The Blackguard

His cell was quite damp. Water dripped quietly down the slimy cobbles of the walls and pooled onto the worn stones of the floor. The iron bars were etched with complex golden glyphs to prevent his patron from speaking to him and to keep his powers from getting him out. The dread and guilt haunted him as well as the awful nightmares, day and night. When Vol’mar’Ek entered his life several decades ago with a promise to remove these fears and his remorse over the loss of his wife.

This particular order of knights captured him more than a year prior so he could stand trial for the crimes for which they accused him and he had simply let them; his patron willed it so. While Bjorn remained ignorant of his master’s plans, he fully trusted the diabolical presence and allowed himself to be interred without his weapons and armor. He had languished in this cell since his capture, unsure if his patron had forgotten him or was merely testing him. He had a lot of time to reflect on his past.

He remembered his past. With his benefactor severed from his presence, Bjorn wallowed in the pain of his aging body, the agony of his loss, and even had some more recent memories of his old adventuring troupe. The ranger, the berserker, and the others. Oh yes and the wizard. Why was he remembering these people so vividly? And his question was answered as soon as it was asked, the familiar sizzling pop of the wizard materializing.

The knight stood in his cell, still an imposing figure even without his armor and weapons, standing nearly seven feet tall and leanly muscled, the scattered grey hairs in his stubble and the hairs that poked out from under his leather skull cap, betraying his actual age. The old warrior waited until the wizard addressed him.

“Bjorn. The darkness cannot hide you from me.” The wizard remained largely unchanged. His robes were richer, he bore more baubles, and he still had that damn cat lying serpentine about his shoulders. His thin black beard and mustache still told him that his age was about forty, though Bjorn knew he had to be much older, as Bjorn had known him for more than thirty years.

“Wizard. Have you come to collect me or are you to witness my doom?” A hint of amusement tinged his voice.

The wizard tugged a wand free of his belt and waved it at the bars. The enchantment vanished as the etchings faded. In a rush, Bjorn felt the return of his power, his fearlessness, and his conscience spiraled down a whirlpool void. He also heard the thunderous voice of his patron, Vol’mar’Ek speak directly to his brain,” Faithful servant, it is good to have you back. It is known that you never doubted me. For your faith I grant you a boon” Bjorn felt the massive strength flow through him, he felt as though he could crush stones like a giant.

Vyachislav spoke, “Bjorn, we have work to do, I invoke your old vows to aid us, and you will meet us at the ruins of Fort Belad.” He made as if to magick himself away again but stopped at Bjorn’s croaked question.

“Has the Fort fallen?” He had had no news in the past year, but he knew that there were more than a thousand troops garrisoned there, perpetually receiving reinforcements to hold back the orcish tide from the east.

The red-robed wizard frowned fractionally and replied, “It fell two days past, and the source of that disaster is the reason for our quest. This unknown power guides the Necromancers of the Black Towers who in turn fuel the reinforcements for the massive Orc army.”

Bjorn knew well those towers. He had been trained there many years prior, and his master chose to sever ties with the twisted wizards for reasons unknown to the Fellhanded. “Is it the metal wizard?” Referring to the construct that fancied itself as the enemy of mankind.

“That…creature…is no wizard, but I cannot tell that yet. For now, you must gather your equipment and meet us at the fort. I must not tarry longer; time is of the essence” Just then a face at the outer door appeared, eyes bulging in surprise and vanished as quickly, his frenzied shouts of alarm coming from the other side of the portal.

Bjorn concentrated a moment and sensed the location of his gear, buried deep in the earth, he loudly called out the name “Vol’mar’Ek!” and felt the familiar grips of his mighty, black-bladed axes in his hands, the warm embrace of his blood-cursed armor encasing his body then ran full tilt at the barred door smashing it to splinters, his new strength causing the walls to shudder with his passing. The two guards that remained to oppose him turned and ran at his approach. He cut down one of them and drained the lifeforce from the other with a touch. The shriveled corpse fell to the side as he stalked the halls.

Priests and paladins lined up in his path, nine of each. While the armored knights showed no fear, the priests looked skittish. As one, the holy men started chanting a synchronous cacophony of spells to prevent his escape and bolster the fighting prowess of the warriors. The steel-clad fighters advanced in formation, shields interlocking to make the iron defense impenetrable.

The blessed spears and swords grew larger as Bjorn charged them. His axes clove the holy shields like paper – the dark energy released sucked the life from the potent young men and his aura of fear started to penetrate even their holy fearless façade. Two of the men turned to run only to be immediately struck down by their lack of faith. The remainder of the men lunged at this dark nemesis as he deftly deflected their blows and with a slight smile, he nudged one warrior into the path of a well-aimed strike to be killed by the veteran’s comrade.

A gentle touch released the sorry victim’s soul into the eternal servitude of his master. Bjorn turned and cut down another warrior when a blast of sacred energy hit him fully from above, searing him painfully with both fire and divine energy. It managed to ignite two of the warriors closest to him and knocked the others away. The raw flesh of the two charred fighters smelled like burnt hair and pork chops causing the black-hearted knight to salivate for a moment, after all, he had not eaten a decent meal in nigh on a year!

With a wave of his gauntlet, he knocked the remaining knight out of the way, smashing the armored form into the priests. He then cut down the venerated holy men in a line, killing all but one. He advanced on the blubbering old fool with axes raised. The gibbering idiot tried to pray to his deity, but Bjorn silenced him with a supernatural shout. Oozing fear, the pathetic creature tried to whisper another prayer, but Bjorn, emanating palpable malice, snarled at him, “I am free again, and I will never again be caged by the likes of you. You may live…for now, but you now owe Vol’mar’Ek your life, you should start praying to him.” The priest’s eyes turned red, and his flesh started to burn as the dying sun’s rays touched his new vampiric form. He fled for the shadows, hissing.

Other minor priests, guardians, and servants scattered before him as he left. He whistled a haunting chord and his ancient warhorse appeared which he mounted and noting the drooping position of the sun as the afternoon became dusk, began to trot off in the opposite direction to collect the rest of his gear and eventually meet the others.

Writer’s insight: Originally, Bjorn the Fellhanded started out as one of the Woodsmen, a group of three warriors with Olaf the Orphanmaker (Ranger) and Farbjodhr AKA the Bodendrucker (Berserker), but I needed a fearless tank, so I turned him from a straight fighter into a Blackguard. I called them the Woodsmen because all three were dual-wielding axemen, designed to get massive amounts of physical damage in the front row. It was a nifty setup in video games like Baldur’s Gate and Icewind Dale because they were really fast and moved in on spellcasters before they could set up properly and start racking up sick damage while tying up more mobile enemy penetrators. Anyways, that is the mechanical side, I really like that Bjorn is evil now, because despite that he manages to do a lot of “good” things, kind of like the Punisher in comics. His methods are harsh, but good and evil are merely relative positions. After all, what is ‘good’ to one group could be ‘evil’ to another. I also like the irony that his desire to be free of the manacles of his loss led him to eternal servitude as a blackguard.