Chapter I - The Blackstone Legion
As the full moon rose over the horizon, rows of armored soldiers marched their way to Ashfeld. Masked in the night's complete darkness, the Blackstone Legion's thunderous marching sounds were the only things that could be heard as they marched away from the burning city of Ran, which was resting on the skirts of the Myre close to the Ashfeld border. Being one of the main suppliers to the Imperial Palace and Koto as a whole, the loss of the massive farming city would greatly impact the Samurai. With this sudden major food outage, the Samurai would be forced to look somewhere else for their supplies.
Apollyon's black steed suddenly stopped a few yards ahead of the Blackstone legionnaires, causing the warlord's second, Holden Cross, to step forward just behind her.
"Is everything all right, my liege?" He inquired, walking to next to her. His armor was thick and sturdy, allowing it to block many weapons from serious damage. His poleaxe served him well throughout the years of his service to the Blackstone Legion, and it was stained with the blood of those who fought against him.
"Do you see that, Cross?" Apollyon asked, answering a question with a question. Her voice was quiet yet powerful. It seemed to control the inner workings of Cross's mind with fear. Fear of what she could do. Extending her arm, the warlord dragged it across the distance, causing her second to examine the distance. "That, my dear Lawbringer, is the future battlefield. The battlefield where we shall separate the wolves from the sheep."
"I see." Cross responded, causing Apollyon to smile under her ghastly, fear-inducing helmet. Her plans were finally beginning to set themselves in place after almost a decade of laying the foundation. Kicking the steed that she sat atop, the horse started its gait once again, leading the Blackstone Legion forward back to home.
Coming up behind the Lawbringer, a young woman—a Peacekeeper—stopped next to Cross. She looked to where the man was looking, observing the landscape. She moved her head to look to her warlord, causing her to cross her arms.
"What do you think that means?" The Peacekeeper, who was called Mercy, inquired, whispering quietly as to avoid any others to eavesdrop on them as she had with the Lawbringer and Apollyon.
"I'm not sure, and I'm not sure that I'll ever know." Cross looked from the horizon to Mercy, who had turned her own attention to him. "However, it must mean something if Apollyon dared to utter it."
Mercy was skeptical of the great warlord's plans. Apollyon said that she wanted to weed out the weak, but the Peacekeeper wasn't entirely sure that it would stop there. But if it wouldn't stop at that, then where would it stop? Regardless, she had her doubts, but she was smart enough to keep them to herself. As for Cross, Mercy wasn't sure where he stood on the topic, but she only hoped that he wasn't a blind follower.
The Blackstone Legion marched relentlessly into the night, leaving a burning silhouette of the city as the only memory of that place. The men and women that had fought for Apollyon were hollow husks of what they used to be. Gone were the emotions that the warlord had believed made humanity weak, and in place of that hole, a deep sense of hate grew. A hate for the sheep that had started to fill the three regions.
The Blackstone Fortress was one that could pierce even the strongest men and women's wills with fear. Built at the base of Mount Ignis, an active volcano that once sent the world into chaos, it had changed hands many times over its long lifespan. Each time it would shift tenure, its newest overlord would build upon the structure that was already there. Over the years, it had grown greatly from just a stronghold to one of the largest fortresses across the three factions.
By the time that it had fallen into the hands of its most recent possessor, Apollyon, it had become so large that even she hadn't seen its deepest works. Regardless of how large it was, it was not random. Everything had a place in the fortress. Composed of several layers and defensive structures, the Blackstone Fortress was highly defensible, making it an incredibly difficult stronghold to attack.
The Shard, which was the name for all the ramparts and towers that formed the frontal wall, served as a buffer to hold off potential invaders while the owners of the fortress stayed in the extremely defensive innards, being almost impossible to be reached. In that unlikely event, however, there was a network of tunnels and shafts that allowed those inside the Blackstone Fortress to swiftly and silently escape.
Along the upper levels of the Blackstone Fortress, catapults and trebuchets slumbered, keeping watch for any possible attackers so that they could fire freely upon the enemy. Rows of archers stood in designated areas, allowing them to kill any invaders without the fear of being killed. Another defensive structure for the Blackstone Fortress was a large moat filled with molten lava from Mount Ignis. Surrounding the frontal half of the fortress, these moats prevented anything from getting too close without way of the drawbridge.
Within these strong stone walls, Apollyon leaned over a wooden table that was decorated with a map of Ashfeld, the Myre, and Valkenheim. Her eyes peering through the slits in her helmet, she narrowed them at the area of the Myre. With the farming city of Ran burning to the ground, the capital of the Myre, Koto, would be left struggling for food, and because the Samurai were currently at war with the Vikings as they usually were, they would have to resort to attacking either Ashfeld or Valkenheim for resources. Thus, it would lead to a bitter vendetta against the Samurai from either the Vikings or Knights, regardless of which one the Japanese chose to attack.
For now, Apollyon's plan was rolling along smoothly, but she knew that that would change very quickly. To the warlord, the Samurai were as stubborn as they were emotional. They would refuse to go down without a fight, and she had to be sure that she was the victor when that time came. If she wasn't, then all her work would have been wasted.
With a hefty sigh, Apollyon pushed herself from the table to look around the room. It was empty, save for the warlord herself. The windowless, frigid room was dim, for the only source of light were four torches that were hung on the thick stone walls. An archway with no door rested to her left, allowing entrance into one of the many, many hallways that existed within the Blackstone Fortress.
Crossing her arms, Apollyon pressed her eyes together and shook her head. She could feel an ache creeping into her head. She was getting annoyed at the slow pace in which things were unfolding. It wasn't that she was excited for what she planned, for it was quite the opposite actually. She wanted this war to come and go quickly, for she dreaded it in reality. In the contrary to what many believed about her, Apollyon hated war. She hated the gruesome, barbaric methods used. She hated those involved, but she knew that it was something necessary for the evolution of humanity.
Regardless of her beliefs on war, Apollyon was never too proud to see herself as above it. With a reluctant sigh, she would always ride into battle atop her black battle horse. She knew that she wasn't higher than the dirt and mud of the battlefields, so she bloodied her swords and slew enemies of the Blackstone Legion. After the battle, however, the great warlord would always return to the Blackstone Fortress annoyed that this was something that had to be done. Of course, she had to keep these philosophies to herself, for she could not be seen as weak because of them, especially at this point.
The stronghold was secluded within the depths of Ashfeld. Almost a week's ride to the closest border of Ashfeld, the fortress was kept hidden from the rest of the world. It was hidden within the Iron Slopes to the South of Ashfeld. Originally being a region filled with luscious iron and gold mines, the Iron Slopes was a hotbed of activity, attracting many men and women seeking quick riches. But when the gold and iron mines ran dry, they left, seeking other places to gain wealth.
The stronghold, which was called Ferrum Coronatus, stood vacant for many years until a man took control. The man, Vortiger, used the stronghold as a place for his men to retreat to when not involved in some kind of warfare, though that was a rare occasion. The Black Priors—which is what they were called by many, though they never officially took on that name—were an independent order in Ashfeld, not taking to any legion. They stood firmly like that until the Blackstone Legion.
Instead, they belonged to the Order of the Holy Balaur—a God that they believed ruled all men, women, and children. He believed firmly in his God. That was, until his faith was shaken by a one Apollyon. Although he tried to stay steadfast in his faith, he couldn't help but be intrigued and taken by her convictions and beliefs. That day was the day that the Order of the Holy Balaur had fallen, and in its place, the Order of the Black Prior came about.
The Blackstone Legion marched through Ashfeld, conquering any legions or revolutions that attempted to fight back against them. And in due time, they came sweeping through the South, specifically the Iron Slopes. The Black Priors saw this as a threat against them, so they fought back. Meeting in the Valley of Chiron, the Black Priors and the Blackstone Legion faced off. Though they fought a losing fight, the Black Priors fought valiantly until the fighting began to settle, but they would not give up until the end.
The eleven followers of Balaur that remained were surrounded, their backs against one another as they gripped their shields and swords tightly. Their leader, the mighty Vortiger, clutched his longsword and kite shield, his face showing anger and hate.
"My brethren." He shouted to those surrounding him, capturing their attention. "Into the abyss, we shall go, but we shall not die without honor! Tenebris!"
Vortiger ran forward into the first line of soldiers, swinging his sword in a wide arc from low to high. Spinning on his heel as to keep the momentum of the attack, he turned a complete circle, cutting into even more soldiers. Stopping quickly, the man rose his shield and blocked an attack from a Blackstone, returning with a shield bash that knocked the soldier from his feet. He grinned from under the hood, as it had been a long time since he had felt that satisfying feeling of taking another man's worthless life.
Continuing to kill scores upon scores of Blackstone dogs, Vortiger swiping his sword across a wide arc in front of him, killing even more of them. He used his longsword and kite shield as offensive weapons, managing to kill many, many men and women that had thrown themselves at him in hope that they could be the one to put an end to him.
"Vortiger." A voice, raspy and powerful, called out to the warrior. The voice seemed to control Vortiger as he looked back to the person who had called him. There, dressed in what looked like a Lawbringer's set of armor except for it seemed to fit the style of a Warden, she was, her sword resting inside the scabbard that hung from her belt. Her armor was ghastly and fear-inducing, but it didn't ward off the Black Prior.
"Apollyon." He said, finishing off another nameless solider. Turning to her, he frowned. "I've heard stories of your conquests. I only hope that, for your betterment, you didn't come here to do the same."
"You are not one to make requests." She said, not being intimidated by the man. She took a few steps forward, closing the gap between the two until they were only ten feet apart. "Your army falls around you. Why don't you do the same?"
"There is no instance where it ends like that." He responded, his grip tightening around his sword and shield. "If you want this battle to end, then let us end it."
Apollyon grinned behind her helmet, and she pulled her longsword out of its scabbard. Putting one foot forward, she pulled her sword close to her chest, pointing it so that its tip would be looking to the sky. As she entered this defensive stance, Vortiger pointed his own sword directly at his enemy, holding the hilt to the right side of his head. Preparing his shield, he brought it close to his chest, though it showed a sliver of the left side of the front of his body.
Vortiger rose his sword above his head, preparing to bring it down onto his opponent. Seeing that Apollyon was in a prime position to parry him, he stopped himself at the last second and instead pushed his kite shield forward, bashing the thick piece of metal and wood into her, who had staggered back from the hit.
"Sindon cadit!" He shouted as his shield met Apollyon. He moved to follow the bash with a quick swipe from the side, bringing his sword around his right and into the warlord. However, the woman jumped back, dodging the sword. Keeping the momentum, she charged forward, pushing her shoulder into him, knocking him onto the ground. He had lost much stamina from the shield bash combined with the missed attack. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she brought the edge of the blade down upon him, slashing his chest.
"Dampnas!" Vortiger exclaimed as he kicked her heel, knocking her to the ground. Pushing himself off the muddied field, the kick allowed him enough time to recover, although Apollyon had recovered quickly, not allowing him to take advantage of her position on the ground. Bleeding from a chest wound, he growled at the Blackstone dog. Although it wasn't as bad as it would have been thanks to his chainmail underneath the leather, it was still as painful as it could get. Glaring at his enemy, the Black Prior clutched his chest, wincing in pain.
Vortiger scowled at Apollyon, his eyes filled with a raw hatred. He ran at her, bringing his sword in a wide arc that would have been impossible to dodge. Seeing this, the warlord grabbed her sword by both the hilt and the end of the blade. She brought the broadside of the steel against the sharp side of his own sword, causing a volley of sparks to emanate from the loud noise. She quickly threw him back, sending him stumbling.
Apollyon launched off the ground, her shoulder colliding with the Black Prior's chest. This sent the already injured man to the ground, as he was already losing stamina from his wounds. Recovering from the bash as to not follow Vortiger to the ground, the warlord quickly stabilized herself once again. Taking her sword by the hilt, she pointed the tip of the blade to the man's neck, slightly pushing inward so that tiny blood droplets could be seen escaping.
"Surrender." Apollyon demanded as the Vortiger laid there on the ground. "You've lost the battle. Look around, your trusted servants are dying. End this needless bloodshed."
Vortiger did as she said, looking around the battlefield. Limp and stinking bodies filled the previously peaceful valley. It could be seen that hundreds, if not thousands, of men had died. Though most of them were Apollyon's men, Vortiger suffered the major loss, as he had less soldiers than the Blackstone Legion. To him, every death was a big blow to the Order of the Holy Balaur.
"Ad inferos vobiscum!" Vortiger growled in his native language.
"Is that so?" Apollyon sneered. "You certainly have proved your efficiency in battle, Vortiger."
The man's eyes narrowed as he looked up at the Blackstone dog. Anger and hate filled his body, though he couldn't get up now. His men were dead, so he would assume—and perhaps rightfully so—that he was the last Black Prior in the Valley of Chiron. He had to remain on the ground beneath Apollyon, otherwise he'd be killed in an instant.
"I believe you to be a wolf." Apollyon complimented, slightly lifting her blade from his neck so that it was no longer piercing his flesh. "Which is why I'm giving you a choice. Join me and submit the Order of the Holy Balaur to the Blackstone Legion, and I will allow you to live out the rest of your life. Or, you can deny me, and I will have your body paraded throughout the major cities of Ashfeld. In that reality, you will become nothing more than a trophy on my wall. Your choice."
It wasn't much of a choice. To Vortiger, losing one's honor is the most demeaning thing that could happen. Coupled with his prominent name, the fall from grace would be anything but graceful.
"What choice is there? There is no reality where I die with honor. The other option is that I live with the hope that I will become more than another lowly knave. To me, there is a simple answer." Vortiger finally responded after considering his options for a minute. "I will join your legion."
"Good." Apollyon said, surely smirking behind her ghoulish helmet. She returned her sword to her scabbard and reached out a hand to Vortiger, who hesitantly took it. He brushed himself off and took hold of his sword and shield from the ground.
"What now?" Vortiger asked. His eyes, which were still narrowed at the warlord, never left Apollyon. She turned away from the man, still smirking underneath that damned helmet.
The warlord's mind was racing with her plans of conquering those that opposed her. She had already cut off one of the major supplies of Koto. With that gone, they would be scrambling for supplies, and although they wouldn't be completely crippled, the Samurai would still be weakened from a food shortage. Apollyon believed that it may be a good idea to send in two forces.
One force would start their assault from the Plana Mortis and into the region called Foul Oasis. Then, they could march through Masamune Haka into Koto where the Imperial Palace was located. The second force, a smaller one indeed, would march through the Myre's southern regions, starting with Defensor, through Josei and Chojo, and finally into Koto. Koto, the largest city in the Myre, served as the Samurai's base of operations for almost anything they did. And when Koto falls, the Samurai empire, too, fell.
Though the two armies may prove futile in the long-run, it was Apollyon's best chance at assaulting the city Koto. The largest army would subvert the attention as the smaller one would be able to go through and strike at the heart of the Samurai without being noticed before it's too late. Apollyon clenched her fists and jaw before turning back to the Black Prior.
"Koto." She said after almost a minute or two of thinking, resting her hand atop the hilt of her longsword. "The capital city of the Myre. The home of the Imperial Palace and its residents. A church of sinners. A gathering for those who wish to fulfill their fleshly desires."
"What about that damned place?" Vortiger asked, his voice still showing signs of the bitter defeat from the duel.
"I have received a conviction." Apollyon responded, gazing off into the vague direction of the Myre. "The world no longer has room for the sheep that roam the earth. We, the wolves, must now rise against this coming tide of serenity. Our world can no longer be plagued by the complacency that is ruling over the people. Join me, and I promise your order a place of power."
"What do you mean?" Vortiger inquired. "Why should we need them to wage wars upon others? We have been settling into a peace between the three regions."
"Exactly." Apollyon said, turning to face Vortiger. Putting her hand onto his shoulder plate, she scraped it, causing an annoying sound of metal on metal to echo throughout the valley. "Just trust me, Vortiger."
The warlord let go of the man's shoulder and walked away, stepping over the countless bodies that had been lying around. Vortiger, who had been left to wonder what she meant by that, turned to look at her as she walked away. It was too late to change anything about it now. He'd just have to go with the flow per say. He experienced the true fighting power of Apollyon, and he was not wanting to fight her again.
Vortiger looked around the battlefield once again. He could spot about a hundred of his men lying face-down on the floor in a lifeless mess. He pressed his eyes shut, praying to himself. Father, forgive me, for I have sinned. He opened his eyes once again before sighing. He walked to where Apollyon had gone, knowing that his life would forever be changed.
Years later…
"Desertion, heresy, betrayal, cowardice…" The Black Prior's voice controlled the masses in the port city of Eitrivatnen. Atop a wooden platform in the city square, three men stood, looking over a crowd of people that filled the immediate vicinity. The men and women looked upon the scene with astonishment, not knowing how to respond to the things they watched. Mothers shielded their children's eyes, and men crossed their arms, wondering if they would actually follow through, for it had been years since a man had been executed in these streets.
The Black Prior looked at the faces of the crowds, casting fear into each of them. His face absent of any sympathy for the criminal, he pointed a finger to the face of the man. The man in binds was visually beaten. His face was bloodied and bruised, his blonde hair was stained with mud, and his eyes were purple and swollen. Pain was all that he felt in that moment. The man, a recognizable, handsome warrior that the people had seen before, was Hervis Daubeny.
Daubeny had failed to comply with Blackstone Legion orders when he was told to move against the Samurai. He was in command of the armies that had gone through the Myre's south to infiltrate Koto. To Apollyon's dismay, his cowardice overcame him, and it caused him and a few others to desert their posts, running all the way back into Ashfeld. More specifically, he ran back to Westhold—which, luckily for him, was undergoing yet another power exchange between warlords.
Holden Cross and the Blackstone Legion tracked him down there. After Ademar, Cross's second, defeated a nameless Warden, who was chosen by Daubeny, the coward himself was taken in chains to the largest public city in Ashfeld: Eitrivatnen. It was determined that he was to be publicly executed and made an example of to all the people. Apollyon herself gave the orders to execute him, as he had caused an embarrassment for the otherwise fear-inducing legion.
After Daubeny abandoned his station, the southern army attacked Koto, and without capable leadership, they lost a hundred to one. The Samurai retaliated, killing the entirety of the southern army, save for Daubeny and his few deserters, and parts of the northern army. The Samurai, however, already had tensions that were high with the Vikings, and they could not afford two wars at once. Luckily, they told the Blackstone Legion to pay them tenfold for the price of the few skirmishes that took place, and the legion took that deal with graciousness, though it would certainly cause a blow to their pride.
Now, here Daubeny was, his arms in chains and his head bruised, beaten, and bloodied. His life flashed before his eyes as two Blackstone legionnaires accompanied him atop this platform. A Lawbringer and Black Prior—who were Holden Cross and Vortiger respectively—stood there, looking down upon the crowd. Vortiger's words reverberated throughout the echoey chamber that was the Eitrivatnen city square.
"It is time for Sir Hervis Daubeny to face his penitence." The Black Prior shouted, still pointing at the shamed Warden. He turned to look at the chained-up, gagged man, who had been trying to free himself from his bondage. "Hervis Daubeny, former Blackstone Captain and Warden, you have been sentenced to death, for it has been written by Apollyon herself. You face this penalty for your crimes against your legion."
Turning back to the crowd, Vortiger continued: "Let this man be an example to all those who dare to oppose the Blackstone Legion. There will be no mercy, and there will be no honor in this death. Surely, he will die namelessly and shamefully."
Vortiger kicked Daubeny's ankle in, causing him to fall forward. The Black Prior grabbed the deserter's brown hair, pulling it up before slamming it into a piece of tree trunk that had been hauled here for this execution. Blood began to pool at the base of the trunk as Daubeny struggled against the Blackstone's hand which held the Warden's head in place. Vortiger pushed the man's face into the wood, rubbing it against the coarse surface before letting go.
As Vortiger stepped aside, an armored Holden Cross strode forward, holding his beautifully crafted poleaxe. The pole was black and gold going up it in a spiraled fashion, and the axe was made of the richest black steel with a gold covered blade. The spike, however, was built to mimic the likeness of a dragon. The dragon was completely gold, save for two green jewels that made its eyes. It was a magnificent work of art, and it was a sturdy weapon of death.
"Non potes effugere legem!" Cross exclaimed as he took his poleaxe by the handle and lifted it above his head. Blink, and you might have missed it. He rose his poleaxe and brought it crashing down, its axe splitting the air as it cut downwards. The metallic blade split Daubeny's skin smoothly open. The weapon cut cleanly through the man's neck and straight into the wooden planks of the platform, sending the Warden's head toppling off and rolling onto the forefront of the raised area. The crowd gasped and screamed, many of them turning their heads away.
Vortiger walked over and picked up the disembodied head, holding it up the crowd. "This! This is what will happen to you if you refuse to submit to the Blackstone Legion! Let us hope that it will not come to this. Now, go and let this image burn itself into your mind. Think about this moment, for it could be you!"
He dropped the head back onto the ground before putting his boot on it, using it as a kind stepping stone. Pushing all his weight onto it, Vortiger cracked the head open, sending a volley of blood onto the crowd and himself. Little pieces of gelatinous blood and brain membrane stuck to his boot as he flattened the head. The crowd began to disperse, running from the grotesque scene.
Motioning to some men to clean up the bloodied mess, Vortiger turned to Holden Cross as the Lawbringer tore his poleaxe from the wooden floor. The latter of them turned to walk down the steps that led up to the platform, walking towards a small open area.
"We have found and killed the traitor." He said, crossing his arms as he followed. "Now what does Apollyon ask of us?"
"She has requested that I join her in a conquest against the Vikings in the North." Cross responded as he ran his forearm plate over the blade, sharpening it whilst also taking off any loose blood droplets. "I have been ordered to assault Svengård through Gränsgård. She has said nothing of you."
"Ah, well I wish you God's bidding on that assault." Vortiger replied. "I shall head back to the Ferrum Coronatus to resume my studies into the religious texts of old. It has been long since I have done so."
"All right." Cross said, turning away from the Black Prior. He walked towards a steed that had been prepared for him. The steed was fitted with armor and a pack that held the essentials for a short trip.
"Take care, amicus meus." Vortiger spoke, receiving a nod from the Lawbringer as a farewell. The horse kicked up dirt and sped off into the horizon, leaving the Black Prior to his lonesome. He looked to the limp body of Hervis Daubeny, which was still in its slumped position over a medium-sized rock. It was such a shame that he had to be killed, for he was one of the best soldiers that the Blackstone Legion had seen. Then again, such is life that it is followed by death, especially for those who try to hide from it.
Standing in the now empty city square of Eitrivatnen, Vortiger looked around. Vacant street stalls lined the roads closest to the buildings, though they were still fully stalked of assortments of fruits, vegetables, meat, and other food items. Dirty cobblestone roads twisted, originating from the relatively clean stone that paved the square. Tall buildings of wood and stone created an impending feeling that only a few cities in Ashfeld could create. A feeling of absence seemed to fill the streets. A cloudy sky was turning grey, and the branches of the few trees in the town square were leafless, as winter was approaching quickly.
Vortiger sighed. It had been years since he had first committed his life to the Blackstone Legion. At first, he was hesitant to join the legion, but he soon gave in completely. It was a remarkable experience, though a troubling one, as he still questioned that choice years down the line. Yet, he continued to follow in the path of the Apollyon. Although Vortiger wasn't a part of the legion for nearly as long as some others, Holden Cross included, he was rising through the ranks quickly. In only half a decade, Vortiger had become one of Apollyon's lieutenants—those in charge of leading and directing her armies. It was certainly a notable thing.
The brutal scene that had happened here just moments ago were burned within the citizen's minds. The Black Prior couldn't help but think that perhaps things had gone too far. Then again, Apollyon had demanded it to be done. However, he had his reservations about her ways, even though he followed them. He had been told to do many things, and he had done them, even if he didn't want to. He did them because he recognized the power and strength that his warlord held, and he did not want to face the same fate as the former Sir Daubeny.