#theprotector

It had taken him many days to reach the point he was at now, finishing the last part of his new arsenal. And, with a final hammer stroke and the arcane command memorized in his head, as well as the catalyst rune on the back of his hand, the elements rushed into the metal. The spearhead surged with wild energies and slowly cooled down to a darkened blue metal.

The man lifted the spearhead with titanium pliers and quenched it in the proper liquid. Steam roared from the cylinder and died down after about a minute. At which point he pulled the pliers back out and set the long spearhead back upon the anvil. Tossing his hammer onto the table beside him, and moving away to the spear-shaft that he had forged between heat treating and overall forging of the spearhead. He set the red and black painted metal shaft on the table. Testing its trillium composition with a few taps and weighing in his hand. Once satisfied, he went about mounting the spearhead in the seclusion of his workshop.

Outside of the workshop however, a band of six horse mounted men rode up the forest path. Stopping when the smith’s apprentice rushed out to greet them. The young boy, no more than twenty three summers looked up at the mounted men, making a greeting, but he was quickly silenced with a swift move of a blade. His throat cleanly cut open by a long Cavalry sword and left there on the path to bleed out, the smith left unaware.

--------------------

The party came to stop just outside the quaint workshop, dull candles barely lighting up the windows looking in. They could see the red haired smith inside with his back to them, testing the balance of his newly completed spear. All of the men wore black armor, their cloaks hooded to conceal their visages, their heads lacking any other protection. They seemed confident in their abilities to challenge the smith the way they were.

The men all dismounted and lined up outside the shop, each taking out their weapons. A collection of finely crafted longswords and maces brimming with a primordial power that seemed to illuminate them in the night. The lead out bellowed out in a voice that sounded young, cocky and sure of his righteousness. “Namaraen! Come on out and hand over everything you’ve got! We will make this quick.”

--------------------

“Quick?” Lormeus muttered under his breath, glancing over his left shoulder towards the window, eyeing the figures he finally took notice of. “So be it.” He twirled the spear in his hand, the freshly completed piece at its final length of eight feet in length. He cradled it against his right shoulder and stomped off to his armor rack. He looked over the armor that stared back at him, the red painted hardened adamantine plate that had taken him well over a decade to collect enough metal for and forge into the ultimate protection.

He did not have the time to don his full plate however, so he pulled both gauntlets from the stand and put them on. His left hand was bulkier with more supplemental armor of titanium and a slot for his shield to attach to. Which, he turned to next on the wall. The gold finish of the living steel shield hummed with life within and when he pulled it from its peg it pulsed with some form of energy as if it were excited. Sharp metal teeth sprang from its rim as it snapped into place on the gauntlet. And, with a flex of his fist, they spun around the rim roaring like a Goblin’s chainarm on their mechs.

With a smile, Lormeus turned to the door and kicked it out, stepping into the open air to the five who waited impatiently for him. With a smirk he slowly pointed his spear out to the ground to his right and his shield towards the ground. Showing his palm sides of his hands and giving a small bow. “Come and take it all.” He offered his challenge in a terse manner to the laughter that came from the men.

The first came at him, sword raised to the side and swung at him in a quick slash aimed at his unprotected shoulder. Lormeus snapped into movement, smacking the sword with his shield and stepping back once and twirling his spear back. Bringing it around to rest behind his head on his shoulders and then thrusting it forward. The still warm head pierced through the man’s closed mouth and out the backside of his neck.

Lormeus stood there motionless, letting the blood pool its way up until he coughed up a large amount of blood onto his spear. The crimson ichor coating the metal forming long globules that descended slowly towards the ground to the horror of the impaled man, and even more so his comrades realizing that this would not be so easy. In a quick movement he pulled the spear from the man’s neck and flicked it down to his right, blood splattering onto the ground as the body fell before him. “So.” He spoke in a soft, hushed tone. “Who’s next?” The leader waved on the other three who quickly took up positions to attack him all at once.

“Now, that’s more like it. Make it more fun for me.” He flexed his left hand again and the shield revved with hunger, spinning the titanium teeth ready for blood. From then on he went silent, the only sounds he made were that of him breathing and moving on the coarse dirt beneath his feet. The middle man swung his mace in a low to high arch, which Lormeus stepped aside from with ease. Of course, however, it was meant to draw him to the man on Lormeus’ left side, which he had anticipated the sword swing that was now coming at him.

Meeting the blade with the flat middle of his shield and sending the blade sliding off harmlessly. Though, he brought his arm down quickly, the metal teeth on his shield digging into the exposed neck of the man, eliciting a loud cry in the night. Without breaking eye contact, Lormeus flexed his fist and the teeth roared to life once more. What came next was a grotesque spray of heavily oxidized blood and shredded meat. The deep rumbling of metal tearing through flesh and bone cutting out the screaming of the man who soon had his esophagus cut through, though less than cleanly.

Lormeus released his hand and the teeth stopped moving, letting the mangled body fall to the ground in a lake of blood and bits of meat. Finally turning his gaze to the other two who were frozen, mortified. They had just witnessed what most would simply called brutality. Barbarism. But, that cold look in the man’s eyes told them that he was not even close to done.

He did not wait to react this time. He stepped forward to the other two, swinging his spear from his right and slicing them both just above the knees in their vulnerable parts of their armor. Causing each to fall down onto their knees in pained gasps for air. Lormeus walked forward and twirled his spear in hand as he passed between them, without turning he held the spear out level from his shoulder. He turned his head to their leader who glared at him, gripping his sword tight in his hands.

In one swing he cut through the vertebrae of their necks and both of their carotid arteries, as well as jugular veins. He turned fully to the last remaining man as the bodies slumped forward into the dirt. Though the final remaining man turned and ran to his horse, mounting and quickly turning it. Lormeus glared at him, tossing his spear up and catching it in his palm, taking a throwing stance with it. He tested the weight and extended his left arm as the horse began to gallop away, dust being kicked up in its wake.

He stepped forward in one long stride and propelled the spear forward. The spear sailed through the air towards its target and whistled in the dead of night, moonlight catching its edges just right for him to track its progress as he skidded to a halt on one foot. The spear impacted the man through the back of his head, and pierced straight through the other side. Burying its head into the horses rearing head as well, connecting both rider and steed with one solid piece of perfectly forged metal.

--------------------

He stood in his full plate now, shield still on his arm and bloody spear in his hand, a bag slung across his back filled with the personal affects and tools he wanted to keep. A grave stood before him with a makeshift grave marker with the name “Decius” etched into it. Behind Lormeus, his workshop. His home. Burned, explosions and sparks flying as different chemicals and compounds for his smithing ignited, sending it into a further blaze. He held his helmet in his left hand and solemnly slid it on, walking away from his home, for the last time.

--------------------

A knock sounded on the door of the Ven’torum estate at first light, and Lormeus stood with his helmet off awaiting it to be answered. When it was, it was a servant that greeted him with cautious smile seeing the blood and gore that still littered his weapon and shield. His voice was hushed and he dipped his head. “Please let the Matriarch know that Lormeus requests lodging. I will wait out here until she decides if she can or not.” He dipped his head and walked from the door, as to not stand in waiting to pressure the Lady. Standing at the end of the path, on a solemn guard appointed by himself.