Guardian: #1 Spell Bound

Chapter 4

The giant figure stood in the cold rain. Inside the rusty iron armor was trapped a man, a man with scars. His blooded claymore rested barred into the dirt. His foot stood on top a soldier's decapitated head. The man took a deep breath, the sound echoing inside his iron prison.

The knight tried to crawl away, his helmet ripped from his head during the fray. He had witnessed his comrades' death just moments ago. He knew what they were up against, and he knew he would most likely die. The iron helmet covered the man's face, leaving the armor to look like a cold, empty shell. With only the sound of heavy armor against the ground, the knight knew his end was near.

An unforgiving blade penetrated the struggling knight's abdomen, as the iron figure relaxed once more. He gave one quick and devastating pull retrieving his claymore, from the steel armor. Leaving an eerie silence to the world around him, even the crows refused to hawk. The man was without remorse or mercy.

He knew the curse of his past. He had been spell bound into a suit of iron armor. A cruel looking peace of armor, to scare away travelers, but unlike normal outcast, he was cursed to live forever, not even able to die for lake of food, or of need of thirst. He wasn't even sure if he was still a man. The armor was his prison, where ever he walked, never again able to feel the wind against his face. He had endured severely years of this, and would for the rest of his mortal life. There was no relief, only pain, he was in a constant state of forced penance.

Some called him a ghost; others believed him to be a scary story. Only he knew the truth, and to himself he kept it. He had many titles, repeating none for a personal name. He had forsaken his true name long ago, considering it a lost memory. He now only knew one thing, his hatred and he spread it across the world, to strike fear.

He glanced back at the city, off the distance bellow the hill he now stood on. The tree had wilted, and the branches barren, no longer carrying leaves. He started his heavy waltz down the hill side, leaving the massacre of dead bodies there. The dead tree would be their only tomb stone, and their only memory. No one would remember them, like no one had remembered him.

The heavy set man drank his last pint of all as the iron figure walked inside the tavern, all persons freezing in fear. They knew the stories, the rumors, he was the Iron Knight. He was the one responsible for the last three burn villages and the murders of over a thousand of the king's guard.

"Doeth my eyes deceive me? Or may this be thee Iron Knight?" A bard called out.

"What say ye?" Another called, as the figure stood still in the middle of the floor.

In a deep, menacing growl of a voice, the figure responded, "That is one of my names."

"And doth though come to destroy us?" The bar tender said in terror, as she leaned back.

"Only if though wishes, right now I desire a melody." The Iron Knight responded, as he took a seat next to the bar.

"And what tune should I play?" The bard questioned.

"A song of war," Replied the knight ominously.

"I can do that." The bard stuttered as he stringed his harp.

The room had become more relaxed, but a worry was still in the air, as the bar tender set down ale in front of the iron figure.