Samson nervously sat on a luxurious sofa outside the chambers of the Father Abbot, the priest in charge of the paladins’ training. The chambers’ massive floor-to-ceiling double doors were shut in front of him, but he could just barely make out the conversation between the Father Abbot and Sergeant Boldbounty.
It had been two weeks since Samson and the Sergeant arrived in Elmsmith. Two weeks since Samson interrupted the robbery of the village’s apothecary. And two long, painful weeks since his interaction with a seventeen year old thief where Samson was splashed with a volatile chemical that nearly killed him.
If Sergeant Boldbounty and the apothecary hadn’t gotten to him when they did, Samson would be dead, but the old man was able to clean the chemical off, leaving the trainee with nothing worse than a ruined breastplate and a horrible tangle of scar tissue across his chest.
He rested in Elmsmith for nearly eight days, trying to regain his strength and come to terms with what had happened.
Although Boldbounty spent the entire trip back to the Abbey assuring Samson that no one fails their Duties and that everything would be fine, the paladin-in-training was not confident whatsoever. He had choked and embarrassed himself, needing to be dragged out of a bad situation by his arms.
The days after they had returned were horribly painful, emotionally and physically, as he began his recovery in earnest. Samson watched his classmates all return from their Duties and eventually watched as they all prepared their armors for their naming ceremonies. His days were spent with healers teaching him stretches that unwound the traumatized muscles in his chest.
All the while, the results of Samson’s duty were passed further and further up through the Abbey’s leadership since the situation was so unprecedented.
And finally, the Father Abbot himself decided to weigh in on Samson’s case, calling Sergeant Boldbounty and Sam both to his office. The Abbot urged Samson to wait outside while he discussed things with the duty proctor.
After stewing nervously in the decorated waiting area, Sam finally heard the voices in the chambers grow closer to the door. He heard the Sergeant wish the Abbot a good evening before Boldbounty opened the door into the hallway. He made momentary eye contact with Sam, and though the young paladin tried as hard as he could, he could not glean any sort of emotion from the Sergeant.
“The Father Abbot would like to see you, Sam,” Boldbounty said plainly. Sam looked up worriedly, but Boldbounty’s face did not change at all. Sam stood and walked toward the door Boldbounty was holding open for him, and once Sam was across the threshold, the Sergeant let the door fall closed and his departed steps rang heavily in the chamber.
Sam listened to them get quieter as he paused in the chamber, frustrated. At the back of the room, the Father Abbot, adorned with the fanciful robes of an important priest, sat behind a large, beautiful desk. Two chairs were opposite him, with one empty, turned toward the priest, and the other turned toward the door. Sitting in the seat was Samson’s ruined chest piece, the chair’s velvet padding visible through the acid-burned hole in the metal. He looked at the armor piece for a moment before swallowing his pride and greeting the Abbot.
“Good evening, Father Abbot. You wished to speak with me?”
“Yes, Samson,” the priest said, gesturing to the empty seat. “Please, take a seat. We have a lot to discuss.”
“About my duty,” Samson said with a frown as he lowered into the chair.
“That is correct,” the Abbot said glumly. “What do you think about that situation, my boy?”
“I think that I failed my duty, Father.”
The Abbot smiled and adjusted in his overstuffed chair. “The duties we assign to our trainees are hand selected by the leadership of the school here. They are analyzed for danger to the trainee and risk to the church so that the trainee and the church’s reputation will be safe.
“Your duty in Elmsmith was approved by abbey leaders and myself as being properly safe for trainee testing. Unfortunately, your little skirmish in the apothecary could not have been anticipated.
“We spent time talking with Boldbounty and the old man in addition to some of the other witnesses to the event and have had to make some determinations.”
The Abbot slowly pushed his chair backward and rose to his feet, turning away from Samson to look out at the sun setting behind the rolling hills of the March.
“Now, as a Paladin of the Vanguard, you are expected to be the hammer of judgment for the Church of the Will. The shield that defends our name. To stand among the men and women who stand tall in the face of threats to the church.
“Your statement and witness remarks on your spat with the young man who attacked you all confirmed that the young man denounced the authority of the Will before he did. He also refused to listen to your commands and ignored your authority. Yet you hesitated to defend your faith.” The Abbot turned to look at Samson, whose face had tumbled into a heavy, embarrassed frown.
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“Father, I did not perceive a threat,” he said softly, looking down. “He was young and hesitant.”
“And yet we have this trophy,” the Abbot said, gesturing to the wounded armor. Samson’s mood fell further. That explains why it was on display. “So after discussing it, Samson,” the Abbot said, sinking back down into his chair. “We have determined that you have failed your duty.”
“Father-”
“You failed to uphold the final statute of the Vanguard Oath; to always defend the authority of the Will.”
Sam was devastated. He slumped into the uncomfortable seat, feeling dizzy. His dreams were shattering. All because he had hesitated. The scar on his chest tickled annoyingly as panic sunk in.
“Oh, cheer up, boy,” the father said, waiving Samson’s concern off like a fly. “This meeting is more than just the bad news. Sergeant Boldbounty has spoken very highly of you.
“As you know, he is one of the most trusted and successful paladins not just in the Abbey, but in the Church writ large, and to have him speak well of you is quite powerful. Despite being the first student in several generations to fail their duty, Boldbounty truly thinks you deserve the armor.”
The Abbot looked at Samson, hoping that these remarks would lift the young man’s mood, but Samson was still sullen, so the Abbot continued.
“We have determined that your abilities with the Will are indeed powerful and will be a boon to the Church. Just not as a Vanguard.
“You will be re-enrolled into the Abbey Curriculum as a Confidant. Your skills, paired with the compassion which you so readily show to those who do not seem to deserve it, prove that you are much better a fit for the school of the Confidants.” The Abbot looked at Samson, pride at the compromise.
“Father,” Samson began. This was so unsatisfying. Samson always wanted to carry the shield of the Vanguard. And with one misstep, he ruined it. But in the silence that pressed on the room, he thought about it.
Would it be more embarrassing to re-enroll and become a Confidant? Or to return to the vault to recover his identity and return home a failure.
“Father, it would be an honor to be a Confidant of the Will.”
The Abbot smiled warmly. “That is wonderful to hear, Samson. Your paperwork has already been prepared, so first thing in the morning you will report to the Confidant’s School Lead for your class assignment.” The Abbot rose and held out a hand to shake, signaling the end of the discussion.
“Thank you, Father Abbot, for your grace.”
“Not my grace, my boy. It is the Will of the Dreamer that you stay in the armor.” Samson forced a grateful smile, took one last look at the hole in the breastplate, and made his way to the door. “Oh, Samson, you should thank the Sergeant,” the Abbot added.
“Yes, Father.”
Samson made his way through the Abbey to the Instructor’s Quarters where the brand new students were mopping and dusting in the light of freshly lit lamps, powered by magical glyphs of gold magic. The cleaners warmly greeted Samson as he made his way past them to Sergeant Boldbounty’s quarters.
Despite wearing the leisure uniform of a senior student, tomorrow he would be no better than those mop-water soaked recruits.
“Sergeant Boldbounty,” Samson called, knocking on the thick door of his proctor’s room.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Samson, do you have a moment?”
The mechanisms of the door rattled before Boldbounty opened it, smiling widely at Samson. He was clad head to toe in his gleaming ceremonial armor, a very strange choice for dusk, but before Samson could remark on it, Boldbounty spoke excitedly. “So you got the good news!?”
Samson forced a grin. “I truly appreciate your help in earning me a second chance at the Abbey.”
Boldbounty let out a loud laugh. “Please, my boy. Loosen up.” He held the door open to invite Samson in. Once the trainee was inside, Boldbounty finished his thought. “I know you don’t want to be a Confidant, but they were steadfast in saying that you needed to be punished for embarrassing the church.”
“I didn’t mean to, though.”
“Oh, I know!” the sergeant said. “But it is all far over my rank.”
“I understand, Sergeant,” Samson looked down, but as he did, noticed the room was rather bare. In fact, the countless pictures of the Sergeant’s family were nowhere to be found, and a stack of clothes sat folded next to an open case. “Uh, why is it so empty?”
Boldbounty’s demeanor suddenly dulled. “I have no idea how to say it softly, so I will just say it. I’ve been transferred.”
“What?” Samson was horrified. “Did the Abbey not hand out enough punishments with just me?”
“Now now,” Boldbounty said, shaking his head. “It is not your fault, Sam. Do not think like that. It will only make you bitter.”
“Make me bitter? I am already, Sergeant! I have to be a Confidant now, and then my mentor is not even going to be around?” Sam cried out, exasperated. “You love instructing!”
“I do, yes, but I am getting sent to Dawnbreak. I get to be with the Missus again and it will be fresh work. I will be in charge of some guards.” He leaned toward Sam and whispered “they’re saying there is a gnarly she-pirate causing the town trouble. It is good news, I promise.”
“But it’s not,” Samson said, feeling the corners of his mouth drooping.
“I understand that it is a change,” Boldbounty said, his armor clanking as he shrugged. “And I will miss working here, but it is the Will.”
“And all Will is well,” Samson added with a sigh. Finally he looked up. “Do you need a hand with anything?”
“I would love some help carrying my things down to the door,” the Sergeant said with a smile. “We should tell one of those little janitor kids to do it.”