Callings (Closed)

[Lechies Degrantine]

Lechies was certain she'd worked in worse conditions than this. A narrow cavern tucked deep in the stomach of some mountain or hillside, lit poorly by sputtering lanterns, with air flow so poor as to keep the space constantly stinking of sweat. The patient laid out on the table was barely conscious; the gaping red canyon across his ribs had bled all the vigor out of him. Still, to have clung so tightly to life after sustaining such an awful wound, Jaiza was clearly a fighter. As long as Lechies was here, she would see to it that his efforts were not in vain.

The glow emanating from the tip of her staff flared from faint green to brighter white, and at her back, there came the rustle of metal as Rake went stiff, hand curling firm around his sword. Lechies paused long enough to frown at his reaction before she turned back to her work, examining the results under her new magelight.

The wound was closed, leaving only the raw pink of healing flesh. Satisfied, and feeling the press of fatigue at her temples, Lechies backed away from the table and went for her spread of herbs and implements at the station behind. Rake followed her every step. She didn't bother looking back, but she knew he was still clutching his weapon.

"Making him an ointment," Lechies said, as she measured and crushed. "Spread it on his bandages—you'll want about this much. The wrappings will need to be changed every six hours or so. Give him this for the pain," she tapped a bottle behind the mortar, "and use only this cup. Filled to the brim at most, but no more. If he ingests too much, it'll hurt him more than help."

Rake's eyes were dark and distrustful as he watched her clean up her tools. "No tricks, aye?"

Lechies looked to the cavern entrance, where Niklas lounged in his chair, chewing on a piece of jerky, his crossbow perched lazily in his lap.

"No tricks," Lechies replied softly.

"If you're done, then." Rake waved a piece of round, hinged metal. "Turn around."

Lechies did as she was told, and brushed her hair aside so that he could snap the collar around her neck. A click, then its enchantment took effect with a low hum. Lechies shuddered as ice pushed into her veins, a terrible dullness slamming down onto her senses. She would never get used to it, this alien sensation of loss, of being blocked off from her magic.

Nor would she get used to being a prisoner of bandits.

It could always be so much worse. The merchants had been about a day past the Ninraihn-Tviyrn border when armed men had sprung from the trees, no attempts at extortion made before they fell upon the wagons. Lechies had woken up with an aching lump at the back of her head and the accursed collar around her throat. It seemed the original plan had been to sell her further north. When she overheard her captors discussing that one of their fellows might require amputation from the injury he'd taken, she offered to reverse his fate. She'd made good on her promise—under exceedingly heavy guard—and the bandits had decided that Lechies was better kept in their ownership.

Natural light didn't make it this far inside their hideout; she wasn't sure how many days it had been since the attack. Ten perhaps, going by the rotation of meals and guards. Long enough that the bandits were warming up to her. Slowly. Very slowly. In time, given enough patience and goodwill and a bit of luck, she'd find her chance to escape.

Until then, as Lechies let her staff be confiscated and followed Rake back to her cell, she reminded herself that she'd worked in worse conditions than this.

[Malcolm Rhodes]

The day was bright and warm as the late afternoon sun beamed down from a cloudless sky. A soft winter breeze rustled leaves and grass, carrying a faint chill that kept the coming winter tickling at the back of the mind. Malcolm felt his cheeks twinge and realized he’d been smiling for a long time. The creak of the saddle, steady thunk of Typhoon’s hooves, and gentle song of nature had lulled him into a relaxed idleness he so rarely felt.

It was a wonderful day for a patrol and it brought him pride that there seemed to be no dangers to contest. The lands around the Galewatcher compound were vast and the nearby foothills contained many caves and hollows that attracted bandits and wild beasts. Their company commander had decided this was an unacceptable stain on their honor and enacted denser patrols and coordinated hunting parties. It had been months now, and the results were evident in the recent lack of reports outside of the weather.

Malcolm let out a contented sigh as he worked his way around a clump of trees and roots. It was a pleasure to see peace in the surrounding wilds but he hoped to be finished before too much longer and return for a relaxing evening of training. Perhaps he would finally chance talking to that visiting woman who was learning the spear. She was as beautiful as the day and he could swear she’d smiled at him the other morning.

The distant clang of steel and shouts of battle sounded deafening in the still afternoon and Malcolm grit his teeth. He silently chastised himself for asking Esyrax to test him. The Idol always seemed happy to offer up new challenges to his paladins whenever they grew complacent. Malcolm squeezed his legs, urging Typhoon onward to crest the nearby hillside. The warhorse huffed in excitement and moved upwards with carefully placed but powerful strides.

The hilltop gave a good view of the surrounding area, and below, in a cleared field the woods were slowly reclaiming, there was a wagon and its crew being attacked. Malcolm prepared to charge down the hill and drive off the attackers, but his final scan of the scene showed the battle was finished. The driver and his second were dead, as well as the only armed man in the group. The bandits, for they could be nothing else, were already scavenging and the Paladin focused his attention on them.

The group was ragged looking, their gear poorly maintained and heavily battle-scarred. Malcolm felt he could easily best them all but was uncertain if they were a roving group or had a hideout nearby. He decided to watch and wait, backing Typhoon back down the far slope of the hill and dismounting. As he prepared to crawl his way over the roots and dirt to look downward his mount snorted and stamped a hoof.

Malcolm started and looked to his mount, the horse shook his head and then vanished suddenly. The Paladin frowned intensely, realizing he’d let his memories get away from him again. He wasn’t patrolling the Galewatcher lands, he wasn’t even alive anymore, and he certainly hadn’t been able to find the lost compound of his younger days. He shook himself, forcing away the lingering thoughts of the place he remembered as home.

Instead of crawling, he stood and loosened his will, letting his form become as mist invisible to the eye. He still felt aware of his body, even as it was and became formless. His understanding of his feet drifted just off the ground, hovering silently as he bobbed up and down on the breeze. The ghost Paladin drifted over the rise and began to float slowly down towards the bandits.

The scent of blood and sound of annoyed swearing told Malcolm the attack had been real enough. He examined each bandit as he approached, finding his earlier assessment to be accurate. The lot of them were ragged, scarred and worn down. They were likely not professionals then, and given how slowly and haphazardly they were looting they felt safe in this timeworn field. Malcolm decided their hideout must be nearby and felt a duty to follow them and rid the world of their blight.

So he silently watched, drifting with the occasional breeze and growing sickened by the lack of coordination his enemies showed. It was like watching drunken farmers attempting a parade drill. Each bandit worked at something different, but their efforts often contradicted or hurt another’s. Malcolm felt his patience waning and was almost prepared to attack the lot of them out of sheer spite when they finally gathered their loot and ordered themselves into a rough marching pattern.

The slow trod to their hideout took far longer than it should have. Bandits kept dropping things, or stopping randomly causing others to bump in to them. It was clear they’d never done a drill in their lives and Malcolm felt confident he could best them all, perhaps even all together. The group, mostly men but with at least one woman given her voice and curve of her cheeks, started a ragged song filled with bawdy imagery and crude refrain. Malcolm judged them to be at least organized if they felt so comfortable travelling so loudly.

The Paladin noted they passed two sentries before the reached a switchback that lead up to a cave in an overhanging stone cliff. He adjusted his estimation of the group several notches higher. They clearly understood the need for secure defenses and early warning, even if they lacked the regimented efficiency of true soldiers. There must be enough of them around they feel like they can answer any threat approaching.

He had to suppress a chuckle as he fell off following the bandits closely and drifted away from the sentries. When he felt he was sufficiently far, he whispered to his life and deathlong companion, “Typhoon, you will block the entrance, kill any who attempt to escape.” The warhorse snorted softly but remained dispersed. It would not be the first time the animal was called to act as a deadly barrier. Malcolm was confident the sentries would move into the cave at any sign of trouble.

His orders given, Malcolm drifted his way up the steep switchback and into the cave. The sun had set while the bandits traveled, and Malcolm hoped he his passage would be mistaken for the winter wind and not cause alarm. He drifted into the cave, glancing in to each small alcove and moving around any bandit he encountered. He made it to a cook fire and found what he imagined were most of the bandits spread around the room on ratty bedrolls and rotting logs.

There were roughly ten of them all told, though only perhaps five looked like they could put up any sort of fight. The rest were wounded in some way or simply looked beyond exhausted. There was one in particular who had a sharpness to his eyes that meant he was likely in charge. Malcolm drifted past the group, moving deeper into the caves until he came to a lone guard resting on a chair looking bored.

The Paladin looked past the man and saw a woman with copper hair resting against a wall, a collar wrapped around her neck. He drifted over, looking closely at her, and saw she was covered in dirt and minor wounds typical of a prisoner. The collar had rubbed a ring around her neck and glowed faintly. The glow tickled at Malcolm’s memories until he realized it was a mage collar, the kind used to prevent casting. They were expensive and difficult to make, Malcolm wondered what luck had befallen this ragged group to come across a collar and then a spellcaster.

He pressed himself to the floor, his closest estimation of kneeling while dispersed, and ran a piece of his presence over her hand. “Little one, Esyrax has seen your resilience. Awaken, your vengeance is nigh,” he whispered softly beside her head before moving back rapidly. He wanted to be ready to kill the guard if her awakening made him alert. It would be a simple and silent thing, solidify, powerful strike to the throat and a hand over the mouth. There was no sense in beginning the violence until necessary though.

[Lechies Degrantine]

These days, Lechies did not sleep so much as allow her mounting exhaustion to render her unconscious every so often. She was well on her way there now, tucked against the wall of her alcove, the side of her head pressed to the rock to keep the collar from pinching. The comfort of oblivion would arrive soon. Eyes closed, she waited for it, the bandits' faraway voices merely a low rumble, and fading fast from her ears-

Then she startled awake, legs kicking in reflex like a spooked deer. Lechies swallowed a gasp badly, and at the front of the cell, Niklas tilted his head to regard her, jerky paused halfway between his pouch and his mouth.

"The hell's wrong with you?"

"Er—centipede," Lechies breathed out. She traced her thumb nervously over the back of her hand. "A large one. It scared me."

Had she imagined that touch just now? That warmth, that voice? She must have. A hallucination; the mental stress coupled with the poor diet and lack of sunlight had finally caught up to her. With any actual hope of escape so fleeting, so foolish, her brain had clearly decided to conjure up a moment's feverish fantasy instead.

Though, it was strange that her delusion would choose Esyrax as a representative. Lechies had no strong feelings towards the dual-animal Idol. Why not an image of Ristgir?

She could not dwell over the puzzle long, because Niklas stood up then, the chair's legs scraping a harsh note across the ground. He set his crossbow aside and drew the knife from his belt.

"What... what is it?" Lechies fought not to shrink back as he stepped into the cell, though she watched the weapon very carefully.

"Big centipedes 'round here are poisonous." Niklas cradled the knife as he came closer, scanning the ground. "Ain't taking chances with the little bastard. Where'd you see it scuttle off to-"

He didn't get to finish the question. A flicker in the air beside him—a sudden body, large and powerful. Moving with purpose. The strike cut Niklas off with an awful gurgle and a sickening crunch. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood trickled from his mouth, the angle of his neck wrong. Throat crushed.

Lechies didn't manage to contain her surprise this time. She lurched backwards against the wall with a short scream. It echoed down the narrow tunnels, and the bandits' voices grew louder in response.

[Malcolm Rhodes]

Malcolm nodded as the woman snapped awake, he’d expected nothing less. ‘She keeps her composure, rebalances quickly. She has the Bear in her,’ he thought as he drifted just beside the guard as he rose. There was no other response yet, the bandits were either too tired or too comfortable with small disruptions. Malcolm watched the man, he was clearly comfortable with his knife and worried for the woman’s safety.

‘She’s valuable to them, perhaps a healer then, anything else would be too dangerous to use,’ Malcolm decided as he adjusted his understanding of the situation. His eyes snapped to the woman and he made his decision, ‘That’s enough fear, no more, time to act.’

He coalesced, his fist already speeding ahead as he took a solid form. The steel plated gauntlet took the man in the throat with enough strength to do the job without tossing him aside. Malcolm started to turn to the woman as she screamed. He nodded, the response wasn’t unexpected.

“The time is now. Look within, the strength is there. Stand and witness your retribution made real,” he intoned, his voice carrying the edge of command. He strode towards the thin stone hall that led out of the prison room. The shouting and scrambling coming from the cook fire area was still disorganized.

“Get in here, guard the entrance!” one of the bandits shouted, perhaps the sharp-eyed man.

“Typhoon! Rise and Block!” Malcolm shouted, his voice echoing strangely out into the cave. There was no response he could hear, but the Paladin trusted his mount - Typhoon knew what to do and would prevent anyone from escaping alive.

The bandits finally organized and rushed forward, a spear held out with a swordsman behind. Malcolm stood just beside the opening, waiting for his moment to strike. The spearhead thrust, reaching out into the room without conviction. Malcolm grabbed the shaft and yanked, pulling the weapon free and tossing it harmlessly into the room.

He grinned down at the bandit who’d held the spear. The man had been forced forward, not quick enough to drop his weapon. Malcolm lunged forward, his bulk smashing the poor fool into the sharp corners of the stone wall with the sound of snapping bone. He stepped over the crumpled bandit, his boot coming down on the mans head with a squelch as he moved into the defensible position.

A sword plunged forward, the woman wielding it shouting incomprehensibly. Malcolm wondered if she’d been attached to the spear carrier. Malcolm felt the blade slide off his solidified form silently before the loud clang of steel hitting stone rang out. “You have been found complicit in crimes of banditry, kidnapping, and murder,” he said without emotion into the woman’s scream.

His fist came out and struck again, smacking the woman’s head into the unforgiving stone before he kicked her solidly in the chest back down the hall. Her limp body collided with others looking to rush in and created a tangled heap. Malcolm took the moment to reach into his self, to grasp at the power he’d received for his devotion to Esyrax.

The power welled inside of him, flowing forth at his call, and yet the Paladin frowned. It was not the rush of strength and roar of power the Bear often gifted him. It was something altogether different, subtle but unending, like standing on a cliff looking up into a cloudless sky. The fall was there, a danger, a temptation to fail, but all he felt was the lift of the wind carrying him upward.

Malcolm grinned, a dark and unforgiving expression as he felt his movements become faster and more fluid. He had reached for strength, and found speed instead. Esyrax always offered an answer, just not always the one you expected.

[Lechies Degrantine]

"Retribution? What-"

Curled in a protective ball, Lechies remained as she was for the space of another breath, still struggling to process what was happening. Some part of her wanted to reject his words, write them off as a mere product of her fracturing mind, while the rest had to point out, only mildly hysterical, that hallucinations could not strike a man dead. Believe it or not, this was real. It had to be.

The mysterious warrior continued onward, stepping out of view. In his wake the entrance to her cell was left open. No guard, no gate. A cruel, alluring promise of freedom.

Lechies finally scrambled into action, going to her knees beside Niklas's body. At least his end had been a quick one. She closed his eyes and clutched her pendant, the bronze sun cold in her grasp.

'Rest now, Niklas of Tathford. You were not a good man, but I hope you go to the light, regardless.'

The din of violence rang out from just around the corner, sending an abandoned spear past the doorway before it clattered out of sight. Lechies grabbed up Niklas' knife and raced after the warrior.

He was holding his own remarkably well. Marson was on the ground, a halo of blood crowning his head. Behind him, Eun and her sword fared little better, but Rake was rallying the rest, a wall of angry steel between them and the outside world.

Lechies would not stay here; a half-starved wizard without her magic was little use in a fight, knife or no. Instead, she pivoted and hurried in the opposite direction, deeper into the hideout, to the little storeroom the bandits had also designated their infirmary. Her supplies were there, her staff—the key to the collar, maybe. Rake usually left it on a hook; that room was the only place they let her be free of her restraint. She needed the collar gone, and her staff in her hand.

On the unlikely—but not impossible—chance that her apparent rescuer fell to his foes, Lechies would need to be able to defend herself. Her previous terms had been negotiated on the basis of non-resistance. But after all this? If the bandits caught her again, they would kill her.

Jaiza had been moved, and the table cleaned of his blood. The hook on the wall was empty. Fear tried to close her throat, but Lechies pushed onward to the tables at the rear. The key had to be somewhere, she thought, hands shaking as she shoved aside ledgers and weapons and random paraphernalia, Niklas's knife forgotten on the floor. Terror pulsed a painful beat in time with her heart. Now that escape was no longer a shapeless dream, but an actual, potential thing at her fingertips, she hadn't felt this panicked since that first day awakening in captivity.

[Malcolm Rhodes]

“Faryv's prick, how the fuck did somebody get in here?” Rake hissed as his fellows scrambled to their feet. “Is Eun alive?! Get the fucking spears up. He can’t get out without coming through us.” The bandit leader’s face showed only a twitching fury as he roused the men and women back into something resembling a defensive formation.

Beneath his frantic anger, his gut roiled with terror and confusion. ‘This was supposed to be a fucking safe place. No other ways in! How the fuck did someone get in here? How the fuck did he take two so quick,’ his thoughts danced wildly as the world around him refused to provide answers. Finally a thought rose above the din, ‘The key, she’s still locked up right?’ He smacked at his leather jerkin several times with dull thumps.

His final hit fell on an empty ring and his fear spiked to panic. “Get it together you shits. Spears out, move together,” he barked overloud, smacking Kar’s shoulder when the other man wavered. The others seemed to react to his words, steel returning to their spines as they realized their attacker would need to claim their lives to escape.

Down the twisting stone pathway Malcolm felt the comforting tendrils of memory swirl up from the depths and wash over him.

The distant shouts of bandits, the closeness of his brothers and sisters in arms beside him. He grinned and let his attention waver and his gaze wander to look up and down their line.

“Beautiful aren’t they?” The question was filled with warm pride. Malcolm turned his head and nodded to Armus, his second-in-command, beside him.

“That they are Brother. The finest Knight Protectors I’ve ever known,” Malcolm replied, his grin growing broader as several knights straightened their stances. “Though I worry Brother-” Malcolm continued, his voice much lower. “Many will die today, even with our rank’s talents in healing and battle.”

“True Commander, but what purpose is there to this life beyond protecting those who shield the world?” Armus’ eyes gleamed with the faint tinge of fanaticism. “The Watchers need our aid and we are honorbound to answer their call.”

Malcolm just nodded, not finding the words to sway his close friend. After a moment of reflection he shook his shoulders and raised his head and voice. “Knight Protectors! Who do we serve?!”

“The Galewatchers!” The shouted reply came up and down the line with varying volumes, but each voice carried conviction and pride.

“Bandits, Brigands, Murderers, you threaten that which we hold dear. You will not survive this day, you will not have your riches.” Malcolm knew his voice would not reach the attacking force. The milling mob of barbarians, brigands, bandits, and other undesirables was well out of bow range. His voice was not for them, they would get steel and suffering only this day.

There was a moment of silence, only the creak of leather and soft fluttering of grass filling the sudden void. Then, without warning, Armus’ voice rang out with a battle cadence.

“We stand, shoulder to shoulder. You can’t erase us, you’ll just have to face us,” the knight sang, his voice rising and falling with the words. Other voices joined him, the song drawing the knights together in a way the attackers couldn’t hope to challenge.

Malcolm felt his memory fade as the shuffle of boots and scrap of spearshafts came down the hall. He couldn’t stop his voice, his lungs filled with the pride he’d felt on that horrific day so long ago. He carried the cadence through, stepping back into the room and loosing his great sword as he sang.

“We are the ones who will never be broken!
We are the ones who will not go unspoken!
There’s nothing left for us to do,
nothing but to find the strength to see the day through!
With our final breath we will fight to the death!
We are soldiers!”

The first bandits came in a pair, the sudden openness of the room catching them by surprise as their spears went wide of a missing target. Malcolm’s sword came up and across in a broad arc from shin to shoulder. It crushed the first man’s leg and hip before colliding with the second bandit’s ribcage. The crack of bone and a squelch of crushed organs mixed with the choked cries of pain and fury as the two men fell back.

Their allies came right behind them, crashing into their falling forms as the bandits tried to spread out and press with their weapons. A spear came out, glancing off Malcolm’s ghostly armor without sound but leaving a small cut of swirling mist in its wake.

“It’s a fucking ghost?!” one of the men yelled. Malcolm laughed and turned his sword, slamming it forward to strike an exposed face left open by the failed spear strike. The bandit crumpled, his neck snapping back with enough force to kill. There was still one other in the room, and certainly more beyond.

Malcolm stepped towards the woman, her arm limp by her side and spear held in the crook of her arm. She had either been hurt in the scuffle or come in wounded - it didn’t matter to the Paladin. “I am sorry you chose this life. I hope you find wisdom in the next,” he said softly as he used his enhanced speed to knock her spear aside with his final lunge. His unarmored fist crushed her throat and he let her drop - she was no longer his concern.

[Lechies Degrantine]

Time moved strangely during a crisis. Lechies had no concept of the passing seconds, only that it felt like she'd already searched the whole room twice over and still not turned up a key. Even as her movements became more frantic, a voice of reason crept up in her mind, warning her that she needed to start thinking beyond these stifling walls. If the key truly wasn't here, and her magic was to remain locked away, what was she going to do?

But as fortune would have it, the scenario wasn't one she'd need to consider. As Lechies paced the room yet again, she finally saw it, tucked away in the shadow of a table leg. Perhaps the key had fallen and been thrown there by her earlier shoving about of the bandits' property, or perhaps the dim light had simply cloaked it well. It mattered little.

The lock was behind her neck; fitting the key in with shaking hands proved difficult. At last, with a final click, the collar came loose, and Lechies breathed a relieved sigh as she dropped the hated object to the ground. A welcome, familiar warmth washed over her, the oppressive fog over her senses dissipating as if scattered by a morning sun.

Lechies experimentally called for her magic. A faint light pooled in her hand, on the weak side, but her power came easily enough. She could fight, she decided.

Staff in hand, and determination restored, Lechies returned to the sounds of battle.

As expected, there were even more bodies choking the tunnel now, though Lechies was glad to see the mysterious warrior still standing strong. At the other end of the passage, Rake caught her eye, and his already pale face drained itself of yet more color when he realized the collar was gone. It would be untruthful to claim that Lechies did not derive a bit of enjoyment from his horror.

The bandits' front line was all but ruined, leaving Rake and three more at the back. Old Tegid planted himself with his axe between his fellows and the warrior, though his trembling suggested doubt over his ability to fulfill his role. Three paces behind, Pavo loaded his crossbow as fast as he could, and Ailis bent her arm past her head, readying to toss the knife in her grip.

Lechies acted first. She had been preparing a spell as she ran, and by the time she reached the warrior, it was ready. The end of her staff swept in a downward arc, throwing out a golden whip of light. The spell forked mid-flight and flowed around both sides of Tegid to catch Pavo in the torso and Ailis across the legs. The former stumbled back, his arms and crossbow pinned to his front in a mess of glowing rope. Ailis cursed from her place on the ground, wrapped from knee to ankle, having lost her knife when she overbalanced.

[Malcolm Rhodes]

Malcolm felt more than heard someone approaching him from behind. He tensed, lowering his blade ready to bring it around if needed. Instead, the prisoner woman came running into the open, a staff gripped in hand and righteous vengeance written across her features. She wiped her staff downward, brilliant sunlight bursting from it and working like living rope to ensnare two of the remaining four bandits.

Malcolm grinned and let loose a shout of encouragement, “Show them your fire girl!” Then he turned his attention back to his enemies. The old one in front, a moment ago hefting an axe, turned and scrambled away, his weapon forgotten as he tried to flee to the front of the cave. The sharp-eyed leader didn’t even seem to notice, shock plain on his features.

Malcolm felt a wave of satisfaction as a snort of fury echoed into the cave followed by a short strangled cry of alarm. Typhoon performed his duty admirably as always. Refocusing his attention to the two disabled bandits and leader, the Paladin cleared his expression, lifted his sword into the ceremonial executioner’s hold, and strode forward.

“You have been found complicit in crimes of banditry, kidnapping, and murder. For your transgressions, I sentence you to death. What say you?” his voice was calm, cold, and there was no emotion betrayed on his face. The bandit leader before him shook as if coming out of a dream while the two others tried to move away, clawing and scrambling futilely.

“Go fuck yourself,” the man said, looking up into Malcolm’s eyes with pure hatred.

Malcolm looked down at the man and raised a brow. “I have a better idea,” he said in the same emotionless tone. He exploded into mist, sweeping over and around the bandit leader who’s blade had snapped out to strike him.

Malcolm reformed behind the man. “I am sorry you served such a man. I hope you find wisdom in the next life,” he said sounding truly saddened before he brought one boot down to crush the neck of the fallen woman as his blade swept around to slam the crossbowman into the wall with bone shattering speed.

“Hah, you idiot,” the leader hissed as his sword plunged silently into Malcolm’s back. The Paladin grunted in annoyance, the sensation of the blade forcing his form apart strange and uncomfortable. However, he did not tumble forward and collapse into his eternal death as the bandit expected. Instead, Malcolm simply turned in place, letting the blade cutting a ragged path of fading mists across his middle.

His own blade had been kept low after his last strike and now moved like the wind. The sound of it cutting the air was over loud in the brief moment of shocked silence that followed. The bandit was lifted into the air by the strike, his legs crushed by the immense force. When gravity again claimed him, he fell to the ground with a ragged scream that was cut short as his jaw shattered. The snap of bones echoed around the cave with a sickening intensity.

Malcolm brought a boot down in two quick stomps, crushing each shoulder as well. The leader broke into shuddering wet sobs, his body overwhelmed with pain as he began to suffocate on his own blood. The Paladin scanned the room, finding no more enemies, he returned his focus to the sobbing broken mess that was the former bandit leader.

He knelt down, reaching a hand to the man’s chest before calling on his inner power. A vibrant white glow burst forth from his palm, pouring over the dying man before fading in to him. “I have healed you enough to live. She will decide your fate,” he said softly as the bandit’s sobs faded, the healing magic forcibly calming him.

“Perhaps you have treated her kindly and she will allow me to heal you fully. Perhaps she will have me leave you here to suffer your fate, unable to move or cry for help. Or perhaps you will be given the unearned mercy of a swift death.” Malcolm shrugged, watching panic begin to settle into the man’s features as he tried to speak through his shattered jaw and the overwhelming effect of the healing magic bolstering his life.

[Lechies Degrantine]

As Lechies' spell carved down the tunnel, so too did its light seem to pull the very warmth from her body. Determination could only buoy a fatigued body and mind so much. She was suddenly left feeling very cold, and the exhaustion that had been building up over days and days was too much to bear then. Lechies could not stop herself from sinking to her knees. Only by the grace of her staff's support did she manage to stay upright.

Weakened as she was, perhaps Lechies would have been in real danger had she been alone. But the warrior, confident and mighty, did not need her help. He never had. Lechies watched, half in awe and half in budding fear, as he moved on to dispatch the remainder of their foes with trivial effort.

And here was another question answered: how he'd infiltrated the bandits' hideout, and spoken to her as she tried to doze. The warrior was a ghost, one of the rare unliving, kept tethered to the physical realm by some earthly obligation. Ristgir knows why his hauntings had brought him here, of all places. Not that Lechies was ungrateful.

She was, however, increasingly terrified as the warrior ensured that Rake's punishment took longer than the others. Clearly he could kill a man with a single blow; he was simply choosing not to. For personal satisfaction? To make a point?

Whatever the reason, it wasn't right or just. It was simply torture.

When he mentioned her, Lechies stiffened, eyes darting from the warrior to poor Rake writhing beneath him. She hesitated, skull pounding. Then she rose and stumbled over to the fallen bandit.

Lechies knelt as the warrior had, the top of Rake's head by her knees. The man's eyes, once so flinty and dark, were now blown wide from helplessness, begging her for a mercy that the warrior was loathe to give. It hurt to see.

The tip of her staff pulsed to life, a similar healthy glow cradled in Lechies' left hand. Ignoring how her headache redoubled, she leaned over Rake and cupped his chin, letting the restorative magic flow into his jaw.

"Peace," she murmured. "I won't let him kill you, and I won't let you die a slow death. You could have sold me, but instead you listened when I asked to prove my worth. You could have let your comrades mistreat me, but instead you gave me food and made the men swear not to touch me. You are not a good man, Rake, but nor do you deserve to die afraid and in pain."

The combination of healing magics had stilled some of his trembling, and as he felt that his jaw was no longer broken, Rake tried to speak. Lechies silenced him with a sharp hiss through her teeth.

"I'm not finished. These men and women who followed you—I saw and heard for myself the respect they had for your command. You looked after them as you would brothers and sisters, and they were loyal in return. And now, because of your choices, they are dead."

Lechies' spell faded. The green glow cut out, and the shadows of the tunnel fell back across her face.

"You're a talented leader, Rake, but your judgment was flawed, and your comrades died for it. I urge you—leave your life of banditry behind. Learn from this. Make better choices. And should you ever be tempted to profit from another's pain again, remember your fallen comrades' names and what became of them."

Her tirade done, Lechies finally looked to the warrior. Her fingers were clutched tight around her staff even as she swayed.

"I don't have the strength for any more magic. You said you would heal his injuries fully if I allowed." Her face tightened with displeasure at the phrase. "I trust you will make good on your word?"

[Malcolm Rhodes]

Malcolm turned his focus to the former prisoner but kept a knot of power in his chest, ready to explode out into a projected shield. The bandit leader was in no condition to fight, but Malcolm had lost good soldiers before to assumptions of safety. 'She's beyond exhausted and she was running in to battle like a fresh recruit,' he raised his estimation of the woman again as she knelt beside the broken captive.

It was clear from her expression and wariness that she found his actions reprehensible, but Malcolm didn't have the heart to shatter her naive notions regarding righteousness. The thought of the bodies laying strewn where they fell in the nearby field had told him enough about these men and women to absolve his own guilt.

Memories of mangled dead, brutally abused victims left to rot beside ashen homesteads, and the laughter of the bastards who relished in violence and chaos threatened to wash the Paladin away. He exerted his will, forcing his mind to remain in the now as the woman issued her sentence to the bandit.

Malcolm had to suppress a chuckle as she showed the bandit - Rake apparently - a glimpse of her iron will. As he continued to listen, he couldn't entirely keep a frown from his face. She gifted the man a second chance at life, admonishing his choices and imposing rules the bandit would likely not follow. Men like Rake didn't change and given the size of his gang the fellow would probably need to travel far before he wasn't hung at the first sign of recognition.

Then she turned her fire and steel onto Malcolm and his frown became a solemn nod. "My name is Malcolm, and in my forty years of life I did not once break my word not falter in my service to Esyrax. Death does not change who you are, and the Bear and Eagle still aid my path," he intoned warmly before becoming more serious.

"I understand your concern, that my methods were excessive, but the bodies in the field and the number of bandits in this cave tell me that this man," Malcolm motioned with his head at Rake. "Is not one to hesitate or let advantage pass him by. Though you choose to spare him, I am certain given another chance he would run you through as he did me."

The Paladin lifted a hand. "Allow me to fortify you before I enact your decree. Your time in captivity has left you weak of body if not mind and spirit. He will not suffer and I will restore him as you have chosen."