Fargrim watched the gate, clutching onto his greataxe with both hands. He, Zavier, and a few guards were in the keep. The guards worked on removing the barricades that barred entry into the keep. Although Fargrim was ready to throw down his axe to aid him, Zavier told him to save his strength. The dwarf grunted in response but understood the wisdom beyond his mentor's words. He had a duty to perform: to slay any dragons that dare threaten the good people of this world. Although his foe may not be fully dragon, there was no denying his draconic features. Cyanwrath would fall.
The guards finally removed the barricades and pushed the gates open. The sun peeked in slowly, prompting Fargrim and Zavier to stroll forward at once. When they left the keep, a chorus of cheering called out their names. Zavier slowed down, turning around to wave at their spectators. Fargrim pressed on, not turning back to keep. He acknowledged their cheers with a light smile. To be reminded of why he needs to fight was touching to the gruff warrior, which was almost enough to forget the sins the dragons inflicted upon him.
Fargrim's grip on his axe tightened at the thought.
The farther they moved away from the keep, the less likely they would receive aid from the defenders. The militia and their crossbows would not be able to cover such distances. Fargrim even had his doubts that Calder would be able to provide covering fire this far. If the dragon's evil forces decided to turn on their deal, as it is their nature, it would make no difference. If he was denied his test, then Zavier would unleash his full power upon those pathetic kobolds. Such a feat would be exciting to see but not necessary. He fought his own battles rather than relying on others.
Fargrim and Zavier drew ever closer to Cyanwrath. The draconic warrior's jaws formed a grin, eagerly awaiting the battle. Fargrim's stomach twisted in anger. He wanted to rush forward and show his might upon the pathetic excuse for a dragon. Yet, he held himself back. The faint cheerings coming from the keep reminded him to remain calm. Once the duel had officially started, it would be time to unleash his rage upon his unexpecting opponent. The thought of taking Cyanwrath's head would be an excellent start to his days as a dragon hunter.
"Which of you is my challenger?" Cyanwrath growled. "Or is this a trick?"
"No trick!" Zavier promised. "I am acting as second to Fargrim Torun, the Champion of Greenest! He who charges into battle with a wild war cry that sends a chill down one's spine. He who-"
"Enough," Cyanwrath interrupted, looking down at Fargrim. "I look forward to fighting you, Fargrim Torun."
"Aye, likewise," Fargrim grinned. "I look forward te claimin' yer head."
"A bold one!" Cyanwrath chuckled. "Let's get down onto the terms of the duel! The three children are to be freed."
"They are?" Zavier exclaimed, seeing the kobolds release the three children.
"Git te th' keep," Fargrim urged them. "Yer uncle is waitin' fer ye."
The three children ran off. Cyanwrath continued. "My kobolds will continue to keep watch over the woman. If anyone, including your second, dares to interfere, she dies."
"And my good dwarf here has to beat you to secure her release?" Zavier questioned.
"My kobolds will release her regardless of victor," Cyanwrath assured them. "The victor will be the last one standing."
"Yer… yer awfully generous, lad," Fargrim complimented through gritted teeth. "What's th' catch?"
"The catch is that I get to fight the Champion of Greenest," Cyanwrath answered without hesitation. "The strongest warrior they have to offer. Now, grant us some space! We begin on your mark, second!"
Zavier and the kobolds backed off to their respective sides of the field. Fargrim eyed his foe cautiously. Cyanwrath was not the foe he was expecting. Strangely enough, he had a sense of honor, a code that the dwarf found himself identifying with. There was nothing wrong with being the strongest, he thought. There were benefits to such a claim in life.
However, Cyanwrath was still evil. He worked alongside the raiders in setting Greenest to the torch. He held hostages to ensured he received the fight he demanded. Most importantly, he was of draconic descent. Fargrim had seen the devastation of dragons and vowed that they would all fall. He would hunt them down without bias, claiming them so they can no longer threaten the world. He felt the rage boiling up within him. It was time.
"Begin!" Zavier announced.
Fargrim let out a wild and loud war cry, letting his rage consume him. He charged forward, closing the distance. Cyanwrath only ran forward to meet his charge. Their blades made initial contact against each other. Fargrim was swift enough to swing his greataxe into Cyanwrath's hip. Zavier cheered out alongside the townsfolk. For a moment, Fargrim was distracted. And in that moment, his foe land a blow with his blade upon his shoulder.
Fargrim fell back briefly, glaring at his wound. It was not as deep as the one he gave to Cyanwrath, but a cut was still a cut. To make matters worse, the draconic warrior did not seem unhindered by the blow. Fargrim spat on the growl, twirling his axe and spreading Cyanwrath's blood on the field. He was not going to lose. He was not going to fall victim to a dragon follower!
Fargrim and Cyanwrath charged forward once more, their shouts drowning each other out. This time, Fargrim lunged forward with a jump. Unhindered by armor, such a technique was available to him, while Cyanwrath, heavily armored, had to stick to the ground. Fargrim slashed out with his greataxe, slashing him down vertically from the chest and drawing blood. Cyanwrath let out a roar of pain when Fargrim landed on the ground. The draconic warrior returned with two rapid slashes of his own, cutting across Fargrim's chest.
The two appeared to be evenly match. Cyanwrath was more sturdy and skilled, but he had sustained two powerful cuts, which were now taking its toll on him. Fargrim was unrefined and took more blows than he could handle, but he was mighty, and his adrenaline from his rage pushed him on. There was a slight feeling on the back of his mind regarding how this duel would turn out. These next few blows would determine who would emerge the victor. The dwarf's rage pushed thoughts of doubt aside. He would be the one winning this fight, not the other way around.
"This is it, ye know," Fargrim announced. "Only one of us is walkin' away."
"And it won't be you," Cyanwrath snapped.
The two warriors charged at each other again. Both were ready to finish the battle once and for all. Fargrim's greataxe clashed against Cyanwrath's longsword. The dwarf quickly backed away from the swipe of his foes blade, then raised the shaft of his greataxe to block Cyanwrath's next strike. Fargrim growled between his panting, clutching his greataxe tightly so that his knuckles turned white. Cyanwrath, although wounded, stayed strong. The dwarf needed to win. He needed to prove he could slay a dragon, especially with his mentor watching.
Fargrim charged forward, swinging his greataxe down into Cyanwrath's gut with all of his might. It bit deeply into flesh but it was not enough. The warrior kicked the dwarf down, disarming him of his greataxe. Cyanwrath threw the weapon aside and slashed at Fargrim's extended arm, cutting it badly. He then followed up with a stab through the dwarf's chest. Fargrim gasped out blood in pain, his rage fading away. When Cyanwrath pulled the blade free, he fell down onto his knees. He wanted to keep fighting. He wanted to show that dragon who was superior.. But his body could not keep up.
"Fargrim!" Zavier called out.
"And this is your champion?" Cyanwrath pointed his blade down at Fargrim, stepping forward towards the keep. "LOOK AT YOUR CHAMPION!"
"I'm not done," Fargrim spat on the ground.
"What say you, second?" Cyanwrath pointed his blade at Zavier. "I could fight one more."
"I'm not done," Fargrim repeated, his voice a low mutter.
"If you'd allow, I can get him back to fighting condition," Zavier offered.
"He's done for," Cyanwrath shook his head.
"I'M NOT DONE!"
Cyanwrath turned his gaze downward, surprised by the sudden outburst.
"You're done."
Fargrim did not even have to look up to know that the force coming upon his back was Cyanwrath's longsword, coming down upon him. He fell down from his knees, lying chest down on the grass. His adrenaline rush had long faded away and he felt so much pain. It was hard to keep his eyes open as he saw Cyanwrath and his kobolds march away. It would be so easy to close his eyes and fall asleep. With a sigh, his vision turned dark as he closed his eyes.
His body became numb.
Fargrim saw darkness, but slowly, that faded. He was standing on a path that led upward to a mountain top. And waiting for him at the top of the ledge, he saw a dwarven woman carrying a small dwarven child. Behind them were a dozen of dwarves, smiling down upon him, inviting him to come forward. Fargrim took one step up the hill. Then another. The hand of the woman reached out to him. He hesitated to take it into his own.
The pain returned, although not as bad as it was before.
"Get up, my mighty friend!" Zavier called, his warm hands on his back, healing him with magic. "Greenest is saved."
"Master Blackwood," Fargrim took a deep breath in. "Ye need te unleash yer power upon Cyanwrath. Don't let him flee."
"If I do that, I risk getting you caught in the crossfire," Zavier shook his head. "Come, I'll carry you!"
"Nay," Fargrim spat. "I'm not done yet."
"You're not, but you need healing," Zavier told his student. "My magic was only able to do so much. The healers who tended to you before will be relieved to see you drove off the last of the raiders."
Fargrim groaned out in pain, making no attempt to stand up and return of his own will. Markuth's sister picked up his greataxe for the instruction of Zavier. The famed slayer himself picked up his dwarven companion and carried him on his back. Fargrim could make out the people on the keep, watching them. He was surprised to see that after his failure to win the battle. He was hyped up to impress them and his performance was lackluster.
"Master Blackwood, why de they cheer?" Fargrim asked.
"They cheer because you were willing to sacrifice your life in exchange that of four strangers," Zavier answered. "And they'll keep cheering, for their champion, despite all odds, survived to return."
"If only it were that easy, lad…"
A/N: The first chapter from Fargrim's PoV is the one he's nearly killed in. Fitting for a barbarian.
Some of my friends have commented on the nature of the "unwinnable battle," such as the duel between Cyanwrath and the chosen PC is depicted to be. As a storyteller, I am in favor of obstacles that the players cannot overcome. It builds a lot with the characters. And in all honesty, this was one of my favorite chapters to write so far.
Until next time.