Paladin

They march at the frontier of belief and blood, the Paladin’s armour gleaming beneath banners stitched with Dhara’s flame. Sword in hand, they speak little—each strike, each prayer, is sermon enough. In the dust of battlefields where the Church’s cause burns, they stand between the innocent and the oppressor, brandishing both blade and vow.
  When the call for justice sounds, the Paladin answers: riding beside Dharan Cavalry, lifting wounded from the ground, driving back darkness with missionary zeal in one hand, shield in the other. Their presence is both guarantee and threat—guarantee that faith will be defended, threat to those who would desecrate what they hold holy.
  They are the hand that holds both mercy and judgement, the voice whispering hope when walls crumble, the spark of Dhara’s will made flesh.