In Blackest Night

[Shang Tsung]

The sorcerer didn’t expect much from their conversation, but he also hadn’t expected Atelos’ week away to have been so… active.

As the Spartan had said nothing of the aberration jutting out of his shoulder, the sorcerer ignored the topic. If their track record indicated anything, the secret of the dragon head would make itself known to him in good time. For now, the two simply tapped mugs and drank in silence—the closest thing to a normal experience the two had shared since their arrival in Darkshire.

Unfortunately for the two of them, Fate hadn’t planned a normal day.

“He’s back!”

The jubilant shout was followed by a dozen other similar yells that pulled most of the bar’s patrons out into the main thoroughfare. As neither Shang nor Atelos had any idea what was going on, they remained firmly on their stools. After exchanging a silent glance, neither man found any need to go investigate the growing rabble out on the streets.

That was, of course, until Cheyenne and her hips swayed over and leaned across the bar. Usually perky, the woman seemed unnaturally so as she stared at the men with her wide blue eyes. “You’re not going to go see what’s going on out there?” From her tone, it was clear that the soldiers were committing some type of grotesque taboo. “You know who they’re talking about, right?”

Once more, the two warriors exchanged a quick glance that conveyed their mutual lack of both knowledge and interest. “Neither the Spartan nor myself have much interest in whoever or whatever is outside, Cheyenne. I’ve had to contend with too much public attention myself”—the statement was a flagrant like but he didn’t feel like explaining himself—“and the Spartan is just returning from a long and restless sojourn.”

“But it’s Argento.” From her tone and expression, it appeared that both men were supposed to instantly know who she was talking about. When she picked up that they were ignorant of the situation, her jaw fell open for a brief moment. “Surely you know of Sir Argento?” Both men shook their heads and drank the frothy bile from their mugs. “…you’ve never heard of him? He’s only one of the most famous warriors to call Darkshire home.”

“Yes, but what is he?” Shang asked, attempting to cut through the rambling and find the actual, useful information.

“He’s a paladin. He has many titles… ‘The Sun’s Vanguard,’ ‘The Champion of the Light,’ and sometimes just ‘Our Champion.’ Argento has stood for Darkshire and her people since the foundation of the city. When the Kingdom withdrew their forces, he renounced his fealty to King Aragorn and swore himself to Darkshire.”

Idiot. Shang thought as he suppressed a grin. He wanted to ask the important question—‘Is this guy a prime?’ Instead, he just nodded his head and placed his mug down. “Thanks for letting us know, Cheyenne. We’ll head out so you can go join the crowd.”

While the Spartan’s brow was furrowed, he didn’t protest the sorcerer’s declaration. Atelos simply set his half-full mug down, slid off his stool, and followed Shang outside once his ally dropped some coins on the counter. Once they were out of earshot, he leaned in a little closer. “What was the point of that? We have nowhere to go but out into that crowd.”

And a crowd it certainly was. Through the windows, they could see that the wide street was choked full of peasants and aristocrats alike, and every single one of them was struggling to get to the front to spot their shining champion. From inside THE Pub, Shang couldn’t get a beeline on the target of the crowd’s affections, but he had enough commonsense to be able to look at the flow of people and determine where the horde concluded. “You want to help the people of Darkshire, correct?”

“Yes.” Atelos replied firmly and without hesitation.

“Then we need to meet this guy, because I’ve been here a little longer than you have, and I’m pretty sure he’s one of only a few people who the motivation to help the lot here.” In line with his character, Shang left out the big reason: ‘We need to figure out what he’s doing and beat him.’ Back in Earthrealm, the sorcerer had always been someone, whether that was an aristocrat, a monk, a Champion of Mortal Kombat, or the tournament host. He’d arrived in the Omniverse weak and in rags, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t regain the eminence he once had. If this paladin could play a role in his scheme, than by all means, Shang would stomach the notion of cooperation.

“Makes sense,” Atelos muttered as he look through the window and grimaced. “Do you think these people will ever disperse? I’ve fought against many phalanxes before, and even I have no desire to try and penetrate through that crowd.”

“We’ll let it disperse a little, and then we’ll trail the paladin to wherever he may be staying. We can use our status with the garrison to convince him of our worth and ask him to accept us as part of his retinue.”

“You want us to willing agree to be that man’s lesser? Someone you’ve never met?”

Shang laughed. “No, I want us to swallow our pride with the knowledge that it will be worth it twenty times over by the time we’ve finished.”