Clara, The Valley Keeper

By: Ben Frondorf

The Decayed Valley was always something tedious and dangerous to cross through. It
may for a perfect hiding spot if one was on the run from the law. From the divine lord of the
Lands of Merren. Which is why it was the chosen hiding spot that Clara’s grandfather chose
when their entire clan was labelled “devils” by the king.

Jerome of Merren, grandfather of Clara, was a master tactician, serving the king for
years. From the sun’s ascent to the sky, to its inevitable fall and casting of black shadow, he
served. Until Jerome lead the Great Coup, slaughtering those the king held dear in hopes for
power and prestige. While bloody and filled with bones and waste of despair, the coup failed to
kill or even dethrone the Lord of Merren. And thus, flee did the Clan of Jerome the Butcher, flee
to the Decayed Valley. Flee to a place no man, woman or child should be able to survive in. Yet
they did.

Of course it was not without sacrifice. Many were burned by the poisonous waters.
Clara’s own mother was stabbed by a Piercing Tree before her father slayed it. The death of the
Clan pushed Clara to live long the border, just beyond the woods and poisonous lake. The last
clearing before the entrance to the valley.

Her grandfather, Gods rest and damn his soul, ventured inside the Valley. As to what laid
beyond, Clara never knew. She never heard from him. Except for his final instructions: “Guard
the gateway. Never let anyone pass. For my safety, and theirs.”

But that was so long ago. And Clara’s duty was still strong. The home her and her
grandfather built had fallen into decay. Just as broken down as the valley entrance she called
home. The wooden roof was partially caved in, letting cracks form into much larger holes that
needed to be filled in. If at all. The bricks were breaking apart. More cracks here and there it was
a miracle the walls still held up. Granted this could also be do to those the Lord of Merren sent
after her and her house. And with every hero sent to slay her and her family, she struck back
against them.

As the night slowly dawned on the valley, she emerged from the ruinous building Clara
called home. She walked outside to the warm embers of flame just beyond her home. Under her
arm was a harp, crafted by her grandfather into a mighty instrument of wonder and devastation.
She strung it ever so slightly, adjusted it, played again. She sighed to herself, relaxing next to the
warm flame. Clara continued to play to herself, enjoying the deafening silence aside from the
wondrous sounds of the harp.

Despite the house’s front facing away from the valley and the fire burning so brightly,
Clara could barely see into the dark abyss around her. Clara closed her eyes, letting herself play,
the tune strumming throughout the entrance of the valley. She only stopped playing and jerked
her eyes open once she heard the breaking of branches. Her gaze shifted updated and saw a man
in armor stand before her.

Along his right arm, a single tattoo was shown reading a single word: “PROTAGONIST.”
Clara stood up and flicked her harp. The instrument unfolded itself, bending down and into a
bow. The man drew a sword and smirked. Clara flicked her left arm down and a small stream of
armor wrapped around her left side and down to her wrist. A word glowed off of the armor;
“BOSS FIGHT.” A small red band wrapped around her right wrist.

“You will fall. Like all others before you.” Clara announced, slowly stepping around the
fire before her. The Protagonist said nothing. He drew his blade and cracked his neck.

“I know why you come. The Lord of Merren will be displeased by seeing another skull
return to him. And my grandfather will walk free once more. And his divine lord will see the
heresy play out once again.” Clara called out, getting cleared of the fire now. The Protagonist
took a few moments of silence, still watching her. Then he spoke. “Silence witch! It will be your
head that will be claimed!”

Clara had heard that one before. Which meant the cycle had started a new. Which meant
she should embrace the next few moments as her last. Her grip on her bow tightened.

“Very well then, hero. May the blood of those you slayed be avenged this night!” Clara
cried out and began to fulfill her duty.

She raised her bow and drew the energized arrow, launching it towards the Protagonist.
He, in turn, rushed forward and used his sword to cut through the first arrow. Clara leapt back as
the Protagonist came in for a slash, barely clipping her leg. The red band shortened slightly, the
damage dealt. She glances back up and his assault continues. She parries one strike, counters
with her own. Clara brings her leg up on the armored opponent, blocked with his left forearm. He
thrusts towards her stomach. Clara leaps back a half foot and wraps a hand around his right wrist.
She pulls and jabs him in the chin with her elbow.

His head snapped up, the Protagonist uses his might and slams his forehead down onto
Clara’s. Clara steps back slightly, gripping her head. The man brings his left leg up, slamming
into her stomach. Clara rolled on the ground. She dug her heels in and stopped herself, flipping
her body up to her feet. Her eyes darted back up just as the Protagonist thrusted his blade
towards her face for another strike. The tip cut into her cheek, drawing blood. But it wasn’t
enough to sway Clara.

She brought her bow up and blocked another strike aimed for her nose. Clara screamed
and pushed back against the man. She spun her bow upward, knocking the Protagonist off his
balance. Seeing her chance, Clara moved in for a close quarter strike. She swung high, aiming
for the neck. The man came to faster than anticipated, raising his blade and blocking the attack
once more. The blade of the Protagonist suddenly glowed bright blue. Clara gasped. A surge of
power erupted from the blade and launched Clara back. Her body leaving the ground and flying
back towards the ruined home.

Clara slammed into the brick wall, bursting through it. Clara’s body slammed against the
chair her grandfather would sit in, right by a fireplace. The few shields and blades that lined the
wall now fallen, dirtying the decrepit house even more. This was a new one for the cycle. But
that did not matter now. Clara jumped to her feet, ready to engage once more. However, once she
stepped to her feet, a metallic claw grabbed her chest. The Protagonist pulled back, launching
Clara back through the wall, her head hitting more of the brick.

The red band was down to a quarter left.

The claw retreated back to its gauntlet wore by the Protagonist. When it suddenly
stopped, the claw opened and Clara went flying past the man and slammed into another tree,
snapping it in half. Clara rolled to her side, getting back to her feet. Like before, she drew her
energy arrows and fired towards her foe. The Protagonist severed the first two arrows but failed
the block the third from striking him in the shoulder. Clara saw the chance. With swift feet, Clara
darted forward and drew more arrows, firing three once again.

Despite being injured, the Protagonist was able to take the arrow hits and sever the third
bolt in two once more. Clara kept up her assault, getting in closer to the Protagonist. The blue
glow emitted from the blade once more. She didn’t see it. Too focused on her narrow path to
victory. Her window of success. Clara leapt onto one of the nearby toppled trees to gain height
on her foe. She lunged, twisted her bow around for a strike. And just as she brought her bow
down to the Protagonist’s skull, he swung his powered blade, cutting right through Clara.

Her body fell, limp and lifeless. All but for a small twitch in her fingers. Clara took a few
breaths. The red band on her wrist now down to a single digit number: One. Deep breath in, deep
breath out. It was all she could do while laying still on the ground she called home for many
years. Slowly, she heard the footsteps of the hero encroach near her. Clara kept her eyes open.
She knew it was her time. The jab from the blade pierced her spine. Just as quickly did the sword
enter her did it leave.

As the life faded from her eyes, Clara watched as a chest magically materialized beside
her dying body. The Protagonist just simply opened the chest, picked up whatever it was that was
inside, struck a pose and began to run off towards the edge of the valley. She reached out gently
to the Protagonist as they ran off. Whatever she wanted to grab was anyone’s guess. But, her
muscles finally gave way. Her arm collapsed on the ground as the tattoo on her arm: BOSS
FIGHT, faded once more.

Clara closed her eyes and accepted her fate.

 Clara’s eyes opened. She took in a deep breath. She run her hands through the marrow
field she called home, her harp in hand. She sat down on her stump, smiled and began to play.
She awaited the same fate as last time. But she knew she would return. The cycle had concluded
and started fresh once more.

She looked down to her left arm and saw the tattoo, still there. Still glowing.

BOSS FIGHT.