Senior Paladin Troy Montreaux took into his hands the document that had been left at the doorstep of Paladins’ Guild headquarters. The hand writing upon its coarse water stained fabric was offensively careless, as though the writer wished it to be known how little regard they had for protocol. The document had been left by an unknown member of the crowd that always congregated in the Guild District’s Seraphim Plaza around noon time. It was a matter of continental legend that paladins of the metropolis headquarters offered free healthcare to any who should come in need. Even before the coming of Caesar, the daily line of sufferers could stretch for kilometers. The letter read as follows -
We are your people. We are your power. When we make our decision, you will support us. We do not fear you anymore.
A letter such as this did not merit any response. No guild member of higher rank would scold Troy for discarding it. It was not the words, nor the poor calligraphy that sent a shiver down Troy’s spine. It was the fact that the full power of Goldcrest was managed not half a mile from Troy’s humble bedroom, and with the responsibility of power always came blame. It was only a matter of time until the people of Goldcrest would be on his doorstep demanding solutions to their unsolvable problems. Troy crumpled the message in his fist, and thrust it into one of his three back pockets. He resolved to burn it in the Carnegie Room before retiring to bed.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
It was an hour past midnight when the guild district’s black diamond gates began to swing inward. Troy strode warily into the center of Seraphim Plaza, as was expected of a ceremonial night guardsman. Despite the dozens of layers of arcane security woven throughout the district, Troy felt exposed. He stood stock still, with one hand on the hilt of his blade and the other on his heart.
A posse of three frightened youths stumbled shuffled into the plaza bearing on their shoulders a fourth young man. This last youth lay slack on a stretcher. His pallid skin shone eerily in the moonlight. Behind the wounded boy and his companions strode the woman who had unlocked the gates of black diamond. Only distinguished guild members held the power to move the gates, and Athena Pilagius was the youngest person in recent history to wield this power. It was against protocol to admit people to the guild center in the middle of the night, even for medical attention. Athena was frequently punished for breaches in protocol.