“If they are not back in two bells, go find them. As eager as those two are for their payment, Blacke and Fenco will find ways to get paid for doing the minimal necessary.â€
Roen frowned as she recalled Ser Tournes’ orders, her mind drifting as she continued down the southwestern road leading away from the Observatorium. Goldwind’s pace had slowed to a steady walk, both the rider and the bird having slowed somewhat through the night’s falling temperatures. Their group had taken to nightly patrols for the past few suns--a duty no one envied--for the Dravanian Horde did not favor sun or stars when it came to roaming the frozen lands. The paladin tugged her cloak tight as she continued to look about, the approaching dawn finally allowing her to set her lantern aside in favor of what her naked eyes could see. Her dark fur-lined armor--a suit of mail Idristan had helped her obtain from an armorsmith in Ishgard--warded her from the cold better than her old plate-mail had, and for that she was silently grateful to the Elezen. But the night did not do any favors to her stiffened limbs and she shifted in her seat to loosen them up again.
It had been many suns since the parcel had arrived at her doorstep. For two suns following the delivery, the paladin did not leave her room, nor had she said a word to anyone at all, isolating herself in the dark dingy quarters of the Forgotten Knight. It was on the third morning that Ser Tournes came knocking on her door, quietly but firmly giving her new orders for her next patrol route. There was no question or admonishment for her absence, only the expectation for her to resume her duties. And so Roen did.
The paladin realized that nothing had changed but the depth of her regret. The world still remained as it was, a dark violent place, and every part of her heart still ached. But diving back into her duties served as an adequate anesthetic, and trying to carry them out in the dark of night preoccupied her well enough. But much to her chagrin, Roen also come to realize then that Ser Tournes had often grouped her with Blacke and Fenco, a questionable pair of mercenaries. A part of her wondered if she was there to simply keep the other two honest. It did not go unnoticed whenever they would slink off on their own, only to mysteriously return with their bounty--some vague evidence of a dragon kill, usually in the form of piecemeal body parts.
The paladin suspected that the two self-proported “dragon hunters†were skirting their duties whenever possible, but she never cared enough to bring it up to Ser Tournes. Roen did notice the slight tug of displeasure on the Elezen knight’s features whenever the two returned from their assigned duties; she guessed he had already discerned their indolent natures. But Blacke and Fenco were still two willing sword arms, and those were oft in short supply; Ishgard always needed bodies to stand against the Dravanian Horde, so the two mercenaries were allowed to stay and continue to make their gil.
As Roen approached the southern borders of Coerthas, the hint of dawn had begun to silhouette the mountain peaks beyond. She could see the vague outline of trees in the far distance, as snow gradually began to give way to frosted dirt and dark greenery. She was nearing the outskirts of the North Shroud. Her eyes narrowed and she let out a long-suffering exhale into the cold air. It would be Blacke and Fenco who would seek out any excuse for milder climes during their border patrol. She half expected them to be sitting around a fire, waiting for the arrival of morning.
The scowl that was beginning to etch upon her face quickly turned to alarm, however, when she heard a distant yowl echo through the mountains. She knew Fenco's high pitched voice well enough to recognize the Lalafell's cry. Even as she spurred Goldwind onward into a full sprint, Roen heard that cry come to an abrupt end, and the deathly silence that soon fell warned her against charging in to a likely violent scene.
The paladin pulled on her reins and guided her mount behind a large boulder, sliding off her bird as quietly as possible. With one tug, her cloak was tossed over the saddle as she took up her shield and unsheathed her blade, flexing her fingers to awaken her muscles. The woods had become hushed once more, and Roen guessed that either Blacke and Fenco had been subdued or they were already dead.
I could run and get help. But she already knew she wouldn't go that route yet.
Roen approached an outcropping, sheltered by stony crags on all sides but one. It was a suitable and secure place for a camp, and also where she had heard the yell originate. There was only one possible approach, and no nearby higher ground to take a look at who or what was within. But as she carefully advanced toward it, she began to hear a pair of voices--a deep low rumble that was most certainly male, and a quieter, muted one belonging to a female.
Not beasts or monsters. The paladin frowned, but the tight grip on her sword did not loosen. Her eyes slowly narrowed. Perhaps these are the heretics Ser Tournes always spoke of. Or they could even bandits this far south. But now was not the time to be selective about choosing what battles to fight.
It did not matter if the enemies were monsters or men. If they were the source of the violence, her course was determined.
Her blade drawn and shield raised, Roen rounded the boulder.
Roen frowned as she recalled Ser Tournes’ orders, her mind drifting as she continued down the southwestern road leading away from the Observatorium. Goldwind’s pace had slowed to a steady walk, both the rider and the bird having slowed somewhat through the night’s falling temperatures. Their group had taken to nightly patrols for the past few suns--a duty no one envied--for the Dravanian Horde did not favor sun or stars when it came to roaming the frozen lands. The paladin tugged her cloak tight as she continued to look about, the approaching dawn finally allowing her to set her lantern aside in favor of what her naked eyes could see. Her dark fur-lined armor--a suit of mail Idristan had helped her obtain from an armorsmith in Ishgard--warded her from the cold better than her old plate-mail had, and for that she was silently grateful to the Elezen. But the night did not do any favors to her stiffened limbs and she shifted in her seat to loosen them up again.
It had been many suns since the parcel had arrived at her doorstep. For two suns following the delivery, the paladin did not leave her room, nor had she said a word to anyone at all, isolating herself in the dark dingy quarters of the Forgotten Knight. It was on the third morning that Ser Tournes came knocking on her door, quietly but firmly giving her new orders for her next patrol route. There was no question or admonishment for her absence, only the expectation for her to resume her duties. And so Roen did.
The paladin realized that nothing had changed but the depth of her regret. The world still remained as it was, a dark violent place, and every part of her heart still ached. But diving back into her duties served as an adequate anesthetic, and trying to carry them out in the dark of night preoccupied her well enough. But much to her chagrin, Roen also come to realize then that Ser Tournes had often grouped her with Blacke and Fenco, a questionable pair of mercenaries. A part of her wondered if she was there to simply keep the other two honest. It did not go unnoticed whenever they would slink off on their own, only to mysteriously return with their bounty--some vague evidence of a dragon kill, usually in the form of piecemeal body parts.
The paladin suspected that the two self-proported “dragon hunters†were skirting their duties whenever possible, but she never cared enough to bring it up to Ser Tournes. Roen did notice the slight tug of displeasure on the Elezen knight’s features whenever the two returned from their assigned duties; she guessed he had already discerned their indolent natures. But Blacke and Fenco were still two willing sword arms, and those were oft in short supply; Ishgard always needed bodies to stand against the Dravanian Horde, so the two mercenaries were allowed to stay and continue to make their gil.
As Roen approached the southern borders of Coerthas, the hint of dawn had begun to silhouette the mountain peaks beyond. She could see the vague outline of trees in the far distance, as snow gradually began to give way to frosted dirt and dark greenery. She was nearing the outskirts of the North Shroud. Her eyes narrowed and she let out a long-suffering exhale into the cold air. It would be Blacke and Fenco who would seek out any excuse for milder climes during their border patrol. She half expected them to be sitting around a fire, waiting for the arrival of morning.
The scowl that was beginning to etch upon her face quickly turned to alarm, however, when she heard a distant yowl echo through the mountains. She knew Fenco's high pitched voice well enough to recognize the Lalafell's cry. Even as she spurred Goldwind onward into a full sprint, Roen heard that cry come to an abrupt end, and the deathly silence that soon fell warned her against charging in to a likely violent scene.
The paladin pulled on her reins and guided her mount behind a large boulder, sliding off her bird as quietly as possible. With one tug, her cloak was tossed over the saddle as she took up her shield and unsheathed her blade, flexing her fingers to awaken her muscles. The woods had become hushed once more, and Roen guessed that either Blacke and Fenco had been subdued or they were already dead.
I could run and get help. But she already knew she wouldn't go that route yet.
Roen approached an outcropping, sheltered by stony crags on all sides but one. It was a suitable and secure place for a camp, and also where she had heard the yell originate. There was only one possible approach, and no nearby higher ground to take a look at who or what was within. But as she carefully advanced toward it, she began to hear a pair of voices--a deep low rumble that was most certainly male, and a quieter, muted one belonging to a female.
Not beasts or monsters. The paladin frowned, but the tight grip on her sword did not loosen. Her eyes slowly narrowed. Perhaps these are the heretics Ser Tournes always spoke of. Or they could even bandits this far south. But now was not the time to be selective about choosing what battles to fight.
It did not matter if the enemies were monsters or men. If they were the source of the violence, her course was determined.
Her blade drawn and shield raised, Roen rounded the boulder.
