Long Lost and Forgotten

The battle had been raging for hours now. The high midday sun gleamed off the silver armor of the hundreds of Knights of Bahamut, making half the battlefield look like a sea of glittering diamonds. The other half, a dull, dark void of light as the sunlight was sucked into the dark armor of the army serving the recently slain black dragon Berezath. The sounds of swords clattering together, wood of polearms thunking off armor, and the cries of the dying filled the air. Blood and ichor flowed over the parched ground like rivulets of a massive river system.

Far above the horrors occurring on the battlefield, on the ridge overlooking the bloody valley, a large blue Dragonborn, Fezzerak, adorned in silver and gold armor emblazoned with the snaking body of his chosen deity stood, one fist on his hip, his other hand on the pommel of his greatsword.

“Berezath’s tyranny stops here,” boomed Fezzerak’s voice. “You might as well surrender your weapon to expedite this endeavor.”

Across from him stood Berezath’s champion, Yrevar. The hulking human blinked his eyes, black with red irises, and stroked his long, black beard. “Big words for a worm,” he growled. He looked over the ridge and watched the battle for a few moments, then chuckled. “Your brethren seem to be struggling.”

“Only struggling to avoid all the dead bodies of their enemies,” Fezzerak replied. “Face it, Champion. After today, you and your army will join your master in death. Your efforts will be long lost and forgotten to history. The Knights of Bahamut will prevail.”

Yrevar snorted and slowly unsheathed his greatsword from his back. The hilt and pommel was shaped like a black dragon’s body, red gemstones glittered along the neck and in the eyes of the dragon as the obsidian blade emerged from its open jaws. As Yrevar finished drawing his blade, he pointed it at Fezzerak. His eyes burned with a deep red glow as the sword seemed to start sweat greenish-yellow liquid that dripped onto the ground with an audible hiss and sizzle.

“Your life will end today, Knight,” he said, his voice getting deeper. “Berezath will gladly accept your soul as a suitable offering.” He charged.

Fezzerak stepped to the side, drawing up his own sword to parry Yrevar’s charging thrust. Yrevar spun around to face Fezzerak and grinned. Both warriors raised their swords and swung. The sound of the steel hitting the obsidian echoed throughout the canyon. Both knights were highly skilled, trading parries and ripostes. The sound of their scuffle nearly drowning out the battle sounds beneath them.

As their duel intensified, the warriors in the valley began looking up at them. Slowly, both sides of the epic battle turned their attention to the two masters, the champions, up on the ridge. They watched a master class in swordsmanship. Gasps erupted when one champion would score a wound to the other, but otherwise, the crowd was silent.

Fezzerak’s armor was dented in several places. Some of his chain mail was cut and the resulting wounds sizzled with acid from Yrevar’s sword. Yrevar limped from a long laceration on his thigh, his armor similarly pitted with sword-shaped dents. Both warriors panted and sweat dripped form them. The hot, overhanging sun sapped their stamina, but neither would break for the other.

“Face it, worm, you’re not going to survive,” Yrevar growled. “Kneel to me and I will make sure your death is swift.”

Fezzerak looked at Yrevar, running his finger over a wound on his side. He felt the acid eating the flesh and scales around the gash and mixing with his dripping blood. He scooped some of the acid blood on his fingers, looked Yrevar dead in the eye, and licked his finger clean.

“Have it your way, then, worm,” replied Yrevar.

The battle continued. Yrevar scored several more wounds to Fezzerak, who at one point fell to one knee, but parried Yrevar’s attempted finishing blow. Fezzerak battled to his feet, but was quickly disarmed by Yrevar. Swordless, he dodged several swings before catching the obsidian blade between his large hands, preventing Yrevar from splitting his face in twain.

“You’re done for, worm!” Yrevar growled, pushing his body weight against his sword, trying to drive into Ferrezak’s snout.

Fezzerak felt his hands start to burn and his skin bubble as the acid ate into his flesh. In his mind, he called upon Bahamut to give him the resolve to finish off this barbarian. The blade slipped a couple inches. Acid dripped onto Fezzerak’s face as he looked up into the ferocious, red glowing eyes of his enemy. With one final bloodcurdling roar, Fezzerak pushed the blade from him and gave Yrevar a swift, powerful kick to the stomach. The sudden action and the resulting pain and loss of wind caused Yrevar to lose his grip on his weapon, dropping it to the ground. Fezzerak moved with the speed and grace of someone half his size, scooped up the sword, and drove it into Yrevar’s chest. The acid easily let the obsidian slide through his chestplate and out his back.

“You…will…be…lost and…,” Fezzerak said through pained, labored breathing, driving the blade through Yrevar to the hilt. “…forgotten.”

The human’s glowing red eyes returned to their natural blue as he slumped to the ground. The red gemstones representing the eyes of the dragon on his sword began to glow as the lifeless body of Berezath’s final champion fell back onto the ground.

A stunned silence washed over the hundreds of soldiers in the valley below. For several moments, only the mild breeze could be heard. Then, in unison, every soldier in black armor took to one knee and bowed their heads, dropping their weapons.

The prisoners of war were rounded up. The bodies of the dead on both sides were given the proper burial rites fit for fallen warriors. Fezzerak tended to Yrevar’s body himself. Lost and forgotten, he had promised his enemy. That was a promise he would keep.

Fezzerak found a cave that led deep into the side of the ridge. There, he laid Yrevar’s corpse on a cold slab of rock deep within the cave. He rested the dragon sword on his chest. He stood in silence, saying a short prayer to Bahamut before exiting the cave. No one but him will carry the memory of Berezath or Yrevar into the future.

Fezzerak ordered the cave to be collapsed. His army marched on, each member swearing to never utter the name Yrevar or Berezath ever again. Any of the captives they took that said either name were beheaded on the spot.

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