the paladin

title: the paladin
pairing: none 
rating: teen
series: tales from the selene

summary: This paladin is just like the others, united by the oath to stand against the forces of evil no matter the cost. 

----

The screams of the townspeople spring this young man into action. 

He can’t see much from his seat other than the candlelight from the windows of the Quin, a tavern in the center of town run by a half-elf adventurer named Hyunjun, but he can hear the shrill screams of the townsfolk and he knows he has to help in any possible way he can. It seems like a blur: one minute he’s at rest and the next he’s running towards the place where everyone had been running from, hand on his longsword and ready to strike. 

He expects there to be some giant commotion: chain devils have wrecked havoc on Southern Stellae for months on end which, coincidentally, is the reason why this brave paladin has stepped foot in this small town. Instead, there is nothing more than a thief with a dagger dripping blood and a satchel of stolen silvers. The paladin, with all his might, runs as quickly as he can to try and catch up with the criminal and apprehend them—to return what was stolen and go on to the next adventure—but as quickly as it begins it ends with the cry of a young boy.

“Help, help!” a young boy from the crowd screams, catching the paladin’s attention, “Help! My father, he needs help!” The man in question, severely wounded, lies in a pool of his own blood on the ground in front of her. “Please,” the boy sniffles, “Please someone, help him! He’ll die!”

The paladin, whose armor metallically clinks and clanks as he moves, rushes over to him. Divine radiance emanates from his hands, glowing a pure bright white as the wounds of a nearby townsperson knit themselves closed. When the man’s eyes widen with amazement, the paladin outstretches his hand--to pick him up from the floor, to help him stabilize himself and get on his feet, to go his merry way and reunite with his son.

This paladin is just like the others, united by the oath to stand against the forces of evil no matter the cost. Haunted by a grim past, he does all he can to protect the new people around him; he protects the people in the present to atone for not being able to save the people of his past. That is his oath, the reason why the mark of Athena is on his wrist, and the reason why he does what he does: adventures all across the country of Stellae to ensure the safety of all its people. Nothing is more sacred than his mark, the mark of Athena, binding him to the promises  he’s made to those he can no longer embrace. That is what makes a paladin what they are; that is what turns a warrior into a blessed champion. This is what makes him powerful, but most of all: 

This is what makes them dangerous. 

“Tell me,” the paladin says. “Where’s the nearest dwelling? I wouldn’t advise travel by foot ‘til daybreak since the thief who committed this heinous crime has yet to be apprehended.” 

“T-The Selene isn’t too far from here,” the boy replies, “It’s up the dirt path there, but we can’t afford to stay. We have no gold, so we live on the street—” 

“No worries. Leave it to me, young one,” the paladin smiles. He bends down slightly, to meet the boy’s eye level , “Just help me balance your father until we get there.”

Once the commotion has simmered and everyone has gone back into their homes, the paladin and the family make their way down the dirt path—to a dwelling only known to the paladin as The Selene. 

+

When he enters the inn, it is bustling with sound. A man greets him with a shy smile, signaling him to wait just a moment before entering the back room. There’s the sound of shuffling and a bottle breaking, and the man who greeted him in the first place comes out of the back room with another man hot on his heels. They are having a conversation about the ingredients of potions and carefulness in the potions room until the other man turns to him with a smile and says, “Welcome, weary traveller, can I be of assistance to you?”

“Two rooms,” the paladin says. He slides six gold pieces to the innkeeper, “One for the family and one for myself.”

The innkeeper nods, grabbing two keys hooked on a holder behind him. He sets them down on the wooden desk in front of him, grabbing the leather bound book from beside him. “May I get your name, brave paladin?” the innkeeper asks. He must not realize it at the time, but the paladin gives the innkeeper a strange glance, causing the man to continue, “For my records and nothing more, weary traveller. Don’t fret.” The paladin says his name, watching as the innkeeper scrawls it down into the leather bound book quietly. There’s something familiar about the innkeeper’s face, something familiar about his honey-brown hair and boyish smile.  

He shakes it off, however. It is none of his business.

“Welcome to The Selene, Sir Sangyeon,” the innkeeper says jubilantly, beaming at him, “I hope you enjoy your stay, however long it may be.” 

the bard

 Rarely do bards settle down in one place. 

Their natural desire for travel, to find new tales to tell, makes adventuring a natural calling. Using adventures as learning opportunities, bards love to accompany heroes and witness their deeds firsthand—the renown of first hand stories give bards their acclaim and rise to fame, something that isn’t taken lightly. If a bard chooses to stay in one place, normally it is at the end of their journey—when they are old and fragile, telling stories of their grand adventures to the townsfolk until their last breath. 

This elven bard, however, is a bit of an anomaly. Some might even call them unusual. 

Their permanent place of dwelling is The Selene, the cozy inn run by the eclectic innkeeper with honey-brown hair. This bard has called it home for years, has watched plenty of adventurers enter and plenty of adventurers exit; notices the joy in the innkeeper’s eyes when he sends an adventurer out on a quest and the pain when he’s told of another adventurer perished, gone to the wind—one with Zephyros and the rest of the Anemoi, never to be seen again.  In those dark times, there’s nothing more important than togetherness and understanding—the bard knows this more than anyone, spending countless times consoling adventurers  . Perhaps that’s a part of the reasons why the bard stays; to offer that togetherness and comfort that heals one’s soul. 

To offer some semblance of normal—of family— in the bustling inn to a man that, with even a sparring glance from the most distant of strangers, seems like he could break at any moment. 

Another reason could be the intrigue. The bard can’t deny that there is something more than meets the eye. There is a reason The Selene called to them, a reason why they are where they are, and a reason why they feel the inclination to stay despite spending years on their own. This intrigue alone causes the magic to flow from the tips of their fingers and through their citrol, outward to all the ears of everyone present in The Selene. The bard supposes the reason why might be in the story: maybe they weren’t meant to rehash the same stories of orcs and paladins, or brave knights and dragons—maybe this bard is meant to tell the stories of everyday men, of men like the innkeeper and his propensity for the strange. 

Either way, it is enough to keep the young bard in The Selene.

They play their songs in the front room of the inn in the morning, songs of fortune and of prosperity, and later tends to The Selene in the evening—when the innkeeper rests his head for the night. The bard has made their home in the room on the top floor, where they can practice their citol without a care in the world. Despite it being out of the comfort zone of a bard of their power and class, they suppose that The Selene is where they should stay—The Selene is their home now, the innkeeper and all the permanent residents of the Selene are their family, and there is nothing in the world they would trade for the illusion of something better: no riches, no land, nothing. 

So, they stay and wait. They stay and wait until early hours of dawn, when the sun has just begun to rise, strumming the strings of the citrol lightly—a wake up song for all those in The Selene to hear and gain strength from as they begin a day’s work. The bard stays and waits until the early hours of dawn to prepare a special meal for a special occasion, to tap lightly on the wooden door of his room, and enter. 

“Good morning, Kevin,” the innkeeper says. He stretches his arms up toward the ceiling, still wrapped in blankets. “You’re up rather early, aren’t you? It is a mere Saturday, what important thing have I done to gain your presence this early morning?” The innkeeper continues, wiping sleep from his eyes. The bard places the wooden tray on the small desk in front of them, motioning over a still half-asleep innkeeper to sit on one of the stools tucked carefully underneath. 

“Do not tell me you’ve forgotten the date, dear innkeeper,” the bard says, “The thirtieth of May. Your birthday? Or have I gotten it wrong? Hopefully I haven’t, but regardless.” 

“You’ven’t gotten it wrong, Kevin. I just have trouble believing it’s been a year already. The time flies rather quickly, doesn’t it?” The innkeeper states, “All while everything seems to have magically blended together.”

“That is true,” the bard says, “But that’s why events like these are so special. They take the mundane atmosphere of everyday life and change it into something special, something unique, and something personal. Just like songs.” 

The innkeeper smiles at them. The bard loves it when the innkeeper smiles at them. 

“Say, would you care to play me one of your songs?” The innkeeper says, “A birthday song would be delightful as a pick me up before work, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” the bard replies, grabbing their citrol from its holder on their back and letting the magical melodies pour out from their fingertips. 

the blood hunter

 A monster to hunt monsters, that is what they call him.

Blood hunters use the long forbidden magic of hemocraft to disarm, disable, and even outright destroy their enemies—sometimes at the cost of their own health and even their own sanity. They infuse weapons with their powerful blood magic, with the magic coursing through their veins in the quite literal sense. 

In choosing a path such as this, blood hunters irrevocably give a part of themselves to their cause; sometimes it be morally, other times physically. It makes sense though: not many can say that they tread the path of dark and light, not many can keep down the path of light when the powers of darkness are just a short means away from them—one single snap and unlimited power can be his.

Many blood hunters fear losing the struggle of balancing the darkness of their magic and the light of their intention and so, most live a life of discipline and vigilance. They travel the countryside in search of like-minded adventurers and hints of dark deeds whispered into the night. How this blood hunter ends up in The Selene is nothing short of a mystery, but it must be some divine blessing that leads him to the inn and to the innkeeper with kind honey brown eyes.  

“A room please,” the blood hunter says. His body is weak, worn down, and scarred from use of his hemocraft. Now, he is always willing to suffer whatever it takes to save lives. Whether that be an intrinsically good or bad trait of his, this blood hunter doesn’t quite know, all he knows is that he’d rather die a thousand deaths than let another town fall to the likes of the undead. He’d rather die than allow for more innocent people to be slaughtered; he’d rather die fighting than live having given up and let the land succumb to the likes of vampires, those cursed creatures. 

He’d rather fight than let another town suffer the same fate as his own, wiped from existence from blood-hungry fiends. He’d rather fight than let another child lose a parent, or another wife lose a husband. 

Now, plenty of people have questioned his choices. How did a person so potent with magical ability find the path of hemocraft? How did a person so potent with magical ability hone his skill so quickly? Those were plenty of questions that he didn’t feel was anyone’s business other than his own; he keeps his reasons close to his heart and hidden.

“Welcome to the Sel-oh dear, this will not do. Come, adventurer, let’s get you bandaged up,” the innkeeper says to him, tugging him along carefully to avoid aggravating injuries that are just starting to close up and heal.  The blood hunter notices that the innkeeper looks rather frightened, so he follows along without resistance. 

+

The medical area is building behind The Selene, blended into the lush forest. It looked like it wasn’t the first time an adventurer had come in need of medical assistance from the looks of it, It looks only big enough to fit five people, give or take, but it was stocked to the brim with medical supplies. 

He notices the cleric immediately, can sense his healing magic, and nods. People potent with magic can sense each other, so surely that cleric knows what he is.  The cleric must know of his cursed magic, knows the blood sacrifices he makes to wield his magic. Surely that cleric will tell the innkeeper and he will be turned away; it was like that at nearly every other inn he stopped at before The Selene and certainly it won’t be the last time this will happen.  

He hopes things can be different this time, but he could never truly be sure. 

The silence and the blood hunter’s constant overthinking is disrupted by the sound of the innkeeper and his questions. “Tell me your story, dear adventurer,” the innkeeper says, “How did you find this inn?”

He pauses, contemplating his words. He wasn’t quite sure, if he were to be honest. Passing through Tellus was something he frequented, something that “I was just passing through on my way to the Trifylli,” the blood hunter says, “I just need a moment’s rest to recharge my magic—”

“Magic? Are you a wizard?”

“No.”

“A sorcerer?”

“Not quite.” 

“A cleric?”

“Definitely not.” 

It wasn’t the first time for all those questions. The blood hunter knows it won’t be the last either, for his very existence is but a plague on the magical community. 

“Now these injuries aren’t common,” the innkeeper notes. The way he examines the cuts and bruises, the way he carefully maneuvers his hands, for a second it feels like the innkeeper might care about what happens to him, but that’s naive of him. 

This time, the one who questions him is the cleric.  “They’re the injuries of a Ghostslayer, aren’t they?” he asks. 

The blood hunter nods. If there was one thing he could pride himself on is not being a liar, despite knowing the risks of his type of magic. “I-yes,” he replies. He expects disdain and disgust, he expects to be driven out and tossed to the side—nobody in their right minds would house a blood hunter due to the inherent risks—especially not a Ghostslayer and especially not one being actively hunted by vampires. The blood hunter knew that he was a liability, and he would be a fool to think that the innkeeper didn’t know as much too. 

“There’s no shame in that,” the innkeeper says, “If you keep down the path of light, that is. I sense that light in you though, adventurer. I sense its potency and its illuminating brightness. I have no worries about you.” 

“Well, let’s get these bandages secure and get you to your room,” the innkeeper says, “What number you’ve done on yourself, dear adventurer. I can’t in my right mind let you continue on to Trifylli in this state. Go on and rest, the night’s on me.” The blood hunter wants to protest: he wasn’t staying particularly long anyway, he should be able to pay for his own . “No protesting,” the innkeeper continues, “I’ll tell the wizard on the fourth floor to cast a silencing spell on you if you keep on.” 

“Sunwoo,” the blood hunter blurts out. He doesn’t make it a habit of his to reveal his name to many because a name held so much weight and identity, but there was something about this innkeeper that this blood hunter felt he could trust. “My name is Sunwoo. Kim Sunwoo.” 

“Kim Sunwoo? As in, the prince of Stellae Kim Sunwoo?” 

“And if I was?” 

He truly doesn’t mean to sound standoffish, but he can never be too careful. As a Ghostslayer, there are many threats to his being—even though the innkeeper seems kind, Sunwoo never truly could be too careful. Many humans make deals with the undead in exchange for protection, who’s to say that this one isn’t one of those?

And his status at the prince? That puts another target on his back. Who’s to say that this innkeeper wouldn’t alert the royal guards to his whereabouts?  He couldn’t avenge his mother if he was sent back to the palace to be locked up in his room like some delicate flower, but that wasn’t all too important in the moment. 

“Well, that seems like a question for yourself,” the innkeeper smiles, “Why would a prince be in a measly run-down inn? Surely the palace must be more lavish and grande. Surely you’d rather be in such a place, no?” 

“Why would a prince need to study hemocraft?” Sunwoo replies, “If not to avenge the fallen?”

“That’s a noble cause, if you were the prince. It’s much more that most nobility would be willing to do,” the innkeeper says with a smile. “Well, Welcome to The Selene, Sunwoo. Your room is the third door to the left. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to make your stay as comfortable as possible.”

the cleric

Harnessing the powers of divine magic doesn't require intense study, like most other forms of magic. There is no special school, no special training, just togetherness with the pantheon. 

Clerics are no ordinary priests; clerics are imbued with divine magic gifted to them by the gods. They are intermediaries between the mortal world and the plane of the gods, mouthpieces of the will of the gods.  As varied as the god he serves, this cleric strives to embody the handiwork of his god;  he is the conduit of Asclepius’ mighty power of healing.   

When a cleric takes up a life of adventuring, it is usually because the gods demand it. This cleric knows as much. It involves braving the dangers of things outside of civilization, things that no ordinary fighter or paladin can take care of; things like smiting cursed evils of unholy origin or seeking holy relics. Of course, this cleric is no different: Asclepius blesses him with the divine power of healing to aid those injured in battle. Who is he to deny what Asclepius calls upon him to do? 

To deny Asclepius’s will is to deny the divine magic that grants him his power. 

This divine magic, as the very name suggests, has the power of the gods flowing from them. Clerics manifest this power as what mortals will call ‘miracles’,  miraculous effects to benefit humanity. This is a power not given to everyone who seeks it out, but only those chosen to fulfill this higher calling, making true clerics like this one rather rare. Harnessing divine magic is not something that has to be practiced or studies. Formulaic prayer and ancient rites are learned, sure, but the real power of clerical magic comes from devotion to the deity in which they serve and an intuitive sense of their deity’s wishes; in this particular cleric’s case, the devotion to Asclepius and his mighty power of healing. 

Clerics usually combine the magic of healing and inspiring their allies with spells that hinder foes. They can provoke awe, lay curses of plague, and even call flames from the heavens to consume their enemies. Clerics also depend on combat training to let them wade into battle with the power of the gods on their side. 

How this cleric ends up at The Selene is rather simple: the need to help. 

He’s heard stories of The Selene from the traveling priests, a place where brave warriors rest their heads after an evening of intense adventuring. Thousands upon thousand of brave adventurers frequent The Selene, many in dire need after battles that nearly claim their lives. Asclepius, as a great healer himself, gave this cleric intense and clear visions of this inn; in a way Asclepius himself had guided this cleric to this inn.

Thus it was settled. Who was he to deny the will of Asclepius? 

The journey is long on foot; The Selene was three towns from the town in which this cleric was raised, the western most costal town of Medela, leaving him on a long seven day journey to the central city of Tellus.  From Medela to Silva, Silva to Ornare, Ornare to Lapis, and finally to Tellus, the journey on foot is long and arduous, but the cleric finds it worth it in the end when he lays eyes on The Selene. He enters the doorway.

The innkeeper, from what this cleric can assume—a man with honey-brown hair and kind eyes—looks at him as the bell at the door chimes. “Ah, a cleric,” the innkeeper says, “What brings you here?” 

“To help,” the cleric replies, “I’ve read plenty of stories of the battles fought by the residents of this inn. I’d like to help, if you’d accept it.” 

“Of course I’d accept,” the innkeeper says, “A cleric with the mark of Asclepius? You must be an extensive healer.”

“Some could say.” 

“We could use any help we could get, so thank the gods for your arrival young cleric. Follow the bard to your room,” the innkeeper smiles, “They will show you the amenities and help you set up the clinic in the back. We’ve long lost our medic and were in dire need-” 

“Surely I must pay—”

“Absolutely not, your assistance in healing is more than enough,” the innkeeper smiles, “Now tell me your name, dear cleric, so I may keep it in the records.” The innkeeper looks up at him, eyes kind; he’s waiting with the quill in his hand. 

“Most call me Youngjae,” the cleric says, “but friends call me Eric.” 

the fighter

title: the fighter
pairing: none 
rating: teen
series: tales from the selene

summary: He is well acquainted with death. He’s stared it defiantly in the face for most of his career as a knight, and the King’s personal bodyguard and even much more now as a fighter. Here, however, he can just be himself. He can rest his head for a moment and relax before he moves on to another dangerous task.

----
 

He knows that not every member of the village militia, or even of the king’s army is a fighter. Not every member of the village militia has had the training that he has, not every member of the village militia has had the hardening experiences of war, and most certainly have not fought in battles as long and as gruesome as he has. 

He supposes that his time as a knight prepared him for this very moment. Back before he turned to the life of a fighter, he was a knight for the Lord of Oceanus, and the perfect person to be called in by the King to fight the undead plague that had been rushing about Stellae; that is his mission in the central city. There’s been a plight of undead enemies in Stellae that need eliminating, and the King has called upon the most experienced of fighters from all around the kingdom to assist in eliminating them. 

He is well acquainted with death. He’s stared it defiantly in the face for most of his career as a knight, and the King’s personal bodyguard and even much more now as a fighter. Here, however, he can just be himself. He can rest his head for a moment and relax before he moves on to another dangerous task.

He opens the door to The Selene and is greeted by the innkeeper, a man with honey-brown hair and a kind smile. . “Hello, traveller,” the fighter hears the innkeeper say. “Say, are you the fighter we’ve been expecting? I’ve heard word from the Adventurer’s Guild out in Oceanus that they’d be sending one of their best. Looking at the crest on your armor, you must certainly be one of theirs.” 

The fighter nods. He’s traveled for days from the oceanside city to Tellus, the central city, to take up the quest. Sent to the city with a map, his shield and his spear, this fighter's ready to fight for this land with everything he had.  

When the fighter looks over at the innkeeper, he sees the letter of the Adventurer’s Guild with the ornate blue wax seal. The innkeeper is careful when he opens it, slides his dagger ever so carefully beneath the wax seal; he keeps the seal whole as he opens the letter, carefully unfolding the letter. His eyes do a careful scan over the parchment before he grabs what the fighter could only assume to be the guestbook and quill, jotting down a quick name before looking back up at him. “Chanmi,” the innkeeper says, “That’s a beautiful name, dear adventurer—”

Choi Chanmi. A name he’d much rather forget. A name he never aligned with even though it was the one everyone knew. The name on the parchment from the guild, people he thought knew better than this. 

“T-that’s not my name,” the fighter says, “That name there, written on the parchment. It’s not mine, it never really was.” The tightening in his chest comes back full force. It feels overwhelming, but he can’t help it, “They knew that, but they still…called me that. Ah, that’s so embarrassing–”

And really, he should have known they would do this. The Adventurer’s Guild was important, sure, but hardly ever accurate when it came to things like this, so he knew it shouldn’t have been so jarring to hear slip from the innkeeper’s mouth, but it was. 

Chanmi is a name that, since this fighter was born, he has never aligned with. Using it like this, unprompted? It was a clear signal to what they truly thought of him. 

The fighter snaps out of their internal dread when he hears the innkeeper“Please forgive me, adventurer,” the innkeeper replies. There’s a quill on the side of the logbook, a crow’s feather adorned with a golden quill tip, that the innkeeper picks up. He strikes out the name  Looking back at him with kind eyes, the innkeeper continues, “Forgive my ignorance and allow me to rectify my mistakes. I can’t keep inaccurate records, especially if they make the guests in this inn feel unwelcome. So tell me, dear, what is your name?” 

He feels the sincerity, the kindness behind the eyes of the innkeeper. He feels safe, safer than he’s ever have in his life. 

“Chanhee,” he responds, placing the three gold pieces on the counter carefully, “Choi Chanhee.” The innkeeper carefully writes down his name on the guestbook, leaving the book open for the ink to dry. Then, he grabs one of the metal keys from the wall behind him. 

“Well, Chanhee,” the innkeeper beams, “Welcome to The Selene. Your room is on the second floor, first door. There’s a bard at the beginning of the steps over there, they’ll tell you where to go."