Many moons ago, a highly-acclaimed shaman, revered for his miracles of disease-curing potions, life-enhancing spells and spiritual promises of grandeur had promised the reluctant teenage warrior a cure for his father, through his medicines. All for a cost, but of course. Always a price for treachery. When still a young squire in training, The Fell Knight came to him in great faith and out of desperation, for he was a bit of a skeptic.
Something didn’t sit right with him about this man. His father was ill and he had promised him a cure for what could worsen if not treated. The Shaman proclaimed to him “an instant recovery, guaranteed!”, throwing his last allowance to him, the boy was filled with such happiness and the promise of being able to help his father. It didn’t work. He had passed. He remembers the words he was told by this great liar when going back to him, “sometimes the divine works in mysterious ways”.
In tears, the boy retreated but not before noticing skulls and shrunken heads in the back. “You’re a witch doctor! You wretched heathen! You’re a fraud! These are all useless liquids you sell to unsuspecting people looking for hope! You cost me my father’s life, so help me God I will expose you for the thief you truly are!” The Witch Doctor raised his gnarly staff and a green energy glowed. Frightened, the young knight ran in horror, sheer disappointment, and filled with the hunger for a deep revenge. He was to feed this appetite, at any cost. He would pay. The Fell Knight never forgot him. He never forgets anybody. It was midnight. A crescent moon above, smoldered by a gloomy outcast. The bronze straw hut of The Witch Doctor glowed blue from the moonlight.
Green embers from his torches were lit that night. A ritual was being performed. A small one, involving crystals. Some were rounded, some in various head shapes and others pointed and sharp. They were fixated in circles and other geographic shapes. A chant was heard coming from the hut. Overlapping the crescent moon was The Fell Knight’s new specialty sword, The Deliverance. A particular favorite of his. Entirely black as the night, highlighted with ancient ruin markings. Glyphs that would glow when activated properly by the user. Its shape, almost like a scythe. For to be able to wield it whilst alive, you must know of its hellish secret. The first person to make contact with it will be cursed with a demonic mental insanity of unimaginable agony. The user often kills himself. But if someone can kill the owner of the sword and gain ownership, he would have it with no adverse effect.
This was the rite of passage in which the sword of darkness requires, in order to move the night. It is in this which The Fell Knight played someone a fool in order to wield it for his needs. He had the sword stolen from a blacksmith known to retrieve magical items from the far East, often for sale. He had concealed it in a chest and asked a passerby for help in unlocking it. Acting surprised that it was a mere sword upon opening it, he had offered it to the stranger as thanks. He immediately obliged, for it was as a stunning sword with a beautiful otherworldly blue aura to it. He unsheathed it and his eyes began turning to white. Screaming as if he was being tortured, he had grabbed his hair, ripping it out in pieces. The Fell Knight swiftly struck the crazed man with his red blade, ending his misery.
The Deliverance was his. He could now sway the literal darkness of the night and cast it upon his prey, driving them to insanity. The visions of Hell and its howls would fill their minds. Their deepest terrors, amplified to unholy proportions. He could also vanish into the void and reappear so long as the darkness is there to feed upon. A grim new look for the Fell Knight as he was veiled with a reaper-like cloak, “The Devil’s Mane”. It would cast an extra layer of the nether chakras, concealing him more so in the night. It would heighten his senses as well, allowing him to see further with his eyes and hear things in the far horizons. In turn, he would hear the screams of the nightmares of those surrounding him. This was covering the skeletal markings now donning his face. He wanted to strike psychological fear into this monster. With his scythe in hand, the grim reaper loomed upon the entrance of the hut. Rustling the fine straws of his door, the hungry Fell Knight was ready to feed.
He had another ace up his sleeve to combat this dark saint. If someone were to know a Witch Doctor’s true name, he would decrease his ability to spellcast, for a name is a very sacred element in magic. After all, this was an extremely dangerous user of the dark arts. He had to take great precaution in battling him. “...Excuse the intrusion, is the incomparable shaman available to prescribe a cure for his imminent demise? Death has yet to be accommodated by your services and he has grown impatient with you…Shalashango.” “...W..Who are you!? How dare you! What is the meaning of this? How do you know that name!!?” All that stood before him was a gastly image of death incarnate. Statuesque. Deliverance began to glow. “I’m afraid one of your elixirs had quite an adverse side effect upon me- it made me want to wipe you from the soils beneath our feet.” The Witch Doctor raised his staff and launched a green flame he had cast from it towards The Fell Knight, barely missing him.
Mocking him, The Fell Knight grabbed one of his concoctions from the shelf and drank it proclaiming, “Now this special mixture will make it so that I will rid you instantly. Guaranteed.” The glyphs on his blade glowed that unholy blue and he disappeared. Stunned in disbelief, the doctor was baffled at his level of sorcery. Not even he could manipulate space at will. Reappearing behind him, he waved the sword in circles over his head, enacting the spell of madness upon him in great intensity. Holding him by the throat from behind with a firm grip, he cast it upon his entire body, then gathered the blackness of the air around him, powering the sword. It now glowed a devilish purple, turning his victim to face him. The purple glyph made it so that one’s soul could be consumed by the sword’s master. His energy would replenish his own. He uncloaked himself, revealing the visage of Hades himself.
He did not recognize him. Raising the sickle-edged sword to the moon’s canvas, he maliciously whispered to his ear, “Sometimes the divine works in mysterious ways, but the wicked work in direct deliberation…” He swung it, slicing his lips off. “No more promises from you.” Nearby lay the sharp, dagger-like crystals the sorcerer was using earlier. “Here! An amethyst to the third eye, for higher vibrations and tranquility!” The Fell Knight removed the gauntlet from his left hand. He ripped The Witch Doctor’s heart from his tainted chest, and for the first time in so long, raised it to the moon and fed his revenge to satisfaction. “Now I will turn you into the shit that you are.”
Before leaving, he noticed many interesting artifacts, tomes and jewels that were of use to him. He had acquired new forms of magic, the ability to combine sword techniques and had increased his overall power and magic source from these relics. A new glyph was activated upon his Deliverance sword from his acquired knowledge of the arcane. It made it so the sword could glow a poisonous green, causing the minds of others to be filled with a toxicity towards their own comrades, betraying them or even killing them. He could turn kingdoms against one another with this capability. An unspeakable black magic imbued now in the hands of the Fell Knight. He grew mad with power that night, but was silent.
He was changing. Veering towards what others even before him on The Path of Ruin had not- The Path of Acceptance. Of becoming a Fell King. Just as only one could be a potential Risen Knight, another could become its polar opposing force, The Fell King- a force that is more of indifference and complete annihilation. Oblivion. The Black Phoenix that must never be allowed to spark. The Fell Reaper faded into the void of the night.
The burning hut glowed orange now.
Chapter V, "The Shaman," portrays the Fell Knight's confrontation with a shaman who had once deceived him, promising a cure for his father's illness. This chapter is a stark exploration of betrayal, vengeance, and the pursuit of justice. It depicts the psychological transformation of the Fell Knight as he grapples with feelings of rage and the consequences of his thirst for retribution. This intense encounter highlights the moral complexities of revenge, showcasing the character's change towards an acceptance of his darker instincts and the blurred lines between justice and destruction.
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