I had just used my new mace. It was not the best way to do it, but again, I could think of nothing better to do with it than to strike as hard as I could at this presumptuous elf's arm—except perhaps to strike his head.
I went out to buy a mace in the morning. At the smithy where I got it, there was a new range of tools, most with affordable prices, but with a number beside them. I asked what it was for. The smith said that number would glow if I completed missions for the Whitecaps. Disconcerted, I remembered having done some, so I asked him to show me a mace I could buy. There it was—steel, with protection runes, a beauty. When I thought it would be very expensive, he told me the city was giving it to me for my services. Skeptically, I examined it from end to end. Indeed, except for the runes relating to my position as Honorable for the Whitecaps, it asked for nothing and restricted nothing. I walked out with my mace raised when I saw a stupid elf throwing one of the magic students around. He wore very elegant clothes and was banging on the main tower doors in the city. There was no time for more. This was not a foolishness where I could think about the reasons that brought him here. I insulted him. As he turned, I had already invoked three layers of magic to protect myself from damage and had two enchantments—one that would make him lose sight of me and another that would blind him... I only needed a provocation from him. But a kind voice stopped me. It was the Whitecap lord in person.
He greeted the elf—it seemed to be the elf king himself! Many of the priests I trained felt tempted to go, to be recruited. I thought some had gone, but none had enough knowledge of what a discipline priest was, so I did not think they were a great loss. But seeing him here, I understood why I had not wanted to receive anyone outside the city. Even after I reached enough level to train with my master and had done some recruiting on my own, after the appearance of idiots armed with elven instruments, we retreated a little. Missions were simpler, but the risk of completing them greater—until I interrogated one of those who still remained conscious after trying to take my share. After that, we only had to watch, like now, where the elven runes were on their bodies. Most wore them on their necks or faces. This "king" had one on his wrist. Seen traditionally, it only indicated that the wearer absorbed. But in that rune were other, very small ones that composed it, and they were not active. This king was demanding that violence against the alliance cease... I thought that without understanding the whole story, I understood that the old man was finally doing something useful, even when I did not like him. He always sought what was best for his people within his territory—that was why we lived here.
The sky did not show how long the discussion lasted. What began as a civil "for the good of the alliance..." ended with "you are a selfish fascist whom I must eliminate." With incredible speed and strength for someone so thin, he drew a sword and launched a downward slash. My mace managed to hit his chest, but it was unnecessary—a staff I did not know where it came from had stopped the blow. So mine hit him without any defense.
I saw the king fall. Even though I did not activate the runes, my blow must have been intense enough—he got up only after a few ungraceful coughs. When he looked at me, I understood what my master had told me in all his stories. The elves who claimed to be saviors were full of power, greed, and evil. There was only one desire there—like when you see a cockroach near your food: it must die. Disgust and revulsion, all in eyes that would otherwise be considered beautiful. He got up, and losing all contact with his supposed role as savior, the impacts of his sword I stopped more by luck than true combat skill—priests were not designed for that. Yet when the fifth attack bypassed my defenses, the layers of magic I had placed under the name Fortitude stopped the impact. But he kept attacking. He did not stop to see if he had hurt me. One by one, those layers fell. When I thought the supreme Whitecap would help me, I saw that the king had not come alone—now his guards were fighting the highest representative of human magic. I hoped he would not see what I was about to do. No one in the city should see these magics that Lilith taught me.
I met her while meditating. In whispers, she explained that discipline priests with Fortitude were fine for surviving attacks from their own kind. But what would I do when the attackers were not human? When my life depended on saving myself while everyone was injured or dead? So she taught me—in dreams, I learned words I did not know had such explanation. Her eyes always looked at me. The severity of her gaze—even in dreams—compelled me, spurred me to be much better than I ever was. What I was about to do to him did not exist in any book I had read. Blind! Instantly, clouds blurred the elf's vision. The screams were impressive. Then I used Sacred Lash—that was from normal priests. What followed—Mind Torment—I did not know where it came from, but understanding what I was doing turned my stomach. Yet seeing him writhe, I felt no guilt—rather satisfaction. A scream told me he was not the only enemy incapacitated, but the other came at me. His broadsword gleamed under the magical light. My mace was not a good weapon against a sword, but I remembered it was enchanted. I infused it with magic, and it molded to my hand as if it were part of me. The backhand was quick—more out of desperation. The guard covered with his shield, but the blow exploded into flames on contact and enveloped him in a firestorm, leaving him on the ground, agonizing.
The people surrounded me before I realized what was happening. All the alliance's warriors threatened me. But a shrill scream interrupted them: "This man saved my life!"
The confused crowd looked at the elf king retreating, at the inert bodies of the guards, and did what they did best—threw themselves to see what they could get from those corpses. In the confusion, someone took my hand and dragged me inside the tower. When the doors closed, I could see the Whitecap leader. His face was a mix of fear and suspicion. He asked where I got those magics—they were forbidden spells. Few mages knew them. How did a priest know something like that? I told him I was the first of many—tired of being mere support for parties, of being frightened rabbits who were robbed. We were ready for the attack. I was a dark priest. He only smiled with his mouth and asked if a "friend" had taught them to me. Even as terror overwhelmed me at being discovered, I said:
"My skills are for the city, for my people, for those who defend beyond appearances."
He looked at me for a long time and replied, "I knew my magic was not mistaken. You are honorable in Stormhammer. You always will be."