He is not actually the last of his kind, but he is certainly the last few of a dying breed. The oath sworn and fealty bound, one of the few remaining knights of the Protectorate Orders. Maybe it is just as well for as the times were, none seem to adhere anymore to the codes and conduct that was set upon by the founders of the Protectorate Orders. The struggle for survival that follows the cataclysm of the 2004 Mega-Tsunamis eroded not only the topsoils of the land but also the nobility of the humanity that remained. Survival is the catchword nowadays, to hell with all virtues and propriety.
The knights of the Protectorate Orders were once instrumental in the days after the cataclysm, helping to ensure humanity’s survival. Stolid individuals whose integrity, loyalty and self-sacrifice helped to maintain the fragile peace and foster the cooperation of the survivors in rebuilding their lives. But perhaps their usefulness has lapsed now that humanity is back on their feet. Where greed and petty jealousies once more reign supreme.
The lone figure shivered against the cold of the coming storm front. Another gift of the devastation of the cataclysm. The upended weather system which wreaks havoc all throughout the land. Pulling his coat tighter he continues his trudge towards the nearby sanctuary of Fort Tuah. Pausing for a moment, the stranger stopped at the battered bronze statue of the fort’s namesake built at its outer perimeter.
Laksamana Tuah, a legendary figure from the Commonwealth’s past, long before it became the bedraggled collection of survivor colonies that it is, way before it was the once prosperous country called Malaysia, and its checkered history before that. Deep within the annals of history when this land was called Melaka and the rest of the peninsular subject to its empire.
Laksamana Tuah was a mighty warrior, a man beyond compare whose prowess in arms is evenly matched by his social graces, cunning intellect and generous compassion. But he like the knights is cursed by his loyalty and ruined by his integrity. Fallen in the eyes of many for his undying faith in his unjust ruler.
This very fort was build upon the modern ruins of the city once called Melaka which in turn was raised upon the ashes of the Melaka of yore. Much like its predecessors, the fort was built on an important trading route, guarding the supply lines and merchant routes upon the high seas of the Melaka Straits and the hinterland of the peninsular. As it is, it is a place of opportunity for traders, mercenaries, pirates, smugglers and others whose trade is in opportunity and whose currency is profit.
That is the reason the stranger is making his way to Fort Tuah today, for there is great need of skilled fighters at the fort. Both for its defence and to its detriment. For as the local authorities are in desperate need of sword-arms and gun-hands to defend the riches that pass through the fort so does the more seedier elements are looking for eager recruits to help plunder its spoils.
It is not much, he knows but perhaps more than he can hope for. A chance for a new beginning and a chance to lay to rest the ghosts of his past. Or perhaps as a small voice in his heart is saying an opportunity to go down fighting, to end his days in service of humanity as his life was meant to be. Well being a caravan guard might not be much but it is enough for what remains of his days. Maybe being cut down by bandit steel or torn apart by brigand bullets will lay him to rest at last and end his living torment.
