For untold generations, the Kingdom of Greenguard was ruled over by one family. Convention held that the name was Slugwrath, as it once had been, and, in the eyes of the people, always would be. Whether the name was accurate or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that their time as the nation's chief authority had come to an end.
A revolution overtook the capitol city, and in a shocking turn of events, those that had once defended the royal family succeeded in deposing them. Within weeks one of their number had been hailed as the new king, a title he took on reluctantly, and without joy. The many years afterwards were spent in turmoil, as those that had risked their lives to overthrow the crown now risked their livelihoods undoing the damage such an event had caused. In later centuries, the family that had ruled the country for so long had become callous, and uncaring for the people that they had sworn to govern. Much had been lost in the years surrounding the revolution, and those that had lived through it sought to recover all that they could through whatever means necessary. Treaties were signed, policies were enacted, wars were had, and enemies were made.
Over time, those that had been revolutionaries returned to their positions of defense. A lull overtook the senses once sharpened by conspiracy, and the nation soon grew used to the modest peace that they had created, marred only occasionally by altercations with outside forces. A return to the arts was made. A lowering of taxes would bring about a small economic boom, allowing for an increase in wealth among the populace. Such would begin Greenguard's Golden Age.
In the sixth year after the changing of the dynasties, an attack was made upon the queen. An unknown assailant stole her away in the dead of night. For what means, none know, but there have been countless theories. A prisoner of war, a sacrifice to some dark force, an act of divine retribution for perceived wrongdoings. None can say. There were many knights that ran desperately through the city that night, hoping to retrieve their queen.
Only one managed to reach her.
The assailant had fled from the capitol city, diving into the crypts and caves that had been left from old warring days, when the city was besieged and the citizens would have to find other means of escape. For the most fleeting of moments the knight had been able to see his queen, to call out to her, and to attempt to rescue her as his fellows had tried before him.
He was struck down for his efforts.
Not as quickly as his fellows had been, long before reaching their lady, but he too met their fate, if only for a short while. As he lay bleeding on the stone floors of the crypt expanse, perhaps laughing at the irony that he would die in a burial ground, the knight was Visited.
As if springing up from the shadows themselves, a figure in black appeared before him. Sir Knight, it said to him, I can give you a second chance. You lie here dying underground, where none shall find you, and forgotten you shall become. But, the figure said, I can give you new life with which to change your fate. Life, the figure said, and power. The power to shrug off your mortal wounds. The power to defeat any in your path. The power to rescue your lady.
In return, the figure said, the knight would forever be amongst its service, ready and willing to carry out its bidding at even the slightest word, for as long as the knight shall live.
These words the figure in shrouded black said to the knight, and he was Tempted. For in his life, he had been free of such desires, pure of heart, and tempered by humility—but he was grief stricken. He was dying. Though the knight had tried his best, and indeed done better than any mortal man could have done, he saw his failure to rescue his queen as a failing in his being. He had sworn not only to his king, but to his heart as well, to protect his queen and keep her safe, whatever the cost to his own life might be be—and this, the figure knew. For every moment that the knight had spent, his lifeblood ebbing away onto he cold stone, the figure had lain in wait. Waiting patiently for the knight to become impaired, and desperate enough to consider its offer of power.
The figure extended a shadow-wrapped hand, and made its offer.
And the knight, addled by grief and loss of blood, accepted.
And for his sacrifice, he was Consumed.
vMv
In the moments hence, a swordsman that was not the knight rose among the depth of the crypt. Not merely a being of flesh and blood, but a being of spines, of red-bloodied steel, of stolen life. And of unimaginable power. This, the swordsman gazed upon himself, and was horrified. It seemed to the swordsman that he had become a beast, or some other ignoble creature. The swordsman called out to the figure wrapped in shadows, but stood unanswered, for the figure had already left, having acquired that which it had come for.
For a fleeting moment, the swordsman knew despair, when through the vast caverns of the crypt expanse a cry rang out, and the swordsman remembered that which he had given his life for. An oath.
The queen.
The swordsman ran through the caverns possessed by some unknown means. Through many twists and turns, and paths leading nowhere at all, the swordsman ran. And the swordsman encountered the assailant.
The assailant looked upon the swordsman with fear, for it knew that the swordsman had once been the knight, and it knew the means through which the swordsman had come to find life renewed. But the assailant found strength in knowing as well that it had killed the knight, and the knight's fellows before him. This, the assailant recounted to the swordsman—and this, the assailant would come to regret.
In a rage, the swordsman attacked the assailant, swinging wildly at it with his blade, and tearing away at it with freshly sprung claws of steel. This time, the swordsman would not fail. Though the assailant had strength in plenty, it could not again overtake the swordsman that had once been the knight, and it felt fear renewed. In its last moments, the assailant crumpled, and pleaded with the swordsman to spare it. Riches in return, the assailant promised, riches in plenty. A seat of great importance among the assailant's council. An enclave of beautiful women to ease the desires of man. And power—power unimaginable.
The swordsman heard the assailant's promises with an empty heart, and with a swift motion ended its life.
His quest accomplished, the swordsman sought the queen.
The swordsman approached the queen with caution, for he knew full well the horror that he had become. But the queen feared him not, for she could see that within the red-bloodied steel that coated his skin, the swordsman still carried the heart and soul of the knight, though she knew not how. The queen approached the swordsman that had been the knight and embraced him as her savior. And for a fleeting moment, the swordsman knew peace. Thought it was not to last, for in the next instance the figure made itself known once more.
This, the figure wrapped in shadows called out to the swordsman. I have fulfilled my end of the bargain, it said. You have been granted your life, your power, and your queen lies within your grasp, as you so wished her to be.
Now, the figure said, it is time to fulfill your end of the bargain.
Kill the Queen.
The swordsman froze, but still the queen was without fear. She knew now how the knight had become the swordsman, and at once she sought a means to undo his transformation. Seeing this, the figure called out to the swordsman in great anger, and demanded once more that he kill the queen.
And to his horror, the swordsman found that despite his resistance, the arm that held his sword began to rise. He called out to the queen to flee, but she refused to leave his side. The queen prayed for guidance as she tried to find some means of salvation for the knight that was her savior—
And the swordsman struck her down.
And the cavern became filled with blinding light.
vMv
For what specifically happened in those moments to the queen, the swordsman, and the figure, none know. The queen was found many days later, blood painting her clothes and a smile painting her face. The figure wrapped in shadows could only be spoken of, for none knew if it truly existed. Only the fate of the swordsman could be known for certain.
With his queen dead and his life forfeit, the swordsman fled the country of Greenguard. Far away, where none would fear the cut of his blade, or tear of his claws. Far to the west, to the forgotten land of Skullholme.
In the many months after the death of the queen, the mourning king would send parties to retrieve the swordsman, so that he might know what happened to his wife, and again bear eyes on the knight that had once been his friend. At first, friends were sent, in hopes of reminding the swordsman of who he had once been. Mages and priests were sent failing this, in hopes of breaking whatever spell had taken hold of the swordsman. And finally, knights and warriors were sent, in hopes of granting the swordsman peace in the death that he had so denied.
No parties had ever returned from the voyage to Skullholme.
As months turned to years, the kingdom of Greenguard eventually forgot about the swordsman that was once the knight. No further voyages were made to the kingdom of Skullholme. The queen had been buried with the highest of honors. The figure wrapped in shadows slowly became a bogeyman to tell children about at night. The people began to move on.
And this is where our story begins.
vMv
Chapter Word Count: 1,726
Total Word Count: 1,726
Target Word Count: 1,667
NOTE: Great googly moogly, help me for I am participating in NaNoWriMo. And this after all 31 days of Inktober, too...
And of course I'm writing crackshipping instead of working on the stories that are already in progress, why wouldn't I be? To do otherwise would be just plain silly...