The Fall

It had not taken long for the Warden to realise what he had done. He thought he was doing something good, something that would benefit everyone. He knew something was wrong when he saw the corpses of women and children, as more and more of the Blackstone Legion began to trample through what he thought was a major base for the Warborn, where they planned their raids on Ashfeld.

That was what he had thought.

The fighters were easy opponents, slicing through them like a hot knife through butter. His sword cut through them easily enough, sometimes he would slice cleanly cut their heads without a bother, and sometimes he would ram the crossguard of the sword straight into their skulls or their necks without effort. Some of them gave the Warden trouble, not much, they were angered which meant they weren't focused, and that soon made them dead men.

The Warden looked at the sword he held in his hand. He was covered in so much steel plate and blood he could barely even see his own body. He'd gotten completely used to never even sleeping, although it bothered him none. He was a Warden, he was meant to bring peace to his lands, to defend the people that lived on his lands. It was why he had joined the Iron Legion before Daubeny threw him to the dogs and the Blackstone Legion took him in.

His family were rich and wealthy, they ruled over a vast amount of land and many people occupied those lands, farming, mining and living. The Warden's real name was Falk Buckler, and his house ruled over the lands of Blackmont. It was one of the more fertile lands in Ashfeld, but it still had some small lava flows, it wasn't completely unmolested by The Event.

His sword was covered in the blood of the Warborn. There were so many of them, and a lot of them were lying dead on the floor around Buckler, some small cuts and the usual massive stab wound from Buckler's longsword. His blade and crossguard were still dripping with blood, and it fell all over some of Buckler's standards and the steel plating at his feet.

He had yet to realise the consequences of what would happen next. He had no idea what the Blackstone Legion, no, what Apollyon had wrought upon Ashfeld, what she had brought upon everyone. There was nobody else to blame but the Blackstone Legion for what they had wrought upon all of them. Buckler even knew he would be to blame for what had happened. Stone, Mercy, Cross, Buckler, Apollyon; but it wasn't just them who would be to blame for what would soon happen.

But Buckler would not be a part of what happened next, and he hoped some of the others agreed with him.

Buckler threw his sword to the ground, and took off his helm. He threw it in the air and caught it, and could the see patterns made in the gilded steel. The helmet was like a box, and the roaring lion wrought in to the metal. It was a gift from his brother before he left to join the Iron Legion. It was dented now, and some of the paint on the helmet had been scratched off, and the ornamental lion that roared proudly into the air was now completely destroyed.

He threw the helmet to the floor too, unimpressed with its state of being. They were used as weapons of destruction, not protection. He was meant to be defending his people, his family and his lands. Yet he had been taken in by a group who openly waged war against others, and Buckler had been fooled by their 'good intentions'.

The great hut in front of Buckler was burning down, with the still-warm corpse of Gudmundr lying just away from the larger knight. The sight of the man kneeling before his home was enough to make Buckler regret what he had done. Buckler and the Legion had stormed into a village, burnt its huts, killed its inhabitants.

For what? All they had been told is that it held a large amount of Warborn and it needed to be destroyed.

Was it his fault? Buckler had lead the charge into Sverngard, he'd led the men into the fight. Buckler could not even remember how many of them he had killed. Some of them looked young enough to still be young boys and some of the fighters were women. He'd killed women and children! How was he going to live with himself?

He felt like punching himself in the face with his plated hand. He'd fallen for a trick, a trick that would now lead the land into total war. If the Legions had raided Valkenheim and destroyed most of the villages and continued the way they did, then it would not be long before the Warborn began a raid on the Dawn Empire.

Which meant if the Dawn Empire were raided, Ashfeld would be raided by the Empire.

"Conflict… Endless conflict… For what?" Buckler mused.

There was a snapping of wood and twigs from behind him, and he quickly turned. He drew his shortsword and almost leapt for his longsword before he had realised that it was Mercy. The smaller woman strode up to him, and she seemed to silently stare at the young man in armour in front of her.

"I've never seen you without your helmet before." She said.

"I've never seen you without your hood and mask on." Buckler replied. "Maybe I just needed some fresh air."

"Yes. Fresh air that smells of blood and burning timber." Mercy quickly retorted.

Buckler seemed to laugh slightly, and a small smirk was on his face. The smirk soon disappeared, and the warden looked rather depressed. She could not understand why, but the young knight seemed a lot more quiet than most of the other members of the Legion. He was a little conserved, private even. He wasn't like Stone, the Conqueror who laughed and gloated about the violence and death that he doled out on a daily basis.

He wasn't even like Holden Cross, the Lawbringer with a stern attitude who was even sterner when he had his pole-arm with him. The Warden swung around the longsword and shortsword with ease, tearing through forces like it was nothing. He was nothing like Mercy, who was more used to infiltrating and sabotage missions. No, the two were total opposites.

"Why are we here, Mercy?"

"You know that already, Warden." Mercy shot back.

"My name is Buckler, not Warden. Warden is my title."

"Well, you know why we are here, Buckler." Mercy said, almost spitting at Buckler.

Buckler shook his head, taking his longsword from the ground and began to sheathe both swords. He sighed loudly, and Mercy tightened her grip on her own blades. Something was wrong with him, she had never seen Buckler like this before.

"Did you know that this place was just a storage village? Did you all know, and just refuse to tell me? Don't even try to deny it, I saw the grains and seeds housed in the huts. That is why we are here, isn't it? We aren't here to stop the Warborn, we're here to provoke them."

"I wouldn't know." Mercy replied.

"You're a shit liar, Mercy. Apollyon told you didn't she? Try not to lie this time."

Mercy went silent. She had never even said a word of dissent when Apollyon revealed her plan. Stone was silent too, but she knew there was some kind of satisfaction when she brought up fighting and death, it was Stone's forte. She did not know about Cross, his helm completely covered the scarred and balding man's face. He was not an active seeker of violence, but when he had to act, he excelled in battle.

"She did. Me, Stone and Cross. She told only us."

Buckler nodded, and fell to one knee and picked up his helmet. She saw him throw it to the ground but he seemed to have reservations about leaving it behind with him. The helmet and even the breastplate seemed to be almost bent out of shape completely, and it seemed like he could barely keep himself stood up. He faltered and stumbled towards her, and she pitied him. She had betrayed him, they had all betrayed him. Not one of them told Buckler that Apollyon had wanted complete and total war.

She was the master tactician, the evil mastermind, and nobody wanted to talk back to her lest they risk being like the last person to do so.

He ended up being stabbed and pinned into the tacticians table. Nobody really wanted that to be them.

Mercy was too kind to Buckler, as she went to ailing knight and took his arm over her shoulder. She could feel the weight of the larger man and the weight of the steel plate and weapons as she tried to haul him to the medical tent. He had multiple bruises and a few scratches and it seemed that one of the steel plates on the back of leg seemed to be digging into the flesh.

"You betrayed me, and you knew I was a Warden. You knew I was honour-bound to fight for the weak and powerless. You lead me to war, when you know the Wardens never actively seek out war."

"I'm sorry." Mercy replied meekly.

"Well I'm not."

Mercy never realised that cold steel entering her calf. She fell to the floor and tried to apply pressure to the wound although it seemed to have cut all of the veins in her leg. There were rivers of blood coming from the wound, and she never even looked up to see the final blow from Buckler as he swung his longsword deep into her gut. She gasped and tried to take the blade out, but screamed even louder as Buckler shoved the blade deeper into her.

She was thankful it ended so soon, when Buckler took his shortsword and swung it downwards towards her neck, severing her head completely.

The body was slumped on it's knees, refusing to fall down in defiance of the Warden. In anger, Buckler shoved his two swords into the neck stump, supporting the body and creating a gruesome monument to Buckler's anger and power. He took his helm off and placed it on the handle of the longsword, and undone the necklace he owned since he joined the Wardens. He wrapped it around the broken feet of the lion on his helmet before walking off further north.

The closest port would be filled with Warborn, but it didn't bother Buckler. He would take a small ship and sail to Blackmont, to prepare for the wars to come.

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~The Real Italian Stallion~