The Blade of Frontiers
Chapter 1: The Game's Afoot
"And so, begins my end."
Wyll Ravengard wished he had a bard in his company. They were morale boosters, charmers, seducers, and rabble rousers with an uncanny ability to find or create trouble wherever they went. All the while creating unforgettable tunes on their instruments. Their artistry was unmatched. And Wyll could think of no companion better suited to record his final days and moments for history.
Educated as he was as a duke's son, the written word never suited his expressive needs. Movement and deeds were how he revealed himself. Running, jumping, sword-fighting, dancing. The body could say more in three motions than a thousand words on a page could. The final days of The Blade of Frontiers deserved similar treatment. A swift rousing ballad highlighting his deeds for the Sword Coast before shifting into a mournful waltz as the Blade succumbed to ceremorphosis.
The tadpole swirled behind his eye, knocking and gnawing at his skull. Wyll flinched. The creature was eager to begin its task. Perhaps it was better to enjoy these final days in solitude until the inevitable occurred.
"Nonsense, Wyll!" he declared. "Do not speak as if you are already dead."
The realm of Faerûn was massive, filled with wizards, sorcerers, clerics, druids, and paladins of all kinds. Among those millions there had to be at least one who would be able to reverse the process. One was all he needed. One chance, one hope. It was certainly a hope that Mizora couldn't or wouldn't provide.
"I'll make this simple for you, Wyll," the winged devil had said after Wyll summoned her. He had been deep in despair and naively believed she would help. "As long as you are of this body, of this flesh, of this mind, of this soul, and of this realm, you belong to me. Understand?"
"Yes, Mizora…." He had grumbled.
"Excellent. Now chop-chop, pet," Mizora said, snapping her fingers. "There's still work to be done. You had best get that succulent rear of yours on the road. You have a devil to slay."
Loathe as he was to admit, she was right. The devil Karlach still lurked in these lands and threatened the Sword Coast. The realm still needed The Blade of Frontiers. He still needed The Blade of Frontiers. So that is who he would be, for as long as he was able.
If these were to be his final days, then they would be spent on one final campaign against the evils of this world. He would not succumb to ceremorphosis with a clean sword.
He threw on his purple and silver surcoat over his maroon jerkin. He brushed his thick locs that reached the center of his back and tied his usual top bun, allowing the rest to flow freely behind him. He trimmed his growing beard with the dagger he kept in his boot and made sure his mother's charm necklace was secured.
Wyll ran his finger over the pendant, a sword hanging from a crescent moon. It was the singular proof that he had a mother once. Father had given it to him on his eighth birthday and that joy was only surpassed when father finally began to speak of mother, at least in his own way. He never said her name, or even the circumstances of their meeting. All he said was that she had been a paladin. One who was brave and true. A hero with songs yet to be sung.
In the coming days, perhaps that could finally change.
Wyll flourished his rapier, rousing his muscles and freeing them from the yolk of despair. He danced around his imaginary opponents, the mind-flayers who had infected him. The devil Karlach, whose heart awaited his blade, and Mizora who would one day feel the wrath of the warrior she had created.
Wyll sheathed his sword, took in the gentle breeze for a moment and made his way through the thicket, invigorated.
The Blade of Frontiers was awake.
The days of the wicked were numbered.
#
It was difficult to regain his bearings. He had gone from the surface of Avernus tracking down Karlach, to the interior of a mind-flayer nautiloid ship that jumped several realms before mysteriously crashing. A crash that by some miracle or another he survived, and by the tracks he found by the beach, others did as well. But now he was in a thick forest with no indication of precisely where on the Sword Coast he was. Wyll wiped off a bead of sweat from his brow and sighed. He had been hiking circles in these woods for what felt like hours. This wouldn't do. He needed a map, supplies, and some indication that Karlach survived.
He scoffed. Of course she survived. In their brief engagements in Avernus, Wyll could already tell this particular devil was desperate to remain alive. The way she shrugged off most of his blows told Wyll a mere shipwreck wouldn't be enough to eliminate Karlach. No, she survived, and she would do anything to keep surviving, even kill innocents.
A bend on the path and a slight hill brought Wyll to a river cutting through two cliffs before becoming a waterfall. His dried throat screamed at the sight of fresh water. It didn't take long for him to dash to the riverbank and drink his fill. One problem was solved at least.
He was washing his face from the soot and ash that had clung to him from Avernus when a snapped twig activated his instincts. In one motion, Wyll rose to his full height, spun on the balls of his feet and drew his sword, presenting it in the direction of the interloper.
"Who goes? Reveal yourself slowly," he commanded.
A handful of light and hesitant steps shuffled through the bush. Three Tiefling children emerged from the trees. They varied in their shade and horn length, but they were united in their expressions of fear and apprehension.
Wyll sheathed his sword and knelt to their eye-level.
"It's all right, I'm not going to hurt any of you," he said. "You just caught me by surprise is all, which is a rare accomplishment you should be proud of yourselves. What are your names?"
The three children glanced at each other. The tips of their tails twitched, reflecting their continued apprehension. Finally, one of them gulped and shuffled towards him, his eyes lingering on the sword sheathed across his back.
"Umi," the child said.
He had a bright red complexion and the blazing orange eyes that were typical of Tieflings. He wore a tattered cap or cloth on the back portion of his head. Flecks of blood and dirt littered every surface of Umi's clothes. The other two were in no better shape. One of Umi's companions, a girl with a lavender complexion and short-cropped hair looked past Wyll completely and lingered on the river. The other had a makeshift cloth-eyepatch over his left eye and used his remaining eye to take in every detail of the riverbank. Either he was searching for potential threats, or he was seeking something to take for himself and his companions.
Lost, frightened, and hungry children. Rarely did that mean something good dwelled in the woods.
"Well, Umi, I've had my fill of the river," Wyll said. "You and friends are welcome to help yourselves."
Umi's companions wasted little time. They dashed past him and seemed dead set on engorging themselves on river water. Umi however remained in place, transfixed by his sword.
"Umi, could you tell me the last time you and your friends ate or drank?" Wyll asked. He was already fishing through his pockets and belt for the slightest bit of provisions he could give them.
"Four days, I think…" Umi muttered. "Maybe five."
"That's a long time. Where are your parents? Your camp?" Wyll asked.
Umi's two companions shot up from their water-feast, fear returning to their faces.
"Umi! Shhh!" the girl hissed. "We're not supposed to tell! Zevlor said so!"
"Ide!" the one-eyed child exclaimed. "We're not supposed use Zevlor's name either!"
Ide's eyes widened and she clamped her hands over mouth.
Umi looked between his two friends. His tail twitched at greater speeds. His feet shuffled, unable to decide which direction to flee in it seemed.
"I mean you no harm," Wyll said holding up his hands to emphasize the point. "I merely wish to return you all to your group. These woods are dangerous, and I know there's someone back at your camp worried about the three of you."
The three Tieflings glanced at each other again, their fear shifting to uncertainty. They wanted to tell but were held back. Not by fear of him but by whatever or whoever they were fleeing from if Wyll had to guess.
"Perhaps you could tell me who is after you? I promise I will protect you," Wyll offered. "You have my word."
Umi took another look at his sword and gulped. "Goblins…" the small Tiefling whispered.
"Goblins?" Wyll said, raising an eyebrow. "What goblins?"
The answer came in the form of an arrow whizzing out of the trees, nicking Wyll's ear and burying itself deep into a tree trunk across the river. A war horn echoed across the bush, shaking the leaves and sending a wave of terror down the faces of the Tiefling children.
"Those goblins!" Umi shouted.
Wyll drew his sword and slashed another two arrows in half.
"Umi! All of you, get behind me!" Wyll exclaimed.
He could smell his opponents before they emerged. The rancid scent of bog, dung, and grease. Goblins never hunted alone. Their short statures and lack of physical strength overcome by sheer numbers and tenacity. Wyll doubted a full pack would be needed for three Tiefling children, but it certainly wouldn't be a one-on-one duel either. If it were more than six, he would likely need a party of his own to stand a chance.
A whimper from the river refocused him. Umi had done as he was told and clung to Ide and the other child, Gan he heard Umi whisper. Today, there was no party, there was only The Blade of Frontiers, and the Blade was enough.
Wyll moved like the flowing river, reducing the incoming three arrows to splinters before they reached the children. He had slashed the fourth when three goblin brawlers leaped from the bushes and charged, their bloodied and rusted scimitars held high. Their smell alone was enough to catch Wyll on the backfoot.
The wicked creatures swung at him in every direction, cutting off any means of pushing forward and limiting his ability to dodge. Wyll's blade caught or parried the goblin swords. Their sluggish, telegraphed swings his only saving grace. But their aggression forced him to give ground. They were forcing him back into the river to slow his movements even more, maybe make him slip on a rock and hit his head, leaving them to attack the kids.
In the corner of his eye, two goblin sharp-shooters leapt onto one of the cliff's ridges, gaining the high-ground and perfect placement to catch him from a distance in case the three grunts failed. At the mouth of the brush, a goblin warrior decked in dented steel armor and armed with a double-headed axe grinned at the progress his fellows were making.
They thought they had the Blade cornered.
They were in for a surprise.
He only hoped it wouldn't frighten the kids too much.
Wyll granted the goblin brawlers one more step back before he planted his feet and conjured the powers Mizora had granted him.
The cold, biting, sensation filled his limbs as the black and jade aura surrounded the Blade of Frontiers.
"Morē!" Wyll exclaimed.
Dark tendrils sprang from the ground, slamming into the three brawlers. The stumbled back, the rhythm of their assault disrupted. Wyll rushed in, taking his chance. The black and jade necrotic energy bit at the goblin's limbs making them unable to react in time. His blade sank into each of their three chests, piercing their hearts before they could take another breath.
"What happened! They had him!" the goblin warrior shouted.
"When you threaten innocents before the Blade of Frontiers," Wyll declared. "Your only reward, is regret!"
The sharp shooters loosed two more arrows that he easily dodged. He dashed towards the cliff, his blade dripping with fresh goblin blood.
"Dolor!" he shouted. The red lightning erupted from his left hand knocking the first sharp shooter off his perch. Wyll slashed another arrow out of the air and dashed towards the fallen goblin as they tried to gather themselves. His foot found the goblin's bow before the creature's hand could. His sword plunged into the goblin's heart, taking another wicked soul.
A war cry brought Wyll's attention back to the goblin warrior, who seemed to be using all his energy to dash in his direction to close the distance. Behind him the remaining sharpshooter took aim. Wyll rushed towards the goblin warrior, waiting for the goblin to raise his hefty axe.
The weapon was past the goblin's pointed ears when Wyll leaped over his attacker, barely missing getting cleaved. His back swing caught the goblin on the neck where his armor didn't protect him. And his left hand, surging with red energy, shot forward.
"Dolor!"
The blast found its target before the goblin could release its arrow. The sharpshooter tumbled to the ground, prone for at least the next few seconds.
The goblin warrior lunged, its blood seeping to the forest floor with each step. Wyll danced backwards, easily dodging each blow before a simple spin brought him inside the goblin's guard. His rapier found the gap between the doublet and cuirass. The goblin clung to the second hole in its throat, disbelief consuming his final moments.
The sole remaining sharpshooter groaned, reaching everywhere on the ground for his bow. Wyll strolled towards the goblin and his blade did its quick work.
Wyll let out a relived sigh and checked himself. A few knicks from the goblin swords but nothing a short rest later couldn't solve. The goblins had little on them. A few pouches of gold. Some spoiled or rotting meat and their weapons which he had no use for. He sighed again. No real supplies. It was worth a shot at least.
"Are you and your friends all right Umi?" Wyll asked the Tiefling children. "Apologies for what you had to see. But it was needed to save-."
"That was awesome!" Umi shouted with all his might. "How did you do all of that!"
The Tieflings swarmed him, nearly deafening him with their questions, praise, and wonder.
"All right, all right," Wyll chuckled. "It was nothing, truly."
"Did you see when he flipped over that goblin?" Gan shouted. "I could barely see him move!"
"How did you fight three of them at the same time?" Ide asked, standing on her tiptoes. "Can you teach us to do that?"
"How about I return you three to your camp and Zevlor and then I'll show you a thing or two?" Wyll offered.
"Deal!" Umi said at once, then grabbed his hand. "This way!"
Wyll took one last glance at the forest before falling into steps with the Tieflings.
Karlach was still out there and sooner or later she would feel the sting of the Blade of Frontiers.