The Twice-blessed Paladin

The Lower District of Gildan's Reach is a stark contrast to the merchant-filled plazas and noble estates. The streets are narrower, the buildings older and in disrepair. The scent of stale ale and damp wood lingers, and the people move with a cautious urgency, avoiding eye contact and disappearing into doorways before nightfall.

Aldric walks through the uneven cobblestone streets, his black steel greatsword resting on his back. Eyes follow him, some filled with curiosity, others with fear.

This place is not just poor. It is hunted.

He stops at a tavern on the district's edge, its sign barely hanging on rusted chains—The Hollow Oak. The place is dimly lit, filled with hunched figures nursing cheap ale.

Aldric steps inside, scanning the room.

Conversations stop. People look up.

A knight in full armor does not belong here.

Aldric walks to the bar and places a silver coin down. "Information."

The barkeep, a grizzled man with a scar down his cheek, eyes him warily. "Depends on what kind."

Aldric leans in slightly. "The missing people. What do you know?"

The barkeep exhales through his nose. "Not much."

Aldric slides another coin forward.

The man looks at it, then back at him.

"Some say it's the slums," he mutters. "Gangs, slavers, the usual. But… it's more than that. People vanish without a sound. No screams. No signs of struggle."

Aldric narrows his eyes. "And the guards?"

The barkeep shakes his head. "They barely investigate. Either they don't care… or they're afraid."

Aldric takes this in.

"Something is hunting in this city. And it is doing so without fear."

He stands. "Where were the most recent disappearances?"

The barkeep hesitates. Then, he gestures toward the eastern outskirts. "An old farmstead, just outside the city. Three workers vanished two nights ago. No bodies found."

Aldric nods. "Then that's where I'll start."

He turns and leaves, the tavern watching him in silence.

The city streets soon fade behind him, giving way to rolling farmland and scattered homesteads. Most are occupied, lanterns glowing warmly inside, but as Aldric moves toward the eastern edge, the buildings become darker, abandoned.

Then he sees it.

A farmstead—once a grand structure, now a decaying husk. The barn is partially collapsed, the fields overgrown.

No animals. No workers.

Only silence.

Aldric dismounts his horse and approaches cautiously.

The wooden door to the farmhouse hangs open, creaking in the wind.

Inside, the air is stale, filled with the scent of rotting wood and dust.

But there is no blood. No signs of a struggle. Just emptiness.

Aldric moves through the house methodically, his steps slow and precise. He scans for clues—dropped possessions, overturned furniture, footprints.

Then, near the fireplace, he finds something.

A strange symbol, carved into the stone.

It is a circle, surrounded by jagged lines and claw-like etchings.

Aldric kneels, tracing the grooves with his gloved fingers.

"Not a simple robbery. Not slavers."

This was intentional. Ritualistic.

And it is not human in origin.

Aldric searches further, moving to the barn, its wooden walls covered in claw marks.

Inside, he finds scattered bones—animal remains, but arranged in deliberate patterns.

Symbols are etched into the wooden beams, crude but similar to the one in the farmhouse.

And then, in the farthest corner, he finds something worse.

A human skull, stripped clean, set atop a makeshift altar of stone.

Aldric stares at it for a long moment.

"This is not the work of ordinary men."

He touches the skull lightly. It is cold, long dead.

Then, the wind shifts.

Aldric tenses, turning his head. Something is watching.

The air feels heavier.

A presence lingers in this place.

Aldric slowly stands, hand resting on his sword hilt.

But nothing moves.

Whatever left these markings, whatever took those people… it is already gone.

For now.

Aldric exhales and steps away from the altar.

"The city has more than criminals in its shadows."

By the time Aldric rides back into Gildan's Reach, the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows over the streets.

At the Adventurer's Guild, he strides directly to the main desk, placing his quest paper down.

The same guild clerk from before looks up, surprised. "Back already?"

Aldric nods. "The disappearances are not random."

The clerk frowns. "Go on."

Aldric speaks clearly, concisely. "I found evidence of ritualistic activity. Symbols, altars. This is not the work of slavers or simple criminals."

The clerk's expression darkens. He picks up the paper and quietly folds it away.

Aldric narrows his eyes.

"You knew," he says.

The clerk exhales, rubbing his temples. "We suspected. But we have no proof. And without proof, the city officials will not act."

Aldric's fingers tap against the hilt of his sword. "Then I will find proof."

The clerk studies him. Then he nods.

"There's another site. Another missing person case. An abandoned chapel in the western district."

Aldric takes the note.

"The gods' names will return."

"But first, I will purge this darkness from their path."

He turns and leaves, heading toward his next hunt.