As he said those words, the entire party's attention was seized in an iron vice. Romain turned and gestured up to the tapestry on the wall behind him, hanging above the dais in the great hall and illuminated in a halo of yellow light by the sun outside.

The tapestry depicted eight figures, each one clad in gleaming plate armour and a coloured surcoat depicting their coat-of arms, kneeling in a verdant grove at the edge of a gleaming silver lake, their weapons planted in the earth and their heads bowed. In this lake, seeming to walk upon its shimmering surface, was a tall and elegant woman – her flowing hair the colour of platinum, her slender, flowing robe of purest white, and the wings that crested from her back burned with holy light.

In the woman's hands was a glittering crown, carved into draconic patterns from the same material as her hair and studded with sapphires. She was placing it on the head of the foremost armoured figure, and across the bottom of this artwork, upon a band of cobalt blue fabric, were five words worked in bold text of purest white – 'Honour. Wisdom. Compassion, Humility. Valour.'

Logan felt something stir inside him as he gazed upon the tapestry, the word "Magnificent..." slipping from his mouth as he studied every detail before turning to Romain. "What does this depict?"

Romain turned to him and smiled. "The Crowning of King Garahel." He then turned back around to face his dinner guests with every eye on him. "Long ago, when Milisevre was but a hidden region of Faerun with no name, the settlers who were drawn here by the fertile soil and the gentle climate found that it was no paradise. As yet untouched by civilization, monsters of all kinds roamed our hills, lurked in our forests and prowled our mountains. Not a patch of earth was safe, and so the people clustered together into small holdings and fiefs, with the local ruler taking the strongest, bravest men on his lands and keeping them as an elite force of warriors to defend their homes and their families."

Romain's smile broadened as he continued his story. "They became famous, and their feats of courage and honourable selflessness were most pleasing to Bahamut, who decided to bless this land, to shape it to his ideals and make it a beacon of light and virtue for all mortal races..." he said. "So it was that the Platinum Dragon sent one of his most trusted angels to the Material Plane, where she created a site of most holy power from her very essence - the Lake of Virtue. As she fell upon the mortal world, two young warriors from the nearby settlement saw the descent of what seemed to be a falling star and went to investigate..."

As he spoke, the Milisevran turned back to the tapestry and pointed out two of the eight figures, one after the other. "The first of them was Garahel, the son and heir of the local lord, and at his side was Calendor, so close a companion to Garahel that they were brothers in all but blood. When the two men arrived where they thought the crater might be, they fell to their knees, awestruck at the sight of both the lake and the Lady within it," he said. "She bid them rise and assured them no harm, then extended her hands and asked for Garahel's sword... and when he gave it of his own free will, she bade him kneel at the lake's edge."

Logan took a deep breath as he heard this as something rumbled in the back of his mind. Something disquieting that lurked in his past, and that the story reminded him of. But he wouldn't interrupt such a wondrous tale.

"Garahel knelt..." Romain continued, "... and Sir Garahel arose, blessed by the Lady and charged by the Platinum Dragon to uphold the sacred, protect the weak and innocent, fight for the right until death, and above all, embody the five chivalric virtues – honour, wisdom, compassion, humility and valour. He was the First Knight in all of Faerun. Immediately after, Calendor became the second, and both men were gifted with armour, shields, swords and steeds by the Lady so that they might better uphold their vows."

Technus' mechanical eye clicked at the mention of the magical weaponry. Surprisingly, despite hearing of another religion that contradicted his own faith's ideas, even he didn't mock or scoff.

"What happened next?" Arabella asked softly. She and Finnan were visibly engrossed by the story.

"After that, Garahel and Calendor set off across Milisevre. At first, they upheld their oaths to defend those in need and lay low the wicked... but they soon realized that they could not be everywhere at once. So they began to search for others to become knights, and they found six warriors whom they deemed worthy of such an honour."

He continued to gesture to the knights behind in the tapestry. "Some were originally mere commoners, like Gregor de Taureau, a blacksmith who single-handedly defended his village against an army of orcs and goblins. Others were the children of petty lords, such as Dame Aveline de Vorleans, who avenged her slain brothers when they fell afoul of a hydra during a hunt. Garahel and Calendor met them all, aided them all, and brought them all to the Lake, where the Lady dubbed them knights and swore them to the same vows as their predecessors. Together, these sworn brethren took on a new name – the Knights of the Platinum Dragon – and with Garahel as their leader, they defeated countless foes, stirred the hearts of the people they saved, and united all the petty lordships into one kingdom with Garahel as their king. Thus, Milisevre, the Land of the Platinum Dragon, was born."

Romain finished by gazing into the middle distance and placing his fist over his heart, a fierce love visibly burning in his eyes.

Logan smiled with approval. "A fitting end to such a great tale..." he told Romain, giving him a friend clap on the shoulder. "Thank you for that story, Sir Romain."

The blonde youth turned to Logan and replied "Think nothing of it, Sir Logan."

"Um, hello?!" Stalk's voice suddenly cut in as he lifted a hand and clicked his clawed fingers in their direction. "That was nice to hear an' all, but you still ain't answered my question! What does this have to do with the chimera?"

Logan's gaze twisted over to Stalk. Despite being regaled with stories of heroism, chivalry and the blessings of a god, Stalk's face betrayed a mixture of boredom and frustration. It was plain to see from how the kenku acted that the legacy of this country meant little to him.

Ironic, given he was the only one amongst them who had been to Milisevre before now. But even if he'd heard it before, the least he could do was show respect for his host.

Romain showed no signs that he had taken offense, however, instead calmly replying "I was just getting to that, Stalk. You see, for untold aeons, the Lake of Virtue was an important site of pilgrimage for my people, the Milisevrans. Some said the Lady of the Lake was even able to grant blessing and miracles, healing the sickly and restoring the dead."

This answer got Stalk invested in what Romain was saying, his avian eyes gleaming with an eagerness that Logan wouldn't have expected from a non-religious sort.

The Milisevran continued. "... but eighty years ago, a great catastrophe rocked our kingdom, and in the chaos, the Lake's location was somehow lost!"

Arabella's hand rose to her chest as she listened. "Oh gosh. I'm so sorry to hear that..." she told Romain, who gave her a nod.
"You are most kind, my lady, but you needn't fear! Just a few months back, Good King Charles proclaimed that a clue to finding the Lake has once again been uncovered, and declared a great tournament where knights from all across the kingdom would compete in teams against each other in a skill of arms! And the winning team shall have the honour of going on a quest to uncover the Lake of Virtue itself!"

Logan's eyes brightened at the mention of this, his golden irises seeming to glow at the mere mention of the tourney, let alone the quest that would be bequeathed to the victors.

To go in search of an angel of Bahamut herself... why, that would be one of the greatest honours any servant of the Platinum Dragon could ever ask for!

"That's incredible!" Logan found himself declaring out loud. "Do you intend to compete, Romain?"

"Most certainly," was the reply Romain gave. However, as he spoke, his tone dropped while the glow of joy and optimism he bore faded from his face. "I've just had trouble finding a team, in truth..."

Scanning the others, they could all see that it bought Romain deep sorrow to say this. But he said it all the same. "I shan't beat around the bush, friends – I am only nineteen years old. I've never fought in a battle, nor defeated many creatures beyond the occasional bandit. As such, many of the other knights view me as little more than a green boy... and truth be told, I'm not even sure that they're wrong," he admitted. "Especially now that I failed to kill the chimera. I hoped that slaying it single-handed might win me some respect and some teammates from amongst my fellow nobility, but instead all it got me was a near-death experience."

As his faltering voice said those words, Logan felt something pang inside him. In that moment, he not only saw Romain's pain and sadness, but it radiated through his own body.

Logan had felt that pain before, and knew it all too well.

Meanwhile, Arabella tried to reassure the Milisevran with kind words. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Romain. It was still very brave of you to try, and you did it in service to your god and your people." Her soft, elegant hands held her holy symbol, the golden heart, between thumb and forefinger. "No-one can fault you for that."

"That is very kind of you to say, my lady. But it is the truth about how I feel..." Romain replied graciously. "As I said, I hoped to compete and have a chance of winning this tourney, but I have no teammates to speak of."

"You have one."

~~~

Every eye in the room shot his way as Logan stepped forward and placed his firmly hand on Romain's shoulder once again and said "It may not have been the way you planned, Romain, and I'm truly sorry for us stealing away the glory you sought from killing the chimera. But your cause is a noble one, and as a fellow knight and paladin of the Platinum Dragon, I'd gladly fight by your side in this tournament to win such an honour as questing for this holy site."

Romain's mouth fell open, eyes lighting up in both joy and disbelief. "You would?!"

Logan gave him a warm smile and shook his shoulder slightly. "Without a doubt. You're not the only knight wanting to prove themselves here..." he admitted, opening up to Romain as he looked into his eyes.

There were a few sparse seconds of silence before Arabella, Ren and Finnan both started clapping, the elves doing so politely while the halfling was flapping his hands and whooping and cheering all the while. Still, Logan noticed Ren and Arabella smiling at them, which made him hope they felt they could make it.

However, on the other side of the table, Stalk and Technus were silent. Stalk was looking pensive, avoiding eye contact as he scratched beneath his beak, orange eyes darting about as he seemed lost in thought. Technus, meanwhile, remained still as a statue in the chair of Romain's grandmother before his droning voice said:

"You are here for a greater reason than simply service to your god."

It wasn't a question, but a matter-of-fact statement, blunt as a warhammer to the head. And as Logan met the cyborg's gaze and saw in his peripheral vision that everyone else still looking at him, he decided that now was the best time to tell his story – the reason he was here, and the reason why he became a paladin.

Though it wasn't so much his story, in truth.

"You're right," Logan told Technus. He then began his explanation. "My family, House Galehaut, are a noble house from the Kingdom of Cormyr. Our lands lie in the Stormhorn mountains, and from our ancestral seat, the castle of Frostpeak, we have defended our nation's borders without fail for over a thousand years. Many Galehauts have served as paladins of Bahamut – so many that if I listed them all, winter would come and go before I'd finished."

An endless roll of names ran through Logan's head – Byron Galehaut, the Griffinborn, the founder of their house, who first rode upon the white griffin their family sigil depicted. Xandyr Galehaut, the Stormslayer, who defeated the fallen sorcerer Balthasar Sturm, the Lord of Lightning. Dinadon Galehaut, Dinadon the Deadly, who singlehandedly held back an invading army until reinforcements could arrive at the Battle of Azoun's Hold.

He also dared to hope that those sat around him might have at least heard of his family, but as he looked around, he saw no sign that it rang any bells, which sent a small sliver of worry through him.

Technus continued to watch him unblinkingly. "Acknowledged," he replied. Meanwhile, Ren was learning forward in his chair, propping his chin up on his wrists as he asked a question of his own.

"Was your father the Lord of Frostpeak himself?"

Logan nodded grimly. "Aye. Lord Josef Galehaut. I'm his firstborn son and heir... or I was, provided my family haven't officially disinherited me."

In that moment, next to Ren, Arabella's large turquoise eyes widened. "Why would they do that?" she asked him.

'Many reasons...' Logan thought to himself. 'None of them right or just.'

"You see, while I was the heir to House Galehaut, I never actually wanted to be a lord." Logan explained. "I wanted to be a paladin and a knight, defending the people and upholding justice with my own two hands, like the heroes of yore. Like my forebears."

Stalk cocked his head as he listened in, his feathered brows arching in confusion. "Couldn't you be both?"

Logan turned to meet the kenku's gaze and sighed wistfully. "I could have been, Stalk... if not for my wretched father and my stepmother." As he said that, his eyes glazes, his voice and his fists clenched. "You see, my father's known as 'The Fool of Frostpeak' for a reason - he's a spineless craven through-and-through. He hid himself away from everyone, even his own children, and let his new wife rule over Frostpeak... which wouldn't be a problem if she wasn't such a-"

His anger at the memories and the few glasses of wine he had in his system almost made him forget himself, but as Logan lifted his gaze to see Romain, Arabella and most of the others looking his way, he remembered where he was and his jaw clamped down upon his tongue, holding it fast.

"She wormed her way into our family like a venomous snake," he said. ".. and it wasn't long before her poison set in and she took over everything, appointing her sycophants to every position. She also tried to shape me and my sister into what she wanted us to be from the second she first saw us... and responded viciously to even the slightest transgressions."

And then the most painful thing of all escaped his lips. "And through all of this, even though he knew... my father did nothing."

His voice became bitter as bile when he said that, his chest rising and falling as wrath coursed through his body. However, he was brought back when he saw the eyes of all those watching, even Technus' sole living eye, flicker with alarm.

That told him that they could notice his anger, and he quickly fought to compose himself. "But I did have a saviour..." he went on to say. "My uncle, Sir Oren Galehaut."

As he said that name, the largest and silliest grin came to his lips, which helped assuage the pain that the memories his father and stepmother always brought forth. Now they were replaced with joy and pride as he said, "Uncle Oren was everything my father wasn't – brave, just, compassionate, honourable and righteous. He was also a paladin – a true Galehaut, upholding the legacy of our ancestors."

Romain's eyes suddenly lit up. "Oren... as in 'Sir Oren, the Knight of the Griffin'? 'Sir Oren the Unyielding'?"

Logan nodded, still beaming. "Indeed. The man who led the charge that lifted the Siege of Suzail, Cormyr's capital. Who slew the lich lord Nhagruul the Foul in single combat. Who fought alongside Ulder Ravenguard of Baldur's Gate against the followers of Tiamat... I could list his accolades for days, but I think you get my point. When I was nine, he took me as his squire, and we spent the next ten years adventuring across the Realms together, where he taught me the skills and values of a knight..."

As he said each of those words, the young man's heart swelled with pride, tears almost coming to his eyes as he looked back on those years with nostalgic remembrance.

"He was your mentor?" Technus asked.

"That..." Logan said, the volume in his voice dropping. "That, and so much more."

Something in his right eye blurred his vision as he remembered sitting by his uncle's side at camp a thousand times over, feeling a strong but gentle hand tousle his black hair while a deep voice laughed and a pair of golden eyes looked at him with affection and a silent measure of pride

Finnan then stood up in his chair and declared "Well, your uncle seems like a swell guy! Can we meet him someday?"

Any trace of joy on Logan's face instantly vanished in that moment. "He's... he's no longer with us, Finnan." The Galehaut had to force himself to say that, pain audible in his voice and visible in his eyes.

The awkwardness in the room immediately became palpable, so thick you could bite and chew it as much as any dish on the platters before them. Finnan sank back into his seat, and after a silence as deep as the Abyss, Romain looked at Logan from where they stood beside each other and asked "What happened?"

A shiver ran through Logan from head to heel. But even as six pairs of eyes looked his way, he found his tongue.

"My uncle and I spent much time elsewhere in Faerun, but we would return to Cormyr and Frostpeak whenever our country needed us, like in the wars against the Netherese. And four years ago, during one of our returns, my uncle received word that a narzugon – a type of devil also known as a hell knight – was rampaging across the countryside. Immediately, my uncle went off to destroy the creature, and while I begged to go with him, he ordered me to remain home and await his return."

He felt his fingers begin to cramp. "But I didn't plan on waiting - I was his squire, and my place was by his side. So I stole a horse and rode like the wind, following his tracks until the battle between them came into view..."

Logan could see it clear as day before him all these years later – on one side, the devil on his hellsteed, rider and mount both with flesh as black as boiling tar and pits of flame for eyes. In gauntleted hands where the metal had melted onto the skin, clawed fingertips gleaming like knives, the monster wielded a lance that might have been forged of pure shadow, drinking in the light from everything around it.

Such a light radiated from the other side of the field. Uncle Oren, resplendent in silvered steel, his old brown charger as armoured as he was, with Sacrifice blazing with holy power as the blade arced through the air. A split-second after Logan arrived, he saw the two warriors clash, a sound like a clap of thunder blasting across the mountain slope they fought upon.

Logan's shoulders and legs burned as he remembered thrashing the reins of his horse and spurring the animal onwards. And when the beast couldn't shortcut across the mountainside, he leapt from its saddle and scrambled over the rocks, blood pouring from his hands as he paid no heed to his own safety.

Uncle Oren was all that mattered...

He saw the two warriors duel with the fury and might of demigods, their weapons smashing together and their steeds thrashing and kicking, each strike quaking the earth beneath their feet.

The hellsteed fell first, its flaming head sliced clean off by Sir Oren's blade, body turning to ash beneath its rider. But the narzugon landed on its feet with the grace of a cat, evaded every blow from sword and hoof that came its way, and drove its burning lance through the chest of Oren's stallion, the horse screaming as it toppled to one side like a mighty oak.

Uncle Oren leapt from the saddle to avoid being crushed, and as Logan raced closer, they continued to fight until... until...

Logan felt a hand on his cheek, the touch causing the visions of the past to fade before his eyes. Blinking away the wet blur, he saw Arabella's face close to his and her soft hand caressed his jaw and cheekbones.

Heart jolting in his chest, Logan took a step back. Everyone's gaze was still on him, and it was plain to see that they knew what had happened. Hie throat then began to tighten as something choking began to form within it, bubbling up from inside him...

Grimacing in pain, he swallowed and forced it down, the pain crashing into his pounding heart as he said his piece:

"He knighted me in his final moments. With this blade." Hand flying to his hip, he drew his longsword, the blade all the heavier in his palm as his tale reminded him of the choice he had made, and responsibility he had taken on. "Sacrifice, the ancestral weapon of our family, passed down from our earliest days. My uncle wielded it because Lord Josef was no warrior, and now he has passed it to me – along with our legacy." As he said those words, they started to ground him – to remind him of what he was and why he was here.

And so it was that he turned to look at Romain and declared "And I intend to uphold that legacy by serving the Platinum Dragon and being the best damn knight I can be!" As he said that, he bent his knee and knelt before Romain, sword in both hands as he planted its tip upon the stone floor. "Sir Romain de Toussaint... I am yours to command."

As he said that, Finnan then jumped up out of his seat and bounced up and down saying "I wanna help too! I wanna help too!" The halfling leapt across the floor and rushed to Romain's side, Arabella's skirts rustling as he blurred past her and threw his arms around the paladin's leg. "Lemme join, lemme join! I promise I'll be the best knight ever!"

Romain's jovial mood instantly returned as Finnan did this, and Arabella smiled as the Milisevran tousled the little druid's hair, a corn-yellow colour in comparison to his own sandy shade of blonde. "It seems I have two team members now!" he declared happily. He then looked to Finnan and Logan before saying "Thank you both, from the bottom of my heart," as tears of joy began to glisten on his smooth cheeks.

Logan nodded, but then asked "How many of us do we need to compete?"

"Four." Romain told him.

After a brief pause, another voice cropped up. "Well, if no-one else is gonna do it..."

Turning to look in the speaker's direction, Logan was surprised to see Stalk climbing out of his chair and sauntering towards them.

"You want to fight for the Platinum Dragon, Stalk?" he asked, arching his brow.

Stalk met his gaze and said "Truth be told, it's the rewards that concern me the most, mate. Tournament prizes are often hefty indeed, and this one's being held by royalty..." As he said that, his beak pulled into a smirk. "Not so noble, I know, but it don't seem to me like you have a lot of choice otherwise..."

He spoke sense, Logan had to admit. Ren didn't seem keen to volunteer, and as he lifted his gaze, Logan turned to Arabella and asked "Are you with us, my lady?"

Before him, the high elf maiden stood playing with her elegant fingers, her eyes meeting both paladin's gazes she turned back from looking at Finnan.

"I don't feel I'll be much help in a tournament, sirs. I'm no fighter, after all," she told Logan and Romain. But her shyness then parted as she said more firmly "But I can see this means a lot to you both, and if there's anything I can do to help, you need only say the word."

She smiled softly as she said that, and Logan nodded in thanks before turning back to Romain.

"You have my sword, Romain" he said, Sacrifice gripped at his side.

"And you have my knives." Stalk said, drawing two of his daggers and whirling them in his hands.

"And my stick!" Finnan declared, pulling a twig from his mess of leafy clothing and holding it high as if it were the sword of Tyr itself.

Visibly elated beyond belief, Romain grinned and pounded his fist against his chest. "Then we ride of the capital at dawn!" he declared. "For Milisevre and the Platinum Dragon!"