The Story of Arthur Havengard - Paladin of Talathas & Member of The Divine Order.
Arthur awoke with a start, drenched in sweat caused by the same recurring nightmare he had suffered with for the past fifteen years. Night after night, always reliving the day he found his sister, holding her in his arms while she lived her final moments. He vividly recalled the terror in her eyes as he fought back his own panic and tried to comfort her, but nothing he could say or do was of any use. Her windpipe had been brutally crushed and all he could do was stroke her hair, until the spark in her bright green eyes dimmed forever.
Getting up from his bedroll, he wiped his face with his hands and tried to clear the memories. Despite his efforts the final one of him standing at her grave...the one he dug himself with his helmet and his own hands, still bubbled up to the surface to drive a final pang of grief into his heart. It was this exact moment as he looked down at the wooden cross he had crudely made that he offered himself to any of the gods listening that would help him. To his surprise, one of the gods answered that day. As he reached his horse and began to feed and water his horse, his mind wandered back to the day that forever changed him.
Strength of will flooded into his spirit. A white-hot rage for Justice shielded him from his overwhelming grief and gave him undeniable purpose. That same day he began his quest for retribution and devoted himself as a Paladin of Talathas. Everything has a cost, however, and he knew these dreams were the divine reminder of the pact he had made. Two years after his hard training began, he had been finally able to track down and face the bandit party that murdered his sister. As he approached the small rudimentary camp, he found them sleeping. Not even a man on watch to alert them of his presence. With disgust he picked up a half empty ale bottle and threw it into the embers of the fire, causing flames to burst up as he roared at them. He stood in the center of that camp and waited, dispatching each man as they charged him until all but one remained.
He thought that this would be the end of the ordeal as he held the thug by the throat. He asked the man if this was the entire party from that fateful day two years ago and narrowed his eyes at the man's response. He left the man's corpse with the rest for the crows to eat as he walked back to his horse. Apparently there had been a sentry, and that man fled at the first sight of him without warning the others. There was still more work to be done.
Arthur had come close to his vengeance on several occassions. Each time it seemed he was close, the man would either hear about Arthur inquiring of him or flee his challenge of honorable combat. Always luck had seemed to be on the other man's side and manage to narrowly escape the area alive. His code of honor did not allow him to simply murder the man in cold blood, nor would it be enough to satisfy his need for justice.
After years of relentless pursuit, vengeance was finally within his grasp. He had travelled far and wide to ascertain the whereabouts of who was responsible. He now had the name and location of his quarry. The murderous bastard had fled by ship and sailed around the continent, until finally joining up with the Consortium. As years went by he ascended their ranks and was now commanding a fortification that lay burrowed into a mountain.
Now armed with this information, preparations could be made. There would be nowhere to run. All that was left was to see it through. Unfortunately, during his time away from Darmshall to discover this information, things had changed. The Divine Order had fractured, with most members now flocking north to Edana to pursue other aspirations, and the rest of the remaining Order members nowhere to be found. Perhaps he could have asked the Shield for assistance, but Arthur was against the idea based on his own morals.
With time passing, and the risk of missing his opportunity only growing, he felt the only option was to face this alone. He prepared his weapons; a shield, sword and his warhammer, and he rode off to the lair the bastard was hiding in. He camped a short distance away that final night. He wrote in a small journal he brought by candlelight and did his best to explain his actions. He tucked the journal into his saddlebag and left his horse untethered at the camp. He then began the short walk as the sun rose to the fortress, now filled with the villainous Consortium. It would not be easy to make his way through their ranks, and subtleness was not a skill he could claim.
Upon arrival at the gates, he stopped. He removed his helmet and bowed his head for one final prayer. In the quiet dawn with the wind softly billowing out his cloak he thought of his sister, how the life was stolen from her in those final moments. As the familiar white-hot rage filled him, he set his jaw and stood. Placing his helmet atop his head he strode to the door, strapped on his shield and drew his sword. The day of reckoning was at hand.
Without hesitation, he moved in and left carnage in his wake through the fortress and into the lower levels. He spoke no words, any who stood in his way were met with steel and cold fury until he found the man he was searching for. He was sitting atop a wooden high-backed throne, well protected with a detail of bodyguards but it did not matter to Arthur at this point. He methodically dispatched one after the other, luring them down narrow corridors so they could not surround him. The two remaining bodyguards threw themselves at Arthur with everything they had. Arthur was pushed back several steps to the wall where he held his ground as best he could, keeping his battleshield raised as blow after blow rang out against it. He raised his longsword and stabbed it through the notch in his shield, weathering their storm until he was able to dispatch the two bodyguards. Upon seeing his comrades fall, the older man grew frantic and battered Arthur's shield with enough force to break it apart. Tossing aside the ruined shield, Arthur gripped his sword in both hands and attempted to parry the next incoming blow. The sheer force of the weapons clashing shattered Arthur's blade midway to the hilt and both men staggered. Before his enemy could prepare a killing blow, Arthur sidestepped and drove his broken blade into the gap of his enemy's armor where his helmet met his gorget.
The big man held his neck as a trickle of blood slowly crept over his fingers. He smiled at Arthur as the gorget had deflected enough of it from being a fatal blow and called out for reinforcements. Arthur unslung the great warhammer over his shoulder and stood near the doorway to the great hall and watched several more of the elite armored consortium guards approached. It was this moment he was acutely aware that he had a choice to make. With resolve, he removed his helm that narrowed his vision and tossed it aside. With satisfaction he saw the man's expression darken as recognition lit up in his eyes. Without further delay, Arthur let his divine powers flow over him, and with a roar met the oncoming reinforcements with renewed vigor. In the back of his mind, he knew he only had enough strength to keep these divine powers activated for a short time. Rather than use it as a chance to escape, he decided to make this his final stand.
The battle lasted but a few moments, much of it a blur to Arthur until he became aware of the sound of his rasping breaths. His senses had clouded over in a white fog in the heat of battle and as it slowly returned, noted the dead bodies of the reinforcements in his peripheral vision. Their skulls clearly crushed by his warhammer. He then saw the object of his fury, sitting several feet away, clutching his broken ribs from a crushing blow. Arthur walked forward, dropping his warhammer and grabbing the man by the throat in his gauntleted hand and started to squeeze. In his final moment, the broken murderer saw nothing but the fury blazing in Arthur's eyes as he spoke four solemn words that echoed around the chamber. "This is for Sarah"
Letting the lifeless corpse drop from his hand, Arthur straightened. He tried to wipe his face with his shield arm and winced at a growing pain in his side. He looked down to see his battered mithril armor, now stained with both his blood and the blood of those fallen before him. It was then he noticed the hilt of the dagger sticking out from the side of his chestpeice. The blade had punctured through the metal plates, between his ribs and into his left lung in a mortal strike. He was not sure when it happened, nor did it matter much at that moment. He slowly pressed his back against the bloodstained wall and lowered himself. He did not bother trying remove the dagger, and his divine power was spent. So, he simply sat there, holding onto his warhammer and closed his eyes to recover his stamina.
In his mind, he pictured Sarah, her exuberance and how she laughed with wild abandon. His head slumped forward slightly, and his hand slowly slipped from the warhammer as he continued to picture what his sister might look like now, all these years later, and what sort of life she would have lived.
Sometime later, when his horse and the journal discovered, he was found in that same position.
It was said he looked at peace.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mknLaFJZ4v4
“If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.”
~ Niccolo Machiavelli