Davin Tillerson was in awe. He’d stopped his contingent of lancers at Jenna’s signal on his way to bolster his wife’s battlegroup, and from his position he’d been able to witness the tail end of the desperate fight between Calvin’s group and the enemy commander, ending with Calvin thrown to the cobbles. When he felt the Battlemaster awaken, he started them forward again; the mixed contingent of Luparan irregulars and the city guard needed assistance with the Deskren light infantry, and he could see the enemy commander, still on her feet, making for Jenna and the others.

And then, somehow, Calvin was back on his feet and advancing. Davin, surprised and alarmed, pulled back on his reins, his horse rearing and whinnying in protest. The Deskren -- recruit? Davin was never quite sure of the man’s status -- was battered, bloody, and looked unsteady on his feet, but he was moving. Davin watched in awe as he cast aside the halberd he’d been wielding, advancing with shield in hand.

And in a moment he’d never forget, Calvin raised his shield against a wall of crimson lightning surging forth from the hand of the enemy commander. Davin winced, already drafting his eulogy.

Then, the lightning struck his shield, and a brilliant white light erupted from it, protecting Calvin from the spell’s effects. He leaned in and slowly moved forward, as though through molasses, driving the woman’s spell back until he was practically on top of her, the two energies roiling against each other.

At that moment, all hell broke loose. Tanra and Dheigrar dragged a wildly gesturing Jenna away from the pair, and then the spells exploded. Davin wasn’t a mage, so he couldn’t have explained why, but the twin energies finally broke, washing over the area with a reverberation like a peal of thunder. The two combatants fell away, and Calvin dragged himself towards the enemy. The remaining Deskren forces, witnessing her defeat, lost their composure and fled the city, back to the comparative safety of the field outside Expedition. Meanwhile, as Davin and his men closed the remaining distance to the wall, Calvin collapsed atop the commander.

The line held, despite the gambit, and although the main Deskren force was still present, they showed no willingness to advance again. He looked back at Calvin’s motionless form, and whispered a prayer that the man was still alive.

===============================

Calvin Descroix was pretty sure he was dead. He remembered cradling his dying sister, and his vision dimming. Then he remembered what brought him to his present state; a strange woman -- one with a face too beautiful for words and wearing armor which shone brilliantly in a strange omnidirectional light -- had offered him her hand, and a choice.

He vaguely remembered taking her hand.

Opening his eyes once again, Calvin found himself floating in a white, seemingly endless void. He focused his gaze on the feminine figure before him. Average of height, and with an athletic build, Calvin realized that there were worse ways to be greeted in death. As before, her outspread wings drew and held his attention. Their feathers were whiter and purer than new-fallen snow, and he realized he’d seen them before, right before the end, as he lay dying atop his sister. He glanced around his surroundings, before making eye contact with the icy-blue eyes in that nearly too perfect face.

“So. I'm dead, then.”

The woman laughed, a pure, clear sound. “No, my stubborn boy, despite your efforts to the contrary. Not quite dead. Close, perhaps.” She favored him with a smile, before continuing. "It would not make much sense to offer a dead man a choice, would it? I had hoped you'd be smarter than that."

“Well then, where am I? How am I?”

She laughed again. “Calvin Descroix, you know where you are. Simply put, your actions have gained you notice. Your care has gained you notice. You are a rare mortal, to turn your back on kith and kin to defend others you do not know. Why do this?”

Calvin's mind raced. There were no easy answers here, no way to know what the winged woman wanted to hear.

“I'll answer your question, if you answer one of mine.”

She gestured for him to continue, still smiling. “Please tell me. You may ask your questions after you've answered.”

He could sense the wellspring of power practically radiating from her, and the thought of answering wrong practically terrified him. After a moment’s hesitation, the words came pouring out.

“You want to know why? Very well. The Empire is doomed. Whether it's the dead sands, or the Armies of the North, it cannot continue as it has. I know the General will dismantle it brick by brick if he must; I have felt the terrible weight of his resolve. Even if he fails, and my father somehow conquers the continent, we'll keep feeding people to the dead sands until there are no more slaves. And then it will be free men.”

He paused, looking at her pleadingly.

“I've come to see a better way. I've learned what free men, with the power of choice, can do. Luparans I commanded as slaves followed me into the face of certain death because they chose. I want better for the world. I want better for my people. Ours is a way, but it is not the only way. Free men can be stronger than slaves if they make the choice.”

Calvin subsided, as though the act of speaking exhausted him, and continued in a murmur. “...And it was the right thing to do. Given the choice...I’d do it again.”

The winged woman nodded. “Wisely said. This is why you have been noticed, Calvin. And this is why you will be given a choice.”

“What choice?” he asked, shaking his head. “Who are you?”

“The latter leads to the former. I am Zizael, the Herald of Redemption. And I offer you a choice that affects your soul. If you accept, you will awaken from this as a Paladin of Quinus. No longer will you be a [Windstep Centurion]. You will be given the opportunity to reclass, to be something greater.”

She paused, seeming to consider. “The first Paladin of Quinus, it would seem. Quinus has had Champions and Chosen before, but never a Paladin; the Thunderbird is a force of nature, but...perhaps the Battle-Bard is rubbing off on him? You may, of course, choose to reject this. You will still awaken, and carry on as you have been.

“The past is prologue, Calvin,” she continued, her eyes briefly flashing crimson. “Now is when your story begins in earnest, and all with a simple choice." Calvin sensed there was more to Zizael's own story.

“What should I know?”

“You should know,” she replied, “that it comes with certain obligations. A Paladin defends the weak, but a Paladin is also an instrument of Justice. A Paladin is no priest, however; yours will not be to minister to your people. Yours will be to enforce Justice, just as it will be to defend those who cannot defend themselves. Even against family and country, this will hold true.”

Calvin nodded silently. He could feel the weight of those words bearing down on him. He closed his eyes, and searched his soul. Could he do that again, if called upon to do so? Would he have the strength of will to render judgement against his own family? His father? He hesitated for a moment.

He had already faced down Claire, whom he had loved best of his siblings, and he could no longer sit idly by, hiding in the field from Imperial Politics. He could no longer let the Empire continue as it had been without doing something about it.

In the end, he made his choice.

“I accept, Zizael. I will become a Paladin.”

“I never doubted you.” The winged woman came closer to Calvin. Her smile grew even bigger, and she embraced him. Calvin blinked as she looked him in the eye and placed her lips against his. His body tensed up as divine energy poured into him. It was a wildly different experience than his first class selection; an eternity passed in an instant, and the changes were wrought in the time it took him to blink.

The shock of the moment wore off as she spoke. “Very well, Calvin Descroix. You have marched through the storm and come out the other side. Stand, [Stormwrought Paladin], and take your place in the world. Your story begins anew.”

=================

Jacob Ward hated the waiting. Born in a world where the radio allowed for rapid reporting, relying on runners was a constant thorn in his side. As ever, he did his best not to show his irritation. While he was unconscious, the Deskren had attempted a gambit to take the city, and he was just now getting back up to speed

His gaze fell over the corpses of the trio of assassins, and he shook his head. If not for his wife, it was better than even odds that he and Millie would both be dead. He made a mental note to find the Deskren commander who'd ordered that, and kill them. Painfully. He glanced over to Erin, who went about her work -- humming instead of singing, now, at least. Her love for ‘90s pop rock was one of her few flaws. “How are they doing, love?” He spoke, as he waited for his hastily drafted runners to return.

“Most will make it. There's a few…” she hesitated. “A few here that won't, despite my best efforts. If you meant the battle as a whole? Can't really say, Jake.” She was the only one who called him that, here. “I imagine it'll be worse when the fighting has stopped. The Deskren used some sort of seriously evil magic and it wrecked sections of the wall and the city. We're going to be looking for survivors for days, I think.”

He nodded at her, and looked towards the door. He could hear the rapidly closing sound of hooves on cobblestones -- someone was riding up, which meant one of his lancers, but he couldn’t be sure who. He lowered himself onto a nearby chair, and waited.

Having been expecting a runner bearing news, he was surprised to see his second-in-command cross the threshold, carrying the limp form of Calvin Descroix.

“Ah, hell, Davin. What happened?”

The burly minor lord-turned-lancer shook his head as he set Calvin's form down carefully on an empty table. “He's alive, but I don't know how. The damned fool charged a powerful mage, and somehow killed her. Jenna and a couple of the Luparan are coming back as well. They should be able to tell you more.”

Erin moved from a patient she'd just stabilized and placed a hand on Calvin's forehead. As her hand made contact with his skin, her eyebrows shot up.

“Oh. That's…odd.” She glanced at Jacob and Davin. “His injuries are…extensive. He's obviously comatose, but this is no normal coma. Something has him stabilized.”

Jacob fixed his gaze on his wife. “What do you mean?”

“I can't tell from where, but something is keeping him alive for now. It's the strangest thing. I can't actually do anything more for him right now.” Erin took her hand back, seemingly rattled.

“Any idea, Davin?”

He shook his head. “Nothing I can think of -- maybe Jenna will know?”

“Alright. While we’re waiting, tell me what happened today.”

Davin briefly ran through the events of the Battle of the Breaches. Jacob nodded, taking in the information, as a pair of guardsmen brought another body in on a litter.

Shortly after, Jenna arrived with Dheigrar and Tanra on her heels. The three looked weary and worn, and their armor was spattered with blood. They waited until Davin finished his retelling, right up to the point that he'd ridden up.

“It was blood magic,” added Jenna. “Raw and vicious, not as focused as the more refined arcane arts. I don’t know what saved him, but I suspect it was intervention. We saw feathers while following him.”

“Feathers? Intervention?” Jacob's eyebrow practically shot through the roof. He looked at Erin, who stared back at him. “Uh.” The [Blacklance Battlemaster] was at a rare loss for words, as his mind worked through the potential implications, even as Jenna continued. “That's the only way I can think of that Calvin was able to reflect the mage's spell back at her. So far as I know, he had no skill in magic, and certainly not magical reflection.” She shook her head. “...If he hadn't been there, we might not be speaking now.”

Dheigrar cleared his throat, and Jacob looked to the Luparan trooper, motioning towards him. “You have more to add, Dheigrar?” The Luparan stood a little straighter, quietly surprised that the Battlemaster knew his name.

“...The mage, she was the enemy commander. Lady Claire. She was Lord Calvin's sister.”

“...Oh. Damn.” Jacob heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “Hard man. I'll have to talk to him in depth if he wakes up. No, when he wakes up.” He looked at Erin and she nodded. “I'll make su--” she started, before she was interrupted by the familiar wheezing laughter of an old man,

“So then I told yer mom,” Hett started, coming through the door with Stev and two smaller men, before the rest of his sentence died in his mouth.

“Hett,” Jacob greeted him. “I see you've brought some friends?”

“Aye, this is Stev Aras -- he's been runnin' the town in the absence of his ma, Terisa. Not that anyone really runs Expedition. An' these’re mess'r's Petram an' Jemeris.” Jacob regarded the two with a nod, though his eye fell on the lifesteel arm attached to the human.

“Charmed, I'm sure. I'm Jacob Ward, and I lead the Lance. We'll have plenty of time to get acquainted. What news do you have?”

Stev spoke first. “First, thank you for your company's assistance these past few days. That charge was something, and I don't know how we'd have fared today without your troopers.” He smiled and continued. “We were able to contain and close the eastern breach. The Deskren punched through into Tinkertown. For a…wide variety of reasons, that was a terrible idea. On our way, Obadiah and I noticed some oddness.” He laughed and gestured to the other two. “Petram and Jemeris were sent by the Tinkers specifically to talk with you about that.”

Petram, the human partner in the pair, glanced at the Battlemaster and sighed, his face grim. “Even if the breach had remained open, that’d be the least of our problems.”

Jacob blinked. “...Say what now? What could possibly be a bigger problem than what's left of the Deskren army pouring through the wall?”

Jeremis shrugged and looked up at Jacob.

“Plague.”