Chapter 1: And So Our Story Begins
"The town of Oakvale was once considered a sanctuary from the violence and problems of Albion, but it too was eventually struck, and from the flames and ashes rose Albion's savior and greatest hero a man by the name of-"
"Ah not this story again!" said the guard rather rudely from his table. "I've been guarding this town a year now, and never seen no great hero savior, just a bunch of fools so full of themselves looking for work."
The barkeeper a portly fellow by the name of Robert, who at first was rather irritated with the guard interrupting his great fable, couldn't help but agree with the man's sentiments. It was true, the new generation didn't seem very capable, and after the great cataclysm where much of Albion was under attack by beings in strange armor, as well as the Witchwood Arena massacre life seemed pretty peaceful. Rumors were starting to spread from traders that some heroes were actually starting incidents, just so they could have their services be required by towns.
"Thomas, you only graduated guard school before you came here, the other guards know he came round here, why do you think Twinblade left this place, and he was a giant of a man."
"I'm sure any man bold enough to go up there could do it if they wanted, besides where is this great warrior?" Thomas retorted. "Over a year since arena incident and two since people were shouting "it's the end of the world!" bollocks, only because the sky seemed a darker shade of red than usual."
"Hey, now that sky was a clear sign of Skorm's return! Not to mention all the killing going on. As for the hero, I don't know maybe he did die, or maybe the traders out there just no how to get me with a good story."
The guard laughed.
"Or maybe he was really just a con-man out to get a few gold by getting a friend to wear a mask and act out a fight with that so called Jack O'Blades, point is hero's aren't needed and I could do better than any of em if I wanted to, I'm sure."
From the corner a figure laughed from her chair near the fire.
"If you could shoot lightning out of your mouth as well as you do spitting your boasts I'd give you a small chance at being Twinblade's jester in between raids Tom.
Both men looked to the corner and saw a woman with a book in her hand. Her hair was shoulder length, and black with a few bangs dyed red, rand down her face near a set of dark lens spectacles. Her outfit also red and black, left her shoulders bare where one could make out some tattoos that would run down most of her arms, on her belt was a small sword, and a cross bow attached.
"Of course that's only if he is amused by you being so scared of him that you accidently shoot the lighting out the other end."
Robert laughed as the guard's face turned a deep red then mumbled something about getting back to his duties, as the woman went to buy another drink.
"Not a busy night for you eh Briar?" the bartender smiled as he poured a pint for the female hero.
"I could say the same for you, is Oakvale full of teetotalers anymore?" she asked and then spoke up before he could answer. "I suppose tonight is just my day off, and I'm catching up on some reading, same as the night before and the night before that."
Her expression became glum and she took a swig from her mug, and then started to fill her pipe with tobacco.
"I'll admit things have been quiet, just some random balverines here, and if I'm lucky an earth troll crashing through the floor of a house, but nothing like the old days."
Robert nodded, troubles were rare, it was good for the people but not for heroes like Rose.
"What about the Hero from here? Has he-"
"I haven't seen him since the year before; if he left he picked a good time to do it. Thinking about it now I probably should have gone with him, he got to do all the fun things."
"So it was true, I knew it!" Robert roared with delight. "Did he really fight a dragon, and all those other stories I've heard about?"
"I'll let you figure that out for yourself Rob, I will say this if there was a time Albion needed a hero, he'd be my choice. I'm still keeping my eyes open for him and so is the guild."
Darkwood was definitely a name fitting of the location two traders were in, because it was well it was dark, and there was a lot of wood, or trees mind you. The air held a chill and a low whistle as it went through the leafless branches. Each one of their slow sloshy steps through the mud and water somehow sounded too loud for whatever things that may be lurking behind the trees and it only added to the desire for them to be back in Bowerstone with normal looking surroundings.
"So how bout a joke?"
"We're in the middle of a swamp, with countless untold dangers that could lead to our incredibly morbid, painful, and terrible deaths, and you want to hear a joke?"
The other trader looked at his fellow companion nodding his head, after a few minutes time he finally piped up.
"So I guess you couldn't make up a punch line to that?"
The other trader kept walking, grunting at annoyance at how he ended up with this man for a traveling partner.
"Fine I'll tell one, why did the chicken cross the road?"
"Everyone has heard that one, because the person kicked it from the other side."
The trader sighed disappointed that he couldn't even tell the punch line of his own joke, and figured the best thing to do was to make one up.
"All right, how bout this knock knock."
The first trader still said nothing, he really wasn't in the mood for jokes at the moment and just wanted to find a place safe to rest, but his companion wasn't easily swayed this time.
"Come on, just trying to keep the mood up, play along knock knock."
The first trader stopped and turned to face him.
"Fine, then you stay quiet for the rest of the trip, deal? Now who's there?"
"B-B-bal-"
Before he could finish the shadow that landed behind the first trader swung its long arm and knocked him to the ground some feet away. Suddenly two more shadows landed, with the first that had attack raised his head in the air and released a strong howl as if signaling every creature in the wood of the prey he found.
The trader fumbled through his bag looking for anything that he could use to defend himself; he had heard balverines could be driven away by silver, and trained his eyes for anything shiny. As he looked back up, he was face to face of the snarling beast while the two others approached his partner. Pulling out a small shiny knife he swung through the air madly trying to drive the beast back. The snarl on the balverine's mouth turned upwards, as if the creature was laughing at the trader. It crouched down low to the ground, readying itself for a lunge that the trader knew he could not stop, as the beast was twice his size.
The beast lunged with the blink of an eye, and the trader could only yelp at the speed of the creature as he closed his eyes in terror.
No pain, no claws, no teeth, but he heard something fall to the ground, and another howl. Only this time it sounded weak, the other two roared. He opened one eye slightly and saw the creature he was facing on the ground to the left of him, a long arrow sticking out of the right side of its head. When he looked to where his friend was he saw another arrow in the ground between the trader and the creatures. They were snarling at the woods as if the trees themselves were the cause of the arrows. Out of the shadows of a branchless tree a figure approached, wearing a hood that covered any view of the face, and cloak that fell to the tops of its platemail boots. The figure raised its arm and reached for the handle of a sword from its back, pulling out a long blade with a glow from the moon, like a torch in a tomb.
Holding the sword with the right hand, and taking a stance with his left hand out front he approached the two beasts that were only too glad to race at him, as if to avenge their comrade he had slain. The figure did not flinch, even as the second beast leapt high into the air disappearing with the darkness. Bringing the blade to the front to block the beast's claws then stepped forward and rammed the hilt of the blade into the balverine's face, knocking it off balance. Swinging the silver blade, the creature's chest bled and the stench of it stuck to its fur.
The trader then saw the second balverine land behind the figure, seeing the same strategy the first had used against his partner, but before he could shout to warn him, a ball of flame left the figure's hand and blasted the creature's front. Howling as its fur burned, the figure stuck the sword through ending its torment leaving only the last balverine, the figure and the traders. The balverine eyed its opponent, as if trying to find a way to kill this threat; they began to circle each other. It sprang again, but not at the figure instead it ran to the fallen trader, who by this time began to come back into consciousness, the figure pushed the cloak back from his right shoulder revealing a sheathed dagger, throwing the small weapon with such force that the impact buried the blade into the back of the balverine, it fell into the marsh flinched and moved no more.
"Bloody hell," the trader on the ground whispered. "I'm glad I brought a change in pants."
The figure moved forward and reclaimed its dagger giving the man on the ground a quick glance as if to see if he was bit during the fight. Finally finding he could again move his legs, the second trader ran to his fallen comrade, still clinging to his weapon with white knuckles. When he got there his partner gave him a confused look.
"Horace? What were you going to do with that? Fight them or serve them some toast?"
Looking back at the silver blade, Horace saw he was in fact holding a butter knife.
"Jasper, I-I just panicked and looked-"
"You two should move," the figure said his voice was soft but authoritive. "Those three were only scouts, more could come, or worse. Greatwood is just beyond that cave, move quietly."
"Is there some way we could repay you stranger?" Jasper asked. "We do owe you our lives."
"Some food, if you could spare it," said the man, still looking into the woods, listening.
They left the man with what little traveling rations they had left, before making good on his warnings to move.
"Could we have your name sir, after all you are a hero," Horace whispered. "We could tell your story!"
"I'm just a simple ranger, sir." The hood figure look faced them.
Then lowering his hood, the traders found themselves looking at a man, a full beard covered his face and chin, blondish hair hanging to his neck and blue eyes that shown like small flames of a candle. His face was covered in dirt.
"But if you wish to tell your story, my name is Aarkan."