Shadowed by the Past Wheel of Destiny — Morimens

A nameless plague devoured towns and villages. People who hungered for war slaughtered at will amid the turmoil, a symphony of iron and blood rising in frenzy. They acted out of fear, or they fed upon it. Fear—the formless foe, the ancient foe, the deadly foe. He was a knight of no merit; he had succumbed to fear. Yet the vows once solemnly sworn still rang in his ears—year upon year—echoing through a homeland long turned to naught. "I shall show mercy to the weak. I shall stand valiant against the mighty." The night concealed the footprints of the killer. A deluge of screams and weeping drowned the streets. The crowds fled like panicked sheep. "I shall confront the wicked without reserve. I shall fight for those who cannot fight." Spearpoint stained with blood, silver shield rusted; the shadow smiled in sated glee as ravens circled overhead, a devilish glint in their eyes. "I shall aid all those who have need of me." "It is him... he has come," the people stammered, their faces twisted by fear. "The hollow monster, the vengeful ghost, returned from the abyss of death to drag his enemies into the mire of hatred." It was him. He had not forgotten. He had never forgotten. Why persist, if all must end in dust, glory and faith alike? Why flinch, since fate only laughs and forces a man to his knees? Loyalty, devotion... what was it all for? The last knight of the Duchy asked in vain—his soul as barren as his broken frame, and the dregs of fear flowing unchecked, gathering into a sea of ruin. But his hollow chest remained silent, the lost answer nowhere to be found.