Chapter Text
When the warden had walked up to the fortress's gates and demanded a duel for the castle's ownership, Lycaius Ravenchosen had been taken aback. A lone warden, with unfamiliar heraldry, pounding at the gate… this was unprecedented. The lawbringer grabbed his helm and halberd, walking down to the keep’s courtyard. Even for a lawbringer, who are typically mountains of men, Lycaius was enormous, primarily due to his father being a Valkenhime raider who had laid down his axe years ago to live with his mother. Lycaius shook his head, refocusing. Not the time to reminisce. There is a fight to be won.
The Warden sat and thought. They watched the Lawbringer descend into the dusty clearing where their duel would take place and smiled. He would be an excellent addition to their forces, an imposing figure in his black armor, standing two heads above most men. The warden rose to their feet, leveling the flamberge at the Lawbringer. “I challenge you for command of this castle and your men, worthy adversary.” The Warden’s voice is raspy, the closest analog being a whetstone grinding a blade to sharpness. It is sharp, like a sword’s edge on a palm. The Lawbringer pauses in his advance, leveling his halberd in turn.
Lycaius was shaken when he heard the Warden’s voice. He had never really believed his father’s tales of Draugr, the walking dead. Now, he was not as sure in his dismissal of the stories. This… thing was terrifying. Lycaius raises his halberd, steading his voice. “I accept your challenge. To the concession?” The Lawbringer was unsettled by the Warden’s state. Bloodied, arrows piercing their back, yet some how still standing, their eyes burned with determination. Disturbed, he did not dare challenge them to the death, for he was not sure they were not already dead. He watched as the Warden nodded slowly, settling into a ready stance.
A herald counted down from three as the knights circled each other, waiting to see who would make the first move. Knowing they were at a disadvantage in range, the Warden rushed the Lawbringer, ducking their head and driving their paldron into his gut. The large man stumbled back briefly before throwing the Warden back. He comes down with a powerful slash, blocked by the sword. The Warden pushes him away, following up with a thrust towards the large man’s helm. Lycaius manages to deflect the thrust, pushing the blade to the side. He grunts as he winds back, screaming out.
“AD MORTEM, INIMICUS!”
The halberd swings down, an unstoppable crescent that can only be doged. Or… Parried.
The Warden catches the weapon with a strike from the flamberge, then quickly slams the crossguard into Lycaius’ throat, causing the man to struggle to breathe. He staggers, coughing before noticing the blade at his neck.
“Yield, Lycaius. You’ve a wolf in your heart, and I’d hate to waste one such as you. Join me.” The knight looked up at Lycaius, their eyes meeting through their helms. Lycaius was no coward, but he knew when to cut his losses. And those eyes… the determination that burned in them was disconcerting, to say the least.
“You win, Warden. The castle and my men are yours to command, as am I.” The large man pushed the sword to the side with his hand before stepping back to give a curt bow to the warden. The Lawbringer could not remember telling the Warden his name, but he pushed that aside as the other knight approached.
“Good, good. Horkos and Chimera will both retreat soon, as their casualties have been severe on both sides. Supposedly, they’ve both deemed this province not worth their time. We’ll correct their folly soon enough.” The Warden pressed a hand to their blood-stained tabard. “Although, a medic would not be unappreciated at the moment.” The knight took a few shaky steps before leaning against the wall for support. “Now, please.” The castle jumped into action, Lycaius helping his odd new Lord to the medical tent erected in the courtyard. The Lawbringer shook his head as he passed the statue of the keep’s old master, a warmonger that stoked the flames of the war that consumed this world. Apollyon. Hopefully, this new lord would be nothing like her, right?
…Right?
The Warden tossed and turned in their sleep before starting awake. She was sitting there on the chair by the fireplace. “Little Pup, I’m proud you managed to reclaim my home so fast, but… It’s gone a bit to shit, no?” Apollyon chuckled, that iron mask of hers even more disconcerting in the unsteady candlelight.
“Mother Apollyon, I had not anticipated you to return to me so swiftly. Do you have more orders for me?” The Warden was concerned, half-convinced that this was still a death-dream as they lay bleeding on the battlefield. They shook their head and, with it, their doubts. “No matter, I will do what you ask.” The specter paused, then tilted her head.
“Restore Blackstone Keep to her prior glory, amass an army, and stamp that bitch Astrea like the bug she is under your boot. That is all I ask for now, Little Pup. Rest. You’ll need it. Warmongering is tiring work.” The Warden nodded along, taking notes with a quill and parchment. With a curt bow, they returned to their bed, and began to sleep peacefully.