Morokai was tending the bar when Shebzio leaned over, tapped him on the shoulder, and whispered, "Oh fer tha love o’ the Angels, ‘ere he comes again."

Morokai had but an instant to wonder what Shenzio was talking about before the swinging doors of the Yellow Boar Tavern were knocked violently open. A heavy footstep could be heard, and Morokai remembered an instant before he would have been reminded anyway.

A towering figure strode out of the dark night and into the torch-lit tavern, and Morokai wasn’t the only one to groan under his breath as the giant of a man stopped just inside the doors and bellowed out a greeting to the crowded room.

"Hail and well met, fellow citizens!"

A half-hearted chorus of "Hail Paladin!" drifted down, but the huge man was already striding towards the bar, the wooden floor boards creaking under his metal boots.

Morokai nodded to the beaming Paladin as the man settled onto a groaning bar stool, then looked across the room and caught the eye of Salleth, one of the two bar maids working that night. Morokai gave her a curt nod and gestured with his thumb towards the back room, and Salleth, well-remembering the Paladin’s last visit, excused herself from the conversation at the table she’d been serving and hurried towards the back, intercepting the other bar maid on the way, a new girl just in from some farm, and dragged her into the back. Morokai noticed that the Paladin hadn’t caught sight of either of the maids before they'd scurried off for a quick costume change, and breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly stepped up to the bar in front of the Paladin and said, "What will ye quench your thirst with tonight, me fine sir?"

"What will I have to drink?" The Paladin echoed, in a much louder voice than was required. "Why a glass of your finest, barkeep, what else would befit a man of my stature?" The Paladin broke into his hearty laugh after this, and Morokai did his best to chuckle along, though he frankly saw nothing funny about it. He also knew that the Paladin wouldn’t touch "a glass of his finest" since "his finest" was brandy, or perhaps that small cask of Turbanian whiskey.  At least that was "finest" in the opinion of everyone in the bar but the Paladin, not that anyone else's opinion mattered to him.

While the Paladin was still leaning back, roaring his insincere laughter, Morokai caught sight of Salleth coming returning from the back room, a shawl wrapped modestly over her shoulders to conceal the very ample cleavage her dress was tailored to display. Morokai threw her a quick nod of approval, glad to see that she’d understood the situation perfectly. Last time Paladin had caused a scene with a table-thumping diatribe against the "whore-like" clothing the bar maids were wearing.

When some wit had wondered how the Paladin knew so much about whore clothing, the Paladin had broken the man’s jaw and knocked out six teeth with one back-handed swipe. Of course the plate mail glove he wore hadn’t exactly padded the impact, but the man’s strength was tremendous.

No one made any jokes at the Paladin’s expense anymore.

His gale of laughter over with, the Paladin leaned back over the bar and caught Morokai’s eye. "What barkeep, have you no finest to present to me? Why how long does a man have to wait here for some service?" Again, his voice was pitched loudly enough to wake the dogs in the street.

Morokai turned to the bar and selected a bottle of very fine red wine, one of his personal favorites. It didn’t sell well, as most of the lot in this place liked their drinks as cheap and full of alcohol as possible, but it was a very fine vintage.

He held the bottle, turning the label so the Paladin could read it. The man scarcely glanced at it, waving his hand dismissively. "Surely thou knowest my faith precludes my partaking in any such sinful beverages, barkeep?"

Morokai, who in his years of tending bar, had poured oceans of every sort of alcohol for every other Paladin he'd ever served, held his tongue and put the wine bottle back, wondering what he could possibly serve this fool that would shut him up for a moment. Last time the man had contented himself with some soft cider, but Morokai had none of that in stock now.  Fortunately the Paladin launched uninvited into a lecture, speaking to no one in particular, in a voice so loud no one could ignore it.  This game Morokai some time to think what he could put in a mug that this fool would drink.

"Aye, tis a difficult life to live, being so above the common rabble. Held to a higher standard, unable to partake in the simple pleasures so many others enjoy. But tis my calling! Trained as a lad I was, indoctrinated into my discipline of steel and faith. Where so many others faltered and grew weak, I thrived and grew stronger! Yea, there be few who can match my kind in power or fortitude, and though ye might think that the lack of worthy opponents in the years since we crushed the evil armies of King Leoric would have made us grow soft, we merely use this time to train all the more fiercely!"

Morokai, taking pity on his customers’ ears, broke in here, setting a glass of malted beer cut with milk and honey down in front of the Paladin.

"Pray try this, kind sir, may it soothe thy aches and envigor thy frame."

"Ahh, a truly pleasant concoction, my good man."

Morokai was annoyed by the artificial formality and sincerity the Paladin forced upon him, and he held his breath as the Paladin lifted the glass and drank deeply.

"Aye, tis a fine brew bar keep. Another would surely be even finer. Perhaps thou couldst find a drop of honey to sweeten it with?"

Morokai shuddered, knowing that he’d stirred two tablespoons of honey into the large glass the Paladin held like a toy in his huge hands now, but he quickly mixed up another glass, dropping near to four spoons of honey into this one, and leaving the mixing spoon in the cup as he brought it over.

"For thee, kind sir. Mayhap thou whilst require the spoon for stirring, as the honey may clump at the bottom."

The Paladin accepted the new glass without a word, and Morokai took his chance to scoot away, quickly serving the regular customers. The new bar maid was waiting with several orders for tables, and he filled them quickly, barely having time to note the odd drink request for table number sixteen. He peered into the wing of the tavern, but the torch back there was guttering, and that table was deep in shadow.  Another night Morokai would have shewn a bit more curiosity about an order for three raw eggs and an unopened bottle of whiskey, but he had to keep a close eye on the Paladin. More problems were sure to follow.

Twas odd, as Morokai he had served every sort of ruffian, brigand, and highwayman in this tavern, and very seldom had any problems with any of that scum, but here a noble and holy Paladin caused every sort of unrest with his monthly visits. Morokai knew it wouldn’t be long before the Paladin got to boasting about his many victories over the forces of darkness, telling how he’d dispatched hordes of zombies and ghouls with his mighty sword, and crushed the rotting skulls of the undead beneath his steel shod feet.

War stories were always popular tavern entertainment, but somehow when the Paladin told them they became droning lectures. Not that Morokai doubted the man was capable of wreaking the destruction he boasted of. The Paladin was enormous. The biggest man Morokai had ever laid eyes on. Even sitting on the bar stool the Paladin was a head taller than any other man in the tavern, and Morokai had to look up to meet his eyes, and he was behind the bar, on a platform half a foot higher than the tavern floor.

The Paladin wore gleaming plate mail, chest, legs, arms, and gloves, with a chain mail coif and a heavy plate mail helm over it, and even a snow white cape the red cross on the back. His weaponry was no less impressive, with a huge bastard sword in a scabbard down the middle of his back, a long sword in a jeweled scabbard from his belt, and a war hammer hanging from his other hip. Leaning against the bar next to him was a metal shield with a white background and a red cross painted over it, matching his cape. The cross covered the entire shield, and was nearly large enough to actually crucify a man on. The shield featured a serrated edge for slashing an opponent or snagging their sword, and looked to be over an inch thick.

Of course many of the men in the tavern had chain or plate mail of their own, and fine swords, and stout shields, but no one else felt the need to ostentatiously wear them around, while safely within the city walls. Everyone carried a dagger or short sword, but obvious displays of weaponry and armor were officially prohibited, though enforcement was always lax, especially here on the outskirts of town, near the less-civilized badlands to the north and west. The city guards were a feared force, but they were slow to respond to complaints not in the heart of the city, which was how various outlaws and brigands had so frequently come to drink in the Yellow Boar under Morokai’s watch.

Tonight the Paladin seemed to be in an especially jovial mood, and even allowed a few other men to tell some stories at the bar before he began to dominate the discourse with his bellowing tales of innate superiority.

Morokai was keeping close at the Paladin’s elbow, and when a grilled chicken sandwich was ordered by the giant in the plate mail, he hurried to make it. While he was breading the chicken breast, Salleth came over with a truly bizarre order.

"Marie" Morokai finally remembered that this was the new barmaid’s name, "made me switch tables with her so I’d have to cover number sixteen. There’s a very... unusual customer there. He looks like a vampyre, but he’s very polite. But after the way he ate those raw eggs, she couldn’t wait on him any more."

Morokai threw the chicken breast into the frying pan and poked the coals under the stove to generate some more heat. "What did he do with the eggs?"

"Huh? Oh, he bit tiny holes in them and sucked them dry, and he drank an entire bottle of whiskey like it was water. He now wants another bottle of the best whiskey we have, and a live chicken."

"You mean a whole chicken? Raw maybe?"

"No, he was very specific. He wants a live one. Said he’d pay double the price of a whole roasted chicken, and that there would be no disturbance to any of the other customers."

Salleth sounded disgusted, but Morokai could hear the greed in her voice, as she no doubt mentally calculated the size of the bill the mystery man was racking up, and thought of what the tip might be.

"Does he look like he’s good for it?"

"Aye, most certainly. He’s got magical rings on both hands, and several jeweled ones also, and there looks to be some fine armor under his black cloak. Also his purse is bulging with coin, and he already gave me a 3g just for the special request!"

Morokai turned over the chicken breast and pinched a bit of seasoning over it. Bending to stoke the coals again, he muttered, "Probably opals and semi-precious stones, and a purse full of copper." Then louder, so Salleth could hear him, "All right, go out into the back and pick him a hen. Get that scrawny brindled one that’s lucky to lay 2 eggs a fortnight, and take it over to him in some sort of basket or something. We can’t have the customers thinking we’re running a petting zoo here. Thank the Angels he’s in that dark corner booth... What the hell, maybe he just wants to hold it in his lap and stroke its pretty feathers?"

Salleth was already turning to go out the back when she said, "I don’t think the hen will be alive long enough to be much of a petting zoo."

Morokai grunted and gave the chicken breast a final press to dry it a bit, then flipped it out of the skillet and placed in on a thick slab of black bread. There was a leaf of fresh lettuce, a thick slice of onion, and some mustard too. Chicken sandwiches were one of the Yellow Boar’s specialties, and there would have been a slice of tomato also, in the proper season.

The Paladin was getting especially boastful, and Morokai hurried over with the sandwich and set it down, taking the Paladin’s empty glass and quickly refilling it with the concoction. The honey pot was almost out, which was no surprise, as he’d used more tonight for just this Paladin than he usually did in a week.

The sandwich kept the Paladin quiet for a few minutes, but once he’d gobbled it down the man seemed louder than ever. And his tales grew ever lengthier.

Morokai was kept busy filling other drink orders, and after about half an hour he realized that he’d never heard a squawk or any other sounds from that back booth that the hen had been destined for. The man had spoken truth about not disturbing the other customers, at least. Salleth was still moving amid the tables, her shawl a bit less carefully draped over her décolletage at this point, and she'd delivered no further reports. It seemed the chicken had been successfully delivered, and as successfully dispatched. What could a man want with a raw chicken? Sustenance? He had eaten those eggs raw, Salleth had said, but he had turned down a raw chicken, insisting on a live one. What, did he like to pluck them himself?

Morokai bemoaned the presence of the Paladin, as it kept him chained to the bar and unable to take a quick stroll around the tavern, where he might drop in on table sixteen for a quick peek at what had become of that old hen. He’d already had to twice move quickly to soothe bitter feelings when the Paladin had interrupted another man’s tale to ridicule it and tell one of his far-less interesting ones.

Now the Paladin had a full head of steam, and was shaking the rafters with his deep voice. Why did everything about that man have to be so large? Morokai wondered to himself.

"Why those soulless devils were no match for my steel! I saw half a dozen of the zombies dragging themselves out of that cursed graveyard at the sound of my approach, and it was nothing to chop them down. Horrid things they are, I’ll admit. The way they keep moving and crawling around even after you’ve chopped them to bits is quite repellent. But soulless devils like they never stand a chance against one such as I!"

As the Paladin paused briefly to draw breath, a deep and cracked voice could be heard by all floating from the back corner of the tavern.

"Mayhap thou art mighty indeed. But how fare thee when pitted against a devil with a soul?"

The Paladin whirled around, along with everyone else in the tavern, but the source of the voice was not to be seen, buried deep in the shadows of table sixteen.

Not seeing his verbal adversary slowed the Paladin only a second, and he quickly followed up with, "Why, devils of every stripe are but meat for my blade, have they souls or none."

"A blade?" The dark voice rejoined, softly mocking in tone. "What sort of fool thinks a blade is the best way to defeat every enemy?"

The Paladin was on his feet at this, his war hammer instantly in his grip. He smashed it down on the bar, denting the polished wood deeply. "I did not mean just my blade, as this hammer has sent more than a few undead crumbling back into the earth!"

"Has it now?" The voice questioned.

"Aye, and many more it will send there, perhaps starting this very night!" The Paladin was visibly angry at this point, unaccustomed to having anyone dare to challenge him.

The dark voice returned quickly, seeming to have grown more powerful. "I think I could teach thee a lesson or two, noble Paladin." The mocking tone he said "noble" was truly something to hear.

Most of the men in the bar hissed in breath at this. "A lesson taught" was a very powerful challenge, akin to swearing an oath. Not to be offered lightly, and not to be taken lightly.

"I will accept no lesson from a man who fears to face me in the light. As long as ye speaketh from the darkness, thy words have no substance!" A sound retort, Morokai thought, and was surprised to hear the the Paladin doing so well in this battle of wits.

"Well then, let me step into the light." said the voice from the darkness, and every eye strained toward the corner of the tavern.

On to Part Two -->

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