2066,
November 28th,
Lathe Yundath is doing business as usual, usual meaning that there's nothing to do in the ghost town of Gallows but being a blacksmith. Other than his son, there isn't much to converse with, except sand particles, dust floating, the clouds, the sun, 40 years old debris of what was once a bustling metropolis, and above all, his weapons.
For Lathe, and for true blacksmiths alike, speaking to one's weaponry is a conversation between souls, where no words are spoken. The soul resonates to every smash the blade receives, shaping it. The soul shines brighter than any star when he drowns the blade in water. By far, his soul speaks the loudest when he can test the blade.
Although the Yundath are known for making equipment for warfare, few in the family knows how to fight. Their fighting styles are usually unorthodox and chaotic by design, training with irregular weapons. As a family that's more so known for their creations, their ability to defend themselves is criticized, overlooked and one of the points of contingency that brought about the end of their partnership with Gallows. No wonder that Lathe's fighting prowess takes many by surprise. Guerrilla warfare is something that he learned young.
Lathe still remembers the days when being a blacksmith was his father's hobby. A few friends had embarked on that little activity as well. It was nothing serious, the weapons we're never going to be used in actual battles. This was a learning experience, and the sensation of crafting something that was prestigious for fights a few hundred years ago wasn't just satisfying, it was impressive. Swords were likened to time capsules.
2025 rolls in. The Nuclear fallout, the birth of a ginormous hole where Manhattan resided. It would be dubbed "The Bottomless Pit" shortly after.
Then, in 2029, the collapse of the United States happened. The lack of funds meant a downward spiral for modern artillery. The U.S. army was disbanded, no longer able to contain the arsonists.
Lathe's family and entourage weren't the only people in America that picked forging blades as a hobby, but they are one of the only families who didn't embark into the nefarious black market, not yet. This was a source of pride but also worry. One of his father's friends took the time to teach Lathe how to properly wield a blade. After watching old DVDs and playing a few games about the subject, knowledge and experience became intertwined. Lathe would, over the years, become a sword master in disguise. Not even his son, 15 years after his birth, understood that his father was that potent. Sure, he's seen his father train with others, but it was light, testing weapons that were fresh of the oven, nothing major.
Nothing serious like on November 28, 2066.
It first starts with Lathe Yundath doing business as usual, usual meaning that there's nothing to do in the ghost town of Gallows but being a blacksmith...
"FATHER!"
Lathe hears the scream of his son, Zephyr, burst from a mile away. He waits for his son to get closer, so he can see if it needs to be worrisome. When Zeph comes down the door of his forge, Lathe can see dust on his face and his clothes in shambles, as if he engaged in hand-to-hand combat. From the looks of it, the boy got decimated. Zephyr learned how to fight but recently. His experience is with just a sword. The young man looks confused, anxious, and terrified. He doesn't meet many strangers these days, let alone warriors who can take him down that easily, at least to what Lathe assumes. The father stays calm, walk to his son and breathes in and out slowly.
"It's okay my boy. No need to panic. Just tell me what's going on."
"O-o-okay. W-Well, there's this guy at the foot of the village and, he-he's very strong and... He told me that if I got in his way again, he-he wouldn't hesitate."
"...Hesitate to do what... To kill you...?"
Zephyr nods in agreement, still to frightened to not shake.
There's a man approaching behind Zephyr, waiting. He's above 6 foot 2 inches. His physique is impressive, a Greek statue come to life, and he carries a large sword on his back. Under the long leather cape is but a few garments that makes him look like a peasant. But his boots are quite prestigious, and his wrists wears charming ornaments. He even shows an immaculate ring on the index finger of his right hand. He clearly put gel in his hair to make it fall back with style. His grooming is stellar. A marriage of class and brutality.
When Lathe finally pushes Zephyr a tiny bit to leave the forge and look at the man who dared threatened his son, he's taken aback. The two warriors meet eye to eye. The presence of both is overwhelming, like two dragons daring the other to bite one's head off. Lathe can hardly keep the surprise off his face.
"Oh?... You, of all people?"
"Well, you seem to know who I am." Responds the bold traveler. "I assumed people that came from this place wouldn't figure my identity. Guess I was wrong."
"Well, it's not every day you get visit from some form of royalty or another... Nathaniel Crow."
"N-Nathaniel? Father, who is that?"
"Seems the boy needs some history lessons. Sadly, I'm not the one to provide answers, not today at least."
"Me neither. Zeph, if you want to watch, be my guest, but I'm gonna need you stay out of this." Warns the father.
Zephyr is puzzled by the demand, but Lathe's serious tone of voice and the intent to fight this Nathaniel fellow scares him beyond belief. The older blacksmith simply goes back in the shop.
"It won't take long, your highness. A man needs to be ready at any time!" Lathe says from the insides of his shop, shifting tones to something more humorous.
Nathaniel stays silent and focused. He looks at the shop for a few seconds before turning his gaze to what he considers the ultimate price.
"There you are... Bottomless Pit." He whispers to himself. Zephyr could hear that and witness the eyes of the Vancarther king widen. Nathaniel is grinning in satisfaction, akin to a mad man. This only aggravates the anxiety.
Lathe gets out with a shaper sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He looks unimpressed at the king's drive.
"Not in the village. I'll make things easier for you."
"I guess I have no choice but follow your lead, blacksmith?"
"Call me Lathe."
"Alright then. Your boy didn't give me that same decency. What's his name?"
Lathe, perplexed by the intent behind asking for his son's name, obliges anyway.
"…His name's Zephyr."
The king looks at Zephyr. There's a mixture of reticence and solitude in his eyes. Zephyr is too afraid to comprehend the significance of this. Lathe brings back the attention to himself by moving.
The three of them proceed to walk away from the village, into the empty space of land between it and the infamous pit. Zephyr looks at this situation with a petrified interest. The sun never radiated with such strength in the past. It's almost as if the gods wanted a taste of this fight for themselves.
"Time to be blunt. You're not the first man I forced this to.
"Really now?" Asks Nathaniel, curious.
"Yes. My son never saw this side of me and for a good reason. I'm a proficient blacksmith. I'm also pretty dang good at swinging my creations at people."
He points his dagger towards Nathaniel.
"Nathaniel Crow, I am not just a blacksmith. I am also the guarding of the pit. It's self-proclaimed so you may want to question the validity of that, but I'm ready to provide tangible answers, for that matter."
The king of Vancarther laughs openly at Lathe's threats. As if the forgeon was anything to take seriously, he places himself in front of his goals, all the sacrifices he had to make to be here. This doesn't dwarf the confidence of Lathe; however, Nathaniel is looking down on him.
"Ah, Interesting. When I decided to embark on my journey and it ended up being this quiet, I thought there would be no task that difficult. Again, I was proven wrong, at least in words."
Nathaniel gets his sword out of the sheath on his back. He breaths in heavily.
"I have been threatened my whole life by people more dangerous, more imposing and far more powerful than a blacksmith playing gate keeper. However, if it's what you will provide me with, then I will crush you in front of your son for your insolence. I am not just the king of Vancarther, but the king of Old York. I do not bow down to weaklings, nor do I follow their rules."
"Well good, me neither!" Replies Lathe.
"Pardon?"
"Who says I gate keep people from entering the pit? On the contrary, I gate keep the pit from taking another useless victim. Gallows was made to understand the wretched underground world, and we couldn't do anything before we collapsed. What makes you think a lone man like you will be able to achieve anything more, when a community born to do this task couldn't achieve a thing!?"
Nathaniel doesn't have a retort to that question, as he pretends to stay unphased. This attitude Lathe poses angers the Vancarther leader.
"The silent treatment, huh? Well, king, we can do it the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours. You can simply walk away now, and everything will be fine. If the reaper of Gallows has to kill you to make sure you don't get near, so be it."
Nathaniel breathes in and out slowly.
"The hard way it is." Dishes out the king as final verdict.
In a moment that seems like a fever dream, Zephyr's father, a zanny yet kind man, just spoke some of the most violent things Zephyr ever heard from him in his life. Lathe is about to fight what he understands to be an authority figure outside of Gallows so important, his death would probably mean a terrible fate for the entirety of Old York.
Lathe is dashing towards this figure, dagger and sword in hands, screaming this mighty cry for battle. Bringing his massive claymore, Nathaniel does the same. They both charge at each other, ready for the first strike, with killer intent in their eyes.
Zephyr can't believe it. This is not fear, this is not some form of approval either. He's just starstruck. He's flabbergasted. He can hear the whistle of the wind, the steps they take crashing on the soft sand and the ray of the sun shining on both of these warriors.
Zephyr doesn't know what to do, what to say, what to convey. He's lost in a sea of emotions so grand it takes a toll on him. He can only bend forward, crawling in a ball. He screams in pure agony...
As his skin starts to crack.
And his eyes start to glow piercing orange.