"Top of the morning, weary traveler!" The innkeeper greeted him.
Armor on for the day, four mugs of ale and a pair of chickens, he stayed at the bar until the noon bell rang.
No sign of the mutts, nor arrogant gold skirt wearing dung holes, and he cracked a smile beneath his helm as he headed out the door.
"That a grin I'm seeing?" The innkeeper teased, nudging him outside.
By the gods' grace, what little he believed in them, she at least couldn't see his face redden.
"Ya' can hide from everyone else, but I know you're sec-," she started, then bowed facing the road.
Trumpets blew.
On either side a silver cloaked cart were several royal guards, led by a pair of elite white knights, one at the front, the other in the rear. Within the wagon, pulled by a dark stallion higher than most within the kingdoms, sat a round young man with messy black hair. He wore bright mail, a flame insignia on the chest with a pair of swords crossing over the top, a short sword was strapped beneath his velvet fur trimmed coat, and all but his ring finger possessed diamond or emerald cut rings. A bored look on his face, he waved to citizens and adventurers alike as the wagon got closer to the inn.
Flail in hand, the Brute of the Woods he was known as, walked down the road as the wagon got a dozen paces away.
The white knight at the head of the party rode around to face him, sword drawn, with an ugly scowl.
"That's his majesty of the House Pyr! You'll show some respect until he's passed through, ogre!" The princess babbled.
He walked around the snorting white steed, brave as its battle scars suggested, which backed away.
"Stop!" Choir boy whined. "That's an order bastard!"
His majesty whistled, and the whipping boy stopped crying at once.
A look back, and he saw the pig wrapped in a cloak was somewhat amused, waving for his acquaintance. He shrugged, kept walking, and the elite knight at the rear rode up to her bitching brother, both warning him for the last time to stop before he faced capital punishment.
"Wait," his majesty ordered.
He heard nothing else and kept going until the shadow of the woods welcomed him. Another hour or so of walking until the dead reeked the air, and he turned to see the wagon carrying his greatness was still following him, torches ablaze.
Royal guards, two of the best knights in the kingdom, finest swords coin could hire, were shriveling in their boots.
They were so far from any town or village it would be all too easy for robbers, hunters, or the dead to give them a permanent grave. So, in spite of his desire to face the champion for yet another swift kick in the ass, he made his way over to the king's party.
None of them noticed until he was a few paces away, then the elite white choir boys drew their swords screaming for him to stay back.
"You led us on this madness!" The front knight shouted. "Take us back, or every sword in the kingdom'll be hunting for your head."
He took a deep breath, smoke bursting from his helm sockets. "You going to tell them yourself?"
Wolves howled, at least one would believe.
It was the cry of the dead, the damned some rumors said, and every guard held his weapon tight, some trembling at the knees. Both knights were calm enough, which was good, as he knew too much panic would've got them all skewered regardless of his help.
"The hell'd you keep following me for?" He asked, pointing his flail at his majesty.
King Pyr smiled. "These woods are rumored to be filled with treasure, enough for a man to drink and whore his way for a hundred fortnights."
"Gold?" He asked. "You couldn't sail a ship for a cursed island?"
Pyr laughed, "I ought to make you a lord commander! We need some real muscle in the house's ranks, not pretty eyed paladins with a hard pecker for honor."
"Your majesty," the rear knight said, her sword hand twitching, "these are cursed lands. If we don't turn back, there is a champion among them we may not survive the night against."
Pyr rubbed his stubby beard. "A champion you say? What say you, Brute of the Woods? Will you lead me to a hoard worthy of a king?"
It wasn't an easy thing to do.
He turned around, taking off his coin pouch. After scourging a few for himself, enough for a few days drinking before he returned to the woods, he turned back and tossed his pouch to his majesty.
Pyr frowned, tossing it back at his feet. "You dare give me spare change?"
"I've been here for weeks your majesty," he said, listening to bone wheels crackle within the woods. "You'd be lucky to acquire more than that in at least double the same time."
"Swords! Swords!" The rear knight shouted.
She rode out, her horse faster than anything he'd ever seen. It's silver coat almost shined within the torchlit dark woods. Her blade was fine razor steel, a longsword she decapitated skeletons within a single swing. None could keep pace with her, and the hordes who attacked the wagon were either gored by spears or swept away by bludgeoned swinging spikes.
He turned them to dust, dozens of bone fighters within minutes, and his majesty's trusted guard were awe struck.
"Turn back!" He shouted. "It's not safe here fo-."
The ground shook.
Beneath her felled steed, the rear knight coughed up blood as a ten-meter-high giant axe wielding skeleton sliced the horse's belly open. Guts wriggled free, and she cursed trying to free herself.
He sprinted her way, barreling over hordes at a time, but her head was crushed open. Beneath a dull colossal axe head, her body twitched as her brain matter stained what was left of her. The front knight screamed, charging the hordes himself, but more giant skeletons stomped towards the party from all directions.
One bash of his shield knocked over the giant who slew the rear knight, and he crushed its skull with a single swing.
Broken from its formation, the party was in disarray. Guards scattered, either trying to form walls, or fleeing into the woods. Bone wheels ran down screaming guards, who split in open as meter long needles carved them into ribbons. A giant war hammer smashed the wagon into splinters, his majesty diving out the way with inches to spare. His dark steed was crushed into red paste, and the party was down to less than five guards and one blood-soaked knight. The latter formed a circle round his majesty, slicing open brittle marrow, skeletons swarming them by the dozens.
Flask in hand, flail hanging low, he sipped a few more swigs than usual.
Tight burns ruptured his belly, though his heart pounded so loud he believed others could hear it. Not swings, but a wave of steel so fast he couldn't see the spikes on his flails head. It was a fury not of battle, but frustration. For all his time in the woods he'd only had himself to die by the hordes or the champion himself.
Corpses laid out, some guards weeping with their innards hanging free, made him lust for killing unlike any moment before. Not when he was trudging in waste deep black tarred manure, nor freezing his fingers off in an icy storm ravaged valley.
Skeletons of all sizes, some towering above the trees, crashed down at the touch of his flail. Every strike echoed into the woods, and he almost believed lightning would follow the collisions he inflicted.
The front knight managed to retrieve a horse amongst the retreating skeletons, and he was down to one other guard left. The limping lad climbed atop after his majesty, and the last knight commanded them off, holding a broken blade.
Nothing but a blur ensued, as he kept killing and killing and waiting for that bright moon to shine its gaze. Yet it was dark, and withering torches revealed all the dead guards, the headless knight beneath an organ spilled carcass, and the last knight with a spear in his chest.
Their eyes met, the knight taking one last breath before stiffening, the spear jolting within his heart.
Red light glowed from above, and the champion crashed down, wings spreading whirlwinds blowing corpses over a hundred meters away.
He faced it, his long-awaited treat for the night.
Head on he heaved his flail overhead, drooling like a rapid dog, and kept fighting in a flame engulfed woods, long until the hours of the night.