The Dawn

For the first time in months Richard had a dreamless sleep. He woke up feeling rested and determined to venture forth to the edge of the forest and see for himself what was waiting for him there. As he opened his cupboard, his fingers instinctively found the hidden panel where he kept his most prized possession. He pulled out a longsword wrapped in a red cloth, the dirt on the fabric revealing that it hadn't been used in quite some time. The sword had a silver blade and a gold handle in the shape of a dragon, a relic from his past life. The dragon on the handle represented strength, courage, and power, qualities that Richard had strived to embody in his youth. As he looked at the sword, he felt a surge of nostalgia and a pang of regret for the path he had chosen to take.

Richard took the sword out to the living room and gave it some practice swings in front of the mirror. He could see that his form was a bit rusty and could use more work, but he didn't have time now to correct it. Stringing his bow and quiver over his shoulder, he bid farewell to his cabin and set out on his mission with the sword by his side.

"It's just you and me again, old friend," he said to the sword, bracing himself for the unknown dangers that awaited him beyond the forest's edge.

As Richard walked into the Forest of Ren, he felt a sense of calmness wash over him. The forest was dense and ancient, with tall trees that seemed to reach for the sky. The ground was covered with a thick layer of leaves, and the air was filled with the sweet smell of pine and the gentle rustling of leaves. the weight of the sword on his back made him remember his past deeds. Memories of the lives he had taken with the sword resurfaced, and the guilt he felt had driven him to seclusion in the forest for the past two years. This relic from his past life had a story to tell, and Richard was not sure he wanted to hear it.

During the war between the kingdoms of Eriador and Arvandor, Richard had been known as the Crimson Knight for all the blood he had shed. He had despised the name, but he had embraced it nonetheless, using it to rally his troops. Now, however, he felt the weight of every life he had taken. He was broken from his reverie when he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. Richard walked cautiously, the rustling behind him growing louder. He drew his sword and turned around, only to see a deer staring back at him. He sheathed his sword and chuckled to himself, feeling foolish for getting worked up over nothing. But as he continued to walk, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He quickened his pace, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. The feeling of being followed persisted, and it wasn't long before he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Richard spun around, sword at the ready, and was met with a figure clad in dark leather armor. The figure was tall and lean, their movements fluid and graceful. They wore a black hooded cloak that obscured their features, and their armor was made of lightweight materials that allowed them to move quickly and silently. The only visible part of their face was their piercing green eyes, which glinted with a fierce determination. The figure wielded a slender, curved blade that gleamed in the moonlight

"Who are you?" Richard demanded, his grip on his sword tightening.

The figure didn't answer, instead lunging forward with a sharp blade in hand. Richard parried the attack with ease, his skill with the sword coming back to him like second nature. He countered with a swift strike, which the figure dodged with surprising agility.

Richard and the figure exchanged blows, their swords clashing in a fierce battle. Richard's experience and skill were evident as he anticipated the figure's movements and countered them with calculated strikes. However, the figure proved to be a worthy opponent, matching Richard's every move with equal speed and precision.

The fight continued, each combatant gaining and losing ground. Sweat beaded on Richard's forehead as he exerted himself, his muscles straining with the effort. He knew he could not afford to make a mistake against this skilled fighter.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Richard saw an opening. The figure hesitated for a split second, and Richard seized the opportunity, delivering a swift strike that landed true. The figure stumbled backward, clearly injured but not defeated.

Richard took a deep breath, readying himself for the final blow. The figure charged again, but this time Richard was ready. He blocked the attack and countered with a powerful strike that connected with the figure's chest. The figure let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground, motionless.

Richard stood over the fallen figure, catching his breath and sheathing his sword. He had won, but the victory was bitter. He didn't know who this figure was or why they had attacked him, but he knew that he had taken a life once again. He had wanted to capture the figure alive but, his instincts had always been taught to kill. He just didn't know how to defeat an opponent non lethally. So Richard did the next best thing he searched the body. He found a pendant around his neck in the shape of an eye. He instantly recognized it as the symbol of the Order of the Silver Eye. It was a secretive organization of skilled assassins and spies who operate in the shadows, gathering information and carrying out covert missions on behalf of their clients. They were from the continent of Valtaria.

Richard found it strange that one of the operatives of the organization was so far from their base here in the shadow of Ren. Whoever must have ordered for the order to target him must have deep pockets or a high influence to make them act against him. Even though he had been living a relatively peaceful life, his past deeds as the Crimson Knight, were more than enough to make anyone think twice before crossing him. He wondered if this had anything to do with the dream he just saw. He decided to proceed more cautiously onwards lest he face something similar and be caught off-guard.

He decided to go ahead without any rest knowing that he was close to the edge of the forest and it would just be a few more hours of walking to get there. Luckily the fight hadn't left any severe injuries and he didn't have any trouble moving. He once again set off, and another memory of his past surfaced to him. He remembered the thrill of battle, the rush of adrenaline, and the feeling of power that came with it. The memory was vague, but he could see flashes of his crimson armor, the emblem of the knight, a red rose with golden thorns, that he wore proudly on his chest.

Hi mind wandered back to his past, he remembered the great battle between the kingdoms of Eriador and Arvandor. He had been the Crimson Knight then, fighting alongside the armies of Eriador against the invading forces of Arvandor. The battle had been fierce, with the clash of swords and the screams of the dying filling the air.

Richard remembered standing at the front lines, his sword raised high as he led the charge against the enemy. He fought with all his might, cutting down Arvandor's soldiers left and right. For a moment, he felt invincible, as if he were a force of nature rather than a mere mortal. But the tide of the battle turned, and Richard found himself facing one of Arvandor's greatest warriors. The two of them clashed in a ferocious duel, with Richard's sword meeting his opponent's axe in a shower of sparks. His thoughts were once again interrupted when he heard a huge roar in the distance. It was in the same direction he was heading and he knew whatever it was he would encounter it before reaching the edge of the forest. His heart racing, Richard quickened his pace, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. As he drew closer to the source of the roar, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of creature could produce such a sound. The unknown dangers of the forest now seemed more ominous than ever before.