Silent like a lone wolf hunting down its prey, and small beads of perspiration covered his forehead. His eyes stayed sharp, not even daring to blink, as he watched the enemy camp from above a small hill. His eyes showed unwavering commitment to the task he was doing, even though his chances of survival were close to none. But he had to try to save her from Bathelomeo's clutches.
'Stay strong, Talia. Stay strong for the sake of our child.' The man silently prayed, with the veil of the night sky being his only cover. Below, the riverbank lay bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting long silvery shadows across the water. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze mingled with the distant murmur of the flowing river, creating a symphony of nature's nocturnal melody.
Stars twinkled overhead, scattered across the vast expanse of the night sky like diamonds strewn upon velvet. The moon, full and luminous, cast its ethereal light upon the landscape, illuminating every blade of grass and every ripple on the water's surface. The moon's presence revealed that the four seasons had already completed the cycle, and today was the moon festival.
The camp was situated in a strategic location, along a riverbank. Surrounding the camp were makeshift walls made of earth and timber, designed to fortify the perimeter and protect against intruders.
Inside the camp, a bustling scene of activity caught his eye. Tents made of animal hides dotted the landscape, housing soldiers, commanders, and their equipment. The largest tent likely belonged to the commanding officer, adorned with flags displaying the crest of Bathelomeo, the bandit lord.
The smell of wood smoke filled the air as fires crackled, where cooks prepared meals for the troops. Nearby, makeshift forges were set up for blacksmiths to repair weapons and armor or craft new ones.
In the center of the camp, there was a training ground where soldiers honed their skills with swords, shields, and spears. Bandits in shining armor could be seen practicing their jousting skills or engaging in mock battles to stay sharp.
Throughout the camp, he could hear the clang of metal as armorers worked, the neighing of horses stabled nearby, and the shouts of soldiers drilling or playing games to pass the time, all thanks to his unrivaled talent in body cultivation.
Outside the walls, scouts were posted, keeping watch for approaching enemies and reporting back to the camp with any news. And even in the distance, he could feel the huge amount of Arcanum gathering by the lord's tent.
Silently gulping and cursing the old gods, he bit his lip, trying to think of a way to enter the enemy's camp unnoticed. But all of the scenes he was conjuring within his mind all ended up in failure, so he kept pushing, searching for that one scene where he came out victorious, with his nose bleeding as a result of the huge amount of mental strain he was exerting on himself.
And just when he was about to give up and enter the enemy camp without a plan, a scene unfolded where he became victorious. That scene was not too complex, but instead, it was rather easy. All he had to do was hand himself over to Bathelomeo's men, and they would bring him right in front of his tent where he could invoke the Bandit's Gambit. The challenger publicly announces their intention to confront the current boss, issuing a challenge in front of the entire gang. This declaration must be made with confidence and conviction, as it is a direct challenge to the current leadership. The rules for the confrontation are straightforward: no outside interference is allowed, and the confrontation must be resolved between the challenger and the current boss alone. Weapons may be allowed or forbidden, depending on the preferences of the challenger and the boss. But the challenge can only be made by either a current member or a former member who still bears their markings, and luckily for him, he kept his.
But just as he was about to act, a soft voice spoke in his ear: 'Escalabus myo,' and he jolted up, his face soaked in sweat, and his breathing heavy. Looking around in panic, he noticed that he was still in his cave and the entrance had not yet been breached. After a few breaths, he was finally calm, and he laid back down.
'That damned voice, can't it just let me dream in peace?' he spoke in frustration.
'It will after you stop resisting it.' His eyes widened in surprise and horror as he stared at a hooded figure standing right in front of him, staring down at him. But what scared him was not the fact that his cave had been breached without him knowing, but instead, it was the voice, the voice of the figure looking down at him was eerily similar to the voice that kept haunting him in his dreams. Looking at the figure, a cold chill ran down his spine, and he subconsciously tried backing away, but soon enough his head met the rough wall of the cave. The figure quietly observed him without making a sound, and just when his head met the wall, it spoke up.
'Stop resisting, Voren. Stop and listen.' The figure spoke; its elusive soft voice echoed off the cave walls, and Voren confirmed that this was really the voice haunting him in his dreams.
Fear had completely taken over his body, and he simply froze and stared at the figure with wide eyes. 'I can't die, not without getting my revenge on you, Talia, and that bastard Bathelomeo. I can't die yet.' This was the only thought in his mind.
'You are listening, good. You will have to travel south all the way till you reach the Zebhannon, and once you arrive, travel to a town named Sif'ur, and there your destiny will unravel. Travel fast, and once you have arrived, you will know what to do, Voren, the Blackguard Avenger.'
With that, the hooded figure vanished right before his eyes, but the words spoken lingered. Despite his frozen state, a narcissistic smile crept up. 'I haven't been called that in a long time.'