Oathbreaker

I: The Paladin

Smoke. Grey, thick, acrid smoke writhed its way into Sibin's nostrils as he sprinted through the forest. A bright orange glow flashed through the night, shining through the trees as the village of Coreth's Lance burned. Even now, Sibin could feel the emptiness growing inside him. The oath of the Zelik family was broken, and he was the one to bring forth the end of an era. Yet he continued onward through the woods toward the village, to find if anything, or anyone, was savable.

Coreth's Lance. A village that stood on the battleground of a once famous battle in which the gorey, blood details are lost to the sands of time. Named after Coreth, the battle master who lead a small band of 30 men and elves alike, to victory against a legion of raised undead, then ascended to godhood through his actions that day. Coreth's men began settling in the area, and a grand village grew in the wake of the great battle, which the inhabitance of that village would come to name Coreth's Lance. Upon the completion of a statue built in the god's likeness, Coreth blessed this village and bestowed a man named Mikael Zelik a holy task. Mikael was Coreth's second hand during the battle, and thus he was granted a special, blessed warhammer from Coreth, and he swore an oath to his new deity.

The Zelik Oath was sworn by Mikael, tasked with the protection of Coreth's Lance. The Zelik family line would be blessed by Coreth to bear one child per generation, who would grow to be a powerful, mountain of a man. This child would be raised and trained to replace the current paladin upon their death. For four generations, the village of Coreth's Lance stood tall and grew to populations not thought possible for a village. The lands surrounding the village were fertile from the blessing of Coreth. Several large farms were established in the area to sustain the people, and the great forest in the area contained ample timber for building as well as enough wild game to supply meat, skins and furs. Over 110 years, Coreth's Lance grew to be a beacon of hope in a world that so often lacked such a place.

But that oath now sits in the heart of Sibin, shattered and crumbling.

Sibin crashed through the edge of the forest and finally stepped onto the main road leading to Coreth's Lance. The once proud village now burned a bright crimson hue. The flames stood as tall as the surrounding trees, sparks flew from each crumbling wooden structure as they began to collapse. Sibin could make out little from where he stood; a thick, black smoke began to collect until the canopy of trees and became trapped under the tree leaves.

"Black smoke?" Sibin thought to himself. Black smoke could only mean one thing. Whoever started this fire doused the buildings and surrounding with oil before setting them alight. This was no accident. This was deliberate. This was planned. This, was an attack.

Sibin sprinted into the burning inferno of a village, dodging falling chunks of burning wood and loose stone as the plummeted to the ground. He made his way through crowded streets of smoldering wagons, destroyed oil barrels, and eventually made his way to the village center. What once was a proud, bustling hub of trade, community and hope, was now nothing but a muddy pit, awash in the uproar and brilliance of the raging blaze that consumed all it touched. Sibin's boots sank into the earth as he made his way into the circle. His eyes ached and wetted from the smoke, sweat dripped from his forehead and his lungs choked on the thick, ash filled air. He blinked, and only then did he notice the absolute carnage that he had stumbled upon. Here, in the center of Coreth's Lance, lay the corpses of the townsfolk that he was oath-sworn to protect, slain by the very same who had started the fire. The very ground in which Sibin's boots now sank was drenched in their blood. Sibin fell to his knees, a rush of sheer dread and guilt washing over him. He pressed his hands into the moist earth, a harsh whiff of iron cut through the smoke and wracked through his nose. His head swirled, he began to feel his strength wane and his vision blur.

Just then, Sibin lifted his head, and out of the haze of his vision, the clouded smoke and the shower of sparks that rain down the from the surrounding buildings, Sibin spotted her. She was just a silhouette to him, but even through the impairments his vision, Sibin recognized her. His daughter, Glenda. The first girl to be born in his family line for centuries. There she stood amongst the destruction, the bodies and the carnage. She did not scream. She did not cry. She just stood. And so Sibin stood, dragging his aching limbs upright and clambering his way towards her. Yet as Sibin approached the silhouette of his young one, she vanished. Sibin looked around frantically, trying in vain to find his daughter again.

"Papa!" Her voice boomed and echoed through Sibin's ears, it pierced his mind and rang through his head like a church bell.

"Over here Papa!" She spoke again, her shrill, deafening voice now causing Sibin to collapse to his knees again, his hands covering his ears in a feeble attempt to block her voice from his mind.

"PAPA!" Her voice screamed. The sheer agony contained within the child's cry threatened to tear Sibin apart at the very core. He knew this was not his daughter. This was a punishment. A consequence of his own careless actions. The oath was broken, the village now torched to embers and the population lay dead. Men, women, children, elderly. Elves, dwarves, humans and halflings. There they all lay, their crimson leeching into the very soil that Sibin was tasked with protecting. All this destruction. All this death. Everything, now lay on the shoulders of the once fourth generation Paladin, now turned Oathbreaker, Sibin Zelik.

A sudden snap of clarity zapped into Sibin's being, as he kneel there in the blooded dirt. A realization spilled its way past the guilt and the grief that clouded his mind. He had to retrieve his hammer. The Zelik Oath Hammer. This hammer, a gift from Coreth himself to the first of his ancestors to take the oath, hung on the mantle over a grand fireplace in the Paladin's Longhouse.

Sibin rose to his feet, shook his mud covered hands and broke into a sprint. He rounded the first corner and ran in the direction of the Paladin's Longhouse. Even through these fireswept streets and smoke filled air, Sibin knew his way around the village; he could've traversed it blindfolded if he needed to.

Sibin turned another corner onto the road in which the Paladin's Longhouse stood. He was forced to stop as the building adjacent to the longhouse, a butcher shop known for its prized cuts, collapsed in a huge show of sparks and smoke. The front of the building buckled under the weight of the upper floor, and fell into the street, right in front of Sibin. Had he been just a few moments earlier, he would've been trapped under the rubble of the building. Sibin needed to act quickly. His way was blocked, and the other wooden structures around him would collapse at any moment. Down the alley adjacent to the partially collapsed butcher shop was an open door that smoke bellowed forth from. The front of the shop had surely collapsed into the street, but if the rear of the shop was still mostly intact, Sibin could snake his way through the back of the shop to another door he knew was on the side of the shop next to the longhouse. It was a risk he knew he had to take. He turned foot and bolted down the alleyway towards the door, then crept down and began to make his way into the burning shop. Inside, memories flashed through his head. Memories of meeting the kind man who built and operated the business. His name was Lima, and he had two sons and a daughter. His wife had passed during the birth of their final child. Sibin's mind flashed back to the village circle. One of the faces he saw in the corpse pile, he recognized as Lima.

Sibin's mind snapped back to the reality of what he was facing when he carelessly laid his hand on a piece of smoldering timber. He recoiled his palm away from the timber and clutched it against his chest, wincing in pain as his seared flesh touched his sweat soaked tunic. He pushed forward, pressing his shoulder against the aforementioned door and pushing with all his might. The door was damaged enough to crumble at Sibin's effort. With a great lurch, he fell through the door frame and into the alley next to the famed Paladin's Longhouse.

By some miracle, the longhouse containing the Zelik Oath Hammer was almost untouched by the raging inferno. Only the side next to the collapsed butcher shop was damaged. A large support beam from the shop had fallen against the side wall of the longhouse and smashed a large gash in the wall. Sibin gritted his teeth, grabbed the burning support beam and lifted it out of the hole it had made in the longhouse. He climbed through the damaged wall and his eyes landed on the mantle that held his weapon. He began to walk toward the mantle, when something on the wooden floor caught his eye. It was a small, crumpled lump of flesh and cloth that lay in a pool of blood. Sibin pushed the lump over with his foot, and gasped at what he recognized. The small being that lay on the floor of longhouse was a goblin, stabbed in the abdomen with a small, ornate dagger. Sibin squinted at the blade that sat lodged in the goblin's stomach, and recognized it as the blade he had paid the blacksmith of the village to make for his daughter, Glenda. His eyes widened as he took in the surroundings of the room. His eyes followed a trail of crimson to another small person, crumpled and lying face down in a pool of blood. He ran to the body and moved them into their back. In that moment, Sibin's suspicions were confirmed.

The face that stared lifelessly at him, was the face of his daughter.