Chapter IV: San d'Orian Knights

The Kingdom of San d’Oria stood astride Vana’diel like a colossus, the bastion of military might and regal splendor. The capital of the Kingdom, which claimed land as far north as the mountainous glaciers of Beaucedine and as far south as the desert village of Rabao, was the center of the world in the areas of art, music, and fashion. The Elvaan people who lived there were proud and noble in their demeanor, to the point that the outside, less civilized world, considered them to be haughty. So rich was their heritage, however, that the Elvaan were undeniably the most storied people in all of Vana’diel.

San d’Oria itself was the jewel of the kingdom. The Cathedral there was the center of the continent’s religious world, and Chateau d’Oraguille, the grand Elvaan palace and ancestral home of the Oraguille line, reached into the sky with its’ spires and put to shame the architects of other lands. The descendants of the Dragon King, linked by blood to the ancient kingdom of Tavnazia, were the oldest surviving monarchy in all the world, their lineage going back as far as any history could document. Currently, King Destin sat upon the throne, and in his advanced age it was clear that someday soon one of his sons, either the scholarly Pieuje or the valiant Trion, would carry that legacy into the next generation.

“And their children after that, to continue looking down their noses for another hundred years.” The mumbled voice belonged to a man in glittering armor, a splendid, burnished suit of mail with the divine symbol of Altana upon it, as he looked up at the marvelous structure. Though the Divine Order had branches all throughout Vana’diel, the Elvaan would never let the world forget that it had its roots with them. “Divine” Order was also a name the San d’Orians had come up with, supposedly to connect the Paladins to the Elvaan roots in Tavnazia, and imply they were commissioned by Altana herself. In Bastok, they were the Noble Order, and held no such presumptuous titles. The Paladins were there to defend those in need, with their lives if need be, not parade about in their armor the way these Elvaan strumpets did.

“Did you say something, Captain Emblim?” inquired the priest at his side, his official escort into these lands. Elvaan though he might have been, all Paladins respected the clergy, and San d’Oria had provided a bishop to act as a mediator of sorts for the visiting Bastokan, as they were well aware of this fact. Emblim grunted, waving a gauntleted hand in dismissal.

“Just thinking out loud, Atreides.” Disrespectful as he thought the Elvaan to be, Atreides has proved himself to be a sharp, placid fellow, and Emblim had no wish to appear ungrateful. As the representative of President Karst and the Mythril Musketeers, it was customary for Emblim to occasionally make the long journey from Bastok to San d’Oria and meet with General Curilla and give a formal report, just as she would sometimes send a surrogate to correspond with Commander Volker. It was a long-standing tradition in order to maintain friendly communication between the two military forces, a custom Emblim fully understood the need for, but he still loathed every visit just the same. “Well,” he sighed, “let’s get this over with.”

Atreides gave a sideways smirk at Emblim’s reluctance as the Hume marched towards the doors of Chateau d’Oraguille, the blue-and-white cape bearing the signet of Bastok he wore flaring out behind him. The bishop followed behind him, and the guards at the gate threw the massive wooden doors open before them, revealing the splendor of the Chateau inside. The two entered to the expectant welcoming party, but rather than General Curilla, it was a blond Elvaan in white-and-gold armor who stood, smiling as he saw recognition register on Emblim’s face, ready to meet the visiting Captain.

“Erilan!” Emblim exclaimed in confusion even as he extended his hand, the Elvaan Paladin giving him a firm grasp in exchange. “Where’s the General?”

“Out on some boring maneuver or another,” Erilan shrugged, stepping sideways and motioning the Temple Knights at his side to make way. “And with her gone, I’ll be subbing in for the monthly tete-a-tete.”

“My hero.” Emblim said in relief. Erilan was his San d’Orian counterpart, and the two had spent many an evening at the Sheep’s Head or the Rusty Anchor complaining about the long-winded nature of each other’s bosses. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

“Bishop, come join us.” Erilan offered to Atreides, who had stopped at the gate. “The Papsque will be just as ready to hear your report tonight as he is right now. Get away from that drafty Cathedral and have a drink with us while we talk.”

“Drafty as it may be in there,” the priest quipped in response, “I’ve always found it fairly stuffy in the Chateau. Still, it has been a long journey. The Papsque won’t find a brief respite before returning to my duties harmful.”

Erilan laughed and clapped Atreides on the back, pushing the clergyman forward to join him and Emblim. The Temple Knights formed a smart line behind them as the gates to the Chateau shut firmly. Erilan turned to them and gave a brief salute, which they returned in unison before breaking off and returning to their positions around the Chateau. Emblim noted that the Temple Guards, at least, were as disciplined as ever. San d’Oria’s vaunted Royal Knights, however, were nowhere to be found. The Temple Knights, he soon realized, were also diminished in capacity.

“Curilla and Rahal took the majority of them out for training in Ronfaure,” Erilan explained later, as they sat in the Chateau’s ornate conference room. The Orcs, you understand. They’ve been fortifying themselves recently, and increasing their raids on the outlying villages. Trion wants to mount an immediate attack on Ghelsba to try and thin them out a little.”

“We’ve been having similar trouble with the Quadav.” Emblim noted, staring at the bottom of his empty flagon. “Rumor is that the Adamantking is growing restless in Beadeaux, especially since we began our campaign to reopen the Palborough Mines. It could be nothing, but you never know with these Beastmen.”

“Filthy lot,” Erilan said discontentedly. “it’s a shame we haven’t the strength to just exterminate them whole. Aye, now there’s a plan.”

Emblim said nothing. He did not exactly share the sentiment of his colleague, but he knew that the Great War had embittered the San d’Orians a great deal in regards to the Beastmen. Their battles with the Orc Hordes had been directly responsible for the destruction of Tavnazia, a sacred ground for the Elvaan. It had been two decades before the lost kingdom had even begun to rebuild after the horrific events of that war.

“In any case,” Erilan said, lightening the mood, “that’s where we stand. Same San d’Oria as always. She never really changes.”

“And the succession?” Emblim inquired. Erilan only snorted in return, and took another long drink, emptying his own mug.

“It’ll happen, and that’s all I care to say on the matter. So, that settles our boring reports on military affairs. What’s been going on with your life, Emblim? Any news from the outside world? I’m still amazed at how often they let you take off the way you do, I’m trapped in this . . . what was the word you used, bishop?”

“Stuffy.” Atreides provided helpfully, a bemused grin on his face as he idly flipped through the pages of one of the war manuals decorating the shelves of the room.

“Yes . . . this stuffy old place. Tell me what you’ve been up to, Emblim, Altana knows these trips back and forth are the only excitement I see these days.”

Emblim smiled smugly. He had been waiting for just such an opening as he extended his hand into a pouch on his belt. “Well,” he said, in a somewhat dismissive tone, “not much new to report, I’m afraid. Although I did come across some interesting fellows not too long ago, and picked up one of these.”

Bringing his hand out into view, Emblim held out his palm to let the light of the room glint off of what he presented; a small jewel, colored like a child’s candy, which seemed to hum with a dozen far-off voices.

Erilan’s eyes grew wide as he appraised the pearl. “Is that . . . “ he began, but then stopped, clapping his glass down on the table and laughing in astonishment. “YOU joined a linkshell? You’re a military man, Captain. How did – “

“The farmers out in Konschtat were having problems with an enormous ram. As it turned out, Those Guys showed up to investigate at the same time as me. Their leader offered me this after we found the monster – and what a monster it was – and took it down. Whenever the Musketeers are allowed some downtime, I figure now I’ll go out and see what sort of trouble I can get into with these fellows.”

“Amazing,” commented Erilan, shaking his head. “Here’s to you, friend, a bona fide adventurer.” Erilan raised his glass in cheer, then noticed it was already dry. “It seems we’ve gone through our share of festivity for the night.” he remarked a bit disappointedly.

“Just as well,” said Atreides, clapping the book in his hand shut from the corner. “Night is upon us, I should get back. Gentlemen, I bid you – “


“Dynamis is unleashed on our world!”


The trio froze as the pearl in Emblim’s hand gave a shout which none of them could ignore. Emblim stared at the tiny jewel and brought it close to his lips to speak, but immediately pushed it back again. It sounded like there were half a hundred voices speaking at once, with sounds of horrific screeching and an ear-shattering roar behind them. Emblim gave a cry as the pearl leaped from his hand with a shudder, and shattered seemingly of its’ own accord. The three stood in deathly silence, looking at the shards of the pearl on the table before them.

Before anyone could speak, the door suddenly burst open to admit Minister Halver, his face ghostly white as he stared at the trio for a moment, his jaw working but no sound coming out. Finally, he blurted out “Captain Erilan! You must come at once!”

“What is it?” Erilan demanded, his hand immediately going to the sword he had laid down on the table, snatching the sheathed blade from rest and advancing on Halver even as he began buckling it on again.

“There’s some sort of . . . I don’t know . . . some kind of disturbance near the residential district outside the marketplace, it’s . . . a hole, Erilan! A hole in the air, and . . . we’re being attacked, Captain! Our city defenses are nearly gone, and we’re being attacked!”

If Erilan had drunk too deeply tonight, no sign of it showed as he grimly shoved Halver aside and ran out into the hall, Emblim following close behind. “Rouse the Temple Guard!” He shouted through the halls as he ran, “We must get the King to safety! Someone find the Princess! You!” He bellowed at a passing guard, “go and find the Princes and alert them that the Royal Family is being taken away. Everybody else, into Southern San d’Oria! Move!!”

Dozens of clanging salutes came in response as Emblim turned to see Atreides brushing by the both of them.

“The Cathedral,” Atreides said in a panicked tone, “someone must warn the Papsque and the congregation!”

“Erilan!” Emblim shouted at his friend as the bishop tried to get by. “Where are you going?”

“To find out what this business is all about, Emblim. You heard that pearl the same as I did.”

“Erilan,” Emblim said, advancing on his friend, “you know this palace and its’ escape routes. You know what our duty is as Paladins in service of another.”

“I can’t just – “

“Leave it to me.” Emblim cut him off. “Get the d’Oraguilles to safety, I’ll take the guard out into the streets and safeguard the people from whatever this is. We have a job to do, Erilan!”

The armored Elvaan looked about indecisively, then let out an explosive breath of frustration before turning to his men. “Men!” he announced. “You all know Captain Emblim of Bastok! He will lead you in my stead while I see to the protection of the Royal Family! As soon as they’re to safety I will come back for you!”

“Sir!” They responded as one, but before Emblim could draw his sword, Erilan grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Listen, Emblim,” Erilan said, his tone grave and silent, “do what you can out there, but if things are too rough, don’t throw your life away. Come back here and have the soldiers lead you to the Bostaneiux Oubliette. Just ask any of them about it and they’ll show you the way. Understand?”

Emblim gave his friend a nod, and the two clasped hands once more. Turning, Emblim removed his sword from its’ sheath and called for the doors to open. As soon as he reached the outside, he froze, eyes going wide as he saw the horror unfolding around him.

San d’Oria, jewel of the Elvaan kingdom, the focal point of thousands of years of culture and advancement, was screaming. The sky above was black as pitch, save for bursts of lightning being emitted from clouds swirling stronger than any tempest Emblim had ever witnessed. In the streets, just a few hundred yards from where he stood, he could see nightmares filling the sky, and heard the anguished cries of the San d’Orian people as they were attacked by this unknown foe.

Emblim stood still for only a moment before raising his blade once again, and leading the Temple Knights forward at a dead charge.