The Warden | A For Honor Fanfiction

On the Road

"Famine. This place houses their seed grain. There will be no new harvest. By winter, they will be killing each other over what little food is left." The fire continued to rage in the village below. Desperate cries rang from the scattered defenders as the words repeated, over, and over again. So many dead, and so many more to follow. These were not the goals of the oath. I knew what had to be done.

———

It was a cold morning in Ashfeld, when I woke up in that same tent as so many other nights. Like so many other nights, it was an almost pointless rest. I had slept for hours, yet I still felt exhausted, tired, even mad at times. Groaning, I gradually rose to a sitting position, the thick furs and fabrics sliding off me as I did. Sure enough, my body ached and throbbed as I sat fully upright.

I can't remember the last time I was able to sleep properly. Of course, I had rested many times. Dreamless, uneasy, worried rests that never left me feeling any better. Sleep has eluded me for a long time now, years even. I suppose I shouldn't be too bitter, all things considered. I'm hardly a man in the worst shape of his life. Well, from a literal point of view I suppose.

My name is O'Carrick, Liam O'Carrick, not that anyone really calls me that anymore. These days it's more often "Warden", or "Traveler". Even more recently though, it had become "Deserter". Once I had been a member of the Blackstone Legion, a fearsome band of Knights, carrying some of the most impressive warriors in the land within their ranks. But not anymore. Not since I started to question the methods of our Warlord, Apollyon...

"Tch, Apollyon..." I thought to myself. I raised my eyes and looked to the land surrounding me. Among my few belongings were my armor, chainmail with one or two links broken, but easily repairable if I could find a blacksmith. A few well forged steel plates, one molded to look like a roaring lion. A steel helmet, still bearing scratches and small dents from my time on the road. And a gambeson jacket to put underneath it all. To the left of that was my sword, a steel blade with an intricately detailed cross guard, and a hilt wrapped in vibrant blue cloth. Once it had belonged to the warlord Daubeny, whom I had served before Blackstone, until it had been gifted to me. A few other supplies, food, a satchel, and a few furs for the cold. Like I said, not a man in the worst shape.

I took the next hour or so to don my armor, a process that I had grown all too accustomed to doing alone, and packing up my supplies. I wouldn't worry too much about food this morning, I was only a few hours away from the nearest settlement. With any luck, I would arrive before noon, and I could find my rest. I was on route to Morrowgale, a small town of farmers and fishermen, and if I was in favor with my God, a blacksmith or two. After I had finished packing and getting armored, I stepped outside, wrapping the warm brown furs along my shoulders as I stepped outside the tent.

Around me were the hills and trees of Ashfeld, normally vibrant and green, now covered white with fresh snow. The path before me showed no signs of footfall, with even the steps I had taken the night prior to setting up camp long gone from snowfall. I had become familiar with them in my long travels, having passed through each of them more than once. All that was needed was to pack my tent, and I would be traveling upon them once more. That's all I really did now, travel, wander, go from place to place.

"Just another day." I said to myself, trying to keep my mind occupied. When I finally finished up my packing, I placed the canvas into the satchel, and slung the thing over my shoulder. There was a soft rattling from the beaten cooking supplies I carried with me, interrupting the silence of the wood around me. I paused for a moment, seeing if any other noises filled my ears. The snapping of a twig, the sound of disturbed snow, anything that might indicate I was being watched. A moment passed as I looked around me, scanning the trees for any signs of movement. Then another moment passed, and another after that. Satisfied, I adjusted my satchel to hang from my waist and pressed on into the cold.