Lord Rokinges
Official Fanfiction Judge
The WYVERN CAVALIER
[WYVERN: a dragon (sort-of) headed snake creature, realmed in the ground]
[CAVALIER: a rider of some sort; a person of cavalry]
A fanfiction.
Characters:
Serpentine (Sir-penT-een)— he is Wyvern Rider, the one man to ever tame a Wyvern Dragon. He is skilled for using a broadsword in battle, as well as being able to enchant items, for he was trained by a long-dead warlock. With a stilled long, unknown past, Serpentine has made many allies. Almost every “evil” considered person is his enemy.
Forje (forGe)— an inventor, he has created objects of all sorts. He wears a single goggle on one eye, and has dark red hair. He is smart, but not skilled in the pure way of battle and sorts.
Rokinges (r0ck-in-jeez)—a former lord of Dark Elves (massacred at the Battle of Grates by Imperial skirmishers), and a current lord of the Red Arrow. They are a heavy bandit group that prey on travelers and are in constant battle with the 3rd front of the Imperials. Rokinges frightens enemies with a menacing hood cast over his head, so his yellow eyes glow. One of his arms is made of a sort of black metal, most likely iron.
BACKSTORY
Serpentine and his ally, Forje, travel through the Mere Forests after battling an Argonian assassin hired to kill them. Serpentine searches for his beloved pet, the Wyvern [whose name is Daid (DA-eeD) and had stayed with him 20 years], and he knows he will do everything necessary to find his creature. Forje expects no real attackers, but Serpentine knows—who ever took Daid won’t go down without a fight. And neither will he.
Serpentine contemplated his broadsword and balanced it on his stretched fingers. Abruptly, he then closed his hard grip over the leather hilt of the blade and swung it in a full circle, knocking down the Argonian assassin who was charging at him with a single scimitar. The Argonian still lived, but that would end shortly. Serpentine whirled his blade in the air, and brought it down heavily, mustering all the suffering that had occurred to him when Daid disappeared. The sword plunged itself into the throat of the lizard-like creature, and blackened blood spilled out, washing over the weapon and floor. A hoarse scream emitted from the lizard’s pierced neck, and in a matter of seconds, the creature was dead.Forje yelped as blooded came into contact with his ironite shoes. “Can you please, ever cleanly cut off the scum’s head? Ever? Save us all from an ocean of blood!”
The hooded rider stepped over the Argonian’s hand. He reached down to grasp something, and as Forje realized what it was, Serpentine inhaled it’s sickly scent.
“His scimitar? Why would you sniff his scimitar?” Forje enquired.
“Poison. Someone wanted us dead. Argonians are the ideal assassins—notice how it came out of nowhere? I’m betting it was the men who stole Daid.” Serpentine began to go through the body, looking for any sign of payment or a letter to kill.
Forje sighed. Two weeks since Daid disappeared, and Serpentine insisted he had seen a man with pale red skin and spiked, black armor take his Wyvern. The chubby dwarf wasn’t sure that was possible—how could one man steal an entire Wyvern? Shouldn’t it have fought back? Serpentine had muttered nonstop about how he used chained cannons to immobilize it, then used white magic to entrap and teleport it someplace far away.
Wyverns were snakelike creatures with sort of heads of dragons. They had armor as hard as Daedric metals, but it could not be harvested for human used. When it was shed, the metallic structure dissolved. They were a fierce sight to look at, and no one could manage to ride one (it had been attempted) for hundreds of years.
For a full week Serpentine had been assigned to the dungeons for going into a craze and knocking out two Imperial guards. He had tried to escape 4 times, each time farther than the last. When he was released, Forje had been there and tried to comfort him, but he shrugged it off. Then, a day later, he asked the inventor if he could go on a quest with him. Forje was pleased, but he did not know that their adventure would include battle and fighting. It may have been a small hike in Forje’s mind.
Forje was no warrior. He was an inventor, but never rich due to the fact that he kept on creating items that need money. When men ask him of this, he smiles and says: “Money is one of the least important things in this world!” Then he’d go towards the furnace at the top of the Dunbar Hill. His plans were spread out there, waiting for him, and the people from his village never stole or anything. Oh well, Forje thought.
Forje looked like the ideal dwarf. He had dark, reddish hair, stood four feet five inches, and had a mechanized goggle over on eye he had invented for himself. It let him see through that eye, for he was born with that the malfunction. The goggle was called the Dsmoe, in the name of his loved village. It was not much in demand, because not many people were blind and Forje had gone to great measures to make sure they were indestructible. Still, when citizens knew these masterpieces had come from Forje, they treasured them. Serpentine, on the other hand, was avoided for his recent activities. Rumors went around he was a shade, but Forje laughed at them.
Serpentine was a Nord. He had little facial hair, the color of ash. In the Imperial city, when Daid was still here, he had been training nonstop at the barracks. Some people knew this was normal for him, other not. Rumors began of how he could just appear next to someone, them not noticing. Forje knew the real reason, of course. Serpentine had been trained by an elderly warlock on how to move silently and how to ambush enemies. When Serpentine had told him this, he said as an afterword: “But that’s not much help if you’re rearing up on a giant snake, eh? Hah!”
Forje wore a leather tunic reinforced with iron and light brass strips. It was a forger’s outfit. He carried a simple yet effective hammer at his waist. It could be used as a weapon as well as a tool. Serpentine wore dyed iron armor, but intricately designed. It was enchanted to withstand an attack from the back, so no rogue or assassin could send an arrow flying from his behind. Serpentine was fairly young, about 35-38 years old. He had not bothered to count. The broadsword Serpentine carried was plunged in a leather harness over his back, revealing itself over the dark iron; the blade gleamed like a sliver of white light on a dreary backdrop.
They were prepared to travel miles and miles, and they had done so already. Eight miles away laid the home of Serpentine, and eleven miles from there was the home of Forje. They still had to travel farther. The Mere Forest was nearby and in sight, and it was said to be cursed only at day, meaning werewolves and other creatures of sorts traveled not at night, but at day. Men speak of how if you walk in at noon, you are likely to be carried away in a matter of seconds for lunch.
Though the daytime was worse, in the night brigands and robber take cover in the forests, but are usually killed by large groups of clashing bandits. If you did not have a decent chance of survival and you were not alert the entire night, you almost be guaranteed death.
The Mere Forest was about two miles long, but Serpentine knew it would seem to take longer. Walking past those eerie trees that seem alive, feeling that you are watched. He knew they would engage in combat sooner or later in the forest, but he had not told Forje his suspicions.
“’Ey? Forje? When we’re in the forest, keep your voice down. Make sure you watch where you step. We can’t draw unwanted attention.” Forje nodded slowly, and the par began down the path as the sun over head was conquered by the cold moon.
()==[:::::::::::::>
Rokinges took two steps toward his lieutenant. “Two of them? Kill them! What are you waiting for?”
Lieutenant Dasadan replied slowly. “My men say they look like warriors—“
Rokinges interrupted incredulously. “So you have not seen these two men?”
“Yes, but—“
“But you better get out there and cut them down to pieces! Take ten men, for all I care. Bring me the loot!” Dasadan turned. “Idjit.” Rokinges muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
The brigands following the known bandit leader stared as he walked back to his fur tent. The bandits had been packing up before day arrived. None wanted to be caught when the monsters attacked. They had momentarily stopped to watch their headman verbally abuse the lieutenant—it happened often. About half the lawbreakers likes Rokinges, and the others admired Dasadan. The 2nd general had followed order without a word, but to the soldiers, he spread rumors. Dasadan seemed to be gaining more respect by spreading gossips, and Rokinges had no clue. As their main leader disappeared into the forest toward his tent, the bandits resumed their current work to taking down their tents and packing their supplies.
Rokinges was known for being somewhat kind to his followers, yet in his own way. He would insult them, and then help them in whatever they were doing. He used a spear in battle made of pure onyx. One of his arms was pure black ironite (differing from iron), an enchantable metal. He lost in the battle of Grates, a late war between imperial armies and his bandits, the Red Arrow. The Red Arrow was the losing side in the end after a year of fighting, but they still keep their known territory safe by defending viciously against Imperial skirmishes and ambushes.
He wore a cowl over his face to disguise his pale skin, the skin of a Darkened Elf. He disliked, though, that he had no way of covering his vampyric eyes. They constantly glowed, and gave him away always when he hid among his men to find treachery. His torso and legs were covered by the famous Daedric armor, crafted from the hands from Loatre the Demon himself. He walked briskly, always like he had an immense purpose.
The former Dark Elf lord grabbed the shoulder of a follower next to him. The man halted, the chains in his chainmail armor clinking around as he tried to straighten himself. “Spread the word that we leave for good this time. We head back to the Arcem. Tell the messenger to send men to speed up our progress.”
The man nodded wordlessly, and he continued walking towards a group of them talking to each other. As he gave them the news, their expression remained thoughtful, and they began to spread the wording. Rokinges sighed as he stood rigidly, giving no sign of contentment except that exhale of breath. He had just stretched his aching legs, while standing regally at the same time.
Now what would make it perfect (after eight day of camping in the darned planes and this forest) would be some worthwhile loot.
()==[:::::::::::::>
Forje glanced around fearfully, thinking of ghostly shadows moving in the dark. He muttered to himself every second, swearing and praising gods and all. Serpentine had had enough—he could have been yelling in the dark eerie forest. The trees seemed to wrap around the two travelers, catching any noise, and then opening and announcing the sound to the world.
Serpentine glanced around in all directions, including behind them. Then he froze. Someone—in the trees’ shadows—was watching them.
The Wyvern rider grabbed the arm of his dwarven companion. “Shut up!” Serpentine muttered fiercely. Forje seemed to sense what was happening. He stood still, along with Serpentine. Squinting into the darkness, the inventor made out a vague shape with his one eye. Then Serpentine jabbed him in the ribs and murmured under his breath, “They’re over there.”
Forje whispered, “There’s one there too.” Serpentine noticed what he was staring at. It was another human figure, and two behind that one.
“Gods. They… are everywhere.”
As he spoke, about seven figures stepped out of the gloom and showed themselves. All fit, all armed, all equipped with a round buckler, and all covered with leather armor. They had grim expressions on their faces, mixed with cold smiles and grins, showing that they had done this before.
Serpentine hefted his broadsword, Forge ready with his hammer at his side. They stood erect for a moment, both sides pondering what the next move would be. Then the lawbreakers’ leader walked up.
“Hi, there.” Dasadan spoke.
“I’m guessing bandits?” Serpentine muttered, louder than he intended.
“That’s right! You have any…hmm… goods you have to declare. Of course, when you’ll be dead, we’ll just search you and find all the good stuff. But—do you have anything of real value at the moment?”
Forje stood in pure fright. This was crazy—first seeing dark shadows, then dark figures, now bloodthirsty bandits? Why did he agree to come here with Serpentine?
Dasadan advanced slowly towards the Wyvern Rider, suspecting this one to be the head of the two. Serpentine hefted his broadsword at the same time the Red Arrow lieutenant deftly flicked his simple spear in a complete circle, dangerous and deadly.
The spear was a simple yet true redwood staff, two and a half meters long. The wood was reinforced with iron, and a leather grip lay under the center of the war piece. Finally, the tip was a simple shaft of pure silver, good for killing werewolves, stunning vampires, and cursing orcs. The silver ended at a malevolent needlepoint and the end, and Serpentine expected this article of weaponry was even more dangerous in the hands of someone who could use it. And noticing how Dasadan twirled the long stave so gracefully and easily, he knew how to use it.
Dasadan eyed his opponent. He carried a well-balanced broadsword, a simple shard of onyx in the center instead of the magnificent ruby and emerald others had. He could tell by the hue it gave off that the blade of the sword was enchanted. This was not a man to be reckoned with, the lieutenant thought.
He introduced him to Serpentine jokingly, and Serpentine was going to reply in the same manner, when he thought he could make this a spot to lower his enemy’s dignity.
“I… have been called many names. The Gyvatė motociklininkas, by the gnomes. The Il serpente Rider by the dwarfs. ‘Y Neidr Rider by the orcs.”
By then Dasadan’s smile had wavered heavily. He was reckoning who this man was, but had no idea—he had thought his insider had sent him to a different place. Away from here. When he caught “serpent” in the name, he was truly frightened, and his smile and signs of deviousness were momentarily lost.
“…And, by the common tongue, I am called Serpentine, the Wyvern Rider.”
The Red Arrow’s lieutenant’s spear was like lightening as it whistled through the air, still held fast by the carrier. Dasadan stopped it right in front of Serpentine’s eyes.
“What are you doing here, then?” Dasadan requested furiously.
“Looking for my Wyvern, stolen by a red-skinned man. Have you seen a snake erupting from the ground any time soon?”
The genie! Dasadan had recently thrown him into the dungeons, right after he committed the job. How had this oaf rider seen him?
Suddenly, a sliver of light burst over the mountains and the sun rose, to conquer the moon once more. It was day.
All at once, screeches and howls of inhuman creatures erupted through the trees.
()==[:::::::::::::>
Rokinges groaned. They had made it out of the tree successfully, but they had to wait for Dasadan and his men before they returned to their home. Suddenly, something rustled in the brush and bushes in front of the wide forest. Rokinges smiled grimly. Finally.
A man’s body (missing an arm) came flying out in a ragdoll motion, swinging in the air, and landed in a splits position in front of Rokinges and his men. They all gasped, and the Red Arrow leader knew that there would be no use waiting anymore. Dasadan had fallen prey to the daylight in the forest.
But, voices! Someone was yelling orders, a vaguely familiar voice screaming to get out into the open. The Lieutenant appeared with four other men, and two collapsed. Rokinges frowned. These two weren’t part of Dasadan’s team?
Dasadan prodded them forward with a bloody spear, and they both got up in unison, weapons at the ready. “They both tried to run and killed two of my men, m’lord.” Dasadan quickly lied.
Serpentine acknowledged this in indignation. “We did no—!”
Dasadan interjected and said, “They should spend a few years in our dungeons to sober them up. Of course, there not much to clean up, eh? They’ll be frozen solid!” He guffawed for a second, and then used the foot of his spear to knock out Serpentine by hitting him in the face.
Rokinges sighed. More than two men lost would be hard enough—they to pass the Barren Orcs to get to their homeland. They needed their men to pass safely, but they had less now. Suddenly, he was filled with hatred for the two travelers.
“Alright, take ‘em! The rough ride on the back of our horses will hurt them enough, but they’ll die within the day in our dungeons!”
()==[:::::::::::::>
Lord Rokinges made various steps so they would not have to face any bandit orcs. They could have wiped out a whole clan of them if they had the proper gear, but this had been a looting mission and stealth was key—meaning limited provisions.
Rokinges was a lord of all bandit lands. He was known well throughout the country, but was growing old—the elderly age of 71; he still went on raids and missions that involved treasure, slaughter, and death.
This attack where they camped out in the forest for two days, then left and returned to their home was known by the Red Arrow as lootbringers. Surprisingly, men traveled through these dangerous woods frequently. They were mostly poor farmers and such who decided to wield a nice (rusty) sword and clomp there way, occasionally slicing vines and making a racket to scare of predators.
Or so they thought.
It was not predators (at night) that roamed the trees, it was bandits. They would circle the people, steal their possessions, and leave them for the day’s monsters to finish the job. There were usually no more than four or five people who traveled together.
This was Rokinges’s last voyage until death. He would return to the Arcem, meaning fortress (of the Red Arrow.). Then he would rule until the standard age of 80, and thus become an elder alive happily to the last of his days.
Rokinges enjoyed tormenting and scaring poor people. What he liked more, though, was yelling orders at his slow men. That’s why he did not do much of the fighting (he considered himself too old, anyway) when they committed lootbringers. Though he did not, many men considered his blade (on his enchanted iron arm) to be one of the deadliest.
He was getting old, but not that much. He went to such measures to remain undetected (they could not afford a fight) that they sent the horses ahead of them. The barbarian orcs wouldn’t even look at the powerful ponies that held their items as they trotted pass.
The plan was to scurry across the land and hide behind the rocky outcrops along the barren areas near their base. It would be hard enough for them to see, due to the intense heat; it was almost a desert, except with no plants or greenery.
()==[:::::::::::::>
It was taken out. Rokinges, Dasadan, and the rest of the men (including the insolent prisoners) passed the Barren Orcs. They were eight miles away from their home. The brigands were taking a break due to the over exhaustion for the two men who had carried unconscious Serpentine. He had woken a few minutes ago, groggy, but Rokinges brought back his fist and punched him squarely in the nose. His head fell back, and he was unconscious once again.
They began the long trek once again. After an hour in the heat (about 3 miles), Forje trotted up to Rokinges at the head.
“Where are we going?”
Rokinges considered punching the clever dwarf in the face, but decided against it. “We are heading to the Red Arrow stronghold, called the Arcem [arSS-emm].”
“Why do you say we would die quickly in the dungeons? We are quite tough, you know.”
The lord of bandits hesitated before he replied. “The temperature goes below zero about the time in this year. Even in this weather, the Cave of Forz is extremely cold. You would truly die.”
Forje frowned. “The dungeons are in a cave?”
Lord Rokinges withered. He decided to change the topic. “So, you have a… family?” When he said it, it sounded more like a threat.
Forje’s eyes instantly glazed. The Red Arrow leader knew he was actually get a response.
“Once. I had a son.”
“Just a son? No wife, or anything?”
“No , he was adopted to me. My late son….” Forje broke into tears.
“What happened?” Rokinges managed to maintain his gruff, hidden voice under his black hood.
“I was training him. For the first time, when he was fourteen, he went to the village forge on his own. Up on a low hill, but elevated so he was unnoticeable. Surrounded by scattered, varied trees, also.
“I was in my hut, and I left to see his progress on creating a fine steel blade. I decided to watch him from ten meters away. He was doing well.
“Then an arrow flew out of the safety of the trees and stuck him in his back. No sound exited his mouth. He then bent over, and, and… fell into the fire of the forge. His body was incinerated, never to be found. The bandits, I saw, came after, and I was helpless. I could not run, for they would see me. The leader laughed heavily, and grabbed the steel sword from the ground and took it for himself.”
Rokinges exhaled. He knew who this man was. He knew this leader very well, in fact. Rokinges himself had been waiting a mile away when the raid took place. The man, ruthless with just one son, was reckless, and that got him killed. It was a painful death—a bear tore him apart when he was still alive in the Wintery Mountains.
Dasadan’s father.
()==[:::::::::::::>
The Wyvern Rider awoke with a start. The bandits, who had carried him, along with the others, were yelling a deafening cheer. It was unaware whether they were being attacked or were being paid (or something like that).
Serpentine let out a slight as he rose sharply, drawing his broadsword (which he still had, strangely) and pointing it at the nearest brigand. The enemy paid no attention, and suddenly, as Serpentine faced the way they were looking, he realized why. An enormous fortress stood in front of the team. Black, spiked walls about 6 meters high surrounded a main area with scattered buildings, such as towers and barracks. Small specks of men ran and walked around he could see, all with a purpose.
Though the wall was not that tall, at least nine towers laid in divides along the front. They were part of the spiked wall—though there were only three sides defended by the walls. One was simple a large cliff/overhang that cast a shadow over the whole area. It was not a large overhang, just enough to make half the day covered in shadow, and the rest lightened. The cliff was enormous, and the top was same level as the pack was standing on.
What dominated the whole gorge (which the fortress stood in) was an immense square tower, seeming to be a hundred meters wide and five-hundred for the height. Men streamed in and out.
About three towers laid outside of the walls, with large crossbow mounts ready to cut down enemies. Serpentine knew that the 3rd Front of the Imperials, a group dedicated to capturing bandits, heavily battled the Red Arrow.
The men began mustering their packs and started to walk down a steep pathway to get on the same level as their castle. Serpentine followed, groaning once again. He noticed Forje walking near the front, near the Red Arrow’s leader, who name was… Rokinges?
He trotted up to Forje, almost tripping on a small outcrop in the way of him as he quickly went down the steep trail. As he tapped the dwarf on the shoulder, Forje turned and muttered hello. Serpentine knew something was bothering his companion. To be continued....
