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The Order of the Holy Blade
Grog was enjoying the day. It had been profitable. As far as Grog was concerned how good a day was could easily be measured by the weight of one's coin purse when you went to sleep.
The day shift for S?G had mostly vanished into their respective taverns and gambling halls, and the night shift was still waking up. Grog was blessedly alone, without those...Britannians anywhere near by.
He stood just outside the ring of light cast by the moongate of Buc's Den. Anyone coming through the gate would be fire blind and unable to see him for several moments, precious moments for a rogue.
A brief flash of light heralded an arrival. Grog's lip twitched in a small, and very quick-to-die smile. The figure who moved out of the light was abnormal for a Buc's Den resident.
A resident of Buc's Den would be armed. And this figure was. But there the similarities ended. Buc's Den citizens went mounted on ehteral horses, flesh and blood horses, or on foot. Llamas and Ostards were very rare. This individual rode a blue ostard that was anything but a war mount. A hat crafted from the head of a bear rested on the figure's head. Such adornment would provide no protection in battle, and such protection for the head was very necessary in a town with more black jacks than gold coins.
Another characteristic that set this individual apart was the curiously naive attitude. The figure rode directly up to Grog, something any Buc's Den resident would only do if paid more gold than they knew they'd lose in doing so. And then only if threatened with something unpleasant to boot.
"Grog, show your slimy face!" the figure didn't leave the circle of light, but obviously had been told of the rogue lord's habit of sitting near the gate.
Coward thought Grog.
"You called?" The rogue stepped into the light. This person posed no threat, unless he had an invisible dragon with him.
"You've been warned Grog,"
"That's nothing new." Grog cut in quickly. He was used to such "warnings." Someone angered over the loss of gold, property or life was very likely to hand out impotent threats like PAS handed out gold to cowardly trammelites. As if either was helpful.
The figure scowled. "I am Silwyth N'tenare, Paladin of..." The rest of the man's sentence was drowned out by Grog's laughter. The rogue nearly fell off his horse.
The man obstinantly continued his tirade.
"Your actions in Bucaneer's Den will not be tolerated."
Grog regained his balance and wiped tears off his cheeks. "A dark paladin, huh? How quaint, how naive, how amusing, how.."
The man's cheeks turned a lovely shade of red. "I am of a holy order, I..."
Grog had spent a long time perfecting his techniques of interruption and knew just when to start his own line of thought. "A holy dark paladin? Isn't that a contradiction in terms? C'mon, you're a supporter of chaos. You can admit it here, we're all family."
"SUPPORTER OF CHAOS? WHAT GAVE YOU THAT IDEA?" Silwyth's collar was showing definite signs of excess heat.
"Well, you oppose me, right?" The man nodded, stiffly. "And you don't like what I"m doing here, right?" Another nod. "So you're a supporter of chaos, what part is eluding you?"
The man seemed too stunned to speak. Grog was giggling inside and straining to keep from laughing again.
"My order will destroy all thieves! You included!"
"Oh, so that's it. A 'holy cleansing' type of thing. Well, hate to break it to you, but if take me out, you'll just be in a worse spot."
The man regained his composure. "We will destroy all scum in this town and establish guard posts here, regaining control of this island for the crown."
Grog lifted an eyebrow at the man. "Oh, I see. You chase the rogues off this island, and instead of having one cess pit in the world, the whole land is gonna be covered by an oh-so-attractive sheen of gunk. Brilliant, paladin. I see they're still using the same 'big and dumb' mold for you guys."
The other man huffed for a few minutes and Grog was vaguely worried that he might hyperventilate and fall off his horse. The rogue didn't particularly care if the man splattered his brains all over the stones (it wouldn't be a big mess), but he'd cultivated his image as a man of no-action far too long to have it messed up by a dillusional man found dead at his feet.
But the man didn't fall. He shouted one "You have been warned!" one more time and charged back through the gate, accompanied by another flash of light.
A moment later Raziel Avenal exited a nearby tavern, dragging a bedgraggled man in one hand. He threw the man against a tree, dazing him, picked up a good-sized rock, and casually beat the man to death. Dropping the corpse and the rock, he swaggered over to where Grog was still sitting, bemusedly staring at the gate.
Raziel stared with him for a moment before quipping, "You must be getting something out of this that I'm not."
Noticing him for the first time, the rogue sighed. "We've apparently got a new enemy, and I have no bleeding clue who. But he's nuts. One hundred percent, all unnatural nuts."
Raziel grinned. "Homicidally insane?"
Grog gave Raziel a look similar to the one he'd given the paladin. "No, he seemed pretty harmless."
Raziel looked crestfallen. "Dang. I never get to have any fun."
Run For it !
Stealth Outta Here
