By Timothy Walsh
Editor’s Note: The events of this story occur three years before the events in the Starcana adventure, Everything New is Old.
Phaedrin ran her paw over her head, scratching behind an ear. The Urunar Paladin looked down at the human standing before her with an uncertain look on his face, a stocky middle-aged man in sturdy laborer’s clothes. He was one of the councilmembers of this small colony, and had apparently been chosen to come to her about some problem. She didn’t mind listening to him, but was honestly thinking harder about the meal that she was late for. Phaedrin didn’t like being late for meals. She shook herself out of her reverie and tried to pay better attention.
“So, well, Phae… I’m sorry, Paladin Phaedrin. We know that you only come out to this world here on your rounds and all, and we all understand that normally you’d be heading off on your business, but we’ve been starting to have bandit trouble. They’ve been harassing folk on the roads to the mines, and we’re worried it’ll only get worse. There aren’t many of them, but they seem pretty well armed and well, we’re not. Also...” the man began to shift, refusing to meet Phaedrin’s eyes, “Also, there’s word that they have some kind of strange power among them, and we don’t know what to make of it. Sounds like what the priests can do, but that can’t be, can it?”
At this Phaedrin stopped, dreams of lunch falling away. “Councilmember, please. You don’t need to be nervous.” Her tone was cheerful, in contrast to the blackened Vilithic plate armor that encased her body. “You’re just passing on reports, you’re not badmouthing the Church or her followers. It’s okay. I’d be happy to help.” She reached out, and clapped the human on his shoulder. Solid as he was, he still rocked slightly at the gesture. “That’s why I’m here, after all! Besides, a power? Miracles but not? That’s pretty serious, so I’d want to look into it one way or the other, for sure.”
People never really knew how to respond to her, Phaedrin thought as the human went through a familiar set of confused expressions. It wasn’t like every Paladin needed to be all “behold the strong arm of the Vilithic Church, I will stand here with my starblade and declaim grim tidings unto you all.” She didn’t need to be serious all the time, after all.
“Look,” she began, before the councilmember could give voice to his confusion, “the next shipment of food and supplies to the mining camps leaves tomorrow morning. I’ll just go along for the ride, and give your guards some backup. If it’s just bandits that are causing these problems, they’ll be taken care of. If it’s something else...” She grinned, and the human’s eyes went wide at the sight of Phaedrin’s teeth. “I’m sure I’ll be able to take care of that, too,” she finished.
The councilmember drew himself up, and met Phaedrin’s eyes. “Thank you for that. We’d all feel it if the shipments from the mines were disrupted, but the folks working in them would feel it worse if their supplies didn’t make it up there.”
Phaedrin nodded back. “Of course. It’s what I’m supposed to do. Now,” she looked around, sniffing, “where can I get a solid meal and some drinks around here? I overheard someone saying something about open mic night at the bar, and that’s something I’d like to know more about too.”