Wyatt Peacemaker of Knights

The Crooked Crown tavern fell silent as the stranger pushed through the heavy oak doors, spurs jingling against worn floorboards. His chakram rattled against his shield, and the teeth of the polar bear hat cast his face in darkness save for the glint of steel-gray eyes that had seen too much.

Wyatt Peacemaker had arrived in Thornwick not by choice, but by duty—the same duty that had carried him across the Runic Wastes for nigh on two decades. The townspeople whispered of missing caravans, of merchants who ventured into the Whispering Canyons and never returned. But Wyatt heard something else in their hushed words: the telltale signs of dark magic at work.

He settled into a corner booth, his back to the wall—an old habit that had kept him breathing through countless encounters with rogues, bandits, and worse. The barmaid, a stout woman named Meredith, approached with cautious steps.

"What'll it be, stranger?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Just whiskey," Wyatt replied, his voice carrying the rasp of desert winds. "And whatever you know about the Shadowmere Gang."

Meredith's face went pale as fresh snow. "Nobody speaks that name here, not anymore. Not since they started riding with that... thing."

Wyatt's hand moved instinctively to the enchanted revolver at his hip, its grip carved from the Horn of the Last Unicorn—a relic from his days as a Knight of the Silver Circle. The weapon hummed with protective magic, its chambers loaded with blessed silver bullets that could put down most creatures of the dark.

"Tell me about the thing," he said quietly.

The entire tavern seemed to lean in, drawn by morbid curiosity and the strange magnetism that followed legendary figures. Meredith glanced around nervously before sliding into the seat across from him.

"They say it used to be a wizard," she began, her voice trembling. "Jakob Nightwhisper, they called him. Came through here about six months ago, all robes and arrogance. Said he was researching 'ancient binding magics' up in the old ruins."

Wyatt nodded grimly. He'd heard this story before, in different towns with different names. Ambitious spellcasters who delved too deep into forbidden knowledge, only to emerge as something twisted and hungry.

"The gang found him first," Meredith continued. "Or maybe he found them. Either way, they came back changed. Their leader, Blackjack Billy, he's got these empty holes where his eyes should be, and when he speaks, it's with two voices—his own and... something else."

The Peacemaker finished his whiskey in one smooth motion and placed a silver coin on the table. "How many of them?"

"Twelve, maybe fifteen. They've made the old Thornwick Mine their hideout. But mister, you can't be thinking of—"

"I appreciate the concern, ma'am, but this is what I do." Wyatt stood, adjusting his hat. "I hunt things that shouldn't exist, so folks like you can sleep sound at night."

As he moved toward the door, an old prospector at the bar called out, "You're him, ain't you? The one they call Peacemaker?"

Wyatt paused, one hand on the door handle. "I'm just a man trying to make things right."

"They say you were there when the Crimson Lich fell. Say you put down the Werewolf King of the Northern Reaches with nothing but iron and determination."

"Stories have a way of growing in the telling," Wyatt replied. "But sometimes, when the darkness gets too thick, someone has to light a candle."

He stepped out into the desert night, where the twin moons cast long shadows across the sand. In the distance, the Thornwick Mine waited like a wound in the earth, pulsing with an unnatural red glow. The wind carried the scent of sulfur and the faint sound of inhuman laughter.

Wyatt Peacemaker checked his weapons one last time, whispered a prayer to the Old Gods, and began his lonely walk toward whatever evil awaited in the depths below. He'd made a promise long ago, when he first took up the star-shaped badge of the Knights: to stand between the innocent and the dark, no matter the cost.

The townspeople of Thornwick would wake to find their nightmare ended, or they would find only his hat and badge as markers of another good man claimed by the endless war against the shadows.

But that was a price the Peacemaker had always been willing to pay.

Written by Snoopy

Entered by: 0x9A10…d3E8