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Synopsis:
The faraway kingdom of Decatus has been amassing black powder for the creation of a mysterious superweapon known as the Titanblade. It is up to the Ochreds - a team of men and women picked by the king of Fortis Friar to act as his personal task force - to unravel Decatus' schemes. As they brave a world full of bandits, killers and giant creatures known as Colossi, the Ochreds will begin to realize that there is a blurred line between man and monster.

Author's notes:
This is actually Kurtis' origin story! Hope you all have as much fun reading as I had writing

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A blanket of fire and death had been laid upon the Kingdom of Fortis Friar, dooming all who were trapped underneath its fiery patchwork. The stifling smoke suffocated many to disarray – the luckier ones, to death. The thick ash trapped its victims’ cries for help, reverberating and warping them until they were an unholy chorus of wails. Anyone who looked up to the skies above for salvation would have seen nothing but ochre flashes amongst the blackened clouds – harbingers of another blazing onslaught from the airborne Colossi. In a display of cruel irony, they had attacked on a celebratory night: on a day which was supposed to commemorate the kingdom’s establishment. Now, the kingdom was coming apart in a spectacular light show of smoldering bricks and pyre.

Amidst the chaos, Fortis Friar’s royal entourage emerged from their charred palace unscathed. Perhaps it had been divine will that they survived the initial scorching, despite being housed in the Colossi’s prime target. The dozen high priests within the palace had not perished in vain; their undying love for the King, and their faith in the heavens, had them spending their last moments praying in a circle by the altar instead of seeking shelter.

Leading the Fortis Friar royalties was a middle-aged knight, whose weathered features and steady eyes told more stories than his burnished armour. He was the calmest and most focused amongst the group, for he knew that his utmost priority now was to ensure the safe escape of the royal family. He was doing an excellent job at scouting out the safest routes and escorting them, until the gates of Fortis Friar came into view. It was then a slight commotion erupted from the rear and the entourage came to a halt.

“I cannot stand this, Mara,” King Darius Pabel explained to his wife, “they are laying siege upon my kingdom and I am fleeing without so much as looking back.”

“My King, what can you do? The Colossi cannot be repelled! Try as you might-”

“I am retrieving the Fortis Bow,” the King interrupted her hastily. It was evident that the thought had been lingering on his mind for quite some time.

“I represent this kingdom, Mara, and Fortis Friar has to make a stand.”

“The future is more important! Who shall rebuild this kingdom? When the dust and flames settle, your people can only turn to you once again - who are you to be so reckless in the name of heroism?” Queen Mara laid a hand upon her husband once she realized that he was inching away from her. King Darius, however, batted her hand away.

“I am the King! My people have thrown their lives before me countless times. What is a King who is not willing to do the same for just once when it matters most?” he roared, but softened his tone quickly, “and should I fail, the people will still look up to you… and you.”

The second “you” was directed at King Darius’ son, who had been retreating towards the knight over the course of the argument. The young Donovian Pabel was taken aback by the sudden burden of responsibility that had been thrust upon him, as well as the prospect that his father was to either successfully defend Fortis Friar or die trying. The gravity of the situation forbade Donovian from speech, as he felt that his words would carry no weight.

“Bartlet,” King Darius addressed the knight resolutely, “see to it that they flee safely. Under no circumstances should they, or you, turn back.”

“Yes, my King,” Bartlet complied grimly and gestured for Queen Mara and her son to come by his side. Their reluctance was obvious, but an order was still an order; King Darius had made the choice as both father and King. It was then Donovian realized this could very well be his last interaction with his father.

“Father, no! Please, a second more-”

“Donovian, my love, we are running out of time,” King Darius firmly grasped his son by the shoulders as he spoke: “how fate tests our mettle when we are most unprepared. Whether one succeeds is a story for another time, but rising to the challenge… I hope you will be brave, as I have to be now.”

“Father! But-!”

King Darius silenced Donovian with a light kiss on the forehead and did the same to his wife. At first glance, it would seem as though she had received her husband’s parting display of affection coldly; in fact, she was only now starting to fiercely revere his choice. The two of them wanted to exchange more words and actions, but an explosive blast to their left reminded them that time was not on their side.

“I love you, Mara…”

Bartlet watched his king hurriedly disappear into the flames, and the image of his ward of nearly two decades was burned into his memory. Donovian was still frozen in time, painfully clinging on to all the things he forgot to say to his father.
“Sire, we need to go. My Queen, stay close behind me.”

Guided by his mother and the Pabels’ most trusted knight, Donovian allowed himself to be led from one street to another. He kept watching the roofs of the palace and soon enough, a tiny silhouette emerged on top. With an intricately designed longbow in hand, King Darius was a striking figure along the skyline. Gone were all the trivial instances Donovian thought his father to be just another stubborn old man or a nagging father. King Darius was a hero, and had always been one. He had never faltered in being a leader since Donovian’s earliest memories of him.

Donovian saw his father level the Fortis bow and tug on its drawstring. There was a flash and he blinked, only to see that King Darius had been knocked off the roof by a blast of fire. Donovian watched his father plummet all the way down – a ten floor drop that would have most certainly killed the man.

“No!”

In the heat of the moment, Donovian broke free from Bartlet’s grasp and ran past his stunned mother. Anguish of unparalleled intensity carried him through the ruins, and not even the smoke or the fatigue could slow Donovian down. He felt ashamed to have parted with his father in such a manner, and Donovian was desperate to seize any opportunity to change the terms of their last goodbye. He refused to believe that King Darius would be defeated so quickly.

“Another brave fool falls!” Donovian heard one of the wyverns bellow mockingly. It infuriated him to think the monsters saw Fortis Friar’s King as no different from the other people they had slaughtered.

“Put them in their place! All of them!” boomed the other.

“No survivors! None!”

Overhead, the twin wyverns continued roaming about the desolate kingdom, ruthlessly hunting down any remaining clusters of men and women. Even with almost all of Fortis Friar in flames, it was apparently not enough for the Colossi.

As the wyverns turned their attention to a helpless family stuck in the rubble, they failed to notice the youth who ran between their legs. The Colossi had decided to let the toxic fumes weed out the lone stragglers, like lost souls getting picked off into damnation. Donovian Pabel, however, was far from lost: years of evading Bartlet’s babysitting to play tag in the streets were paying off as he navigated the ruins. The instant he reached the palace grounds and caught sight of his father, however, he knew that the old man was dead – no amount of wishful denial could obscure the truth. King Darius had landed with his back against a rock – his back was bent out of shape and his glazed eyes were but lifeless marbles that contained minute traces of surprise. He had died without feeling pain, joy or defeat.

A Colossal let loose an almighty roar in the distance and Donovian turned to see the wyvern breathe fire upon the kingdom once again. He recognized it to be Lubeck, the Hellfire Wyvern. Its crimson scales and jagged hide were made more menacing as it stood amongst its own flames. The elder of the two wyverns – Lubeck was the main reason most cities refused to expand, for the Colossal lusted for large playing fields to trample upon and set ablaze. The other wyvern, Kurtis the Wavemaker, was not as bloodthirsty but a force to be reckoned with nonetheless. It was the more prominent of the two in terms of appearance, being grey in colour with a dense white mane that flowed down its neck. Its energy blasts could easily tear apart a fortified castle, allowing for its counterpart to ignite the building from the inside-out.

The stories that surrounded the deadly twins were worthy of being archived in the palace library as a book of its own – a testament of their destructive capacity and a reminder for all to always watch the skies. Donovian had poured through the records once and the gruesome details of the wyverns’ aftermath were unforgettable; but it was this moment that Donovian ceased to draw fear from whatever he had read, or whatever hell he was made to witness.

Fortis Friar was his father’s as much as it was his now.

His kingdom was on fire.

Donovian picked up the Fortis bow from his father’s corpse, averting his eyes as much as possible from King Darius’ frozen expression. Carved from the wood of a Vitalis Tree and crafted by a Weaver who was incredibly proficient in weaving vitality, the bow required no arrows – it drew the life-force of its wielder and forged a powerful projectile with it. Each shot came with a cost, but that was the least of Donovian’s concerns.

Making haste, Donovian scaled a nearby watchtower which stood just slightly taller than the average home. The Colossi were stooping low to toy around with their prey – it was no longer necessary to seek higher ground. Once atop, Donovian took a second to reorient himself and levelled his bow at Lubeck. He had no time to hesitate.

As the bow was drawn, Donovian felt both of his arms tingle. The hair on his skin stood upright and a soft, high pitched humming could be heard; Donovian could not tell if this magical sound came from the bow or his body. In the place where the arrow should be, a sliver of golden light materialized and crackled sporadically. There was no indication of whether the arrow was ready to fire, but Donovian could just feel it within.

And Donovian fired.

The bolt of light seared across the air at speeds even a cannon ball could not match. To anyone below, it appeared as though a shooting star had decided to suddenly brighten the sky. To the Colossi, it came as a brief flash to which neither of them could react in time to.

Lubeck’s body jerked backwards as the life-bolt pierced his chest, still glowing and radiating beams of light. The wyvern stumbled around, clumsily knocking down a few buildings before slumping right into Kurtis.

“I…can’t feel…”

The Colossal’s arms went limp and Kurtis felt his counterpart lean heavily against him. Lubeck had been swiftly slain without so much as drawing an audible last breath.

When Kurtis bellowed for his fallen compatriot, all of Fortis Friar – including Donovian – could feel the sheer sorrow in its wail shiver through their bones. It was an ungodly cry for help, one that made Donovian think twice about firing another arrow.

“Sire! Sire! Prince Donovian!”

To Donovian’s surprise, Bartlet came scrambling up the stairs.

“Sire! Stray no more, I beg you!” Bartlet gasped, “your mother… she was killed in hellfire when she ran back to look for you.”

“Pardon?” Donovian’s lips twitched and he tightened his grip on the bow.

“Her Majesty, Queen Mara, is dead. I could not save her-”

Donovian swung the Fortis bow back to his frontage and took aim once again. Kurtis was a painfully easy target now: all his efforts were focused on dragging Lubeck out of the city, as hopeless as it was. As Donovian drew the bowstring once more, Bartlet realized that the prince was undergoing a horrific physical change.

“My Prince-!”

“Fall, Colossal!”

In the split second before the second bolt of light razed the smoky air, Donovian could have sworn he locked gaze with Kurtis. The young prince realized that there was more to the devastation in the Colossal’s eyes than just mourning; Donovian felt as though he was staring down a child. A force from the heart faltered his aim and the arrow ended up lodging itself halfway through the flesh of Kurtis’ tail. The Colossal cried out in pain once again, but stubbornly continued to try dragging Lubeck out of the city. Although the second shot was instantly fatal, Donovian could see that the wyvern was beginning to fall apart quite literally. Kurtis’ scales and flesh were beginning to disintegrate into nothingness, joining the wafts of ash that were aimlessly floating about in the air.

“Curse this kingdom! Curse all of you!” the Colossal screamed.

Donovian was just starting to consider a third attempt at striking the Colossal down when he noticed that Kurtis was dragging Lubeck in the completely wrong direction. He watched wordlessly as Kurtis failed to recognize his folly and lost his balance. His wings crumbled apart as he plunged off the edge of the cliff, taking Lubeck and a few buildings by the cliff-side along with him. The wyvern let loose one last roar before an almighty splash silenced him.

Only when both Colossi had disappeared, Donovian began to realize that there was something strange about his body. The Fortis Bow had taken a toll on him – his arms were wrinkly; his back was bent forward and his legs felt frailer. A beard had grown on his face, accompanying the greying hair and the sunken eyes. His young, restless mind was still intact but trapped in the beaten husk of a fifty-year-old man. Unable and unwilling to comprehend the drastic change that he had undergone, Donovian fell to his knees and let the Fortis Bow clatter along the floor. In full view before him, the kingdom continued to burn.

“We… we will rebuild, right Bartlet?” Donovian asked shakily as the reality of the devastation sunk in. Bartlet joined him by the side and laid a reassuring arm around Donovian’s shoulders.

“Tell me we can rebuild. Tell me we can rebuild everything from… nothing.”

“Under your charge, sir? I believe we can. And we did not lose everything to the Colossi.”

The two men exchanged looks and Bartlet found it strange to stare upon such a completely different face whilst knowing the person underneath it was someone he had watched over for two decades. Somewhere past the weary eyes and doubtful frown was the ever-determined Donovian Pabel.

“Our new King has risen from the flames,” Bartlet remarked, “and so shall we.”