(Art source unknown)
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 7
The muscles of magic
Early morn and a soft chant whispered its goodness throughout the temple of Mara. Those who heard it felt emboldened to meet this bright new day with their everything. Many a Temple warrior, including a number of heavily injured civilians, woke up in their beds at the hospital wing. They, no matter their faith, shared a few moments of polite prayer to Mother Mara.
Keryln was not among the bedridden, yet he felt just as tired nonetheless.
Following that horrid incident, the full measure of which was yet to be investigated, Joel ordered his son to the hospital. Magical burns tended by one of the Paladins Hospitalier, the youth’s curiosity was yet to be satisfied. Even the headmistress of Temple doctors, the venerable matron Clarissa, knew not exactly what had transpired that day, only that if not for Dalen and Keryln’s selfless involvement, hundreds more would’ve perished.
“Psst, hey... hey you.” – Aeriale whispered as she tiptoed around the beds full of resting people – “Young sir paladin, might I interest you in a hearty breakfast?”
The youth graced her with a calm smirk and slipped out of his bed, carrying the wooden shoes in hand. It was way to early to be clacking and clinking around and so he followed his giggling friend, quietly snickering himself, one hand on his moth.
“Paladin, eh?” – said Keryln and nudged Aeriale – “My, how have you grown, young Matron! How soon will ye be taking over Temple’s mess hall?!”
The two made sure to politely bow their heads to the Chief Paladin Hospitalier leading the early shift of paladins. They had just finished their morning prayers and one of them hushed the youths, as they walked through the main hospital doors. There was the statue of four men carrying wounded women on stretchers and it was perhaps one of the most beautifully carved compositions which Keryln had ever seen.
It was beyond ancient and not even the head priests could say who created this masterpiece. Legend, because there was one prevailing story every Marrite at the Temple knew, told that this piece was one surviving many a ruined hospital. Following yet another devastation upon olden Krart, upon searching throughout the debris, priests and paladins of Mara always found the statue... unscathed.
Keryln looked aback for but a few seconds before Aeriale tugged his sleeve. The sculptor somehow managed to convey all the fatigue and the pain of not being able to help, upon the faces of these paladins. Their suits of armor covered in deep dints and even cuts which bent plates and tore chainmail and gambesons underneath. One could actually see that, just like he did when Joel showed him the statue for the first time.
Yet not the marvelous beyond comparison quality of clothing, armor, weapons, or facial expressions was of greatest note. No, it was the Paladins’ tears and having witnessed firsthand a near death birth intervention by a Marrite doula, Keryln now knew why these made the greatest impression on him as a young orphan boy.
It was the blood of the willing. The incalculable layers of torturous hurt which they’d spared mothers, so they and their offspring could live. No longer a boy, Keryln fully understood that pain was the duty of men, for only they could truly suffer it all.
Aeriale, as if capable of reading thoughts from but a single look in his eyes, gave him a shining smile. She fixed her long braid since it had almost a mind of its own and attempted to slip from its place around the girl’s neck. Sparkles shooting, her crystal-gray eyes darted between her friend and one of the kitchen’s inner doors.
“Quick, sir paladin, for thine breakfast shall lose its happy steam!” – giggled she and swiftly ushered him through said door, patting her white apron as she did.
Once inside, the youth was seated at a smallish table, one which only those who staffed the kitchen ate at. Old granny was nowhere to be seen though Keryln noticed two of her eldest apprentices who had things fully under control. Aeriale gave him her own chair and proceeded to shove an old, but polished set of cutlery so he could start eating.
Indeed, just as she said earlier, the plate before him welcomed the youth with a whiff of happy steam. Four eggs sunny side up instead of two, a thick slice of bacon, and half-a-loaf of buttered rye bread combined their aromatic force into a mighty fist which punched Keryln straight in the belly. Mouth watering, he noticed Aeriale was somehow able to produce a piece of horse sausage, his favorite, and forked it.
“Aish made eht.” – babbled a tiny halfling girl sitting nearby, who pointed the sausage with her tiny finger.
“Mistress of Charcuterie extraordinaire!” – said he and nodded at the smiling girl, who became all red in the face when he ate a piece of her creation, mumbling – “Umph... this is so delicious!”
There was a piece of cake in her plate and Keryln understood how his friend was able to serve him such a lavish breakfast. She’d baked one of her amazing cakes and exchanged it for extra eggs, herb butter, horse sausage, and bacon. He gave Aeriale a thankful smile, and following an audible belly rumble, attacked his food with the fury of a thousand Paladins.
While he ate, Aeriale helped the younger kitchen staff, serving those who hopped in the emptied chairs portions of freshly cooked eggs, bacon, and slices of bread. There were bubbling bowls of tea which everyone scooped from with their copper cups. Keryln too reached but forgot he was no longer part of the kitchen and had no cup of his own. Aeriale gave him hers and when he drank his full, picked up the empty plate.
“Blothew is safing new babie todaey?” – asked the small cook in training when Keryln stood from his chair and checked if the dagger could easily unsheathe, now by trained habit.
It cost the youth much, but he was able to return the halfling’s smile, patted her head, assuring her – “Yes, brother will do what needs to be done.”
Keryln’s old self would’ve shed a tear when he left the kitchen, Aeriale in tow.
He slipped his feet in the wooden shoes and noticed that his friend stood next, hands behind her back, playfully swaying, a giant smirk on her face. The youth raised an eyebrow.
“You have a... day off?!” – he quickly gathered since just now his overcrowded mind noted that her braid was tied with a blue ribbon and the girl no longer wore her white apron.
More, his friend had this telltale way of scratching her freckled nose when she planned something wholesome.
Following her nod, Keryln chuckled and, finger pointing at the main Temple gates, asked – “Sooo, where are we going, young mistress chef?”
“Heheee, you’ll see soon enough, brave sir paladin.” – grinning said she, joyful spirit in her voice.
When the two left Temple and actually walked past real Paladins standing at their post, Keryln entertained the though of actually becoming one with the slightest of smiles. To actually don the red armor and join the ranks of Mara’s warriors, a man had to be a father first. His wife and children need know that sacrifice would be his chief duty. Many a man gave up and chose their family instead, yet those who took the vow, they earned people’s respect.
Joel was reluctant to nudge his adoptive son onto the path of a Marrite warrior, and Keryln knew why. His father lost his beloved wife and many of his children, often without having a chance to be with them when they departed. All because of duty and sacrifice for others. Not that he lamented the lives saved and disasters averted, but knowing what such a way of life had in store for Keryln was part of the youth’s choice.
He glanced back and by chance it was exactly when a Paladin of the Temple guard raised his helm’s visor. The youth shuddered, for that rugged man’s face emanated the same pain he learned from the ancient statue and saw in Joel’s tired eyes. Aeriale nudged him playfully and he made sure to hide the look in his eyes from her.
No, Keryln was a journeyman. His peaceful duty was to craft wondrous household items from wood, fix sturdy doors and window shutters, calculate the width and length of stairs, not brood around when the Frost came!
Not a five minutes later and it was beyond clear to him that Aeriale was leading him towards the Trades’ Street. He remained politely silent and let his friend keep her secret, smiling conspiratorially when she winked at him along the way. About one hour later and they stood before a famed gymnasium. The ellipsoid building was overly large and stood three stories up, multiple rows of marble statues erected along its walls. One after the other, a thousand strong army of the champions of Krart’s magical wrestling federation, each depicted wearing the ubiquitous belt signifying their high status.
The MWF had a long, proud history, and was perhaps the premier source of entertainment during the Warmth. Hundreds of thousands of people watched the matches of brawling wizards and sorcerers, cheered each counter spell. Yet what spectators madly clapped and whistled their lungs out for were the grappling takedowns.
“How could you even get a backstage pass these days?!” – wowed Keryln, as they got ushered inside through a side gate by three towering forest elves who wore armbands reading “Security”.
“A friend of your dads.” – chuckled Aeriale, stood on her toes and waved vigorously at a dignified elven lady – “See, this is her, Lady Thaliel!”
Keryln marveled at the grace which this lady carried herself with, noting how simple, yet cheerfully refined her garments were. It was also evident that Aeriale mimicked the lady’s every move, even her posture and the way she walked. Lady Thaliel’s black hair was beautified with a handwoven veil, near transparent and dotted with hundreds of tiny stones. This gave her a look of having cut a piece of the night’s sky and donned it.
“Ah, the brave son of Joel and his immaculate future bethr... erm... his childhood friend!” – the lady greeted them with a shining smile and polite hand shake – “Come, let me show you both to the backstage.”
“Lady, whom are we meeting?” – asked Keryln, a barrage of confused looks shared between him and Aeriale following Thaliel’s strange greeting.
The elven woman placed one hand on her ear as they soon heard a rising roar of clapping, whistling, and cheering, culminating with a victorious manly shout – “Face the Castigator!”
Giggling, one like a little girl and the other, with an elegant hand gesture covering her mouth, Aeriale and Thaliel followed Keryln who was basically out of breath with excitement. Going through another group of guards, also elves, they entered the backstage and witnessed how one of MWF’s reigning champions was just about to smack a pretender unconscious.
Since no one could say how long would a match between these mightily wrestling spellsters last, Krartians had since stopped even trying. Nobody was betting on that either, at least no one of normal noetic capacity.
They were able to get to their seats where a snacking, rested Joel awaited. Keryln hugged his father, looking for the worrying signs of bloody tears, yet found none. Sitting down took them a few seconds during which both wrestlers exchanged contained magical blasts, each made specifically colorful for greater entertainment value.
“You missed the verbal smackdown!” – the dwarf protested their slowness.
“What?! But that is the best thing!” – moped Keryln as he helped Aeriale with her long braid since the ribbon got stuck between the seat armrests.
“Worry not, I shall ask Rolan to repeat every word.” – Lady Thaliel promised with a gentle smile, a glint in her fair pink eyes, yet her next words made everyone, even Joel, gasp – “My husband cannot refuse me a boon, nor would I ever dream of refusing him one!”
The public chose this moment to grumble, clap, and otherwise raise their cheer to such a level, that their seats trembled. One impossibly tall and muscular city elf of whitish skin complexion, blond hair and reddish eyes, faced a burly human who looked just as buff. The two wore sport robes and fought with their respective magical weapons, sparks and flames of pure energy soaked by a thick protective shield.
The Castigator wielded a slim Zweihänder while his opponent, the pretender, came at him with a halberd. Channeling magics through their weapons, the two exchanged a flurry of stabs, swipes, and were otherwise trying to send each other to the ground. However, there was a clear difference between their skill and physicality. Only a minute after the beginning of this furious exchange, the Castigator disarmed his opponent with a deceptively simple sword technique.
True to his honor as a champion, he sheathed his two handed sword and assumed a wrestling stance, inviting the pretender to do the same. Which the human did, boasting loudly something about his jaw being made of Sveg as he charged forth. In the first seconds of their last battle stage, the wrestling, both the Castigator and his opponent exchanged swift punches and kicks. However, as soon as the pretender hurriedly aimed to grapple the champion’s legs, he got a mighty slap straight in the jaw which promptly sent him on the floor.
The referee, a knight decked in armor forged from the anti-magic Sveg alloy entered the ring to check his vitals, pronounced the human unconscious and the Castigator, winner.
“He got what?” – roared the Castigator, asking his fans and the audience a stage question.
Keryln, Joel, Aeriale, and Lady Thaliel all leapt on their feet screaming back – “Castigated!”
The youth did not see how his father nearly lost balance since Lady Thaliel’s marvelous hair was in the way. Mistress of her emote, the woman not only helped Joel, but kept the immaculate, cheerful smile while Keryln and Aeriale were obsessed, gazing at The Castigator. A couple of minutes later, her boisterous husband standing tall before them, gleaming with magics black sports robe, sheathed Zweihänder and all, Joel was steady.
“My lady tells me,” – grumbled the huge elf as he shook Keryln’s hand with such vigor, that the youth almost fell – “that you’ve been awesome of late!”
“I just... I helped a little.” – the youth managed to mumble back.
“Standing against those who wield foul weird magics is no small feat...” – stated he champion and his glowing eyes gazed deep inside Keryln’s, before he finished his sentence – “young man.”
The man gave his sword and belt to a couple of aids, one of whom shoved a long list of daily visits in his hand. Keryln noticed only the first since the champion quickly folded and pocketed the scroll. It was one of three newly build orphanages around Temple Square, which everyone knew were sponsored by the MWF and The Castigator in particular.
“Now,” – began the towering man as they walked into his meditation dorm – “I would very much like to hear everything from you, young Keryln. What you heard, saw, even smelled on that day.”
Keryln, at least for the first couple of seconds hearing this, he looked confused. Yet the youth quickly gathered himself and said – “I only defeated one of the beguiled, Uncle Dalen and my father Joel, they saw the real battle.”
The dwarf said nothing, but smiled ever so gently, deftly concealing a single drop of blood dripping from his ear.
“Because I promised my wife and your father to fortify your mind against weird magics.” – replied the champion as he hugged Lady Thaliel’s willowy figure with his massive arm.
“Moreover, us champions of the MWF are under orders of Captain Brelain to investigate that weird magic accident. As a fighting wizard, I am responsible for people’s safety...” – explained the powerful man, almost quoting Dalen word for word – “and yours!”
“Sir, you don’t know how happy I am to accept your tutelage.” – said the young man and there were sparks flying from his eyes.
“Do not seek trouble,” – boomed The Castigator with his powerful stage voice, one finger pointed at Keryln – “but if it seeks you?! Well, then we shall make it so that danger won’t find you wanting!”
[Ninth] — Krartian weeks are nine days.
[Turn] — This is a planetary rotation numbering seventeen thirty five day months.
[MWF] — The greatest magical wrestling federation ever!
When you think of it, something like the MWF is a quite logical result for most settings.
Such great characters and development