Paladin

The horsemen charged forward. Their large numbers easily cleaving through any obstacle that stood in their way. The grass wilting under their feet.

Pale horses knew no fear as they galloped onwards, guided by their riders' lashes.

Finally, the horsemen were close enough for him to tell who or what they were.

For, only in song or passing experience one could hear about these ghosts of the battlefield. Yet here they were. As far as the eye could see.

Their pale skin shined on the warm sunny day. Their dark armor molded to their skin. Helmets seemingly protecting their faces from any stray arrow that someone brave enough would launch at them. For, they were death incarnate.

They charged through countless armies.

The ruined armies weren't conscripted peasants from the local towns and villages. But troops, men and women; molded for war.

These horsemen, equipped only with their swords, axes and halberds were able to cut all of them down. They tore through flesh and bone, mercilessly.

At one time or another someone would kill one of them. If they lived to tell the tale, they were hailed as heroes.

Everyone that knew of those stories wondered what it was like to be hailed as a hero. To live for eternity. Remembered by people.

Those that wanted to find out enlisted. Fighting years, decades even. Without seeing one. Many would crumble before their gaze. Those that remained rose to the challenge.

Woman's eyes were looking from her home, she spotted a silhouette of a man running across the castle walls, as he aimed his mace at his fallen comrades. The stout man ran all day from one wall to the other. Stopping occasionally to catch his breath.

The man's brow was dripping with sweat. His heavy helmet partially obscuring his vision. He breathed hard. Watching the somber scene playing before him.

He was almost out of mana. Potions and flasks lay empty beneath his feet. Clenching his hammer and holy shield; he prepared the holy incantation. He casted, but as soon as he did the last of his brethren had died. Cut by the cursed blade. His blood spraying the wretched knight. As soon as their body hit the floor, ghouls swarmed them from all sides, dragging them into the oncoming darkness.

Other people lay defeated. Their wounds or fear paralyzing them to the spot. Their weapons lied useless on the floor.

He was now alone.

The horsemen breached the gates.

As soon as the gates smashed to the ground the dark horde ran inside. Howling and screaming as they advanced. Their meals trapped inside. They would start massacring the town folk. Women, children and the elderly. Those that couldn't carry a blade were left behind to pray.

He prayed he had more time.

One last option had left.

He would have to sacrifice himself. Detonate a holy bomb in their midst and destroy anything with a dark heart.

Tristan's arm shivered. His battle ridden mace clanking against his beautiful mithril armor.

All of his teaching's aside, this was the last resort.

The sun was burning bright. The birds were flying high. Fresh smell of trees carried by the breeze.

Watching the beautiful blue sky, he wondered what led him here. He gave everything for his King and country. For his brethren.

Now he would die for his people. Tristan felt everything he did was righteous. In the name of all that is holy.

Now it was time. A time for a righteous death.

The dark horde started to cleave the citizens caught in their path. Blood and guts showering the pavement beneath.

He bit his lip in frustration. Fear was still within him.

He jumped down without thinking. As he dropped down his fear was amplified tenfold. Tristan aimed his jump right in the middle of their numbers. Still advancing through the gates. His heavy boots echoing all around.

A young girl's horrid sword wound slowly healing as he showered her with his healing power. Her mother's eyes crying gratefully.

He smashed his heavy mace on top of the mithril shield, the sound echoing all around him, "I am Tristan Menas the Third. I am Holy Paladin of the Third Order. By everything that is Sacred and Righteous I vanquish all of you to the dark depths from where you came. Evil be Purged."

He felt he power was welling from within. He had to condense it faster, harder; make it into a ball before its release or its power would be useless.

The power resonated with every holy user that found themselves at that time on the Eastern Continent.

He pushed more power into the unstable ball. Trying to maximize its potential.

Suddenly as if without warning the ball detonated. Soundlessly it traveled across the city. Then the landscape. The few remaining soldiers on the walls watched as the bright light showered them. Healing their horrid wounds.

Several people who knew about its power, were quick and removed any arrow or stray axe from their wounded brothers. After, their wounds healed quickly.

The light grew stronger and stronger. Swallowing anything in its path. Warm bright light showered anyone who could see the city on the horizon. Devouring any dark creature that found themselves in its path.

The weaker dark troops slowly burning as if the light's power was too hot.

For the people in the city, those that had good in their heart, had experienced something.

Everyone left their homes, meekly looking from where the strange bright light was coming. They saw a small stout man standing in the middle of the road, surrounded by horde of burning wailing creatures. Their horrid screams chilling them to the bone.

Finally, the light started to be too much to look at.

It was as if they were watching the sun. The man was consumed by the light, his silhouette disappearing behind bright veil of light.

People felt their fear disappear.

Soldiers were renewed.

Courage flowing through their extremities.

They grabbed their swords. Those that fell, rose to their feet, wore their steel helmets again and roared into the wind.

As if carried by something invisible the people that were adamantly protecting the town, women and teenagers included, suddenly were no longer deathly afraid of the oncoming horde.

Everyone dropped down the walls and formed around the glowing Paladin. Their eyes refusing to look at the bright light emanating from his body.

The horde that had survived, watched confused as the defeated people renewed their courage and started to push them back.

Several of the Horde's assassins were still around. Waiting in the dark crevices around the city. They made sure they were unseen, unheard until they were needed.

"KILL," a whisper echoed in the their minds.

Above the large tavern's sign a ghoul dropped down to all fours. He watched the odd scene play out. His being was emotionless while the rest of the horde harbored fear at the scene before them.

The Ghoul was emotionless, carnivorous cannibal that devoured fallen warriors. An opportune survivor that specialized in assassination. Its claws, deadly tools of destruction.

He smelled fear. Slowly it stalked a lone warrior on the outskirts of the large group. Everyone was strong, virile, but this person was weak. The creature could taste their fear. Smell them as they shivered in the wind.

"KILL," the whisper repeated again in the hordes minds.

It was too much for the ghoul's empty mind.

It lunged. His claws spread bare. Poison dripping from them as it raked at their armor.

Its maw opened wide. Teeth unbelievably sharp. Tools that tore through flesh and bone. The creature immediately started to drool, preparing for the incoming feast of flesh. Saliva rich with flesh eating bacteria.

Before his arms could grasp his prey, an arrow embedded deep in its skull. Then two. Then six more. The ghoul's body finally burning with unseen magic spell.

The men in battle stance watched as the sudden attack was abruptly snuffed out. The woman that was about to get mauled to death turned her head and saw a hunter's shaky hands, clutching his bow.

She nodded her gratitude.

The hunter already strung another arrow, pointed at the howling enemy force.

A shaky voice finally said, "We might die here. However, we will die as brave men and women. Glory to our King. Glory to our fallen heroes. Glory to our people."

The group yelled as one. Charging at the pale horsemen.

The horde looked in confusion at the small band of heroes charging their immense numbers. Their courage seemed to be carried by the glowing light.

As the brave band approached the horde everything stopped.

Soundlessly the horde started breaking down.

The brave band finally started to pick up sound.

Horrific wails of agony filled the sky. Horde's corpses finally turning to dust, carried by the wind.

The Paladin finally stopped emitting the light.

He was breathing hard. His brow furrowing. He felt his end was near. Imminent.

He watched at the advancing party of brave souls that charged the immense horde ranks. His heart grew warmer. There was still good. These people needed to be reminded of that.

He could finally let go.

He felt strange. Calm. Even at the precipice of his death. Tristan felt his mission was complete. His soul at peace.

He smiled.

Tiny arms wrapped around his leg, "Thank you mister." An even smaller voice echoed beneath him.

His smile grew wider.

The girl he spotted lying in the nearby ditch, her mom was crying on top of her dying body. Tristan had just enough time and mana to cast a heal at a critical time. Many died. However, he hoped his bravery and sacrifice could save at least one.

He knelt down, his armor was growing heavier. Tristan was eye to eye with this small child. Her mother quickly coming near, her arms hugging, bracing the child. Protecting her.

He was out of words to say, in his heart he knew true heroes had inspiring lines to give to those they rescued. However, he never was one for talking.

"You're welcome." He tiredly said.

Tristan arm felt as not his own. Tired, heavy and shaking.

He coated it with holy light before placing it on top of the small girl's head. The last bits of his mana gone. He smiled. The light quickly absorbed by the small child, the woman and one other. A spark of life.

The girl's eyes went wide.

Her mother felt strange. The woman could feel the Paladin's bravery, kind nature, and something else. Undying love for all people. Good or bad.

"For, everyone has some good in them. True evil cares not about others. True evil vanquishes good. Rejects redemption. Fears it. Almost to the point of being destroyed." His thoughts escaped through their contact. Thoughts that he was told by his master.

He carried them in his heart. Always faithfully trying to do the right thing. No matter who he encountered, good or bad. He was always trying to be righteous to all.

"My end is near," the paladin whispered.

The girl's eyes suddenly misted, "You can't go. I just met you."

Tristan smiled at the sincerity of the girl's emotions, "Be happy my young friend, because we met. Carry me inside your thoughts, and remember me from time to time. This old man would be happy if you did."

The girl's voice suddenly broke, "Are we really friends?" she cried.

"Of course. You were good to me. Was I good to you?"

The young child nodded repeatedly.

"See. I'd be a fool to not call you my friend." The Paladin started to slowly rise to his feet.

The small stature of the man grew larger in the eyes of those who observed.

Tristan rose to his feet and watched the broken gates. The scene through the broken doors somber, yet even the sight of wailing monsters somehow brought him peace.

The young child suddenly by his side, grasping his hand. He looked down, her tiny hand feeling light in his callused palm.

"What are you doing, mister?" The child asked innocently.

The man smiled, "I'm not sure my young friend."

He felt his end coming, "Will you promise me something?" He slowly said, gasping for air.

The child nodded.

Paladin smiled, "Be good" he felt the words losing its strength.

His voice no longer able to produce any noise. He swallowed again and again, trying to get his voice back. He still had more to say to this young mind. So much good things needed to be done.

Then he noticed, heroes that surrounded him were now lining up in front kneeling.

Observers saw the man slowly turn to stone. First his legs, then his torso, weapon and shield and finally his head. The tear that refused to get turned into stone flew away into the wind.

The statue had the most serene smile on its face. The stoic Paladin was surrounded by the people he loved the most. Every man woman and child that received his blessed healing were in front of his statue bowing their heads in gratitude. The people crying for their fallen soldier. Mixed emotions were on everyone's face.

The Paladin died.

However, he lived on in people's hearts and minds. Their stories, brave tales of his exploits. And silly pranks his friends would play on him while he was still alive.

Every now and again people gathered, drank one of his favorite brews, and smiled. Remembering how much good the Paladin brought to them and their loved ones.

The city and its people, their ancestors never forgetting the brave gesture the old Paladin had done keeping everyone safe.