Creed of the Champions: Prologue

By Terrarian Pony

WARNING: Content of this story may include violence, gore, romance, same gender romance, and references to several other video games and TV shows. If anyone is offended by any of the content listed above, than please turn back now. You have been warned.

Author's note: This is an original story, that wouldn't be possible without the encouragement and inspiration of my art friends! Credit to Comicwing, Marbley, Enigmew, and Super Ferret, for supporting me at every turn!

Introduction: Welcome to Mythrolhia, land of the champions. People from every race, country, and culture come together to defend the weak, and challenge the strong. These are known as champions. These champions follow a creed to defend the rights of the innocent, but there those who would threaten the champion's creed for order, others for chaos. The champion's creed provides stability in Mythrolhia, and the champions will defend it at any cost, for those who impose their will upon the people, shall meet their fate at the end of a well-forged blade. Enjoy!

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Story: Terrarian Pony presents... Creed of the Champions

Prologue ...

It was Saturday night, a blood moon had risen, and the hoard was rolling into Journeysville. Zombies, spiders, and other horrors trying to raid the town. The guards stand their ground, holding off any threats that would dare destroy their home and it's citizens. One guard strayed from behind the others, whom didn't even notice, and made a swift movement towards the Protector's residence.

Before the guard entered, a mystical light swirled around him, his illusion broke, revealing his dark red, hooded robes. The cultist entered through the front door, whereupon he is met by two guards, guarding another door with bows and arrows. The cultist cast a bolt of blue lightning, killing one of the guards on impact. The second guard launched an arrow, but the cultist put up a transparent barrier of magic in front that slowed the impact of the arrow, allowing him to resist most of the damage. The cultist then threw a golden dagger into the guard's chest, making him fall to the floor, blood seeping from his wound, killing him in seconds.

These weren't the Protector's best men. What was he thinking? The cultist was expecting more fight, not that he wanted any. He was relieved that these two had died nearly instant deaths, but it did not fully relieve the sadness that he had killed two, innocent men who would give their lives for such a cause. They did not deserve it.

He pulled the arrow from his chest, brought his bow out, and readied the arrow on it. He kicked open the door, raising the bow and arrow, only to find that the Protector had not flinched upon his entrance. The man stood behind a desk facing away from it, and his attacker, staring at a painting of trees, and a plot of green, beautiful grass, a painted sun glowing over in the top left corner, a tree on the right. He stayed like that for a while, in silence, periodically sipping from a glass of wine, with an arrow pointed right at him from behind. He smiled.

“Everyone always says that the grass is greener on the other side.” The Protector chuckled. “I've never believed it. Not for one second. I'm pretty sure there is no grass on that side, or sky, no matter what you want to believe. It's all just a bunch of... well, nothingness."

Surprising to the cultist, the bow lowered, aiming at the ground.

“Protector… Glen Martial.” The cultist announced, in a rough, and raspy voice. “I've... I've been sent by the Children of Sate to kill you."

“Ah, that cult." Glen sipped again from his wine, licking his lips as it went down. “I figured as much.” He turned around, moving to sit down. “The question is... why? Are you doing it for them? For yourself? Or perhaps… because you think you have to?"

“It is..." The cultist wasn't sure how to answer that question. "Your death. It is necessary."

Glen sipped again, keeping his tongue moist, and his mind, rational. “Hmm... I suppose it is. My death, of course, will set things in motion. Things that will either lead to the future of your cause... or it's ultimate destruction. Either way, my death benefits someone."

“How are you not perturbed about this? Most champions would not except death without a fight.”

“If that’s my fate, that’s my fate. If my death brings meaning to this once great land, so be it. But know, that you will have to work to succeed in achieving your goals.”

The cultist was frustrated. A man was willing to die because he is tired, and he’s not even forty. This felt… wrong. “I take no pleasure in killing you." The cultist felt the need emphasize.

“Ah, but is not up to you, is it? However, there is one small thing. Might a dying man, get one last request?"

“Perhaps."

“I want to see the face of my killer. Even a glimpse will do."

What was this? Acceptance? This man… not just a man, the Protector of Journeysville, which basically meant Protector of Mythrolhia, would not even pull his sword to face his death. This man would die instead with a drink in his hand. This was the champion meant to represent Mythrolhia?

“I... do not fully understand your request. But I will respect it."

The cultist placed the bow by his feet, and began to remove the hood attached to his robe, revealing the face of a goblin underneath. His ears were cut off on both sides, marking his eternal exile from his clan.

“Clanless,” Glen commented. “I am sorry for your exile."

“I'm more sorry for this."

The cultist picked up the bow and arrow again, and aimed it at the Protector. Glen placed the drink on the desk, turned around again, staring at the painting, hands behind his back.

“Do what you must. But you can’t change fate. The day of reckoning will come.”

A few seconds later, the arrow had struck home, and there lay the body of the Protector. The impact of his fall caused the painting to come loose and fall next to him. After the deed was done, the goblin fled without another word or action, under the cover of night.

To be continued…