarlets.
Valdelmar slowly moved his hand away from his hilt and turned his glare towards his fellow Scarlet. As he cocked his head to one side and shimmied away from the vendor, Valdelmar growled, "Ah, Daellin. What a lovely surprise. Didn't expect to see you here."
Deallin did not give Valdelmar the pleasure of any acknowledgment. Instead, he darted over to the elderly vendor who had collapsed to the ground out of terror and exhaustion. Daellin embraced the vendor and lifted him to his feet.
"Thank you," the vendor mumbled as he staggered to his feet. "Thank the Light for you, Sir Lightheart."
Upon looking into the cloudy vendor's eyes, Daellin made a sudden realization. "Mr. Foreman?"
The vendor slowly nodded and replied, "Aye, Sir Lightheart. Gotta say, I wish I was at one of your services right now," he then looked over at Valdelmar, head still cocked to one side, and added, "instead of being terrorized by the tyrant of the streets."
Valdelmar, clearly growing impatient, drew his sword and tapped the blade's tip against the cobble ground. Each twing sent the gathered crowd retreating back ever so slightly. The tapping was far from rhythmic, rather it was terribly sporadic and somehow out of tune.
"As you know," Valdelmar began as he slowly cocked his head to the other side, shifting the entire weight of his body, "in addition to the fair taxes placed on public selling, the proper registration is required for any vendor to do business in Tyr's Hand. Your...decrepit friend here seems to lack the proper forms." His words oozed with resentment, adding to the unsettling cacophony.
"Go, Mr. Foreman. I will deal with business here," Daellin whispered to the vendor. The elderly man gulped, painfully nodded, and gathered his things. He had no booth to break down- only a few loose knapsacks with strands of loose grain poking out. As fast as his weary feet could take him, Mr. Foreman disappeared into the masses.
Daellin turned his focus to Valdelmar for the first time. "Is this how you get off, Valdelmar? Shaking down poor, innocent citizens minding themselves?" he asked with a bite.
Valdelmar was not at all pleased. His head rolled forward, his chin buried in his crimson plate, and his eyes twitched. "Laws are laws in Tyr's," he growled. "I would hope an...esteemed Scarlet such as yourself would appreciate law and order." All the while, the Scarlet Lord's blade continued to create a horrific sound with each clash it made against the cobble.
"I appreciate supporting my fellow man, not causing further chaos in their hearts," Daellin replied as his hand brushed against Dawncrier's sheath.
Valdelmar boisterously laughed. "The only chaos that these people face is the threat that I believe you were tasked with resolving," he paused as he pointed his sword at Daellin's feet, "And yet, here you are, hiding in the masses while the rest of the Crusade feverishly destroys our enemies."
Daellin was not amused by Valdelmar's actions or words. He had not for years. "What is the point of the Crusade if we aren't with the masses?" he rhetorically asked as he took one step forward. A spirit of confidence swelled within him. "And I will have you know, I am working on the case Lord Dathrohan bestowed upon me."
"Oh, are you now?"
It was not Valdelmar that asked, but rather a crooked voice from the assembled audience. A sudden uproar and opening emerged from the crowd as a bent-over Scarlet Inquisitor shuffled into the clearing. His gnarled cane and rotten, gummy smile made it clear who it was.
Isillien.
"The Arathi Red Beetle spends its entire life collecting dung to construct an abode for its offspring but die soon after spawning their gelatinous young. The beetle does not see the fruits of its labor and, more often than not, its efforts are rendered meaningless when the Arathi Bullfrog devours the offspring mere moments into their lifespan. Thus, the Red Beetle's efforts and motivations, while admirable, are pointless. You, Daellin Lightheart, are an Arathi Red Beetle and your so-called investigation is an empty house of dung."
Daellin rolled his eyes and replied, "Pleasure to see you, too, Isillien. I thought we agreed to meet elsewhere later today."
The Grand Inquisitor's eyes narrowed as his chapped lips crested into a vile smile. "It was evident from yesterday's foray that the investigation would be slower than molasses on a Hinterlands snail. I took it upon myself to further expedite our inquiries with Lord Valdelmar's assistance." With every third word, Isillien tapped his cane against the cobble. In an unspoken agreement, Valdelmar joined in by rattling his sword against the ground. The melody was painful to listen to.
Daellin stomped a few feet towards the frail inquisitor. Isillien quaked but it was not out of fear for Daellin, but rather the weight of his soul falling on his fragile body. Lightheart, with a raised voice, asked, "And who gave you the authority to go about on your own?"
Isillien chuckled and replied, "I did, of course."
"Why you little-" Daellin snarled but held back. The last thing he needed was a chance for Isillien to rebut. The fewer words that escape the vile man's mouth, the better. The venerated paladin went to take another step towards the inquisitor but something stopped him. An odd feeling halted his march towards the bane of his existence the last twenty-four hours. Perhaps it was the realization that his beloved flock was still watching his every move. Perhaps it was the Holy Light restraining him from making a rash decision. Perhaps it was his own ineptitude in standing for himself; the very thing that Demetria mentioned he should work on. Whatever it was, Isillien relished it.
Isillien turned to the crowd as he pointed his gnarled cane at Daellin. "How can we trust this fool with the very livelihood of humanity when he cannot even stand for himself?" the inquisitor asked with a raised eyebrow. "Can we trust a dodo that tells us how to fly? Can we trust the gambler with financial advice? Can we trust the king with cutting wood?"
The assembled crowd grew confused. They looked to one another for the answers to Isillien's ludicrous questions. The inquisitor, basking in his supposed brilliance, hobbled away from Daellin and trailed the circle of onlookers. Each citizen was gifted a rotten smile from the Crusade's Grand Inquisitor. They returned the gift with skepticism and disgust. Isillien appreciated each gift like a child on their birthday; he was overjoyed and eager to play with them as soon as possible. Several of the onlookers flinched or outright fled when the frail inquisitor got close. All the while, just like a lion encircling its prey, Isillien maintained direct eye contact on Daellin.
"Excuse me," Valdelmar loudly proclaimed as he cleared his throat. The attention was not on him for far too long. "But we have yet to address the matter at hand. Daellin has aided a criminal who admitted in breaking the laws of Tyr's." The Scarlet Lord, after one last swat of his sword against the ground, paced a few steps towards Daellin.
Criminal? Breaking laws? That is a bit much. Daellin furrowed his eyebrows and scoffed, "If we put that much energy into a simple mistake as we do with training the fresh recruits, then we would have destroyed the undead already." Did I really say that?
Valdelmar was taken aback. His eyes grew with shock and fury. Some of the onlookers snickered, adding to the fire burning in his eyes. Soon enough, his cheeks were as crimson as his attire. The Lord of the city's nose twitched like a scorned cat.
"Perhaps Tyr's needs a new commander-in-charge," Daellin wondered aloud. The thought was less so for the two Scarlets and more so for the crowd. A few nodded. A few even clapped. Oh, I really said that.
"Enough!" Valdelmar shouted, the sinews of his neck bulging to the point that it looked like a frayed rope desperately holding a large ship in port. The command rattled many of the onlookers to their core. Some scattered away, leaving only about two dozen left to witness this tense meeting between the ranking members of the Crusade. The holes in the circle left by the terrified citizens revealed that the rest of the market square had cleared out. Considering only a few minutes ago the lines to purchase wheat were stretched long and the sun was still young, it was a remarkably barren sight.
"Think you're all high and mighty, huh?" Valdelmar inquired with so much anger that his voice trembled. "Make me look like a fool in front of my people?" Valdelmar raised his sword and pointed the business end directly at Daellin's chest. The Lord slowly circled around Daellin like his conniving inquisitor ally did before.
"Your people? That is a crock," Daellin sharply replied. He answered Valdelmar's raised sword by unsheathing Dawncrier but kept its point towards the ground.
Valdelmar chuckled at the sight of Dawncrier, amused that his adversary would even answer his gesture. "This city has known lawlessness for years. I'm sure you of all people would know about that," he growled. "You've brought it upon yourself as a man of the people. Perhaps if I serve you a harsh lesson, this city will learn to obey rules."
"You can try," Daellin muttered as he finally raised Dawncrier to Valdelmar's chest.
The tension between the two men had reached a fever point. Daellin countered Valdelmar's encirclement with his own. The two Scarlets, one the Lord of the city, the other, a venerated paladin, walked in tandem. While Daellin's steps were in time, Valdelmar's was erratic. It was like watching a well trained dancer instruct a toddler stumbling over their two left feet.
Off to the side, Isillien rested on his cane with one hand and pantomimed eating popcorn with the other.
Valdelmar made the first move. He rushed forward with reckless abandon, sword raised high above his head. While his fury was swift, his swing was terribly slow. Daellin easily parried the blow with little more than a flick of his wrist. The Lord of Tyr's grunted, frustrated that his quick onslaught resulted in not even a bead of sweat from the longtime pastor. With a growl, Valdelmar went for another blow; this time the distraught Scarlet Lord aimed at Daellin's exposed side. Even with the paladin's chainmail, the hit would inflict a serious amount of pain.
Thankfully, Daellin was too swift for the attack. All it took was a sly dodge to the side to avoid Valdelmar's reckless attempt. His sword slashed into the cobbled ground, sending shards of steel flying from the blade. The shrapnel danced momentarily with sparks that ignited from the intense blow. If it were not for the intense duel taking place, then dance between steel and flame would have been magnificent. The blow against the cobble ground dented Valdelmar's sword to the point that it almost resembled a scimitar. Cracks formed along the spine of the wounded blade, matching the cracks in the sword's wielder.
Meanwhile, Daellin rolled his shoulders, unamused by his opponents lack of dueling tact or mastery of the blade. "Looks like you've grown slow in your age, Valdelmar," Daellin mocked as he twisted his wrist, letting the sun's rays bounce off Dawncrier from every angle. For a moment, it looked like the blade itself was aflame.
Valdelmar spat on the ground. "You're one to talk, bag of shit paladin." Without another insult thrown, Valdelmar went for his third barrage. This time, the Scarlet Lord aimed the tip of his dented sword at Daellin's heart. His eyes were beyond bloodshot; his eyes held years of contempt.
Daellin saw more in those eyes. Like a mirror reflecting a memory, he saw rivers of blood flowing through the streets of Tyr's Hand. He saw callous ruthlessness against his fellow man. He saw pain and agony tenfold spewing from the eyes of the innocent.
He saw Valdelmar slaughtering his own city.
Something overtook the paladin. For once, he took the initiative. With an impassioned roar, Daellin charged at his oncoming foe with his own blade. Before Valdelmar could make contact with his dented blade, Daellin effortlessly slashed Dawncrier upward against his opponent's sword, disarming Valdelmar. The Scarlet Lord, stunned by suddenly losing his weapon, stopped dead in his tracks. A look of confusion washed away the fury in his eyes as he stared at his empty hands. Simultaneously, his blade clashed against the ground several feet away. The blade snapped clean off the hilt, creating one final ballet of sparks and shrapnel.
With Valdelmar still thoroughly disorientated and trying to locate his lost sword in his hands, Daellin took the opportunity. The paladin swiftly kicked Valdelmar, squarely in the bewildered man's chest. He collapsed to the ground, the blow louder than the audible gasp that escaped from the remaining crowd. As Daellin towered over his defeated foe, a few claps of approval trickled from the crowd. Even Isillien stopped eating his invisible popcorn.
Valdelmar managed to his hands and knees, trying to find air to fill his lungs. His labored gasps were like fingernails on a chalkboard. His exposed back heaved up and down like an inchworm trying to escape a bird. "Damn… damn you…bastard," the defeated man wheezed as he struggled to erect his body. His knees, wobbly under the weight of his armor and humiliation, could barely keep him suspended.
Daellin did not reply. He only gazed at Valdelmar's back, still shaking and heaving. The sight of a defeated foe on his knees, panting in agonizing fashion, was oddly familiar. He could sense it tugging at the back of his head. Over the course of his lifetime, he had forced many orcs and undead to their knees before their imminent demise. But this was different. The fact that it was a fellow man nagged him. After a few moments, the paladin remembered. Here, during the Second War. During the riot.
Frustration and irritation swallowed the paladin whole. With his hands and face trembling, Daellin delivered another swift kick to Valdelmar's back. The Scarlet Lord collapsed once again on the cobble as another shockwave resonated throughout the market square. A yellowed tooth bounced away from the fallen knight, all the way to one of the onlookers. The lady, old in age, immediately squashed the canine tooth with her worn-out shoe.
"Please," Valdelmar painfully muttered with a modest amount of blood trickling down his chin as he struggled to get back to his knees, "Mercy! Mercy!"
Daellin snarled, "Where was mercy all those years ago!?"
The yell was accompanied with a bright radiance glowing around Daellin's unarmed hand; the same hand he tried to use to heal the leper mere minutes ago. His entire body quivered in tandem with his hands as the gold around his body morphed into a slight red hue. The world was spinning at an alarming rate, blurring his vision entirely, yet motionless at the same time. He held out his glowing hand, palm open, and directed it at Valdelmar's back. The tips of his fingers were singed as the Holy Light manifested itself into a vindictive orb. Tendrils of ethereal Light slithered around his fingers like snakes drawn to a rat.
"Daellin!"
Lightheart snapped back to reality. In an instant, the orb dissipated and the radiance around his body ceased. The snake-like strands that adorned his fingers like rings evaporated. Just then did he notice that his breathing was as quick and labored as his defeated foe's. His vision, previously obscured by the Light, returned to normal.
It took another moment for him to realize that a small, dainty hand was clasped around his shaking arm. He traced the pale white hand to Demetria's concerned face. Her wide emerald eyes were partially obscured by her silky smooth ashen hair; she must have ran to get to Daellin. She was breathing as quickly as her paladin compatriot.
Still holding on to Daellin's bulky arm, Demetria asked, "Are you okay?" Her voice matched the concern in his eyes. The question was the only thing the paladin could hear; not even Isillien laughing at Valdelmar's expense graced his ears.
Daellin could not find any words. As the world settled around him, he snapped his focus between her and Valdelmar, who was desperately trying to crawl away. Based on his labored breaths and trembling arms, it was a trying endeavor. After watching his defeated and pathetic foe slither away for some time, Daellin turned back to Demetria and replied, "I-I don't know."
It was not Demetria that responded to Daellin's trepidation but rather the crowd. They erupted into a chorus of cheers and roars of approval, as though they were fans of the home team that just won the big game. If the vendors and buyers had some, fireworks would be shot up into the bright sky. Men high fived and chest bumped each other. Ladies pointed at the crawling corpse desperately trying to flee from Daellin and giggled. Even Isillien stroked his cane in a very suggestive manner. In the middle of the commotion was Daellin and Demetria, looking into each other. The priest loosened her grasp on the paladin and slowly pulled away.
Before either could say a thing, a rotund and sweaty man embraced them both with his meaty arms. While Demetria was decently thin, the fact that this man could swallow both her and Daellin in full armor was impressive. It was like a python wrapping around a large wildebeest. "Well that was somthin'! Ye' sure put the tyrant of Tyr's right on his ass!" the man bellowed.
Daellin and Demetria, both equally startled by the sudden embrace, both awkwardly laughed. Daellin was the first to reply, "Yeah… things got a little carried away there. I am sorry."
The man rapidly shook his head, his beard nearly scraping the ground below and his topknot swinging back and forth. Finally letting go of the pair, the sweaty man loudly declared, "Nonsense, Sir Lightheart! That asshole needed a lesson in humility! Besides, you've been a bright side for this Light-forsaken city."
Now free from the man's warm and damp embrace, Daellin recognized the man as Dore Grendalman; a man that periodically attended church service but more so Ahran's bar. The two shared a drunken evening several months ago. Daellin's arm was sore for a full month after an arm wrestling contest held that evening. While his arm was sore for a month, the dent left in Ahran's bar rail was eternal.
As Daellin stealthily wiped away some sticky sweat off his arm, Demetria addressed the man with a slight bow and said, "We ought to be going now, sir. Thank you for-"
"Join us!" the large man exclaimed with open arms, armpit hair swaying in the air. "I run a diner on the other side of town. It's the least I can offer for helping old man Foreman and kicking the tyrant's keester! Please, I implore you!"
Off to the side, Valdelmar finally got up to one knee. The marks on his face matched the cobbled design of the ground. Blood from his mouth and hairline filled in the gaps like a painter's stroke. Struggling to speak, he weakly cried, "Brigitte will hear about this!"
Isillien, shaking his head and tapping his cane on Valdelmar's back, told his fellow Scarlet, "I don't think you'd want to tell your sweetheart that you got your behind royally kicked." The inquisitor eyed Daellin and mouthed something before returning his attention to the struggling Lord of Tyr's Hand.
Daellin politely shook his head with a slight frown. "I appreciate the offer, Dore, but we really should get going. We have-"
Dore had the widest, most pathetic set of puppy dog eyes.
Daellin turned to Demetria, also with her own set of puppy dog eyes, and relented. "By all means, lead the way."
"Wow! Look at all these people!"
Demetria was in sheer awe from the amount of people stuffed into the modestly sized diner. The Top N' Bottom Buns was filled to the brim with patrons ordering and eating their brunch. Every booth was overflowing with more people than they normally would hold. Every seat that lined the side of the restaurant was filled with one, sometimes two, individuals consuming a serving of eggs, bacon, and sausage with a stein of ale to wash it all down. Some of the tables in the center had a dancer providing entertainment on top of the meal. Some of the dancers were employees, others were enthusiastic customers. At each end of the diner was a bar rail manned by two voluptuous maids serving Morning Dawn ale. Just another typical weekday before noon.
Dozens of employees hastily went from one person to the next, taking orders and shenanigans. Every employee wore red and white lederhosen and kept their hair up in a tight bun, regardless of gender. Based on the humble clothing and rowdy nature, the clientele were far from the richest echelons of Tyr's Hand.
"It certainly has its unique atmosphere," Daellin mumbled as he glanced around the boisterous environment. He slightly flinched when a wasted man stumbled past their booth. Moments after passing their secluded corner of the diner, the drunkard collapsed into the crotch of a male waiter. As if this had happened dozens of times before, the waiter instantly kneed the drunkard's face, sending the man spiraling to the ground. A chorus of cheers erupted as the man met an early nap.
Demetria cupped her ear and asked, "What did you say?"
Daellin leaned in over the mahogany table, riddled with graffiti and the initials of lovers entombed in a heart, and repeated himself a little louder. Demetria pointed to her ear and shook her head. After a sigh, Daellin loudly proclaimed, "Yeah, it's nice!"
Demetria smiled, her cheeks puffed up to her eyelids, and rapidly nodded. She leaned in over the table and asked, "Come here often?!"
Daellin did not have the heart to tell her about the time he and Ahran danced the night away with a drink in one hand and a lady in the other. He shook his head and answered, "Only when you're here!"
Demetria giggled as she leaned in closer. With their faces only inches apart, they could finally converse without shouting. Demetria asked, "So, does this beat working?"
Daellin nodded. "While I didn't expect this would be my way out of working with the bag of shit today, I'm certainly not complaining."
One of the table dancers lowered the top of his uniform, revealing an impressively carved abdomen and pectorals. The ladies around the table squealed in excitement.
Demetria's otherwise joyful expression dissipated, despite the flashy display of sex appeal a few tables away. "Daellin," she began with a concerned tone, "what happened back there?"
An exasperated sigh escaped from Daellin's lips. Since Dore dragged them from the market square, he had not pondered on his engagement with Isillien and Valdelmar. "Valdelmar was shaking down a man for not having papers on him. I intervened on his behalf. One thing led to another and next thing I know we are dueling." He paused for a few moments to muster the strength to continue. Not even a trio of men taking three shots in quick succession and promptly hurling the shots back up could distract the paladin from his story. "I-I couldn't stop myself. I'm sure you saw the rest."
He hoped that talking about his duel would lift the weight off his shoulders. Alas, regaling his story to his lovely compatriot did not shatter the boulders pulling him down. If anything, a sense of guilt washed over him, adding to the misery stewing inside.
It did not help that Demetria did not immediately respond. She was soaking in the paladin's tale. Her eyes wandered from Daellin to the rest of the diner, taking in the nuances of the seemingly hundreds of individuals enjoying themselves on this late weekday morning. With each passing moment, Daellin's heart twisted more and more. Say something, anything.
Finally, Demetria's emerald eyes rested on Daellin's. "When I said grow a thicker spine and stand up for yourself," she began before pausing a moment, "I didn't anticipate you doing so by putting that asshole in his place." She erupted into a fit of laughter as she reeled back into her booth. If she was not careful enough, she might add another tear into the stained burgundy fabric.
The laughter, like a mallet from the gods, smashed the boulder that was weighing down upon him. He nodded with a slight chuckle of his own. "Would you believe me if I told you I'd been dying to do that for over fifteen years?" he asked as he dodged a waiter's tray full of shot glasses brimming with flames.
"I don't doubt it!" Demetria giggled. As the tray of flaming shot glasses passed her, in a sleight of hand, she snagged one of the glasses off the tray and downed the burning liquor in one fluid motion. The priestess, awfully out of place in this diner, did not flinch nor showed any sign of discomfort.
Impressed, Daellin's mouth was agape. Despite Demetria's impressive display and feeling better about the earlier events, something still nagged at him. "But, there was one...odd thing," Daellin began, his tone falling from the clouds of joy, "When I fought with Valdelmar, the Light-"
"Gorgeous, fair, and lovely lady and...Daellin!"
The two snapped away from each other and found Dore standing mighty by their table. His arms flailed in the air as the proprietor of this fine establishment continued, "As a thank you on behalf of the dredges of Tyr's for kicking that tyrant's ass, we at the Top N' Bottom Buns would like to provide brunch and drinks on the house!"
Daellin began to protest the generous offer but Demetria beat him to the punch. "Thank you for the generosity, Mr. Grendalman. Might I say, what a wonderful establishment you have here!" Her words were as gleeful as the rest of the customers in the diner. Albeit, more clothed and sober.
Dore awkwardly bowed, knocking over a table behind him. "Shall we start with drinks, yeah? For the lady, we have a very smoky whisky from the south that has quite a kick." Content with Demetria's excited nod, Dore turned to Daellin and continued, "And for you Daellin, the usual like last time?" The mountain of a man winked and did not wait for an answer before rolling away.
A coy smile grew on Demetria's face. "Didn't you say you've only been here with me?" she asked.
Daellin's eyes widened like when a child's lie is discovered. "I-I can explain," he began. His eyes danced away from Demetria, trying to find the answer on how to get out of this in the diner's crowd. He did not find it in the barmaid knocking out a man being a pest at the bar rail. But something else did catch his eye.
For one single moment, when a clear visual path opened up, Daellin swore he saw a familiar face on the opposite side of the diner. It was not the superficial level of familiarity that a pastor or knight would experience on a daily basis, but rather a far more personal kind. Without giving it another thought, he stood up from the booth, turned back to Demetria, and said, "I'll be right back." Before he heard her response, he plunged into the debauchery. For a man that had charged into countless battles before, this may have been the most daunting arena he had faced yet.
He awkwardly slid past a waiter holding two trays of food and beverages. He declined to join a toast for someone's retirement party. He even turned down an offer to become the latest table dancer at the diner to the dismay of a group of spinsters. For a journey less than one hundred feet in length, he came out with enough stories to fill a lifetime. Alas, he emerged from the chaos on the other side, right beside a booth with the familiar face.
"Ahran!"
Daellin's lifelong friend, seated in the booth, quickly snapped to the paladin. Daellin was beaming with happiness and joy to see his friend; Ahran's face was more confused than anything else.
"Daellin, what a surprise," he slowly muttered. The bartender, still seated, turned his body towards Daellin and added, "Didn't think I'd see you here."
Lightheart chuckled and replied, "It isn't much earlier than the last time we were here together. Has the same ambiance, doesn't it?"
"Indeed…"
Daellin was so preoccupied with his chance meeting with his friend somewhere that was not his own barrail that it took a moment for him to notice that opposite from Ahran, seated on the other side of the booth, was another gentleman. The man leaned back into his booth as he tugged one of his suspenders.
"Where are my manners," Ahran gulped. "Daellin, this is…Javier."
Javier, a dark man with a slender physique and a well kept pencil-thin mustache, bowed his head. "Charmed to meet your acquaintance," he said with a level of refinement foreign from the Top N' Bottom Buns.
"The pleasure is all mine," Daellin repaid the courtesy. "A business associate of yours?" he asked Ahran.
Ahran shook his head and answered, "No...not necessarily. Just… a friend."
Daellin chuckled as he grasped Ahran's shoulder. He softly rocked his friend, making sure to not cause his body too much distress. "Light knows you need more of those! You spend all your time with either kegs or me that I thought you'd sworn off people entirely!" I'm just glad to see you out of the bar and socializing. You definitely need more of that.
Javier raised an eyebrow and a corner of his lip. "Oh, is that so?" he asked Ahran. The bartender, still being rocked by his paladin friend, quickly shook his head and waved his hands to indicate that Daellin's words were facetious.
Daellin continued to chuckle and shake Ahran. "Has he told you about the time he was so absolutely plastered that he stood on top of a table, said 'fuck every lady in the world,' then proceeded to use the keg tap to-"
"That is quite enough!" Ahran shouted as he pulled his shoulder away from Daellin's grasp. The bartender's face was as red as a blushing tomato. Javier, meanwhile, leaned in with an inquisitive eyebrow to hear more. "Don't you have...paladin things to do?" Ahran asked, annoyed.
Daellin snapped his fingers and nodded. "Oh, yeah! I haven't had the chance to tell you about it. I'm-"
A light, playful kick to his ankle interrupted his train of thought. "Daellin, our drinks are ready."
Demetria, shimmying to the beat of the debauchery of the diner, held out a stein as she easily downed the whisky in her shot glass. Daellin could not help but admire the priestess's beauty with the chaotic backdrop. Her ashen hair flowed from side to side, all the while not a single drop of ale escaped from the stein. Remarkably, her white and gold robe was as pure as ever with no sign of any stains. It reminded him of a stained glass in the cathedral that depicted an angel floating elegantly above a hellish landscape.
"Ahran," Daellin began as he accepted his stein, "this is Demetria of Hearthglen." He took a hefty swig of his ale as Ahran and Javier politely nodded. After admiring his drink for a moment, Daellin continued, "Demetria, this is Ahran. He has the misfortune of being my closest friend since our childhood days in Andorhal."
Demetria, with a hint of red stretching across the bridge of her nose, smiled and asked, "How have you managed, Sir Ahran?"
Ahran shook his head for seemingly the hundredth time within the last three minutes, and answered, "I have no idea. Well, it looks like the two of you are enjoying yourselves. We ought to be going."
Ahran shot up and exited the booth. He brushed past Daellin's broad chest with his own withered body and beckoned Javier with a quick snap of his wrist. Before Daellin could say a word, Ahran disappeared into the chaos with Javier in tow. Before the handsome acquaintance joined Ahran in the fray, he gave a sly wink to Daellin. Lightheart could not even see the two leave the establishment as the diner was that packed.
The paladin and priestess stood there silently. Daellin was taken aback by his close friend's abrupt departure. It was so unlike Ahran to dismiss himself without an embrace or a round of ale. Demetria was focused on locating another liquor tray. Out of unfortunate fate, none of the waiters came close enough to the priestess. Perhaps that was intentional on their behalf.
Still bewondered, Daellin asked, "What in the world…?"
Demetria did not answer his question. Nobody in the diner could resolve his bewilderment. His ale did not provide any help. But one thing did respond to Daellin.
The daunting, low echo of the city's grand bell.
Daellin's eyes widened as he dropped his stein, beer spilling all over the floor. Only a soft mutter escaped the paladin's agape mouth as the diner suddenly fell silent. "Light help us."