Eyes narrowed, the girl glares at him, “Of course I’m real. Why wouldn’t I be real?”
Sheepishly, he admits, “When I saw a gorgeous naked woman running toward me, I thought it was going to be *ahem* one of those dreams. That the mage had botched the spell.”
“If this is how your order acts, I don’t know that I want to join it,” she says, keeping the sword pointed at him. Gesturing at her tattoo, she continues, “It should be clear from my tattoo that you, who have no status whatsoever, should never be in a room with me, much less attempt to put your hands on me. I have been warned since I was a child that lower-status males would try to kidnap a high-status bride, but to find this kind of behavior among paladins... I don’t know that I want to be associated with any order that would permit that.”
Benger recovers enough to sit up but has the good sense to remain sitting. “Look,” he says doggedly, “No one is kidnapping anyone. We have gotten off to an entirely wrong start here. It’s clear to me now that you are not something that either the mage’s spell or my dreaming brain cooked up. I would very much like to start over, but I don’t understand what the tattoo has to do with anything. And can you please put some clothes on? This is much too… distracting. You have nothing to fear from me. I swear it.”
Knowing that a broken promise can impair or sever his link with his Goddess, she relents slightly.
Screwing up her face, she tries to recall what Davilla was wearing. The approximation she creates ends up being a floppy linen shirt paired with a wide, ruffled skirt. To Emlyn, it’s a good approximation of local female fashion, but to Benger, it looks like someone dropped a linen sack over her head and sewed some ruffles around the bottom.
She looks at Benger, “Better?”
Deciding that now is not the time to correct her fashion sense, he nods, “Much. So…. is everyone tattooed where you come from?” he asks. “
Yes,” Emlyn replies, “I seem to recall Davilla saying that none of you are. So much is so different…”
Seeing the more questions he asks, the more the sword point dips. Benger continues, “What is so important about your tattoo?”
“It says a great deal about who I am, which House I belong to, and what my status is. The larger and more intricate the tattoo, the higher the status. The symbols in the tattoo reveal a great deal about me. Color can be important too, and having all or part of your tattoo covered over with black means a loss of status.”
“Is that,” he says hesitantly, “why you don’t wear clothing? Well, proper clothing.”
Giving him a look, she replies, “What I was wearing is proper, by our standards. How is anyone able to see your tattoo and know your status if it’s all hidden?” Benger considers this for a moment, but he’s not sure how to respond, so he decides to ask something else.
“Why do you want to be a paladin?” he says.
“I was one…,” she says in a near whisper, “before…”
“Your god was one of the ones who died,” he grimaces, “We get those from time to time. Severed from their old god, looking for a new one, but why our order?”
“Your Goddess asked,” she shrugs, “and since I wasn’t ready to die, I agreed.”
Frowning slightly in confusion, Benger decides to pass on the things she’s said that he doesn’t understand. She still has his sword and appears to know how to use it.
“Why did you want to talk to me… to one of us?” he inquires.
“Because,” she says with a huge sigh, “If I am to join this order, I want to know what I am getting myself into. I want to know what it’s like to be one of her paladins.”
“Well,” he shrugs, “We are not the most popular order around. Our Goddess is a battle Goddess, but her particular specialty, if you will, is battle in a just cause. When there is anarchy, we restore order. When there is a tyrant, we restore the rule of law. Do you know our oath?”
She shakes her head, so he begins to recite the Paladin’s Oath.
I swear, in the presence of Morrighu and this holy temple, witnessed by my Goddess and these holy priests, do solemnly, unreservedly, and sincerely, swear to:
Seek excellence in all endeavors expected of a holy knight of the Order of the Storm Crow, martial and otherwise, gaining strength to be used in the service of justice, rather than in personal aggrandizement.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Seek great stature of character by holding to the virtues and duties of a holy knight, realizing though one can never reach such ideals, the quality of striving toward them makes one truly worthy.
Seek always the path of good, unencumbered by personal interest and outside opinion.
Seek moderation in all things and preserve my balance so that I may not be deceived into doing evil in the name of good.
Seek to be generous insofar as my resources allow, placing the needs of others before my own.
Always do what I can to strengthen the forces of good and weaken evil, remembering that there is too little good in the multiverse and too much evil.
Always hold onto my faith, for it roots me and offers hope against despair.
Always make the courageous choices to serve others and uphold virtue, regardless of the personal sacrifice required.
Always serve the truth, never uttering an expedient lie.
Always value the contributions of others, never boasting of my own accomplishments.
Remember always that the extremes of even the greatest of virtues can become the greatest of vices, and offer a point of frailty that can allow evil to gain a foothold.
Remember always that the sword of justice can be a terrible thing, so it must be tempered by humanity and mercy.
Remember always that Morrighu does not, and will not, abandon me in any hour, that there is no darkness beyond the reach of her light, no pit of despair beyond her comfort.
Strive to offer a compelling example of what one can accomplish in the service of good through my worthiness.
Strive to infuse each moment and aspect of my life with the virtues of Truth, Purity, Fidelity, and Honor, not for personal gain, but because it is right.
Show wisdom in my actions and commit no act without due consideration, but when in doubt, do what is right and good for its own sake.
Tell the virtuous deeds of others before my own, according to them the renown rightfully earned.
Should I betray my oaths willingly, I will have become the most evil of villains, and the damnation that awaits me at the hands of Morrighu and all her servants is wholly justified and deserved.
“We are required to memorize it,” Benger tells her, “And if you do join us, you will have to recite it many times. It isn’t something we say once and then forget about. We try to live up to all that.”
“That,” she says, “is very reassuring.” The tip of the sword is finally touching the sand. “Will you tell me what being one of her paladins is like? For you at least.”
“Depending on what we’re sent to assist with, it’s exciting, horrifying, frustrating, heartbreaking, or occasionally hilarious.”
At her look, he explains, “Let me give you an example. We raided a bunch of slavers who had been kidnapping farm families from the local duchy. The local duke was pretty upset since a lot of the local income is from farming. Anything that cuts into that gets the duke’s attention. The raid itself was exciting. When we found out what they’d been doing, it was horrifying. Then we started trying to track down all the people that they’d sold. They sold some of the younger girls with nice skin to a tannery. That was gruesome, but we managed to get them out of there. Some of the stories were just heartbreaking. There was one girl who was certain she would never see her family again. They had sold her to a brothel. She had picked a fight with a violent customer who stabbed her. We’re pretty sure it was suicide by other means. There was one woman, though, who didn’t want to come home. She wasn’t very fond of her husband. When we brought her back, she told him that she wished he’d left her there. She was tired of being blanket-baked.”
At her puzzled look, he explains, “Blanket baked is when the husband holds the covers over the wife’s head and passes gas. He had been doing that to her every night for years.”
“He is fortunate,” she grins, “that she didn’t stab him in his sleep. It sounds much like… my old life. I rather liked those bits.”
“I will be honest,” he grins, “that you were more enticing than intimidating when you were running down the beach. Are you sure that you can pass the tests?”
“What kind of tests?” she asks warily.
“We see more than our share of battle,” he shrugs, “so a certain basic martial ability is required. Are you sure that you are up to it?”
Snorting, she shoves his sword into the sand and her face screws up again. This time, when things become clear again, she is standing in full plate. Her gorget is marked with wreaths of wheat picked out in a gold inlay. Her pauldrons carry the same markings, but larger, and a sheaf of grain is on her breastplate. Three plumes of golden horsehair cascade from her helm down her back. She tosses him his sword back. Something about the insignia seems vaguely familiar, but he can’t recall where he’s seen it.
“Get dressed,” she grins, “and prepare to defend yourself.”
He eyes her critically for a moment, deciding that if she rates such gold-chased insignia that she’s likely capable. Holding out his hands, Benger says, “I am going to stand up now.” She gestures with a gauntleted hand for him to proceed. He stands and starts to walk toward his discarded armor.
“What are you doing?” she asks him, “Just decide that you are wearing it, and it will be there. Besides, you don’t want all that sand chafing.”
Stopping, he focuses for a moment and frowns in concentration, but nothing happens. He focuses again, not wanting to be bested yet again by what appears to be an attractive girl. It takes a few tries, but suddenly he feels the weight of his brigantine.
“Shields, or no?” she asks.
“No,” he says, “we are just sparring.”
“As you wish,” she shrugs, “Are there any protocols for this? Since everything else here is so strange…”
Pausing, he starts to mentally review the rules, “Hmm… let me see… no hitting someone who is down. No hitting once blood is drawn. No stabbing past armor on purpose. No hitting once they are pushed out of the ring, which doesn’t matter here since there is no marked ring.”
She draws two swords of a style he doesn’t recognize with a flourish and bows to him formally before setting herself in a defensive position. He studies her swords carefully for a moment. Each one is a bit more than twice the length of his forearm, with a slight curve to it. The curve becomes more pronounced at the tip, and judging by the way the sunlight glints on it, both sides of her swords may be sharp. He hefts his long sword and prowls toward her. He starts to circle her, careful to keep his feet well apart for balance, but she shifts to face him and shifts her grip on her blades. He feints toward her head, using his greater reach to keep himself out of her range.
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The "Spice-Dream" Blunder: Benger genuinely thought the wizard botched the spell and gave him a "private show." He learned very quickly that Emlyn’s leather harness isn't for show—it’s practical "proper attire" where she comes from.
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The Tattoo Law: We get a massive lore drop here. In Emlyn’s culture, tattoos aren't just art; they are a birth certificate, a social rank, and a resume all in one. Touching a high-status bride without permission? That’s a good way to lose a limb.
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The Storm Crow Oath: Benger recites the entire oath of the Order. It’s all about justice and mercy, which is ironic considering Emlyn was currently holding him at sword-point.
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The "Blanket-Baked" Incident: Possibly the most harrowing story in the annals of the Storm Crow—a woman who preferred a slaver’s camp to her husband’s... gastric hygiene.
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Armor Manifestation: Emlyn shows off by "dream-changing" into full plate armor with golden wheat motifs. Poor Benger had to concentrate for three tries just to get his leather on.
DO NOT... try to grab her. Unless you enjoy the taste of your own solar plexus hitting your spine."
Spare Change Count:
15 Copper Pellets: Tossed in by the acolytes who are getting a real kick out of reading "boring" history to a girl who might actually be a legendary warrior.
2 Silver Shavings: From Davilla, who is just glad she doesn't have to explain "personal space" to Benger herself.
1 Dented Steel Buckle: Dropped by Benger during his hasty (and painful) retreat.
Other Contents:
A "Linen Sack" Dress: Emlyn’s attempt at local fashion. It has ruffles. It is, according to Benger, a disaster.
A Handful of Dream-Sand: Still warm, smelling faintly of salt and the regret of a young Paladin.
The "Blanket-Baked" Scroll: A cautionary tale that Boltir refuses to turn into a song for fear of the "stench."
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