Dame Paynifier Ahalin

The Blackguards of Deepwatch I

A gentle breeze lifted the fetid scent of death and mold into the air.  On the breeze sung the clangs and shouts of a skirmish taking place on the rocky forest floor below.  The underbrush seemed limp and scant, and the leaf litter thick, presenting a dull backdrop to the trio of brightly armored knights cutting methodically through the ranks of a mob of rotten skeletons and ghoul-like shamblers.  Light flashed from their warhammers and their bright white and rose tabards presented a bold contrast to the dim haze of the dingy forest.

“There they are; we found them.”  A warm and rich woman’s voice declared, relief evident.

“Hold, Sister, wait.  Don’t engage yet.” A man’s eager voice commanded, with perhaps an inappropriate touch of glee to it.

The woman’s dissatisfied grunt marked her assent to the hastily given command.  These two knights were above the battle on a precarious path along the rising stone strewn hills to the east of the basin below.  Rotten wood of fallen trees laying amongst the boulders gave them cover to watch the skirmish below. Clad in black, they slunk naturally into the sickly yellow-grey shadows, and dark rotten wood.

“We have to wait for the caster to break off first.”  The man explained to his female counterpart in the slightly pained note of someone who had repeated this before.  Frequently. A grim grunt and the quiet slide of her sword being drawn from its scabbard was the only answer the woman offered.  The dark cloaked dame stayed put aside from that, watching the battle below unfold with narrowed, alert, brown eyes.

The three knights in white were faring well enough against the small undead mob.  Bright hammers and Light stunning and crushing in a regular cadence as the trio focused their attacks where weakness was evident.  The only notable difficulty was a skeleton clad in a tattered robe, and wearing a circlet with a glowing gem on its bone bare brow.  It carefully kept itself behind the wall of the lesser skeletons and ghouls, and seemed to bedevil the knights by freely casting painful looking bolts of a purple-green energy, and uttering curses that prevented what should have been sure hits from scoring solidly on the ghouls.

The middle knight of the trio seemed aglow in a holy fervor and aura, working to undo the damage the skeletal mage caused.  The other two focused mightily on breaking past the wall of undead, but their attempts to flank or slip past to the skeleton mage were stymied.  Till now, as suddenly one of the great war hammers of the knights swished dangerously close to the mage. Its empty eye sockets glowed as it shrieked curses in a horrible tongue. The remaining crew of undead all of a sudden took on a more desperate and dangerous fervor, closing around the trio of white and rose knights with horrible shrieks.  Meanwhile, out of reach and cloaked in a green mist, the mage fled back away from the fight and to the cover of a stand of dark trees.

“Now?”  Queried the impatient woman’s voice to her fellow in black on the hillside.

“Now!”  The other black knight eagerly agreed and commanded at once.  With a wordless shout the woman lept from the wood and stone cover, out of the rot, and charged down the precarious hillside to the battle.  Sword and shield out, the rattle of metal and rock as she descended heralded her entry into the fray. Her companion was close behind, but was slower and more careful in his descent.

The sudden movement and racket diverted everyone in the skirmish for a moment.  Knights and ghouls alike started in confusion at the dark pair of knights advancing down the hill to them. The dark woman’s shield depicted a setting orange sun on the black painted face, and behind her, the man bellowed, “By the grace of the Light and might of the Silver Hand!”  His hammer held high, and aglow, this battlecry seemed to answer the pressing question of to which side these incoming fighters belonged. The loud crack of the woman’s shield as it smashed in the face of one of the gawking skeletons punctuated the declaration.

Expressions of relief turned to gleeful grins on the younger pair of knights in white and rose, as their warhammers now found the unguarded flanks of undead that had eagerly turned to face the new, more interesting threat.  Then, nearly as quickly as the pair in black had entered the fray, it was done. With the flashes of light, the powder of pulverized bone wafting in the air, the undead remains burning in the dying Light of holy zeal made manifest.  Quickly the original trio of white knights turned to the direction the skeletal magic user had fled.

“The skeleton wizard,” said the older knight of the three, breathless, “is still out there.”

“No, wait, Brother Valis!”  Called out the black clad man.

All eyes went to the speaker.  The dark knight was not young, but had a spry energy about him. He was tall, swarthy, with an aged face might have been handsome in years before war and time had had its way with it.  His muttonchop mustaches were the sort that always were ludicrous, even when in fashion, had gone gray, further attesting to his age.  He spoke with good natured enthusiasm and energy, matching his shining blue eyes. “No, please wait, Brothers. Let it finish its ritual first.”  The request was spoken with such bright enthusiasm that it clearly seemed ignorant of how out of place and utterly insane it sounded.

“What?!”  Answered the older paladin in white and rose, whose age likely matched the dark clad mustachioed speaker.  Sir Valis was of similar height, but broader, and his greying beard was the simple close cropped sort. He turned and advanced on the black knight, asking with carefully checked anger, “Sir Caenarfon, have you finally gone completely mad?”

The other two young knights simply stared at Caenarfon as though it was so.  Eyes darting with undecided anxiety and confusion from him, to where the mage went, to their commander, and to the woman knight who stood calmly beside the mad knight.  For her part, the dark dame wore the pained expression that a youth might express when their parent or guardian has said something horribly embarrassing. She tried to kill it, and look as stoically serious as possible, and indeed, the tall, dark, woman with thin features did manage a severe expression quite naturally.

“No, I think that the ritual is to call reinforcements, or maybe raise more undead?  I’m not completely sure at this time, but I do want to see if it calls for enough to overpower the three of you, or if it is aware that Sister Paynifier and I are here now and calls enough for five.” Explained Sir Caenarfon Corwen, a paladin too enraptured in the moment’s science to notice or care about the slight to his sanity.

It took a moment for Valis to digest the cheerfully presented experiment, but, with a swallow, he managed to calmly, but bitterly answer, “I should have known that Baron Vonthros’ favored knights would not have come without a price.”

If the shot burned the dark pair, it was because they were indubitably the least loved of their Baron’s Knights, the Blackguards of Deepwatch, and infamously known for this amongst their brethren.  They had a service history of being sent to the most hellish war zones as far away from the Baron’s lands and home of Deepwatch as possible. Sir Valis Brokwald’s understanding was that the Baron found Sir Caenarfon Corwen infuriating, which was entirely understandable from his own interactions with the fellow paladin.  As for Dame Paynifier Ahalin, a known bastard of the Baron’s late son, she was a grating reminder of an incredible litany of sins that his heir had racked up before being murdered at sea. Keeping her out of the way of the legitimate scions of the family was simply prudent.

Like a sort of queer joke, these two stygian paladins ironically represented a household known for excess and insanity, and really were best avoided for that simple fact.  They did manage to be congenial and competent, most of the time, and the Silver Hand never had much in the way of complaint about their service. Excepting the general rumbles and rumors that occur when a woman of war serves alongside men; the sorts of things paladins like to claim they are above, of course.

Valis’ sharp words said, Paynifier took to pointedly looking away from the group, off into the direction the skeletal mage went.  Poor Caenarfon, for his part, did now look slightly deflated, realizing that no one shared his appreciation or enthusiasm for the experiment at hand.  Before he could speak up to attempt to defend his case, the dame broke into the uncomfortable exchange, reporting with a clinical coolness to her otherwise warm voice, “The mage is done with the ritual; may we destroy it now, Sir?”

“Yes, of course, Sister Paynifier!”  Caenarfon eagerly replied, cheerfully grabbing at the opening she provided to establish control of the situation.

With that, the dark woman looked to the two younger paladins, and grinned gamely, cocking her head towards the mages’ position behind the stand of dark trees, “Brothers, care to lend a hammer?”

Eager to be away from the smoldering Valis and back to smashing evil things, the pair of young knights took off with the older dame toward the shaded stand where the skeletal wizard had enacted its dark ritual.  The trio quickly surrounded the mage in its sheltered spot, and warhammers ablaze with Light, made short work of it. Before any evil curse could land, the undead magic user was stunned and turned to ash faster than any tension between Valis and Caenarfon could be resolved.  Upon returning it was clearly heard that Sir Valis had his complaints about Sir Caenarfon bringing “an undead horde down upon them all.”

“But you would not have even had the opportunity to stop the mage if we had not arrived, Brother!” Caenarfon protested, presenting just the sort of logical observation that no one wants to hear.  The mustachioed, scholarly, knight then proceeded belabor the point to his angered brother paladin, “It had clearly gotten away from you and started its ritual.”

Valis was turning reder moment by moment that passed as he argued with Caenarfon, exclaiming with exasperation, “You just watched it get away?!”

“Sir Valis,” Dame Paynifier’s calm voice broke in, warm, but firm, as she returned to the scene with the two young knights in white.  “Sir Valis,” she repeated, when the enraged knight's attention on Caenarfon broke to her, she spoke to him, “I am sorry for the trouble and danger Sir Caenarfon and I may have brought upon you and our brothers.”  There was a quiet pause, and she continued, “We have been hoping to corner a Scourge mage for such an experiment, but failed to find one in any of our patrols this week, till we came upon you and yours. It was imprudent of us to involve you in this experiment without your knowledge or consent.”

“Yes.”  Valis agreed, stiffly collecting himself.

“You are no doubt weary from your long patrol and battle, and perhaps injured,”  Paynifier continued with a gentle calm, and a friendly expression upon her face, “If your patrol wishes to return to camp, Sir Caenarfon and I will cover your retreat.  I do bid you be about it quickly; however, for if he is correct, the undead reinforcements will be upon us soon.”

Caenarfon looked for the moment suitably chastised, and quietly admitted, “Sister Paynifier is correct.  I am sorry, Brother Valis.”

No one was injured, of course, they were paladins all.  Where Valis’ own skill at healing might not of sufficed, it was impossible to ignore the very real warming aura of Light that seemed to have arrived with Caenarfon’s enthusiasm.  This bastard dame had a reputation towards cunning; perhaps it was her family history, or the fact she was woman, and though she offered an out to Valis, to take it would be cowardness.  It was hard to believe the offer was honestly given, though the pair of black knights looked entirely earnest for their part.

Sir Valis stood silently composing himself while studying the tall, dark woman before him.  It was hard to gauge her age, which in itself suggested it was somewhere in her thirties, and the exact amount would have been rude to ask.  She had come to the Silver Hand as Caenarfon’s squire back when the Order was young, close to fifteen years ago. Slim and strong, she was knighted herself now, though had little fame for piety or wielding the Light.  She was, however, steadfast and skilled in fighting, and stood, looking back to him, calmly awaiting his answer, supremely confident in her own ability.

“You intend to hold off a horde of undead reinforcements intended to kill the three of us and possibly yourselves as well?”  Valis asked of the dark eyed dame, his own hazel eyes narrowed.

“Aye, Sir.”  Was the dark skinned dame’s reply, head tilting upwards in certainty and pride. After a beat, a game grin crept upon her face, and she admitted, “Though, if you could spare Brother Owen or Bromley, their help would be welcome.”

It would be clear without having to spare a glance to the younger pair of knights in white and rose that they hoped to be a part of the oncoming fight.  Barely into their twenties, and possessing the breeding and builds of youths straight from their fathers’ farms, the young men had been just recently knighted into the Silver Hand.  They both looked on at the dame with bright eyes and unveiled interest.

Valis shook his head slightly and responded to Paynifier, “No, we will all stay and aid in this folly of an experiment.”

“Thank you, Sir.”  Paynifier’s face offered a last kindly smile before turning to something grim, and her dark eyes attentively peered out into the woods to the northwest.

“Thank you, Brother Valis.  You will see, it is important that we learn about how the Scourge’s undead operate and communicate.  It really is no different than intelligence work for any…” Caenarfon would have lectured on heedlessly were it not for sharp gesture from his partner silencing him.  Almost. “Do you sense something, Sister?” He asked, probably not quietly enough. Tracking the woman’s gaze, he cocked his head slightly, and focused off in that direction.  His fingers could be seen counting, though no sign of anything could be seen through the trees.

Huffing through his ample mustache, Caenarfon quietly noted, sounding vaguely put out, “Well, that’s not nearly enough at all.”