Chapter Text
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Derek Targaryen ◇ “Oath of the Crown” Paladin ◇ Level 5
Human ◇ Chaotic Good ◇ Royal Blood (Absconded Prince)
STR: 17 | DEX: 14 | CON: 17 | INT: 10 | WIS: 11 | CHA: 18
Saving throws: Wisdom, Charisma
Expertise: Athletics, History, Intimidation, Persuasion, Survival
Languages: Common, Draconic, Elvish, Orc
Features: [Lay on Hands], [Divine Sense], [Divine Smite], [Divine Health], [Harness Divine Power], [Fighting Style: Blessed Warrior], [Extra Attack]
Channel Divinity: [Champion Challenge], [Turn the Tide]
Talented Feats: [Polearm Master], [Sentinel]
Player: Jason Hume
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“Run. Run away, Prince Derek. The only way for you to survive is to run.”
A dying old man rasped out, clutching the young man’s arm tightly, before he gave a rough shove to the direction of the horses. The bearded armed fellow stood back on his feet as he picked up his glaive, despite the blood pooling in his feet.
“Go. And don’t look back. Never look back.”
Derek didn’t want to leave, but if he stayed, then they both will die. However, his feet wouldn’t move. This man, the former Knight Commander of the Royal Crown Paladins, was his mentor ever since he was 10 years old. This mentor was more of a father to him than his real father who always sat at the throne. Derek was the third prince, so he had no desire ever taking the throne, and thus he threw himself into becoming a knight.
However, everything changed when the nobles rose and usurped the king. They also murdered the rest of his family, and Derek was lucky enough to be away on border patrol when all hell broke loose. Fulton managed to catch up to him just before the assassins could get to him, and told him everything of the tragedy.
But that left Fulton bleeding at death’s door step.
Derek wasn’t ready to say good bye.
“Fulton… Dad--”
The movement was swift as if the old man didn’t want to hear it while he shoved something into Derek’s hand. An amulet of a sword with flames and an eye etched within the hilt.
“Take it. Go find Garrick in Herquest.”
Derek stood there looking between the trinket and the old man before they started to hear shouting in the distance.
“Go. Go NOW!”
Derek knew this was the last time he was ever going to see him.
“…Fulton—No… Father…Thank you for everything.”
Fulton wore a straight face, but Derek could see his eyes swelling with tears, refusing to fall. Fulton’s Wife, Marge, was right. Even strong men cry.
Derek swallowed the lump in his throat as he turned around and ran for his horse. Without looking back, he fled and left his father and mentor behind.
The memory faded, and it seemed like Jason was watching television, but through the eyes of former third prince Derek. He fled from the kingdom, avoiding the soldiers and bounty hunters sent by the new King of Mistral. It was only made possible as the people loved him deeply due to his kind deeds as the third prince, fighting for the common folk.
After a month of travelling, he finally reached the kingdom of Pryzam and entered the infamous, thriving city called Herquest.
There, he meets Garrick, an old friend of his fatherly mentor, and a group of wayward souls like himself, trying to find their way in life.
Jason knew this story… Because it already happened.
Question is… was he Jason? …Or Derek?
= = =
Derek gasped and dust entered his lungs, sending him into a coughing fit. Quickly he rose, getting off the ground, so he could breathe air instead of the dirt.
Wherever he was, he wasn’t in the city of Herquest, or even Pryzam, for that matter. He had woken up in a barren wasteland with an eerie green sky. A black castle can be seen in the far mountains. It looked far, and it could probably take three days to get there…or longer.
Jason---No. Derek…?
Who was he, or which one was he?
Glancing down, he noticed his prized glaive on the ground. He picked it up and rose to his feet.
At that moment, he saw a bright light not too far away. Seeing that it was closer than the black palace, he ventured towards it.
When he got closer, it looked to be a swirling green portal, and there was the sound of fighting coming from the other side of it.
Jason had never been in a real fight before. He was just an office worker. Overweight giant with horrible vision. He wasn’t a warrior.
But Derek is.
Derek is a warrior with royal blood running through his veins, and he had all his memories. Memories that he never thought were real until now. He could remember the training, the lessons of his noble birth, and his fatherly mentor teaching him the way of the swords ever since he was twelve years old. Then, there was also he and party’s contribution of saving the Pryzam royal family. Although it was a campaign, the memories were real as if they had experienced it reality wise.
His heart hardened, steadily beating as his blood began to boil…
He had to decide now; the soldiers on the other side were losing.
He readied himself. The precious glaive in his hands felt like it was a part of him. Jason would have been frightened, but Derek held steady. For now, Jason has to stay buried.
Derek took a breath before he charged into the portal.
He came right out and landed right on top of the creature.
His sudden attack surprised the creature. The creature had long, terrifying claws, and a face of terror that would stop the hearts of hardened warriors, but Derek had suffered more nightmares than the ugliness of this creature.
He quickly ended it by stabbing its face.
“Maker!!”
A soldier cried out of fright when Derek had jumped out of the rift and killed the terror demon in one strike.
The fight didn’t stop there as Derek caught the attention of other hostile shades. They moved towards him with their claws outstretched and as soon as they were within five feet of him, he thrust the halberd forward and stabbed one into its guts. He pulled it out and used the pike-end to nick the other shade. The soldier close to him took the opportunity to strike the wounded shade down.
The last one started to move to the attacking soldier, but Derek didn’t let it as he swung his weapon and cleaved it in half, killing it.
When the battle was over, every able soldier had their blades pointing at Derek.
“Who are you?” A thick Scottish-like accent coated the older man’s voice as he demanded. “Where---How did you come out of the rift? Are you a demon?”
Derek couldn’t help but throw a disgusted look at the soldier.
“Do I look like a demon to you, soldier?”
The soldier furrowed his brows. “Are you possessed?”
“And if I was possessed, would you expect me to say yes?” Derek grilled the soldier a bit more for such silly questions, but decided to chalk it up to stress. He swung his glaive only to have it stand on the snow, but still the soldiers flinched.
He decided to introduce himself. “I am Derek of House Targaryen.”
A famous last name that he took from a popular series, and he hoped nobody would have minded. At least, not in this world. Furthermore, it was necessary for him to introduce himself this way. Letting them know of his noble heritage would make negotiations and peace talks easier. He could easily pass off being born from a noble family, despite the truth that he was actually a fugitive prince.
It did the trick.
The soldier stiffened a moment as he did lower his blade, causing the rest of the soldiers to aim it away from Derek.
He then introduced himself. “Lieutenant Rylen, formerly Knight-Captain, and I’m advising you to come back to Haven with us.”
“For what exactly?” Derek asked raising a brow.
Rylen raised his blade again. “The Conclave exploded, and we’ve lost many good people. Demons keep pouring out from the rifts, and yet you came out from it as well! Now, I don’t know who you are, or what you are, but someone is responsible for this mess!”
Derek said nothing back, but the lieutenant had a point. If anyone was in his position, he would be a person of interest---a suspect. The worrisome part is that he would be tied to this ‘Conclave’ that he had never heard of, and he might be exploited as a scapegoat.
It didn’t help that he couldn’t remember anything apart from leaving Pryzam with…
Where…are his party?
“Oye! Are you listening?!” Rylen interrupted his thoughts.
“Ser Rylen!” An urgent cry cut through the tension as the soldier pointed to the rift.
It started to spark like a storm brewing sporadically. In a flash, light jutted out.
“More are coming!!”
“Take the wounded out!” Rylen shouted an order. “We have to retreat!”
Derek glanced around once, and already he knew it was a losing battle. There were only five-able soldiers, and the rest were either incapacitated, or dead. From what he could understand, more demons were coming and seeing where the light and the ooze was forming, about seven of them were about to appear. Seven against them all—those were very low odds… They wouldn’t be able to retreat unscathed.
But this Paladin can turn the tide.
“Do not falter!” Derek shouted, getting their attention. “If you are able, then fight! If you are wounded, then take those with you in haste!”
Rylen whirled at him. “What are you--”
However, before the lieutenant could scold Derek for undermining his authority in the battlefield, a bright sigil light appeared beneath the knight’s feet and it stretched right out, encompassing at least a 30-foot radius with Derek at the center.
Sparkling light danced around each soldier, and like magic, their wounds healed in an instant. It was as if they had taken a small healing potion. Grievous wounds weren’t so lethal, averting them away from death’s door step.
The soldiers were in awe at such healing.
“Those who can still, stand your ground until we clear all the wounded!” Derek shouted to them all, then he turned his back to them. “I don’t know what happened here, or to the Conclave, but if it’s demons, then I’ll gladly aid you. Now… Get ready!!”
Green lightning charred around the rift that stormed the area as seven demons appeared from the light and the ooze from the ground.
With his free hand, Derek gestured to the one demon that seemed the strongest of the lot.
“Ignis Sanctus!”
White burning flames descended upon that creature from above, and it let out a wailing agony before the fire melted it away.
“He’s a mage…?!”
“I’ve never seen flames so white!”
“Y-you…! Are you a knight enchanter?” Rylen startled out a question.
“Questions later! Survive for now!” Derek reminded him as the demons, whom were momentarily distracted by the attack, now directed their fury on the paladin.
He will take them all head on, like the paladin tank he was born to be.
= = = =
Cassandra had confirmed the horrible conclusion.
Divine Justinia is dead.
That is what she and Leliana have verified as they went up the ruined trail with the soldiers, finding nothing but debris, scorching corpses, and tears in the veil, giving access to demons to breach the other side.
Not to mention, there was a giant hole in the sky, swirling around their doomed world.
Are they doomed after all?
Suddenly, a scout reported to them.
A man in full-plate armor with strange magic had stepped out of the rift, fell demons, and healed the wounds of their soldiers.
After hearing that report, Cassandra and Leliana rushed down from the forward camp to Haven, where the man was being held at the Chantry. This man was their only clue to how the Temple of Sacred Ashes and their Divine Justinia was destroyed. He had to be. He had to have answers. After all, he was the only survivor they’ve found so far.
When they walked through the Chantry’s doors, an elven scout rushed to their side, joining their stride.
“Seeker Cassandra. Sister Leliana. The prisoner is being held down at the cellars.” She said to them.
“Has a templar verified if the prisoner is an abomination?” Cassandra asked.
“Not yet, but Ser Rylen is keeping an eye on him.”
“The report says that he healed the soldiers. How much of that is true?” Leliana asked.
“W-well, the soldiers that returned said there were only five of them able to fight, and most were wounded, but then there was this light and this circle that encompassed them---and then more light enveloped them, healing most of their wounds, but not all. I suppose just enough to get them on their feet.”
“Is he dangerous?” Leliana pressed.
“I believe so. Ser Rylen claimed that the prisoner killed most of the demons, and because of him, they were able to retreat with the wounded. He also claimed that the man is of noble heritage and that he’s capable of powerful offensive magic as well.”
“Explain. What magic?” Cassandra asked, stopping in her tracks as they reached the door that would lead to the cellar.
“He wasn’t sure, but he said something of fire so white that it continued burning the demon until it was nothing but ash---and even then, the flames remained on the snow before they faded.”
The Seeker’s brows furrowed. A mage in full-plate armor capable of healing abilities and offensive magic. For a moment, she thought it’d be Hawk, especially with note of noble heritage. The worst possible thought that it could also be Anders, that terrorist---a mage who ran a clinic under Kirkwall’s Lowtown. However, neither of them fit the description of a full-plate warrior.
Before she could even question more, they heard Rylen yelling from below.
“NO! No, no!! Don’t do that!”
All three women looked at each other before they rushed down the stairs.
Cassandra burst through the door first, hand gripping the handle of her sword as she was halfway unsheathing it.
Then she froze.
There were at least four armed men surrounding the room with a very muscular man in the center, wearing nothing but his ‘loins’ as he set the armor pieces on the floor to the side of the table.
Other than the sheerness of his black loincloth, he was very much naked.
Three of the armed men guarding the prisoner had their jaws fall slack. Cassandra also found herself gawking, and who wouldn’t be? The man is standing at six feet and four inches tall, completely ripped. His muscles chiseled and toned, shoulders broadened, and sharp jaw.
Ser Rylen was the first to react when his superiors entered the room. He saluted.
“Seeker Pentaghast! Sister Leliana!”
Leliana had to be the only one with an expressionless face as she glanced at the prisoner up and down.
“Care to explain why the prisoner is without clothing?”
Rylen didn’t get to answer as Derek turned to face them, causing the elven scout to turn away, flushing beet red.
“I thought I’d look less threatening if I took everything off,” Derek said. “Does it help?”
None of them gave him an answer.
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