FOREVER KNIGHTS: #3 Forsaking the Vanquished

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ACHARIUS - Dearburn

Bear’s Claw Tavern, NightVille, Nightway

ACHARIUS

Dearburn, another Forever Knight had persuaded Acharius to leave Rhyers at the caves and go for a drink and conversation.

Acharius looked at the black haired barmaid he was stroking. She gave him a toothy smile, absent a few teeth but she was relatively comely nonetheless.

A bit plump as I like them.

Making her softer beneath him. Her breasts were lush and lifted every time he filled her with his rood. He stroked her soft hair and enjoyed the feel of a woman after so much time alone in the caves.

She caressed his chorded arms and stroked the bit of furring at his chest before trailing down his tight abdomen to mold over his narrow hips and caress his back as she clutched at him. Lifting her body to meet his.

Her body was heated and welcoming and his wolf growled low in his gut as his body wound tight, preparing to spill seed. His powerful buttocks stroking more roughly. Feeling her walls closing in on him like a warm mouth.

She panted wildly in pleasure. Scratching at his shoulders. She lifted her plump legs to clutch him with her thighs. One hand wandering down to grasp his buttocks and pull him more firmly into her.

He was more than happy to accommodate. Thrusting more deeply into her until her back was arching.

Finally he spilled seed with a wild grunt and they both stepped back into their clothes. Adjusting them before leaving the room. Outside his door, he met Dearburn leaning against the railing waiting for him.

They’d both partaken of warm barmaids and Acharius was now ready to fill his gullet with ale and chat with his friend next to a fire.

Dearburn always makes sure I take time from the caves.

The men were particularly close. Acharius had been fond of the thin, dark-haired man since he’d first confided that generations before they’d joined in arms under the Templar’s crest, they’d have been enemies because of Dearburn’s heritage.

We’ve become like brothers over the centuries.


The barmaid was still casting him longing looks from across the tavern.

She wants more. But he had given her a pretty bit of coin for her time.

It was an overcast evening. And with the night came a howling wind. Potent enough to tear apart villages. But they were comfortable inside next to the fire.

There were a few other men in the Tavern. But all were content to let each other be.

It’s as peaceful a night as any. And it felt nice for Acharius to escape the caves for an evening.

Chavias arrived with the fading light. Looking as bleak as the tumultuous weather outside. Black hair slicked back into the tether. His brushing of facial hair shined like midnight silk. His eyes black as any Battling Beast. Gray armor dimming any light. And dark cloak swaying in the wind like violent wings.

Nightway was often filled with Grier Guards to help fend off the Rebels in the kingdom. Tonight was no exception.

But Chavias was fearless. Striding in through the door with the ferocity of the gusting wind.

It took Acharius less then a heartbeat to pull his bow and stack arrows in Chavias’ chest. But it’s not slowing him. Acharius realigned his aim towards Chavias’ face, guessing his armor plating was preventing many of his arrows.

Chavias drew his viciously curved blades. Blocking the arrows flying toward his head with one hand and cutting through the men stepping in his path, with the other. He made his way to Dearburn standing to Acharius’ right, with sword drawn.

Chavias stared at Acharius.

Beyond Chavias, Dearburn cast Acharius a forlorn look. Knowing what was to come.

Gaze challenging, Chavias irrevocably thrust a curved sword through Dearburn’s chest. Splitting his heart instantly and making him go limp impaled on Chavias’ blade.


“No!” Acharius roared. Pulling his thick dagger from his waist.

Chavias dropped to a knee and blocked Acharius’ strike with his forearm. Dropping Dearburn’s weight to the tavern floor and ruthlessly jerking his blade free. Casting red droplets in a wave behind him. He stood, blade still dripping.

Why in Ardae?

Why Dearburn? Acharius was frozen in shock. Dearburn was no threat to Chavias. No threat to Radix! Why kill him?

Acharius lifted his dagger again.

Chavias stared at him dully. Gray eyes deadened as he effortlessly blocked blow after powerful blow of Acharius’ mad efforts.

When it was clear that Acharius could offer no great challenge to the warlord, Chavias turned without a word. Crossed the creaking floorboards to the fire. Kicking over the boiling pot of soup to boot logs from the flame. Then watching blankly as they caught surrounding benches afire. Lapping away at every bit of dried wood or spilled ale.

Acharius watched. Exhausted. Defeated. Dagger hanging. Horribly disheartened. All my years as a warrior are still not enough to touch him.

When Chavias stepped into the doorway to leave, Acharius’ grieved shout made him stop. “Why?”

Chavias only turned his head to look over his shoulder. Gaze steady, unreadable.

“Why not me then?”

Chavias drew a long breath. Back straightening as he strode from the inn.

Mission accomplished no doubt.

Instead, Chavias crossed the road to watch the tavern burn to the ground.

A couple patrons, stunned Grier Guardsman, drug Acharius from the tavern.

Chavias stood across the way. Passively watching them drag Acharius to safety. Unmoved by the howling winds. Nor by his black hair swirling free from the tether to dance in the gale with his billowing cloak.

That was when Acharius had realized that they had truly lost the Forever Knight.

The Chavias we knew is dead.

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