A Dark Path pt.1

Jeke Kerron had been traveling for the past thirteen days, plodding his way through the winding footpaths of Northern Sarnia. Ever since the religious summit, things had gone tense in the lands. There had also been some rather alarming reports of an army in the Dalen Remnant of peculiar make, if one was to believe the hearth stories of the inns. Devilish red, strong as an orc, such tales sounded like the ones of horror to scare children, had he not heard so many in such an alarming amount. The pipe that stuck from his mouth let loose a tiny wisp of smoke as he puffed upon it.

This was all heralded with the sounding of war in the Reach. What could have sparked such conflict? It was truly anyone's guess. The Remnant had many disputes to settle amongst themselves and a stone thrown randomly at a list could pick a reason alone for war. He did not bother himself with it, instead eyeing the northern wilderness. His bow lay across his lap, arrow readied yet resting. Barrel trudged onwards without any sound of alarm. The trees let bits greyed light down through the tops, evergreens and some winter oaks long replacing the old Reach's plains and Karavoss's sweeping temperate forests. The roads themselves were finely made, yet Kerron stayed on a forested foot trail.

The isolation of the wilderness was only broken when he smelled wood smoke. Somewhere, there was a village or a homestead. He puffed at his pipe, the hobbit leaf curling as it caught in the heat. The mulling herb's smoke trailed behind him as Jeke directed Barrel around a fallen tree with a nudge of his knee. So long as it was friendly, he would not fight. Unless, it was a wereraider or two. While he could fight off the lycanthropy-afflicted men and women of the Northlands, he preferred not to.

The path was hard to see under the growth of grass, hardier, dark green blades bowing to gentle winds that snaked through the trees. A bitter cold has settled in, making the Weapons Master pull his cloak just a bit closer. Winter was always harsh in the North, more so from the ocean winds blowing from the Northwest. Flecks of snow came and went regularly. A wolf howled out in the distance as Barrel continued through the wilderness unperturbed.

Perhaps it had been an hour after the howl when Barrel gave a warning. Jeke patted him and simply asked, "Where?" Barrel flicked both ears and the Weapons Master patted him affectionately. With a nudge, he came to a stop and turned at an angle. Jeke flexed his fingers in the cold as he stared ahead, finding his bowstring even as he noticed something wrong.

The wildlife had gone silent. The wind was now still. Every twigfall was sharp and sudden.

Barrel gave a murmur of disapproval. Jeke raised his bow. Suddenly, Barrel gave a start. Jeke tried calming his steed and failed as Barrel tried to turn away. "Barrel! Whoa!" Jeke commanded as the horse threw him off in his attempt to flee. He picked himself up and watched the tail end of his horse disappear into the forest. Jeke whipped back around, ready for whatever it was.

The wind whistled with a haunting creep into his heart. The thunder of hooves was quick to rise through the woods as the first black cloaked rider.

Jeke let loose his arrow. The screeching cry that came from the riders nearly froze him to the spot with fear as his shot was placed upon the breast of the lead rider. Still, the bow fell from his grasp and the Weapons Master stumbled back a few paces. The rider he had struck had been plucked from the steed; it rose with a hiss of unnatural air. The riders circled around him and dismounted, their horses now clearly undead and rotting. Jeke gasped as the pain in his chest erupted along with the sliding of their swords from their sheathes.

He grasped Helios as the deathly hiss of steel on leather stabbed at his heart. The old scar flared as if given fresh, a deep pain that pulled at his very fiber just to stay upright. They surrounded him now, swords raised for a piercing run-through. "Your death is now upon you, Man. Your interference has mark thee!" came the chilled whispering breaths of the black riders.

As their blades came, he dragged a ragged breath into his lungs. He breathed as a man strangled, words finding his lips through waves of pain. "Helios," were his only words.

There was a flash of golden light as the sunsword slid free and parried two of the blades. He did not need to as he saw them reeling away from the light. They had their swords guarded as the Weapons Master clutched at his chest. "Begone, beings of shadow!" Jeke demanded of them, spinning to keep his eyes on them. "Begone!"