The villagers saw the paladin crossing the stream to the outskirts of the village and regarded him with trepidations. His armour and his holy trinkets made his rank obvious, but what kind of paladin he was remained in question, as did the manner of god he served. The alderman found out soon enough when he spoke to the mounted warrior.
‘Greetings, lord. You here to sort out the dead?’
A great many corpses had piled up, plague-stricken and untouchable.
‘I am,’ said the paladin.
‘Are you to bless them? Cleanse them of sickness?’
‘Oh no, nothing like that. I was going to raise them up and walk them out of here.’
A paladin of death, then.
Paddy Dobson
14th September 2023