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Burden of the many.



AuthorBurden of the many.
(Just figured I'd post a small storyline regarding the knight of mine, being a huge fan of HoMM universe. More to come!)

"When will we meet again? Surely you will not pull a prank on me like last time? Hm?"

Amelia perked a brow at the man in front of her as an inquisitive gaze followed suit. She stood tall and proud, her emerald dress almost entirely blending in with the surrounding trees, should they have been closer. The small clearing, in itself a sanctuary within the woods that the two lovers called home, presented a welcome respite from the more open areas of the surrounding woodlands.

Yet home was nearby, and azure eyes always liked to peek around.

"That is for you to find out on both accounts. For now, we should celebrate our... fiftieth meeting away from the eyes of the elders? Or is this the sixtieth? No matter."

Cole uncorked the emerald bottle of champagne with ease, yet while the cork popped off successfully, its trajectory quickly found its path directly in front of Amelia, with the ranger having no time to react from such a short range.

Thankfully, it did not hit an eye, but rather her chest, prompting the woman to, rather than lament blindness, buckle over in pain. Cole meanwhile simply stared, a mixture of awe and fear coating his face.

"Cole!" She screamed in rage, the pain from before quickly giving way to unabashed anger.

The fear quickly overrided the awe, as the youthful retainer sprinted away from the clearing and into the dense forest proper, leaving the champagne behind.

But not Amelia.

While her dress impeded her, two decades of training and practice made up for it, as she was gaining ground on the retainer inch by inch.

"That was not a prank, please don't kill me!" Cole shouted, yet after jumping over a fallen tree, the man's eyes widened as in front of him, an orcish spear stuck up from the ground, and on it, the decaying face of Amelia staring directly at him.



Waking up in a pool of his own sweat, the now knighted Sir Barton peered around local farm with dim blue eyes. Finding the lake to be a source of focused respite, Cole reached down for his flask, before quickly realising it was once again empty.

"One small step to clear the ghosts, or ravage my body, either will do frankly." Upon walking over to the shoreline with quiet steps, Cole knelt down and took in some of the lake's water into his flask. Swirling it within the silvery metal container, the knight raised it up to his mouth and swallowed some of the water. While the dulled senses did not arrive, a brief respite; a clarity, came to the forefront of his mind.

To clear the ghosts.
(Man it has been a while, but being back is good, hence another piece!)

“You’re doing it wrong, stand still.”

The slender hand rested upon his hip after giving his stomach a chastising tap. She was guiding Cole around one way before swinging around the other, it was some intricate dance. They were invited to some social function. He looked down, carefully watching his wife’s footwork and copying her as best as he could. And in all fairness he was getting better.

“You have a better sense of rhythm than I and you’re struggling.” Amelia’s gentle smile bloomed.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Rogue spells and arrows struck the arcane barrier like a drumbeat. Each strike rippled through the air, drowning out the clash of steel on steel. And his feet moved on their own to this dread rhythm, taking Cole through the chaos and bloodshed. His sword lashed out, the long blade cleaving through the chest of some vampire.

“You’re almost there.”

They continued to swing around the garden, to and fro. Careful not to step on the vibrant array of tulips they had planted the day before. It was flowering season and their garden was flourishing.

“Is that a compliment?”

Amelia’s eyelids fluttered shut as her head came to rest in the crook of his neck, she murmured into his neck leaving her voice muffled.

“It’s the footwork, it’s always in the footwork.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Blood spattered across Cole’s front. Not that he cared, the dance had consumed him and all that mattered was the whistle of his sword and his step. Some necromancer staggered in front of him, slipping on the earth.

Amelia had an uncanny ability for being right. It is all in the footwork. His sword came down and the necromancer collapsed in the mud.
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