THE LAST OF THE FACELESS
by Storyteller of the Dead
CHAPTER I: Behind the Mask
Yunero, known by most (including himself) as Juggernaut, kneeled before the Radiant's frontline middle tower. From the outside, he was polishing his blade absentmindedly. His masked eyes, however, were focused on the flowing river. He watched a small rock drift along the Radiant side of the river, but instead of hearing the slight splashing sounds it made, he heard the crashing of great waves upon a shore, the shouting of children in a long-lost tongue, the talking of elders. And behind his bone mask an island appeared, with towering structures, villagers wandering about, the clashing of training blades carrying on the wind...
Behind his mask, a single tear rolled. He glanced at the pebble in the river, which was now being tossed about in the Dire side of the river, which was choppier, unsettled, restless. The pebble sank, and Yunero heard screams in his head, the dying cries of every last one of the Faceless Ones.
Well, not every last one.
And so there was Juggernaut, to spend the rest of a legendary life to restore the honor of his people.
Juggernaut suddenly felt hot metal on his hand and looked down to see that he had channeled so much feeling into his blade that he had unwittingly burned through the polishing rag with the energy coming off the metal. He silently cursed, and stood. He casted a masked eye out over the river into Dire's territory. There – a glint of metal, some fiery armor... The Dire were coming. He grasped his sword, fire playing along its hilt, as the creeps crossed the river. He heard Radiant creeps behind him as well, but he wouldn't need the help. His eyes narrowed as he charged, one word ringing out in the night:
"JUGGERNAAAAUUUUT!"