[Death By Moogles]

Yay, my first Rightfully the Gods' post! I'll be updating as much as I can.

Linkies:
Prologue - Of Legend.
Chapter 1 - Eyes
Chapter 2 - Duo (Coming soon)


Prologue – Of Legend.

The Great, Divine Justice wore armour more spectacular than the sun and oceans, only fit for the most legendary of heroes. So wonderful a sheen that smooth areas were as clear as a mirror, yet so rough and exotic that, had you not known the face behind the god-like helm, the fear you would experience would be overwhelming. However real this subconscious terror may have been, it lost its intimidation factor before it even came into existence. For this hero would harm no more than the evil creatures – and humans – that haunt the innocent souls of Albion. Not even the most experienced and skillful thieves and hobbes could swipe even a carrot within the same town as this legendary hero. The hero of the divine plate armour is no less than the most righteous of righteous, and would often pay for the carrots and other small items that were stolen around town, amongst donating all other properties to different towns and villages. Thus, because of the courage, skill, and virtue of this amazing soldier of Avo, they have come to be known as Justice, and often referred to as The Great – or Divine – Justice.

Justice sat leaning against the large window, staring into the mug clutched firmly in hand, and spoke casually with Yearn, the tavern-keeper, and founder of The West Shore.

“And just last week, we had six more heroes come through, all looking for you, of course.” Yearn was boasting. Ever since The Great Justice had donated the winnings of one particular ‘tournament’ of sorts, the tavern had been added onto, and was now the biggest inn in the west, thriving as a shop of all kinds. The West Shore, as it was called, was known especially well for its top-class ale, brewed by Yearn himself.

Yearn was a large man, rivaling most heroes in height and most definitely outweighing most heroes. He had to have been wider than he was tall, but as he was so nice, no one seemed to take notice to his size. His large mustache, long and wavy, curled up at the tips, like a trader’s. His jet black hair was slicked and extremely thick, always hidden under a large wooden hat. To count his chins would take longer than one lifetime, and to measure his body around in any direction would cause a fluster in any single person.

“Did you, now? And how much Gold did they squander in their drunkenness?” The Great Justice questioned in reply. There was really no interest in Justice’s mind, but the happiness of others was stayed there, a priority for Justice.

“Three of them didn’t drink! One of them was awfully generous with his gold, even before his first ale!” The Divine Justice took a swig from the ale clutched in the grips of a god. “He quite made up for the other three, not that I need their currency.” Yearn added.

“I should be off. The darkness’s nearly crept up on me.”

“Thanks again for dropping by. It’s always a pleasure to have you around, Justice.” Yearn admired, gazing up at Justice, who was effortlessly piping down the rest of the ale.

“I insist, the pleasure is mine!” Justice called back from the entrance of the inn. It was just before dark, and Justice still had one stop to make: Bowerstone Primary. The Great Justice stepped into the dimming light of the sun, godly helm stuck fast under-arm.

A light gust blew through the streets of Bowerstone, cooling Justice. The thought in the forefront of the day had been just that: the day. It was an anniversary of sorts. Just under half of a century ago, The Great Justice had been left alone in the world, with none other than the best friend anyone could hope to have. They had been together since as long as they could remember, and would do anything for each other. However, after their town had been destroyed in the most fowl way within reach of the human race, they were orphaned, and The Great Justice’s friend was driven insane by the thought of everything they knew being lost to them.

If only they hadn’t chosen the path that they did. If only they could’ve been saved.

But no, had anything happened any different than it had, the fates of them both would have been changed too drastic for The Divine Justice to handle thinking about. Often, the amazing hero kept these thoughts from lingering, as they were the only weakness that this hero possessed.

The climb up the hills of the newly built Bowerstone seemed longer than it was. Justice’s mind had wandered off into the corners of nothingness, remembering the sight as if it was yesterday; the fire, the broken shoulder, the screaming and snide comments of their pursuer. It was scarring to think of, and was wiped away at the call of the Bowestone Primary teacher, Ranger.

“Oh, hero!” Ranger called from the door of the Primary school. Bowestone Primary had only two rooms: a central room, full of chairs and a table that the children sat around, as well as Ranger’s desk and globe, and a room with a stage. Ranger was a full-hearted poet, and often had the children stand at the stage and act out scenes to learn their material better.

“Why hello there, old man!” Justice greeted, “Long time, no see!”

Ranger replied by dropping his hand tightly on the beautiful shoulder armour. “The children have been asking about you recently. They’ve been wondering when you’d bring another book for us, hero.”

Justice peered in at the younglings sitting in their chairs and spoke in a loud voice, “Well, I certainly don’t have a book this time!”

Cheers erupted from behind Ranger. The children recognized this as Justice’s way of exclaiming that he had a new book for them. As Justice and Ranger made their way to Ranger’s desk, Justice waved to the children, who enthusiastically flailed their arms back.

“How many hobbes have you slain this week, hero?”

“Oh yes, and how many balverines?”

“I’d bet a hundred hobbes and at least fifty balverines!”

“Don’t think so low of the hero! I’d bet five hundred and four hundred!”

“No way! That’s impossible!”

The children raged.

Justice sat down on the floor beside their table after handing the large, red book to Ranger. “Try a thousand each!” A large smile made its way across Justice’s face.

Wide, unending stares and open, awed mouths met the mighty hero’s words.

“How about a story, eh?” Justice said, breaking the silence.

Cheers erupted again.

“Hero, you do realize what this book is about, don’t you? Do you feel it appropriate?” Ranger questioned after reading the first few pages of the book.

“Of course! It’s such a wonderful read!” Justice answered.

“Well, if you say so.” Ranger gathered the children and walked up the short flight of stairs to the stage. Justice followed. Preparing to speak, Ranger cleared his throat, “Ahem. The rise and fall of the guild: Jack of Blades.” Ranger paused and looked into the faces of the children sitting around him on the stairs and floor.

“The decline of the Guild of Heroes began approximately two centuries ago, following the defeat of the traitor Maze and the legendary firing of the Guild by Jack of Blades. Though the mysterious Hero known only as Gladiator subdued Jack of Blades and banished him to the Void, Jack returned through the use of the Bronze Gates, one of the few permanent portals between Albion and the other realm. His subsequent incarnation as a monstrous dragon forced the Hero of Myth to reappear from his temporary obscurity to do battle with the beast. Though it is certain that Jack was defeated once again--the gigantic dragon's charred remains have been found in recent exploratory excavations--no trace of his mask, purported to be the vessel of his power, has been uncovered. Nor is there any evidence, in literature or otherwise, that the Hero was ever seen again after his last known battle. Many have speculated that he sacrificed his own life in order to stop the spread of darkness from the gates. Others contend that in defeating the Master of Shadow, he somehow took on the essence of Jack of Blades and persists in some form, whether corporeal or insubstantial, to this day. All that is known is that the disappearance of the Hero, who had become the greatest symbol of his Guild's power and influence, was yet one more blow to its stability. The Guild's organization collapsed shortly following the death due to old age of its Guildmaster fifteen years later. Allowed to fall into disrepair in the ensuing decades, it was purchased and restored by an anonymous benefactor at the beginning of the previous century in order to serve as a historical monument to the traditions and legacy of the Last Era.”

A silence persisted for a few moments before the children began to cheer and clap.

“My grands tell me stories of Jack of Blades! He used to eat children! But he’s dead now; the Hero of Myth took him to his grave!”

“Jack of Blades wasn’t real! It was all just a story to scare young children! Or that’s what my mum says.”

“No, he’s real, and he aint dead! My dad’s seen him! He’s giant, I tells ya, giant! He always wears a mask and a red cloak! I tells ya, he’s real!”

“He was real, but the Hero of Myth killed him. Twice! Once as a dragon! The fiercest dragon you’d ever seen!”

The children raged again.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough from you! Off you go, it’ll be about time for supper now!” Ranger pacified.

The children filed out, still talking amongst themselves about Jack of Blades and the Hero of Myth.

“Thank you for dropping by, hero. It’s always wonderful to have you.” Ranger said, placing the book on his desk. Justice never accepted the books back; they were always considered donations to the school.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: The pleasure is mine, Ranger.” Justice said, taking the final steps into the darkening outside world from the school.

Hope you like it!
Feedback is welcome.

EDIT: I got that little bit in the book from some forum post in some forum by some guy that I can't remember the name of.
x.x