The night did not bring rest for Ahrom. His sleep and even his awakening had been poisoned by the night before. Even after opening his eyes and allowing his senses to arrive at the present moment. The simple comfort of the bed as he laid in it had brought no peace. The Dark Blue Fire that had consumed the Ramian bodies had struck his peace of mind. It had charred even the capability of a restful sleep and left it useless. Ahrom wasted no time dwelling too long upon it.

Ahrom sat up from the bed and collected himself with no longing to remain between the sheets as he typically would. Breathing in the cool air of the fortress was enough to bring his senses around. Once his attention had come to his sight. Ahrom looked from his hand to his upper arm as the morning light from the window behind him shown down on it. Looking at the Holy Aegis. The sacred treatises that defended a Paladin from the attacks of mind influencing magical arts. And negated the threat of possession by Daemons. He could still feel its stinging etchings all over his body. As well as nearly the entirety of his bones.

Of all the Paladins Trials. Ahrom remembered his last the most potently. The Trial of the Shield as its known. Where Mages in the employ of the Paladin Orders use a degree of Fire Element Magic to brand the skin and bones forever with the wards and treatises that defended the mind and soul from outside corruption. And if a Daemon were to seat itself in the Paladins being. The Aegis would trap it within. "At what cost?" Ahrom whispered the thought out loud. Not realizing he had done so. Though he welcomed it. Anything to set his mind on a more precise course than where it would go otherwise.

Forcing attention from this inexpressive melancholy over the rigors of his past. Ahrom left the edge of the bed and walked to the dresser and table where he had set his effects the night before. With haste, he took his weathered yet functioning pants from their place on the dresser and put them on. Followed by the piece mail leg armor. Then he put on the long sleeve wool shirt that had been with him a long time now. After it was on, he took and put on the dark oak colored gambeson that he rightfully should replace. But hadn’t had the coin to do so.

Then came time for the Paladins Chest armor. The piece mail armor with his Orders insignia at the center of the chest. The Scythe over the Red Sun. The insignia of the Paladins Order of the Crimson Dawn. Paladins that took no stance in politics or the hierarchy of religion. Taking the farmers scythe as part of their emblem rather than a more obvious weapon. A symbol of humble aspirations to ensure the well being of common people, for those that took the time to understand the emblem.

In picking up the armor. Ahrom had regained some of the calm that the night before had robbed him of. In his time as a fully initiated Paladin. Ahrom had done a lot of good for common people. He felt a sense of pride in it. As though life could be defined by more than the joys and tragedies of ones past. He put the armor on and fastened it with renewed enthusiasm. A readiness to meet the day without any burden on the mind. Though he hadn’t forgotten what burdened him in the first place.

Ahrom then reached for his Red Steel sword. It was perhaps the most important thing he could call his own. A gift that Brenor Rorren, a long dead friend and comrade, had bequeathed to Ahrom in the moment of his death. Ahrom dared not loose it ever since. Brenor had been a noble influence in Ahroms time as a Junior Paladin. Imparting virtues and morals that sadly many have forgotten. Rare qualities symbolized by an even rarer item. Red Steel weapons are the rarest in the world. Enduring relics of the Old Ellician Empires military might. The Steel of Mankind itself. And all that he could be. Or so the scholars say in the books that Ahrom managed to find on Red Steel.

Of all the things said about it. Ahrom profoundly appreciated that Red Steel will hold its edge for a decade. And doesn’t bend or break like common steel. Blacksmiths and Alchemysts from all over the world to this very day cannot uncover Red Steels mystery. Or how it was made. Even Dwarven blacksmiths, with all their legendary skill, cannot uncover the secrets of this marvel of weapon that bound nations into one empire that spanned the known world. A fact and mystique that many merchants would praise Aemar the All-Father for the acquiring of just one of these rare weapons. The sale of a Red Steel weapon would set a man up for life. If they could keep it long enough after advertising that they had one.

Ahrom glanced into his clear reflection in the scarlet color of his sword. A quality that couldn’t be tarnished by time or the elements. If only my mind were so lucky. He thought to himself as he sheathed the blade again. Fastening the sword in its scabbard to his belt before gathering his satchel and backpack for the journey north. To tell the head of his Order what had happened at the southern border. And hope that he’ll have a plan.

After securing his satchel and pack. Ahrom heard a knock at the door to his room. "Yes?" Ahrom asked the humbling figure at his door. One of the fortress’ many servants. Already tired from his duties. Tasks which he would undoubtedly have to perform through out the day before he would even be permitted to eat his own meals.

"I’m sorry to have woken you if I had Ser Ahrom. But this letter arrived not moments ago to the Commanders desk. Addressed to you, he said." The servant said with resisted fatigue as he held the sealed letter in front of Ahrom. A folded letter of simple parchment, sealed in red wax with the Order of the Crimson Dawns emblem. Ahrom took the letter quickly yet calmly. In respect to the servant.

"Thank you." Ahrom said. Noticing the boys mildly shaking legs. Ahrom had felt compelled by decency to ask. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Huh? N.. Not yet Ser." The boy answered. Taken by surprise by the question. By this, Ahrom could note the commonality of inconsideration for the servant staff of the fortress. And already knew what he would say to Commander Dolne before riding north.

Ahrom looked back into his room. To the simple breakfast that one of the servant maids had left on the simple table across from the dresser while he slept. "I’m leaving this morning already and had planned to stop as early as Maronsted on my way north. Please. Help yourself to my food. You can tell them I had you run another errand for me."

The servant boy was in humblest surprise. He had expected Paladins to at least occasionally be nobler than the typical soldiers that came and went around the fortress. But this to the boys mind was surely a gift from the All-Father. "Th.. Thank you Ser!" The boy went in as soon as Ahrom stepped out of the way. Ahrom smiled as the boy ate what was surely a better meal than what the servants typically had. As soon as the boy had his fill, Ahrom left him to return to his duties with a polite nod.

Has it really been so long of it happening that I no longer care if they call me Ser? Ahrom thought to himself. Recalling in his newly awakened deliberations that most don’t truly understand that Paladins and Knights are not the same. There are Paladin Orders that are knighted by the King in the Kingdoms of Esterval, Lennestine, and Vyrantis. But in the Kingdom of Dekmire. Paladins are simply holy warriors. No knighthoods, no sovereign honors. Only their service to Aemar and the People are what matter.

Ahrom put it out of his mind and made his way down the barracks hall. Listening to the mumbled and even hushed conversations of the soldiers as the awoke from a sleep as restless as Ahroms. "I can still see those craven flames." Ahrom heard one soldier say forlornly to another as he passed their door. He could even hear the screams of soldiers still asleep as they fended off the nightmare that the Dark Blue Fire engulfing the Ramian Dead had inspired. Ahrom forbade himself to think on it further. He instead, rushed to the stables.

As he made his way through the Fortress’ main hall. Ahrom looked to the sealed letter that had arrived for him. Breaking the wax seal, he unfolded the parchment and immediately recognized the hand that wrote it. As well as being surprised to see the written words of a man he had aimed to speak to in person. The letter was from Haeratus Einculta. The Grand Prior of the Order of the Crimson Dawn.

"Ahrom. Firstly. The last time we spoke. You called me an aging coward. And after some time thinking on it. I’ve only arrived at the conclusion, that you would’ve been right if you had called me an old fool rather than an old coward. But you are young yet. So I’ll forgive your hasty oversight this time." Ahrom remembered the last time he had spoken with Haeratus. A heated and regretful way of leaving things. The regret had jabbed at him in moments of calm to no end. But it put a smile on Ahroms face to see that Haeratus seems to have gotten over it with his rare slate grey humor.

"Secondly. And to the more important point. I’m writing to you now because things are happening in the capital and elsewhere in Dekmire that our Order cannot ignore. Some of which you and I in particular are more familiar with than most. More can be explained soon. For now. Ride for Maronsted. There you will be met by two who can be trusted. You will not need to seek them out. They will know you and speak of me to declare themselves to you. All-Father guard your path, son." Ahrom felt a subtle grin appear on his face. Besides Dumak. The Dwarf that raised Ahrom in the orphanage, and gave him his name. Haeratus had been the only other father figure he had ever known.

Returning to the letters contents. Ahrom found an astonishment that Haeratus seems to always have a unique sense for where Ahrom was going. Even though he hadn’t informed him or anyone that would tell the old Paladin of where he was going. "How does he always know?" He asked aloud. Leaving on the matter rhetorically.

Ahrom put the letter away and unhitched his horse. A healthy, young, Dekmirian Chestnut. A good horse that had seen well over three years of travel with Ahrom. On the twos first journey together. The Horse had rode straight into a bandit that had raised his rusted ax to murder a mother and her two young sons. Instantly sending the man yards from his intended victims and knocking him out on a fortunately placed rock. For this, Ahrom named him Hakka. Hammer in Durahbas. The Dwarvish tongue. A language Ahrom still used when he could.

After tying his backpack to the saddle. Ahrom mounted Hakka and rode forth. Many of the soldiers waved as he left. Ahrom had fought beside many of them. Even saving most of their lives on numerous occasions. He accepted their wishes of safe travels and thanked them for them as he passed under the large black iron gate as he made his way along the Fishers Way Road along the Caernavas River. Looking to his left. Ahrom looked briefly to the Redveil Mountains. One of the two natural barriers that separated Ramia from the Heartland Kingdoms. "At least the mountains never tire." Ahrom commented aloud. Thankful that he didn’t have to imagine how the war would go if those mountains hadn’t been there.

As Ahrom made his way along the Fishers Way road. Breathing deep the western wind that brought refreshing air from the Calling Sea. He came upon what had sounded like a struggle of three men just ahead. Ahrom rode faster in the direction of the commotion.

Ahrom followed the noise to its source and saw what looked to be a wayward hermit being accosted by two thuggish men. They pulled at the hermits tattered robes with aggressive disrespect and and prodded him with his walking stick. Laughing at him and taunting him. Ahrom would not stand for this.

"Stop this now!" Ahrom shouted at once. Riding up close and dismounting Hakka. "By the Abyss! What’s going on here!? He demanded of the thugs. Readying his resolve to fight in anticipation for it.

"What’s it to ya?" The bigger thug with the balding head asked with disrespect near unintelligibly. Not one tooth in his mouth.

"This shit bag is gonna get what he deserves. A permanent swim in the Caernavas!" The shorter thug with bad teeth added. Ahrom could smell his breath as though the thug were standing close enough to kiss.

"What’s he done that he deserves that?" Ahrom asked sternly. Keeping his hands to his sides to not escalate the situation. Though he wouldn’t need to have his hand on his sword.

"He made the mistake of walking into our business. And now he’s gonna keep it to himself the best way we know he will." The shorter thug snickered. The river air carrying more of his bad breath over to Ahrom. It took much for Ahrom to keep a straight face.

"Let him go. I’m sure the last thing he’d do is turn you in." Ahrom bargained. He knew they wouldn’t be swayed. But he dared to hope that perhaps he could keep his sword sheathed until it was truly needed.

"And I’m sure that Gisurt here is gonna snap your legs like twigs and then I’m gonna feed you this lollygags ballsack! Rip his head off Gisy!" the shorter thug commanded the bigger one. Having pulled a serrated blade from his belt.

"But Traskil. I don’t wanna hold his head while you feed him balls." Gisurt protested. His reasons couldn’t have been farther from noble or reasonable if anyone tried. But it bought Ahrom some more time to anticipate their attack.

"Just kill em Gis!" Traskil shouted. Having immediately lost all patience with his larger compatriot. Gisurt charged at Ahrom like a tower of muscle and stupidity. The mountain of a thug brandished a studded blackjack. Ahrom could notice that it was rusted from being wet with blood. Seeing that Ahrom knew that these two would not be defeated and walk away. They would take any dirty chance to kill him and loot his body. Ahrom inhaled deep as he closed his eyes. Then opened them with the exhale. And before Gisurt could comprehend it. Ahrom had strafed to his left. Causing Gisurt to attempt to stop himself, but stumbled and fell embarrassingly instead.

Ahrom used the opportunity to draw his Red Steel blade. In readying himself for either of them to attack. Ahrom could see Traskils eyes fixed on his Red Steel sword. As well the drool that hung from Traskils scarred chin. The thug could smell gold. Many who see it could. But none would take it. Ahrom would never allow it.

Gisurt got up from the dirt and charged again. Only this time, Ahrom would strafe to the right and slash across Gisurts stomach as he did so. The wound was deep and wide. Having torn a great deal of skin. Permitting intestines to spill out from the wound. "Shiny." Gisurt said his last word in a haze. So much blood had already been lost. Enough of it had poured out in front of him that when Gisurt finally fell to the ground. He splashed the blood. A gruesome example of the edge accorded by Red Steel blades.

Traskil gave up on trying to kill Ahrom. He had just lost his muscle, he knew he stood no chance. Immediately Traskil made a move for Ahroms horse Hakka. Attempting to race off with him. Ahrom didn’t worry. He stood as still as a rock. Waiting for Traskil to get far away heading west on the road. Then Ahrom simply let out a loud whistle. And Hakka reared up at once. Throwing Traskil from the saddle. Then Ahrom let out two short whistles in quick succession. Hakka began galloping back to Ahrom. Leaving Traskil to escape on foot.

Ahrom inhaled deep and pulled a spare cloth from Hakkas saddle as soon as he stopped. Ahrom wiped the blood from his Red Steel sword. He knew no one would be able to tell if there were blood still on the blade. But Ahrom took care of this sword. As a way of remembering his late friend. After getting the blood off of his sword. Ahrom sheathed his blade and looked to the Hermit. Walking over calmly to him and kneeling down to assess his condition.

"Are you alright?" He asked the old Hermit. Having gotten this close to him. Ahrom wondered if the smell during the fight was from the thug Traskil alone or from him and the Hermit both.

The Hermit began to clap with a wide smile. Inspiring only confusion in Ahrom. "That was a grand display of noble virtue my friend! Truly a grand display!" The Hermit hopped from his place in the dirt and began to dance a very odd jig. Ahrom was nearly unable to move from the confusion of the man. And had begun to wonder if he had actually woken up at all.

"I was merely doing what any other child of the All-Father would do sir." Ahrom finally said. Wondering if he’d be able to respond to the mans next words on time. As well as wonder if he’d rise from off his knee.

"Are you saying that you’re a demi-god?" The Hermit asked as he hopped and then lowered to Ahroms level, suspended by the tips of his toes. Ahrom couldn’t decide which part of this to be dumb struck by. The seriousness of the question. Or the impish enthusiasm the Hermit suddenly became possessed by.

"No. Sir." Ahrom answered. Cautious in as uncertain a way as a man could when faced with a thing or a circumstance newly born from the realm of the undeniably insane.

"Oh..." The Hermit rose from the tips of his toes and to an upright stance. "Well then you’re going to have to say something else the next time you have the opportunity to make the same mistake. Take it from someone whose been there and done that. Don’t. Do. It." The Hermit said before smiling wide. The smile evaporated any sort of sense in the situation.

"Thank you for the advice sir. All-Fathers favor go with you." Ahrom said before he finally stood up from on top of his knee. He started walking towards Hakka before the Hermit had concluded smiling and remembered that Ahrom is there.

"Hold my friend! Might I know the name of my savior? This champion of Mans greatest qualities that now stands before me." The Hermit asked of Ahrom before he could even mount Hakka.

Ahrom inhaled silently. Still wondering if he had awoken at all this morning or if he was trapped in a dream. Finally he answered the Hermit "Ahrom. I’m a Paladin."

The Hermit suddenly became calm enough to form a conversation. "Ahrom? Isn’t that a Dwarvish name? Not a Human one?" He asked intelligently. A question Ahrom gets asked quite a bit.

"I was raised in an orphanage run by a Dwarf. He named me." Ahrom held a short silence. "He told me it meant Be Brave." Ahrom answered the Hermits question in full. Immediately taking his mind off of the memory of Dumak.

"Oh refreashing." the Hermit stated. "He’s now the one Dwarf in my memory that has not lied about what Dwarvish words mean." The Hermit complemented. "I can’t tell you how many times I have to correct Humans when they say words meant to be impressive, but boil down to simply be so embarrassing." It put a smile on Ahroms face. And a brief allowance of recollection of Dumak. He never once lied to Ahrom.

"And what do they call you sir?" Ahrom asked. Retaining the grin on his face.

"Who me?" The Hermit pointed to himself. "Oh I’m no one so special as you are my friend. But if you had to put a name on my forehead. They would call me Tyrenn of Esterval. But that doesn’t mean much to me." The Hermit answered.

"Esterval? You’re complexion and accent tell me that you’re Dekmirian." Ahrom noted.

"I said that I was of Esterval. Not that I stayed there." Tyrenn retorted with a wide smile. Ahrom conceded to him and smiled in return. "Are you traveling North by any chance? I had to wrest my walking stick from those fools. Only they wouldn’t relent to reason. But now that I have it, I had planned to wander northwards to Malicourt, or even the Bulgaard beyond that." Tyrenn asked with rambling additions.

"For now, I’m going as far as Maronsted." Ahrom answered.

"Maronsted is a fine spot. Not a large town at all. But rather, a town of good people. A rare place. Mind if I follow beside?" Tyrenn asked charmingly.

Ahrom thought on it for a moment. "I suppose. You could. So long as your only aggressor remains the one running west." Ahrom made eye contact with Tyrenn. Making a point that Ahrom wasn’t going to be an unwitting mercenary.

Tyrenn smiled before bursting out "Deal!" Tyrenn made a swift hop into the air and clicked his heels. "Wandering is always fun when in the company good hearts! And I can say with surety that yours is true as the hunters arrow." Tyrenn praised. As soon as Ahrom was atop Hakka, Tyrenn caught up to Ahroms side. "Mind if I hum a little as we go?" Tyrenn asked politely.

"A little?" Ahrom expressed concern for a difference in the understanding of the word.

"Oh nothing so dragged out as those impossibly pretentious ballads the Bards play. No, no. Something light and simple. I swear." Tyrenn reassured Ahrom.

Against his better judgment, Ahrom gave Tyrenn his lead with a nod. "As long as you don’t make me regret it."

"My new friend, I wouldn’t dream of it." Tyrenn swore with a smile before beginning his humming.

Tyrenn kept a smile on his face the whole time. It wasn’t a tune that Ahrom recognized. But at least the old Hermit didn’t lie. The tune wasn’t unpleasant. And Tyrenns calm, relieved tone gave the hum a tranquil feel to it. Ahrom couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard someone hum and was uplifted by it. A light grin soon adorned his face. With that, the road ahead seemed a great deal easier for Ahrom.