Prologue for WiTL, 2015

Sitting in a war tent on the outskirts of Travance, General Ravik looked pensively into the small makeshift hearth and breathed a heavy sigh. His army was immense, with a greater amount of troops than he had ever personally commanded. Still, it was not enough. Ravik had seen the power that Travance wielded in the past. Both he and his troops knew this would most likely be a one-way trip, but he knew no fear, and neither did his forces.

Ravik had gained momentum raiding and destroying some of the hamlets on the far edges of the town, and he prayed to Enax that this would be enough to push them through their losses. This was not a battle for land, nor was it a battle where his troops would be able to claim the Dragon’s Claw as their own and split the treasures. No, this was a battle to drag their disgusting, pink-skinned nobles down to hell with them. He rose from his seat and prepared to make the rounds before today’s march.

“ You will be able to take two… maybe three of Travance’s heroes down with you, and you can forget about their nobles. Face it, Ravik, with a half-cocked army of wild goblinoids and what soldiers you can muster against those who destroyed the demons, you are doomed to fail.”

Ravik spun around, lifting his spear and thrusting it in the direction of the voice that dare speak to him in such a tone. Meeting its mark, the iron spear shattered on the chest of the figure standing before him

The armor-clad man, his skin dark and metallic and his lifeless eyes surrounded by a metal mask, smirked. He spoke condescendingly.

“A perfect metaphor for your efforts, don’t you think? An iron spear, able to pierce the flesh of humanity, meets a wall of black mithril.”

Ravik snarled. Gripping the shaft of his broken spear and taking a defensive stance, he searched for an opening or a weakness.

“Do you have a point… or have you simply come here to point out the futility of my plans?” asked Ravik.

The man calmly stepped forward. Liquefied metal ran down his arm and formed into the shape of a spear.

“Relax, General, I’m just here to lend a hand to a worthy cause.”

With that, the spear and his arm both returned to a solid state. He knelt down, leaving the newly formed spear at Ravik's feet.

“What would you say if I could triple the size of your army?”

Ravik gripped the spear in his hand. Recognizing the opportunity before him, he quickly changed to a more pleasant tone.

“And who may you be, my friend?” asked Ravik.

“You may simply refer to me as the Black Knight.”