Chapter ONE: The Battle
A lone figure is standing on the edge of a snow-capped cliff. He overlooks a small village, though his focus is on its inhabitants. He smiles. These creatures don’t know how to deal with a Blackwalker.
He unsheathes Shadowbane, a unique blade made of holy silver. Some say it was forged by the gods themselves due to the powers it possesses. Therien simply saw it as his weapon, and in a way, a long time friend. But Blackwalkers have no friends. He leaps down the cliff.
Therien lands with a soft thud atop the deep snow in perfect fighting stance. A Yarok, a mighty creature distinguished by massive claws and its giant upturned tusks, turns and roars at the sight of the Blackwalker, his swirling dark robes, his cruel-edged blade.
The one that spotted Therien lumbers toward him, raising a fishing spear like a javelin. Therien cuts off his arm in a quick, easy motion, and returns to his stance, waiting for the uproar.
The village explodes into fury. The Yarok with weapons begin to assault Therien. The ones that do not rush to get them. Therien waits for the first strike to be made against him.
He turns and catches the blade of a Yarok. The Blackwalker spins quickly, lopping off the head of his attacker and stabbing his blade deeply into another. He knows he is outnumbered. But he also knows it takes much more than sheer numbers to take down a Blackwalker.
He draws his blade from the dying Yarok, the serrated edges tearing its insides as it retreats. The Yarok bellows in pain as it stains the snow crimson in its death throws. A massive axe comes thundering down on Therien. He nimbly sidesteps and beheads the axe and its wielder in one quick swipe. Warm blood steams as it splatters the snow. An arrow sinks into the snow beside him with a dull thud. Therien spins, picks up the axe head and hurls it at the Yarok archer over a hundred yards away. The axe hits home, thudding deep into the Yarok’s torso.
However, the Blackwalker has no time to think of his feat. There is coldness in his white eyes, an intent to kill. He charges at a nearby Yarok wielding a giant, crude sword. He leaps for its face, screaming a battle cry. The beast has no time to react as Shadowbane bisects its head cleanly in two. The Blackwalker looks around him. Every warrior now was either dead or dying. He hears a mighty challenge bellowed behind him. He turns.
A mighty beast stands their, holding an immense sword (a well-made blade, by Yarok standards) and a great horned battle helmet on his head. The hair around his face is stained with brutal war paint. This must be the chieftain, Therien’s target. He is flanked by two vast, yet clumsily unintelligent, bodyguards, both holding javelins of enormous proportions. The chief bellows his war cry again, and the javelins fly toward Therein.
He doesn’t even flinch. His sword starts to glow. The Blackwalker swings at empty air, and Shadowbane unleashes a wave of magic that slices the air, shattering the two giant javelins and, continuing, beheads the ones who they belonged to. In the confusion the Blackwalker seems to have disappeared.
In reality, the chief simply did not notice the Blackwalker charging toward him with such great speed no footprints were left on the bloodstained snow. The chief grunts in agony as the blade is drawn from his chest. As he keels over he speaks.
“Why have you done this? W-who s-sent you?” the chief says, shaking horribly. Therien kneels to answer the chiefs last question.
“Ar-wooki, chieftain of the Bear Tribe of these mountains,” he says in a deep voice. “He sent me to stop your tribe from attacking his.”
“We did no such thing!” the Yarok chieftain gasps.
“That is not my problem. I am Blackwalker. I am paid to do what I do. And why I do is banish the likes of you from the face of Cynestte,” Therien answers coldly.
“Your indifference sickens m-me. Do you feel n-no guilt for what you have d-done?” wheezes the chieftain.
Therien stands and turns away from the dying Yarok.
“No,” he says, then, a bit more quietly, “I never do.”
“You *cough* y-you filthy s-sellword...” the chief coughs, spending his final breath on an insult.
Therien begins his journey back to the Bear Tribe village. He now has some business to take care of with Ar-wooki. Concerning a certain lie.
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The prologue is in Narrative Poetry, if anyone wants to read it. Tried to do it in present tense. Failed miserably. Re-wrote it. Hope its better. Tell me how you like it! "Chapter TWO: The Murder coming soon!"
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