The Demon of War
Este é um pequeno conto que fiz sobre um personagem de um jogo de fórum do rpg de Amber. Eu a adaptei para um novo jogo.
This is a short history about a character I created for an Amber rpg play-by-post game. I adapted it for a new game.
King Throyden and his advisors gathered around the map. “Yes, it’ll be a swift victory. My name will live on in legend as the greatest strategist of all time”, Throyden said proudly. However, he noticed his advisors had gone pale after hearing his words. Seeing they looked past him, towards the door, the king realized his mistake. Turning, he saw Ambroskh The Accursed, Demon of War, step into the room. For the first time in a long while, Throyden was at a loss for words. Fear gripped his tongue as he tried to mouth an apology.
“Shush, my dear king,” the demon said. “I care not if you claim credit for my feats. My only concern is the battle tomorrow”, he completed. Reaching the table upon which sat the map of the borderland between Throyden’s kingdom, Modral, and his rival’s, Sedonia, Ambroskh peered intently at the chart. “No, no, no, that won’t do. We’ll move in through the Pass of Kirtaine”, he finally said. Throyden looked incredulous, but carefully measured his words. “The pass? But it’s a… dangerous place. I mean, we might be ambushed”.
Ambroskh gave the monarch a stern look. “Are you questioning me, Throyden? Have I ever led you to defeat?” he asked in a serious tone. The king gulped – a very strange thing to see one of royal blood do. “The Sedonians will think exactly that and will have only a light garrison at the pass end. You will go through them as a knife through soft baby skin”, the demon explained. “Tomorrow night, we’ll drink to victory at the gates of the Sedonian capital,” Ambroskh finished with a smile. Before anyone could say anything, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving a dread silence in his wake.
Thoyden kneeled in the bloody soil. The weight of his armor and wounds forcing his body down. Only his mighty two-handed sword prevented him from collapsing. The king coughed and spat blood. He looked up and saw a figure walking calmly towards him, as if the scene of turmoil and carnage around him was a sunny meadow. It was Ambroskh the Accursed. The demon who had betrayed his pact with Throyden. He approached the monarch and stopped. His plate mail – the helmet a stylized wolf head — glistened under the few sunbeams that made it through the layer of smoke that enveloped the field outside the Pass of Kirtaine.
“Why… Why have you betrayed me? We… we… had a… pact”, Throyden painfully said. “Was it… my pride… yesterday? I… I… apolo.. forgive… me, my lord,” the king poured on, tears streaming down his weathered face.
“Oh, please, Throy! Do you really think one such as me would even care about that little faux pas of yours? The truth is, initially, I didn’t care which side won. I was testing a scenario. That’s it. Unfortunately, for you, I got tired of your little kingdom,” Ambroskh told the fallen monarch.
“But… then… Sedonia… they will… They’ve won?” Throyden asked.
“Of course not. My, even my cousin Fintain, who has the tactical brilliance of an ox, could see what I was getting at here! Your army outnumbers the Sedonian’s five to one. The pass equalized the situation and you both annihilated each other.” It seemed the demon found that tidbit of information amusing. Seeing that the king didn’t understand what was going on, he continued. “You are both a shadow of your former glorious past. Which is a good thing to the Mordavians — you know, the people you have been oppressing for two centuries –, who will grow to fill the void left by you. In a hundred years, Modral and Sedonia will be faded memories. But don’t worry, Throy, as you wished, you will become immortal. People will always remember you as the foolish king who made a pact with the Demon of War and paid a bitter price for it”, Ambroskh finished with a laughter. As if on cue, a black horse emerged from the smoke. Its eyes were red and its saddle, bit and bridle matched the demon’s armor. He mounted and trotted away from the battlefield into shadow.