The Honor

The Honor

By Darrell L. Taylor

From Advanced Dungeons & Dragons comes Sir Caelros, knight of honor, bound by ancient codes and bearing the Longsword Holy Avenger of old.
From Fifth Edition comes Sir Drahmir, knight of vengeance, sworn by oath and wielding the Greatsword Holy Avenger of his time.

Page One – The Stakes

The pit was never quiet, not when rivals like these stepped into the games.

Lady Glavo sat high in her tiered box, calm and regal, her silks glinting under the torchlight. Her empire had been carved from this very arena: the dirt, the blood, the shouts of victory and defeat. She had bled for it once, forced to rebuild from nothing, serving herself in the pits when her champions fell and her fortune turned to ash. She had clawed her way back, her paladin standing now as the very blade of her will. Losing was not an option. Not again.

Across the pit, Lord Rechald leaned forward on the rail. His fortunes had dwindled duel by duel, every loss bleeding coin, favor, and standing. This fight would be his last chance. If he lost, Lady Glavo would own everything, his estates, his contracts, his influence, and perhaps his life. He had already sworn that if this match failed, he would stand in the pit himself. His champion was the last blade left, his personal bodyguard, survivor of dozens of pits, battle-hardened and cold-eyed. Tonight, Rechald prayed that Sir Drahmir would succeed where others had failed.

Page Two – The Arena Awakens

The gates creaked open. The crowd surged to its feet.

From the western tunnel strode Lady Glavo's champion, Sir Caelros. His armor gleamed like silver hammered into form by faith itself, though the dents upon it spoke of many battles endured. His shield bore a field of deep blue adorned with a white lily, the mark of his devotion. Sir Caelros lowered to one knee; shield planted in the sand. He bowed his head and spoke the words of blessing, his voice steady, carried on the faith that bound him. The holy light of his divinity poured down, bathing him in a glow that wrapped him in quiet strength. Then he rose, the Holy Avenger at his hip, its edge quiet, waiting. His visor was raised, eyes clear and calm. He walked without hurry, his stride calm. The chants of his name rolled over him like surf, and he lifted his hand in acknowledgment, a warrior's salute.

The herald raised his voice. "See the white lily, emblem of Hera, Queen of the Gods and wife of Zeus, whose lily springs from divine grace and whose hand upholds the sanctity of oaths. She is the guardian of marriage, honor, and sovereign order among gods and mortals alike. Behold, Sir Caelros, steadfast Defender of the honor of the Lovely Lady Glavo."

Opposite him, the eastern gate parted. Lord Rechald's champion was brilliant. Sir Drahmir's plate glinted in the torchlight, bright and unyielding; the scales of Nemesis worked across his breastplate. The Holy Avenger greatsword rested across his back, its length silent. He wore an open-faced helm, eyes focused and sharp. He advanced without hurry, his stride controlled. The crowd roared his name, and he inclined his head deliberately once, a silent vow before all who watched. He knelt, pressing his gauntleted hand to the scales engraved across his breastplate. Words of devotion carried softly from his lips as he called upon Divine Favor, and a pale radiance stirred along the steel of the greatsword across his back. The light gathered, faint but steady, a mark of Nemesis's blessing upon him. Then he rose. With slow, deliberate motion, he reached across his shoulder and drew the greatsword free. The sound of steel leaving its clasp rang through the arena, heavy and final. The blade caught the torchlight as he brought it forward, now laced with divine glow, his stance firm and waiting.