Alistair blinked his eyes open. He was back in the dining hall. All around him concerned nobles and men-at-arms looked on in silent wonder. Isabele still stood there in front of him, arms outstretched and fingers pressed to his and Kevin’s foreheads. It felt like time had been frozen during his vision.
Isabele’s eyes flickered and caught his attention. At the start of the ceremony, they were flooded with the color gray as she became possessed by the Lady. Now they had returned to a fey green, though they lacked the same spark of energy. He watched the strength leave her body, and then her legs gave out from under her.
With a reaction speed he wasn’t even aware he had, Alistair stepped forward. He reached out and grabbed onto the first part of her he could. His hand carefully grasped her pale wrist and he pulled. It gave him the extra moment necessary to wrap his other hand around her frail waist and fall with her in his arms. He managed to lay her safely down onto the hard stone floor.
“Are you alrigh-”
“Back away from her!” Someone shouted at him from behind. A hand roughly gripped him by the back of his tabard and pulled him away. The scion of the Caldwell family rushed to take the spot Alistair had been in. He knelt there, leering over Isabele.
Kevin’s frenzied shouting seemed to rouse the onlookers into action. Noble ladies and knights poured in to check on the Daughter and the young Caldwell. Servants on the wings of the hall were ordered to fetch towels and cool water. The men-at-arms stood awkwardly at their posts, unsure of what to do or how to help.
Alistair sat idly on the floor as he watched the chaos unfold. There was no getting to Isabele now, and even if he could, what good could he do? He didn’t know anything about healing or how to care for someone. His pride stung a bit from Kevin’s throw but he could get past that. He had been embarrassed by a noble before.
Lord Caldwell rounded the table now. He watched the gathering from the side, his scowl deepening. No doubt this wasn’t what he had in mind for tonight’s celebratory feast. Then his gaze shifted to Alistair and it looked as if he was about to explode, he was rattling with such restrained fury. His liege lord quickly crossed the distance between them and hauled Alistair to his feet by the scruff of his neck.
“Get. Out,” he whispered, his voice shaking with anger.
He needn’t repeat the order. As soon as he was released from lord Caldwell’s grip, Alistair turned on his heel and ran. He ran so fast the two guardsmen at the door didn’t even have time to swing it open for him. Not once did he stop, not until he made it outside of the keep and back into the courtyard.
In the distance, he spied the gatehouse lit up by heavy braziers. The rusted iron portcullis was still solidly shut for the night. If it had been open Alistair would have been tempted to run through it. Anything to escape the fear, the utter shame he felt. Somehow that whole debacle had been turned on him, like it was his fault. What happened to his dreams, his bravery to rise above such feelings?
Right now that was the last thing on his mind. He simply wanted to crawl into a hole where he might never be found. With the gate shut, the only thing he could think to do was go home. To his family’s sleeping quarters near the stables, where his family would surely be fast asleep.
No one stopped him as he crossed the courtyard to the servants’ quarters. He should have gone to the barracks, to his bunk there, but his anxiety got the better of him. Alistair stuffed the hunger that gripped into the back of his mind. He would be lucky to fall asleep, let alone keep any food down.
He quietly opened the door to the large barn-like structure where most of the servants of the keep were housed. It was here that the blacksmith, the launderers, the grooms and stable boys, and all the rest of the lowborn that kept the castle running would sleep.
He crept inside and quickly found the stall where his family was meant to stay. They were huddled together over the straw with nothing but a single worn blanket to cover them. His younger sister was wedged between his parents on the pallet. Together they were sleeping soundly and he found the prospect of disturbing them terribly wrong.
Alistair entered their abode and leaned against the wall across from the bed. He removed the helmet from his head and limply held it in his hands. There was a bit of straw at his feet that could serve as a cushion, so he let himself slide down the wall and sit. It wasn’t a bed but it would do. The exhaustion of the day caught up to him all at once. His eyelids grew heavy and he thanked the Lady for the chance to sleep so soon.
Alistair’s exhaustion made it so he didn’t even notice the token still wrapped tightly in his fist. Golden light from within the little shield ornament gently pulsed as Alistair was lulled to sleep.
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The next morning started off very difficult for Alistair. He was woken up much too early for the time he went to bed. The first person he saw was his father, a man always up at first light. His face was one of genuine concern. That was Alistair’s first surprise of the day.
Since Alistair had moved out to the barracks, the relationship between them had hardened into something closer to equals than that of father and son. A barrier that existed in no small part because of his father’s work. As the blacksmith, everyone knew him by name: highborn and peasant alike. Hughe acted that way in part to avoid showing favoritism but also to also keep attention away from his son, Alistair.
For a while, this distance had hurt Alistair’s feelings but after the events of last night, he was starting to understand why his father had made a concerted effort to shield him. Alistair regretted that he would be the one to shine a spotlight on his family.
“What’re you doing here, son?” Hughe asked, quietly so as to not wake the girls.
Alistair must have looked like a mess. His father leaned in close and sniffed to see if he had the smell of ale on his breath. That had happened once before, and it was the last time he had ended up in his family’s room by accident. Alcohol wasn’t to blame today. Only dreams of grandeur.
“It’s, well, hard to say.” Alistair shook his head and wiped at his eyes. “You see I was summoned to the feast yesterday and-”
“What’s that in your hand?”
They both looked at the light emerging from the cracks between the young man’s fingers. Slowly, he unfurled his hand to reveal the glowing token. The one shaped as a shield with two armored fists crossed over it. The shield and gauntlets were colored a ruby red, outlined in glossy black and silver that shined like expensive jewelry. Even now the thing radiated a faint holy light.
His father Hughe immediately paled.
“Did you steal that from the lord’s manor?!” he said, his voice raising in anger.
“Of course not!” Alistair shook his head.
“Then how did you get it?”
His father was suspicious. Admittedly he had every right to be. Where else would a lowborn find such a pretty bauble? Of course, the actual explanation was something Alistair knew he had no chance of making his father believe.
The Lady appearing before him in a dream, making him swear an oath to become a paladin, and him taking this token from the dream all sounded like a fae tale. His father would surely think him raving mad. But what else could he say to alleviate his father’s concern?
“And what’s wrong with your eyes?” Hughe leaned in to get a better look. He looked absolutely flabbergasted.
“W-What do you mean?” Alistair’s voice cracked. With no mirror he was at the mercy of others. Hughe shook his head in disbelief.
“They’re glowing green!”
Alistair felt a shot of adrenaline rush through his body. He began to frantically pat his face and body to determine if he had transformed into some kind of monster while he had slept. Everything felt normal to him, with no gills on his neck or tail on his back. And yet according to his father his eyes were alight. Indeed, the room was still dark enough that he could actually see thin strings of green light reflected off of his father’s dark eyes. Alistair radiated green light from his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” Lylie, his mother called out.
“Big brother?” Ela, his sister was next.
The family was now huddled together as they inspected the eldest child. Ela, still a child of ten summers, stared at his new eyes in silent wonder. She quickly grew infatuated with the color and their fey shimmer. When the token in Alistair’s hand glimmered she turned her attention to it and cooed in delight.
“Did his lordship give you a present?” she asked sweetly.
“N-Not his lordship,” Alistair whispered, still in shock.
“Then who?” she asked again, insistent.
“The Lady,” he finally said.
His mother shook her head in confusion. She would perhaps be the most familiar with the female courtiers inside the castle, as she went to work every day scrubbing their clothes and towels. No doubt the people inside barely noticed her presence and not one probably knew her name, but she certainly knew theirs.
“What lady?” Lylie asked.
Alistair bit his lip and shook his head. They would never believe him.
His father, growing more furious with each passing moment, shook him with his strong arms. Heavily calloused hands formed a death grip on Alistair’s shoulders as his father forced him to look them in the eyes.
“Who was it?! Your mother might be able to return it before it’s been noticed missing.”
“I thought it was a gift,” Ela said, disappointed.
“Who was it, Alistair?” his mother asked, deeply concerned. It wasn’t like him to be so tight-lipped about things.
“It was the Lady of the Lake herself,” Alistair said, shaking his head as he did.
The hands that had so harshly grabbed him fell away. His family looked at him with a mix of confusion and shock. If his words were a jest they certainly weren’t prepared to laugh.
“What do you mean by that?” Hughe asked. His voice was low, as if all his anger and fury had left him exasperated from the answer.
“The Lady?” Lylie asked him to clarify.
“What lady?” Ela repeated, still confused.
“Did you see the riders from yesterday?” Alistair watched them nod. “They had a girl with them, she was a Daughter of the Lady. I swear she locked eyes with me, picked me right out of the crowd. I don’t know why.
“They called me into the dining hall that night. Everything was normal until she walked up to me and told me to stand next to lord Caldwell’s son. She said some things I don’t remember and touched my head with holy water, and then I saw a vision of the Lady. She gave me this token and told me I was to swear an oath to her. I promise it’s true.”
Together they sat in silence for what felt like hours. His mother and father looked between each other, and then back at Alistair again and again. They must have been deciding together whether he was lying, or crazy. It all went over Ela’s head as she idly stared at the glowing pendant.
Before too long Alistair heard the outside door of the building swing open. The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard among the murmuring of those still sleeping or dressing for the day ahead. There wasn’t really a door to his family’s room as it was more of a glorified stall. And so it didn’t take long before Alistair had a very clear look at who had come to get him.
Sir Jaymes Buckfeld stood there with a gaggle of men-at-arms, all dressed in armor. He could tell right away this wasn’t a social call from the dour looks that hung from their faces. Alistair recognized that most of the guards were from inside the lord’s manor, but he recognized a few.
“Sergeant,” Alistair whispered. Taggard was there among them and he looked ragged with stress.
“Get him up,” said the marshal.
Taggard and another man-at-arms pushed through and hauled Alistair up to his feet. They dragged him out as his family was made to sit and watch in silence. They could do nothing for him except pray to the Lady that whatever punishment it was would be quick and painless.
They refused to tell Alistair anything as they marched their way back to the lord’s residence. He kept a tight hold on the Lady’s gift in his hands and prayed they would not look too hard for it. If he lost it, he wouldn’t survive the day.
They shuffled him quickly through the halls. The procession served as an intimidating spectacle to the servants wandering the halls. A grim reminder of what would happen if they were caught doing something that offended the castellan or his family. Most just tucked their heads down and looked away. Alistair silently thanked them so that he wouldn’t have to see their pity-filled eyes staring back at him. He already felt terrible enough.
Lady, protect me from harm.
Alistair uttered a silent prayer as he was brought to the throne room. It was a humble size when one imagined a room with such an imposing title. For a baron at least it must have been plenty big enough. There sat two large chairs, one occupied and the other empty. If the Caldwell baroness were still alive she would surely be there next to her husband. She might have even felt sorry for the lowborn that had been brought before them.
There he was dumped onto the ground and made to kneel before lord Anthony Caldwell. At one side stood the chamberlain, Devan, and on the other, Kevin. Of Isabele or any other courtier, there was no sign. The duke’s knights, however, still remained and would be present for whatever this meeting or tribunal would be called. A grave mistake if Alistair had any say in its name.
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The lord of the estate straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. He had already decided on this punishment, Alistair could tell from the look in his eyes. There would certainly be no trial or presentation of evidence.
“You.” Lord Caldwell started to address him, then paused. He turned to his chamberlain and Devan whispered something into his ear. “Alistair, son of Hughe. That’s your name, isn’t it? Speak up, boy.”
“Y-Yes, milord,” Alistair said, his voice timid.
“I know not what the Daughter of the Lady did to you, but she has not woken up since last night. For this, I can only assume it was your presence or some kind of foul play from you that caused harm to her.” There was no sympathy in his tone, only disgust that he must share the same room.
“But milord-”
“Silence!” the castellan said, his voice booming within the stone walls. “I will not hear your pleas, nor your excuses. Sir Buckfeld.”
The knight in question stepped forward and bowed to his lord.
“Yes, my lord?”
“There’s no need to waste a cell. Hang him,” the baron said, dismissively waving his hand to shoo them off.
Alistair’s heart dropped. Execution? For what crime? This was unacceptable. He was to be the Lady of the Lake’s champion, a paladin in her service. A year from now Alistair’s family would see him, bearing his own noble house’s livery, with saddlebags filled with riches and treasures from the quests he went on across the world.
This heartless, cruel man shouldn’t have the power over life and death. Especially not over someone chosen by the Lady herself!
Please, Lady of the Lake, show yourself. Save me!
Alistair’s pleas went seemingly unanswered, though he felt the token in his hand pulse and rattle. His body went limp as they brought him up to his feet again. They would truly have to drag him out as he couldn’t feel his legs. His ears were pounding and his heart threatened to burst.
“Wait!” said Kevin, the prodigal son.
The assembly of men ceased their leave. They turned to see the young noble walk down the steps from the throne’s dais and down to the audience chamber proper. Contrary to his usual attitude of wicked jovialness, Kevin looked deathly serious. For a moment, Alistair believed he would receive clemency.
“What’s the meaning of this, Kevin?” asked the baron, genuinely confused. His son had never tried to stop a peasant’s death before. Why start with this one?
“Well, father. I don’t think a hanging is all that fair. It was my birth celebration he ruined, after all.” Kevin looked from his father, then to Alistair. That smug, rotten grin of his made to show itself after all. “I think that I should be the one to kill him.”
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Alistair’s death would be witnessed by all those who lived and worked inside the safety of the castle walls. The hanging would have been much more of an exhibition, but the lord’s son decapitating a peasant would also do just fine. There wasn’t a platform to wheel out or a mat to lay down. All they needed was a sword and a block of wood to lean one’s head over.
They didn’t want to waste any time. Courtiers and laborers all were easily gathered and assembled in the courtyard by midday. Of the lowborn, a scant few knew Alistair personally, though many were friends or distant cousins of his parents. They would all shed a tear and perhaps comfort Hughe and Lylie as they witnessed their own son’s beheading. Not even Ela would be spared the sight.
They did not bother to bind Alistair’s hands, as there was nowhere to run and no way to overpower them. If he were to even try and run from his punishment the consequences for his family would be severe. They would either be robbed of rations and slowly starved or they would join him in death by execution.
Alistair couldn’t bear to look at anyone as he was led into the courtyard. He couldn’t bear the shock from this mishandling of justice. For so long he wanted to believe that as long as he did as he was told, he would be allowed to live in relative peace. The only one that might save him from this misunderstanding remained unconscious from her own spell.
And still, the Lady did not respond to his prayers.
If they had more time together perhaps she could have taught him a spell to escape or a way to fight back. But instead, he had taken too long learning to walk on water and asking more stupid questions that only a peasant would. Alistair hated no one as much as he hated himself right at this moment.
They made him kneel in front of a well-worn wood block. It had seen its share of heads as the inner wood was stained with a reddish-brown hue. Alistair’s turn to color it had arrived. He winced, that was perhaps the darkest thought he had ever made at his own expense.
Alistair looked over to see Kevin marching out from the keep. The young man grinned as he finished fastening his very soft, very expensive-looking gloves. Kevin Caldwell had chosen to wear a full suit of chainmail and over that steel plate. If this were any other circumstance he might have looked like a gallant knight-errant, off to slay a dragon or rescue a damsel. That could never describe Kevin, though.
Soon, Alistair found himself bent over the wood with Kevin next to him. They were given a wide berth by the highborn observers as the blood was sure to go everywhere. Lord Caldwell and his noble entourage watched from off to the side while the peasants received front-row seats. More likely to get the blood on them that way.
“Any last words, peasant?” Kevin asked, chuckling as he did.
Alistair took a deep breath to try and calm himself. His hands formed fists that shook with righteous fury. He refused to die without having the last word. And so he looked Kevin directly in the eyes and mustered his courage.
“Alive or dead, I swear I’m going to wipe that damned smirk off your face.”
Kevin’s mood quickly soured. He expected Alistair to say nothing. Especially not something that could be construed as a threat. Eager to have the last word, the young heir growled as he hefted the sword high above his head.
“I’ll make it your sister next.”
It was at that moment that something inside of Alistair snapped. The fury he had bottled up began to radiate throughout his body. Just the thought of his sister kneeling where he was now, was enough to make him want to kill the man next to him. Damn the consequences of his actions. He wouldn’t let anyone harm his family.
Within the palm of his hand, the relic given to him was activated by this surge of emotion. This desire to protect, to be the Aegis of the lowborn. He was sworn to be the defender of anyone ever wronged by injustice, and so he transformed.
This relic mantle as it was called by the Lady enveloped Alistair in a cloak of white light. Everyone could see this phenomenon happen and panic began to sweep the crowd. The peasantry scattered and backed away, while the nobles stood there awestruck and confused. Even Kevin was taken aback, and he paused in his swing.
Emerging from the light was a gauntleted hand, bathed in a crimson red. The hand soon formed a fist and with an unnatural measure of strength, Kevin was hit across the cheek. This attack sent him hurdling back a dozen paces. His armor made a horrific screeching sound as it dragged. Sparks could be seen as his backplate flew along the cobblestone with such intense speed.
There was a collective inhale as everyone watched Kevin come to a slow stop. His body looked as if it had gone completely still. It was hard to see his head from the distance but it was clear that there was blood, and a lot of it. Peasants and nobles alike were too stunned to utter anything.
It was during this silence that Alistair let out the breath he had been holding. His vision swam as the spike of energy and emotion combined with his transformation had left him very disoriented. He barely remembered aiming the punch at Kevin, let alone what had caused him to hit with such force.
That realization made his vision clear up and he made a stunning discovery. Somehow, he now wore a suit of armor. He could tell because his head was encased in some sort of claustrophobic helmet that only a knight would wear. His hot breath lingered over his parched lips, and his eyes darted around to see what had happened to his body.
The first thing he noticed was that it was not just a helmet, but a full suit. It was an armor design that looked somewhat like a knight’s, but at the same time, it was unique in its own way. What stood out especially was the crimson red the interlocking plates were dyed in. There were no unsealed joints or other parts of his body vulnerable to attack, and it looked as if he was completely sealed inside.
Alistair decided to stand and realized his height had grown substantially. He towered over the people around him. Another glance at his body and he realized how much larger he had become. Not rotund with fat, but with muscle instead. That explained why he felt so much stronger the moment his fist connected with Kevin’s body.
Then, something marvelous and strange happened. Words streamed into view seemingly out of nowhere. What’s more, he could actually read them. Alistair had never been taught how to read or write before. This came as a shock.
Aegis Mantle
Level 1 Unlocked
The words remained just long enough for him to read them. Somehow, he understood what they meant even without any formal learning. Was this the relic token’s doing? Alistair would have to thank the Lady for her gift a second time.
Active Ability
Living Shield
Forces your enemies to attack you instead of your comrades.
Only affects weak-willed creatures.
Range of 30 feet | 1 minute duration
More words, and these came with added muscle memory. He knew that this was a spell of some kind. Not only that, but he knew that he could activate it. It was simpler than breathing somehow, an instinctive feeling in his brain.
Aegis Mantle
Unique Trait
(15%) Universal Damage Resistance
Aegis users have a natural resistance to all forms of damage. This defense is always active when in mantle form and it grows stronger as the paladin gains experience.
Details he could read the words of but, in practice, he would need to see them in action to understand more. No matter. The little he did understand he knew that it would help him resist his enemies and their attacks. That was enough for him.
Speaking of Kevin, the heir still hadn’t moved from his spot on the ground. Lord Caldwell stumbled aimlessly toward him, muttering the boy’s name. A few courtiers, including the family healer, hesitantly joined him in a disorganized effort to help. The rest, Alistair quickly realized, were staring directly at him.
And they all looked terrified.
He tried to remove his helmet in an effort to reveal his identity, but it was no good. The helmet like the rest of his body remained sealed together into one suit of enclosed armor. It felt as if he had grown a second skin. Alistair began to panic at the thought of how he would return to his human body, or if he even could.
No one, not even his family dared to call out or move. They were too overwhelmed by this whole situation. He doubted anyone knew he was in the red suit.
In the corner of his eye, Alistair noticed the duke’s knights move toward him. He feared they were going to come and slay him for hitting a nobleman. That was a normal reaction to expect, but these were clearly not normal circumstances. The knights took just a few steps forward, still a good bit away from Alistair, and then they knelt before him and bowed their heads in silent respect.
Highborn bowing their heads to a peasant? No, not quite. They were knights bowing their heads to one of the Lady’s chosen, a paladin. Or a supplicant, in his case. After his metamorphosis, there could be no denial of whatever ceremony Isabele had undertaken. They may never have witnessed such an event prior to last night, but they had seen a paladin before. Or at least, they knew the signs of one.
The chamberlain Devan also bowed after their display, as did some others. They didn’t understand, but they knew to fall in line. The marshal, Sir Buckfeld, seemed torn between trying to avenge his lord’s fallen son and trying to pull his cowering tail out from between his legs. He looked even paler than Devan did.
Peasants glanced between the entourage of nobles and knights and to lord Caldwell jostling his son’s limp body. They too began to bow before Alistair, if nothing else with the hope that he would not do the same to them as he did to Kevin.
“T-There’s no need to do that,” Alistair said, holding his hands in front of himself in a peaceful manner.
This was the first time he used his voice while enveloped in the relic mantle’s power. It boomed out of him like his lungs were twice his normal size. From inside of him it was not the voice of a timid child but that of a man, of a champion of Good. If anything those around him bowed deeper, their heads pressed to the ground.
Then, Alistair sensed something. It was an innate feeling inside his gut that recognized something was close, something with similar power to his own. He turned in its direction and realized Kevin wasn’t on the ground anymore.
Like Alistair, Kevin’s body had been replaced with a suit of armor. His was different though. A thinner, smaller suit of blood-red plate bathed in red flame had become his shell. He looked almost like what Alistair had imagined a daemon to look like from old children’s tales, but in a disturbingly human shape and wearing the armor of a knight. Kevin’s sword bathed in red hot flame like it was fresh from a smith’s forge.
And he leveled this blade at Alistair.
Kevin charged, screaming bloody murder. With his armor, his voice sounded almost like a banshee screeching at the top of its lungs. Lord Caldwell had been standing over him and was now engulfed in flames, screaming as his retainers fought desperately to put the fire out. Peasants screamed and scattered as it looked like the end times were upon them.
One glance at the baron and Alistair knew well that the fire was no parlor trick. The sword could easily slice through him, armor or not. It was the famed greatsword of house Caldwell, Deadsbane. The Caldwell patriarch was said to have used it to great effect in slaying hundreds of undead abominations, so much so that it was given its name and blessed by a Daughter of the Lady. Alistair wasn’t dead yet, but the blade would cut him all the same if he didn’t do something.
Just by his own size and weight, Alistair could tell that he would be slower than Kevin. There would be no outrunning him and besides, he was already halfway across the courtyard and closing fast. Not but a minute ago Alistair had been a prisoner so of course, he had no weapon on him to defend himself with either.
Alistair looked around desperately for an answer. He noticed Taggard not too far off, staring dumbfounded at the charging form of Kevin’s relic mantle. In his hands he wielded a polearm, a weapon that Alistair had trained with for years now. He pointed a meaty armored finger down at the man who visibly shrank from his attention.
“Give me your weapon!” he said, holding his hand out.
Taggard to his credit only hesitated a moment before his soldier instincts kicked in and he recognized an order. He threw the polearm to Alistair, who deftly caught the wooden staff end. He heard the crunch of wood. The suit’s enhanced strength had crushed the weak wooden handle in his grip. Now left with only half the polearm, he cursed this added strength and prepared to meet Kevin’s charge.
I’ll have to use the metal part of the spear to deflect his sword.
He had but a moment to ready himself as Kevin’s fiery body was upon him. Just as he had practiced so many times on target dummies, Alistair swept to the side and angled the sharp iron tip forward to deflect the blade. The feeble peasant weapon shattered under the stress of the charge, but it did enough that the blade missed its intended target of Alistair’s body.
With only his bare hands left Alistair formed two fists and swung his arm again. The hit only glanced Kevin, as the wreath of flame surrounding him made it difficult to see where his body was. The fist did however manage to brush against his shoulder pauldron, and it threw the young scion off balance.
Alistair sucked his teeth in pain as he felt the lick of the flame penetrate his gauntlet. The fire still hurt, and it would be a danger to him even in this form. All the more reason to get that blade out of Kevin’s hands before he could land a real hit. He squared up again as Kevin tried to pivot on his foot. If he put all his weight into a single punch from the front, surely even Kevin’s new form would go down.
As Alistair braced himself in order to launch this desperate maneuver, a thunderclap echoed over the courtyard. Such was its volume that even Kevin paused in his attempt at vengeance. Together they turned toward what their bodies recognized as the source of the magic.
It was Isabele. Her hands were pointed to the sky and her lips formed the last syllable of the incantation necessary for the spell. Alistair noticed her shoulders sag and her body slouch forward. She still appeared weak from the night before, but all the same she had arrived.
On unsteady feet, she hobbled forward through the parting masses. Noble and peasant alike made way for her as she remained intently focused on the dueling warriors. Once there in the center of the courtyard, her gaze passed from Kevin and then to Alistair. Her emotions were incredibly difficult to perceive as she remained stone-faced, even when standing with these strange, powerful looking suits.
“It’s unbecoming of two supplicants to fight one another to the death,” Isabele said to the two of them. “This battle is over.”