Alistair woke as quick as he fell asleep. He flicked his eyes open and expected to find himself in a dim and dusty pantry. Only instead, he found himself behind the stone walls of another castle. There was no one around that he could see. His feet felt glued to the ground beneath him.
I’m still dreaming, he thought.
It still felt very real. He could feel the tingling sensation of the wind against his cheek, and the castle and all its decor looked right from what he knew. This wasn’t the Caldwell keep but it was something similar. Certainly, even the dull stink of manure and sweat wafted in the air. And for sound--
He heard the whack of a hammer as it fell upon some wrought iron anvil. A very familiar sound for the son of a blacksmith. Was father here, he wondered? It had only been a day or so since they last saw each other. Alistair hadn’t expected to be homesick this soon. Was his dream trying to tell him something?
Then he blinked, and his surroundings shifted. The hammering was louder now. Rather than behind the castle walls, he stood in a room now. A blacksmith’s forge. It was no normal forge, however, for it appeared to be made for someone the size of a giant. Alistair was like an ant now as he watched the crimson red colossus in front of him hammer away at something much too tall and far away for him to see.
Alistair’s eyes examined the figure in front of him even closer. He recognized it almost right away. His hands went to the relic token around his neck, but the necklace was gone. The thing in front of him resembled his transformed state, but it was even bigger. Easily ten feet high, the size of a house. Maybe taller.
He felt in awe of its glorious sight. This was the first look he had gotten of the whole body. No wonder so many felt stupefied by him in his transformed state. It was actually quite frightening to stand beneath its armored form. All it would take was a flick of one of its fingers and he would be dead. Raw power rested beneath that hulking shell.
“Looking for this?” It suddenly spoke. From the anvil, it lifted what it had been building and revealed a relic token much like the one he wore. The shield with crossed fists had a shine to it, like someone had just spent an afternoon polishing it.
“Who are you?” Alistair asked. The voice from the giant wasn’t his, nor anyone he had ever heard before. For a creature of its size, the voice it had was oddly soft. Comforting and warm. He expected it to sound mean or gruff.
“A silly question to ask when you already received the answer. Or were you enjoying the company of the girl too much to listen to what she had to say?”
“The girl? You mean Isabele?”
The armor nodded. “The very same.” It set aside the polished token and grabbed another from out of its forge. Then the hammering began again. “She told you to expect a visit the next time you had a deep sleep, remember?”
“Erm, no,” Alistair said, a bit embarrassed.
It shrugged. “Hm, no matter. Water under the bridge and all that. Besides, you’ve got bigger problems.” The sentient armor shook its head and sighed. Then it stared at him with its empty black eye sockets. “You let those villagers go to their deaths, you know?”
Alistair’s stomach turned.
“I-I told them, told them to wait,” he said, stammering.
“Tsk, tsk.” It waved the hammer at him. The soft voice adopted a bit of an attitude as it lectured him. “Have you forgotten why you wear that thing ‘round your neck? It’s not for decoration. I most certainly didn’t sacrifice myself just so a coward could wear a part of me for decoration.”
“Sacrifice?”
It shook its head now. “Oh my, the Lady ought to have sent a history book instead of a daughter. Might have taught you some manners when you speak to your elders.” The armor waited for a moment as the young man started to catch on. “Remember the girl mentioning the old story? I’m the paragon of the Aegis. Well, a part of its spirit anyway. Magic is complicated, that it is.”
One of the thirteen heroes, now aged a thousand years. The first humans to sip from the grail and bathe in the waters of Avalon. The original to his facsimile. The forefather of paladins, a paragon.
Alistair did the only thing he knew to do when he had offended his betters. He knelt before the giant and bowed his head low. Then he begged for forgiveness until the thing told him to shut his trap.
Aegis’s voice sounded conciliatory. “Now now, enough of that rubbish. I suppose in a way I’m to blame as well.” It put the token and the hammer down and came around the anvil to stand before Alistair in all its glory. “You see we were meant to have spoken by now. Have a good talk before you got into any fights. But your awakening was a little more violent than they usually are. And you haven’t had a proper sleep in the last day and a half. We can only speak when you dream, you see.
“Even now, you haven’t been asleep for long. Certainly not long enough to be considered a ‘good’ sleep. But perhaps the Lady has seen it fit to intervene in helping us meet. Difficult times sometimes call for such things.”
“I’m confused, sir,” Alistair said, his voice quiet and uncertain.
“No ‘sir’, just Aegis,” it said, correcting him. “I abandoned human names and titles the moment I bathed in the Lady’s waters, you see. Along with the rest of my flesh and bone.” Then it knocked on its own chest and there was a hollow sound. “See? Nothing there.”
“Is this really a dream?” It all sounded and looked so real.
“When you’ve got fey magic in your blood, a dream is never quite a dream. Reality is only somewhat real. And determining fact or fiction is just a headache. Best not to think too hard on it.”
On that, they could agree.
“The magic is good for a lot of things. I can see and hear all that you do, so I was there in the room not so long ago when you ignored the village’s plight.” Aegis already saw Alistair open his mouth and held a hand up. “Ah, I already know. You are but a humble supplicant, of even humbler origins. Sir Manus Druim’s plan sounded like something a smart man would say. I’ve heard it all.”
“What would you have me do then?” Alistair asked. The sour taste in his mouth never truly went away after he said what he did. And now his paragon spirit agreed with him.
“I’d have you get out there and save them. That’s what,” Aegis said as it crossed its arms. “We haven’t spoken but I’ve listened to your words, even your thoughts. I know my share about you now. It might surprise you to find you aren’t the first peasant child to wear one of my bits around your neck. Far from it.”
It would be ridiculous to assume that in a thousand years Alistair was the first to be chosen to wear an Aegis token or use its mantle form. That of course made sense. Given that length of time, it also made sense that at least one of the others chosen along the way didn’t happen to have noble blood in his veins or a title before her given name.
Still, the way Aegis said it to him stung Alistair a bit. As if he needed more reminding that he wasn’t so special. He had known that since the day he was born.
“The Lady didn’t put me ‘round your neck to sting your pride, Alistair. She put me there because she saw something in you. Something that she knew I would like. It was the inkling that you and I could make a great team.”
“What could I possibly have-”
“The virtue of charity. One of the Thirteen Virtues that knights swear by. Ring a bell?” Aegis watched the man at his feet nod. “I should hope so. It would be a shame for you to change your tune now.
“Despite all the difficulties you suffered in life, you remained kind and tolerant to those around you. You didn’t hold it against your friends when they left you to play alone, nor when they didn’t ask after you. You shrugged and smiled when your comrades had you do all the work. Even with all the vitriol your liege lord and his son gave you, you didn’t let it color your opinion of every noble. From that, you made a friend in Sir Manus Druim.”
Actions that Alistair had once taken for granted were being highlighted by the relic spirit. He didn’t find them to be particularly noteworthy, but maybe they didn’t have to be. That he showed those qualities at all was enough for Aegis, and for the Lady to see some good in him. There was something there they could work with.
“And it is because of that kindness that your heart sank when you gave up on those taken by Evil. Because you knew. You knew that you were better than that. That there was something you could have done, something only you can do in this moment. You may not be a paladin yet, but there’s more to that little relic than a suit of armor.”
Alistair’s chest swelled with emotion. The sentient armor knew exactly what to say to get him worked up. The fear and uncertainty in him were gone now. It was replaced with a burning desire to do something good. To prove himself worthy.
“I want to save them, Aegis. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Aegis said, its voice warmer than ever. “It’s about time we properly get acquainted with each other.”
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His eyes snapped open. The surroundings were a bit more familiar now. On his back laying over a sack of spuds, he rose from his slumber. There was no window to tell the test of time but he felt it deep within that not much time had passed. Perhaps he could still do something to save those villagers.
Then he noticed there was a faint glow in the dark. Two sources of it, one around his neck and the other he believed from his eyes. The Lady’s blessing of the Sight, he hadn’t made an effort to activate it, and yet it came to life on its own. There was something different about the feeling, almost like it was there to stay this time. And the token around his neck, he felt a newfound power surging within it.
Alistair’s fingers brushed against the pendant. He felt invigorated, like he had a supply of energy or vitality he’d never had before. A part of him knew, somehow, that this meant he could maintain his Aegis form for longer now. That he was no longer bound by human standards of fatigue, at least not now.
Alistair emerged from the storeroom and strode forth with a sense of purpose. There was a smattering of villagers on the floor, those left behind, all huddled together as they slept. These were the young, elderly, and most of all the lucky ones who weren’t stolen away. The hobs were not picky about who they took. Every captive had a use.
A couple of squires sat off in another corner. Their heads bobbed up and down like birds dipping down for a drink of water. They were struggling to stay awake and keep watch. Their masters, two of Manus’s knights, were asleep nearby with their armor and weapons discarded. No doubt the others were outside.
The squires merely watched him leave. They were either too tired to say anything or perhaps they believed themselves in a dream. A normal person certainly wouldn’t be going out into the night to track down a bunch of hobs. And they certainly wouldn’t do it dressed as Alistair was.
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He swung the heavy wooden door open and it made a creaking sound. There were makeshift bonfires and other torches lit around the perimeter of the village and the little square he stood in. It would offer a sharp-eyed human at least a glimpse of a hob’s figure before they got too close. Manus and the other knight were walking about to keep themselves awake, and their squires were doing the same off on the far side.
All of them turned to see Alistair emerge from the hall. They looked dumbfounded, bewildered even. He only knew this because, as he was delighted to find out, he could now see quite well in the relative darkness. The Sight seemed to do more than just let him read things well. Its use had expanded, it felt more permanent now.
Speaking of words, there were many now that he had people of recognition to look at. He saw that ‘Sir’ Manus Druim was actually a ‘Well Known’ earl, one step below the duke himself. An effort of his to remain humble in front of Alistair, perhaps. Maybe he did it to show that it wasn’t the title that mattered, but the man behind it.
His compatriot was a simple knight, Sir Griogair Marr. The man was apparently ‘Recognized’ in these parts, and of good moral standing according to the Sight. Interesting that it could track that. Alistair wondered how well it worked for others.
“Alistair, what’s wrong?” Sir Manus asked as he shuffled over. He still wore his armor as if anticipating a night attack.
“It’s hard to explain, Sir Manus,” Alistair said. “I think I’ve gotten stronger though. How long has it been since I retired?”
“Not but an hour perhaps.” He shook his head, brow furrowing. “Are you sure you’re alright? Your eyes, I’ve never seen them so bright.”
“I’m fine,” he said. Then he looked toward what he knew was the forest. “Any sign of the villagers?”
Manus frowned, then he simply shook his head. “Just a few screams, then nothing.”
With a simple thought, Alistair was bathed in white light again. A moment later and he towered over the humans beneath him again, his fleshy body gone. Once again in his Aegis mantle suit, he lumbered off toward the forest with one objective in mind. They called out to him, but he ignored their pleas and pressed on. Their concern was understandable, but his faith in these newfound powers had never been stronger.
Before he could reach the forest’s edge, a chunk of words appeared. He immediately recognized the word ‘Quest’ and was interested to learn more.
Quest of Emancipation
Aegis’s Test of Mettle
Requirements
Supplicant status | Any Level 1 mantle
Description
Free the villagers that have been taken by the hobs.
Rewards
Small Universal Renown Gain
Modest Duchy of Isen Renown Gain
Milestone Progress
And there was another block after that. He wondered if reading was a common thing for all paladins. This would take some practice.
Quest of Elimination
Requirements
Supplicant status | Any Level 1 mantle
Description
Eliminate the warband of hobs and their orc servants.
The rewards were the same between the two quests, and he accepted both without a second thought. They were exactly what he planned to do anyway. Perhaps it was the Lady offering him her full support from afar. The idea of being rewarded for it, even if he didn’t entirely understand the implications of what ‘Renown’ or ‘Milestone Progress’ meant in context, was invigorating.
Alistair passed the threshold of the forest and immediately felt as though he had been swallowed by it. The trees were so close to him that it was almost claustrophobic. He felt errant branches scrape against his armored body, and those that did not give way were quickly snapped by his weight. The woods must have felt this small because of his size, as someone of a more normal size might find this to be a more spacious path.
Thankfully, the Sight still offered him the ability to see in the dark. It was a good thing too because it wasn’t long before he found the first clue that he was on the right path. At his feet was a body, well cold by this point. All around were signs of a struggle. A liquid stained the earth beneath Alistair’s feet and it didn’t take much guesswork to know what it was.
He saw there were many footprints, and some suspicious hoof imprints, heading deeper in. Alistair chose to follow the trail of carnage. More bodies and blood revealed themselves the deeper he went. Shattered hoes and broken shovels littered the ground as farmer tools were dropped where their owners fell. Regretfully, there were few hob bodies by comparison. Even with their numbers, the humans were susceptible to a well-planned ambush, especially one done at night.
It was there in the middle of the forest, as Alistair did his best to step around the fallen where they lay, that he felt something hit his chest. He looked down and saw that it was some form of crude arrow. The attack didn’t seem to harm him, he felt no pain. In fact, the only reason he knew it hit him was the clanging sound it made as it hit the armor plate.
Alistair looked up and saw his first group of hobs. They emerged from behind the trees and brush, wielding their simple spears and shields. Further back was the archer that had taken a shot at him. Even in the dark, he could see it fumble to ready another shot, annoyed that its first had not landed.
If he were just a normal human the sight of these encroaching monsters would be terrifying. The hobs’ had golden eyes that lit up in the night, not unlike a cat when found in the moonlight. To see them emerge from hiding mere feet away from you, with their blabbering mouths and sagging skin, would be incredibly unsettling.
But tonight, Alistair was the furthest from fear.
He leaped forward with a sense of heroic purpose. His fist collided with the face of the closest hob. It was too close to raise its shield in time. There it crumbled to the ground like a wilted flower. Dead.
The rest of them didn’t wait. Again he felt another arrow impact him, and again it was nothing but a slight inconvenience. Alistair was much more concerned with the pointy spears the creatures in front leveled at him. Back in the village none of them had managed to hit him with a proper amount of weight behind their weapons, so he wasn’t harmed at the time. From his time as a man-at-arms, however, he knew the creatures were deceptively strong when given the chance.
So, he decided not to give them a chance at all.
With an outstretched gauntlet, he caught one of the crudely sharpened spears pointed at him. Then he applied a small iota of pressure and watched as the wood crumbled in his grip. The hob could only watch in terror as its only weapon was broken into pieces. That one was effectively out of the fight for a bit.
He then felt the graze of a spear as it attempted to pierce his thigh. Then he felt a sharp poke delivered to the back of one knee. At least one had gotten behind him and he realized they were surprisingly nimble. However, their attempt to disable his legs failed and Alistair wheeled around to target the flanker.
It readied its wooden buckler and braced for the response. Alistair gave it to him handily as he sent his fist straight through the wood. It made a satisfying crunch and then there was a sound of wet smacking as the hob’s face caved in. That one fell into a pile of its own blood, gurgling out of what was left of its gaping maw.
At his feet he noticed the disarmed hob reaching for a spear from one of his fallen comrades. It was moving slowly as if it were trying to avoid detection. Unfortunately for it, Alistair’s foot was well in range. Just like he saw in the village, the hob’s head exploded out like a cracked egg beneath his significant weight.
Then he heard something. It was a loud snort, not unlike a pig. Alistair turned around to see that an orc had joined the struggling group of hobs. The green-skinned creature wielded a crude axe and a poorly fashioned wooden shield, both close to the size of the hobs at its feet. Only a small loincloth kept its appearance remotely decent. The diminutive creatures gathered behind the six or seven-foot-tall thing, pointing at Alistair as foul sounds came out of their mouths.
This one was the real threat. Alistair understood that right away. It was at this moment he would have felt better if he had something to wield, be it a shield or a weapon. Anything to put some distance between him and the orc’s brute strength. Even with its weapon’s poor design, it would surely be enough to pierce his armor.
Alas, he knew from experience that nothing made of wood would survive his grip.
He wasn’t given any time to prepare as the orc yelled something from its tusked mouth and charged. Alistair readied his powerful arms in front of him as he prepared to take it head-on. Knees bent, he turned himself into a makeshift wall. Mobility wasn’t this mantle’s strong suit, but he had faith in its strength.
The orc was on him in a moment, axe raised high above its head. It brought it down toward Alistair’s head and shoulder. He lifted one arm and went to grab the orc’s wrist to stop or slow the strike. The moment he grabbed the orc he could feel the raw muscle beneath the skin. By the Lady was he strong. There was no doubt in Alistair’s mind this attack would hit.
He felt the axe as it buried itself in his shoulder. It felt as if his whole arm was lit on fire, and he exhaled what air was left in his lungs. Only by the strength of his grip on the orc’s wrist was it kept from going deeper. From the hit, he felt his knees shake beneath him as he struggled to fight past the pain.
With his free arm, Alistair went to grab the orc’s throat. It was quicker though and brought its wooden shield over its chest. What it hadn’t counted on was Alistair’s strength as he grabbed the top of the shield and applied pressure. The wood shattered and fell around them. The beast squealed in shock, but that was soon cut off as Alistair’s hand found purchase around its thick gullet.
He squeezed hard. That ensured no air would make it to the thing’s lungs. The orc panicked and it let go of its axe, still buried in Alistair’s shoulder. Both of its hands clawed at his armored gauntlet, but they couldn’t find purchase. Alistair bellowed in fury, fueled by pain, and crashed his helmet against the orc’s snout.
There was a satisfying crunch as its head caved in on itself from the weight. He felt the body go limp in his hand. Alistair backed away as what was left of it fell to the ground in a heap. Only then did he notice a measure of something in his vision. His instincts told him it was his Vitality, a measure of how much damage he could sustain before his mantle form would collapse. The axe strike had taken a chunk, but he still had much to go before he would collapse.
Good, the night was still young.
The hobs looked at the crumpled form of their pet orc and were stunned. That might have been the first time these ones had seen an orc bested in combat, by a human at least. Then they were forced to watch as Alistair removed the axe from his shoulder with a single, labored swing.
He watched as they turned to run. At that moment he was compelled to stop them from doing just that. The desire to regain their attention activated his Living Shield ability, and a pulse of energy flowed out from him in all directions. The magic circle was red in color, the same shade of crimson as his armor. This sphere managed to reach and encompass the two hobs before they could run out of its border. They stopped in their tracks just as the magic reached its limit and dissipated.
Focused on him again, the hobs readied their spears and charged forward. Whatever fear that had gripped their hearts was gone now. Only a sense of artificial rage remained, all of it focused on the supplicant in front of them. They gave no thought to tactics or strategy as they charged him, nor did they consider the proven ineffectiveness of their weapons.
Alistair let their emotions get the better of them and waited for them to close. With the axe still in his possession, he readied it. Even with spears, a weapon designed to keep a certain distance from you and your enemy, Alistair’s height and reach were superior to theirs. With the added length of the weapon in his hands he easily managed to reach one before its spear could connect with him. The strength of his pain-fueled strike was enough to almost cleave the diminutive creature in two.
Its comrade ignored the sudden death and stabbed him with its spear. The strike hit with such force against the Aegis mantle that the flimsy wood shattered. Yet Alistair suffered no added damage. Before the creature could continue its attack, only left with its fists now, he pulled the axe from the bloody corpse and swung it again at the last hob.
Moments later, Alistair found himself alone in the thick wood. Blood and viscera were his company now, along with a half dozen hobs and their orc friend. No more arrows struck him either. One glance deeper into the forest and he could no longer see the archer. It must have run away, too far for Living Shield to catch it.
Alistair took a moment to inspect the barbaric weapon he had commandeered. The closer look actually yielded details, all of them offered by the Sight. It was labeled as a Crude Orc Axe, with a negligible resale value. There were no special properties to note aside from the fact that most normal humans would struggle to wield it one-handed.
Given the ease with which he could swing it in one arm, and the fact that the weapon didn’t break under his grip, Alistair decided that he would continue to use it at least for now. Tonight, he would need every advantage he could get his hands on. He knew dreadfully little about the size of a typical hob warband, let alone how many orcs this group had in total. As much as he would like to hope that the two slain today were the last of them, he knew better than to believe it.
For the sake of those counting on him, and for his own safety, he wouldn’t underestimate these enemies.
Alistair relished the moment of respite, but before long he began his march forward again. He was determined to achieve victory against these savage beasts before they could do more harm. Deeper into those macabre woods he went. His mind entirely focused on what was sure to be a difficult battle ahead.