Preludes

Two mini-stories from Theodoruk's past.  The first one is from the time before he started adventuring and the other one is from right before he met up with the current group.

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Theodoruk quickened his pace.  He was late for the evening vespers and he did not want to anger the kindly Priest Klarus.  Getting to the service on time was never Theodoruk’s strong point.  He gripped a heavy tome to his chest.  The large leather bound book with the prayers to Pelor has served many students over the centuries and it always pleased Theodoruk to think that he was following in the footsteps of Pelor’s servants of old.  It put him closer to the heroes of legends he remembers hearing about.

A short distance away, Theodoruk noticed High Priest Darmond talking to someone.  He was about to look away and continue on when something about the meeting caught his eye.  Theodoruk grew up in the house of a wealthy merchant and he has seen deals made and deals broken.  He could read people better than most and something about the two men conversing tugged for his attention.  Something sinister was going on.

All thoughts of the evening vespers lost, Theodoruk turned and started circling slowly around the two men, staying out of their sight.  He came up to a bench which was close enough for him to hear the conversation.  He missed what High Priest Darmond said earlier, but the stranger’s response was clear.

“That is great news, your Excellency.  The Fishmonger’s Guild is very pleased to continue supplying the servants of Pelor.”

“Indeed,” responded Darmond while jingling a heavy bag of coins.  Theodoruk knew the sound well.  “Pelor’s Servants will happily continue relying on the Guild’s good works” Darmond finished with a smirk.  “Pelor’s Blessings my child,” he added after a pause and the two men walked apart.

Theodoruk sat in anger and disbelief for an hour on the bench.   An important piece of the puzzle clicked in place.  He remembered being angry at the Fishmonger’s Guild for taking advantage of the naïve Servants of Pelor when he found out about the constant deliveries of rotted fish to the Churches and Monasteries.  He remembered thinking “When I become a priest, I’ll negotiate for the Church.  Those greedy merchants won’t find me to be as easy to cheat as the kindly Priests.”  But now he knew the truth.  The greed of the merchants spread to the Church and Pelor was angry. He could feel His anger in his heart.

****

“No” said Theodoruk in a clear voice.  “I am not going to burn down that farmstead”.

“What?” asked Jonah, the wiry leader of the group.  “What did you say?”

“No” repeated Theodoruk, his anger rising.  “I did not sign on with the Golden Fists to attack defenseless peasants.” 

Jonah stared at the heavily armoured Paladin.  The rest of the group shifted uncomfortably in the silence broken only by the soft rustle of light autumn rain.  There was a faint smell of farm-dung in the air.

“You will do what you’re told, boy!  We took the contract and we’re going to do the job” said Jonah poking his finger into Theodoruk’s chest while keeping his other hand on the pommel of the sword at his side.  “You don’t get far as a mercenary by taking money and not doing what you’re told”.

Theodoruk stared unmoved. A feeling of unwavering clarity washed over him.  This is not what Jonah told him two days back at the inn when he was signing up as a member.  But this was Pelor’s Work.  He now knew why he was brought here to this place and to this moment.

“Then I suppose you will just have to go back to your patron, whoever the fiend is, tell him that you had a change of mind and give him back the money.” The paladin said slowly, like he was speaking to a child. 

“Give him back the money?!” derided Jonah, sweeping his hands around. “Oh, it’s that easy, is it?  Just here, sir, here is your money.  We ain’t doing the job no more.” Jonah continued in a mocking voice.  Borim, the group’s scout snickered.  Jonah continued emboldened by his audience “That’s not how the world works, boy!  That’s not how money works!”

Moving swiftly, with an almost unnatural speed Theodoruk seized Jonah’s head in his large hands and pulled his face close. 

“Money?!” he yelled into Jonah’s face, “Money won’t buy your soul back, dog!” he spat and threw Jonah back.  The smaller man flew through the air and landed on his behind with a splash of mud. 

“There will be no farmstead burning today,” said the paladin with an inner strength that made him seem as unmovable as the mountains in the distance.  He grabbed his massive, two handed maul with  practiced ease and fell into a ready stance. 

“Any one wants to try, they come through me”.

Jonah didn’t move to get up.  No Golden Fist moved.  The only sound was the soft rustle of the autumn rain.