Vignette 3

  Hywel Hoardon, Champion of Lumious!

  Terra Torus, The Second Plate, Temple of Lumious – A. F. 451,208:

  Hywel Hoardon, Champion of Lumious, Bringer of Light, Hero of the Empire, Paladin, General of the Holy Armies, Honorary Baron, and Conqueror of Darkness, was getting old. His knees ached. They struggled under the heavy weight of muscle that still stubbornly clung to his wrinkled frame. Pressing one down into the cold marble of the temple, as he waited with his head bowed, caused it to sting in protest.

  Even as the minutes passed in silent pain, he never once considered stopping his prayer. He was the only one in the grand chamber, aside from the golden, floor-to-ceiling statue of his god. No one would know if he were to change positions. Still, the thought never crossed his loyal mind. For two hundred years he had served his god, and not once had he failed.

  One's faith, he believed, was not proved through the big gestures, the campaigns, the enlightenings, or the annihilation of heathens, although all of those were important. One’s faith was truly tested in the small things: the adherence to daily prayer, helping those in need, and nurturing life.

  He had never missed the sunrise or sunset prayer; despite the wealth his victories brought him, he had never owned more than his weapons and armour – having given the rest to charity – and there had never been a dying plant that he wouldn’t give water, so failing to hold the correct position for the full hour was never an option.

  The light of Lumious shone on his dedication, for as the last rays of light filtered through the high windows, the statue burst with radiance. The golden figure didn’t move, but a familiar voice spoke directly into Hywel’s mind.

  “My champion, I need you,” it stated, sending a thrill through Hoardon’s bones. Finally, his efforts had been rewarded. Hywel Hoarden lived to serve, and it had been too long since he had seen use.

  The voice continued, its tones regal and kind but with an underlying strength. “Take up the mantle, become the vanguard of my armies once more and cut a path across the First Plate; bring the people there into the light.”

  “It shall be done,” Hywel replied, his deep voice reverberating around the chamber, conveying the appropriate gravitas, not letting on his excitement. Finally, he would return to his true home; war awaited.

  “Leave at once, crush the barbarians and bring civilisation to the First Plate,” the god commanded.

  “At once,” the Champion of Lumious responded, rising to his feet so swiftly and eagerly that he didn’t feel the pain of his creaking knees. The top of his head glistened in the golden light as he spun to leave, the short, white hairs on his bald head doing little to obstruct the dimming shine.

  As he marched towards the door, the light faded from the statue. Silver plate mail with golden, fiery decorations that covered him from neck to toe clinked with each step, its weight such that none of the regular soldiers could so much as lift it. And yet, the metal impeded him not as he strode through the great doors of his private chapel and entered the temple proper.

  The bustle of parishioners who had just finished their evening prayers and were in the process of messily leaving was momentarily halted when the figure with a sun emblazoned on his chest made his appearance. Whispers of “Hero”, “Champion”, and “Hywel One-Eye” fluttered around the flock; many stared in awe.

  Hywel ignored the looks as he headed straight for his lieutenant general. The fire elemental in question, his body that of a human but tinged orange, was in the process of helping an elderly lady make her way through the throng.

  “Ilyid, prepare the men,” General Hoardon ordered.

  Lieutenant General Illyid saluted, fist to chest. “Right away, sir,” he responded, his voice louder than the growing murmurs. “What are we preparing for?”

  “War,” Hywel Hoardon responded, his countenance serious. Despite that, he was unable to prevent the slight smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. The expression was mirrored by his subordinate, though the other man did his best to hide it.

  “At once, sir,” Ilyid replied, though his words did not match his actions. For a moment he stood there, his eyes flicking between the exit and the confused-looking old woman. Seeing the conflict in the lieutenant general's expression, General Hoardon reassured the younger paladin.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, addressing the lady in question with an honest grin and locking arms with her, “I shall help escort you home.” The old lady grinned back toothlessly and grabbed onto the muscly old man possessively.

  Illyid shot the general a wink, then shot off like a firebolt. Hywel didn’t bother admonishing the younger man; he was in far too good of a mood. His old bones would get to see a holy war once more.

  No one barred the couple's path as the renowned general and the old seamstress walked their way around a winding, circuitous route, guided by starlight. The elderly woman kept claiming to be lost, but she was a terrible liar; she didn’t even try to conceal her motives. She took the extra time to make more and more blatant advances towards the Hero of the Empire, all of which were politely deferred. Hoardon was married to the church.

  They walked their way through clean, vagrant-free streets, and Hywel couldn’t help but reflect on how the Empire of Light had saved the once savage khati, who had been living in this desert city under the shadow of the long-vanquished Empire of Darkness. It was the small things, the flowers that lined the roads, the way the locals walked around without fear, and the children who played in the street. That was what his conquest would bring to the First Plate.

  One kid kicked a ball across Hoardon’s path. When he realised how close it had gotten to the big, scary man, the Khati child shrunk back, clearly expecting to be admonished. That was not the world Lumious had ordained. Instead, Hywel smiled brightly and kicked the ball back to the children.

  Seeing that the human wasn’t as scary as they had feared, the children decided he was their new source of entertainment. They flocked around the armoured man and asked the sort of questions only children can ask.

  “Why is your left eye white?”, “You look ancient; how old are you?”, and “How did you get such shiny armour?” The old lady seemed to take offence at the uncouth tykes' questions, but Hoardon took the time to answer each query in turn.

  “My left eye is white because I lost my sight when I was struck by a heathen while fighting for the holy light. You see the scar; it goes from my forehead to my neck.”

  “I may only be human, but I’ve lived for more than two hundred years.”

  “I got my armour when I officially became a paladin of Lumious. If you join the holy army, you too may one day wear a set just like it.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The answers, of course, spawned more questions, but before Hoardon could get waylaid too long, he offered to play with the kids. After he had let each of them score once against him, he returned to accompanying the rather peeved old lady, much to the children’s chagrin. They begged him to play longer, but he made his excuses.

  When they left, the old woman led them straight back to her house. It was near the south gate, down the road from the temple. Just as Hoardon was ensuring the lady got inside safely, a great clattering came from outside the gate, followed by the shouts and hisses of angry Khati.

  General Hoardon marched through the gate and towards the sound of the chaos. Outside the city, Hywel saw a Khati teen, a commoner, mounted on the back of a giant lizard, panting, out of breath, covered in sweat and grime, and with a bleeding hole in his thigh.

  The young farmer had clearly sped past Hoardon’s men, camped outside the city, and the line of people waiting to enter, causing quite the commotion. Two of the local cat people, dressed in the outfit of the guard, blocked her path and were busy bombarding the breathless teen with questions.

  Seeing the air of tension that was swiftly growing, Hoardon took it upon himself to resolve the situation. He snatched the young lass from the saddle. The guards looked about to object, but when Hywel raised a glowing hand to the bleeding wound, healing it rapidly, they wisely chose to keep their mouths shut. Someone dressed as a warrior, with the power to heal, meant only one thing: a paladin. Nobody who wanted to live stood in the path of a holy knight of Lumious.

  Summoning a waterskin from his Inventory, Hoardon offered it to the exhausted khati, who took it, gratefully gulping down all the water in between breaths. Once the young woman was able to speak, Hywel asked:

  “What happened?”

  “Bandits. They attacked the village when the imperial guards were praying. They had fire; they killed my brother. My mother, she was… She distracted them so I could escape. Please, you have to help her!” the woman begged, her eyes wild and desperate.

  “Which way is the village?” Hoardon asked.

  “Directly south, it’s a ten-minute ride,” the khati teen responded, hope in her voice.

  “Good, it’s in our path,” Hywel said with a nod before he marched to his camp, the cat woman in tow. The men were busy packing, and already they were nearly done. When someone saw he had arrived, they stood to attention and saluted, causing a wave to spread through the army as they realised the general had returned and they snapped to.

  “Line up!” Hoardon commanded. The response was immediate. The men and women of all races dropped whatever they were doing and rushed to stand in position. In thirty seconds the ranks stood in disciplined lines.

  “I’m sure by now many of you have heard tell of the reason for our sudden departure. Lumious has decreed we go to war once more.” Hoardon relayed.

  The reaction was mixed. The younger members of his unit were excited and couldn’t help but whisper to one another. The veterans, for the most part, received the news stoically; they knew the horrors war could bring. Only those who had been baptised by the flames of war and had come out the other side wanting more would become officers. Accordingly, the officers seemed delighted by the news.

  “Calm down,” Hywel One-Eye ordered. In moments the half-dismantled desert camp was quiet once more. “Fate shines upon us, for I have just learnt that a bandit group has attacked a village en route. This is an opportunity to test ourselves and for the recruits to cut their teeth.

  Grouse and hare platoons, you’ve got the most new soldiers, so you’ll take the lizards and join me in the vanguard. The rest of you, finish packing up the camp and join us due south. You have two minutes. Dismissed.”

  The adolescent khati seemed concerned by how the Imperials spoke of battle, but once it became clear they would help, she insisted on joining them. The officers objected, claiming it would be too dangerous, but Hoardon insisted she be allowed to join. He knew the look in her eyes; if they didn’t protect her, she would likely follow them anyway and end up injured or killed.

  Hywel let her ride on his personal lizard as he jogged alongside, easily keeping up with the panting beast. He spoke calmly but surely to the woman, asking about the number and strength of the enemy.

  It was worse than he had feared; these were no ordinary bandits. It had been more than a year since the Second Plate was taken under imperial protection, but there was no doubt, the brigands were remains of the once formidable Ferlinius kingdom – the insignia of a prancing lion on their ruined tabards proved as much. That meant the enemy would be desperate veterans, likely starving.

  The fighting would be brutal. General Hoardon changed his plans. He began to run out ahead of his force. He had expected the enemy to be farmers turned criminal, but trained soldiers would be too much for his new recruits.

  Hywel tore through the sands, sending great plumes into the clear night sky. When the burning houses came into sight, an enemy soldier who had been on watch cried out, “Sandstorm!” General Hoardon smiled; they’d wish they were so lucky, for he was no mere sandstorm.

  The one who’d let out the cry had inadvertently gained Hywel’s attention. The metal-clad man plonked on his helmet, sighted his foe perched on a tall rooftop, and launched himself. The Paladin rocketed through the air towards the khati man. He had just enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before he was turned into a rain of red offal.

  Hoardon continued through the man as if he didn’t exist, not stopping until he ploughed into and through a large burning building, turning the unoccupied structure into flaming rubble. The rowdy soldiers who had been plundering and pillaging stopped to watch the sudden explosion in surprise.

  Some of the marauders cheered, assuming this was some kind of happy accident; it wasn’t too uncommon for burning structures to explode, especially in farming villages. Other, more experienced fighters, who had glimpsed the streak of silver before the detonation and knew the strength of high-level opponents, began thinking of escape.

  Hoardon wasn’t about to give them the chance. He strode out of the collapsed ruin, his armour undamaged. That caused the shouts and laughter to stop. One man was able to scream before the carnage started.

  Hywel’s first target was three male khati in a house to his left, surrounding one female khati. His high Perception stat let him know exactly what they were doing. He removed his helmet and threw it through the wall, knocking off the head of the first naked soldier. The others only had time to blink before he was upon them.

  With savage movements, Hoardon bit into the neck of the first. Once his teeth found purchase, he ripped, drawing the khati rebel’s spine out in one fluid motion. The last man had just begun to flinch when Hywel used the newly found weapon as a whip and split him in half.

  The veteran warriors hadn’t been idle. They took the time to position themselves around the house’s hole and began to launch arrows, ranged Skills, and even a fireball from the one mage present.

  Seeing that the woman, still crying in her bed, was in the way of the attacks, Hoardon chose to stand his ground. He used his first Skill of the battle. A wall of sun-like flames appeared before him, burning away all the projectiles before they could come close.

  The enemies didn’t let up in their assault, aiming to keep their combatant pinned down. When a charred, blackened spine lashed through the barrier – snatching out to behead one khati before withdrawing, only to launch out once more – the rebels began to feel the hopelessness of their position.

  One rather sneaky khati soldier, who had been trying to flank their foe, was sent flying through a wall. The words he said as he lay dying, blood bubbling from his lips, caused fear to course through the remaining cohort:

  “It’s him: The Flayer of Ferlinius!”

  A quarter of an hour later, the young khati woman who had escaped the raid rode back into the village, shock plastered on her horrified face. Guts hung from the roofs, fires had been doused by blood, and body parts littered the streets. She threw up. She wasn’t the only one. Despite the feelings that coursed through her, she pressed on, desperate to see her mother safe.

  In the centre of the village, surrounding the well, was a group of shell-shocked villagers, keeping their distance from the smiling silver knight who sat on the other side of the square. The number of survivors was low, far too low, and most of them women and children, none of them unharmed.

  The teenage khati searched the faces with no luck. She jumped off her mount and approached, to the protests of the soldiers. Inspecting her neighbours one by one, she failed to find her mother. Eventually she left to search the remains of their house. She passed her brother's body, unable to look at him. There, in the basement, she found her mother, dead; her teeth knocked out and her throat slit.

  She was overcome by too many emotions at once – they each tried to barge out, causing the others to get stuck. She had thought the bandit’s fate grim, but it had not nearly been enough. Anger drove the young woman as she marched towards the square, barged past the soldiers surrounding their general, and addressed him directly.

  “General Hoardon. I’m joining your fight.”

  patrons: