Arch Paladin Xavos was no stranger to last stands against the undead. Yet, all man’s battle with time ends, and one last hold out against the legions of the waking dead wasn’t the worst end for a warrior of Heaven. The last living Paladin upon Kyathane. All his brothers had passed till none but the acolytes were left to guard the Fortress of Unflinching Dawn on the flying Isle of Eternal Light as she stood between the swarming hordes and the last arks on their way to the final sanctuary of the living.

The split continent of Verthane that the Council of the Cardinal Priesthood had cut from the terra itself and cast adrift into the ocean lest her endless wildernesses be consumed by the dead plague was their last salvation in this mortal toil. Life for the faithful aboard the massive arks bound for their sanctuary would be difficult, there was a reason why the peninsula had been almost uninhabited by the works of mortals amongst the man eating fauna and bull sized ogre spiders, but there they had a chance. That is of course if the isle fortress held long enough for the priests and engineers to complete their task while the ships ushering in the remnant of the sentient races made it past what would be the Blessed Stasis Field where nothing living, dead, or undead could pass. If they held.

Xavos looked out upon his most loyal acolytes who themselves would have become paladins and perhaps even Arch Paladins one day if they had been born to less gruesome times. They were reduced to a few hundred. A ragtag bloodied crew with armor bruised and battered as much as their owners. All were men as for few sisters of the cloth left had been sent on to work their arts of both healing and mage honor amongst the refugees who were surely going to be in need of their light in the coming trials. The living had a funny way of joining the legions of the restless dead during days of crises. Worse, much to the sorrow Xavos, the fortresses of the Arch Paladins of the other Races of the Heavens had already fallen while holding the line.

None had escaped the fortress of the Dwarves who had detonated their powder stores after combining the piles of combustible powder with holy water and blessed wine of eucharist bringing a divine rain that undead still could not cross to their left flank. No more would Lor Scarletmane to his people and Skull Wrenderer to his enemies be seen singing in the wind hymns of blessing high above the crags of the Breaker Mountains. The many golden spires of his Fortress dotted with rubies and silver steel gears of his industrial nature broken and scattered across the sea like so many fallen stars. Only their own work could break those dwarven made stones, and they died as they ever chose with raised fist at the God of Death who made war on the living.

The shimmering towers of the Isle of Ithobiel’oth, or Eternal Day in old imperial tongue, had passed giving the arks of the northern tundras time to begin their voyage. Xavos would miss the dry humor of Sourunbiel in their meetings, his foxfire forever snuffed out. Soulcoss, Mavor, Luithindale, Zarn Kovo, and last to fall before them the sea elfin Hashen the great mer king of Paladins had passed before escaping the tempest he had formed to trap the undead to their far right flank. Now the last of the Arch Paladins, the Paladin of man Xavos, made his final stand. Or, he would once the Lynch Kings had regathered their thralls for a final drive through the gap between the holy rain and churning maelstrom stretching through the heavens. The last gift through sacrifice from his brothers

Michath, the last of Xavos’ personal guard coughed before drawing a cursed blade of vampire blood from his lung. Such blades were made from cursed rendering of young maidens blood just as they were turned to vampiric form. The horrid act could produce a dagger of crystal blood that could pierce all armor, even holy armor depending on the power of the vampire initiating the ritual. Xavos did not worry for the youth of twenty three summers who had come to the cloth straight from the orphan homes, and only just gained his position within the guard from the previous class of acolytes. Already his blessings from Heaven were cleansing his wounds, and doubtlessly inflicting great pain upon the vampress if she still walked her undead path. The curse may linger, but none would live long enough to see the results. Much as man dying of fever didn’t care if the ale he was drinking would poison his blood overtime.

“Arch Paladin, the ark of Xarmon is still within the stasis field. We only have enough power for one jump before our magic stores are depleted. If we deploy our shields to repel another assault we will be caught in the field when it is deployed,” Bolane, the chief page of the court, called out from his vantage point overlooking the ocean far below. His fiery red hair now turned grey with the ashes of the dead his fires of Heaven had consumed for endless hours against the waves of undead.

The last living Paladin padded his way next to his chief and now only messenger left alive. There indeed was the ark of Xarmon floundering in the waves. Almost assuredly the damage done to their sails and the loss of the Archon Mage of the winds in their crossing was the source of their distress. The dark cynic inside Xavos who had seen ages of politicians, kings, and princes with all their machinations suspected sabotage, but to what end he could not wager. Yet, far too many of the numerous arks had floundered to be sheer coincidence let alone the delay to the stasis field’s deployment itself.

Perhaps this is what the kings on those arks wanted. No more Paladins to remind them of their sins, or holy blades routing out the affairs of their bought off priests and would be masters of the church. A dark thought. One that could almost motivate the old Paladin to do the unthinkable. Leave now and remake the order and leave an entire race to perish within the stasis field that must never be broken till the strength could be found to unmake the undead hordes teaming across the world.

They were the last of the dwarves of the Ocean of Wyverns. Their underwater cities now home to the undead pirates and mariners lost over the centuries. They had fought valiantly and sent much treasure and expertise to construction of the massive arks themselves housing the last of the living to their sanctuary. To leave them was unthinkable.

Yet, if a plot was abound to end the order of Paladins in the chaos of the death of the world, how long before that plot lead to the destruction of their hard fought sanctuary? Did not Xavos have a duty to the world to preserve his order and ensure another generation of Paladins were raised to keep the stasis field between the undead and the living?

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