Chapter 2 (Day 1)
The Hard Stare
"Sir B-Bones…W-What advice do you h-have for surviving the C-Cliffs of D-Despair?"
The young Fire Knight controlled his terror better than most new recruits had when they stood in the presence of Sir Bones the Hard. Bones knew he was a legend now – having survived three of the four prior Wars – but it always bothered him to see such fear in the heart of a Fire Knight. Perhaps it was the fact that he always wore his armor, even while he slept.
That fact had given rise to ridiculous rumors such as the one that the bone-crusted plates of his armor were actually fused to his skeleton. In truth, Bones simply believed in never, ever letting his guard down. He had once, in the Fourth War, and that damned Abyssal Wyrm Kurga has taken him crashing down Fera's treacherous slopes, the both of them bloodied and obliterated at the bottom. His heartstone had barely been recoverable.
The fearsome knight cast a hard stare through the eyeslits of his helmet at the man standing before him and wondered if it was even worth answering him. At least he did not appear to be wetting himself like the last knight. The man stood taller and raised his chin in an effort to not appear intimidated. A moment more of subjecting the man to his stare and Bones shrugged his shoulders, walking to the exit of his rawhide tent. The man had some resolve, Bones would give him that. Perhaps he would survive. As he reached the exit, he stopped and turned to the young knight, speaking in a voice that rasped like sandpaper.
"We choose to join the War and do these things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard. Hit hard, hit often, and always get up." Bones paused a moment, considering, then continued. "A good set of armor helps too."
With that, Bones reached out with a gauntleted hand and pushed aside the cowhide flap, stepping out into the chill air of the desolate Blighted Lands. Looming up in the sky far to his right was Mount Fera, but Bones didn't even look at it.
Not yet. Tomorrow.
He strode over to where two dozen horses were tethered to the ground by stakes, his armored leggings making heavy thumping sounds on the ash-covered ground with each step. He passed several magnificent horses until he reached an old, white warhorse. It looked out of place next to the other younger, heavily muscled stallions, but Bones knew better. Where other warhorses had fallen, Skeldred had clung to life as a moth drawn to flame.
Reaching into a pouch attached to the horse's saddle, Bones took out a rough hand-brush and began to comb Skeldred's thinning mane. The old warhorse was dying. Bones knew that. But something inside of him also knew that Skeldred desired no other end than to die battling demonfilth on the slopes of Fera. Bones would take him there.
A voice called out from behind him, breaking the silence.
"Sir Bones!"
It was the young Fire Knight from before, emerging from Bones' tent, no fear present on his face anymore. "I am Blossom du Vanité and I will scale the Cliffs. Remember me, for soon I shall reach the highest peak of Fera!"
Beneath his ghastly helmet, Bones smiled. He thought he saw a fitting, familiar expression on the knight's face – the look of Determination.
