Every great hero has their downfall, and with this, a vanquisher. For one, it's an enemy; it will come with the gleam of a sword. For another, death: its icy hand will lead them away in the safety of their sleep. For me? My fate was far worse.
I was once a mighty warrior, fighting in the name of the Wardens – a prestigious group of elites battling evil for the good of Dal Riata. I was exalted, held in high regard: some even dared say I sat by the gods. Alongside my comrades, I fought in fierce battles against dragons, wizards and beasts with names of which no one dares whisper. For a time, Dal Riata was at peace. The harvest was plentiful, the winters short. The mighty gods were favouring the valiant wardens.
Some say I was cursed by the jealous, others tell tales of my disrespect for the gods…so they punished me. Under the protection of the dark god Crom, an army of rebel wardens rallied in their thousands to overthrow us. Their leader, Madoc Blackstone, was the first to side with the evil deity, and plotted his betrayal.
It was the morning of Beltane when we were informed of a perilous mission in a mysterious world of unknown powers. As we stepped through the swirling portal, the skies were no longer blue; the trees had lost their emerald green. The only thing to greet us were the swords, bows and daggers of Crom’s army: the Blackstone Cabal. We tried to run, but the portal was sealed shut. I can remember cloaks of black as far as the eye could see, hurling weapons at us from all directions. It was here where we fell, ready to be greeted by Death. Oh, how we wished Death would come.
Our bodies are buried in the diseased Otherworld earth, our souls ripped from our mortal flesh by Crom himself, to roam for all eternity. For aeons, I’ve been waiting for him set us free at last, but the Gods imprisoned him in the fortress of Rath Parras. I have no choice but to aid in his release so I can plead for my freedom. Yet, no hero understands my struggle – they come to vanquish me, but disregarding that I am already dead. How I wish their swords could pierce my heart; to feel my warm blood; to gasp for air one last time. What of the Wardens of today? They fear entry into the Otherworld after they received news of our fate. They are weak, and a true hero must rise above them to restore their faction to its former glory.
As the most prized warden of my time, I faced the harshest punishment. I was to carry the burden of a chain made from the heaviest Otherworld steel, as a symbol of my suffering. Chained for eternity to Crom and his vile world. Chained to a lifetime of pain and torture. I, I am the Chained King.
497 words
Re: Competition - Through a monster's eyes!
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