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<br/>
SOBW: Blackguard</span></span></u><br/>
<b><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Chapter I: In The Flesh</span></b></b>​</div><br/>Perhaps it was the damp cool of the Tyran winter that sunk the row of prisoners shackled behind the armed caravan a deep shiver. One never really knew. There was rarely any snowfall upon the island except when traveling the highlands or mountain ranges, but none were such a fool to do that in this age. No, not with the weirding mist that swallowed these lands marking it with stranger fears. And none but the Blackguard with their lamps Faerie Fire and strained wits knew the way.<br/><br/>A young man, barely having earned his mettle struggled to keep up with the chain gang. Wrists shackled together with his ankles linked to the man in front and the man behind he stumbles every few steps. Frame frail from a hunger that had plagued him since before he’d left Bleak Borough, the farm boy Wesley Fenn, was filled with anxiety drowned by his exhaustion.<br/><br/>Every step was a chore. It had been several days now and he’d lost count not that it mattered much. The moment the Blackguard came to the central city his life was forever cast into the darkness. Part of him begged to be bound to the pillory once more, awaiting the execution that was to come for attempting to take from City’s granary. It mattered little that his mother, sister, and her boys were starving. Hunger was a part of these times and he’d made a mistake.<br/><br/>It was an honest mistake…<br/><br/>Head hung low he felt his body give way as he fell into tattered rags soaked in sweat. His youthful bare face mashed into thick shoulders as he gasped to awareness. It was a foul grunt as Eoruld, a one eyed brute charged with murder, turned upon the boy gripping the throat with two bound hands. And there Wesley struggled as his wrapped feet flailed off the ground.<br/><br/><b>“Stop! Please… Stop!”</b>Is all he could attempt but the words were caught in his windpipe constricted by Eoruld’s massive grip.<br/><br/>Body spasming, blue eyes rolling back, the dark haired grain thief could hear the roar of confusion and excitement around them. There was a jolt as Caravan stopped causing Eoruld to drop Wesley who quickly crumpled to his knees.<b>“You stupid little shit…”</b>He croaked like an old toad raising his hands balled together high above him. The blow should have come. Wesley’s eyes closed in fear with hands barred against his face in anticipation, but instead the traumatic hammer never came and rally subsided under a stronger voice.<br/><br/>It was a barking snarl like a wild hound.<b>“Yield!”</b>A tall man wrapped in dark leather, silver, steel, and a black mane bound in a braid behind his head. Piercing steel blue eyes met Wesley’s weary gaze that quickly followed a lengthy iron blade held out to brute’s neck. As if frozen in place Eoruld did not change expression, only held his balled fists high, and breathed heavily.<b>“It is a simple thing to batter a child, but chained like a dog you seem to forget who owns you.”</b>The fearsome Blackguard softly explained turning the blade tip in to nick the flesh. Eoruld’s gaze turned on this man with frustration, clearly not a fan of his words; meanwhile, the farm boy stumbled to his feet coughing and rubbing his throat.<br/><br/>This was a standoff the moment the one eyed Eoruld focused in on his captor’s uncaring expression. Was he bold enough to be first death on this long trail? Perhaps. Wesley couldn’t tell and his gut tightened in nervousness. He never had the heart for violence or blood, as it simply was not the way he was brought up. The amber of his eyes caught the Blackguard’s blade hand tightened in expectation to embed, which caused Wesley to speak up,<b>“It was an honest mistake Sir!” </b><br/><br/>All eyes fell on the boy now. The knowledge of which caused his knees to shake as he tried to step as closely as he could between the blade and Eoruld. This produced a sneer from the Blackguard whose lips were bordered by a trimmed beard.<b>“Honestly sir… I don’t know your name, so I mean no disrespect… But it was my fault. I was too tired to stand and fell into this man.”</b>Wesley tried to ply sympathy, which caused his one eyed attacker to look down incredulously. But Eoruld was not one to question a fool’s death wish.<br/><br/>The iron sword slowly moved pinning the young man in the chest. Stumbling back into Eoruld the man saw no credible resistance in the child who provided as much protection to his attacker as dry timber to fire.<b>“You should have stayed there in the mud boy.”</b>The man’s words hissed. Blade tip now pressing Wesley choked on air hard trying not to expand his chest in fear he’d be run through. In the flash of a moment he clenched his eyes shut with tears as he felt a stinging pain upon his cheek. Sword no longer pinning his chest slashed the air in front of his face, and it burned hot as the words volleyed at him,<b>“You won’t live long out here being charitable to your enemies. If you cannot fight back hide and cower, because this world is not for the likes of you. So if you get between my sword again? Know that I’ll run you through.”</b><br/><br/>Returning the blade to his side with a smooth motion the Blackguard moved to a voice coming from the head of the Caravan. One of his compatriots strapped in leathers and a ruddy handkerchief over his face was shouting out loud,<b>“Tibor! Tibor! We got movement in the mist!” </b>The leader of the Raven Company quickly abandoned this incident to one of flanking guards that moved to separate Eoruld and Wesley. The brutish and balding man could help but burst into a hearty laugh disparaging the child,<b>“Oh, you are truly an idiot. Just wait till later. When you sleep you might not wake boy.”</b>The threat rang a shudder out of Wesley but his attention was fixated on Tibor and the Blackguards at the lead congregating.<br/><br/>From a distance he couldn’t hear much before he felt a hand to the back of his head ordering him to continue moving forward. What was the Shale Pass? And what had they found? Whatever it was Wesley could recognized through squinting eyes that it wasn’t good… but all he could do now was walk towards whatever it was that had the Blackguard’s on edge.<br/><br/><i><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 18px">Mid-Winter, 129 DD (Dark Days)<br/>
4th Day of Travel<br/>
West of the Shale Pass<br/>
Hamlet of Pine Creek</span></span></i><br/><br/>It was only a day ago that the Raven Company had cut through the Shale Pass with its Caravan of new recruits. Diverting from their mission to return to Fellmoor south of Bleak Borough, instead they moved north at a beating pace. Many of these men they had taken from the pillory and gallows were nothing more drunks and once city guards. They knew nothing of a world outside the walls, nor the terrors that waited in the mist. All feared it as they should. But to fear thing was not the same thing as to know it and why it must be kept at bay.<br/><br/>For Tibor, sitting at the front of the wagon watching the distant rocking walls of the pass bleed into a thick forest, he groaned over the choice to rally the uninitiated this deep into thick mists. There was no choice in the matter however. Kyburn, one of his most skilled pathfinders and lookouts, had spotted what they called a shambler near the crossroads.<br/><br/>A Shambler being any kind of slow moving or decrepit creature that tended to move without any other purpose than to feed and propagate. In this case it was a roiling mass of festering flesh. Not unlike the common undead unearthed from their graves, but this was fresh and distorted by the Mist and its dark influence.<br/><br/>But a single Shambler was no reason for concern. Many a desperate being are caught in the warping miasma when traveling in small numbers or alone (which for anybody who knew, knew never to travel alone). What alarmed Kyburn was the fact that Hearth Flame belonging to the small Hamlet of Pine Creek could not be seen. Usually a Bonfire or great Pyre of Faerie Fire was erected by smaller settlements outside of cities to denote a safe haven. When these small defenses went dim or unattended it never meant anything good; After all, living in the wild lands outside the protection of high walls left you defenseless to the Mist and all the things that waited within.<br/><br/>So here they were dragging their cattle towards uncertainty. This was the life of a Blackguard unfortunately, and they were not permitted to ignore an omen even when preoccupied. Thus Tibor reasoned that those born to take the blade in the Raven Company would survive this. The dead could not fight, so any who died were not worthy.<br/><br/>It didn’t take long under the overcast and rain that drowned the path that the Raven Company’s Caravan approached what was once a functioning home for traders and farmers that moved through the Shale Pass. The closer they rode Tibor notice a great pit charred black and wet with soaked lumber. Rising from his seat he placed a hand over his brow to act as a visor, so that he might have a better view.<br/><br/><b>“Kyburn what can you see?”</b>The Blackguard commander asked firmly.<br/><br/>A man on horseback flanking the wagon with a handkerchief now soaked through pulled forth a spyglass and squinted hard to focus. Fixating for almost a minute the Blackguard Commander waved the Caravan to slow as he waited for his lookout to report.<br/><br/>For an elf you’d never know, as Kyburn’s ear tips had been shaved down and scarred. Always wearing that damn piece of fabric about his face all you could see were dark violet tinted eyes. But he was the most stubborn bastard Tibor knew and the eldest among them at the age of hundred and forty five. Kyburn could remember a time before the mist. Not that he talked much about it or anything about himself too personally, but commander trusted his experience, because experience was what got you through this damn shit hole of a life.<br/><br/><b>“Well?” </b>Tibor interjected once more only to receive a low sigh in answer. Dropping the spyglass into the inside of his jacket Kyburn dryly recounted,<b>“There is no discernible movement in the settlement. No lighted fixtures. No smoke. Nothing just…”</b><br/><br/>As if the gods existed only to spite a mortal’s words before they could fall upon willing ears there was a sudden eruption sound. Raucous and alarming Tibor found himself flung back into his wagon seat at the sight of one of the Hamlet’s grain silos go up in flame like a beacon, with all the force of a dwarven crafted blunderbuss to the chest. Taking a breath Tibor and Kyburn caught eachothers gaze, and with swift movement the commander leapt to the back of his elvish companion’s stead.<br/><br/>Gripping tight and relinquishing a blade Tibor roared,<b>“Get off yer asses men, we’ve a mess ta’ clean.”</b>Kyburn turned the horse ahead of the caravan providing the Caravan a good view as the commander ordered,<b>“Charge!”</b><br/><br/>Twelve horses and their riders flanking the prisoners chained to the wagons came blitzing past to join their leader. Meanwhile the Blackguard on foot began whipping the straggling prisoners  as the Caravan gave chase slowly behind. The chained men struggled against the mud half being dragged by the group and pulled by the wagon. Moving on the wallowing path the looming thicket of pine trees did little to stave the downpour.