Takeda BW XXXVII

A Paladin sat atop a mighty white charger, larger than all around; he was dressed in field mail of burnished silver, shining in the sun, tabard proudly displaying the rampant horse of the men of Gos - Takeda knows he is Bavarik. At the head of a phalanx of cavalry he looked down from a ridge at the enemy below – devils from the lower planes of the Abyss. “On this day,” he shouted, “we press home our advantage!” Expertly controlling his feisty steed with his knees, his sword arm held aloft bearing his Avenger, he continued, “Sutur was set free by thy hand and thy heart. Today we rout thine enemy! Today we send them back to Alon! Today we free the mountains of Kaled Zem!” He turned his horse and trotted across the lines of cavalry. “My friends,” his tone softened although his words carried, “I have been with you since the beginning; we have driven the Demon Prince from this land and the Devil before us will meet with a similar fate!” He pointed with his huge sword to the enemy below. His path took him in front of a group of mounted archers, “Make certain of thine aim my friends, I would not wish to feel the weight of thine arrows in mine hind.” Laughter from all close by was met with his raised voice, “Stick them like the foul beasts that they are! Drive them from this land! Destroy every one of their foul ranks! We shall prevail! As Athena is my Lady, my counsel and my heart, we shall prevail!” With that he turned and charged his horse down the slope screaming, “Make this, the battle of Helfellion, a battle to remember!”

Only adorned in a white toga, held at the waist with a golden belt, and brown leather sandals, the Grecian God carried no arms nor armour. His white hair was short, well kempt and was held in place by a circlet of platinum. Neatly trimmed, his beard and moustache partially covered his tanned, care-worn face. His deep green eyes were fixed on the man in the distance as he whispered, just loud enough for Takeda to hear, “So, you believe that this is the one, daughter?”

“Yes Sire, I do,” replied a beautiful woman, similarly dressed in a lose, cream toga, edged with gold and tied at the waist with a silver belt. Long, flowing golden hair was tied in a low plait. High cheekbones and full, ruby lips accentuated her beauty. As her green eyes watched the man below, her expression flicked between curiosity, concern and conviction – this was the right choice.

“And he is the recipient of the Sylph that is able to become part of him and deliver our message to the Prime?” ask the older man.

“He is perfect…”

“He is able to wield the sword, will he not?”

“Father?”

“The Sword, the one that my brother covets so…”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I want my brother to be free of that Sword.”

“This has nothing to do with Hephaestus’ game?

“Of course not!”

“Father?”

“Well, if Hephaestus wants to give away Olympus’ most valued possessions, then I want something back; something valuable.”

“Is it that simple? Is that all you desire?”

“Of course not. They will fight over these treasures for millennia; during which they will pick you or Hephaestus, or even me to worship.”

“Oh father, this is about their lives – the youngest, who have the briefest moment to live on the Prime.”

“Then we have little time to ensure their souls turn to us! Look, you have chosen well; he is a great warrior.”

“Why did you not stop Hephaestus?”

“His wager was good – he demanded excellence but, by all our will, lost a fair contest.”

“Fair? You helped the Gnome. How could Hephaestus equal or better you without incurring your wrath?”

“My wrath?! My wrath! Why would I care? You presume too much daughter!”

“You knew, or wanted, him to lose. You wanted that stone to be in their hands. Was it just so you could have that Sword? Just a sibling rivalry?”

“Who cares if it was! Daughter, you had better leave me as I am tired of this conversation.”

“I will go, but you will know that I will do everything in my power to ensure the Sword does not come to you.”

“Then I will ensure the stone is also lost…”

“You are so petty; I have no interest in trinkets – no matter their power or origin.”