The Knight of The Dove by William A. Kooiker
Prelude:
A tortured soul.
Amaria Eversvale, the Knight of the Dove, so called because of the vivid locks of ivory that tapered down her face and the majestic beauty she possessed, knew agony. Like an unyielding decent, she had fallen to its lure, succumbed to its misery. Once a proud soldier of the Illidor army, her rare gift with a blade was often rumored god-given. Those were joyful times. She had wed the man she loved, and through her magnificent war prowess, many a victory had been scored beneath the crimson Illidor banner. Her triumphs reaped great prestige and honor.
Yet, like the churning tides of the sea, tragedy beset triumph.
So was the case of Amaria Eversvale. It was a gruesome misfortune, her husband beaten and murdered by soldiers from the rivaling Erdoth Fortress, the very same stronghold, ironically, that had ordered the deaths of her real parents so many years before. The madness that consumed her was extraordinary. In her rage, she swore to avenge her husband’s death, and that very night rode to Erdoth alone, blood and fury in her eyes.
When dawn arrived, nearly two hundred soldiers lay scattered about the fortress, a veritable graveyard of warriors, all slain by her hand. To harvest her vengeance, she had called upon the dark gods for unnatural strength, forbidden power. Such gods, ever searching for potential profit, had happily obliged, and it was these aberrant abilities through which she routed Erdoth.
And so, on that day, Amaria Eversvale attained justice for her husband, but achieved no peace in her victory, for honor is never attained in madness.
Erdoth’s destruction had come with a price, resulting in a miraculous, yet horrific act that would destroy who she was, and leave in its wake a haunted figure consumed with remorse.
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