Lord Richard Folcey was an upstanding paladin, easy to admire, and loved three women in his life.

From an early age, Rich, a nickname he requested, demonstrated heroic traits. Priestess Evelyn realized the meaning in the order he discovered them. First was [Lay on Hands], followed by [Spirtual Mount], [Sense Danger], and [Turn Undead]. After all others, last arrived [Holy Sword]. That's how he was.

Typical of a young and handsome man with heroic traits, a series of women were presented to him. He was expected to marry, have official children, and sire others with a mistress. That's how it works.

"I'm a paladin, not a fucking paladin! You shitheads can take this crap parade and shove it right up your collective asses."

Well, for a paladin, he grew a reputation for being pretty vulgar. He excused it with the claim of honesty, though it was clear he was full of himself. He turned many women down, including Priestess Evelyn, though she hadn't taken her vows at the time.

He found his first wife in a bar, of all places. Her name was Ugly, a barbarian woman from the United Barbarian Tribes bored with life on the plains.

"You're the only guy taller than me here," she said, "Let's make a kid."

"Listen here, you wild animal," Lord Rich teetered from drunkenness, and tossed his empty mug behind him, "If you beat me in a fair fight, then you can keep me. That's how your kind does it, right?"

According to witnesses, Ugly grinned, lifted Lord Rich over her head, and broke the bartop with him. Still bandaged, he married her the next day. Despite her unfortunate name and violent attitude, she resembled a lioness on the hunt and commanded the same awe. The church frequently censured their passionate and exhibitionist lovemaking. She joined Lord Rich in combat and laughed as much as he did. The two of them fought like a crashing ocean wave.

When asked, "Why her?" Lord Rich responded, "It was meant to happen."

Favian, their son, arrived. No one remembered him crying at his birth, or Ugly, for that matter. This was the only time, of three, anyone saw Lord Rich afraid because Favian was a large infant, and the pregnancy was difficult. By the time he was four, Ugly had taught her son how to throw rocks and chase the older kids. Well, that's how she was.

She died at the fall of Summersheaf, and her body wasn't recovered. Lord Rich never cussed or laughed again. The city's walls, once for protection, were used to quarantine the swarming undead therein.

Once the minimum legal grieving period passed, the church paraded women again. He thoughtfully sorted them and arrived at his conclusion. Jeanne Agi, the She-Devil of the Saber, received his last name. Rumors spread she earned her status as a bride with a duel, but Lord Rich denied it. Priestess Evelyn assumed Lord Rich selected her because she was the opposite of Ugly, and didn't want to replace her.

Like Ugly before her, Jeanne followed Rich into battle.

Lady Jeanne had straight black hair and eyes, darker than the night sky, and pearlesque skin. Some wondered if she was part fae. She measured her words, spoke in an icy tone, and she despised wastefulness, but she was fair in treatment. Jeanne's elegance and Rich's robustness contrasted like night and day. She raised Favian as her own, and under her tutelage unveiled his wit.

The two submitted to the infliction of the [Scales of Love and Lust].

It took two years for Elin to arrive, a tiny fussy baby with a short and polite birth. The healers expected the child's frailty to overcome her, and she cried all the time. The only things that calmed Elin were her mother's embrace and a lullaby from her father. For once, people understood Lady Jeanne could give a genuine smile, as she tended her daughter.

Elin sprouted, earning the nickname, "The Beanpole of Camp Wolf."

Disagreements strained the Lord's and Lady's relationship, and they argued over what to do with Elin. Eventually, Elin arrived at Letun, and her parents took turns visiting her and keeping a presence in Camp Wolf.

During the War of the Long Night, the military enacted a plan to retake the walls of the Necropolis. Lord Richard Folcey spearheaded the operation and fell in battle. Covered in Nosferatu bites, the revenant of Richard returned and ruined any chance of retaking the wall. That's how this world is.

Priestess Evelyn, then assigned as the camp's acting celebrant, sent a letter to Lady Jeanne requesting her assistance. The lady arrived with her daughter, entrusted her to the priestess, and dispatched her undead husband. Brother Favian lost his mind and attacked Lady Jeanne. She severed the tendons in his leg, and it never fully reformed, even after magic. Her body was discovered three days later, having imbibed poison. Thus, ended House Folcey.

"You two were wonderful," the priestess muttered, "But that's the most unfair thing you two could have done."

"Priestess?"

Priestess Evelyn glanced up from the shrine. Sister Lora stopped at the entrance of the tent, dressed in her habit, and tilted her head.

"My apologies," the priestess snuffed out the candles, "I'm drained, and speaking to myself."

"Another memorial?"

The priestess passed an eye over the empty benches in front of the podium.

"An empty one, for a lost recruit," the priestess corrected, "The soldiers do not have time to attend. We cannot protest since their burden is heavier. What brings you here?"

Sister Lora extended a wax-sealed letter.

"From Brother Favian, of all people."

"Correspondence from the rock thrower? Why would he? He despises me."

Priestess Evelyn cracked the seal. More time passed than required to read it. She staggered as if afflicted with sea-sickness, and the priestess sat down on an empty bench.

Evelyn's words rushed out as she gripped the wood, "I have a mission for you."

"What do you see here?"

"A chair. Can I stop now?"

"Child, we must be very sure. You don't want to make a mistake, do you?"

"No, but--"

"What's on this card?"

Laira mumbled, "A table. I want to go outside."

"Good little girls do what they're told. This one?"

Brother Favian sneered at the persistent acolyte's back.

Days ago, Favian opened the oracle's chamber and knew, without being told, that her power was gone. What remained was a scared child, blinking rapidly at the light streaming in from the only door.

She stifled a sob, "Please listen, I'm not an oracle anymore."

Nothing to think about here.

"I can see that, lass. Stay here," he said. He turned, closed and locked the door, and marched to his office. The sound of his stomping scared the other members of the church, so they hugged the walls to avoid his path.

Who could he trust in this rat's nest? No one with certainty. Elin? No, I won't drag her down with me.

Once he sealed the letter, he found an altar boy and shoved the letter in his chest.

"You run, lad, all the way to the wagoneers. You give them this," Brother Favian handed him a gold coin, "and you demand they send this to Priestess Evelyn at Camp Wolf. Fastest horse. You get me, boy?"

"Yes, sir!"

Brother Favian leaned in the panicked boy's face, "And if I find out you didn't, I'll break your legs and arms, lad."

"I swear, sir! I'll deliver it!"

After collecting a wooden beam meant for repairs, Brother Favian moved straight to the church's pantry. An echo filled the church each time he flung it at the pantry door.

Church members gawked. "Brother Favian's on a rampage!"

I always hated this fucking job. Shove it right up your collective asses.

"Can I go outside now?" Laira asked.

"I won't lie, lass, it's going to be a few days." Brother Favian locked the door to the chamber and propped the beam against it.

"I'm tired."

"No, finish the set again."

"I said I'm tired!"

"Listen--"

"She's done," Favian said and put his hand on the acolyte's shoulder. A squeeze made the acolyte wince and nod. Like a kitten carried by the scruff, Favian moved the acolyte to the door, opened it, and tossed him out.

A group outside the door attempted to push in. Demands to see the oracle, to be reasonable, to calm down floated into the chamber. When they refused to clear the doorway, Favian slammed it on a few fingers. Some might have broke.

They threatened to break their way in. To stall, he agreed to allow an acolyte to test her sight.

"He tested her a dozen times! She can see the cards! She's not pretending!" he yelled through the door, "Get it through your thick skulls!"

Laira picked up the card in front of her, covered in tiny dots. Some dots were grey, some were black, and the black dots arranged into various shapes. Before Walter blinded her powers, the flickering and static concealed the image. The dots would be impossible to make out.

"It's pretty scary," Laira said, "I didn't think it'd be this hard to leave."

"Scared people do scary things," Favian said, "I'll take care of it."

Favian moved to the stolen candles and checked to see if any needed replacement. An orange glow lit the room.

"They're pretty," she said, "It's nice."

"You know what honey is, lass?"

"Of course. I was an oracle, not a simpleton."

"Sassy little shit, aren't you?"

"You're one to talk, potty mouth."

Favian broke a piece of stale bread, popped open a jar of honey that remained in his food sack, and slathered the bread.

"Eat up."

A woman whispered from the corner, "Seems I have to bail you out again."

Favian and Laira glanced at the woman dressed in dark-stained leather.

"Slippery as a snake, like usual. Took you long enough."

Sister Lora, dressed in her attire from a previous life, nodded, "Seems you changed back, it suits you. They're going to kick you out of the church for this. You might even get arrested, I'm not sure how much we can cover for you."

He shrugged as if he endured a joke at his expense.

"Are we leaving now?" Laira asked.

"You'll be going with her," Favian said.

"You're not coming?"

Sister Lora curled up in front of Laira, lowering her eye level, so she had to look up, "I'm a friend."

Favian's charge from the chamber crushed two people against the wall, and he trampled right over the others. His attacks weren't lethal, he wasn't aiming to kill, but they hurt. The occasional bone creaked, or nose bloodied. Fighting evolved into a rolling dogpile, filled with screams and Favian's cursing.

One of the high priests hooked Favian in the jaw, "Brother Favian, calm thyself!"

Holy shit, the old man had an arm on him.

Favian drilled his fist into the priest's face, "Shut your mouth, shitheel!"

The Temple of Gaia brought a lot of needed hope, and Favian appreciated it. Without their sinecure, he would be destitute. Without their alms, many would starve. He didn't hate the temple.

It wasn't their fault.

It wasn't Laria's fault.

It wasn't his fault.

No one was to blame.

But they were desperate people writing a frantic doctrine. This temple is filled with books and scrolls, and they described the greatest to walk Eovamund. Why are we not following their example? Should I tolerate keeping a girl in a cell, so you can pretend you're not trapped in a walled city? No.

The screaming pile of people rolled over a pew. Each row fell like a stack of dominoes. With Favian on his back, the card-testing acolyte brought his foot down. Shocks of pain wracked Favian's crippled leg.

"You motherfucker!"

It's starting to hurt now. I think my bonus HP is gone.

The acolyte discovered how far Favian could throw him.

Dad reading to me about Idrun was great, but mom's barbarian stories were the best. No one figured out why they married, but I did.

He could fight, but she wanted to, she was free, and she shared that with him. I hate that I had to learn this from that She-Devil.

Favian rose off the ground, covered in sweat, bruises, and dust. Three days he kept them away from Laira, and with a roar, from the bottom of his lungs, he blew away his exhaustion.

"Block the exits! Don't let him run!"

"Who the fuck said I'm running, you pussies? Today I got a reason to fight!"

The high priest bobbed towards Favian and connected a one-two combo.

Screw you, old man. If I had my leg still, I'd have smashed everyone here.

Shit.

I can't believe he rung my bell.

I don't want to stop.

I should have stopped dad. No, I should have gone in with him to find mom.

Spitting blood, Favian knelt to catch his breath. Before the others jumped on top of him, the high priest commanded them to stop by raising his hand.

"Is it over?" the high priest asked.

Someone started screaming at the back of the temple about the oracle being missing.

"Yeah, it's over."