Hero Wars-Guardians’ Stories: Warriors and Marksmen

I understand that you are fed up with this psycho. But what can she do if she got her father's temper, who was a professional mercenary? Gossiping with girlfriends, school and all these girly things bored the hell out of Daredevil, and her mother didn't understand her tomboyish nature.

You wouldn't believe what was going on inside a young troublemaker's mind when she had to put a dress on just because “you're a girl!” However, she didn't know she would suffer so much after the death of her mother. Oh, how stupid those insults toward her parents seemed now!

After the loss of her mother the only soul mate left was the girl's father. Daredevil followed him everywhere he went and tried to take over all his habits. Father, knowing her daughter's special temper, taught her everything he could. Daredevil learned how to shoot with both hands, make bombs and got fit perfectly

After the loss of her mother the only soul mate left was the girl's father. Daredevil followed him everywhere he went and tried to take over all his habits. Father, knowing her daughter's special temper, taught her everything he could. Daredevil learned how to shoot with both hands, make bombs and got fit perfectly.or murdering his father, at herself for not saving him, and at the whole world in general. And you know what? Don't you dare blaming her!

Graven, the city of dark elves, lies far to the east, among lifeless mountains. Being related to each other, dark elves and light elves have long been locked in an uncompromising struggle. The dark clans threaten to conquer all enemy lands, including Riversar, the main citadel.

Dark Star always stood out among other dark elves thanks to her light skin and silver hair. And it worried the girl. Men and women always avoided her: politely, but deliberately. Blaming it all on her different appearance, Dark Star dreamed of only one thing: to be like the rest of her kind. She tried dying her hair and skin, but it was no use. One day The Supreme mother Ammana summoned the girl and said, "You're cursed, child. And that's the work of the mages of Riversar! Eliminate the Sentinel, lift the curse, and you'll become one of us!" Dark Star knew that Riversar’s Sentinel was a magical artifact that made the citadel impregnable for the dark elves. It had been created several centuries ago by the greatest of the light ones, and not a single of their enemies had managed to break through its spell. How could she obtain something like that? She'd never even seen light elves before. Early in the morning, Dark Star was summoned by the Council of Mothers and learned that a weak point had been found in Riversar's defenses. The council told her that an army or a squad would make too much noise, and so Dark Star was offered the opportunity to obtain the artifact herself. She agreed immediately, as it was her only chance to become normal.

At the agreed time, the girl crossed Riversar's magical border. The Mothers were right: the Sentinel didn't notice her! Using a map drawn by her kin, Star got through to the heart of the city, located the artifact, and smashed it into pieces. At that very second, an army of dark elves entered the enemy territory, leaving mayhem in their wake. An hour later the attackers' leading squad reached Riversar’s walls. Dark Star gazed into a big mirror, her eyes dim, her appearance completely unchanged. She was starting to understand. And when a squad of light elves broke in, it all became clear. Dark Star didn't look like other dark elves because she wasn't one. She was a light elf. She'd been stolen as a child, to become a light elf that could destroy the Sentinel and open Riversar to the dark clans. Too cruel to be true... When Star came to her senses, fights were breaking out all over the place. Thousands of warriors clashed in a deadly battle! Since she was the cause of the bloodshed, she had to put an end to it.

Betrayed by her own kind, Dark Star made a desperate choice. Fueled by rage and recklessness, the girl rushed towards her target. Blood gushed out of Mother Ammana's neck. Dark Star didn't look away. She watched the life seep out of the woman who had ruined her. The death of the dark elf leader turned the tides of the battle. The attackers retreated, and Dark Star stayed in Riversar. But, having destroyed the Sentinel, she became an outcast among the light elves as well. The Riversar Court pardoned Dark Star, taking into account the role she played in the defense. But she was ordered to leave the city immediately. Paladin Aurora expressed some motherly attention towards the outcast and presented her to the Guardians. Since then, Dark Star has had a home and real friends. But the pain of betrayal has never left her.

What is a weapon? Good or evil, killer or protector? Who carries the blame for spilling a stranger's blood: the blade or the master?

By the order of zafir Sargor the Second, owning a weapon was prohibited under penalty or death. Only zafir, the ruler of the khaganate, and his guards had the right to bear arms. For a commoner, owning a weapon was a terrible crime, which spelled death for the transgressor.

But the young boy who managed to worm his way into the khaganate treasury had something way more interesting to think about. The street urchin had never managed to get this far before. With a proud look on his face, he strutted between piles of gold, his dirty fingers prodding at the diligently polished precious vases, cups, and bowls. It wasn't the first time here for Elmir. He never took too much: just enough to survive. And yet, he kept finding new excuses to return. Quietly, he strolled in the quiet company of the piled-up gold, listening to something only he could hear. Then suddenly, he froze, as if a strange noise startled him, and briskly walked into the west chamber of the treasury. There again he stood still for a moment, listening intently, and confidently approached a small wardrobe full of precious cloth and rugs. As the door swung ajar, the boy finally saw what he had been looking for all this time: long, ornate blades adorned with a precious filigree of silver and gold. The very blades that beckoned the boy in his dreams, the reason why Elmir kept returning to the treasury time and time again in search of them. The street urchin grabbed both swords and tripped up on a suit of intricate armor laying on the floor, falling flat as a strange feeling overcame him.

He felt as his body was about to split into four, each with a life of its own. Everything his translucent copies saw and heard, he saw and heard as well. But amazement gave place to horror when Sargor the Second's guards barged into the treasury to investigate the noise. Suddenly, Elmir's copies walked towards the guards and started to fight them on their own. Not being a skilled swordsman, the street urchin grabbed both blades with one hand to make a quick escape. And then, to the boy's great surprise, the blades joined together as if by a miracle, and turned into an exquisite bow as a quiver full of well-crafted arrows appeared on Elmir's back. He heard a whisper in his mind, telling him how to draw the bow, raise the elbow, and take aim. Several minutes later, Elmir and his copies escaped the treasure room, the guards all lying dead on the floor.

Soon, the copies disappeared into thin air like a dream, and the street urchin found shelter in an abandoned home. Tired, exhausted, and completely confused, he was trying to understand what had just happened to him. And then he heard a voice, a voice clearly emanating from his newfound weaponry.

“We welcome you, Elmir, son of Tur Khazari born in secret. At last, we have found you: the last heir to the throne, son to a father murdered by the heinous usurper, Sargor the Second.”

“Who are you and what do you want from me?” — the boy looked around in a panic, trying to find the source of the voice. 

“We are the Blades of Many Truths, keepers of a secret discovered by the enemy.”

The blades told the boy a story, a story of how the ancestors of the Khazari once provided great aid to the titans and received a wonderful gift: legendary weaponry, ensouled and bearing immense power. A story of how Sargor the Second swore fealty to the Darkness, in return for the Cold Fire that brought all fifty blades to submission and made them serve him. Only the Blades of Many Truths managed to escape the king-slaying usurper.

All this time the blades had searched, calling out for the Khazari heir, to join him and bring retribution to the villain.

Elmir believed the weapons and accepted the gift openly. Once a street urchin covered in dirt, the bastard son of the khaganate's true zafir took it upon himself to save his homeland and the legendary weapons earned by his ancestors. He managed to wrest the freedom of over three dozen blades from evil, but the rest disappeared along with Sargor and his retainers when the evil usurper escaped. Elmir joined the ranks of the Guardians to purge the Dominion of all Darkness, and rescue the weapons forged by the Light.

Mother Nature must have planned Fox as a boy. The fidgety, personality-packed troublemaker always kept her parents on their toes. She used to ditch her arts and crafts lessons, so popular among all the other young ladies. Her mom and dad eventually resigned themselves to the fact that they would never see their youngest offspring in a wedding dress. You’d have to be crazy to propose to her, right?

By her race’s standards, Fox was no great beauty, either: her ears too tiny, her body way too hairless. The girl knew this, so she made it a point to get on everyone’s nerves with her stubborn and shocking behavior. At first, women laughed at her antics, but soon enough the respect and support that Fox earned from their male counterparts made them stop chuckling. Little boys, young lads, mature men, and old geezers alike; they all followed Fox’s shenanigans with ceaseless interest. Why? Because nobody could handle weapons quite like the mischievous girl. She hand-crafted at least three dozen different gunpowder-using weapons and self-propelled cannons. Unfortunately, since Fox’s homeland hadn’t seen war for more than seven hundred years, the only use people found for her inventions was to distribute pest-killing poison in their gardens, trigger avalanches, and scare off mountain trolls. What’s more, Fox’s weapons were never as popular as her sister Annie’s devices. Annie outdid Fox in everything. Except for weapons, of course. Armament was outside of her sphere of interest: she considered weapon-making a pastime solely for men, and also quite pointless in a time with no war. At the time, that is...

One night the whole city was startled awake by a dreadful thundering and the smell of something burning. The streets shook with a rhythmic pounding, as though an unbelievably huge giant had come through town, crushing everything in his path. As it so happened, that was exactly it.

Panic broke out, everyone screaming and running, mothers rushing to save their babies. Fox, though, simply stood at her window, warming up her tiny hands.

It didn’t even occur to her that, deeply asleep in her special new earplugs, Annie was snoozing peacefully in the next room.

Something exploded out on the street, and several trees crashed down noisily. Men were dragging their belongings away from the debacle, and some even began to fight over each other’s possessions. Trying not to wake her sister and quietly whistling a popular tune to herself, Fox carefully started down the stairs to the workshop. There was a deafening roar, and a house three blocks away from Fox crumbled under the weight of the never-before-seen monster. Dust filled the air of the whole neighborhood, making the steps of the killer beast even more ominous.

Annie, still asleep, stretched, smacked her lips, and turned over in her bed. The earplugs stayed right where they were supposed to, protecting the girl’s delicate hearing from all sounds.

Fox put on her gloves, grabbed a heavy bucket, and filled it with strange black powder. The house across was burning: the monster had broken the gas pipes her sister Annie crafted with such love and care. “What a dunce,” thought Fox, pulling down the sheet covering a strange, giant structure hidden in a dark corner.

Then the fearless girl opened the door of her workshop, the monster’s hot breath burned her cheek. It took her a minute to load the Stormbreaker, her newest superheavy weapon, with black powder and take aim. And then she fired. The monster let out a horrible howl, clutched at its humongous stomach, crashing right into a wall of their lovely house, and dropped dead.

The dust kicked up after the fall made Annie sneeze in her sleep. That sneeze finally woke her up. Annie glanced around, her eyes still half-closed, and took in the picture before her: the destroyed town, the defeated monster, the cheering townsfolk. Then, she sneezed once more and fell right back asleep.

The news of what Fox and her miracle weapon had accomplished traveled far beyond the town, reaching the ears of Emperor Ingvar himself. He invited the brave engineer to the capital and appointed her to a squad of valiant Guardians. Here, finally, was somewhere Fox could really let herself go!

Ginger Hayes' fragile figure is the complete opposite to her rough character. A born noblewoman and a daughter of The Duke of Coldfield, Johnathan Hayes, she's not into social events. Ginger is annoyed with ladies gossiping and gentlemen looking at her expressively.

Science – that's what lady Hayes is really passionate about. Being a reclusive and silent child, she spent months without leaving her house. However, the servants were always busy running to the store to get a new thing for the little genius. Whole rooms were filled to a brim with Ginger's inventions, but they were actually used only when the girl turned fourteen.

That year the plague was raging over Strongford and as if by someone's evil will the capital became flooded with the undead and other dwellers of the ruins near the Gravehall. Ginger started producing her own weapons and took control over the town's guard. Thanks to coordinated actions and red-haired girl's courage Strongford was saved, and the monsters were driven away.

Since that time lady Hayes has become a symbol and pride of her country. But the glory and laurels aren't what the scientist's looking for. And here we are again, locked inside her workroom Ginger is devising new means to protect her home.

"Trolls of Zarakkar, quiver in awe, for you are standing in the presence of the true son of our tribe, Jhu the Destroyer! It takes but a glance for this warrior to make his enemies flee in fear! By the will of our Maker and following Chief Skar's orders, we hereby proclaim Jhu warlord to the peoples of Zarakkar!"

These words, spoken by a herald long ago, have etched themselves into Jhu's memory. For just a year later, sitting in a damp prison cell, he could only look back on the times of his former glory. There was no Warlord Jhu anymore, only Jhu the Outcast.

It all began back when the Habkhar celebrations were in full swing. The feast was to be held late in the afternoon, and during the day: the annual culling. That meant all infants less than a year old had to be carefully examined. Those deemed unfit were to be thrown off the high cliffs of Troll-peak. The Zarakkar tribe did not permit the weak in its ranks and was not in the habit of leaving extra mouths to feed.

That was when Jhu found out sorting the children was one of his responsibilities. The newly-fledged warlord looked on as some women brought their infants forth proudly, while others tried to blend into the crowd, cradling their babes tightly. Several children were examined and given back to their mothers. There was a violent dispute regarding the fifth and the eighth babes. One was cross-eyed, and the other a bit too thin. They quickly ruled out the skinny babe and threw him off the cliff. Jhu could barely keep from vomiting. He had witnessed his fair share of elders, children, and women dying, but that kind of calm, routine assassination disturbed him deeply.

The next mother brought in an altogether ugly child. She kept wailing, "Spare my Mojo, I beg you!" and tried to bundle her son up to hide him from their prying eyes. But the judges would not budge from their sentence: death. Suddenly, the woman looked to Jhu, her eyes imploring.

"Warlord, please, have mercy on Mojo!" she screamed hysterically. "He'll pull through and become a great warrior!" As Jhu hesitated, caught off guard, one of the trolls ripped the child out of his poor mother's arms and threw him into the abyss. With a frantic shriek, the mother jumped in after her progeny...

Jhu didn't sleep a wink that night. Yes, he did fulfill his duty and had finished the sorting. He even made a formal appearance at the celebration, smiling wanly at guests. But the whole time, Jhu had a nasty sinking feeling inside. A couple of months went by, but at last, the warlord could take it no more and decided to find Mojo in that abyss, no matter the cost. The trek was a long one. But once he found the path to the foot of Troll-peak, Jhu realized he had walked right into an ambush. Scouts from an enemy tribe surrounded him, and he had no chance of escape. The Zarakkar warrior fought fiercely, striking down countless opponents with his bone boomerangs. But there were still too many enemies. Then suddenly, dripping with blood, a baby troll crawled out of the forest. Something strange happened next: green flame engulfed the baby, and a storm of magic skulls struck into the rank of the ambushers. A minute later, all of the attackers were dead.

It happened! Jhu had found Mojo, so fate was clearly on his side. He took Mojo to the city to spread the word of the child's mighty feat but ended up in prison instead. And then the very same herald that had sung his praise a year ago spoke very different words:

"The third law of the Zarakkar says that a warrior of the tribe has no right to pity! He who is found guilty of it will be stripped of all decorations and banished! Warlord Jhu has broken the law, and is hereby proclaimed an outcast!"

As he listened to this spiel, the outcast calmly whittled a plank he had found in a corner of his cell, making a funny mask. Once Jhu had been escorted outside the city walls, a woman handed him Mojo, who had been bandaged up carefully and was ready for a long journey. Attached to the warrior's belt was the intricate finished mask, meant for his little friend...

Among the Guardians, Mojo was a model "military brat", and once he had grown old enough, he made a name for himself with many great feats. Along with Jhu, he became an example of valor and a warrior's honor for the entire Dominion. Also, the Zarakkar tribe abolished their tradition of culling the weak.

Oasis Adjallahr has always been a crown jewel of the Oriental Sands. Spangled with graceful spires piercing into the bright blue sky, this place has attracted many traders, people of art and science. But it became truly famous because of the great magician Farrukh. Tales of his miracles circulated in Dominion from edge to edge. Noble looks, an aquiline nose, and magician's prudence were admired by everyone.

But most people were touched by the boundless love of the great magician to his son Ishmael. That fatherly care which is so rare in our times was indeed incredible: the descendant had the best education available, great food and luxurious clothes. Still, Ishmael was brought up to be a humble, well-mannered and a very clever boy. His magic skills which were developed by the lessons of his father promised to be as good as those of Farrukh, or even mightier!

Years passed, and one day, joyfully dressed Ishmael left the house as an adult. He was sixteen years old that day! The boy received a note from his father with congratulations and a request to come to the Crimson Hall. Happy Ishmael ran to the venue expecting an unusual gift for him coming of age. The nominal dagger he got for his previous birthday was sitting tightly in a leather sheath. Finally, he opened the doors to the Hall to which it was forbidden for him to enter earlier and stepped inside.

The great magician looked unusually solemn. His voice, gestures and facial expressions seemed too pompous to Ishmael. Farrukh invited the boy to sit down on a stone throne in the center of the dark room and turned to the wall to open an old casket. “I wonder what my father has as a surprise for me” – thought Ismael, looking at the raw edges of the throne, – “It will probably be the best gift of my whole life!”

And suddenly, as if someone had forced him to, he looked at his father, when he had already raised a long and sharp sacrificial blade over his son's head.

"Why, father?" – Ishmael shouted.

"You are my most significant sacrifice. Dark Gods will appreciate my gift and reward me with infinite power! Why do you think I spent all my time on you? I will ascend above the world and become the greatest magician!"

With these words, Farrukh plunged a dagger in the place where his son was sitting a moment ago. Ishmael, meanwhile, was already behind the wizard's back. The enchanter quickly turned and was ready for the second strike. But when he looked into the eyes of his son, he didn't see fear but an incredible desire to live. And even a moment later, lying in a pool of his own blood, his father didn't understand the mistake he made.

Ishmael was much more talented than what Farrukh thought and could inflict a fatal blow to the traitor before he got it himself. But the victory over his own father wasn't easy - the evil magician's soul has remained with the young man ever since. Ishmael has been living a double life, struggling with his inner evil. His dark side gives him power but always tries to possess Ishmael's mind. However, his own soul, wounded by betrayal, tries to find the right way in spite of inner demons.

Bolts of lightning tore across the skies of Dagan-Nur. The gate almost opened, and he was to be the second to enter it, right after Brog. Another journey to take, another world to visit, another little death. For the world, that is. K'arkh recalled past shifts, the cries of the dying, and his own unquestionable strength and power, full of endless hatred for the world that dared surround him. A familiar heat started to spread across his body, nothing unusual when enjoyable and exciting work awaits. Ilyssa's voice reached him a second after he started walking to the portal.

‘’You're too self-conceited, K'arkh, one of four Negators of All Creation! Turn around, for you are seeing these skies for the last time!’’

Ilyssa the Weaver, his partner in battle and one of the Negators herself, had a voice that K'arkh found incredibly annoying. A queen of one of many planets, she wielded the gift of prescience, but here and now the pesky wretch was wrong. K'arkh knew himself, and his own wishes. Everything would go as usual: the four Negators of All Creation would devour yet another world until nothing remained, and K'arkh would return to the endless abyss of Dagan-Nuhr. He stepped forward and entered the Outland portal.

Darkness gave way to light, so bright it made K'arkh's sensory organs screech in hatred as they began readjusting to discern the world around. The gate brought the Negators to Dominion's exact center, and the game began. Blood, surprise in the eyes of victims, blood again, and death, death, death... K'arkh and the others spread death wherever they went, and nothing would ever compare to the pleasure they felt.

‘’Do you remember me, K'arkh? Do you?’’ came a whisper from behind the ruler of Dagan-Nuhr.

‘’Yes, Judge. I never forgot you.’’ K'arkh stood straight and turned to face the man behind him. ‘’Many paths cross in Dominion. Perhaps it's a sign that you can't run from fate, isn't it? Remember how HE said that one day you'll protect those you hate and despise so much? You laughed and called his words a child's prattling, and yet today it will come to pass.’’

Lightning started to course through Judge's body. His voice carried no anger, only steeled resolve, with a light hint of fatigue.

‘’Your only hope lies in saving these people. Once you were the best work of our Creator, yet you envied everything else that he created. Your hatred drives you insane, K'arkh, yet the only one deserving of hatred is yourself. The Creator is gone, and Nebula and I can't find him.’’

‘’Why should I care, Judge?’’ K'arkh winced in disgust. ‘’Go look for HIM on your own!’’

‘’Why should you care, you ask?’’ Judge let out a bitter chuckle. ‘’Admit it: your strength is not what it used to be. How often did you allow yourself to be wounded by your foes? How many mistakes did you make, each a cause for unrest among the Negators? The Creator is gone and the world has lost control; the balance has tipped, and the laws of creation no longer work. Your strength is waning, K'arkh; and that will continue until HE is found. You are still strong and fearsome, yet, but how long can this go on?’’

Judge's words stabbed at his mind like sharp needles. K'arkh did not want to listen, but what he heard was true. He has to, he must help this miserable human rabble. Oh yes, he hates them so much, hates Judge and his pitiful friends, hates the Creator. But above else, he hates being weak. Ilyssa the Weaver, Brog the Conqueror and Vadjar: they will never forgive him. But what good is a common goal, when your very own life is on the line?

‘’Lead me.’’ K'arkh muttered to Judge. ‘’I will help you so long as I need it. And when the deed is done, I'll kill this planet and everything, everyone on it will be torn to shreds!’’

Thick, grey clouds covered the grim skies of Dagan-Nuhr. The first raindrops, like tears for their lost master, started falling into the abyss, so dark and endlessly deep."

Personal guardians of the Empress Octaviana are natural-born killers who were trained in the Brigg's school of mercenaries. For many years only men had been allowed to enter there, but everything changed when Keira appeared before the Deiss Brigg's cabinet.

Firm and daring, she made it clear that her lifework was to ensure the safety of madam Octaviana. And if this means graduating from the school of mercenaries, then Brigg has to change the rules. The old man was speechless for a moment, but then made the girl go away. She left only to return again the next day, and then again and again… All in all, as an exception, Keira was accepted.

From the very beginning, she showed great talent, passed exams ahead of the schedule, and quickly became a member of the Imperial Guard. Octaviana immediately noticed the girl and in a year they became best friends. Keira's streak of brave acts made her a captain, but it all ended with the attempted assassination of the Empress. At the cost of her life, the mercenary saved Octaviana while fighting Mort Chronos in an unequal battle. Our story would have ended, if not for the wounded and vengeful demon who revived the girl and to prolong her agony made a ghost out of her, doomed to eternal suffering. Relatives and friends believe Keira's dead, while in reality her torment and the brave warrior's struggle go on. Turned into an evil spirit, she was able to use her curse for good – her help for the Guardians of Dominion is priceless!

Since that, to honor Keira's heroism the school of mercenaries opened their doors for all the girls dreaming of becoming a warrior.