False Heroes
By John Crockett & Jacob Fenwick
CHAPTER 1 - Under the new Moon, Wisps of a forgotten campfire
"We live in a world that hides its true face; sweet words and warm smiles reveal themselves to be nothing but an act, covering the sour taste of the shady service it provides. The common folks of towns and cities inhabiting The Badlands never seem to care much. Now the true putrid stench of the planet is starting to show. Nothing but sell swords and hedge wizards trying to make a quick silver titan by sweeping the lowest forms of evil from the public's view, but not for what happens when you destroy an infestation's weaker members. The strongest prepare the final strike with plenty of time. Soon, we will see an immense battle of the new guard toppling the old under the banner of change and hope. Let us see what becomes of the " False Heroes.''
"We start our story where all great adventures begin; at a tavern. The Coal & Cauldron, south of the border of The Seven Sands, in a forest with a hundred foot tall trees of Oak only breaking for a rather plain but homely looking establishment. Walls adorned with moving candles making an ambiance that felt like Fireflies moving gently…Oh! And the mounted skulls of game that were found far and wide…
Been a while since I've seen that one but anyway! This place is a fine example of everything that will be this world's downfall. Brutish, bladed, Orcs swinging weapons around like their first pet; moments before they ask the parents why it stopped moving. Well compared to the Gnomish ways, my analogy is more peaceful. The dance and sing shanties of their last voyage, like a old sea captain; smacking their hands and feet in a off beat, drunken tone while kicking off the Gnomes trying to join in on the festivities. The earthy smells of Ale and Ember Root filled the war hardened walls while the old Orc bar owner stood a clear foot above them all.
Well it seems our pieces are starting to move… We should watch."
The bar's silence was quickly broken by the great old Elven door being shot off its hinges with a thunderous boom towards the table closest to the door, a barrage of splintered, cascading oak shards gaining velocity like a bullet. The patrons eyes all filled with fear, voices became quivers, seemingly trying to release a single sound at the carnage that was sure to unfold before them. An eye of pure black shined with the aura of pain and anger, feet clapping the cobblestone floor as he stood, shrank down with the composure of a feral god. His hood flew back as he landed revealing the pulsating red and black of his eyes. He reached for his side, moving his cape in a quick movement, showing his blood red skin; eyes now shining with a deep red, unveiling his hammer. A primal scream of anger was released as a motionless blur of static tension exploded outwards, smashing the ceiling and revealing the pail crescent light of the moon. The sinking smoke from the roof's destruction started to disperse, showing the hooded figure's arm extended out holding a steaming, weathered leather grip forge hammer; black to the sight and obviously heavy to the touch. Shown by it being dropped a mere two feet to the floor; sending a shockwave that blew his hood and cape away and showing his true form, a Demon. Skin red as if scared by the world's core itself with vain like protrusions of soft white, flowing hair of harsh brown reminiscent of the oak's bark. A beard braided with mementos of creatures and treasures, littering his beard. Horns of ebony black seeming to twirl forever in a dance of darkness. The demon showed a presence that his evil ancestors would show from great stature but he only stood a mere three foot tall. His armor left much to be desired for, only sporting a sleeveless leather vest of a withered grey with jerkin to match. An identical hammer sat on his other hip and on his back was a blade. Short for a human but full sized for him, serrated from previous encounters. As the smoke finally cleared the Demon looked far from pleased, placing his hammer back at his side and now looking at where the great door once stood.
Lifted debris had finally settled by where the door once stood, to show the outline of a tall Elf as the shadow stumbled through the doorway straight onto his face. Manic laughter left him as he stood back up showing he was no Elf but a Half-Mix; A creature mixed of two different species but this was a classic example, an Orc and Wood Elf. Although he could pass as a full blooded Elf to most until you took a closer look and saw the strong jawline, ashy grey complexion and fangs known to the Orcs. He wore a gi of shining gold adorned with ancient, cryptic sigils stitched into the fabrics. Even with this man's fancy attire, or the flashy entrance, not a single patron could bear to look the Half-Mix in the eyes due to the differences between them. His left eye had a pupil of gold surrounded by a deep, forest green while his right had a pupil of sad grey enveloped by a vibrant violet purple. The man noticed the unease his presence caused but paid it no time while heading towards the bar.
The Dwarf was visibly angered by the arrogant fool walking by, ignoring what had just happened, fueling the anger inside him. He pulled his second hammer from his side, its pale grip merging with the Demon's hand as he swung only to be stopped. His eyes widened seeing the pale faced creature that stood in front of his weapon, an Azamaar, a fallen Angel, rare even in this world of oddities. Cladded in holy robes of worn white, its age was shown with its large amount of holes and stitches, with a sigil of a three headed dragon, each head showing a different stage of the moon above the head. Azamaar's were a race that usually stayed to themselves unless they were trying to force their own beliefs on you. The Dwarf could see the shine of apple green in his dead eye underneath the unkempt hair of grey making it obvious that he was not amused at what was unfolding. The Dwarf quickly regained his composure and went to bring his hammer back for another swing before the Azamaar spoke.
''I do not appreciate violence like this...Yoru is always watching and weeping for you, a lonely lost child of the moon.'' The words left the Angel's mouth with an aura of tranquility and a soft tone, the Demon froze, his words struggling to escape. The tension in the bar seemed to rise to a boiling point except for one patron.
''Bar keep! Ya got any Sandstorm? Could go for a few right now! If you do, I'll take five'' The Half-Mix had ignored the rising anger and made his way to the bar without anyone noticing as he drunkenly spoke to the old Orc. The bar keep could sense the anger in the men and tried to mediate the situation, ''Sandstorm? Aye we stock it. Not many buy it mind so plenty for ya.'' As the Half-Mix nodded, the barkeep thought he had succeeded in his plan until he looked over and saw the Dwarf making his way over with a fire burning in his eyes. The Demon slammed his red fist almost through the bar as he snarled at the Half-Mix, ''Oi. Are you blind and deaf? Or you just have a death wish?''.
He jumped onto the bar, now looking into the multi coloured eyes of the man who angered him. The Demon went to grab him by the scruff of his gi only to find a bottle in his hands, unaware of where it came from. Confused as the Dwarf was, he looked back at the Half-Mix, now sitting there with a soft smile and extended his left arm out, '' Names Willabaar D. Price.'' The sudden level of sobriety in his voice made the Dwarf even more confused as he continued, ''Fourth crowned prince of Recocto. As my home's custom, now we have shared a drink, we are brothers! Both you and the Angel that is.''
The Dwarf turned to see the ragged robes of the Azamaar in the seat next to the Half-Mix. Willabaar slid the bottle across the bar only for the Angel to use his magic energy and threw it back at the Half-Mix with some velocity surrounded by a soft glow of white. ''Thank you for the offer your grace but-'' Willabaar interrupted the Angel as he put an arm around him, now with a slightly stricter tone, ''None of this your grace nonsense. Its Willabaar got it?'' The Angel was cold in looks but soft in the way he spoke, ''Oh…Okay the your-...Willabaar.''
The Angel realized that he had not introduced himself yet, feeling rude he bowed and began to speak the loudest he had, ''My name is Kyuuwin Kurama. A ward of the great moon goddess Yoru, pleased to meet you both.'' The two men stopped drinking to laugh hysterically, the Dwarf wiped a tear from his eye and spoke, ''For me the name is Mountain Bee, but just call me Bee.'' Willabaar let out a crooked smile as he put his free arm over the Dwarf, ''Well then! Bee and Kyuu-''
The Angel interrupted the Half-Mix, ''Actually it's Kyuuwin-'' Willabaar did not let the Angel finish as he continued, ''But Kyuu is easier! Much snappier!'' The two brutes continued to drink in Kyuu's presence for a whole day as they bonded, drinking, arm wrestling, gambling and breaking property as the crowd began to calm and join the jubilation, drinks were pouring and the Ember Root smoke wafted through until the new sun started to rise.
As the sun was starting to peek into the world for a new day, the patrons could be seen snoring away the drunken joy of the previous day, only the three men, the Half-Mix, Azamaar and Dwarf were still awake. The three seemed to be staring with a cold gaze at each other until a thunderous laugh burst from the table, snapping some of the customers from their slumber, ''Angel!!'' Willabaar slurred out through the laughter, now putting his beer soaked arm around Kyuu's neck, ''hm? Oh yes lord Willabaar?'' The Half-Mixes attitude flipped from happy to strict again after the Angel spoke, now with a tone of sadness, ''Kyu. No titles. I am just Willabaar understood?'' His face seemed to show the sadness of his past, now as he sipped his drink and turned back to them, ''Enough of me, what about you two?'' the other two faces snapped to a pondering look as Bee went to speak, still slurring heavily as he wobbled side to side, ''Huh? I'm just a man with a good swinging arm'' he turned back to finish his bottle but an air of despire as he continued, ''Was part of a pretty tuff group you know. Not a lot of us but all knew what they could do.'' The despire that was around him quickly shifted to a rising anger, now gritting his teeth as he continued once more, ''I had problems with a few of them and decided it was time to leave. Been here for a week since looking for a contract and try to find-'' Kyuwin's voice finally was heard after he went silent, ''Find meaning in your life am I correct?'' the Dwarves eyes quickly dilated as if he had seen a ghost. The Angel picked up two candles, one almost gone and one fresh and unlit as he continued, ''Meaning is fuel for the soul. The problem is that like fuel it can drain you.'' Kyuu lit the fresh candle with the older one, blowing out the latter before he finished, ''But meaning is a different fuel. One that can be replenished when the right circumstances are met.'' This made the table grow silent once again. Mountain's face slumped into the wood as Willabaar finished his bottle, wiped his mouth clean and stood abruptly. The other two raised their eyes in unison, now looking up at the imposing figure in front of them before he opened his mouth and let out a cackle, almost inherently evil with the way it sounded, breaking momentarily to let out his words, ''You really don't know what you want yet?! For Daedalus sake you look like you're in your fifties, yet you're still floating around like a bumble bee! Ha! Bumble Bee! A fitting nickname!'' Willabaar kept up his chaotic cackle, falling to his knees and holding his sides from the pain of laughter. Mountain looked like his veins were about to burst. The anger had been constantly rising for a while now as it seemed like it was about to boil over. Willabaar continued to roll on the floor laughing, only stopped when Mountain's roaring voice broke through, ''Big talk from two little fuckers that probably can't even swing a blade! What's your stories that make it that you can insult mine?!'' Kyuu responded as quick as a blink, drink still close to his mouth and eyes closed, ''Only when I can call you a friend will I tell you mine.'' Bee turned angrily towards the Half-Mix, ''I'm a prince! I already told you mine ha!'' The Dwarf sat back, letting his anger slowly leave as a fresh faced young Human waiter came up to them, three sandstorms in hand and a smile as he spoke, '' Compliments of the boss! Enjoy-'' Bee grabbed one as quick as a blur, not spilling a single drop as his glare was aimed towards the boy, ''Get moving boy. We ain't planning on getting friendly with you. Scram.'' The man's face seemed to contort into a devilish smile, ''Of course good sirs! Do call if you need anything else!'' As he left the atmosphere around their table seemed to be full of anger and jealousy that became fainter the more he walked away. Willabaar seemed to stop himself from laughing to look at the boy leave before snapping back to ridiculing Bee making the sounds echo through the place.
Behind the bar was the old Orc bartender, covered in scars from his past life but standing there with a soft smile towards the table of adventurers, reminiscing about his previous journeys, closing his eyes and thinking how he wished he never opened this bar, wondering if it was too late to find his friends and go on a final adventure until suddenly he felt the bone in his leg shatter. His eyes snapped open from the pain but could not get a noise out as the pain spread sharply through his spine. Before he could do anything, a tendril of smoke and ooze, blacker than the night sky emererged from his mouth, piercing him from the top of his spine. He took a final blurry look out at the table of fresh faced adventurers as the Half-Mixes eyes met his. Willabaar closed his eyes, turned his head and continued his conversation. All sense of rejuvenation he was thinking died in that moment as the blood and tears mixed, dripping down his cheek as his body sunk below the bar, now mixing with the dark shadow and oak. The shadow rised from behind the bar seconds later and took the form of the Human waiter, still holding a contorted smile and licking the last stain of blood from his lips as he looked over the establishment, seeing the group of fresh adventurers that scorned him still laughing loudly, enough to wake a group of Orcs close to where the door once stood who now shouted towards the creature, ''Oi bus boy! Bring us some blankets and stoke that fire would you!'' His contorted smile seemed to grow as he responded, ''Oh of course good sirs! I will warm you until you feel like you were in a layer of hell-'' His voice quivering with ecstasy as time started to stand still, he felt a presence as he moved his vision to the rest of the bar and seeing a pair of circles, green and purple now bending and blurring like a snake towards him until a Elven oak wooden staff came into existence, rising like a crescent moon and connecting with his jaw, making it crack as his lower jaw seemed to move quicker than the rest of his body towards the wall. With a loud slam, the Human went flying through the thick cobblestone wall, waking the remaining patrons who all seemed confused as to what happened. Willabaar was standing in the freshly made hole with his Elven oak staff gripped tightly enough to hear the wood start to creak, his face now twisted and wrinkled in pure rage. In the time that Willabaar could blink there were many black tendrils flying past him into the establishment, shooting past Willabaar's unmoved expression, towards the table where the Dwarf and Azamaar still sat, the two simply moved with elegance and avoided them but the rest slammed into the walls, ripped holes into the patrons the size of Gnomes. Those who tried to run found themselves like this or wrapped up and squeezed dry. Those that remained were coated in the ongoing crimson showers as they scurried to find any form of escape.
Bee and Kyuu moved to join Willabaar in the fresh hole, staring down the darkness at what was coming, Screeches of pain, fresh blood coating the walls, the feeling of dread filling the patron's eyes, not affecting our three heroes in the slightest as they smile in unison, preparing to adventure and kill this abomination. All three drew their weapons, Kyuuwin pulled a crescent shaped dagger, curved at the blade with white splatters along the black hilt, Bee pulled both his forge hammers out and Willabaar moved his Eleven oak staff to an attack stance. All three smiled again as they prepared to attack into the abyss before them.
''Abominations such as these are usually derived from some misguided ambition to reclaim what people think as theirs by nature or something that has been taken from them, just or not. Some act upon greed, ambition or their own mental power, since the start of the first era this turns people into something they always desired or see in their worst nightmares. Now shattered minds, devoid of what they once knew. Our establishment, formally known as the Coal & Cauldron. Suppose I should now say is a prime example of the theory I tried to explain. All proclaiming to be 'Heroes' and 'warriors' of this time but running from the pain and the possible 'glory' of winning, now praying for one more day to live on this putrid plane, showing they are nothing more than a pariah on the society they claim their reputations from, not even false but completely incompetent adventurers that don't deserve the title of 'Hero', this is the problem of this generation, but the select few that take this challenge facing forward. These three seem like they can reclaim the past we once held dear. Let us see if they can back it up. "