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The Court of Heros
Chapter I: The Leader
Long ago, before the tales of William Black and Jack of Blades, Albion was a different world. A strange tranquility always covered the land, wars and other harsh means were always avoided and rarely took place. For there was a legendary court that kept the peace, they were called the Court of Heros. Twelve men and women the court beheld, they each came from different regions and lands from all over Albion. Each individual was specialized in an array of talents that they used along with the other heros to keep a calm among Albion. They have long been forgotten in the records of the world, but this is their story.
A gentle breeze grazed the landscape, night soon started to eat away at the day until darkness blanketed the world. Charles A. Gravewood stood atop of Bowerhill, his long blond hair ran down his head and grazed the back of his shoulders, it casually went to whatever side the wind was blowing. His bright green eyes pierced through the abyss of black around him, his lean build and slender face had women's hearts all over Albion pounding against their breasts. They loved him, he was though by all to be the greatest swordsmen ever to have lived. Except for bandits, their hatred ran deep. Gravewood's twin blades usually were the last thing a bandit saw if they had wronged someone or him.
"Grave," a man cried out from the woods, "bandits, bandits are attacking the trader camp!" Charles hastily spun around and nodded his head. He slowly reached upon his back and unsheathed his twin blades, "Harmony" and "Devastation". He sprinted into the forest, soon becoming engulfed in a sea of trees and foliage. Charles ran through the forest, which seemed to take for ever. Always the same sight, darkness upon darkness occasionally a bright flower popped out into his vision, but that was it. He raced off deeper into the forest, hoping he would make it in time.
"Give us all you've got!" a bandit screamed, he slashed the edge of his blade against the traders neck, blood quickly ensued and poured our from the fresh wound, making a small puddle of the red liquid around the corpse. "Anyone else not willing to comply?" he chuckled as he swung his weapon around wildly. Traders all over began to fill with fear, in the pits of their stomach an odd feeling began to grow. More and more they trembled and sweat began to drench the clothes that covered their backs.
"What, what are you going to do to us?" a trader said, his voice very faint and scared. Bandits all around began to burst into an uncontrollable laughter, some even fell due to the traders remark. A single bandit walked up to the frightened, he went down to a knee and placed his hand underneath the traders chin. He slowly raised the mans head and stared at him, it brought an unusual sense of calm onto the trader. "You're not like the rest of them." he whispered, the bandit looked away as if the words had cut through him like a sword through water. He pushed the mans head forcefully and arose to his feet, he dusted off his knees and walked back to the group of bandits. Adjusting his bandit mask on the way as he walked towards his leader, he pushed and shoved his way through his bandit friends until he stood face to face with the bandit leader. He was a large man, covered in scars from head to toe, a booming voice accompanied with his body builder physique.
"What does fate hold for them?" the unusual bandit asked shyly.
"Fate, fate does not hold anything for them. They make their own decisions, for which they choose their future with every action they take." the bandit leader spoke, his words loud and brash.
"I see, so they all will perish?"
"Most of them," the bandit leader began, "Most have all ready not agreed to our terms."
"I understand." the unusual bandit said softly, he slowly walked away from the leader and sluggishly made his way to the back of the trader camp, he sat down and lowered his head. Closing his eyes, he awaited the death of the traders. For the man was right, he wasn't like the rest, his heart was pure and actions good. He had just ended up with the wrong crew and the bandit life is the only he had ever known.
A figure stepped out from the woods, he leaped forward at the closest bandit and stuck his blades deep into his chest, a smile soon grew on his face as he pulled his weapons from the bandits chest and watched happily as the body slammed into the hard dirt ground.
"It's Grave." a bandit spat, aiming an arrow he fired for his face. Grave jumped backward and twisted his head to the side, the arrow flew pass his face, almost catching him in the eye. Gracefully he moved about the camp cutting bandits down one by one, his swords spun elegantly in his hands almost as if Grave had made killing artistic. Soon only the bandit leader remained, Grave approached and raised his blades.
"A duel to death?"
"If you so wish it." Grave replied, he took no time after he spoke, rushing forth he jabbed a blade into the bandit leaders side. Spinning off his right foot he then thrust another blade into the other side of the man. Grave leapt off the ground, hands still grabbing his blades. As he spun forward in the air his blades moved, tearing up the insides of the bandit leader. As Grave landed onto his feet he watched as the large bandit stumbled around for a moment, he gave out a quick roar in pain and then fell onto the forest floor, dead.
"Another dead so easy." Grave muttered as he pulled his instruments of death out from bandit leader. He carefully scanned to blood bath that he has just made and was pleased. But something caught his eye, in the far edge of the trader camp a lone bandit lay, eyes slammed shut and hands covering his ears. Grave questioned himself a hundred times, no bandit would just watch as he lay waste to his friends. He shook his head and snorted in disgust, "I guess I will kill a coward." he made his way to the bandit and nudged one of his blades underneath his neck.
The Court of Heros
Chapter I: The Leader
Long ago, before the tales of William Black and Jack of Blades, Albion was a different world. A strange tranquility always covered the land, wars and other harsh means were always avoided and rarely took place. For there was a legendary court that kept the peace, they were called the Court of Heros. Twelve men and women the court beheld, they each came from different regions and lands from all over Albion. Each individual was specialized in an array of talents that they used along with the other heros to keep a calm among Albion. They have long been forgotten in the records of the world, but this is their story.
A gentle breeze grazed the landscape, night soon started to eat away at the day until darkness blanketed the world. Charles A. Gravewood stood atop of Bowerhill, his long blond hair ran down his head and grazed the back of his shoulders, it casually went to whatever side the wind was blowing. His bright green eyes pierced through the abyss of black around him, his lean build and slender face had women's hearts all over Albion pounding against their breasts. They loved him, he was though by all to be the greatest swordsmen ever to have lived. Except for bandits, their hatred ran deep. Gravewood's twin blades usually were the last thing a bandit saw if they had wronged someone or him.
"Grave," a man cried out from the woods, "bandits, bandits are attacking the trader camp!" Charles hastily spun around and nodded his head. He slowly reached upon his back and unsheathed his twin blades, "Harmony" and "Devastation". He sprinted into the forest, soon becoming engulfed in a sea of trees and foliage. Charles ran through the forest, which seemed to take for ever. Always the same sight, darkness upon darkness occasionally a bright flower popped out into his vision, but that was it. He raced off deeper into the forest, hoping he would make it in time.
"Give us all you've got!" a bandit screamed, he slashed the edge of his blade against the traders neck, blood quickly ensued and poured our from the fresh wound, making a small puddle of the red liquid around the corpse. "Anyone else not willing to comply?" he chuckled as he swung his weapon around wildly. Traders all over began to fill with fear, in the pits of their stomach an odd feeling began to grow. More and more they trembled and sweat began to drench the clothes that covered their backs.
"What, what are you going to do to us?" a trader said, his voice very faint and scared. Bandits all around began to burst into an uncontrollable laughter, some even fell due to the traders remark. A single bandit walked up to the frightened, he went down to a knee and placed his hand underneath the traders chin. He slowly raised the mans head and stared at him, it brought an unusual sense of calm onto the trader. "You're not like the rest of them." he whispered, the bandit looked away as if the words had cut through him like a sword through water. He pushed the mans head forcefully and arose to his feet, he dusted off his knees and walked back to the group of bandits. Adjusting his bandit mask on the way as he walked towards his leader, he pushed and shoved his way through his bandit friends until he stood face to face with the bandit leader. He was a large man, covered in scars from head to toe, a booming voice accompanied with his body builder physique.
"What does fate hold for them?" the unusual bandit asked shyly.
"Fate, fate does not hold anything for them. They make their own decisions, for which they choose their future with every action they take." the bandit leader spoke, his words loud and brash.
"I see, so they all will perish?"
"Most of them," the bandit leader began, "Most have all ready not agreed to our terms."
"I understand." the unusual bandit said softly, he slowly walked away from the leader and sluggishly made his way to the back of the trader camp, he sat down and lowered his head. Closing his eyes, he awaited the death of the traders. For the man was right, he wasn't like the rest, his heart was pure and actions good. He had just ended up with the wrong crew and the bandit life is the only he had ever known.
A figure stepped out from the woods, he leaped forward at the closest bandit and stuck his blades deep into his chest, a smile soon grew on his face as he pulled his weapons from the bandits chest and watched happily as the body slammed into the hard dirt ground.
"It's Grave." a bandit spat, aiming an arrow he fired for his face. Grave jumped backward and twisted his head to the side, the arrow flew pass his face, almost catching him in the eye. Gracefully he moved about the camp cutting bandits down one by one, his swords spun elegantly in his hands almost as if Grave had made killing artistic. Soon only the bandit leader remained, Grave approached and raised his blades.
"A duel to death?"
"If you so wish it." Grave replied, he took no time after he spoke, rushing forth he jabbed a blade into the bandit leaders side. Spinning off his right foot he then thrust another blade into the other side of the man. Grave leapt off the ground, hands still grabbing his blades. As he spun forward in the air his blades moved, tearing up the insides of the bandit leader. As Grave landed onto his feet he watched as the large bandit stumbled around for a moment, he gave out a quick roar in pain and then fell onto the forest floor, dead.
"Another dead so easy." Grave muttered as he pulled his instruments of death out from bandit leader. He carefully scanned to blood bath that he has just made and was pleased. But something caught his eye, in the far edge of the trader camp a lone bandit lay, eyes slammed shut and hands covering his ears. Grave questioned himself a hundred times, no bandit would just watch as he lay waste to his friends. He shook his head and snorted in disgust, "I guess I will kill a coward." he made his way to the bandit and nudged one of his blades underneath his neck.
