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Arthur The Brave One -> RE: Arthur's Write-athon Project (1/7/2010 17:20:17)
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Chapter 1: Nightly Strolls
He was a mere seventeen years old. Not particularly handsome to his own regard, sporting long black hair, deep-laying black eyes, and some facial hair around his mouth. No, he was never one who’d had to chase away the hoard of woman that was after him. Although he wasn’t particularly happy with that, he wasn’t one to complain. Having practically spent his entire life on the battlefield, that wasn’t a habit he’d had any opportunity to grow up with. Now he walked the empty halls of castle Armenas, glad he wasn’t needed on this particular battlefield. Nobody had been able to give him an answer to the question of why, except for mumbled excuses, and he assumed his father had probably decided it was time for him to have a break from all this endless fighting. His father. He smiled. It wasn’t that he wasn’t okay with not going this time, there were plenty of capable other warriors in the defenders; hell, there were probably hundreds of warriors stronger than him who normally resided in this very castle. It was just that his father was in such a position of power, and Dargor felt he still made too much decisions based purely on emotional basis, while all logic pointed the other way. It irked him at times.
Even with such great battle strength that he had already survived many a battlefield, and with a father in such a mighty position, he had never even shown even a glimpse of arrogance. Not even after the ignition of his spark, the power that allowed him to travel to other worlds. Now was not the time for that, however. He was very much needed on this plane right now. The end was at hand, and he probably felt it more than most, because of that very power of his. It did, however, make him capable of some special tricks that had won a few battles. Tales of his powers were spreading like wildfire these days, and he’d heard from his friend Gidheart that a lot of people in the regions closest to the dark city saw him as the new savior, the one to finally shake off the Darkpact reign…
Thinking about all of this reminded him of his very first mission as commander, which probably the point in time where these tales had started spreading. It was about half a year ago now: it had just been him and a group of about twenty men; it was not like you needed many people for a simple reconnaissance mission, after all. They were in for a surprise, however: the first group they were meant to meet up with, which was located about fifty miles from the castle, had been cruelly slaughtered by a group of cyclopses. And it seemed their thirst for blood had not by far been satisfied, and they went after Dargor’s group. Still being a bit lighthearted, he charged in with his men, not realizing the fact that a Darkpact is a far more formidable enemy than its looks suggest.
After seeing the first few of his men fall, it seemed one of the creatures deemed that it was now his turn to go down. The feeling when he realized he was going to die here was indescribable, and it triggered something deep inside of him, something shining bright with the light of a torch in the deepest darkness. It was the spark, but no one besides would ever know of that little fact. This event only made him flash into and out of the Æther, but the effect was there: he unconsciously released a huge stream of magic, and blew all of the attackers to pieces at once, saving his group from what would have likely been a lethal encounter, even if they had tried to retreat (cyclopses are also extremely nimble, another thing you can’t just guess by looking at them). And thus, the legend was born, and Dargor became a planeswalker.
Still, he personally wasn’t even all that happy with that victory. After all, he knew very well that a single victory meant nothing. The only thing that matters is the war. And the war was far from over. Rather, it had merely begun.
Suddenly, the alarm rang. An attack on the castle! They couldn’t have picked a better time, as most of the castle’s forces were headed east, to fend off the small army of undead Etharon had sent them as a little gift. Rushing off to the armory, he arrived as one of the first: it was night after all, so most of the knights and other soldiers had been asleep. The armorer as well, as he yawned and wriggled some sleep out of his eye, before handing Dargor his armor. “Go get ‘em son,” he said with a wink. Dargor smiled and nodded, lifted the armor over his head, and dashed towards the southern gate. His armor was fairly light, but still he never liked the feeling of iron around. It just felt rather imprisoning to him, although he was wiser than not to wear it.
Running through the dark hallways of Armenas, he was once again amazed by the immensity of the whole structure. The walls were made of solid blocks of granite, perfectly square and larger than a man each, and all of them seemed to be the exact same. This is why the castle was so hard to infiltrate: every spot you stopped and looked around looked practically the same as every other spot you did that same thing; add to that the immensity of the place, and you realize that it was a real maze for those who hadn’t been living inside of it for some time. To Dargor, these huge rock bricks breathed the feeling home onto his senses. Every time he entered this place after a stressful mission, his entire body just let it all go and relaxed. There wasn’t a feeling in this world he liked better. So it was home sweet home after all. He knew every inch and nook of this place, from the deepest dungeon to the highest tower; it isn’t all that strange of course, seeing as the part of his live he wasn’t on the battlefield was spent inside here.
After a good five minute walk to the southern gate from his former location, he could finally look outside. His eyes had to adjust to the difference between the dim light of the torches and that of the moon for a moment, but the cold winter breeze struck against his warm skin like fire against ice. He didn’t really like the winter nights, and damned his enemies, whoever they were, for attacking on a night like this. He’d rather have sat in front of the fireplace some more, read a good book and then have some sleep, but no, he had to go out and slay monsters. “Sudding lunatics,” he mumbled, “don’t you need sleep or anything?”
The barrage of arrows and fireballs launched from above his head, on the walls, quickly notified him of his enemies’ location: just a few hundred meters outside the gate, but they hadn’t even gotten close to the force field yet. However, it seemed that they had been skillful enough to evade this onslaught of projectiles, so he knew he had to be prepared for anything. When his eyes got used to the darkness between the trees, he noticed a horde of red sparkles. ‘Damn it, riders,’ he thought ‘that makes things a little harder than I like them to be.’
He was very well aware of the power of the riders’ eyes: those who look into them for only a moment go insane beyond comparison. They are but shadows of existence, yet they act like they’re made of flesh and blood and ride horses, while they’re also capable of floating and moving like some sort of macabre flying cloth, although they’re pretty slow that way. Their horses aren’t really horses, either. They’re some kind of hellspawn, with razor sharp poisonous teeth and a jaw like that of a snake, and they’re capable of ripping a man to shreds within moments if he is careless for as much as a moment. No, riders aren’t a nice enemy to fight. However, they fear the fire, as their ‘horses’ are weak to it, and will burn within seconds, leaving them with their gastly swords and haunting eyes as only weapons, after which they will usually flee. However, it seems these weren’t your usual horses, as the shades still feared the flames, thinking it would slay their precious rides, but he could clearly see that the creatures got hit a few times and stayed alive after, not even staggering much.
“This isn’t good. If they’ve somehow bred these creatures, however the hell they’d do that, to outbreed their weakness to fire, we could be in for one hell of a fight.” He didn’t think he was going to get much sleep tonight, after all his good hopes.
After looking past his shoulder to find that a lot of other soldiers were approaching behind him, he decided it was time to charge in. He rang the bell that would make the shooters up high stop firing, and stepped onto the bridge, and waved to the riders, as if he was inviting them to come and get him.
Advancing forward slowly now, to make sure he would be able to react to any possible attacks, he moved forward on the narrow bridge. The first rider recklessly charged forward, attacking him head-on without any strategy it seemed. This wouldn’t be too hard. He stopped at the middle of the bridge, feeling the power of the land around him, taking some of it, took a kneeling stance, closed his eyes, and waited for the right moment to strike. Then, when the rider got so close Dargor could hear he raised his sword to attack, Dargor released his attack. Within the blink of an eye, he stood on the other side of the bridge, having sliced the rider in half with a single swipe of his blade. Unfortunately, these creatures do not know fear, and his attack only triggered for another three riders to come charging at him. Preparing a ball of light in his fist, he launched it at the first enemy, running after it and cutting the horse’s head of in another fell swoop, and the surprised rider’s in a third. Having been showered in ectoplasm and a dark goo that resembled swamp mud more than it did blood, he rose to full height once more, knowing he wasn’t done yet. His comrades had taken out the other two riders that had charged him by now, but there were still more in the woods, that were only coming out now. They were in for a long night….
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