Birth Of The Crusader

[Crusader]

Frost rose from his lips, swirling amidst the shadow of ambiguity cast by his dreadlocked hair.  His muscles burned, his bones ached and a glance down the snow covered path revealed no sign of this journey's end. Still, he walked. Barefoot and hardly clothed, he braved the cold winds. Darkness covered this land, casting shadows abound; thick as ink. He sought to take another step, but stopped...

He heard something...

Growls and snarls, joined by words of a dialect unknown, would permeate every corner of darkness this mountain pass had to offer. His cold, nearly frostbitten fingers coiled tight around the handle of his claymore, letting it hang to his left side. It would seem the blade was far too heavy for him to handle.

Let courage be your sword...

Laughter grew louder. Deep, gutteral roaring laughter. Whoever was watching the young man found his sudden stalling most amusing. He did not take another step. Instead, he watched the darkness around him. His nostrils flared, taking in the cold air before letting frost fog from betwixt his lips. There was no fear. The impending danger had not dulled his senses. but merely sharpened them.

And faith be your shield...

Lightning boiled over the darkness, giving away the most subtle of warnings as to just how near the true danger was. Angry faces surrounded him. Beastial and savage. Suddenly, lightning struck a nearby tree and set the wood ablaze.

[align=center]"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"

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They charged from the shadows as lightning tore the viel of darkness away. Upon laying eyes upon his adversaries, the young man gripped his claymore and planted his feet. At the tender age of seventeen, he was already prepared to fight. And should this snowy mountain pass be where his god wished him to forever rest, then he ws prepared to die.

The leader of this barbarous horde, upon his war-swine, charged far ahead of his cohorts and raised his warhammer high. With glee in his smile and fire in his eyes he unleashed his battle-cry with vigor and fury. He would smash this young man's head in with a single fall of his mighty maul!

Or so he thought...

Suddenly, the leader's war-swine lost it's stride. It's shrill cry was not one of fury, but one of pain. Weakened legs gave out and the beast was toppled, causing the once mounted warlord to face-plant into a pool of the swine's blood. Glancing to his right, the now fallen leader would behold the last series of images he would ever see; the young man ripping his claymore from the swine's mouth, only to bring it over in an arc of blood and steel. There was a bright flash, a searing pain in his neck, then darkness.

When the remaining seven foot-soldiers drew closer, they became horrified at the sight of their fallen leader. Gutteral discussion among themselves brought upon an air of confusion. It seemed the horde was in need of guidance. However, when the young man began to charge toward them, they quickly reached a solution. Four ran, three remained and raised their crude blades in defiance. They were many, this young man was one.

He unleashed his warcry as he charged into battle. Long and loud was his roar. As his dreadlocks were peeled back by the wind, this ebon skinned warrior bore his face to the horde. To them he began to look less like a human, and moreso like a lion. Amber flames rose from the young man's skin, giving him a glow that nearly blinded the horde.

Metal cleaved into bone and leather to unleash blood upon his blade. The arcing swing passed through one orc's throat and sought to fall upon his cohort's chest, but was instead greeted by a shield. Righteous anger caused the flames upon the young man's body to leap forth and engulf the barbarian's body in a swiftly spreading flash-fire of powerful light.

The light was so bright, so pure, yet so destructive that it could not have manifested from a mortal man of normal spirit. The remaining barbarian scrambled to run away. His meaty fingers clawed at the stone and snow as he scurried over rocks. He had to get as far away from that young man as possible. He glanced over his shoulder to see if the young man was still pursuing him, only to see a bright flash of silver.

Then darkness...

[to be continued...]

[Crusader]

His his near-frozen hands clenched the face of the cliff and began to pull his battle-worn body upward.

Aching...
Burning...

Constant pain.

The fire in the blood-stained valley below cast an ominous shadow upon the wall as he began his ascension toward the heavens. Thunder rumbled. The voice of his almighty god spoke to him in volumes that were more felt that heard. It was impossible for anyone else to understand exactly what the thunder say to him, but the young man knew.

Climb.

And climb he did. Higher and higher. He dared not look down, for that could prove fatal. The winds whipped around the cliff face, tearing at his flesh with frozen daggers of pain and suffering. The flesh upon his hands and feet split, worn raw.

Blood.

Now his tender muscles met the cold and jagged edges of the unforgiving stone. Each moment more painful than the last. The life giving crimson that once flowed through his veins was now leaving faint splotches of dark brown upon the rocks. But he did not stop. He did not slow down. A rock gave away and one hand lost it's grip. Startled, his feet slipped as well. By one hand he dangled for a moment, clenching to his last handhold; this tiny niche of salvation.

Sweat.

He dangled there for a moment, his one arm strained and quickly growing weary. The claymore upon his back felt so much heavier now. Clenching his teeth and seething for breath, he looked down. The fall would surely be fatal. Eyes of soft grey found their solace in a gaze toward the stormy heavens. Lightning crashing across the skies would reveal his figure as a dangling shadow of black steel to the ravens watching from afar. Reaching out, he sought another place to lay his bloodstained hand.

Tears.

He had been trying to blink back his weakness the entire climb. But even the hardest of armor could crack. His tears torn their way from his eyes, coursing down his cheeks in trails that burned his skin. His teeth clenched to a jaw-numbing tightness, but a golden ray of hope above him made him press on. The light reflected in his eyes like fire; the same fire that flowed through his veins and forced him to continue on. When he reached the speak of his climb, he pulled himself atop and kneeled for a moment.

"Stand and fight, hopeful!" a voice called unto him.

[to be continued...]

[Crusader]

The voice that called unto him spoke with vigor and authority. It demanded he stand. Stand and fight. Every movement taken by the young man was excruciating to his body, but to cower from challenge would be the undoing of his very soul. Without so much as a groan of pain, he rose and drew his claymore. A slow swing brought the battle-worn blade around in front of himself. When the young man saw his adversary, he swallowed hard.

A paladin stood before him in all his armor-clad might. Glorious golden wings swept either side of his helm. A glowing smoke seemed to eminate from it's very being, billowing of the surface of his maul and the corners of his eyes. In one of his arms, he cradled a thick tome. Even the hammer emblazoned on the cover of the book released this azure smoke. When he spoke, his voice was deep and robust. His words filled the young man with a furious spirit. It was unlike anything he had ever felt.

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"No fear, boy! Come at me with all you have...and pray that it's enough!"[/align]

Fury spurned the young man into battle. Hatred for the way this paladin refered to him as a "boy" drove him into a rage. His war-cry exploded from deep within his belly like the roar of a mighty lion. His adversary did not move. Like a monolith of flesh and steel, The paladin remained steadfast. Even as the young man's claymore rose and brought forth impending danger in a mighty arc, the paladin did not move.

CLANG!

The sword struck the side of the paladin's helmet. The young man tried to follow through with the swing, but found that he had hit something quite sturdy. When he locked eyes with the paladin, he saw that he hadn't budged him an inch. Slowly, the young man filled with an emotion he knew little to nothing of. Fear. Retaliation came from the paladin in the form of lightning. It leapt from where his sword struck and smashed against the young man's chest, sending him to the ground.

"Hate-filled blows will do nothing for you here, boy!"

But hate was all the young man could do now. To be viewed as inferior caused his blood to boil. A scream tore it's way through his lips, driving the young man into a frenzy. A flurry of swings would be attempted, the criss-crossing of the large, heavy blade struck hard against the paladin, but seemed to do nothing. Each strike brought forth retribution which continued to strike the young man's body, burning his flesh here and there. The paladin was unmoved. Suddenly, the paladin's hammer lashed out and thrust against the young man's chest, sending him over the edge of the cliff. The blade of the claymore bit into the stone and soil as his only saving grace from certain death. The paladin pointed his maul down at the young man and spoke.

"Your fury is strong, boy! Your spirit, powerful! But it is your hate that you must learn to control. Again!"

The paladin would not aid the boy in his attempt to once again climb to the top of the summit. He could only watch. Bleeding hands stretched outward, digging and clawing into the ground to pull the young man back up. The claymore was taken up again and for a split second, the young man sought to rush in again. However, he remembered the paladin's words. He had to curb his hatred. Deep breaths were taken as the young man raised his claymore. and began to approach.

There was no anger, no fear. His senses burned from the intensity they had gained. Nostrils flared to exhale frost in a snort. When the paladin looked the young man in the eye, he didn't see hate. He didn't see the wreckless beast the boy was just moments ago. The paladin said nothing. It was time to see if it was all just a show, or if the boy was truly ready. He released his tome and allowed it to dangle upon his hip by it's heavy chain. His maul was now gripped in both hands and burned bright with azure light. Now, they would fight...

Metal crossed metal with a thunderous explosion. Lightning painted the skies, revealing the shadows of these dueling figures to those who watched from miles away. The claymore's blows fell upon the paladin's armor with incredible force, tearing deep gashes into the paladin's chest plate. The young man dodged the incoming strikes of the maul, while looking for an opening. His hate became determination. His rage, righteous fury...

[to be continued...]