Short story

A wrinkle in Derrigan’s brow creased as he stared down the hallway. The Decimuir, less formally known as the Council of Ten, and the Cardinal of the Order of Radiance were discussing the fate of the Vicars of the temple. Derrigan, one of those Vicars, sat patiently on a hard wooden bench. He was the youngest recruit of the Order to reach the rank of Vicar, and if he passed now he would be the youngest dwarf promoted to Paladin in Ramrock history. A single bead of sweat trickled down his blond bearded face. It moved and maneuvered through the hardened wrinkles of his cheeks.

“Aye, ye seem a wee bit worrisome there.” A deep grumbling voice said from the shadows behind Derrigan. He didn’t move a beat.

“What are you doing here Darkbeard?” Derrigan asked with a huff.

A stain glass window atop the adjacent wall allowed a modicum amount of colored luminescence to filter through into the hall. Darkbeard slowly stepped into the light. He was dressed from head to boot in oiled black leather. His ebony beard flowed down his chest piece to a sharp point, and strapped to his belt hanged two very long daggers that Derrigan recognized immediately.

“So you finally joined that vile place did you?” He asked.

“I said I would, din’ I?”

“What heartless initiation mission did you complete? They still do that don’t they?”

“Aye, they do.”

“And…?”

“I’m still on it.”

“You’re what!?” Derrigan protested.

Darkbeard touched his nose, smiled a toothy grin, and ran off into the shadows. Derrigan stood from his bench and gripped his war hammer tightly in his fist. His pale skin turned the vague color of beets.

“A half-brother he may be…” Derrigan grunted to himself, “but joining a mercenary guild is still a pox on our family name.”

He suddenly turned when he heard the echoed sound of a giant oak door opening. Down the hall he could see the silhouetted shape of the Archbishop, Alma Mountainking, coming towards him. In her hands she held a glowing scroll.

“We’re ready for you,” Was all she said before turning back.

Derrigan’s boots clapped off the floor with a metallic ring as he followed. After reaching the long gold floor rug his footfalls muffled. His war hammer still in hand, he reassured himself with a heavy sigh as he stepped through.

The members of the Order of Ten sat around a horseshoe shaped table. Sitting at the back was the Cardinal, Thorval Lightbeard, his great uncle. Thorval was a tall dwarf, standing a dizzying five foot tall. An old dwarf, his white hair fell down past his belt. And his well-groomed beard did the same. His thick eyebrows curled up at the ends, which always reminded Derrigan of some great bird of prey. However, this day, at this time, they did nothing but scare him. The other members of the Order of Ten were just as intimidating.

Thorval stood, “You look frightened young Vicar. But I can assure you there is nothing to fear in this room. You have a great talent, and we want nothing more than to help it blossom.”

The smell of freshly cut stone infiltrated his nose. He rubbed his nostrils with the side of his finger then stood at attention.

“A simple test is all that is required of you. All you must do is demonstrate how you have progressed with your gift of light. A marble anvil has been provided for the test.” Thorval said pointing to the anvil with an upturned palm.

Derrigan knew what was required of him. The marble was his paper, and his hammer was the pen. The handle of his war hammer felt good clenched in his hands. A tool that paladin’s had used for centuries. The essence of its power passed down from generation to generation. A conduit used to focus the power of light within him. He felt the energy surging from him into the weapon.

He brought the mighty hammer over his head. His gaze focused solely on the marble anvil. One swift strike to prove his power that was all he needed, one swift strike. The heavy head of the hammer began its fall. Fractions of a second were all he required to prove himself and complete the test. However, in that fraction of a second, a blade flew through the air and imbedded itself in the top of the anvil. As his hammer struck it, it wobbled off kilter sending a spray of light to the side blasting a hole through the wall of the room.

The Order stood from the chairs.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Thorval yelled.

Just then another dagger flew through the air slamming hard into Derrigan’s hammer. It was knocked off the anvil and crashed hard onto the floor. The impact sent a wave of energy through the room knocking most of the Order off of their feet.

“I never expected this from you Derrigan! You were a prodigy, my greatest pupil!” Thorval cried. A shadow fell behind Thorval’s chair. A hand reached around and tugged on his beard.

“Don’t be blaming the Pally, Cardy me boy!” Darkbeard’s voice said from behind the chair.

“How dare you! Filth!”

“Ye think that’s bad?” Darkbeard said, his hand still wrapped around the Cardinal’s beard. With a swift slice of his dagger, half of Thorval’s beard was gone. Darkbeard ran for the entrance, “Wish I could stay to see ye face. But I’ve got more pressing matters t’ attend.”

A maniacal laughter echoed through the room. It suddenly stopped with a blast of light slammed into Darkbeard’s chest. It sent him flying backwards crashing hard into the granite wall behind him. He crumpled to the floor in a heap grasping his chest. He tried desperately to suck in air but none would come.

“Darkbeard, this is the last time you embarrass me, or my family!” Derrigan growled.

He looked up from the ground and into Derrigan’s blue eyes, “I am your family.”

His gloved hand slapped the ground and a large puff of smoke covered him. After the smoke had settled, he was gone.

Thorval, and the Order of Ten stared down at Derrigan with infuriating scowls. He knew what was to come. His promotion was void. Once again, his half-brother, a constant thorn in his side destroyed another one of his dreams.

“We’ll let you know. Now leave.” Thorval said with a grimace.

Dragging his hammer behind him, Derrigan left.