Near the edge of an alley stood four children. Laughter was in the air, but it wasn't of the pleasant variety. It held a mocking tone to it as some jests were thrown in amongst the laughter. Three of the children were laughing at their friend who had tears in his eyes. "Why are you all laughing!?" The mocked child cried. "They have been very helpful to us!" His bottom lip stuck out as he pouted. The leader of the trio spoke. He was a head taller than the other two and it made sense for them to naturally try to suck up to him. "A priest of the light? Why would you want to waste your time being one of them?" His two little followers hadn't stopped laughing as their leader talked down to their friend condescendingly. It was at this time that a deep voice disturbed the laughter and made all four of them jump. A hooded figure had stopped near them at the alleyway entrance. "It is not wise to laugh at the Light young ones." The taller child looked to the bearded newcomer. "It's nothing like that. We just..." But he was interrupted by the man. "To wrongly mock a servant of the Light is to mock the Light itself." He paused as he gazed at each of the children in turn. "Perhaps you feel this way because you think the town priest is old, wrinkly, and smells of old books?" The Storyteller smiled as he saw some of the children nodding. "Not all priests are like that. There are many professions that follow the Light." A chuckle escaped his lips as he continued. "In fact, faith can be a very powerful magic all of its own." Finding a barrel, the Storyteller sat on it. "This reminds me of a great friend of mine I lost many years ago. A paladin. His faith allowed him to do something that should have been impossible...." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Though he was getting on in years Sir Orrin was the grand paladin of the Order of the Lion. He was sent on a quest with a party of fellow adventurers to slay a great wyrm. An Elder dragon named Bryagh who had amassed himself an army of lesser dragons. It was truly a force that could topple nations. Their party was small but an elite unit that they believed could take down the dragons, because with the combined might of several nations had come together to create a magical artifact that would put all the dragons into an enchanted slumber that would allow them to finish off the dragons while they slept. When the party of five came near the mountain that Bryagh lived the air was thick with black clouds and descending dragons. It was then that a tall and slender elf, pulled a golden flute from his pack and placed it to his lips. The music that came from the flute began to soar out into the air. Higher and higher then should have been possible as the magic of the top enchanters of several nations worked together in unison to weave its magic and it seeped into all of the dragons. Many of them crashing down into the earth leaving craters, while others landed on dragons that had hit first. The party was cheering. While it was nerve wrecking to see so many dragons piled on the ground, the hard part of the job was finished. Or so they thought. A massive roar shook the ground as a black dragon with a red underbelly that was the size of a small mountain dive bombed them from a cloud he had been hiding within. Bryagh had made his appearance, and he had managed to resist the flute. His wrath at losing his army was vile. He crushed two of the party members before they could even react to his appearance. Sir Orrin barely had time to focus the Light into a shield for himself as the massive tail struck him and sent him flying into a tree. The large tree splintered and fell as the paladin skidded across the ground, struggling to catch his breath. Sir Orrin's remaining allies didn't sit idly as their leader was sent away. The archer was peppering the great wyrm with enchanted arrows, but most just bounced off its tough scales and were ignored. A quick snap of Bryagh's jaws left the party of three down to two. The orc warrior that had been sent was nothing but a pair of legs now. As Sir Orrin was finally able to stand, he noticed the archer flying through the air towards him. Her body had been ravaged by one of its great talons. "Noooooo!" He cried as he knelt by the corpse of the archer hugging her. "My darling..." He whispered, before rising up and pulling his blade from its scabbard. His first weapon, he had obtained after being chosen by the light all those years ago. He faced the dragon head on with a resolute expression and he began to pray out loud. "Blade with whom I have lived, Blade with whom I now die, Serve Right and Justice one last time, Seek one last heart of Evil, Still one last life of pain, Cut well old friend, and then, Farewell!" The black Wyrm laughed. A harsh bellowing sound that echoed for miles. "Praying?" Bryagh mocked. "Now die!!" He roared as a blue hot stream of fire drenched Sir Orrin. The force of the flames pushing the Grand Paladin back. It was mere seconds, but it felt like eternity as Sir Orrin withstood the ocean of flames and regripped his blade like a javelin and flung it with all his might. The white hot blade, on the verge of being turned into slag pierced Bryagh through the heart as it traveled through his body igniting the massive dragon within. His death throngs shook the earth and as the dust settled, their shockingly still stood Sir Orrin. Or rather. What was left. Molten armor with baked bones. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Maybe you three would rather be a paladin then a priest?" He raised his eyebrows as the trio was quiet. While their friend who wanted to be the priest smiled. "That was cool, but I still want to be a priest." The storyteller smiled and raised himself up ignoring his aching knees. Hopefully this would help mold the younger generation, the sacrifices of the old.