The plains of
Sorgos are said to be beautiful amongst the backdrop of Mount
Erastus. Caravans would travel here and there. Many people remember
that it was here where King Arcos of Raxsus defied the God-King Karuk
of Abkhazians and his army of thousands. How times change when
city-states fall to the Tyranian Empire. Back when Raxsus was still
standing, no thieves, cutthroats or bandits ever dared to venture
here. For their lives would cut down by nearby citizens of Raxsus,
therefore they made it a habit to stay away. That was no longer the
case.
************************************************************************
A group of armed men on
horseback were looking over the valley greedily, hoping that they
would find a lightly armed caravan full of goods that they could
plunder for themselves. Eventually one came by.
“Hey Daxor, check it”
said a scarred face man. The leader named Daxor looked to where his
man pointed. “Looks like a good haul” Daxor said with an evil
smile, as he saw the caravan in the distance. Daxor was a tall,
massively built brute with a network of scars across his chest, proof
of those who had tries and failed to kill him. His face wasn’t
much different. It also had a series of scars across his face with a
broken looking nose with beady eyes and a mean looking Mohawk
Daxor ran a hand through
his Mohawk and then with that same hand he raised it and let it fall.
“Charge!!!” he bellowed and just as he did Daxor and his men
went charging down the hill with a desire for blood. The caravan
guards panicked and tried to put up what looked like spears, but were
merely sharp sticks. Daxor’s men had no trouble swatting them
aside and slaying the caravan’s guards. “Is this all you got?”
Daxor laughed cruelly “My whore of a mother could easily take down
you hopeless fools.” Blood was being splashed here and there as
Daxor’s men were whopping and reviling in the senseless slaughter.
“Hey boss, check it
out” said a one-eyed bandit with an evil smile on his face. Daxor
looked at what his man was pointing and shared his evil smile. “What
have we got here?” He saw several women huddled together while a
small looking man was trying to protect them. As Daxor approached he
had a small knife and scoffed just looking at it.
“You think that’s
going to protect your women?’ He asked jokingly. The small man
tried to slash and stab but Daxor just grabbed his arm, broke it and
then grabbed his head and then broke his neck. His apathetically
tossed the man’s body aside and grabbed for one of the women and
ripped her clothes off, leaving her as naked as the day she was born.
“She’s a real beauty
isn’t she boss?” said a fat-looking brute with a lustful looking
face. She had dark blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and large-round
breasts with a smooth, firm buttocks. She’d be more beautiful
looking if she didn’t have a face filled with terror and Daxor’s
hand around her throat. As the fat man came towards her, Daxor let
go of her and he gave the fat man a solid right hook to the man’s
face, breaking his nose and bloodying his face. The bandits stopped
what they were doing and had a look of curiosity and concern, for
they knew what was happening.
“If I told you
dumb-asses once, I’ve had to tell you a hundred times before” he
yelled out. “NO RAPING THE WOMEN” he roared. The bandits cringed
in fear for they know what would happen if his anger had been goaded any
further. Daxor made it very clear that when raiding caravans that
the women were not to be forced against their will to please the men.
Often at times he had killed some of his own men who broke this
rule, while on a rare occasion he would beat them within inches of
their life or punch them out as just did to the fat man.
While the fat man was
being dragged away by some of his fellows, the rest of them looked
upon him with disgust and contempt. “What are you trying to do you
fat sack of crap?” a red haired bandit yelled “You ruin what
profit we would get out for selling her” said another. Daxor
smiled “at least they are smart enough to know how things get
done” he said to himself. Virgin women always fetched a higher
price than those who weren’t. Beating them bloody or raping them
into submission often soured the deal and Daxor knew he couldn’t
have that.
“We got plenty of women
back at the hideout to satisfy us” he shouted out “Until they get
appraised by the commander of the local Cohort; you keep your dicks
in your pants. Is that unclear in any way?” he said with an
intimidating look. No one answered. “Good” he said and then
looked at the rest of the women who were too afraid to look at him.
“But one thing you slug heads can do is relieve them of their fine
clothes, they won’t be needing them anymore” he said with an evil
grin.
The bandits leapt at the
opportunity. After a series of screams and the sounds of clothes
being torn off, the naked women were put in chains and herded into a
nearby wagon, ready to be sold into slavery, they were weeping as the
cage slammed shut on them. “They don’t look any different then
the one you have boss” said a bandit with a goatee. Daxor turned
to man with a smile and said “That’s a good thing then, so even
if we don’t sell them off at least we can keep one or two
ourselves.” The bandit with the goatee smiled “Now that’s the
Daxor we know.”
He then raised a pilfered
wine cup to the men “TO DAXOR!!!! MAY HE BRING US VAST WEALTH AND
WOMEN” he shouted out. His men cheered him and clapped on as they
started fires to cook their food and get drink on stolen wine.
A lone rider approached
the camp from the distance.
At first Daxor thought it was some fool
wanting to check out what was happening, instead it was one of his
own men. He had sent a group of men to the ruined city of Raxsus to
see if there was anything worth stealing. The man had looked tired
and could use a cup of wine. The man took a cup that Daxor offered
and waited for his report.
“Report” Daxor said
firmly. The man wiped his lips “The city looks deserted, other
than rats and the occasional fool who wishes to intrude on our little
scavenger hunt, there really is nothing. The place is just ripe for
the pickings.” He grabbed a piece of meat after finishing his
sentence. He looked like he could use it, Daxor thought, must have
been riding all day. “I left a few of our guys to scope out the
place, but…” “But what?” Daxor interrupted. The man had a
look of concern on his face “I hear there are ghosts around that
whole city, and when I left a few of our guys behind to make sure
no-one came by, I could have sworn I saw one on the hills looking
over the ruins of the city.”
Daxor stared unbelievably
and then let out a laugh, the other men joined in. Daxor wiped a few
tears from his eyes and then began to talk “Their aren’t no such
things as ghosts, the last survivors of that city claimed that the
place was haunted just to keep away anyone who wanted to steal what
was left of them.” The man who stated the facts still kept a
concerned look on his face “It don’t matter to me what you think
boss, but when I was there I had an uneasy felling about the place,
like someone was watching me and the guys there, I think the Black
Rider may have been there.” Everyone around the camp went deathly
silent, even Daxor.
The Black Rider was said
to have been the ghost of fallen centaurion that was looking for
vengeance against the Tyranian generals and leaders that sent him to
die in battle. Others say that the Black Rider was the spirit of one
of the First Disciples of Arcadias, who passed down the knowledge of
the legendary Arcadian Fist Style or that of the disciples of Sorgos,
the founder of the Elemental and Chimera styles. But one thing
people could agree on is that whenever the Black Rider appeared,
death wasn’t too far away.
“That’s not something
you want to be joking about.” Daxor said sternly “Even if he was
there, why didn’t he try to kill you or the other men you left
behind?” Daxor spat and then looked in the direction his man came
from, seeing that sun was beginning to set; he then began to wonder
if the men still there would have died. “But you are right to be
concerned, so if that be the case I have five guys go and check
things out. You’ve done well enough and you’ve had a hard days
ride. You guard the wagon full of the women and make sure none of
them escape. They’ll fetch a nice large sack of denari's” the
bandit smiled and took a look at the cage, he got up
and walked over to the cage and his smile went wider as he saw what
was in there.
“The gods certainly
smile on us today boss, these women are really beautiful.” A rather
attractive brunette struggled to hide her shame but couldn’t
because the chains had tied her arms too tightly around her back, a
gorgeous redhead with bright blue eyes looked at him with tears
trickling and her body shaking, an odd smell came from her and the
bandit noticed that she had lost bowel control.
The bandit ignored the
smell and looked around further. He noticed a blonde haired woman
and even though the other women were attractive, her beauty seemed to
have been that of a goddess. She was terrified of him, it seems that
the boss had that effect on people and she was afraid of earning the
wraith of his men.
“If you ladies think
we’re scary, wait till you get sent to a brothel or rich man’s
house, you’ll be begging for mercy then” he said with a sadistic
smile on his face. That’s when some of the women began to cry
except for the blonde women who just looked away in an attempt to hid
her disgust but couldn’t. At the same time Daxor had noticed how
low the sun was and figured it was time to get going “Alright you
lazy whores” he shouted out the command as he was standing up
“Let’s move out and try to make it to the city before nightfall.”
Some of the men began
wiping the blood of their blades, putting out the fires, gathering
their personal effects and loading up the carts with food, supplies
and stolen goods. Daxor looked to the nearest group of men nearby,
when they caught his eye he then summoned them. Six men stood by
Daxor waiting for his command. “I want you guys to check out the
ruins of that city, I want to make sure the guys I had sent there are
still breathing so that when we’re done with our business in Argor,
we can then be ready to do some plundering. Got that?” the six men
nodded their acknowledgement to him; they mounted their horses and
begin riding southward towards the ruined city that had once been
called Raxsus.
Meanwhile Daxor mounted
his horse and rode towards the slave wagons “Make sure to give them
warm blankets when it gets cold and enough food and water to make it
to Argor.” The men on the wagon saluted Daxor and then he turned
his mount around. “Alright men” he shouted pointing northward
“to Argor.” He and his men encouraged their mounts to move fast
and forward. They had a hard ride to make it to town before
twilight, for when the city gate closes, it would take a lot to
convince the guard to let them pass, of course with beautiful catch
of slaves that he had it wouldn’t take much.
***********************************************************************
Just as Daxor and his men
were leaving, a rider on the nearby hillside just out of sight of
Daxor’s men looked down on them and watched them leave the valley.
At the same time he caught sight of several riders heading in the
other direction, heading towards the ruins of Raxsus. “What
pathetic creatures” the rider said in a tone that sounded ghostly.
“They have no idea what awaits them there and what fate is in store
for them.”
The rider was dressed in
silver and black armor that covered him from head to neck. His
helmet was that of a traditional Arcadian helmet with horse hair
mohawk on it's helmet. The Black Riders mouth slit was so thin one
could not see his mouth and what eyes were visible were a blue so
pale that the iris's were could barely be seen.
His mount was a
beautiful black stallion covered in silver colored armor; he began
trotting his horse in the direction he wanted to go. “They will be
the first amongst many to feel the wraith of the Arcadian Fist.” He
said to himself. The Black Rider slowly followed the bandits on his
black mount.
***********************************************************************
Just as the sun was
beginning to set over the ruins of what was once Raxsus, a lone man
in a hooded cloak made his way into a large building. It looked like
time had eroded it, but it was still standing nonetheless and there
was little threat of the roof caving in despite the holes in the
ceiling. The stranger took out a small oil lamp and lit it. He was
aware that looters might see him, but he had his duty to both his
parents and his elders, who died bravely in their defense against the
Tyranian hordes.
“Tyranians” he spat.
He hated them with a passion. To him they were a bunch of
whore-spawn filth that knew nothing of real fighting and dying. This
man was one of the few proud sons of Raxsus left. A city-state
founded by the demi-god Arcadias and in turn it gave birth to the
greatest warriors, both male and female, that the world had ever
known.
Despite his personal
disgust towards the Legions, he looked up at what he wanted to see.
He set down his little oil lamp and then he removed a sack he had
been carrying underneath his cloak, as well as a water jug. He
removed from the sack some dry wood, a hammer and a chisel, along
with some lamb’s meat and goat cheese.
He was saving it for when
he arrived at the city, but he still was not yet hungry, so he
proceeded with the task he had set out to do. He took the lamp and
brought to a small alcove in the right wall and lowered the part of
the lamp that was lit into a small hole in the wall. Just as he
lowered it, the entire place lit up.
Even though the place had
been defiled by looters and being ravaged by time, the place had
still been what it was so long ago. “The Hall of Legends” he said
to himself. Here were the names, deeds and honors of the great
warriors of Raxsus dating back to the founding of city by Arcadias
himself. The man walked to the end of the hall. At the end was a
large semi-circular opening there was a large marble statue of a
warrior standing proudly in a suit of armor with his right arm raised with his right hand and index finger pointing towards the heavens
and in his left hand form into a fist, pressed against his chest.
On the dais it said “The
son of a goddess, born through the aid of a mortal man, the son who became a warrior,
the warrior who became a king, the king who united the people of the
land to wage war against the gods and became a legend. May his proud
children say his name with pride in their hearts and minds…?”
“Arcadias, the greatest
warrior-king that ever lived, who conquered the heavens, who
liberated the peoples from tyrannical gods, and who became the
founder and first Grandmaster of the Arcadian Fist.” The man said
as he was kneeling before the statue. He almost felt like crying but
he knew that he couldn’t. Arcadias wouldn’t want him to show
such a weakness before him, nor would master Varco
The man stood up and
removed his cloak. The man was an impressive sight to behold. He
stood 6 ft 2 inches, large broad chest; his arms were a mass of
muscles and beneath his chitin one could see that he was trying to
hide a very nasty scar across his chest. His face looked like it
been carved off the side of a mountain for he was very rugged in a
handsome way and his sky blue eyes were captivating. His hair was
well trimmed with sideburns going down to his rear jaw, but his hair
color was not normal, at least by most Arcadians.
Every now and then in the
history of Raxsus, a child either male or female would be born with
hair as white as snow. It was believed for many generations that an
individual born with white hair was meant for greater things.
Arcadias himself was said to have the same colored hair, so it also
meant that the individual must have been descended from Arcadias
himself.
It was hard to tell of
course because Arcadias had six wives and each one bore three
children. No-one could really tell who was born from that far back
and many people didn’t care. For the people of Raxsus, and other
parts of Arcadia all claimed to be sons of Arcadias, in which case
all men where brothers and sisters. That was a belief the
white-haired man never understood until his time of trial. A path
that would turn a boy into one the fiercest warriors know to man.
But he couldn’t think
of the past now, he had work to do. “Great Father Arcadias, before
you I inscribe the names of your fallen children in this sacred hall.
They gave their lives in defense of the great city of Raxsus, which
you built up, from the first stone to the last, which has now been
torn down by those without honor.” He went to a blank, sapphire
colored obelisk; such stone was rare in this part of Arcadia. It
came mainly from Luxoria, a once great empire in the deserts of
northern Hyksus, now another region under the control of the
Tyranian Empire.
The man set about upon
his work inscribing one name after another. The names of fallen
warriors were listed along with King Maxxon, the last great king of
Raxsus. The last name the man inscribed on the obelisk said “Gaiken,
the Beast slayer.” The man put away his tools and walked back to
the statue of Arcadias and fell to one knee. “Great father
Arcadias, I, Mathayus of Raxsus, son to Gaiken the Beast Slayer, have
finished inscribing the names of the fallen. I beseech you great
father guide them into your loving arms and give me the strength to
fight the evil that has slain them.”
He took a knife and slit
his left hand, squeezing it until the blood stopped dripping, “By
the blood of my ancestors and by my honor, I will not return until
your people have been avenged.” He rose to his feet, walked over
to pick up his personal effects, pulled out some cloth to wrap his
bloodied hand, grab his cloak, then began to leave.
He left without looking
back for he knew that he would never return. “I can’t return
until I have avenged the fallen, not until I have avenged my people,
I gave my word on it.” Even though the city was no more,
Mathayus still adhered to its law. For in Raxsus honor was the law.
If it was anything minor such as not being able to make certain
payments or forgetting to be somewhere at a certain time, it was
pretty much a slap on the wrist.
But for anything more
serious, like fleeing from a battle, failure to fulfill important
duties to the king or spending more on material wealth than on your
family, was pretty much a death sentence, many wish for it to happen,
but it doesn’t. By Raxian law, anyone who fails in their duties
toward their families, the city or the king would face exile; death
was only given for treason, not cowardice or self-indulgence which was a cardinal sin.
As he was leaving the
city, he noticed several men on horseback. By the way they dressed,
they were obviously bandits. “Here to loot what’s left I see”
Mathayus snarled to himself. He began walking towards the group of
bandits.
************************************************************************
On a nearby hilltop, the Black Rider was looking down
on the ruined city. Noticing the small group of armed men, he looked
past them and saw a figure walking towards them. “What pitiful
fools” he said to himself “They know not what they have done. By
coming to loot the city, they have sealed their own fate.” No one
could tell underneath his helm, but he was smiling. “Mathayus will
see to it that no one else will ever steal from the hollowed grounds
of Raxsus” he chuckled to himself.
“Check out this urn I
stole” a one-eyed bandit laughed as he was showing a bronze urn
depicting some battle. “That ain’t nothing” a bandit with a
scar across his nose and five-pointed star on his check stated “Look
at this piece of jewelry” he said holding up an ebony colored
necklace. “I take a piss for one-minute and you guys start arguing
who’s got it best” another bandit said as he came from behind a
wall. “Oh yeah? What have you got that’s better than what we
have?” sneered a bandit that was polishing his tulwar. “I have
this” he thrust outwards with his right hand.
The other bandits
surrounded the man with astonishment towards the object. It was a
giant looking pearl shaped object, which was colored a crimson red.
Just look at it made one hypnotized. Just as the men had become
absorbed by the orb, one of them noticed a noise and spun around with
his sword drawn, the others followed. It was a man in a cloak, much
taller than the bandits themselves, but they weren’t intimidated by
him.
“You’re trespassing
here mate” the one-eyed bandit snarled. The cloaked man kept his
poker face and remained silent. “You got a lot of nerve” the
bandit with the star tattoo spat. “You wanna live? Then hand over
what valuables you got or we gut you” a bandit said licking the
blade of his tulwar. The man still remained silent until now. “Fuck
you, asshole” the cloaked man said. The bandits had a look of
shock on their faces, no had ever said that to them and lived to tell
of.
“What? You dare tell us
that, I’ll kill you” the one-eyed bandit said as he swung his
sword in a downward motion. Before the sword could hit, the cloaked
man took a step back with his left foot, then stepped in faster than
the bandit could see with a strong left punch to the one-eyed man’s
face. The man fell with his back to the ground, his face smashed in.
The bandit with the star
tattoo charged in with a right hand swing, but the cloaked man could
see it coming and he blocked the bandit’s sword with his left
forearm, causing the sword to shatter. The bandits were shocked at
seeing what strength the man was capable of, even the star faced
bandit was shocked. The cloaked man came in with a right uppercut to
the star-faced bandit’s stomach which sent him flying into the air
so high, that he was lost to the sight of the others.
Terrified of the man’s
power, three more bandits rushed in. Just as they were about to
surround and impale the man upon sword point, the cloaked man lifted
his right leg and spun on his left leg, with the heel of his right
foot, hitting the bandits on either the left or right face cheeks,
almost breaking their jaw’s. Despite the pain and humiliation they
suffered from having to fight and unarmed man, they still made an
attempt to charge at him. But just as they did, something strange
happened to them.
They stopped in their
tracks, cringing in pain and grabbing their heads. It felt like
their heads were inflating. Tried as they might to have the pain
subsided, their heads began to burst and then they exploded leaving
behind twitching corpses. The man who had his face punched in, also
began to feel the pain, his face began to expand outward and then
also exploded. The star faced bandit, just before he fell to the
earth, his entire body began to twist and turn, and then he was
broken in half.
The cloak had flown off
of the man who had viciously attacked the bandits. The last
surviving bandit went weak in his legs and fell just as he had
dropped his sword. The man he was staring at was a giant of man,
with platinum blonde hair, steel blue eyes and a pair of large
leather pauldrun’s that went down both his left and right arms.
The man looked down on the bandit as if he were nothing more than a
cock-roach.
“I only spared you your
life because I want you to deliver a message to your leader, you tell
him: that the last son of Raxsus has come to unleash hell and when I
am through with your boss, the legions of Tyran will soon face my
wraith. Understood?” he finished with a cold look on his face.
The man gulped and fled to the nearest horse. It may
not have been his, but the others were hardly in a position to
complain. He rode off as face as his steed could without even
looking back at the white haired man.
The Black Rider chuckled
“The last son of Raxsus prevails. It is true so far what the
heavens say” he said as he reared his horse to head in the
direction that he had come from.
Bringing his horse to a trot, he heard the sounds of
other riders. “More rats come to die” he said with a low
chuckle. He then kicked his stallion hard, breaking it into a
charge.
The bandits that had been
sent by Daxor were halfway to the remnants of Raxsus, when they heard
the loud galloping of a horse. They drew their swords in case it was
some fool who crossed their path. The sound of galloping died
suddenly. Just as the bandits were about to move on, a giant black
blur crashed in front of them. When the dust settled, it revealed
their worst nightmare.
“It's the Black Rider”
one of the bandits screamed in terror. “Run for it” one of the
other bandits panicked. Before any of them could flee, the Black
Rider threw his right hand out in the form of a spear and before two
of the bandits could flee he was sliced in half, causing a rainstorm
of blood and guts. Before the other three could escape, the Black
Rider waved his hand in a chopping motion. Like their colleagues,
they themselves were sliced in half, further adding to the red mist
of blood.
“What pathetic creatures” the
Rider scoffed, as he his mount began trotting over the remnants of
the bandits, urging his northwards towards Aethos. “These pathetic
worms are but a mere stone on my disciples path towards vengeance and
his destiny to be
the next Grandmaster of the Arcadian
Fist” he said to himself as he disappeared into the
night.
