Oaths of Duty and Honor
The Northern Reaches of Valandor were a place of stark beauty and unforgiving wilderness, a land where only the strong and resilient could thrive. Here, amidst towering pines and snow-covered hills, Rhiannon Archer, known simply as "Archer" to those who knew her, had made her home. She was a Paladin of the old ways, a Barbarian Paladin who drew her strength not just from her physical power but from the very land she swore to protect.
Archer moved through the dense forest with the ease of someone who had spent her life in its embrace. The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and the cold bite of impending snow. The villagers she guided through the wilderness were less accustomed to the harsh conditions, their breaths visible in the frigid air as they stumbled over the uneven ground.
“Stay close,” Archer called over her shoulder, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had seen more battles than most could imagine. Her armor, crafted from the hides and bones of the beasts she had slain, was both practical and symbolic of her connection to the wild. Her sword, a massive weapon engraved with ancient runes, rested on her back, its weight familiar and comforting.
The villagers obeyed, their fear palpable as they huddled together, their eyes darting nervously at every sound. They were simple folk, farmers and craftspeople, unprepared for the violence that had torn through their village at dawn. Bandits had come, ruthless and without mercy, leaving destruction in their wake. Archer had arrived in time to drive them off, but not before lives were lost and homes were burned.
Now, she led the survivors to a safer place, her senses alert for any sign of danger. The land was quiet, too quiet, and Archer’s instincts told her that the bandits were not finished with their work.
As if on cue, a rustling in the underbrush caught her attention. Archer halted, raising a hand to signal the others to stop. Her green eyes narrowed as she scanned the shadows between the trees. The wind shifted, bringing with it the faint scent of unwashed bodies and metal—a telltale sign of those who did not belong in these woods.
Archer’s grip tightened on her sword hilt as she turned to face the direction of the noise. “Keep moving,” she instructed the villagers, her tone calm but firm. “I’ll deal with this.”
The villagers hesitated, but a sharp look from Archer was enough to spur them into action. They moved quickly, fear driving them forward as they followed the path she had laid out for them. Once they were out of immediate danger, Archer turned her full attention to the threat that lurked in the forest.
Three figures emerged from the shadows, their faces masked by crude cloths, their weapons drawn. Bandits, the same ones who had attacked the village. They spread out, trying to encircle her, but Archer was no easy prey.
The bandit leader, a tall figure with a mask covering most of his face, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he assessed her. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled down the mask, revealing a jagged scar that ran from his temple to his chin, a testament to past violence. “You should’ve stayed with your flock, girl,” he sneered, his exposed face twisting with contempt. “Now, you’ll die with them.”
Archer’s only response was a cold, assessing look. She had faced down beasts far more fearsome than these men. Her voice, when she spoke, was calm and even, belying the tension in the air. “Leave now, and I’ll let you live. Continue this path, and you’ll find nothing but death.”
The bandit leader laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the trees. “Brave words for a woman alone. Let’s see if you can back them up.”
Without another word, the bandits charged. Archer moved with the speed and precision of a seasoned predator, her hand finding the hilt of her sword and drawing it in one fluid, practiced motion. The first bandit lunged, his blade slashing wildly toward her shoulder, but she sidestepped, her feet light and sure. Pivoting with lethal intent, she brought her sword down in a powerful, controlled arc that cleaved through his chest armor, the steel biting deep into his flesh beneath.
The man’s eyes widened in shock, a brief, ragged breath escaping him before he crumpled to his knees. Blood seeped through his tunic, and with one final, shuddering exhale, he slumped forward, lifeless. His weapon slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a dull clang. Only the sound of Archer’s steady breathing filled the air as she turned, already prepared for the next attack.
The second bandit hesitated, fear flashing in his eyes as he saw his comrade fall. Archer pressed her advantage, her movements precise and unrelenting. She feinted left, then struck right, her sword cutting deep into the man’s side. He crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath as his life ebbed away.
The bandit leader, seeing his men defeated, snarled in fury and lunged at Archer with all his might. But his rage made him reckless, and Archer was ready. She parried his blow with a swift motion, the force of the impact reverberating up her arm. For a moment, they were locked in a deadly dance, their blades flashing in the dim light, but Archer’s experience and skill soon won out.
With a final, decisive strike, she disarmed the bandit, sending his weapon flying into the snow. He stumbled back, clutching his hand, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Archer stepped forward, her sword poised at his throat. “Leave,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Tell your master that the people of this land are under my protection. If you ever set foot here again, you won’t be so lucky.”
The bandit, pale and shaking, nodded frantically. “I’ll go,” he stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “I’ll go.”
Archer lowered her sword and watched as the man fled into the forest, his retreating figure quickly swallowed by the shadows. She sheathed her weapon, her breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
As the tension of the battle faded, Archer turned her attention back to the path ahead. The villagers would be safe now, but the threat they had faced was only a symptom of a larger problem, one that had been growing ever more apparent in recent weeks.
The forest, once vibrant and full of life, felt darker than it should. The animals were restless, their usual patterns disrupted. And there was a heaviness in the air, a sense of something unnatural encroaching on the land. Archer had tried to dismiss it as the natural cycle of the seasons, but the more she felt it, the more she knew it was something far more sinister.
She reached the settlement by nightfall, a small fortified outpost that served as a refuge for travelers and traders. The villagers she had saved were greeted warmly, the settlement’s guards helping them to food, warmth, and safety. But Archer did not relax. She had a responsibility to these people, and she couldn’t leave them vulnerable.
As she ensured the villagers were settled in, a figure approached her from across the courtyard. He was a young man, barely more than a boy, his face pale and gaunt from exhaustion. His clothes were travel-worn, and he stumbled slightly as he walked, as though his strength was nearly spent.
Archer met him halfway, concern etched on her features. “What’s happened?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm.
The young man looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. “You’re… you’re Archer, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“I am,” she confirmed, her tone encouraging him to continue.
The boy fumbled with a leather pouch at his side, pulling out a sealed scroll. The wax seal bore a symbol that Archer recognized instantly—Eldergrove. Her heart tightened as she took the scroll from him.
“They… they sent me from Eldergrove,” the boy stammered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “The druids… they said it’s spreading. The corruption… the forests… it’s all falling apart. They need help—your help.”
Archer’s pulse quickened as she broke the seal and quickly scanned the contents of the scroll. The message was brief but urgent. The druids of Eldergrove were calling for aid, warning that the corruption in Myranthia was spreading at an alarming rate. The message spoke of dark forces at work, of twisted creatures emerging from the depths of the forest, and of the need for warriors, mages, and anyone with the strength to stand against the growing darkness.
Archer’s hands clenched around the scroll as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. The land she loved, the people she had sworn to protect, were all in danger. And she was being called to action.
She looked back at the boy, who was watching her with a mix of fear and hope. “You’ve done well to bring this to me,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “Rest now. You’ve earned it.”
The boy nodded weakly, his relief palpable as he slumped onto a nearby bench. Archer turned her attention to Harlan, a grizzled man with a weathered face who had been watching the exchange with concern.
“I have to go,” Archer said, handing him the scroll. “Eldergrove needs me. The corruption is spreading faster than we thought. These people will be safe here, but you must remain vigilant. The threat isn’t over.”
Harlan took the scroll, his expression grim. “We’ll do what we can,” he replied. “But the people here trust you, Archer. You’ve been their shield for so long. Are you sure this is something you need to do?”
Archer met his gaze, her eyes resolute. “I have a duty to all of Valandor, not just to this village. If I don’t go, the darkness will spread, and
more lives will be lost. This is what I was meant to do.”
Harlan nodded, understanding the weight of her decision. “Then go with our blessing. And may the currents guide you.”
Archer offered a brief nod in thanks before turning away. She gathered her belongings quickly, securing her sword and supplies with the efficiency of someone who had done this many times before. The night was cold, and the wind bit at her skin as she stepped outside the settlement’s walls, but she barely noticed. Her mind was already on the journey ahead.
The path to Eldergrove was long and treacherous, but Archer had faced worse. She would travel alone, as she always had, guided by her instincts and the land itself. The corruption was spreading, and every moment she delayed could mean more lives lost.
As she moved through the darkened forest, the silence was broken only by the soft crunch of snow beneath her boots. The trees loomed above her, their branches heavy with snow, and the air was thick with the scent of pine and earth. But beneath it all, Archer could sense the creeping darkness, the unnatural force that was tainting the land.
Her heart was heavy, but her resolve was strong. She had made her choice, and she would see it through. The land needed her, and she would not fail it.
The journey would take her through the heart of the forest, where the trees grew so tall and thick that they blotted out the sky. It was a place where the spirits of the land were said to be strongest, where the ancient magic of Valandor still lingered in the air like a living presence. But it was also a place where the corruption was said to be at its worst, where the twisted creatures of darkness roamed freely.
As she traveled, Archer couldn’t help but reflect on the oath she had taken so many years ago. The oath of a Paladin was a sacred bond, a promise to protect the innocent, to uphold justice, and to fight against the forces of evil. It was an oath she had taken willingly, with full knowledge of the sacrifices it would require. And now, as the darkness threatened to consume the land she had sworn to protect, that oath had never felt more important.
The night wore on, and the cold grew more intense, but Archer pressed forward, her steps steady and determined. She knew that the path she had chosen was a difficult one, but she also knew that it was the right one. The land needed her, and she would not falter.
As she neared the heart of the forest, the air grew thick with an oppressive energy, and the once-familiar sounds of the wilderness were replaced by an eerie silence. The trees, ancient and gnarled, seemed to close in around her, their branches twisting like claws in the dim light of the moon. Archer could feel the corruption growing stronger, its dark tendrils seeping into the very earth beneath her feet.
But she was not afraid. She had faced darkness before, and she would face it again. Her sword was ready, her resolve unshakable. The druids of Eldergrove had called for aid, and she would answer that call with every ounce of strength she possessed.
With a final glance back at the settlement, now barely visible through the trees, Archer set her sights on the path ahead. The journey would be difficult, but she was ready. The call of Eldergrove had been heard, and Archer would answer it with all the strength and courage she possessed.