The Saviour of Aesor was anything but.

~~~

The beast's carcass lay at Marshall’s feet, its blood slowly spilling towards his boots.

“Saviour bless us,” he mumbled as he took in the sight of the creature’s deformed body.

Its once white fur was now stained black, covered in its own blood. It resembled a very large wolf, with the unique distinction that it stood on two legs instead of four. Or at least it did - before Dramos had put his sword through its neck. Its mouth hung open and a long blue tongue spilled out of its double rows of sharp teeth and onto the ground. The body was marred with dozens of cuts and scratches. The fatal wound across its neck was wide and deep. There could be no doubt that this was the beast that had been tormenting the farmers of Pecotra for the past two months.

Dragging his eyes away, Marshall looked up at the man who stood before him. A dominant warrior who had just felled a powerful beast with a single blow.

Despite having trained to become one, Dramos was not a guard in the King’s army, although he was built as such. He stood quite a bit taller than Marshall's six foot frame. While most guards wore armour with large shoulder plates to bolster their size, Dramos had no need. His broad shoulders and arms made him seem as wide as he was tall. His armour was nothing more than worn, brown leather scraps, with bits of chainmail built in over his breastplate and upper thighs. He wore a long brown cape that hung from his shoulders and fell down past the back of his knees. The hood of his cape was still raised, making it hard to distinguish the facial features within. The entire right side of his body was covered in thick black blood from where he had hoisted the creature onto his shoulder to carry it down from the mountain pass.

“We owe you a great debt, though I’m afraid we do not have much to offer,” Marshall said, reaching his hand into his pocket to pull out a small coin bag. He held it out for the warrior before him.

When Marshall had first posted his pleas for assistance with the beast on the message boards throughout the Kingdom of Trelladain, he doubted that anyone would answer his call. But he was desperate. As Mayor, he owed it to the people to try and seek aid. They were farmers, not warriors. The King’s guard had already refused, as they could not spare any assistance. They were spread thin across the lands, engaged in a war that was far worse than trivial wolf-beasts. He knew it was a risk to post so publicly. Anyone could have turned up to help, including the Saviour himself.

Thankfully, Dramos was not the Saviour. He was a hired sword. A wandering warrior. A man trying to make ends meet as much as the farmers in the fields beyond the lazy town of Pecotra were. He lowered his hood before taking the coin bag.

Marshall gasped. He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected the warrior’s face to look like, but this was not it. Dramos was young. He couldn’t have been much more than twenty. He had a short dark brown beard that masked his sharp jaw. His nose was straight but looked slightly swollen at the bridge, as though he’d taken a punch or two, or perhaps it had been broken in the past. His dark brown hair was shaggy, kept shorter at the sides but was longer on top. Some of it fell across his face. His eyebrows were thick and straight, except the one above his left eye had a slight gap in the middle. It appeared to be the result of a long narrow scar that ran down from his forehead, across the brow and continued on his raised cheekbone below his eye. The scar was only a shade lighter than his deeply tanned skin, indicating that he’d had it for a while. Marshall half expected that left eye to be missing, but that wasn’t the case. Dramos’ brows were furrowed as he counted the coins within the bag. It did not take him long. When he looked up, Marshall was staring into two deep brown hollowed eyes.

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“Is this it?” Dramos finally spoke. His voice was deep but smoother than expected and Marshall found himself withering under his stare.

“I’m afraid that’s all we have,” Marshall said. “We are but farmers trying to feed ourselves and the King’s armies. There isn’t often much leftover. These good people pooled all they had for that reward.”

Dramos looked out past the Mayor. Pecotra was hardly a town so much as a collection of small buildings. The town hall, which was nothing more than a barn, stood behind the Mayor. Its doors were open allowing him to see that inside was just a few benches arranged to face a pedestal at the front. There was a small inn next to the town hall, with a chimney billowing rich black smoke into the air. On the other side of the town hall was a small barracks. Or what would have been a barracks, back before all the guards in the Kingdom were pulled from their stations to aid in the war. It had since been converted into a blacksmith’s shop. Horseshoes and ropes and other various farming equipment adorned the outside stone walls. At the town’s centre, behind Dramos, was a stone well.

Beyond the buildings, the rich rolling farmlands of the Trelladain Kingdom were blanketed in a deep orange from the setting sun. He could see silhouetted buildings of the farmers’ homes speckled throughout the fields. In the distance, mountains to the north provided shelter from the harsher wilds beyond. It was a beautiful place, despite having been mostly forgotten by the Kingdom.

Dramos withdrew only a couple of small coins from the purse, pocketing them under his cloak. He then handed the rest back to the mayor.

“Sir?” Marshall questioned, holding the bag.

“Is the blacksmith here?” Dramos asked, turning his attention to the old barracks, ignoring the surprise on Marshall’s face.

“Yes. He’ll likely be closing up soon for the eve. Sir, are you -”

“Have him sharpen these for me,” Dramos cut him off, and drew out two long and simple broadswords, holding them out for Marshall. They had been sheathed across his back under his cloak. They were stained black. “And an actual bed for the evening would be nice.” He nodded towards the inn.

Marshall recovered quickly, taking the swords. He was surprised by how heavy they were. He figured Dramos was strong, but to yield two of these?

“Of course, sir. Anything you need. We are in your debt.”

Dramos nodded, threw his hood over his head, and marched off towards the inn without another word.