“But you are sheep!” cried a voice separate from them all, and the crowd turned. Darius approached them, wearing his full plate armor, which seemed to soak in the light of the setting sun, giving it a frightful look. Painted in white across his breastplate was the face of a roaring lion. He kept his greatsword sheathed on his back, and Gary was thankful. He’d seen the dark paladin draw it only twice, but both times the fire that glowed upon it had made him uneasy. There was something unnatural about it, as if instead of giving light it stole it and hid it away.

“Sheep,” Darius continued, for none dared challenge him. “That is, until you take up arms, as you have. This land belongs to the strong. It is weakness that lets men ignore the dangers about them, causes them to remain quiet in the face of injustice, to turn blind eyes to the chaos of this world. Tonight you do more than make his Susie proud. Tonight you do yourselves proud, your families, and your entire village! Let the wolf-men fear our wrath!”

The rest cheered, and Gary joined in. He still clung to his youth, his only child still in her second year, and he keenly felt the call for strength and pride. His sword shook in his hand, but it was from excitement, not fear.

“To the river!” cried Bobby, and the rest took up the call.

“To the river!”

Gary followed, imagining the cheer he’d receive if he were to behead a wolf-man. Bobby insisted there would only be one or two nearby, three at most. With the group of them, plus the dark paladin at their front, they would crush any of the monsters they encountered. Gruss liked to brag about the time he beat down two men from Ker unarmed, and Trent would go on for days about the jeweled bracelet he fashioned decades ago for an elven queen (whose name changed depending on how drunk he was), but who could top the bravery of him facing down a wolf-man and plunging his blade through its eye?