[D1, Afternoon, Open] Cleanliness Is A Virtue

"I am of the opinion, my friend, that the cause of what I saw there was something far simpler. I believe it originated in Bad Wolf Bay, not in whatever may lie hidden beneath the ground. But of course, there is no proof of such a thing. So it is merely an opinion, and should not be treated as fact."

After a moment, he considers pressing. "But for the sake of lighter talk, what tales have you heard?"

"Of th'place now called Stormhall, most elders don'like to talk'bout why it was abandoned. But I've heard three legends come up most frequently."

He clears his throat.

"Now, 'tis a common accusation that we dwarves dig too deep, dig too greedily. This sometimes be true, but not'n this first legend," he explains. "The oldest tells that the folk of the hall were warned by dreams, visions from Hades to halt. Halt, before they dug too deep. Stop, t'not stir something awake."

"So they stopped. But too late. What was down there was already awake," he explains. He pauses, probably for dramatic effect. "And't began t'tunnel upward."

"As it did, those 'n the deepest tunnels grew greedier, angrier. They f'rgot their kinship and oaths, and turned on th'rest like barbarians."

"Th'lord of the place, t'save his people, spoke t'an oracle. On th'advice of the gods, he ordered the deepest tunnels collapsed. Had th'mad and th'beast 'nderneath alike buried in rock. The rest o'the hall was abandoned, but survivors remain nearby. To keep watch."

He relaxes, signifying an end to the tale.

"The other two tales are…less exciting, but a might more likely t'be true."

"If the stories are true, then I can only imagine that whatever slept down there has done so again. But now you have me intrigued about the other two. Anyone I ever asked simply said they did not know, which I found rather odd."

"One is plague, stirred up'n the tunnels. It only stopped spreadin' once the people left," he says. "The other one is that th're was a civil war. An aged lord against an ambitious bastard son sired in an act of youthful folly."

"Somehow, both legends recount a paladin chargin' to battle in th'deeper tunnels, despite his many wounds," he adds. "He was either chargin' t'fight looters takin' advantage of th'situation or defendin' his rightful lord from usurpers."

Giorg adjusts to a stronger, more martial posture. "I'll fight! 'til from my bones my flesh be hacked. Hand me my armor! So the legends claim he said."

"Perhaps it was both. Truly, that is the essence of what one expects of a Paladin. To stand and fight, when others cannot. Or will not."

He nods.

"Good folk, paladins. Sadly, his name be lost, even to legend." He ponders. "I s'pose if there was a name, folk might find it'n historical records with one Order or 'nother."

"Y'hear stories about paladins on the road. Some heroic. Some tragic. And some downright strange."

"Such is the fate of Paladins, I suppose. When one becomes elevated in a society, stories are bound to spread. Some true, others wildly exaggerated. But I have found that there is often a grain of truth in even the strangest of tales."

"Aye, 'tis true. Though the only other paladin I ever met was retired. Said he'd neglected his duties t'family long enough. Time to raise the daughters, be a father to them, he told me."

Giorg pauses, remembering some of the little details he saw around Sigismund. Things that, to the dwarf, suggested some manner of family.

"I hope'm not remindin' ye of what ye left behind, Sigismund."

"Worry not. Life is a beautiful thing that should always be celebrated. I can think of no higher honor to be earned, than to raise one's children, and to be with their spouse. It is, quite well and truly, the highest reward one can ever hope to attain."

The dwarf nods, unable to add anything more to that. Though he suspects the paladin is much sadder than he lets on. Instead, he decides to change topics to something less somber.

"I hope'r mutual scaly friend hasn't disgorged acid on anyone. Or anything," he says.

"I am hoping that he has managed to find a decent alchemist to assist him with his problem. Matters of health are one of those things best not left to the side for very long."

"Hopefully, an alchemist th'knows a thing or two about dragonborn. Nev'r know when something that works on a human or dwarf makes someone else even worse."

"Quite. You have quite a bit more fortitude than we tend to, meaning you tend to require larger doses of medicines. The elves, on the other hand, have much lower fortitude in those regards, but their immune systems are quite advanced compared to ours. But you know, I like to think that sort of variety in life is part of what makes it so very wonderful. How sad would it be were we all to be the same."

"Aye, 'tis true," he nods. "But headache f'r the healer who has to remember it all. Or who forgets, and gives a human a dwarf dose."

"Thankfully, most medical practitioners are quite careful. Those that aren't rarely practice for very long."

"Aye." He makes a curious sound. "I supp'se a healer couldn't do anythin' for yer scars? Or d'you keep them as a remind'r?"

"Perhaps they could, but I imagine it would be rather expensive. This may come to you as a bit of a shock, but dispensing justice on behalf of the gods does not pay as well as some might have you believe."

"Really? Seems like't should pay decently. Or at least cover healin' expenses." He shrugs. "Then again, I'm guessin' paladins aren't in't for th'money."

"Those that are most in need are often those with little to offer in return. It is not an easy life, for many reasons. There are some among us who have found great success. Lord Wryn, for example, has done quite well for himself despite his youthfulness. Not all of us share such good fortune."

"Still, I imagine there be some manner of reward. Mightn't be coin, but something."

He pauses, taps his fingers to his head as if in deep thought. "Take minstrels like me, for'nstance. Sometimes, it isn't about the pay. It's about seeing faces in the crowd light up as you narrate a happy ending, or how they gasp at an unexpected twist in the plot."

"Coin is welcome and all, but I know more'n a few bards who thrive off the reactions in'a crowd."

"Is there somethin' like'at for paladins? A more...emotional reward for your good works?"

"For me, at any rate. To do good, for goodness' sake. It is why I do not lament my fate, as it were. There's a sense of satisfaction in helping others, in righting injustices, and standing up for that which is right. But to me, there's something more important: To inspire and grant hope. To show others that they too can become better, so that perhaps one day, our children's children's children can live in a more peaceful world."

He sinks back into the water to relax. "There is nothing quite like seeing the shine in a child's eyes when they see something that they could one day become."

Giorg nods. "And gods know we need more folk willin' to bring justice and be examples of what we could all be."

He grins. "And minstrels to help in spreadin' th'word."

"Agreed, my friend," he smiles in kind.

"We should find a place to eat later. See how our scaly friend is doin'. Unless ye have business later?" Giorg suggests. "I'm only passin' through, so I have nothin' on m'plate."

"Truth be told, I have no plans. But knowing my luck, that likely won't matter much. Still, it would be nice to share a meal. I may have said this before, but it is the simplest pleasures in life that one misses most."