A PALADIN’S LABORS

By Timothy Walsh

Phaedrin ran her paw over her head, scratching behind an ear. The Urunar Paladin looked down at the human standing before her with an uncertain look on his face, a stocky middle-aged man in sturdy laborer’s clothes. He was one of the councilmembers of this small colony, and had apparently been chosen to come to her about some problem. She didn’t mind listening to him, but was honestly thinking harder about the meal that she was late for. Phaedrin didn’t like being late for meals. She shook herself out of her reverie and tried to pay better attention.

“So, well, Phae… I’m sorry, Paladin Phaedrin. We know that you only come out to this world here on your rounds and all, and we all understand that normally you’d be heading off on your business, but we’ve been starting to have bandit trouble. They’ve been harassing folk on the roads to the mines, and we’re worried it’ll only get worse. There aren’t many of them, but they seem pretty well armed and well, we’re not. Also...” the man began to shift, refusing to meet Phaedrin’s eyes, “Also, there’s word that they have some kind of strange power among them, and we don’t know what to make of it. Sounds like what the priests can do, but that can’t be, can it?”

At this Phaedrin stopped, dreams of lunch falling away. “Councilmember, please. You don’t need to be nervous.” Her tone was cheerful, in contrast to the blackened Vilithic plate armor that encased her body. “You’re just passing on reports, you’re not badmouthing the Church or her followers. It’s okay. I’d be happy to help.” She reached out, and clapped the human on his shoulder. Solid as he was, he still rocked slightly at the gesture. “That’s why I’m here, after all! Besides, a power? Miracles but not? That’s pretty serious, so I’d want to look into it one way or the other, for sure.”

People never really knew how to respond to her, Phaedrin thought as the human went through a familiar set of confused expressions. It wasn’t like every Paladin needed to be all “behold the strong arm of the Vilithic Church, I will stand here with my starblade and declaim grim tidings unto you all.” She didn’t need to be serious all the time, after all.

“Look,” she began, before the councilmember could give voice to his confusion, “the next shipment of food and supplies to the mining camps leaves tomorrow morning. I’ll just go along for the ride, and give your guards some backup. If it’s just bandits that are causing these problems, they’ll be taken care of. If it’s something else...” She grinned, and the human’s eyes went wide at the sight of Phaedrin’s teeth. “I’m sure I’ll be able to take care of that, too,” she finished.

The councilmember drew himself up, and met Phaedrin’s eyes. “Thank you for that. We’d all feel it if the shipments from the mines were disrupted, but the folks working in them would feel it worse if their supplies didn’t make it up there.”

Phaedrin nodded back. “Of course. It’s what I’m supposed to do. Now,” she looked around, sniffing, “where can I get a solid meal and some drinks around here? I overheard someone saying something about open mic night at the bar, and that’s something I’d like to know more about too.

---

The back of the hovertruck was filled with an awkward and silent tension. Phaedrin looked around as she munched on a breakfast sandwich that she’d managed to abscond with. There were six lightly armed humans sitting among the packed cargo crates, all of them studiously avoiding looking at her.

“So,” she said brightly, shattering the silence, “how long of a trip is it up to the mines, anyway?”

The humans looked around at each other with uncertain expressions, before one looked at Phaedrin and answered. “P-probably about two hours, Paladin.”

“Thanks. And just call me Phaedrin. It’s my name.” She continued to maul the breakfast sandwich. It was honestly really good. Probably one of the top ten breakfast sandwiches she had recently, she thought. The local spices were amazing, and whatever native animal went into the sausage was tangy as all get out. She idly wondered if she’d be able to buy some before she left.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” The human who had answered her before was speaking again. “Can… can I ask you a question?” The man looked nervous, but had clearly worked himself up to the point of being able to speak directly to her. 

Phaedrin nodded, pointing at her full mouth with an apologetic expression. The man blinked at her and continued, “You, um. You don’t really seem like how I -- we -- expected a paladin to act. You’re. Um,” he paused as Phaedrin quickly swallowed the last of her food.

“Nice? Pleasant? Friendly?” she said.

The man blanched, but nodded. 

Phaedrin chuckled, not unkindly, and asked, “Hey, what’s your name, anyway? I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask before we all got into this hovertruck which, by the way, sure feels like it needs better shock absorbers even if that’s not at all how hovertrucks work.”

The human laughed and stuck out his hand. As Phaedrin’s paw engulfed it for a handshake he replied, “Ricard, and yeah, I don’t know what’s up with the antigravs on this thing but they really do give an old-school wheeled conveyance experience, don’t they?” The two shared a laugh, and he continued more easily. “But yeah, seriously. The last few times we had a paladin come through, it wasn’t like any of them were bad people or anything, but they were all just all cut from the same cloth. Stoic and stern, one of them was even dour. All business, all the time. You are definitely not that. What gives?”

Phaedrin sat back on her bench and huffed out a breath. “Well, the easy answer is that all devotees of the Vilithic Church are different people, and people act differently.” Ricard had an openly dubious look on his face, and she chuckled as she continued. “That’s true, but it’s also pat and it’s also not really what you’re asking. How much do you know about basic Church doctrine?”

Ricard matched Phaedrin’s posture, leaning back on his bench seat. “I have the basics, but that’s about all. We don’t have a real priest out here, just a lay preacher, but we get most of the usual sermons, I suppose.” Phaedrin gestured at him to continue. “We know that the Vilithic Gods… well, they aren’t good. Getting noticed by them isn’t a good idea, and doing stuff that they like will get you noticed -- lying, theft, murder and all that -- so best not to act like them. Anointed priests and paladins of the Church can draw on them though, and perform miracles. You all get their attention, so the rest of us won’t.”

Phaedrin nodded. “That’s pretty much it, yes. So, well, to be blunt? Think about it. Think about what it must be like to tie yourself to powers like that. It’s really not an easy thing. It can be a heavy load to carry, and that’s usually reflected in how people act. Also, paladins especially end up in a lot of harsh and difficult situations. If you’ve ever met some career combat veterans, it can be the same thing, I guess. Hells, if you think that some line paladins were too serious, hope you never meet a real crusader. They take that lack of humor to a whole new level.”

Ricard had been thinking through her words, though he shivered at the mention of crusaders. “You’re not anything like that, though!”

The paladin laughed. “Well, you haven’t really seen me in a situation that calls for me to be serious,” she said. “But outside of that, no, I’m not. I’ve got no reason to be, I suppose. This life is my only life, and I intend to enjoy it. I’m doing hard work, and necessary work, and it isn’t what you’d call fun, but in the end I’m helping people. I keep them safe in this life, and I help them pass unclaimed by the Gods in the next.” She kept smiling, but her tone sobered. “Really though, I know the types of things that await me after I die. I’m not trying to make myself seem more important than I am, or to play for sympathy, but I know the sacrifice I’m making for people. There’s going to be a whole lot of not-fun waiting for me after I leave here, so why not enjoy myself while I can?”

“That’s… a lot to take in. More than I expected to hear when I woke up this morning.” Ricard looked up at Phaedrin. “I can get there. It makes sense. Though I’m happy that it isn’t something that I need to consider for my own life, and I appreciate that.” 

The Urunar shrugged her shoulders. “It’s what I do. It’s what we do. Everyone deals with it in their own way. When you get down to it…” Her next words were drowned out by the sound of a short explosion from outside the truck, followed by shouted orders to stop the vehicle and get out of it.

Phaedrin looked at the humans in the truck with her. “That sounds like our cue. I’ll go out first, you all follow after I’ve gotten some attention. Grab cover, keep your heads down.” Her mouth fell into a toothy grin. “Time to show some people what the attention of the Gods can look like.”

Phaedrin tucked and rolled out the back of the truck, nimble despite her heavy armor. While fast, she wasn’t subtle, and the sound of her impact and roll rang out as she quickly surveyed the area. She found herself on a broken road through scraggly, rocky woodland. Small arms fire spattered on the ground around her as she quick-stepped away from the back of the truck and scanned the treeline for hostiles. She noticed some of them -- a handful of mostly Humans and Naguli -- had taken covered positions behind rocks and fallen trees. None seemed to have any weapons larger than a rifle, which suited her fine.

She stopped moving and planted her feet. Pulling the hilt of her starblade from the back of her belt, Phaedrin ignited the weapon. The dark red blade extended with a burst and hiss, throwing new shadows around in the thin sunlight, and Phaedrin openly grinned at the sudden silence as the weapons fire stopped. Taking a deep breath, she schooled her expression into a serious one as shouted across the small battlefield.

“Bandits! Raiders! I am Phaedrin, Paladin of the Vilithic Church! You have one chance to lay down your arms and submit to local justice, lest the wrath of the Gods and Their might fall upon your heads!”

The weapons of the bandits remained silent, even as Phaedrin’s local companions threw themselves from the back of the truck and scattered behind what cover they could. As he moved behind her, Phaedrin heard Ricard saying, “Oh now it’s time to be dire,” and she struggled to keep a straight face.

The silence broke with a single voice shouting from the trees, “You all know what we have on our side! Take them!”

The weapons fire began all at once, and Phaedrin no longer had to fight to remain serious. She remained planted, narrowed her eyes, and reached out with her empty hand. Shouting aloud in an old form of Urunar, she felt a presence in the back of her mind as a dark and depthless anger flowed from it, through her, and into the world. A lance of black fire leapt from her hand, howling almost as if in pain, towards a group of three Naguli with rifles -- only to spatter against a nearly invisible heat shimmer in the air before it could reach them.

Her eyes widened, but before she could say anything Phaedrin was forced to throw herself into a desperate roll as greenish black vines, thorns glistening with something she didn’t want to contemplate, burst out of the ground where she had been standing, flailing hungrily for something to latch on to.

The raiders gave a hopeful cheer, and the weapon fire intensified on both sides. Lasers spattered off Phaedrin’s armor even as she moved her starblade to deflect what she could. The bandits were focusing on her, leaving her squad of locals free to return fire, but she knew that she couldn’t keep this up for too long. Her attention was pulled as if by chance towards an older human man standing off to the side of the bandits. Phaedrin felt his gaze focusing on her, and knew that whatever had just tried to happen to her, he was responsible.

“What are you?” she yelled, and called upon her Gods. Power infused her body as she sprinted from the road into the thin woods, directly towards the man. Her sight narrowed until he was all that she saw. He was older, greying, his skin weathered and clothing hard worn. He didn’t appear to be carrying weapons, but even as she saw his eyes widen in fear, he kept chanting words that Phaedrin could not hear. She grew closer, but her focus left her no ability to dodge the shards of wood which pulled themselves from a nearby tree and flew into her, trailing a faint green mist. Most of them shattered on her armor, but she felt one slam into her thigh, and the burning in her muscle was from more than just a simple wound.

It didn’t help the man, as Phaedrin reached him and slammed into him at her full supernatural speed. While he spun from the impact, Phaedrin planted her feet and skidded to a sudden halt. Spinning to face the human, her wounded leg buckled beneath her and she began to topple. Mid-fall, she swept her starblade down in a burning arc, fully severing one of the man’s legs at the knee. He barely managed to cry out as he fainted from the pain.

The sounds of the battle continued around her, but Phaedrin only had eyes for the fallen human in front of her. “Everyone else here might get dealt with by the locals, but you? You’re coming back to Kel with me.”

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Timothy Walsh is an avid player and GM of games, but has far too little time. He also blogs about renaissance swords at https://donovanshinnock.blogspot.com/.

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See more of Emmanuelle McGowan’s art at https://www.originalemmart.com/home

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