Chapter II - The Harsh Reality

Where did it all go wrong? Here she was in a freezing dungeon in the dead of winter. The young Peacekeeper was filled with confusion and doubt, her mind screaming and shouting in anger. She was chained and gagged to the wall in a large fortress, its location unbeknownst to her. She was bleeding and bruised from the beatings that she received from her captors. Her captors tried to get information about her allies' whereabouts, but the young woman refused to answer to their threats, even though it meant pain to her.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from two torches that were hanging from the wall to both of her sides. The cobblestone that built up the walls began to allow different mosses and vines to seep through the cracks, making it appear as though nature began to take back the place. A table sat in the center of the room. It was dirtied with blood, and bits of skin and bone could be seen upon closer inspection. Chains and ropes were scattered across the creaky wooden floorboards. A knife hung from the wall opposite the woman, blood staining its steel blade.

The woman, who was rather petite and young, groaned in pain. She had a small nose and angled eyebrows. Her deep eyes were a light brown, and they were easily read by almost anyone. Her hair was messy, and its burgundy color was mixed with the crimson red of blood. She was small and thin, fitting for her career. The woman's wardrobe was that of leather and cloth, the chainmail underneath being torn from her.

The woman opened her eyes with a great deal of agony. Taking in a burst of putrid air as soon as she awoke, her nose scrunched up in distaste. Coughing up blood, she received a sharp burst of pain in her side, causing her to wince at the feeling. With discomfort, she breathed out of her mouth in the cold room, her breath turning into a white cloud. Shivers ran up and down her spine, causing her entire body to shake in the chilliness.

She looked around the room, noting the amount of blood, feces, and bone segments. There was an entrance in the wall that sat adjacent to her. It looked like it was made completely of a thick, heavy wood, save for small sheets of metal that lined the top and bottom of the door. The room was windowless and, supposedly, it had no source of fresh air. The young woman gave herself a week before she would pass out and die if her captors did not allow her to get fresh air.

Looking back, the woman probably should have expected this to be where she would end up. Yet, she was young, dumb, and ignorant. She was a submissive girl that just wanted to make things better for everyone, and in this world that she lived, that was a dumb dream to have, for it usually ended in somebody's blood being spilt. And, it seemed, that it would be her blood this time.

Many, Many Years Before…

Dahlia Thorn was young and ignorant at the time, and why wouldn't she want to be? She lived a life that many envied. She was rich, beautiful, and educated. She learned to read and write from an early age, developing those skills more than the average person in Ashfeld. Her entire life was easygoing and simple, for she had everything given to her on a silver platter. Dahlia had become quite spoiled from this fact, though she rarely took advantage of this.

Dahlia was raised by her mother from an early age, for her father was off fighting against the Samurai in the Myre. She was brought up in a beautiful manor in the depths of Ashfeld, safe from the barbaric Vikings and violent Samurai. She had everything and anything she wanted with the snap of a finger. It seemed as though life was perfect for the young woman, though everything changed that one fateful day when Dahlia realized the harsh reality of the world.

Dahlia's mother was struck with a horrible illness—one so severe that there was little expectancy for her to make it through. Like many daughters, Dahlia stayed by her mother's side throughout this difficult period in her life. She wept in secret, for she knew that her mother would not live to see the light of day one day. However, she kept up a strong face, hoping to keep the sick woman's spirits up.

On one bright summer day, the sun was shining greatly down onto the manor of wood and stone, piercing through the glass windows of the second floor. The mother, lying in her bed that she had been confined to for the past few months, called Dahlia to her, hoping to speak to her one last time. She knew her time was up, so she just wanted to say goodbye to that beloved daughter of hers.

"Yes, mother?" Dahlia inquired as she entered the room, her feet trembling as she did so. The room was rather plain for a manor house. The mother's bed and a small table was all that decorated the room. Atop the table, a quill, a piece of paper, and a candle were all there was. Looking to her mother, Dahlia slowly made her way to her mother's side, crouching beside the bed.

"My days are numbered." The mother said, her voice quivering and almost lost. "I know that much. I also know that my days were not wasted."

Dahlia's spirit was crushed with those words. Visible tears streaming down her pale face, she was crushed, and perhaps rightfully so. After all, the loss of a loved one would always be hard upon someone, especially if they were only in their teens. Then again, this event was a common occurrence throughout the harsh regions of Ashfeld.

"You, my dear Dahlia, are the light of my life." The woman said, her voice losing strength the more she spoke. "Without you, I don't even think I could have made it this far, but all good things must come to an end. And you were the greatest thing I could have ever wished for."

Dahlia's mother reached out her hand, placing it on the young woman's cheek. With a weak smile, the woman could feel a tear fall from her eye. Dahlia closed her eyes and looked away from her mother, tears still pushing through her eyelids. She couldn't dare to see someone so close to her in such a terrible state. With a great deal of effort, Dahlia quivered and opened back her eyes when she felt the cold hand fall away from her face.

Looking back at her mother, Dahlia let out a quivering scream. The mother's eyes were closed, and her body went limp. She had finally succumbed to her illness after about a month of fighting it. Dahlia must have wept for hours on that fateful day by her mother's bedside. That was the day that she realized that the world wasn't as perfect or great as she had once perceived. She had stayed there by her mother's side for the rest of that damned day, for it was painful to even get up and walk away from that somber scene.

Morning soon came as the sun rose in the horizon, causing light to shine through the glass window and onto the sleeping form of Dahlia. Hesitantly opening her eyes, she was greeted by an empty bed. The house staff must have come and taken her mother's dead body away for burial. Dahlia stayed there for a few minutes before finally pushing herself to her feet.

Dahlia looked around the slumbering. Nothing had changed. However, it seemed more solemn than it had just hours ago. She knew that everything would change in an instant. She wasn't scared of change, but she was scared of changing. She wanted to be the same old Dahlia Thorn as before, yet she wasn't sure if she could be. Regardless, things would be different from now on, and Dahlia would have to adapt to the evolving circumstances.

Sighing, Dahlia staggered to the doorway, looking back at the empty room one last time before leaving and shutting the wooden door behind her. In the hallway, she could still feel her eyes welling up as she walked slowly down the corridor. She seemed to walk in complete silence, save for her feet tapping against the hardwood.

The walls were built of wood, though they were painted over with a deep green color. Paintings of important figures, warlords, and past family members were hung on these walls, and it seemed like there was one every five to ten feet or so, each one depicting a different person. Among these pictures, there was one of her father. He was an honest, respectable man. He had a comforting aura around him that seemed to draw many to him.

In this portrait, Dahlia's father wore a Conqueror's set of armor, even though he wasn't wearing his helmet, nor did he have his flail and shield. His brown eyes stared down at his daughter, and his stern face looked down upon her, making her feel as if she had done something wrong. A full moustache that had strands of grey that offset the dark brown was plastered across his face, making his bald head seem even balder.

How am I going to tell him? Dahlia thought, his possible reaction making her even more somber. She tore her eyes away from her father, trying to keep her morale intact, though it was crumbling more and more the longer she was awake.

Making her way to the entrance hall of the manor, Dahlia was greeted by a relatively large room. The hallway's green walls gave way to raw wooden planks. The front door was situated directly opposite her, and two columns stood in the center of the room, keeping the area from caving in. A table sat next to the door, and a few unread paper messages sat atop of that.

Walking over to the table slowly, Dahlia took one of the slips of paper:

To Lady Thorn,

We regret to inform you that your husband, Sir Thorn, has come under serious illness. Under the command of Sir Daubeny at the time, he was attacked and poisoned by a Samurai.

We have allowed him to return to Ashfeld so that he may be taken care of by you.

Sincerely, Holden Cross of the Blackstone Legion

Although it already hung low, Dahlia's heart dropped even more. How could two consecutive days get worse and worse as time passed? Then again, it seemed as though these letters had been sitting for a few days, so for all Dahlia knew, her father could arrive the next day, though it was unlikely, for the travel the Myre from the manor was at least a five days trek.

Regardless of the time it would take for him to return, it only crushed Dahlia's already crippled spirits. She collapsed to her knees and cried out in anguish. Why did it have to be her? Her life had been perfect up until these past few days. Without a care in the world, she lived like a queen. Now, she felt like nothing more than a slave trapped in a cycle of hurt.

Years Later…

That was years ago. In fact, it was so long ago that Dahlia had almost blocked out those horrible memories from her mind. Yet, they always found a way to seep back into mind. As she stood inside the ruins of the Cathedral—a grand holy place built by some of the earliest Knights that settled in Ashfeld—she remembered the significance of the structure. One might assume that such a religious and historical monument in Ashfeld would be safe from the war that raged throughout the rest of the region. However, this was not the case.

Large stone pillars held up a massive arched roof as two balconies stood along the two sides, though they were hardly usable anymore with their broken stones and collapsed staircases. At the end of the room, light shone through large windows without any form of glass onto a magnificent golden statue that sat beneath an azure domed roof. Banners hung along each of the pillars, each one showing a different symbol. These symbols—along with the statue centerpiece—showed how truly old this place was.

Built before the founding of the different legions when Ashfeld was first divided up between Lords and Ladies, this cathedral pointed to lost rituals and a divine spirituality that was lost in time. Large stones and debris cluttered the floor as bones and dried blood could be seen as a testament to the battlefield that it once was during the first few years of the Great Cataclysm.

Sandwiched between a hillside and a cliff, the Cathedral was beautifully designed against the picturesque backdrop. The location wasn't only chosen for its beauty, for it also served as a very defensible position, though that didn't do much to scare away invaders. Once attacked, the Knights who built this structure eventually gave up on the project, leaving it to rot away in solitude.

Behind the cathedral itself, there sat a cemetery where the most prestigious Lords and Ladies of old were buried. They sat in an array without any kind of planning, sitting as a sporadic mess. In the middle of the cemetery, there was a large, leafless tree. Scattered around the area, geysers rested, occasionally spouting out their water. Around the outside of the graveyard, there were a few larger tombs where the richest Lords or Ladies were kept, their bodies probably being fully decayed by now.

Dahlia looked around the place as she walked through a small archway that led to a balcony that overlooked the cliffside, her eyes taking in the beautiful scenery. Vines and nature began to take back the Cathedral, for it had become overgrown. The solid stone beneath her feet felt as though they would break away at any moment, so she was extremely cautious when walking throughout the structure.

Dahlia walked to the small wall that prevented people from walking to their death, leaning on the cold stone. She had memories of this place. Dahlia remembered that her father would bring her up here when he wasn't in combat, though that wasn't very often. She had good memories of her old man, and it made her miss him. It wasn't that he was dead, but he changed. Ever since he returned to the manor poisoned and on the death bed, his attitude changed for the worse.

He wasn't the only one that changed that day. On the day that he came back, Dahlia truly learned the horrors of what lengths men and women would go to do things against each other. However, when she learned of his horrible injury on the day that he returned, she felt kind of saved. It allowed her to take her mind off of her mother—which she couldn't save—and she put her mind on her father, who she could save. She put all her time and energy into learning the medicinal needs of her father so that she could save him.

After she had managed to save her father, Dahlia began to study the medicinal arts. She set her mind on saving men and women, but she also vowed to keep peace between the Knights of Ashfeld and the Samurai of the Myre. At this time, she refused to kill anyone unless it must be done. Dahlia didn't have the willpower to end another person's life, so she refused to. Instead, she opted to save those who could be saved.

Dahlia soon learned, however, that she there were crucial herbs and other requirements for her medicine, and some only grew in the Myre. And in order to get the things that she needed, she learned to become quiet and stealthy to the Samurai that skulked the swamps, becoming almost invisible to her enemies. She soon learned that she couldn't do this alone. Dahlia needed someone who could provide her with a place and enough patients to continue her medicinal studies.

That was when Dahlia met a man who had been called Holden Cross. She remembered him remarkably well. He was relatively friendly and easy to talk to compared to many others she had met along the way, including her own father. In some ways, she viewed the old Lawbringer as her father of sorts. He mentored and guided her throughout her time in the Blackstone Legion. Cross taught Dahlia the reasons of the Blackstone Legion, and she wholeheartedly believed that they were good, for she trusted him.

Dahlia remembered that day they had met in the Myre.

She had been collecting herbs for her medicinal brews when she saw a camp. It was fairly large, housing about six or seven large tents with three or four smaller ones. A few campfires dotted the grounds, shining light onto the immediate area around them. Because it was the dead of night, there were only a few Knights that had taken up guard against the Samurai that surely lurked around the swampy marshes. All of this sat within a relatively large clearing of dirt and stone.

Looking among the men, there was one that was vaguely recognizable. His hair was buzzed and not completely shaved. He wore thick, sturdy armor that gave him the look of a Lawbringer, especially since a poleaxe stood stuck in the ground next to him. His eyes were a deep brown, though they looked intense and serious. His face was stern and wore testaments to his experience in the form of wrinkles and scars. As he sat there, he mindlessly toyed with a large stein, taking a swig every so often.

Dahlia took her eyes off the man, gazing around the camp when something struck out to her. Stuck in the ground near the middle of the camp, there sat a large pole. The shaft rose to about ten feet high, much taller that anything around, except the trees. At the top of this post, a banner cascaded. On this banner, there was an orange symbol that was a skull and Knight's helm being separated by a sword that split down the center of the cloth. All of this sewn onto the backdrop of black cloth that pointed to a pyramid at the top. This symbol was one that everyone across the lands knew, Dahlia included. It was the symbol of the Blackstone Legion.

Dahlia didn't know much about the Blackstone Legion, save for the fact that they were the second largest legion in Ashfeld, as the Iron Legion stood slightly larger. What were the Blackstone Legion doing in the Myre? As Dahlia pushed herself away from the roots that she hid behind, she heard a voice call out to her.

"Leaving so soon?" The voice emanated from the Lawbringer who sat beside the campfire. He looked straight into Dahlia's eyes, a smile creeping onto his face. "You've only just arrived. Come, join me."

Cautiously, Dahlia emerged from the thick brush, her hand resting on her knife, although she was hesitant to use it. She entered the clearing, her eyes stuck on the man, though she made sure that she wasn't going to be surrounded. She walked slowly to the fire, her eyes glued on the man.

"How did you know I was there?" Genuine curiosity emerging from her lips.

"You tend to learn and see a lot as you grow." The man said, setting down the stein onto the ground beside him. He leaned forward over his two legs, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, what are you doing skulking around in the Myre?"

"I've just been collecting herbs for my medicine." Dahlia said hesitantly, stopping on the other side of the fire. She took a long look at the man, memorizing his features in case something should happen. "What about you? I recognize the Blackstone Legion's banner. What is there business in the Myre?"

"Oh, just some business that we have to take care of, nothing too important." The man admitted. "Although I fear that it may get to that point."

"What do you mean?" Dahlia inquired, raising her left eyebrow. She crossed her arms, waiting for a response.

"Oh, you know these Samurai." He said, not yet rising from his seat on the tree stump. "They're a very paranoid set of people."

"I suppose." She agreed, keeping her arms crossed.

"I'm Cross. Holden Cross." The man spoke, moving his head from Dahlia and to his empty hands. "You?"

"Dahlia." She responded, keeping it to as little information as possible, for she was still skeptical of this 'Cross.'

"Ah, an imaginative name." Cross said, pushing himself up from the stump and rising to his full height. He stood there, towering above Dahlia from across the flames. The young woman took a step back, releasing her arms to fall to her sides with one of her hands resting on a dagger that hung from her belt loosely.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Cross requested politely, bending down to retrieve his stein from the cold ground, the drink now lukewarm.

"Go ahead." Dahlia allowed, weary of what he was going to ask.

"Why do you travel within the Myre for these herbs?" He asked, pouring the rest of the drink onto the ground.

"I need it for medicine that I use back in Ashfeld." Dahlia responded after a few seconds of debating whether or not she should tell the man. "I help any that should come to me for it."

"A very honorable cause." Cross complimented. "It's dangerous in the Myre with these Samurai running around."

"I've learned to hide from them." Dahlia defended. "They're no problem for me."

"Ah, cocky, are we?" Cross joked, though his voice made it seem less of a jest than was intended. "How long have you been doing this?"

"About a year or so." Dahlia responded, crossing her arms once again. She took his jest literally, making her a little mad, though not that much. In this situation, she was hesitant to joke around with someone she didn't know, even though she had a sense of humor.

"Why do you go at this alone?" The Lawbringer asked, a stern look replacing his more comedic one. "In fact, why don't you just get the materials you need from the many markets within Ashfeld."

"They tend to charge exorbitant prices of which I cannot afford." She admitted, her mind wandering to her younger years when she had no cares in the world. Dahlia certainly grew up spoiled, and there were no basic hardships that many others had faced. However, that all changed when her father returned at death's door. As the father became unable to provide for the family anymore, their wealth soon depreciated, and they lost almost all their wealth.

Although Dahlia was able to save her father's life, he died shortly thereafter, only a year after he returned. In the times leading up to his death, her father began to go slightly insane. He became combative and abusive to Dahlia, striking her multiple time. That was when she had enough, and she abandoned him to die in his own filth. Regardless, things were different now, especially when compared to her younger years.

"Ah, it is such a shame." The man said, snapping the young woman from her thoughts. Cross's eyes locked with Dahlia's. "Come, sit."

He motioned for her to sit across from him, the fire still flickering between the two figures. Dahlia hesitantly sat on the log, her eyes moving from the man to the rough surface. As she took her seat, she looked around the camp, making sure that there was no one coming up behind her.

"You know, Lady Dahlia, I know what you want." The Lawbringer announced, causing the woman to look back up at his standing figure. He turned his head to the right away from Dahlia and into the dark jungle that surrounded them. "You have a simple purpose in this world. Your purpose it to simply help people."

Dahlia watched him as he walked around the fire, coming closer to her. She flinched for her sword, resting her hand on the hilt. However, he walked passed her position, leaving his back to her.

"I can help you do that." Cross said, gazing off into the Myre's swamps. "I can finance your little vision, and I will help you see it through."

Cross turned to look at Dahlia. She stood from the log, coming to below his chin. He towered above her, intimidating her slightly with his size. Even though they were feet apart, she felt like she was too close to him. Although she was trained and relatively good with the weapons she had, there was no way in Hell that she could fight and win against a Blackstone Lawbringer, especially of his size.

"I can train you to fight." Cross promised, looking down at the woman. "I can promise to fulfill your desires, and I can promise that you can live without worry."

"What's the catch?" Dahlia asked. There had to be some kind of prerequisite, as all of this sounded a little too good to be true.

"Join us." The man said, taking a step forward. "Join the Blackstone Legion, and everything you wish will become reality."

Dahlia thought of this decision for a few minutes. Saying 'yes' to this would change her life forever. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worse. She looked at the Lawbringer. Could she truly trust this man? She had only just met him. Regardless, she had to make some kind of decision.

The man's eyes narrowed on Dahlia as he waited for a response. Crossing his arms, he shifted his feet, not taking his eyes of the woman. He breathed in heavily and breathed out, alerting Dahlia to his growing impatience.

"I can't." Dahlia finally responded, feeling pressure to hurry her decision up. "Not… not right now at least."

"Oh?" Cross responded, taking a small step forward. In response, Dahlia instinctively took her own step back, wary of what the Lawbringer could do. "Why not?"

"Well…" Dahlia started, her mind quickly being filled with panic and pressure. If there had to be a single weakness chosen for the young woman, it was that she was easily panicked. Even since her younger years, she would always be easy to confuse, and she would always feel a great deal of pressure on her back, even if there wasn't any.

"I'd think of my next words carefully if I were you." Cross interjected, his previous persona of a friendly Knight being replaced by a grizzled veteran.

Dahlia couldn't determine whether or not this was a threat. Regardless, she knew that she needed to deny it, but she felt as though she couldn't. However, she wasn't mindlessly giving into demands. She knew that she couldn't face the Lawbringer, so she had only two choices: Join him or—presumably—die.

"You know?" Dahlia started, her hazel eyes unlocking themselves from his dark brown ones. "I've rethought it, and I'm sure that I can see what you can do for me."

Dahlia's voice began to become fainter and fainter as she lost confidence in her words.

"Good." Cross said, smirking to himself. "Come. We have much work to get to."

(Re)Introducing Dahlia Thorn, created by Pristine Dahlia.