The Northern Paladin: A story (part one)

"The land... it's all gone"...said a soldier as he examined the soil, it's dust fell from his hand in a fine manner, it blowing into the breeze. "I have a feeling all is lost..."

"Chin up soldier, the walker still lives, and so do we, so fight". The paladin looked at the three men, pikemen, the oldest one was barely a man, as they stayed in a loose formation. Next to them, a Benalish hero looked over some crudely drawn maps in the ground. Her mood eternally humorless, she didn't participate in the conversation, she knew how bleak the battle had become. He scowled in her direction, reached to his side, and drank from his canteen.


The water felt good going down his throat, and it relieved him, albeit temporary, from the pain of the heat around them. He wasn't use to this warm climate, and it showed. No, he was from the northern country of Parma, which sat high on the altitude of the world. Most of the year was covered in the seasons of cold, which the worst, even the sun refused to come out, casting the world into several days of darkness. After all, with that cold, who could blame it?

His name was Freshwater, after the surname was given to a grandfather of several generations prior. The legend has it that he purified a corrupted lake after a bitter invasion from the dark kingdoms of Wrenna, and the lake bore its name as well. Since then, his entire line had been Paladin's, some with different orders then others, but all paladin's of nobility and good deed.

He sighed and looked over the blasted landscape. Although he knew much more of magic then the men behind him, he knew his knowledge was rather limited. He was taught largely how to defend and destroy black magic, which he was exceptionally well at. He understood their was powers, far beyond what he could even possibly conceive, and that is what just happened.

"We should head back to the castle" he said, and started to walk. The four followed, the soldiers talked among themselves on how good life was going to be when this was over, that they would be heroes, they'd have beautiful women, plentiful lands, and riches beyond their dreams. The hero and knight felt it wasn't best to interrupt them. He had a horse at the start of it, but it perished some time ago. He thought how long has this been going on, and why did he agree to it?


He tried to count the days that its been going on, no it had to be months. It couldn't have been a year already, could it? This was the hard question. The easy question is why. To his knowledge the war started on two fronts, a black Planeswalker who simply was called 'The Dark One' made an alliance with a crazy artificer conquer The Domains, and Richard Lightbringer, the walker he was indebted to, needed a man who could solve an issue he had. You see, the Dark One, according to Lightbringer, had summoned some Angels, allegedly Serra Angel's, which the Dark One responded with vampires of the Clan Sengir.

Now the paladin wasn't a stranger to Sengir vampires, who would sneak into the lands in the dark times. These vampires were different though, the vampires he encountered were little more than savages, feral creatures of the night, with hideous bald visages, with teeth in their hands, and long claws, who had little in the terms of cunning. No, these vampires were different, they were elegant, they were intelligent, and they were far more deadly. Lightbringer claimed they were gifts from Baron Sengir himself, from a land called Ulgrotha. No matter what lexicon Freshwater had checked, what globe he studied, or atlas he opened, he couldn't find anything about a land named 'Ulgrotha'. 'It must be more ancient then recorded history' he thought, after all, what was history to the immortal undead.

He killed both vampires, it wasn't an easy accomplishment, but his magic had helped him greatly, along with two gifts from the Walker, a set of armor that was said to be holy, and a lance, which helped him little now his horse was dead. Still, it could give him range in a pinch, which is nice.

As they approached the castle the draw bridge lowered, and they were let in. It was a small structure, held together by magic, but as real as a stone castle. The soldiers mumbled and headed into the basement, they would sleep in the common area. The knight, and the hero, both had private quarters. The Knight was gifted one for his long service, while it was decided the hero should have one, given she was a chaste female companion.

"Greetings" a booming voice said, on a throne at the end of the hall sat Lightbringer himself, a planeswalker of much renown, for he believed in justice. When Freshwater first met him, he looked more akin to a god as described in the Book of Tal. Long hard, righteous eyes. He remembered the light that radiated off him hurt his eyes, and required him to look away, however, that was some time ago, and the Planeswalker was looking rather weak, well compared to at least.

He sipped from his cup, it was made of Ivory, and legend had it, contained enchantments that allowed for life. Next to him, a massive sword laid onto his chair, called 'Runesword'. The Paladin once got to weild it after the betrayal, and used it to route a whole cavalry. Their skin seemed to melt at its touch, and they faded into dust, to no longer be part of this world. The power terrified him so much, he hoped to never carry it again. He wore a full set of plate, though nothing to flashy about it, and finally a cape with the symbol of his homeland, again, in letters he had never seen before, or since.

"Congratulations men on the victory, the dark one is destroyed, sadly, we still have to deal with the traitor". The five of them looked at each other, then him, before Freshwater spoke 'What was that, that just happened?' 'A terrible spell I'm afraid, he destroyed all the mana on the land, even his own, and with it, life. A terrifying Spell called Armageddon, one I promised never to cast myself'. There was a silence, and then after a sip Lightbringer said 'the good tactical news is, it also destroyed his lands as well, and has doomed Ezekel the mad to his own fate, a tomb trapped by the artifacts he loved. The bad news is, Al-Hajjar of Rabiah has us outnumbered, and there will be no reinforcements. Further more, the food in the castle, is the last food we have, as the farms were destroyed by the spell as well. I have a few tricks up my sleeves, as I'm sure Al-Hajjar had as well. We are to play a defensive game, as he has to come to us, but know this, this is all we have'.

"Now I did prepare a feast, so clean up, and meet in the hall in an hour."

He walked into his quarters, he was given many amenities as part of his agreement to join. A feather bed, a private bath, and an armoire to hand his armor. If even possessed a fireplace, which could be used on particularly cold nights, but had stayed unused for sometime. He looked at the metal barrel in his room, his bath, which had water that flowed directly to it with a well pitcher, which worked by means he didn't entirely understand, but it was a nice convenience, and he wondered if he could convince his conservative countrymen to adopt such a wonderful idea.

He filled the tub with water, and with some flint, light a small fire of hay and kindling under it, slowly but certainly, the water would heat up, and it would make a relaxing sauna, something he had gotten use to in the hot springs of his home. He carefully removed his armor, setting it in the armoire, followed by his cloths. Despite being middle aged, he still possessed a great deal of muscle, with his physique being equal that to a man half his age. His hand fell to his shoulders, which betrayed his age, along with the many scars around his body. His life as a paladin certainly wasn't boring, and he made something of a name for himself, which is probably why he gotten into this mess in the first place.

He slipped into the tub, and went over the events of the war the best he could. From his recollection, Al-Hajjar and Lightbringer originally were allies. Loose allies, but allies none the less, as they fought against Ezekel and the Dark One. The Dark One was originally the strong man, holding off both forces while Ezekel tinkered with his alchemy and mechanics, apparently trying to make some kind of super weapon. Al-Hajjar and Lightbringer brought in holy warriors from their own cultures, Dervishes, who were warrior monks, and white knights, knight errants and lords who's own righteousness kept them from being harmed. A concordant effort against The Mad Artificer reduced his mechanical army to it's minimum, so he got desperate, using powerful, but dangerous artifacts for mana, which is from his understanding, now his tomb. The Dark One meanwhile tried numerous plans to survive, including becoming a dreaded lich, some sort of undead demi-god, which survived the destruction of his own body. It was at this time, Al-Hajjar showed his true colors, and attacked out leader, and killed with a fierce bolt of lightning, the White Knight who guaranteed our victory.

We gave him a proper grave, and since then, it's been a slow war of attrition. They had just came back from finishing off the dark one, which Al-Hajjar making sure Ezekel would be trapped in his tomb, but with a flash, they noticed the land was dead. This couldn't handle on much more. Lightbringer and Al-Hajjar had suffered numerous counter attacks, and now that the ground was gone, their was nothing left but a head on invasion. Yes... the war... would... end soon...