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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4672813" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>A Paladin Among Rogues</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>THE ARMY OF </strong>the North moves eastward at a crawl, with over two thousand Senalline pikemen, three hundred fifty cavalry, nearly six hundred mercenaries, and well over three thousand camp followers of various occupations. (The Generals have actively encouraged as many Senallines as possible to follow the Army, hoping they will remain as settlers after the conquest of the Arawai plains). Two hundred priests of Ain from all Orders also accompany the vast army to keep the troops orderly, create emergency water and food, and stop outbreaks of disease. It will take three months for this great host to reach Guardwatch; a small party traveling hard might make the same journey in three weeks.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">For the party of friends who met in Rim Square, the long months of travel are a chance to hone and expand their skills. Ash spends most of his time with the army’s scouts and hunters, a taciturn bunch who teach him how to read the signs of the wild in the forests and grassland of lowland Senallin (subtly different from the mountain forests he’s used to). Ash passes some of this tracking knowledge along to Kyla, on the days when she’s not practicing close combat with the d’Loriads. Meeshak is one of the most effective younger priests keeping order in the camp; he acquires a reputation among the soldiers for being tough (indeed, terrifying) but fair. His authority is not hurt by publicly practicing his fighting skills with a whip.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>IN HER DAILY </strong>sessions of prayer and contemplation, Ontaya begins to sense that great challenges lie ahead which she can not face alone; the time has come for her to summon her paladin companion. She fasts for a week in preparation, retreats to a nearby hill, and cries out mentally – <strong><em>come</em> </strong>– a summons beyond language, which leaves her feeling as though she has just hurled a boulder over the brow of the hill. When she wearily opens her eyes, she sees a luminous, snowy white warhorse galloping toward her. The great mare thunders to a halt and stands in proud expectation. “Dorma,” Ontaya says decisively. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">When Ontaya returns to camp atop the massive white horse, it permanently cements the awe that most of the other squires feel for her. She hand-picks six of her young peers and begins drilling them into shape every day at the end of their march. By the end of the journey, “Ontaya’s squires” are fighting as a skilled unit, fiercely loyal to their Sword-Priest leader. The brightest and most charismatic of the squires, young Corim d’Orbis, emerges naturally as Ontaya’s lieutenant.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>THERE IS ONLY </strong>one hiccup in their training. Ontaya arrives one afternoon for practice to find her wayward trainee Santor d’Nerein with only half his armor on. As she dismounts from Dorma, she regards Santor coldly. “If you don’t show up prepared for these sessions, Santor, there’s no point in you showing up at all.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“I... I’m so sorry,” Santor blurts, mortified. “I lost the rest of my armor.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“<em>Lost</em> it?” Ontaya repeats incredulously. “Where?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“In a game of Imperium,” the squire mumbles. “Along with my month’s allowance. To a man named <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4421679-post28.html" target="_blank">Lune</a>.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Ontaya purses her lips and beckons Santor to join the rest of them on the field. He leaves an hour later groaning from the relentless battering he’s taken on his unarmored torso. Ontaya dismisses the other squires and, with Corim at her side, stalks to the outskirts of the army camp. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Carwyn has set up a successful gaming tent where, every day, dozens of Senalline pikemen and squires stream in to try their luck against the lovely proprietor. The scruffy Lynarman Lune has become a regular fixture at the main table; behind his charming panache is a ferocious player with a keen eye for his opponents' foibles. Carwyn’s initial annoyance with him shifts a little closer to attraction every time they game with each other. Today the two of them are gambling with the cheery Nurak, an increasingly impoverished knight, and four other soldiers when Ontaya pushes aside the tent flap.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Welcome, Ontaya,” Carwyn says, almost managing to keep the guilty irritation from her voice. Not for the first time, she wishes she’d never <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4363981-post19.html" target="_blank">dallied</a> with the paladin, who seems to have taken it as a license to try improving her character. “We don’t see you down here often.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Thank you,” Ontaya replies, a little stiffly. “I wouldn’t be here now, frankly, but one of your... new friends has stolen my squire Santor’s armor.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Stolen?” Lune says lightly, letting Ontaya’s disapproving stare roll off him. “That’s strong language.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Gambling is theft in the eyes of Ain,” growls the paladin.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Untrue,” Lune retorts. “Why, Ain himself is described as playing dice with the fates of mankind in the psalms of Saint Stephen.” At this, Nurak lets out a hoot of laughter.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“A ridiculous analogy,” Ontaya says indignantly, caught off guard. “It’s not meant in any way to justify human gambling, which...” She searches her mind for the right ethical text. “...is roundly condemned in the Index of Nurinn, along with other forms of preying upon the poor.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Lune smiles lazily [making the INT check that wins the theological duel]. “But the Council of Oletto clarified that games of chance are not inherently wrong, since it’s essentially a process of trusting one’s wealth to Ain’s judgment. In a way, it’s an act of reverence. Besides, your squire was hardly poor. You should quote the Index of Nurinn to him -- coming down here with his Family gold to try winning silvers from pikemen and commoners like me.” He casts his eyes over to a corner of the tent, where Santor’s breastplate is sitting. “Honestly, though, I don’t have much need for armor. You can bring it back to your boy, as long as he doesn’t try coming back to my table. And tell him that he tenses up his hands when he thinks he’s got an advantage over an opponent. That’s got to have some application to... whatever it is he does when he’s not losing at cards.” He glances down at Ontaya’s clenched fists with an insolent grin.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">A fuming Ontaya’s mood is made even worse when she sees her loyal but slightly roguish squire Corim trying to hold down a grin. She curtly gestures at Corim to retrieve Santor’s armor. “Don’t worry. I won’t have any of my trainees corrupted by your... twisted interpretations of sacred texts. Santor won’t trouble you again.” Ontaya looks over at Carwyn, trying to find words for her sense of betrayal. “And Carwyn – I can only advise you as a friend to be careful about the company you keep.” Without waiting for an answer, she storms out of the tent.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Carwyn turns admiringly to Lune. “Where did <em>that</em> come from?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Lune shrugs. “My father sent me to train for the priesthood. I couldn’t help picking up a few things before I escaped.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Mmm. Impressive.” Carwyn shifts a little closer to him, squeezes his knee, and takes advantage of his smug distraction to fleetly glance over his cards. “Back to the game?”</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4672813, member: 61094"] [b]A Paladin Among Rogues[/b] [FONT=Verdana][B]THE ARMY OF [/B]the North moves eastward at a crawl, with over two thousand Senalline pikemen, three hundred fifty cavalry, nearly six hundred mercenaries, and well over three thousand camp followers of various occupations. (The Generals have actively encouraged as many Senallines as possible to follow the Army, hoping they will remain as settlers after the conquest of the Arawai plains). Two hundred priests of Ain from all Orders also accompany the vast army to keep the troops orderly, create emergency water and food, and stop outbreaks of disease. It will take three months for this great host to reach Guardwatch; a small party traveling hard might make the same journey in three weeks.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]For the party of friends who met in Rim Square, the long months of travel are a chance to hone and expand their skills. Ash spends most of his time with the army’s scouts and hunters, a taciturn bunch who teach him how to read the signs of the wild in the forests and grassland of lowland Senallin (subtly different from the mountain forests he’s used to). Ash passes some of this tracking knowledge along to Kyla, on the days when she’s not practicing close combat with the d’Loriads. Meeshak is one of the most effective younger priests keeping order in the camp; he acquires a reputation among the soldiers for being tough (indeed, terrifying) but fair. His authority is not hurt by publicly practicing his fighting skills with a whip.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][B]IN HER DAILY [/B]sessions of prayer and contemplation, Ontaya begins to sense that great challenges lie ahead which she can not face alone; the time has come for her to summon her paladin companion. She fasts for a week in preparation, retreats to a nearby hill, and cries out mentally – [B][I]come[/I] [/B]– a summons beyond language, which leaves her feeling as though she has just hurled a boulder over the brow of the hill. When she wearily opens her eyes, she sees a luminous, snowy white warhorse galloping toward her. The great mare thunders to a halt and stands in proud expectation. “Dorma,” Ontaya says decisively. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]When Ontaya returns to camp atop the massive white horse, it permanently cements the awe that most of the other squires feel for her. She hand-picks six of her young peers and begins drilling them into shape every day at the end of their march. By the end of the journey, “Ontaya’s squires” are fighting as a skilled unit, fiercely loyal to their Sword-Priest leader. The brightest and most charismatic of the squires, young Corim d’Orbis, emerges naturally as Ontaya’s lieutenant.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][B]THERE IS ONLY [/B]one hiccup in their training. Ontaya arrives one afternoon for practice to find her wayward trainee Santor d’Nerein with only half his armor on. As she dismounts from Dorma, she regards Santor coldly. “If you don’t show up prepared for these sessions, Santor, there’s no point in you showing up at all.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“I... I’m so sorry,” Santor blurts, mortified. “I lost the rest of my armor.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“[I]Lost[/I] it?” Ontaya repeats incredulously. “Where?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“In a game of Imperium,” the squire mumbles. “Along with my month’s allowance. To a man named [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4421679-post28.html"]Lune[/URL].”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Ontaya purses her lips and beckons Santor to join the rest of them on the field. He leaves an hour later groaning from the relentless battering he’s taken on his unarmored torso. Ontaya dismisses the other squires and, with Corim at her side, stalks to the outskirts of the army camp. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Carwyn has set up a successful gaming tent where, every day, dozens of Senalline pikemen and squires stream in to try their luck against the lovely proprietor. The scruffy Lynarman Lune has become a regular fixture at the main table; behind his charming panache is a ferocious player with a keen eye for his opponents' foibles. Carwyn’s initial annoyance with him shifts a little closer to attraction every time they game with each other. Today the two of them are gambling with the cheery Nurak, an increasingly impoverished knight, and four other soldiers when Ontaya pushes aside the tent flap.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Welcome, Ontaya,” Carwyn says, almost managing to keep the guilty irritation from her voice. Not for the first time, she wishes she’d never [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4363981-post19.html"]dallied[/URL] with the paladin, who seems to have taken it as a license to try improving her character. “We don’t see you down here often.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Thank you,” Ontaya replies, a little stiffly. “I wouldn’t be here now, frankly, but one of your... new friends has stolen my squire Santor’s armor.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Stolen?” Lune says lightly, letting Ontaya’s disapproving stare roll off him. “That’s strong language.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Gambling is theft in the eyes of Ain,” growls the paladin.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Untrue,” Lune retorts. “Why, Ain himself is described as playing dice with the fates of mankind in the psalms of Saint Stephen.” At this, Nurak lets out a hoot of laughter.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“A ridiculous analogy,” Ontaya says indignantly, caught off guard. “It’s not meant in any way to justify human gambling, which...” She searches her mind for the right ethical text. “...is roundly condemned in the Index of Nurinn, along with other forms of preying upon the poor.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Lune smiles lazily [making the INT check that wins the theological duel]. “But the Council of Oletto clarified that games of chance are not inherently wrong, since it’s essentially a process of trusting one’s wealth to Ain’s judgment. In a way, it’s an act of reverence. Besides, your squire was hardly poor. You should quote the Index of Nurinn to him -- coming down here with his Family gold to try winning silvers from pikemen and commoners like me.” He casts his eyes over to a corner of the tent, where Santor’s breastplate is sitting. “Honestly, though, I don’t have much need for armor. You can bring it back to your boy, as long as he doesn’t try coming back to my table. And tell him that he tenses up his hands when he thinks he’s got an advantage over an opponent. That’s got to have some application to... whatever it is he does when he’s not losing at cards.” He glances down at Ontaya’s clenched fists with an insolent grin.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]A fuming Ontaya’s mood is made even worse when she sees her loyal but slightly roguish squire Corim trying to hold down a grin. She curtly gestures at Corim to retrieve Santor’s armor. “Don’t worry. I won’t have any of my trainees corrupted by your... twisted interpretations of sacred texts. Santor won’t trouble you again.” Ontaya looks over at Carwyn, trying to find words for her sense of betrayal. “And Carwyn – I can only advise you as a friend to be careful about the company you keep.” Without waiting for an answer, she storms out of the tent.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Carwyn turns admiringly to Lune. “Where did [I]that[/I] come from?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Lune shrugs. “My father sent me to train for the priesthood. I couldn’t help picking up a few things before I escaped.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Mmm. Impressive.” Carwyn shifts a little closer to him, squeezes his knee, and takes advantage of his smug distraction to fleetly glance over his cards. “Back to the game?”[/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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