The house shook under the detonation, debris falling from buildings nearby. Flames crackled and sparked across the street from the residence. The house was completely in disarray and crumbled under the onslaught of evil Mongolian raiders. The family who lived in the house cowered in the corner, staring at the man adorned head-to-toe in steel armor, a visor showing only his piercing green eyes. A lethal longsword was gripped tightly in his right hand, a shield held loosely in the left. He lifted the visor, revealing a soft face and brilliant blonde hair drenched in sweat.
“Art thou okay? Did the raiders hurt you?” The steel-clad man asked the head of the family.
“Who the fuck are you?” The father asked, protecting his family from the man in front of them.
“There be beasts and demons outside, dogs of war from the Eastern Providences, here to rape and pillage this countryside, just like they did before in Rome along with the German and French country lands. Best to not conflict with them, they are dirty fighters, like the mongrels they are. I suggest retreating to your cellar, barricade it fast. As for who I am, I am Sir Lionel de Montbar, a knight of England.” The knight lowered his visor, before leaving the building and closing the door behind him. He glanced down the road. These mongrels were using relics given to them by demons, loud, explosive, and with the ability to collapse stone and brick dwellings with ease. They were more powerful and stronger than the catapults and trebuchets used during sieges of days long past. What was worse is each could be wielded by one or two men.
Screams sounded out in the areas nearby. The Knight crouched behind some rubble, hearing a horse approaching. He looked around quickly for anything that could work against a charging horse. He spotted something that could be used as a lance to dismount the Mongolian horse rider. Quickly grabbing the object with both his gauntlet covered hands, he turned the corner and braced himself. The man had too little time to react as the rebar pierced his chest and took him right off his horse. The horse panicked and bucked off down the road rider-less. The man hit the ground hard, fumbling for his rifle. He cried out in pain as the knight pounced on the wounded man, laying quick blows with his heavy steel gauntlets, knocking the raider out.
Lionel cared little about the man’s fatal wound, these dogs were killing and looting with powerful relics that looked like compact crossbows. They were led by a creature of myth, one that not even the great Hydra could face. Rumor has it that this leader caused the Hydra to turn on itself, tearing its own heads apart just for fun. Lionel did not wish to duel such a creature. Lionel had a task to stop and halt the siege equipment destroying this small village. He knew it was on the outskirts, firing what seemed to be like large metal crossbow bolts that exploded upon contact with their destination. They were being launched off of one of those creations that Lionel learned to be called an automobile. That was his next target. The Knight stood up and started walking towards where he heard the whistle sound originate from before an explosion sounded off somewhere else in the town. It didn’t seem far from him now.
Lionel’s attention snapped back to his surroundings as he heard some men laughing nearby. He quickly pressed up close to the wall. He saw three of the raiders surrounding a woman. They had ill intentions in their mind. He quickly advanced on their position, stabbing one in the stomach as he turned with his long sword, splattering the poor woman with blood from the strike. The other two quickly grabbed for their weapons, one held a crude sword and the other a recurve bow. Lionel cursed his luck at not being faster or having allies. What he wouldn’t give to have Sir Gallagher Robin here with him.
He barely lifted his heavy shield in time to reflect the blow from the Mongolian. It hit a lot harder than he remembered, and somehow pierced through the shield. So much for the greatest armorer in England crafting this armor, the shield was basically useless. Another snake oil salesmen or shoddy craftsmen, too many of those these days. He tossed the shield to the side, barely dodging another swing from the blade as an arrow whizzed by overhead, barely missing Lionel’s forehead. Montbar dropped low to the ground then rushed the sword wielding Mongolian, slamming him to the ground on some rubble, knocking his blade free. Using his quick wits he grabbed the man on the ground and rolled over before an arrow pierced the back of his foe. Lionel tossed the man to the side before rushing the remaining raider. He knocked the bow to the side before grabbing him and dropping himself backwards onto the rubble, forcing the Mongolian straight first into the rubble, knocking him out along with a couple teeth.
Breathing heavily, Lionel sat up, each of his foes wounded but not killed. The women had run away a long time ago to escape the chaos. Lionel sat there for a bit, looking at the weapons on the ground, and the chaos that had occurred. He crawled to where he placed his shield but was unable to find it. The only object there was a trash can lid that was practically sliced in half. Lionel grabbed it and tossed it to the side with a loud clatter. The whistle of the rockets continued to penetrate the brisk spring morning air. Lionel grabbed for his long sword but also found it lacking. Instead he found a sharp and bloodied steak knife. He tossed it to the side and grabbed the sword the Mongolian was wielding, which would offer him better protection in the long run.
Lionel cursed under his breath. That witch that cast that spell on him, making everything change may actually cost him his life. All of his equipment changes into mundane objects, nothing useful. Had his shield changed earlier, it could have gone through his hand or arm, and had his blade changed into a steak knife earlier, he may not have been able to disable that first raider. The sound of his target made itself known again as a loud explosion rocked the landscape. Lionel pulled himself to his feet and marched towards the siege equipment. Its users shouldn’t be too difficult to take down.
Lionel sat cursing a bit, two whining and crying raiders at his feet. They put up a bit of a fight, but now the automobile siege equipment was disabled. One less thing to harm the citizens of a small village in the Kingdom of Colorado. Lionel sat atop of the machinery, surveying the land. There wasn’t much more he could offer to the fair citizens. The raiders were too numerous, and there was only one of him. No back up, no army, no companions. How long had he been alone? Lionel tried to reminisce about his past, but nothing came to mind. All he could remember was being dazed, as if drunk without the drinking part, and in a dungeon made of white. Everything in that prison was white. He acknowledged that he had been locked away there since the 1300’s.
Lionel shook his head. He looked down at his garb. He wore the white uniform to signify purity, a sign of hope for those that gaze upon him. Those fools that locked him in the dungeon didn’t know what they were doing, keeping him trapped for a long time like an animal. Luckily the explosives from the raiders helped him escape. Well him and everyone else in that prison. However, Lionel couldn’t leave without saving a few folk. He could at least make amends for his time spent guarded like a prisoner of the crusades, he could be a hero again. Lionel’s attention snapped towards a few figures walking from the city. What was a Kievan Rus doing here with the Mongolian raiders?
Lionel dropped from the truck and watched the figures from afar. This was intriguing, this sort of alliance between two hate filled nomadic peoples. Was this all the Kievan Rus’ doings? He watched them with intent, following them out of sight, watching the big brute of a man, who was one of that mythological creature’s commanders for sure. Lionel would do what it took to follow.
The Englishman lost sight of his mark, unable to keep up with the automobiles on foot. He had retired himself to a tavern of some sort with plenty of loud mirrors with images and disembodied voices. He had searched his belongings he took from the prison and found a small flimsy tablet that seemed to hold currency, like some sort of magic relic. He ordered an ale as he sat, transfixed on the magic mirrors as he sipped his beverage.
“Come on down and get yourself a Triple X Burger, it will bust your gut and leave you filled for a week! Come on down to Dicky Mees!”
Lionel focused back to his drink, eating some peanuts left nearby, contemplating his next step of freedom. Everything seemed familiar but distorted. Would he try to find his old companions from days old? He glanced up at the bartender, trying to get a plan in his head.
“Tell me good barkeep, what is the fastest path to Rochester Castle? It shouldn’t be far from here right?”
The bartender gave Lionel a dirty look, “I think I need to cut you off bud, ain’t no castle nearby here.” The bartender took a closer look at Lionel’s attire, “just get out of the insane asylum bud?”
Montbar nodded, sipping from his ale, “Aye, a prison that is insane. Earned my freedom I did! I am as free as you, or a butterfly, free to go where I please. Just passing through this New Kingdom of Mexico, trying to find a Kievan Rus. That man has stained his hands with blood, killing many innocent peasants up north in the kingdom of Colorado. I plan on bringing some honour back to them.” Montbar nodded, finishing his ale, “How much for the ale good barkeep?”
The gruff man grunted, “I will grab your check.” Lionel sat for a moment, gazing up at the mirror above the bottles of liquor, as the scenery shifted to a scene of gladiatorial combat. He saw visages flash, different combatants, each performing powerful maneuvers. Lionel sat transfixed as it flashed through different gladiators, before showing new enlisted warriors, including his bounty, his prey! Lionel stood up immediately, looking towards the Bartender as the mirror stopped on a screen, showing a date and a location.
“That gladiator arena, it advised it is in Mexico City, where is that located?”
The Bartender brought the check along with Lionel’s card which he took prior to serving anything just in case, “It is a lot further south, it is quite a bit away, but it should be easy to find.”
Lionel grabbed the strange looking quill with no ink, scribbling down his signature along with different numbers. “Barkeep, I greatly appreciate your assistance, your knowledge has helped me greatly. I wish you the best!” The knight walked out of the establishment, looking for a yellow tinted automobile to try and find his way to Mexico City. The barkeep picked up the check, expecting a shitty tip but his jaw dropped.
“Hmmm, maybe he isn’t as bad as I thought.”
Lionel found himself in the stands of a gladiatorial arena in the Kingdom of Mexico, waiting patiently for his mark to arrive. In the very first bout, he watched a Mongolian fighter get his face smashed in by a woman. This seemed familiar, but he wasn’t sure why… maybe sometime prior to his imprisonment, a gladiatorial arena through his crusades? Bouts against the other troops. A fight to appease the masses. It seemed familiar, but all Lionel could pull up from his mind was fog, no memories or anything came to mind. He had to find a way to join, figure out why that big burly Kievan Rus’ king was raiding and pillaging the local countryside of the kingdoms up north.
After the bouts, Lionel explored the arena, searching its depths to find and make sense of it all. He saw some entertainment posters of the bouts, their matches and the scenery of the blood sport. Those were useless to him, just showing the faces of their greatest warriors. That was until he saw a bounty to join the gladiators. Perfect, a way to get inside and get more information regarding Kievan Rus. He saw some numbers below the bounty. They didn’t have the gold sigil or any other notations, just a weird symbol with 4 lines intersecting each other, must be some sort of weird currency, and it seemed like a lot of it. He will have to ask about it.
“Ahem… are you lost?” A voice behind Lionel said.
The English Knight turned around to stare at the man. “No, just trying to join this gladiatorial arena and bring honour to the combatants.” The man looked Lionel up and down.
“You look as if you just escaped a mental asylum… smell like it too”.
“I was in prison, I am free now, and I wish to fight.” Lionel said, standing his ground.
“You don’t look sane enough to fight, let alone be free. Maybe we should get someone on that, lock you back away ese.”
“Friend, I am free. The prison that housed me for centuries no longer exists, raided by Mongolians in the Kingdom of Colorado. One of the men who raided and killed that town is here. I must make amends.”
“Well, you look insane enough to take part, and they are looking for some fresh blood for Gang Wars. Could get you signed up real quick, get you inserted into a bout.”
The knight’s eyes lit up, scanning around. “Thou art a good man. I do request that my first bout be against Kievan Rus.”
“Who? Uh... yeah, sure... I will see what I can do about that.” The man said, guiding Lionel to the back area to sign up and join the federation.
It had been a couple days since joining the federation and Lionel had to don new clothing to fit in a bit better. The pure white clothes were apparently a distraction and individuals couldn’t handle the purity of the outfit. Lionel was sent to a place called a gym. It looked a lot different than the gymnasiums from Ancient Rome that he occasionally frequented. The stones and boulders were replaced with black iron beasts, all measured in pounds. This was foreign and yet strangely familiar to the man. Lionel would pick up the black iron stones and mimic the other athletes, building power to match their skills, perhaps a tad late, but he knew that he had to reshape himself after years in that white prison. Luckily for him, nobody questioned him or messed with him, as long as he kept to himself, he fit right in with these other competitors.
That was until someone approached the contraption he was working with. Lionel saw the shadow first, towering over him before moving past him. He looked up, spotting a beast of a man, the Kievan Rus. Lionel had learned that his name was Hank Sokolov, a commander of the Altan Ord. He also brought a companion with him, something called THNG, another mythological creature that he had heard one or two things about. Luckily for him, they wouldn’t be partaking in the competition. He had seen the groupings for the arena matches. It was split sort of down the middle. Lionel and his group would have to beat their match, and Hank and his group had to beat theirs. Then they would have their match, and maybe Lionel could get some answers while he took down the monster of a man.
Lionel pulled away from his machine of weight, calling out after the large man. He drew the entire attention of the gym from his sudden outburst. “Kievan Rus! Hank! Thou art a man without honour, a mongrel without morals, a beast opposite the tip of a spear! I pray that we meet in combat, so that I may restore that honour, and bring respite and rest to those slain by your hands at the helm of your unholy crusade! I will best you!” Lionel stood stalwart as he watched Hank leave the gym. Lionel huffed, watching the large man ignore him, not a thought or care. Lionel vowed he would meet Hank, if not during the next combat, then the one after. He will bring down that giant, and so the Gauntlet was cast.
