Short Story: Eight Months After the Trial...
“Quite frankly, your honor, the man my client was convicted of murdering is alive and well. I demand you release him from prison immediately,” the man asserted, straightening his suit coat and giving a final nod, now waiting for the judge’s response. The man’s name was Jenson Highwater, an attorney who Garreth Hayes had been working with over the course of the eight months that had passed since the trial of The Collective vs Garreth Hayes. The trial where he had been convicted of murdering the Collective’s very own Eldritch Knight, Harkin Saldorek.
It had been a long eight months, but Garreth had been holding his wits about him. He was placed in the Black Desert Maximum Security Penitentiary, located in the desert country in the southern region. It was where the worst of the worst were held, and they were more than eager to get their first draconic prisoner within their walls.
Now, as Garreth stood behind the defendant’s table in his prisoner’s suit, with his salt-and-peppered hair and beard grown out and frizzled, and dark bags under his eyes, Garreth couldn’t help but feel a deep loathing for those who had put him in the position he was today. However, unlike the monotonous days spent within the confines of prison, today he did not vanquish those thoughts as easily.
When Garreth had heard of the atrocities committed by the Collective’s members over the course of their founding year, he pled his paladin order, the Shield of Light, to take up arms against the Collective, and hold them accountable for the lives lost because of them. They called him paranoid, and when he continued to look into it, they called him obsessed, but no one pointed a finger at the Collective.
Using his undercover identity as the Greensword within the criminal organization, the Web, which he had created by order of the Shield of Light, Garreth sought to do what his order refused, and bring the Collective to justice. He spent months assembling some of the most horrendous and despicable people, people who wouldn’t say no to taking down the “good guys”, and created the Circle. All with the sole purpose of leading the two groups to a head, and taking both down in one fell swoop. But this was not how things would eventually fare. Garreth lost control of the Circle and, when the time came, could not bring himself to take down Raide, Lydia, and Ro-el’tai. Instead, he saved them during the third wave and turned himself in.
Everything he had done had been for the good of the people. He took up arms with criminals and murderers, he let his name become tarnished by the Circle, and he even gave away his freedom at the end of it, without ever seeing a single member of the Collective brought to justice. Still, they brandished him a war criminal while the Shield of Light disavowed him and turned him to the wolves, claiming he had inexplicably gone rogue. But here Jenson was, the only one on his side, demanding his freedom. Garreth honestly didn’t even know how to feel.
“There is, Mr. Highwater, still the charges of tax evasion within his businesses,” Judge Hilder replied. He was an aging man who had held the title of judge since before most of the people in the room were even out of diapers.
“Of which my client pleads for time served and no more than the maximum 150,000 gold fine,” Attorney Jenson said, shooting Garreth a hopeful look. Only a fraction of a second later, the judge’s gavel slammed against his booth.
“Agreed. The defendant is sentenced to time served and a 150,000 gold fine. The court is dismissed,” Judge Hilder said, slamming the gavel twice more, then feel back into his seat as the audience simultaneously stood up.
Jenson swung around and looked at Garreth, but couldn’t refrain and lunged into him for an embrace. “We did it, buddy, you’re free!”
Garreth blinked once. Then again. He searched for the proper words but came up blank. “Holy shit.”
Free from the confines of imprisonment, perhaps. But as Garreth exited the courthouse, consequence waited for him.
The Paladin was clad in gold and black, as was the custom of his order. But the robes he wore spoke of a different, older culture than that of his holy order, a masked visage that evoked the presence of the draconic. With him stood several others, clad in black, their eyes fixed on the greensword.
Paak! Dukaan! Paak! Dukaan!
As one, they spoke the draconic words for dishonor and shame, casting each in the arcane language like stones upon Garreth, a ritualistic curse laden with sorrow and outrage. Until the Paladin raised a hand for silence, a golden light burning from his left palm that made his armor both shine bright and darken deeper in contrast.
From behind the golden mask, the voice of Tarek Al Amir was heard before the doors of the court.
“Long ago, my ancestors suffered greatly at the behest of dragonkind. My home is built from the great bones of the wyrm that enslaved many for generations, but it was one like you, a dragon who took on a human guise to help others, the warrior Bah’mut, who made it possible for Falaak to be more than just one dragon’s fiefdom. My people honor Bah’mut, even as we honor the slaying of dragons who have done great evil.”
The Paladin gestured at the people around him.
“You have never met these people, but you have dictated the course of their lives in your callousness. They have lost lives to Torgrim’s war machines, to the Skaven, to members of the Circle and their allies. Deaths made possible due to your machinations and your foolishness in thinking that you could either control evil to your whim, or that by making war upon the homes of civillians would somehow ensure a greater good. Look upon the faces of the people you have wronged, and the visage of Bah’mut, and recognize you were neither brave nor noble, but a fool that allowed evil to flourish. If you still hold to the delusion that I’m evil, or that you were somehow justified, then make sure to face me in person. I will be waiting, and justice will find it’s day. Until then, remember golden dragon, that I find in you not even a shadow’s worth of your more worthy kin.”
And with that, the Paladin left, the procession of mourners, each of them repeating once more the invocation of shame and dishonor upon Garreth once more, until he was left alone with his thoughts.
