Set In Motion

Halfway across the island, a plan unfurled. One of riches, glory, and blood.

A brother and sister stood hidden within the forest atop a cliff as they observed a small outpost in the distance. A small bounty had been placed on the inhabitants’ heads, ten silver coins per person and a gold coin for their leader. Such a quest usually demanded careful planning and a sizeable force of manpower to lay siege against the small army.

The reward could provide the average person with a month or two of luxury or keep a family of four fed for an entire year if they lived conservatively. But for the duo, it meant little. Coin was of no interest to the brother, past affording basic provisions, and the sister lived mainly off the wilderness.

As they sat in silence waiting for the time to strike, the sister stirred.

A large, four-legged-serpentine mass moved out from the cover of the trees. The moonlight reflected off its onyx black scales and lighter underbelly.

“Brother,” its voice cut the silence. Sharp and ruthless, but seemingly feminine, “The moon is at its peak, the time is now.”

The brother, human in shape, stepped into the light. He wore strange, slim armour of the same colour as the first creatures’ scales. The human made no noise, in fact, the armour didn’t even clink as he walked.

He turned to the serpent.

“Yes, I’ve spotted the mongrel, it hides in the larger hut,” the serpent answered.

The human nodded. At this, the serpent knelt, and the human climbed onto its back.

The creature unfurled a set of wings and let loose an ear-splitting roar. Before beating its wings in large, powerful swings, sending it skyborne.

Prompted by the noise, the outpost went into a panic. As the alarm sounded, the inhabitants were thrown into a frenzied scramble to equip themselves.

There was a pause, as they waited for their attacker to show itself.

A dark shape drifted across the sky.

“DRAGON!”

“Impossible!” many thought. They had become complacent within their fort. Buried within a natural bulwark, the only assault could come from the front or the sky.

The well-planned and dispersed nature of their raids had also worked to reduce unwanted attention. And any that they garnered was often looked passed as their natural fortification and large numbers would be a challenge. Very few adventurers generally took part in siege quests, unless the reward was extensive.

But finally, something had taken note of them, a bigger fish more interested in fame than coin.

The dragon sailed over the eastern wall; it was made solely out of wood and was the only exit. The perfect kindling. The dragon inhaled and for a second there was silence, but they knew what was to come and it sent many fleeing for their lives.

The night sky was set ablaze, as the eastern side of camp was engulfed in a sea of fire. The dragon swooped past and circled about readying for a second barrage. Its back bare.

There was a silent crash as the armoured figure dropped onto the ground, sending up a cloud of dirt.

“A knight. No, it can’t be him,” whispered a bandit, as he watched the figure rise. “Wait, I-I sur-”

The knight cut him down in a single butchering slice and as if to insult the others, he kicked the corpse over before driving his sword into its eye socket.

The onlookers paused, struggling to process the knight’s actions. There was a sudden outcry as a nearby bandit charged, hoping to take advantage of the knight’s turned back. Unfortunately, his blind hatred was his undoing.

The knight deflected the attack with his shield and then countered – slamming the shield’s sharpened rim into the bandit’s face. He had no chance to recover before the knight’s sword was mercilessly plunged into his abdomen.

A fear tore through the nearby bandits, though the odds were in their favour – seven to one, with more men on the way – they faltered in the face of the knight.

The dragon swooped passed with a roar, its giant wings sent forth a blast of hot wind.

Another part of the camp was razed by dragon fire. Those caught in the flames, died screaming, trying to put themselves out.

Rank fumes of charred flesh began rising as more fell to the growing flames.

The last surviving archer turned her aim to the knight, corpses of her comrades piling around it, each cut down in a butchering strike and then stabbed through the eye. An arrow flew wide.

The knight paused his grim work and turned, gazing towards her. Their eyes met and what she saw threatened to consume her with madness. Nothing! No face shielded under the helm, nothing but a swirling black abyss…

A fear ran through her, it numbed her movements; fingers fumbled for an arrow, spilling the quivers contents. She scraped one from the floor and notched it. Struggle met her at every step, the shortbow fought with resilience as she attempted to draw back her arrow.

Ready, she aimed for the knight, but it was gone. Vanished.

A puff of wind erupted behind her, caught off-guard, she fumbled releasing the arrow early. How? She thought.

The knight struck, wrestling the bow from her grasps, kicking her to the floor. She watched as the knight stepped back before casting her bow into the flames. He extended an arm, pointing out into the wilderness. An instruction.

He turned to make his leave, and like a coiled viper, she lashed out. Knife in hand she jumped him, hoping to drive it between the plates of his armour but she found no luck.

With ease, he shook her off and she fell from the landing to the ground below. Her back struck first, snapping on impact against the mangled timber debris.

The knight looked down at her, the black void did not shift, did not quiver with any emotion. He did not linger, dropping to the floor with the grace of a cat. Not a sound from the impact.

Tears built up around her eyes as the blade’s tip drew closer. She tried to offer a small prayer, hoping it would protect her in the afterlife, but no words left her mouth.

She, like the rest, met with the black-feathered wings of death.

The knight headed for the only building untouched by fire and kicked the door down. Inside, he was greeted by a lone warrior

“I heard the rumours, but figured they were just that,” said the man inside. He looked pitiful, but there was still a spark of fighting spirit. The knight was unconcerned and only raised his sword in response.

“And yet, here stands a piece of history trying to claim my head.” The man chuckled to himself and drew his blade, “Please honour me one last battle.”

A silent flick of fingers, a small puff of wind. Near instantly, the knight’s blade had found itself buried into the back of the bandit’s neck. He had no time to register what had occurred before death claimed him. It took a second strike to sever the head from the body.

The knight exited the building, carrying the bandit leaders head by the hair.

“You’re not going to let it’s infected blood touch me,” asked the dragon with disgust, “are you brother?”

The knight shrugged.

“Fine, but only if you promise to wash its putrid scent off me later.”

The knight gave a reluctant nod which the dragon accepted as an answer before they took to the skies.

In the nearest town, as the morning dawned, the knight tossed the head onto a counter.

The one operating the counter, a strange cat-like creature, scowled at the grisly sight, before complaining about having to wash the blood out. Reluctantly, it confirmed the butchered head against a wanted poster, and eventually passed a pouch filled with coins to the knight, who quickly checked the sum; 4 gold coins.

The knight nodded, shoved the coins into the pouch and left.

As he exited, he tossed a coin to a nearby beggar-wretch. Who promptly scooped the coin and began prostrating himself, praising the knight’s name.

A legend had returned to Kakóshen, a brand of warriors from a bygone era. Those whose notoriety had spread their name across the known world. Through fire and steel, they had once marched against the greatest cities of old and left them in ruin.

Now another surfaces. The last Dragon Knight.