"If you would just sign here…here…and here," Dmitri said, his voice barely audible over the din and noise of the large dining tent.
The young woman hovered over the text and signed hurriedly, scribbling illegibly onto the parchment.
"Is that it?" She asked, anxious to leave.
"Yes, that should be it, unless you wish to revise your statements," Dmitri asked, wooden stamp in hand, "Do you?"
"No, no. I'm fine," She said, standing up, curved wooden bow in hand, "I can go?"
"Yes, that'll be all, Flavie. Thanks, and remember, you have up to a week to come back and make any changes," He said, stamping the document and filing it into a basket underneath the long wooden table.
He yawned and massaged his tired wrist. That last witness statement had taken a while to write up. That girl had been involved in a number of operations in the area during the campaign against Andariel, working as a guide for travelers and as private security for anyone willing to pay. As such, she had quite a long, interesting story to tell. Still, he had been at it all morning; questioning, writing, signing and stamping. Administrative work was just as tiresome, if not more so, than field work. Nonetheless, secretarial work had it's definite advantages, he thought, eyeing the now-empty dinner plate in front of him.
The dining tent was getting louder and louder as more people crammed into the lengthy tables. Raucous laughter erupted from a corner as a group of mercenaries swapped stories, each one topping the next in outrageous lies and exaggerated bravado. Whether it was the number of demons slain or the number of women they had slept with, the men eagerly nodded along, waiting to trump the previous tall tale with his own.
Dmitri snapped out of his daze and sat forward on the low bench, fresh parchment and ink quill in hand.
"Next," he called, gesturing to the open seat in front of him.
A female approached, her slender face framed by thick curls of shoulder length yellow hair. Upon reaching the table she unceremoniously plopped down and leaned forward, elbows propped on the scarred table. Dmitri naturally found his gaze dropping lower and lower until…
"Can I help you?" She asked, reflexively pulling her wool blouse tighter around herself.
"Uh…right, yes," He cleared his throat and filled his quill with ink, "Name, please."
"Althea Mina Nikleros," She said, her green eyes watching him form fluid letters onto the paper.
"Age?" He asked, guessing in his head.
"81," Althea replied quickly.
Dmitri paused, thinking for a second, "81? Using New Standard Sanctuary?"
"I don't know, then."
"Right, okay..," Dmitri said, thinking nothing more of it. It was not uncommon for peoples from certain cultures to reject the standard calendar of Sanctuary. Particularly those from more hard-line warrior societies, where age is measured by cycles of the individual crop seasons. He paused to drink the remnants in his wine cup.
"Place of birt--"
"I thought you were not allowed to drink," Althea interrupted, glancing at the now empty cup.
"Excuse me?" He asked, curious as to what she was getting at.
"I'm almost certain that wine is forbidden to you people," She continued, pressing the issue.
"You people? What are you going on about?" Dmitri questioned.
"You work for the church…and not as an altar boy."
"Is that so? And how would you know that?"
Althea gestured to the dull clasp on his cloak. The clasp was nothing extraordinary. Square shaped and cast of bronze, on the clasp was etched a book overlaid with a war hammer. It was standard issue for all Zakarumite holy warriors. Well, all the warriors that were left.
"And what does that matter?"
"Do you only speak in questions, Paladin?"
Dmitri heaved a sigh and looked at her bleakly, before reaching for the wine jug. Pouring carefully, he filled his mug to the brim.
"So, you found me out. Are you going to report me now?" He asked, downing the wine in a long swig and immediately pouring himself another. The tart wine soured his mouth and made his disposition even more glum.
"Hardly. The flaws of a drunken priest hold little consequence for me. Besides, people are much more interesting when they are full of drink, wouldn't you agree?" She asked.
A small smile crept onto his face as he pushed the jug towards her. Althea accepted and poured a small measure into the flagon next to her.
"Well, holy man--"
"That's Dmitri," He interrupted.
"Dmitri. So, what are you doing here? Don't you have some grand crusade to embark on?" She asked, a hint of sarcasm evident in her voice.
"Not at the moment. All the good crusades were taken," He paused,
"I'm just doing some clerical work for the church."
"How interesting," Althea replied flatly, "I didn't know Paladins enjoyed doing paperwork."
"One would be surprised. Besides, I'm not exactly a spring chicken anymore, if you know what I mean," Dmitri joked.
"Spring chicken?" She asked, confused.
"Ah, that means I'm getting old."
Althea merely nodded, pretending to understand the joke, "Still, you don't look like you are enjoying it much. Even for an old man."
Dmitri laughed suddenly and grabbed the basket full of forms from underneath the table. Setting in on the table, he pulled random papers and scattered them onto the wine stained table.
"I'm not! I hate it, it's absolutely mind-numbing work! Look, I've written the same thing hundreds of times today," He exclaimed, pointing to examples.
Althea looked over the pieces of parchment strewn wildly around the table. Each one was full of the same handwritten eyewitness statements. Each one recounted the exact same story, albeit with a few details changing here and there. Each one told the story of the demonic presence of Andariel and the fall of the Rogue monastery.
"See? Each one is exactly the same, but just told from a different point of view. Lucky me, I get to listen to each and every person in this place tell the same story," Dmitri ranted, glad to finally be able to vent to somebody.
Althea looked up from the papers and gave Dmitri a blank look.
Dmitri exhaled slowly and shook his head, "My apologies. I shouldn't have gone off on a tangent like that."
She merely nodded as Dmitri restacked the documents and filed them back into the basket. Papers neatly put away, he grabbed his quill and prepared himself to continue working.
"Anyways, Althea Mina Nikleros. Where would you like to start?" He asked, quill pen hovering over the paper, preparing himself for the typical outpour of information. In fact, he had done this so many times, he could almost predict where she would start and what she was going to say.
"I killed Andariel," She stated, leaning forward.
Dmitri blinked. The noise of the dining tent suddenly became less intrusive.
"What?"
"I killed Andariel," Althea repeated, "I personally stabbed my spear into her stomach. Repeatedly."
A long sigh escaped his lips as reached underneath the table and pulled out an extra thick stack of blank paper, "Well then. Let's start at the beginning."
