Faen watched the scene enfold from his cover. His wings, nearly as large as his own body, were buzzing in a way not dissimilar to those of a fly. His thin fingers were clenched tightly on the edge of the wagon and they were all that kept him from taking off in a desperate attempt to run. He couldn't tear his eyes away from them. The accusing finger pointed squarely at Daenan's face, who looked down on the man, unfazed by the accusation. The commander of the Flame troops seemed unsure of who to look to, switching between Daenan and the accuser. Faen felt his heart skip a beat when a scowl formed on his friend's face, and he gave the thin man such a condemning stare that the man took several steps backwards, a shiver visibly running across his back.

"Given the average level of intelligence possessed by an Orc, maybe I ought to return that accusation."

Daenan took a step forward and brought his own arm up, a single finger pointing threateningly at the thin man, who responded by retreating even further and throwing panicked looks at his comrades for support. "How many Orcs have you faced, I wonder? Have you ever gone toe-to-toe with them? Saw their brutish, raw strength up close? Had to survive their crude maces? To pierce their ramshackled armour that seemed as if it was held together by spittle and misplaced belief alone? Heard their guttural grunts as they charged? Had to plan around their wild, blind ferocity as they disregarded tactical sense for a frontal charge? Saw them break an ambush because they grew impatient and decided to rush an enemy? No, forget all that. Just answer me this single, simple question, and do try to use your brain for once. When was the last time you saw an Orc stand still, or even saw one that was capable of stringing enough words together to form a proper sentence?"

"I..." came the stuttering response. The other thugs of the Flame looked away from their comrade, leaving him alone to face the giant, well-armed man with the face of an Orc.

Daenan took another step, closing in on the man. "Who has ever heard of an eloquent Orc!" he shouted, accompanying his words with broad gestures. "They are fearsome! They are stronger than us! Faster than us! Meaner! More cruel! Yet for all that they lack the qualities that the Lord has bestowed on us! Intelligence! Wisdom! The ability to help those weaker than us rather than treat them as food! To look beyond our primitive desires and build up a civilisation and reap the benefits of what such civilisation brings us! Order! Peace! Wealth! Technology! Discipline! You accuse me, me! A Paladin of the Order, no less, of being a vile, low beast, that isn't capable of understanding the benevolence of Him? Would you deny that I serve Him? Would you claim that you are my superior? That you know the enemy better than I? Do you dare question my honour? To proclaim that I am a liar who would falsely take up His name? That I would break my oaths and spread falsehoods, despite being sworn to uphold the truth?"

With every new accusation that he brought up, Daenan advanced on the thin man who had, in his haste to get away from the Paladin, fallen over and was now crawling backwards. Daenan's face was positively furious now. During his speech he had gradually shown signs of anger, which had rapidly increased until his emotions had transitioned well past that and turned into unbridled fury.

The commander and the rest of the Flame had all backed away from Daenan as well, their swords forgotten in their sheaths or lieing abandoned on the ground. Many had their hands clasped together and were muttering prayers.

In the midst of them all stood Daenan, appearing as an angel of wrath, descended from heaven to bring divine judgement to the heathens and disbelievers.

"M-My Lord! I'm sorry! Please! I was wrong, forgive me! Have mercy on me, by the Lord, I beg of you!!" the man stuttered, his eyes wide with fear.

Daenan wasn't having any of it. He crossed the remaining distance in a few long strides and picked the man up by the throat, anger burning in his eyes.

"Mercy? Mercy?! You dare ask for mercy after accusing me of being an Orc! After calling me a liar! I am a Paladin! A servant of the Lord of the highest level! My devotion to Him is unmatched and yet you dared to question it! And you have the guts to ask for mercy after that? You are a blind man, not worthy of the gift of life that He gave to you! You are less than a worm! Less than excrement! You dare take His name into your mouth after accusing His servant of being the same race as those disgusting monsters that serve the Dark? You have no right! You are a blight to all Men! To all those who serve Him! You claim to be one of His believers, yet you tout such nonsense!"

Daenan's voice thundered across the clearing shaking the thin man with every new syllable. His eyes were lit with zealous fire, and his green lips were pulled back in anger, revealing rows of sharp teeth. The target of his wrath was panicking wildly now, screaming unintelligible things. A damp stream was forming on his lower body, spreading in all directions as his legs flailed wildly.

Then Daenan's tirade stopped as his gaze bored deeply into the man's eyes and mind. The flailing stopped, but the thin man's eyes went even wider, his face turning as pale as snow. Silence reigned over the clearing for an instance, before Daenan spoke.

"By the name of the Lord," he began, his voice calm and cold, yet at the same time it was tightly wound, as a spring, There lay an unvoiced power in his words that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it and when he spoke again the sentence hung in the air as a final verdict.

"You do not deserve to live."

A look of pure panic contorted the man's visage, freezing him in place. He gasped loudly. Once. Twice.

Then, slowly, as if it was an act, the man's limbs went limp. His hands stopped holding onto Daenan's outstretched arm. His arms fell down, hanging motionlessly alongside his body. His head lolled back as his eyes took on that look that all corpses shared.

Daenan opened his hand and the dead man fell to the ground, his corpse folding on itself as it landed. The tall man reached out for his helmet and with a quiet yet unsettling thunk he put it on, hiding his Orcish visage once again. He turned to the commander, who was gaping at him, mouth and eyes wide open, frozen with shock.

"Commander. We will depart for the city now. I bid you good luck with your hunt for disbelievers and heretics." He started walking towards the city, ignoring everyone else. As he came level with the commander, he paused. Without turning to look at him, he growled from underneath his helmet. "I would encourage you to make sure that every man serving you is a true believer. And if I am bothered again, by you, your men, or any other of your group, I can guarantee you that my actions of today will be a kindness compared to the holy fury I will unleash then."

Not waiting for an answer, Daenan continued, walking away from the group in stately strides. The guards exchanged confused looks with Marcus, before they all rushed back to the wagons and quickly chased after Daenan, leaving the stunned group of the Flame behind. It wasn't until the merchant and his people had completely gone from sight that the group dared stir. The commander fell to his knees and closed his eyes, offering a truly heartfelt thanks to the Lord that He had spared them from His wrath.

Faen slipped out from underneath the sail of the wagon he had been hiding in and flew towards his friend, who had retaken his position in the formation. He buzzed next to him at head-height in silence for some time, pondering the events that had just transpired.

"Are you really a Paladin?" the fairy asked with a small voice.

Daenan paused, the caravan following suit a moment later. Daenan could feel the gaze of the guards, the tiny fairy and Marcus on him. He kept them in suspense momentarily, grinning broadly underneath his helmet, before responding. "Of course I'm not!" he shouted, barking a loud laugh.

He resumed walking again, roaring his amusement to the world. "Being a part of the Order, me, hah. What a joke!"

The small merchant train continued on as a semblance of normalcy returning to them. Jokes were shared, mostly at the expense of the thugs, but there was a worry in the air that their situation would become more troublesome once they reached Tinas. Yet they trusted Daenan implicitly, for he was their friend and long-time companion, and he was as dependable as stone.

Faen cast a broad smile at his friend as one of the guards was busy exaggerating the tale of how the thin man had pissed himself, yet underneath that smile he hid his doubts.

Who was Daenan really? Or perhaps the better question was not who he was, but what?