The brawl ended as swiftly as it began. With Daenan at the front acting as an armoured battering ram, one that was completely impervious to their swords, and dozens of angry patrons pelting the fanatics with anything they managed to get their hands on, the soldiers of the Flame were outnumbered, outmatched and outmanoeuvred. Having lost their leader at the start of the fight, they had been temporarily confused on top of it all, waiting for orders that never came. Instead they were facing a massive, armoured threat that dealt out punches with an impact not entirely dissimilar from crossbow bolts. They really never stood a chance.

Surveying the carnage with a brutal smile, Daenan overlooked the warzone the barroom had transformed in. Tables and chairs had been reduced to firewood, plates were smashed, food and ale were spilled everywhere and some idiot had caused a fire when he had pulled a burning log from the hearth.

The Orc panted from excitement more than any real exertion, as well as a mixture of stress. As exhilarating as the fight had been, it was also equally worrying. Beating up a handful of idiotic, lightly armed children playing soldier was one thing. Going up against a proper force with crossbows, pikes, maces and axes was another. His mind was racing. The fight had been unavoidable, but he somehow had to avoid retaliation. To start that, he had to keep the drunk patrons from actually harming the fanatics any further. They were completely intoxicated by their victory, however, and the hatred they felt for the occupiers was visible.

"Enough!" he bellowed. Everyone in the room jumped at the eardrum-busting roar and stopped whatever they were doing to look at the Orc in stunned silence. "Right, you lot, help me carry them out. We're dumping them out in the street. Feel free to rob them of their valuables, provided it doesn't look like anything religious. Let them keep their swords as well, they're undoubtedly marked, but you can take anything else. Now hop to!" he thundered. The sheer volume of his voice squashed any arguments or questions about his orders. There was chaos at first, but the more sober patrons quickly latched onto the Orc's train of thought that any excess harm would be returned to them ten-fold. With the sober leading the drunk the knocked-out fanatics were being dragged out of the inn in something that resembled efficiency. Daenan shook his head warily and wondered how the hell they were ever going to get out of this mess alive. He straightened himself and put his worries beside him. First of all, I need a bucket of water.

Miriander was not having a good day. It had started off so well though. An easy mission from the Patriarch of the Flame, go into the darker section of the city and clear out an inn reputed to harbour heretical elements. An easy job, really. Two dozen men at his disposal, all armed with swords and their devotion, should have made this a walk in the park. Then the Orc had shown up and tossed him around, making a mockery of him and his faith!

Now his day was going from horrid to even worse, as he was rudely awakened by someone dousing him in what smelled like sewer-water. He spat out the disgusting liquid and veered upright, only to be met by far too many teeth that were lined up to form a very threatening grimace.

"I hope you are happy, soldier. You very nearly ruined all of it," spoke the Orc, his voice strangely formal for such a beast.

"I... what?" stammered the young officer.

"You're not even aware? Blasted man, when I met your patrol outside the city I at least expected them to relay the information," the creature in front of him seemed to be genuinely annoyed at something. It mattered little. He was a beast of Darkness!

"Information? I... Listen you scum, I—"

A massive hand covered his mouth and fierce eyes burned into his. "No, you listen, blind zealot. I could have had you and your men killed. Like this." The Orc snapped his fingers and Miriander paled as he realised that the beast spoke true. "But you are alive. I got you out of there because I have use for you and you and yours are already outnumbered enough as it is."

Miriander grimaced, his faith reinforcing him. He would chose death over dishonour. "I will never serve the Dark!"

The Orc let out a deep growl and shook the man. "Listen, you idiot! When you return to your command post, ask for the patrol that was out south. I do not know how many patrols you have out, but they met me. They also heard my story and I am loathe to repeat that. Keep in mind your knowledge about Orcs and apply that to me. To my armour. You serve the Lord, and despite my hideous appearance so do I. I am cursed by the Dark to wander like this, and if you let my face fool you, then you are playing exactly into their hands."

The Orc brought his lips closer to Miriander's ear and he whispered softly, taking care that no one could overhear him. "Look at my weaponry and let them guide your eyes back to the Light. I am part of those who are the first to carry the Light into the Dark. I belong to the Order. More specifically, I am part of the Order of the Eagle and serve it as a Paladin. We, more than the others, act as vanguards and are found far from our Fortress-Monasteries. We roam the land as hunters. Your goal here is commendable, but you should be wary. The Darkness has strong roots here and if you try to remove it through force you will fail."

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Miriander nodded, his expression changing from distrut to veneration. As a child he had been infatuated by the Order of the Eagle. When his village had been threatened by a gang of rampaging bandits, a lone Paladin had charged into the dozen foes with a holy warcry on his lips and prayers to the Lord accompanying every swing from his sword. Ever since that day Miriander had idolised them and dug up any knowledge he could find. He did not doubt what the Orc, no, what the Man in front of him said. The Paladins of the Eagle were one of the greatest threats to the forces of Darkness. To discover that a noble Paladin had such a vile stroke of misfortune made his soul ache.

"My lord, sir, I did not know, please, forgive me." He cast his eyes down, his cheeks burning bright with shame.

"Do not blame yourself,' the cursed Paladin replied, a gentle warmth in his voice. "It is as you said, you did not know and how can I hope to blame the ignorant who had no way to open their eyes?"

Miriander looked up and was met by a friendly smile now. The Paladin offered him a hand and he eagerly grasped it. The holy warrior pulled him to his feet with ease and Miriander felt the boyish adoration from so long ago well up in force.

"Listen... What is your name?"

"Miriander, sir, wick-leader of the Flame of the Lord."

"Miriander. Good. Listen to me. The Darkness that is rooted in this city isn't very large. Yet, should you try to uproot it, you will find that the ground will not let go of it. They do not know the Dark for what it is, and if you apply brute force you will find that the innocent will side not with you, but the Dark. Do not blame them for it, for they are ignorant and blind to His truth. It does not help matters that your fellows have a rather harsh reputation around these parts, given that many cities like these do a lot of trade with races other than Men."

The wick-leader looked down in shame and began to stammer a reply, but he was interrupted.

"I do not blame you, but I am trying to warn you. Relay this message to your command. Keep your men out of trouble. Serve as police and curb crime. Help the civilians and peacefully spread His word. You are hopelessly outnumbered and should a riot occur, you will not live to see another dawn. You are not suited for rooting out the Darkness in cities. Fighting Its forces directly, that is your task. But in here? Leave the task of hunting the rats out to me. That is the task of Eagles, after all. We fly far, see further, and hunt rats. Wake your men, Miriander. I shall pacify the situation in this district to the best of my abilities, may the Lord guide my actions, but you must withdraw from here post-haste and not enter until this unrest had a chance to disperse. Ask for the commander of the patrol, he will confirm my tale. Go now! Do not disappoint me! And if we do not meet again, may your conviction never waver and may you never lose the flame He lights in your heart. Go with the Lord, child. But go!"

Miriander watched as the Paladin stood up, carefully looked around to make sure no one saw him, and disappeared into the evening fog with a few long strides. It took him a minute to get his bearings and start waking up his troops. All the while he could not keep the smile from his face. He had met a Paladin. A real Paladin. Truly, the Lord had blessed him.

The situation was becoming complicated. He was juggling too many plates at once and sooner or later the entire thing would come crashing down. As Daenan lay in bed and saw the first rays of the morning sun crawl through the small gap in the curtains, he tried to think of a way to keep them balanced a bit longer. He had gained time, but that was all. The situation in the inn had been narrowly contained, but if the sentiments of anger lingered much longer a riot would certainly follow, and he'd be caught in the midst of a bloody civil war. If that happened he wouldn't even have a chance to run anymore. He had betrayed his oath once. He would not betray it again, no matter the cost.

Letting his eyes wander across the curves of the naked serving girl. Sometimes, though, that cost was fairly pleasant. It had been surprising as well, given that his entire body was, well, green, but that hadn't bothered her any. And the ensuing argument between him and her had plenty distracted the crowd, further aided by the innkeeper bringing forth more ale and food after Daenan had given up most of his winnings to reimbursing the man for his demolished taproom. It had cooled tempers. For now. He doubted that Miriander would have much luck though. The man had seemed sincere and was a lot calmer than most of the hotheads that belonged to the Flame, but convincing their leader to lay off on the civilian population? The man would be lucky if he wouldn't be flogged for incompetence and executed for consorting with forces of the Dark. He would have to urge Marcus to get out of the city post-haste, everything else be damned, before it all spiralled out of control and his oaths would lock him in place more firmly than a steel chain. But unless the Lord or some other mystical deity deigned to interfere, what could possibly prevent disaster from striking?

Sanguilia looked up from her drink and smiled impishly at her audience. The Maester and his Circle, along with half a dozen officers sat around her looking thoroughly baffled."You cannot be serious. There is no way that would work," the Maester responded after a long moment of silence.

Her smile turned into a full grin.

"You'd be mistaken. Humans are delightfully stupid creatures in groups, and so easily blinded. This'll be like taking candy from a baby. Besides," she shrugged, "if it goes wrong, I'm the only one at risk." She bared her teeth at them and her eyes danced with something that danced along the line of cruelty and playfulness. "What do you say, o Maester Jas'Tra of Hold Kras'Vt? Shall we play on them the prank of the century?"

The Maester turned to his trusted aides and conferred with them for a short moment, before the gathering of Kobolds turned to their Human visitor. When the Maester spoke, all of them shared the same grin that spoke of their united love for mischief.

"Let it be known that we will. So I declare. So shall it be."