Rose

A woodcarver who became possessed by a spirit of vengeance. She is now seen as "a cloaked figure riding a dark stallion, blood-red cloak flying behind and silver sword gleaming in the light of the setting sun" as she prowls the route between Spaward and Steadwick.

The Black Rose

The following is a story written by Bard Tanni, originally available on the official (now-defunct) 3DO website.

Well met, traveler! Allow me to introduce myself to you. I am Bard Tanni, a troubadour of Erathia, spinner of tales, and in this case, a deliverer of warnings. This is a dangerous road that you walk, stranger. Do you see that figure over there? I speak of that cloaked figure riding a dark stallion, blood-red cloak flying behind and silver sword gleaming in the light of the setting sun. The person under that cloak may be human or spirit-no one can tell you for sure since anyone who has seen that face close up has not lived to tell the tale. The figure on that horse is death.

The figure first appeared 10 years ago, when this was still a common trade road. A merchant caravan was travelling from Spaward to Steadwick carrying, among other goods, a newlywed couple off to start a new life. The man, Anthony, a stonemason whose work had no peer, and his wife, Rose, a woodcarver whose figures seemed to breathe with a life of their own.

They had met a little over two years before and knew that they were meant to be together. Unfortunately, right after they had pledged their love to each other, Anthony had been sent to Steadwick to rebuild the castle walls. Rose could not go with him. They had been separated for a long year and a half while Anthony worked. He came back to her when it was done, told her of a house that he would build for them in Steadwick, and asked her to marry him. She said yes and they were married straight away, all their friends and family celebrating their joy. The caravan had left the next day.

About halfway to their destination, their caravan was attacked by bandits. The only warning was a slight glint of sunlight from the hillside before dozens of men came screaming at the caravan from all side, swords brandished. The caravan guards were completely unprepared for such an attack and were cut down by the bandits' bloody swords. Rose, dragged out of her wagon, was forced to the ground and assaulted. Anthony leapt out of the wagon to keep the men off his poor wife. He threw himself at one of the men, knocking him off his feet, and allowing Rose to scramble away. "RUN!" he cried to her. She turned to flee, but there was another man behind her who grabbed her. She was turned to watch as the bandits beat Anthony and slit his throat. She screamed as they laughed and threw her to the ground again. She passed out before she had to feel anymore.

She awoke bruised, stiff and bloody. She opened up her eyes and saw the carnage around her then howled a blood-curdling scream. All her terror, rage, fear, hatred, and grief boiled up in her at once. She felt power stirring within her and she looked up into the sky, spread her arms wide, and cried out her vow of vengeance. A dark force came over her and she knew what she must do. She picked up a sword that lay under one of the mangled bodies of the dead guards, and followed the tracks of the bandits into the hills.

She walked tirelessly for a day and a night until she reached their caves. There was but one sentry outside. She screamed her banshee cry and fell on him, silver sword cutting him apart before he could utter a cry. She moved into the caves, sword flashing, killing all in her path. With her inhuman strength and speed, the bandits never had a chance. Some escaped when they realized that they could do nothing to stop her.

When there was no one left in the cave, Rose looked around wild-eyed, sickened by what she had done. The spirit of vengeance that still possessed her whispered to her that the bandits still lived. She fought against it with all her might, yet still it whispered, telling her of all the atrocities the bandits had committed, of the women and children slaughtered. Rose gave in to the voice, letting the vengeful rage fill her, losing herself in cold fury.

For the past ten years, that cloaked figure has haunted this stretch of road, midway between Spaward and Steadwick, slicing apart anyone unfortunate enough to meet it. At night, you can still hear her cries of grief carried on the wind as she rides, still in pursuit of the vengeance that she will never achieve.