A matter of perception,

In the fourteenth year of the Age of Flight, Duke Safri brought the Air Knights from hiding and descended upon Hurricane Bay. His brother, Duke Badri, after killing his father and routing his brother’s army in the Battle of the Bay, had been ruling the region for the past decade .

Safri had retreated in the mountains after the battle with the small contingent of knights that had survived, among them the famous Swallow Knight and the ruthless Falcon Knight.

With their help, Safri began raising a new army, and his Order of Air found many followers amongst it. The Second Battle of the Bay played out differently than its prequel. Badri’s rule had been one full of blood and anguish, and the people of the region grew resentful. On the day of the battle, Badri found himself surrounded; Safri on one side and a peasant uprising on the other; Badri’s blood was spilled soon after, and his army routed.

In the fourteenth year of the Age of Flight, Duke Safri finally took the reins of power, only to find himself with a problem he had never seen coming: a bored army with a thirst for battle. Badri’s defeat had been so thorough and swift that by the end of the day, the core of Safri’s army remained mostly intact while overall growing in number through the peasants who had found a new calling.

A regular army needs food, shelter and pay while a bored army needs an occupation, desperately. In the ten years of his exile, Safri had gathered all the outcasts he could find, fueling their hopes and dreams with riches both high and low. If he didn’t come up with a solution soon, he faced the problem of going down into history as the man who had dethroned himself.

But ten years is a long time and the Bay area he had left behind upon his brother’s coup no longer existed; bandits had taken up entire towns as their outposts, declaring themselves as Barons and the Gaety had been raiding the northern villages more each year.

Safri would not have gone through ten years of hardship just to trade the newly gained velvets and feather beds for several more years of saddle sours and cold meals. He could not sit idly either, as he had an entire city of tents at his gates, and as the cunning man that he was, he devised a plan.

He gave a small contingent of men to all of his knights, giving them the opportunity to carve up a future for themselves, either through riches or through glory, depending on his men’s dispositions. And so they did.

What followed next was the goriest decade the region had ever known. While Safri lavished in his ancestral home, bringing upon Hurricane Bay a time of peace and prosperity, all around, chaos and bloodshed ensued as the knights who sought earthly riches fought the bandits and self-imposed warlords only to be faced by those knights that believed righteousness, chastity and valor should be their only need.

Amidst this chaos, one of the Air Knights turned out to be more successful than the rest: Tix, the Roc Knight. Brought up within the order from an early age, he had been with Safri and the Air Knights ever since he was ten. Just before the Second Battle of the Bay, he had been knighted as the Roc because of his stubbornness and heavy set. Unlike many other knights, he did not set out in the Culling to gratify his name, but took to the trails with no specific quest in mind. He was content to wonder about the countryside and test the mettle of any who dared get on the wrong side of his oath.

Day after day, month after month, year after year, Tix endured, through countless battles and perilous encounters, his will unbent, his fortitude undone, his prowess unequaled. A decade after his knighting, Tix would strike fear into the hearts of brutal men by mention of his presence alone.

And so it was that one night found Tix alone in the Border Forest to the north, near the village of Danf. Rumours of the Gaety raiding parties had brought the Knight to this forest, and so far those rumours had proven true.

The moon was shinning brightly in the night sky and a small breeze was swaying the leaves of the elm trees hypnotically. Tix had just finished roasting a rabbit over the fire and was enjoying a well-deserved dinner.

The hardships of the road had taught him to appreciate every little gift he had, be it some sage to spruce up a meal or another life to chase the loneliness away. The rabbit had been a wonderful sight that day, not only would it chase away the hunger of the past few days, as game had become sparse due to the constant raids, but the pelt might also bring him some extra coin up in Danf. This would mean a soft bead and a roof over his head. Freedom of the road had its benefits, but freedom from hunger and cold would coerce any man in the long run.

The meat was gamy and rich, and with the right seasoning it would surely lift Tix’s spirits tonight.

He had just started on a back leg when a scream pierced the air.

Tix dropped the meat and went for his sword. The long journey through the years had taught him there was little difference between being prepared and being lucky. He had replaced his plate mail with studded leather and chain-mail over the years, keeping plate only for protection over the chest, elbows and knees. This meant that, when sleeping in the open, he would not need to take it off and be ready at a moment’s notice.

He lifted his helmet to his head and doused the fire while vigilantly watching the bushes around, his buckler at the ready.

Tix stepped gingerly towards the direction of the scream.

At his back, the remains of the fire sizzled, annoyed by the sudden interruption. His stomach replied in agreement. Soft grass crushed fleetingly underfoot as the sword caught the moon’s tint. Tix shifted his hand so the reflection would not give away his approach. The scream had no follow-up, but as he moved closer, he heard a swift exchange followed by a series of grunts.

As he rounded a large elm, he could see see the source of the noise as a man was forcing himself upon a collapsed girl, another was keeping watch and looking rather irritated. They did not look like Gaety raiders, their clothes were richer and the way they carried themselves made them out to be ex-soldiers, traitors.

Tix sheathed his sword and hung it on a stump. He pulled out his knife and moved in closer.

The girl no longer seemed to be conscious, but the man on top of her did not seem to mind it one bit.

‘Hurry up, Vax!’ said the man keeping watch.

No reply came.

Tix let the blade of his knife touch the guard’s throat gently and sidestepped swiftly in front of him, giving the blade the chance to sing its song.

The look of surprise on the guard’s face endured as his light faded. He made no sound as he fell in the Knight’s embrace, lowering him to the forest floor.

The second soldier paid no mind to the interruption and carried on diligently. Tix closed in quietly and slipped his knife between the assailant’s ribs and twisted. The soldier gave out a yelp and dropped to the side.

The girl was no longer breathing, terror forever engraved on her beautiful face. Tix let out a mixed sigh and closed her eyes. She was barefoot and had not been running long.

They came from Danf.

After retrieving his sword, he took one of the soldier’s crossbow and slowly made his way to the village’s outskirts.

Not long after, the stars faded out behind a curtain of smoke, and the wind brought forth a steady stream of soot.

The light of the fires both hindered and helped his advance, adding to the pressure that the foreboding silence brough forth.

He knocked an arrow, and another soldier fell while relieving himself in the bushes. The smell of piss and blood permeated the air, giving the scene a pestilent look.

Nothing moved in Danf.

Crossbow at the ready, Tix closed in on the scene, a feeling of impending doom dogging his every step.

As soon as he rounded the first corner, a grisly sight unfolded as bodies lay strewn everywhere. From shadow to shadow, Tix surprised two more soldiers who were looting one of the houses. He ran one through with his sword and slashed the other as he turned towards the commotion.

The village was not large and as a result, he soon came face to face with some of the soldiers. A ruckus ensued as two of the soldiers danced around the Knight stabbing and slashing at him, while a third aimed a bolt to his chest.

Tix had learnt that being aware of your surroundings was half the battle, so he feigned a retreat towards one of the collapsed houses and the two overjoyed at the idea of cornering him. As one brought his sword down hard, he caught the blow and flowed with the swing to the right and behind his assailant. The crossbowman, as a result, unknowingly released his bolt at the back of his comrade. A gasp of terror escaped his lips, stunning the second swordsman who had found the battle all but won. In search of safety, he stepped backwords near the smouldering beams of the house and screamed in pain. Tix used this distraction to run him through the chest.

The crossbowman’s hands fumbled at the latch, but before he could fit another bolt, Tix sheathed his sword in the man’s throat.

In the silence that followed, he could hear hurried steps coming from all around.

Tix took cover behind a well just as three more swordsmen joined the scene.

These seemed to be more experienced. As one surveyed the site of the massacre, crossbow drawn, the other two stepped lightly, apprehensive of the shadows the raging inferno created all around.

Tix waited for the two to pass by and loosed a bolt at the one keeping watch. Turning on his heels, he deflected a blow with his buckler and hit the soldier squarely in the face with the crossbow. Stunned by this move, the soldier stumbled backwards and received the full force of Tix’s heel in his stomach, doubling over as a result.

The last swordsman hurried to intercept, slashing frantically at Tix’s face. He parried as best he could with the body of the crossbow, but could not help getting cut on his forearm.

His back to the well post, he caught the full force of the soldiers’ animal rictus as he pushed with all his might, driving the blade through the hardened wood and closer to the Knight’s face.

Suddenly, his face went limp and he spit out blood as Tix drove his knife under the rib cage and twisted. Keeling over, Tix sidestepped, pulling the dagger back, and the body fell over the side into the well.

Silence followed.

To the left, the last soldier was retching blood and bile through a now toothless grin.

When he saw Tix approach and pick up his sword, he stiffened and began pleading.

‘Mercy! Have mercy, man!’ he yelled.

Tix shifted his grip on the sword and brought it down forcefully with both hands into the man’s guts, impaling him. He twisted until he saw the man’s light fade from his eyes.

There was nobody else coming.

He wiped the blood from his sword and dagger and walked towards the village center.

As he turned around to take in the event’s gravity; he saw a shadow move at the corner of his eye. Instinct drove his body forward, tripping him on one of dead villagers. Fumbling, he brought his sword up and caught the shadow’s strike. The impact rattled his teeth; a second later and the parry would have been swept aside, burying the blade deep into his left shoulder.

The shadow knew he had an advantage as Tix was kneeling when he had parried and pressed on, driving the edge closer still.

The flames were playing all around them, enriching Tix’s scowl.

‘Roc?!’ the shadow asked, loosening its grip.

Tix took advantage of this and pulled his blade upwards, using the momentum to get up and step back, his blade at the ready.

‘I can’t believe my eyes, Roc, it’s you!’ the shadow said again, dropping his guard and with a fluid motion pulled his cowl back to reveal a grizzled face.

‘Baldur?!’ Tix asked.

‘Yes, you big oaf, it’s me!’ the Raven Knight replied.

Out of nowhere a peasant lunged at Baldur with a scythe from behind one of the buildings, but the scream he had let loose to toughen his resolve had given Baldur enough time to react.

As the peasant closed in, he stepped under his guard and slashed upward, leaving a trail of red on the man’s body.

‘Baldur, wait!’ Tix yelled.

‘Idiot, he must have thought we’re with the raiders.’ Baldur said and spit towards the now motionless body.

Tix sheathed his sword and approached carefully.

‘Why are you looking at me like that for? You would have had him cut me in half?’

‘That was unnecessary.’

‘Unless it’s not a peasant but a raider, in that case it’s justifiable, right Roc?!’

‘Hmm!’

The Raven Knight had knelt down near the fresh body and began whipping away the man’s own blood on its tattered coat.

‘What are you doing here, last I heard you were still in the marshes, bringing the word of valor to the newly established warlord?’

‘That was over a year ago.’

‘Word travels slow in these parts. I take it you’ve heard about the Gaety raids picking up?’ His sword now thoroughly clean, he sheathed it, but not fully, just in case there were more surprises waiting around the corner.

‘Yes. But it looks like we’re too late.’

‘For them, but not for the next village. Hey, where are you going?’

Tix had turned around and had started walking back the way he had come.

‘Back to my camp. I haven’t eaten in days and this whole conundrum might have cost me my dinner.’

‘Wait, there’s bound to be something around here, and we don’t even have to get a fire going.’

‘Hm, fine!’

‘Come, this way, I saw what looked to be a cellar over here?’

Tix followed reluctantly, thinking about how the jackals must rummage through his belongings as they spoke.

‘I’ve been trailing these bastards for weeks now. I had hoped to catch them before they would reach Danf. They haven’t missed a single village to the north of these woods: Black Creek, Root, Dart. All have been burned and pillaged.’

‘I heard the same.’

‘Here, it’s this way!’ pointing towards a shadow on the wall of a house to the north.

The door was locked, and Baldur decided to kick it in. As soon as it hit the inner wall of the cellar, a shriek pierced their ears, and a woman rushed out. The light of the moon glinted in her hands for a second as the teeth of a pitchfork caught the Raven in the gut. He raised his hand towards her, hatred and surprise etched on his face.

Her deed clearly shook the terrified woman as much as it did the two Knights. Regaining his composure, Tix sent her flying with the back of his hand and turned towards Baldur. The knight had doubled over in his attempt to remove the makeshift weapon and had frozen in place, blood flowing freely from his wound.

Tix had knocked the woman senseless, so he took her down into the cellar as hunger was gnawing at him still. He would still have to retrieve his belongings from the forest, but for the time being, he needed to make sure she was all right.

The cellar turned out to be a disappointment: a sack of potatoes, a couple of dried apples and a jar of milk. He used some of the milk to wake the woman up, hoping to be rid of this place as soon as possible.

As she slowly came back to her senses, she lifted her gaze to encounter the knight. Panic took hold of her once more; panic mixed in with a hatred Tix had ever seen before.

‘You animal, no, don’t!’

‘Stop raving, woman!’

‘Animals! Bastards! You’ll not touch me, filthy savage!’ looking around for something to use as a weapon.

‘Shut up! You’re safe!’

‘From whom, from you?!’ she screamed.

‘From those that burned your village.’

‘Are you mad?! What sort of lunatic are you? You and your animals put our village to the torch and tell me I’m safe, now’

This comment took Tix aback, and he measure the woman closely. She made no sense.

As sunrise hit the Border Forest, the rising smoke had gone from black to gray, signaling the scavengers in the area to the events that had transpired the night before.

Down in the cellar, blood was still dripping down from a gash in the woman’s throat. A gentle smile lay splayed on her face, as she had met the Knight’s rough hands with a quiet sense of relief.

In a world that was about to go about its day unscathed, a lonely knight picked up his scattered belongings from among the trees, sighing.

Sometimes, he thought, madness was a danger far greater than any lack of character.