Nearly a week later, Alistair found himself on the road again. So much had happened after his evening meeting with the winter elf, Ilvara. Sir Manus and the others took the letter from Alistair and planned to present it to the Duke of Isen in the capital. Only he would have the resources to properly investigate such a conspiracy. Alas, the limits on Alistair’s Quest of Supplication meant he was sure to run out of time before then.
The knights couldn’t guarantee him an opportunity at every corner to fight or prove his worth along the way to the capital. Besides, he had better things to do than get too deeply embroiled in a conspiracy plot. Best leave that for the experts, Sir Manus had said. Of course, that also meant that he had to abort the Quest of Discovery. Sad days.
Rozena advised Alistair that he should take one of the other quests she had available. Something that would keep him moving out of Adelgard and traverse more ground faster. There were people out there that needed Alistair more than he needed the knights and their company.
Paladin or supplicant, it did not matter. He could still be of use.
Now, he was in the lead wagon of a trader convoy on its way north out of Adelgard. On the first day of the trip, Alistair was forced to say goodbye to Manus and the rest as they took a separate road on their way to the capital. It was a short, bittersweet moment. At least, he was assured that he could visit the Earl’s estate if and when he made his way up toward Isenfell.
On the third day, Rozena parted ways as well. She had tagged along for a short while before venturing toward another settlement. There were many people for her to see, stories to tell, and heroes to recruit. She was a fervent servant of the Lady. In the meantime, she would pray for Alistair’s success.
The convoy rolled on first toward the north, then shifting east along a preconceived route. Normally the traders would make this circuit without the need of any bodyguard or escort, but recent events had spooked them. With hob raids in the south and then the redcaps to the west, it was all a little much for your average man to defend themselves against. Roads were rarely patrolled if they were too far from the larger garrisons, so caravans like this had to rely on either mercenaries or a traveling knight-errant to protect them.
Imagine their surprise when a paladin, or at least someone that looked convincingly like a paladin, decided to sign on. They were ecstatic to have him.
Along the way, Alistair noticed himself wearing his Aegis armor now more than ever. The red suit had become something of a second skin for him. This change of habit occurred after he noticed the very slight vitality drain he suffered from wearing the Aegis for an extended period of time. It was only during times of heavy exertion and intense combat that the drain accelerated into something more unmanageable. Suffering damage was the worst culprit. If he walked or marched along in his armor, Alistair found that he could maintain the relic mantle all day without much struggle.
That was an important breakthrough for him. It enabled him to carry more things with the strength of his Aegis body, and it meant he didn’t have to rely on a pack horse or mule. Before he left Adelgard, Alistair had commissioned a sizable rucksack with which to keep his things. It even sported a nice little loop for his weapon, which was still the cold iron pike from the battle with the redcaps.
The people were more at ease around him when he was in his transformed state. Once they got over the ridiculous height and strange appearance and realized there was a human in there, they were thrilled to be protected by such a powerful-looking person. It entertained Alistair when they would cross paths with folk who had never seen a paladin before. Children would hide behind their mothers’ skirts, dogs would chase him, and laborers would stop their work to stare, but in the end, they all would warm up to him.
He wondered if it was the Aegis body itself, or perhaps his growing reputation in the dukedom that contributed to the friendly demeanor of those he came across. Since he last checked, or at least was told by someone with the Sight, he was considered ‘Recognized’ within the Duchy of Isen. His demeanor and his actions had also entitled him with a ‘Blessed’ descriptor, though it seemed rare to meet someone of a lesser reputation than that.
Was it meant to be some form of public shaming among those with the Sight?
Alistair left his musings behind as they approached a new town. The name of it was Fallkirk, and it served as another trading hub for the smaller hamlets and villages that dotted their little slice of the duchy. A perfect place for people to congregate and trade when they couldn’t afford to live in or travel to a bigger city like Adelgard. It also happened to be somewhat close to the border of the untamed lands, to Deadwood.
It made him somewhat nervous, knowing how close they were to the border with the undead. Aegis or no, Alistair had heard enough stories to know that they were not a threat to be taken lightly. Even after being beaten back time and time again, the undead and their masters always came back. War with them plagued the history of the southern reaches of the Alban kingdom.
As someone that had grown up in the south, right on the border, Alistair’s senses were keen to that kind of thing.
That said, their journey so far had actually been quite pleasant. No highwaymen attempted to rob them, nor did any fae creature make its appearance. There had been plenty of opportunities for an ambush as they passed through thick woods and rolling hills, or when Alistair was forced to sleep and lower his guard. Yet, there was nothing.
On the one hand, he was thankful for a peaceful trip. On the other, it irked him to make no progress on his quest to prove his worth. Alistair had no way of knowing if the Lady was pleased with his progress, or if she was even watching him to begin with.
Quest of Conveyance
Complete!
Rewards
Small Universal Renown Gain
Small Duchy of Isen Renown Gain
Small Monetary Reward
No experience, sadly. Progress was progress, though.
“Here you are, milord,” said someone behind him. It felt strange to be called that still.
Alistair turned and then glanced down at the caravan master, a man by the name of Peter. The portly man of humble origins sat on the front seat of the first wagon as they made their way into town. In his hand was a bag full of coins. He graciously took the small pouch, almost minuscule in his large hands. The leftover gold he had from Adelgard was already half spent on the provisions and specially-fitted rucksack, so he was glad to have more.
The Sight, impressive ability that it was, informed him of the amount. Five silver crowns, which amounted to half a full gold one if he remembered right. It was still more money than he or his family had ever owned, so it would be enough for him.
“Thank you,” Alistair replied, nodding his head in thanks. He put the bag deep into a pouch on his rucksack. It was a bit awkward with his size, but he managed it.
They strolled into town to find it somewhat quiet actually. By this time of the day, the traders and locals would have congregated in the village square. Instead, all the houses were buttoned up. Strange, Alistair thought to himself.
From the reactions of those within the caravan, this was unusual for the town of Fallkirk. They made for the center of town and sheepishly waited there. Some were too nervous to even start setting up their booths.
Peter, perhaps not the bravest but certainly the one most invested in his business, made to visit the nearest door. He knocked a few times, fairly soft out of respect. With no answer, he knocked a little harder. It wasn’t until he was about ready to beat the door down that someone finally answered. A woman from the looks of it, and just a peek of her as she refused to open the door all the way.
Alistair certainly didn’t have supernatural hearing and so he waited with the rest. They talked for a bit and then she hurriedly shut the door again. Peter made his way back over to the wagon folk, his face pale.
“What’s wrong?” someone asked. They were all nervous by now. “Where is everyone?”
Peter shook his head. “D-D-Dragon,” he whispered, stuttering in fear as he did. He said it so quietly that some of the folk around leaned in, confused.
“What’d you say?”
“You say dragon?! Did I hear you right?!”
“Dragon?! What do you mean, a dragon?!”
They began to panic as word spread through the wagons. Alistair was thankful to still be in his Aegis body so that the people around him might not notice the unflattering expression he was making. He may not have been told many folk tales as a child, but he had certainly heard of dragons. Mythical beasts of fire and magic, they were the bane of countless knights that had attempted to hunt the beasts for clout. He had assumed they were all extinct or made up to begin with.
What was one of these dragons doing all the way out here?
As if in response to the news, the Sight began to scrawl letters in front of him. A quest of what looked like epic proportions appeared for him to review.
Quest of Elimination
Slay the Dragon!
Requirements
Paladin of Any mantle | Level 9 or above
OR
A group of warriors, led by a paladin | Level 6 or above
Supplicants may join at their own risk
Rewards
Large Universal Renown Gain
Large Duchy of Isen Renown Gain
Milestone Progress
Access to the dragon’s hoard
The rewards were impressive but they had to be reconciled with the very real threat of death by dragon breath. And if not breath, then their sharp claws and teeth. How nice of the Sight, or the Lady or whoever sent him these messages, to say it was his option to join or not as a supplicant. He felt pressured to say yes.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Milord.” Peter tried to gain his attention again. The man barely made it to Alistair’s waist so it took a bit of work. “The lady said the duke himself made some kind of proclamation. There’s a flyer on the village’s board over there.”
Alistair followed in the direction Peter pointed to and saw that there was indeed a message board near what he assumed was the town hall. He made his way over to take a closer look. Most notes were of little import, simple tasks not even a knight might care to do. The duke’s message to the people stood out given the quality of the parchment it was written on and the impressive wax seal accompanying it.
Hear ye!
To any chivalrous knight of Alba, should you be an errant or landed, ‘tis of no concern.
There is a dragon on the loose in the heart of the Duchy of Isen.
For all those who have sworn to uphold the Chivalric Code, this is your chance!
Steel your hearts, make peace with those you love, and take your best armor and fastest steed to the village of Bredon!
There, brave warriors will gather and the hunt can then commence.
Do not dally or delay once this message has found you!
The villages of Thornbeck, Redwall, and Slone have already been destroyed.
Your duke and your king need you!
And to any paladin that might read this, we humbly request your aid.
Our victory is assured when the Lady’s chosen take the field!
Signed,
Cormag Isen, Duke of Isen, Castellan of Isenfell
Well, it certainly had a regal tone to it. Needlessly wordy in some spots. Alistair could have summed up the gist of it much quicker. That wouldn’t be very fancy, though. He learned a few new words from that message alone.
“Peter,” Alistair called out, glancing back at those gathered. “How do I get to Bredon?”
----------------------------------------
It was a half-day’s march from Fallkirk to Bredon. Convenient for him since no one would dare give him a ride to a place under threat by a dragon. It made sense why Fallkirk was so nervous; they were right in the path of where the beast was last seen. He guessed that they were hoping the dragon would strike Bredon and get more than it bargained for with the warriors there.
But, how could someone really predict a creature’s movements like that? It seemed like wishful thinking. Alistair would have to wait and see. He decided to head straight for the town square. There would have to be something there to guide him.
The town wasn’t that much different than Fallkirk in layout or design. This close to the eastern border, with which their neighbors certainly weren’t the trading type, the only labor to be had was farming and woodcutting. The people worked to get enough fruit for whoever their liege lord was, delivered it to wherever the liege lord lived, and then had to survive on what was left. Very few if any got paid for their work.
A hard life, made even harder when you had to duck and cover from mythical creatures.
Alistair noted that the people of Bredon had also taken to locking themselves in at home. Not a soul walked on the dusty dirt streets. It was otherwise a middling day, cloudy and not particularly warm or cold. They weren’t missing much.
He arrived at the town square with not a single interruption along the way. Alistair’s eyes scanned the buildings there for any activity. Only one stood out: the village tavern. He could hear activity inside, talk and laughter mixed. A savory smell permeated the air. Roasted hog cooked over a spit, marinated, and stuffed with garlic and herbs. Even through the armor, he began to salivate.
There was one problem: the Aegis wouldn’t be fitting through those doors. Giants couldn’t be accommodated, unfortunately. Alistair first unbuckled his rucksack and set it on the ground. The shift in his level of strength after the transformation would be significant. It would easily be enough to make him fall over with the full weight of the rucksack. He had it designed for the Aegis body, after all.
Before he left Adelgard, he purchased rations for the trip and a bedroll to get some proper sleep. Those added up quick with weight. Not to mention the pack was designed to fit an eight-foot-tall slab of armor, not a five-foot-something human back. No, he’d have to drag it in with him. Or stash it somewhere.
Alistair transformed back into his human body and was immediately greeted with a strong sense of vertigo. Transformed for so long, the sudden height and weight differential were somewhat disorienting. He steadied himself against the tavern wall. Thankfully, no one could see him. It felt a little embarrassing after riding on the heroic highs he’d been on the last week of travel to feel this weak.
When the sensation passed, Alistair took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he grabbed his rucksack by the loop on top and made his way inside. He dragged it behind him as he entered. Not ideal, but damned if he would leave it outside to be stolen.
All the activity inside quieted as soon as he opened the door. It was as if the people inside were expecting the dragon itself to walk in and spoil their fun. Alistair felt dozens of eyes on him and his discomfort was real.
To distract himself, he cast his eyes across the room. Alistair wanted to get a feel for what kind of person had chosen to answer the call of hunting a dragon. There were more than a few distinct groups each off in their own little corners. Most of them were groups of knights in varying states of dress; some wore their armor, and others were more lax.
All of the knights had their livery on display in some form or fashion, and it was from that heraldry that they formed their cliques based on their feudal obligations, family relations, and wherein the duchy they were from. He recognized only a few of their crests since it was rare for many knights to visit a place like Wyrdwood. A handful were from Adelgard, another contingent hailed from Isenfell, then a different group from Bannagh, and even more. His eyes were inundated with garish colors, odd patterns, and strange creatures on shields and tabards.
Not all of them were knights, though. Some were squires or servants of some kind. That would be inevitable with this many nobles in town. The population of Bredon had probably doubled already with just the folk in this room.
Others were what he could only guess were freeholders. They would have to be yeomen or esquires if they were fighters, and they certainly looked the part. That would make them men with seasoned experience in a lord’s employ or someone that had served as the squire of a paladin or knight for an extended period. Their group wasn’t as heavily armored or disciplined as the knights but instead, they had more of a rough-but-capable sort of look.
Then last but not least, there were a few stragglers at the bar. At least one wore their hood up to disguise themselves. They all seemed to stand out as loners. One of them he recognized right away. The hairs on Alistair’s neck stood up. He felt a shot of adrenaline get his heart pumping. The person staring at him with an equally surprised and equally loathed face was none other than Kevin Caldwell, his former liege lord’s son.
They had seen neither hide nor hair of each other since their impromptu battle two weeks ago. Kevin had left ahead of him, off to do only the Lady knew what. Surely he was doing the same as Alistair in trying to prove his worth. He hoped the bastard was having a rough go of it. The decision to make Kevin a supplicant, to even give him the offer, baffled Alistair.
Then again, Alistair thought to himself, what had he done in his life to make himself worthy of the gift?
Regardless, there was nowhere else to sit but go to the bar. He crossed the threshold and did his best not to run his rucksack over any errant toes or knees. Their interest in him slowly died and conversation resumed. In that time the group as a whole had measured Alistair’s worthiness to join their cause. Given his almost comical look, dragging this ridiculously sized rucksack across the floor, he doubted it was a good impression.
He eased up onto a barstool a few down from Kevin, and he did his best to avoid more eye contact than necessary. With luck, he wouldn’t have to work too closely with the Caldwell scion. Though as paladins, they would probably end up near the front of any battle together anyway. The thought of it already bothered him. His mood was at an all-time low.
One of the other strangers at the bar, the one that had been sitting with Kevin actually, moved over to be next to Alistair. At first, the older man just nodded and smiled in a form of greeting. He had a weathered look about him, like he traveled a lot. Tanned skin, five-o’-clock shadow, and a surprisingly well-maintained hairstyle that was slicked back into something presentable.
“Welcome, Aegis,” said the man, his eyes twinkling. “Or should I say, Alistair of Wyrdwood?”
For a moment, the supplicant was thrown for a loop. Then he glanced deeper into the man’s eyes that, at first, he had thought were simply green in color. No, they had the mark of the Sight in them. Words appeared over the man’s head, including a name.
Broderick of Isenfell
Paladin of the Ice
Famous & Idolized
“Ice?” Alistair asked out loud. He still wasn’t sure about the number or variety of relic tokens out in the world. For some reason, he would have imagined an Ice user to be somewhere in the frigid north. Mostly because he was trying to apply logic to magic, which never worked.
Broderick’s smile widened, and he nodded. He fished out the necklace from beneath his unsuspecting garments, a simple tunic and traveler’s cloak, and revealed not one but three relic tokens attached. One token was certainly a representation of ice, or at least a snowflake, but the other two were different. There was a symbol of a drop of water, like a sliver of rain, and another was the stylized image of a gust of wind.
Wind 6 | Water 7 | Ice 5
A closer look at the tokens themselves yielded more information. He guessed it was meant to describe Broderick’s level of progress with each. Considering how long it had taken Alistair to reach Aegis 3, and how much effort every battle along the way had taken, this Broderick had certainly seen some action.
“I haven’t met a real paladin yet,” Alistair admitted. Even with what little he knew so far, he certainly felt safer knowing someone like that was around.
“You’re almost one yourself,” Broderick replied, still smiling. He seemed genuinely happy to be there, meeting Alistair. “It’s rare for me to find fellows this far out from the king’s capital. And now I’ve found two. A fortuitous day.”
As if in response, Kevin slid over to the other side of Broderick. He wasn’t one to be left out of a conversation if it involved him. Alistair got a better look at him now, this time with the Sight.
Kevin Caldwell
Supplicant of the Flame | Flame 4
Familiar & Unpredictable
Alistair felt a pang of frustration that Kevin was ahead of him in raw experience and renown. A level of four to his three, familiar to his recognized. He winced at the realization that he was actually getting envious of Kevin of all people. This wasn’t meant to be a race or competition. The only one he had to prove anything to was the Lady herself.
Broderick glanced between the two of them. Judging by the knowing expression on his face, the paladin recognized the tension between them immediately. He motioned for the barkeep to bring them more ale. It would be difficult for Alistair to reconcile with Kevin, even over a drink in a cozy tavern like that. Having someone more wizened like Broderick there was only a small comfort. Alistair was sure that the feeling was mutual with Kevin.
“I get the sense you two know each other.” Broderick graciously received the new mugs of ale and offered one to Alistair. “Best you get it out now, before it spills over. You don’t want to be trading blows with each other when the dragon makes its play.”
Kevin simply shook his head and drank. He was wearing a particularly gaudy nobleman’s outfit, complete with a ridiculously extravagant cloak. Even for the son of a Baron, it looked as if he was overstepping his bounds. Had he let the power in that flame token get to his head?
“Him and his father tried to kill me over nothing,” Alistair said, his glare not once removing itself from Kevin. “Threatened my family too.”
Broderick shifted in the stool so that he could look at Kevin. “Is this true?” he asked.
“He’s a peasant that served my father and I,” Kevin said, smugly. He made a pronounced shrug of his shoulders. “His life was mine to take, and if I so wanted to, he certainly wouldn’t be sitting here. If anything, he should be thankful I stayed my hand.”
Broderick narrowed his eyes a tad. “Why do you say the word ‘peasant’ with such open disdain? What does that have to do with anything?”
“What do you mean?” Kevin seemed to shrink a bit under the added scrutiny. He waved his arm toward Alistair, as if to point out something obvious. “Just look at him. We are clearly from a different cut of cloth.”
“You know, I was born a peasant as well,” said Broderick. His expression remained neutral and he did not look offended at Kevin’s venomous words. If nothing else, he just seemed disappointed. “As the Lady’s chosen, what name we carry doesn’t define us. It’s our actions that we are judged on.”
Well said, Alistair thought. He was starting to like this Broderick fellow. Not just because they shared a similar background, but because of his keen choice of words. They stabbed at Kevin’s ego, further deflating him. To have an accomplished paladin disagree with him and even lecture him on the oath he had sworn to the Lady herself, Kevin’s smug satisfaction withered away.
Before they could continue this now very satisfying conversation, the door to the tavern burst open. It was a lowborn man of some description. He was somewhat more well groomed and better dressed than the local folk. His eyes were wide and full of terror.
“Dragon! It be the dragon, milords! It’s here!”