David the Wanderer
Legendary AK!
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This is the story of a paladin, from his entrance in the Order to... Well, to whenever it will end. In all honesty, I don't know where it will end. Let's wait and see, shall we?
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
* * *
Prelude
As usual, the depths of Doomwood were coated in shadows and mist. Every rustle in the underwood, every glint in the darkness, even just a gut feeling, could have been the prelude to an attack by one of Doomwood's many dangerous residents, and Athrik knew it well. The grizzled paladin scratched the long, jagged scar which extended from his right temple to his left cheekbone -courtesy of a rabid werewolf- and tightened the grip on his warhammer before treading further through the trees.
When he had heard that Valefar was spotted near Moonridge, he had rushed there, leaving everything else behind, even his two apprentices. However, when he reached the giant trading hub, all that the people there were able to tell Athrik was that the warlock was last seen heading south; and so, the paladin followed him in that labyrinth of twisted plantlife.
A cracking sound, as if of someone stepping on a twig, and Athrik stopped on his track. He stood immobile for several minutes, ready for battle, but nothing happened. With a sigh of relief, he resumed going forward, but tripped on something after just two steps.
"Goddamit, even the ground is insidious in this forest..." lamented the old warrior. He was about to get back up when he saw what he had tripped on: a battleaxe, ancient, rusty and dull; but what caught his attention was the symbol carved on the handle: two crossed blades and a skull, Valefar's emblem. With a grunt, Athrik stood up and went on down the road. "Soon," he muttered, "soon we'll meet again."
He didn't know how long he walked, as the pale full moon that always shined stationary on Doomwood, never changing, made it impossible to tell the time without a clock or a hourglass. However, when he stopped, it was only because he had found what he was looking for. A small keep, built with grey stones in the middle of a dell. A tattered flag stood solitary on the highest point of the building, right above the only illuminated window.
Athrik rushed to the wooden door and smashed through it. Behind it, he found a small horde of skeletal minions, ready to stop him in his tracks. He imbued his warhammer with divine light and prepared to slay the mindless undeads.
The first skeleton that tried to approach him had its skull smashed to bits by a powerful strike and collapsed on the floor. Afterwhich, all the other abominations charged towards Athrik. He smashed a ribcage and sent a humerus flying across the room.
One of the skeletons was about to stab him in the flank, but Athrik blocked the attack with his hammer and reduced the upper body of the monster to dust with a ray of purifying light. It was at that moment that he felt a searing pain in his thigh. He turned around to see a bloodied spear withdrawing from his leg; the skeleton that wielded it was soon destroyed by the blows of Athrik's hammer.
The skeletal minions kept closing in on the paladin, but he wasn't afraid in the slightest. He kneeled down, struck the tip of his golden hammer on the floor, and started chanting a prayer with his eyes closed while his foes got closer and closer. When he reopened his eyes, they shone with a white light, and an aura of light surrounded him, expanding outwards. Soon, the light encompassed all the room, and when it faded away all that was left of the undeads were charred bones scattered around the room.
With all the minions defeated, there was nothing else blocking Athrik's path towards the top of the tower. He stood up and walked towards the stairs, limping slightly, finally reaching the archway that led into the warlock's study.
Lit torches on the walls of the circular room illuminated the many bookcases that were leaning against the wall. Scrolls and leaves of paper were scattered on a large pine desk, where a single candle was burning. Standing behind the desk, looking out of the window was a tall, lanky man. His brown hair were a dirty mess, and his long green and grey robes were stained with blood and dirt. His yellow fingernails were at least two inches long. For a moment, the paladin didn't recognize his old enemy, but the small green orb which fluctuated by his side clearly marked him as the man he had been searching for.
"Valefar, you've fallen low. Your skeletons were the weakest I ever fought, and look at you. You look like..."
"Like what, Athrik?" The warlock turned around. His face was skinny, more similar to that of one of the many corpses he had reanimated than to that of a living human, and his eyes were hollow. A mocking grin was plastered on his face, surrounded by an unkempt black beard: "Like a madman, maybe? Or an hobo? Or somebody who can't let the past go?" He giggled, amused.
Athrik tightened his teeth, fighting the urge to punch the mage in the face: "You know what I am here for. Let him go."
"Why should I?" He vaguely looked at the orb that floated around his head "He's very pleasant company, you know? However, he always asks the same boring question: 'Where is daddy? Where is daddy? Why won't he come?'" The warlock did his best imitation of a frightened child's voice, mocking the man in front of him.
At this point, Athrik's heart was filled with rage, and he jumped towards his demented foe, screaming, knocking down the table and sending the scrolls flying all across the room.
Valefar easily stopped the downward thrust of the gilded hammer by summoning a magic shield and teleported behind the paladin. "Why are you here, Athrik? Is it for justice, or for revenge?"
Athrik shouted as he spun towards his foe and let down his weapon towards Valefar's head: "I am here to put your madness to an end!" Once more, the man used his magic to divert the attack while he giggled.
"You've got slow, old man!" Valefar's maniacal laughter echoed in the paladin's head as he grasped his warhammer with both hands, preparing to attack with all his might.
Just as Athrik was rising the hammer above his head, Valefar extended his hand towards the paladin and muttered a spell. Tendrils of darkness rose from the floor, trapping Athrik in their grip. Slowly, calmly, Valefar walked up to his old foe as he struggled to break free.
“Pathetic. You can’t even save your own son, yet you claim to protect others? You’re a failure, yet you keep persevering. Why? Why do you persist?” Valefar’s face was only a few inches from Athrik’s, and the latter could clearly see the seething rage growing in the former’s eyes.
“I fight because I still can. Because you still torment the world. I won’t give up as long as I live.”
At these words, Valefar turned away, looking disgusted: “After all these years, you still don’t understand. As long as you live… Life has nothing to do with this. Death. Death is the true reason. You keep fighting me because you fear death. Yours, and your son’s, but death nonetheless. Don’t you see, Athrik?! Death is the only possible destiny! I could have avoided it, if it wasn't for you… But you took away my souls, and so I had to take your son. This is justice!” The tendril’s grip got tighter, making Athrik drop his hammer in pain.
The paladin grunt and panted, but refused to pass out. He muttered something, too softly to understand.
Valefar looked at Athrik with curiosity: “What?”
“You… you are wrong. All this time, you thought I was afraid.”
“What are you, then?”
The paladin looked at the warlock’s face, directly in his mad eyes: “I am furious.”
Light bursted from Athrik’s body, shredding the tendrils of darkness. He jumped at Valefar, knocking him down on the floor. He furiously punched the warlock’s face, breaking the nose, the mouth, turning it in a bloody mess. With a scream, Valefar cast a blast of darkness, throwing Athik off of him. The warlock stood up, and noticed that something was missing: “Where is the crystal?!”
Athrik got on his knees and spat blood. In his left hand he clutched the green orb that held his son’s soul. He could hear his cries of anguish, but at the same time there was an hint of relief. Did the child know that his father was there?
Athrik silently prayed to the Lord of Light, and crushed the orb with his hands; a sphere of light emerged from it, floating for a bit around the paladin’s head before flying away from the window and ascending to the sky.
“NO!” Valefer screamed, and clutched his chest with a gasp. His hair turned grey and fell, his skin became flabby and sagging, his teeth rot. “No, no, no, no…”
Athrik looked at the mage first with surprise and then with hatred. “You… You were feeding on his soul!” He stood up despite his wounds and grabbed his warhammer from the floor, ready to kill the warlock.
But when he reached Valefar, he hesitated. In front of him was an old, weak man, the ghost of the powerful wizard that had killed so many and brought pain to even more. But Valefar’s mind was still the same, and when he noticed that the paladin hesitated, he cast another spell with the last of his magic power. A flash of violet light blinded Athrik for a moment, and when he could see again, Valefar was lying on the floor, breathing heavily, desperately clutching for life.
The keep’s walls started trembling and dust fell from the roof. Athrik fell on the floor, and understood what was going on. The archway caved in, and the paladin calmly accepted his fate. Soon, darkness was all around him.
To even his own surprise, Athrik’s last thought wasn't for his son, nor for his wife. It wasn't the idea that he would be buried in the depths of Doomwood rather than next to his family. Instead, he thought about the two young apprentices he had left in Swordhaven: they both were just thirteen, not even old enough to officially become paladins of the Order. With his last breath, he prayed for them both.
* * *
Meanwhile, miles away, right outside of Swordhaven, two kids were lying on the grass, looking at the sky.
“When do you think Athrik will be back?” asked the blond one.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it’ll be soon.” replied the one with brown hair and eyes “Although he sure was a jerk, leaving us behind without even saying why…”
“Hey David.” asked the blond one.
“Yes, Fred?”
“Who gets home last is a chickencow!” Fred sprang up and started running towards the town.
“Hey, not fair!” David got up as well and chased after his friend. When he finally got close to Fred, however, he tripped and fell on a pool of mud. Fred stopped to look at his best friend covered in mud, and started laughing. David frowned, and threw a ball of mud at the blond kid, knocking him over in the mud as well.
They started fighting and brawling in the dirt, laughing.
< Message edited by David the Wanderer -- 11/4/2014 11:32:45 >
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