Surya Home

A New Beginning

The Road to Ruin

 

A New Begining

A few weeks after the souls had been returned to the three victims of the Dance of the Dammed, they had recovered enough to leave the care of Brother Hospitallar. A bond had been formed between the three while they recovered in the Basilica's infirmary. Geriant, Gavin and Carrow now all sat in the open air watching the comings and going of the foremost church of Aderra in this land. The Basilica, a sprawling complex of holy buildings, divided roughly in two parts. The Outer Basilica, where common petitioners would pray and library enquirers where handled. But the deep business of the church took place in the Inner Basilica.

All three had made a good recovery from their vial ordeal. Carrow a knight of the Blades of Wisdom & Mercy, the Militant order sponsored by the church, would soon be returning to the Blades' headquarters in the fortress Lorindel. Once there he would continue the fight against the horrors of the Desolations that threaten his beloved Stryre. Gavin was to return home to Dakau with his rescuers Talahan Bowhawk and Arenlos Mindshadow to continue his noble training. There would be no more fool hardy adventures for a while, he had appeared to have learnt his lesson.

Geriant though healed in body, his mind had yet to adjust to the situation he now found himself in. He had very little experience of other worlds or planes, well not until that fateful day when Gothmog's Abyssal horde broke through into his world. But now he found himself in yet another world. He had spent much of his time in the infirmary reading the books Delloch had supplied on this realm. This world seemed in many most respects similar to his beloved Mëdgeard. There was good and evil, light and dark, law and chaos. There was land, sea and air. There was magic, gods, devils and demons, but something was missing. Geriant knew what that was; it left him empty and cold inside, his own god, the god of war and justice, Tyr. Had the one armed leavings of the wolf, left him?

What would he do next; seek out his God, find the lost Swords of the Azimuth and reclaim his home or join the Blades of Wisdom and Mercy and serve Aderra. Or would he try to come to terms with his lost land and god and make his own way in this new land, seeking fame, fortune and what ever else this world had to offer.

As he pondered over his situation, he noticed a few of the Blades training in the court yard. Geriant watched them for a while, admiring their skills with the practise weapons. While he was watching another warrior joined them, he was tall and dress in heavy black plate armour. The new comer drew two long swords from the weapons rack and joined the knights in there practice. Geriant recognised him as Surya, King of New Tellare and his rescuer. Geriant had met and talked with the King many times while he had been recuperating in the infirmary, but this was the first time he had seen him fight. As he watched in awe at the prowess he displayed with these weapons, he noticed that his scabbards were both strangely empty, where as the Blades all carried their normal weapons.

Surya noticed Geriant and his two soul companions watching them train. He beckoned them over, to join them. All three stood and approached the King, bowing reverently as they did so. Surya gestured to the half full weapons rack and each took up a weapon and joined the knights in their training. Geriant picked a well made sword from the wooden rack and tested its balance and feel with a few practice swings. It felt good to have a weapon in his hands again, he turned to find an opponent only to see Surya squaring up to him. He had heard that his rescuer was one of, if not the best swords man in this land and after a short while he was being to see why. The King bested and thwarted every attack he made, tagging him repeatedly. Surya was a good teacher and seeing that the new knight was becoming frustrated stopped and let one of the Blades continue with the training.

Geriant fort well for one who had been out of action for almost a thousand years, his combat style slightly different to that of the others, but that did not stop him from besting some of his opponents. Surya continued to watch the men fighting, intervening occasionally with advice were it was needed. As the session was drawing to a close, Geriant in a moment's lapse of concentration was caught by a blow to the head which sent him crashing to the ground.

Dazed and disoriented he lay on the ground, slipping in and out of consciousness. As he lay there he could hear some one speaking to him, but it was not anyone of this world.

What bit through the byrnie? how was broken my sleep?
Who made me free of the fetters pale?
Sigmund's son, with Sigurth's sword,
That late with flesh hath fed the ravens.

Hail, day! Hail, sons of day!
And night and her daughter now!
Look on us here with loving eyes,
That waiting we victory win.

Hail to the gods! Ye goddesses, hail,
And all the generous earth!
Give to us wisdom and goodly speech,
And healing hands, life-long.

Long did I sleep, my slumber was long,
And long are the griefs of life;
Othin decreed that I could not break
The heavy spells of sleep.

Beer I bring thee, tree of battle,
Mingled of strength and mighty fame,
Charms it holds and healing signs,
Spells full good, and gladness-runes.

Winning-runes learn, if thou longest to win,
And the runes on thy sword-hilt write;
Some on the furrow, and some on the flat,
And twice shalt thou call on Tyr.

The poem was cut short when he was helped to his feet by Carrow, who could not stop apologising. Geriant told him that he was not to blame, it was just an accident. Shortly after the practice session broke up and the Blades continued about their business. Geriant recovered swiftly from the blow, shaking off the effects very quickly, but that did not stop Surya ordering him to the infirmary for a check up.

While he walked back from the infirmary to his quarters, he pondered on the words he had heard. He had heard the poem before, when he was a child his mother had spoken it to him and later in life around camp fires, bards had told these tales and others of his beloved Mëdgeard.

He turned the words through his mind slowly, seeking their meaning.

Winning-runes learn, if thou longest to win,
And the runes on thy sword-hilt write;
Some on the furrow, and some on the flat

Did this mean he should emulate this King with his black armour, his shadowed eyes and his secrets, and study the Magesmith's art? Or did it refer to the symbols already restored to Deathsbane by Surya's craft?

And twice shalt thou call on Tyr

He'd called on his God to give him strength at the siege of Alqualin and faith had not been enough. Maybe the time was right to reach out once more. Maybe there was nothing to reach out to?

Seeking out Sigred, he asked the young priest-agitator if there was a room where he might pray to his own God. Once alone, he arranged his armour on a stand and knelt facing it, his sword across his knees.

For seven hours he meditated on his God, bringing body, soul, spirit and mind into resonance and harmony. Gathering all his spiritual and arcane power, he reached out towards his deity, striving for hope and purpose. But none came, his god appeared to have forsaken him.

Down hearted and not bothering to put his armour back on, he quickly gathered up all his belongings and left the room. In his hurry to leave he collided with a monk that just happened to be walking passed the door, sending the monk and all his equipment crashing to the floor.

Geriant apologised to the priest and help him to his feet. Geriant began to gather up his belongings from the stone floor and noticed the monk had picked up his sword. The priest looked interestedly at the blade and then spoke, "We do appear to be in a great hurry, do you know where we are going yet." The priest paused and continued, "Please forgive me for I have not introduced myself properly, I am Delloch and you must be Geriant, the knight that was rescued from the Dance of the Dammed."

Recognising the name, Geriant nodded politely to the Arch Priest. The priest spoke again as he handed back the weapon, "This is a fine blade and I can see that Surya and Brother Armourer have worked well on its reconstruction."

Geriant answered the Arch Priest, "I hope I am worthy of their efforts and find a just cause for its use." The priest could see that something was troubling the knight and asked him openly had he lost his faith in his god. Geriant answered, "I have not lost my faith, but I do appear to have lost my god, Tyr."

Geriant went on to tell Delloch about his failed efforts to reach out to Tyr and the poem he had heard. The priest thought for a moment and simply said, "Its meaning seems clear to me, try a second time."

Next morning Geriant did as the Arch Priest had suggested and returned to the room set aside for his vigil. For most of the day the knight prayed and worshipped in the hope his deity would appear to him and just when he was about to give in for the day, he felt something. There was something different about the room, something familiar, there was a presence with him. The feeling was very faint, almost unnoticeable, but Geriant was sure it was his god. Elated he continued to pray with a new strength in his soul, his god was with him. As he prayed he could feel his deity's power returning to him. As the ceremony drew to a close, there was a bright flash of light and heat which washed over the praying knight. It was all too much for the human and he passed out, exhorted from the experience.

The next thing that Geriant was aware of was two monks kneeing over him trying to bring him round. Dazed and confused he got to his feet and looked around. The room looked like a whirlwind had torn through it, all his gear was strewn around the floor for the second time. With the monks aid he gathered up his equipment and retired to his quarters.

No sooner had his head hit the pillow, Geriant was asleep. For the first time in almost a millennium he slept, untroubled by demons and bad spirits, dreaming of his beloved Mëdgeard as it was before its down fall.

In the early hours of the morning, Geriant was awoken by a noise. The only light in the room was coming from under the heavy oaken door, which made it almost impossible to see anything at first. He could hear something moving around and as his eyes became accustomed to the half light, he now noticed his window was open, but he could see very little else.

Still mazed by sleep, he reacted on instinct, forgetting his recent past, and sought for it with his senses, seeking for the taint of evil. When no response came Geriant froze, trying not to make a sound, all the time listening for the movement that had awoken him. He heard nothing, but a cold feeling shuddered down his spine as if someone was walking over his grave and he knew how that felt. Convinced that there was something in the room with him, he moved his hand very slowly towards the hilt of Deathsbane which he had hung beside his bed.

As he gripped the weapon with one hand he felt it move as if someone else was holding it. Instinctively Geriant gripped the pommel harder and as he did so the intruder tried to rip the relic from his hand. After a brief struggle, Geriant managed to wrestle Deathsbane from his unseen prowler. With a deft flick of the wrist the knight adjusted his grip on the weapon and flicked the scabbard away from the blade. Fully awake now and with his eyes growing ever more accustomed to the dark, Geriant assumed a more battle ready position. He would have wished for better circumstances than the one he found himself in, unarmoured, in the dark with an unseen adversary.

Thinking it was time to improve his chances, he called upon his very limited arcane power. His innate ability in the art of magic sent a pulse of energy down the sword he was carrying, which illuminated the room. Geriant could now see the havoc that his intruder had wreaked upon his room and belongings, but he still could not see his assailant. Hearing a weapon being draw from it scabbard, he prepared himself for the inevitable attack. Geriant did not have to wait long, there was a whistle in the air as the blade he had heard being draw passed inches from his unarmoured abdomen.

Geriant using all his martial skills, tried to connect with his opponent. Swinging wildly at his invisible opponent, his first few blows connected only with the air in the room. Then he felt the bite of a sword in his chest, then another. Blood quickly stained his now ripped shirt and a feeling of nausea came over him from the two crippling blows. Geriant, now weakened from the first assault, tried again to connect with his attacker, but failed. He was rewarded for his inability to hit his target with another crippling blow to the chest and then one to his abdomen.

Blood now flowed freely from Geriant's many wounds, weakening him even further. His inability to hit the intruder and its intimate knowledge of anatomy would be his end, or so he thought. To disengage from battle and heal his wounds seemed to be the best option, but his blood, or what was left of it, was now boiling and he swung again. This time he connected and he noticed a stain of blood on his weapon and the floor. Now with a better insight as to where his attacker was, he struck again. Geriant felt his sword hit something and he was rewarded with a shriek of pain followed by a loud thud and a clatter of steel on stone

The room now fell silent and no further attacks came Geriant's way. The knight, paused for a moment in an attempt to catch is breath, now noticed that a heavily blood stained rapier and pool of blood had appeared on the stone floor in front of him. The pool of blood was getting bigger and as he moved closer to investigate, a body of a man shimmered in to existence. The dark-skinned man was dressed almost completely in black and was bleeding profusely from the head wound Geriant had inflicted upon him. The man was quite dead.

Gasping for breath, Geriant stumbled to the window and looked outside, directing his light around to check if his night-time visitor had had any accomplices. Seeing no one outside, he assumed the man had been working alone. He next seized one of his sheets and ripped it up for bandages, wadding them into his wounds and binding them as tightly as he could.

Then he cleaned his blade and stuck it upright in the wooden floor to light the room, and searched his visitor. The dead man was wearing black, almost skin tight clothing, now very blood stained. There was no armour to speak of other than a bracer on one arm and a bucker on the other. Geriant noticed that from his belt hung a scabbard, a quiver and a sack. The man was also wearing a black cloak and over his shoulder there was a short bow. Geriant piled up some of these possessions with the thief's discarded rapier and then noticed to his horror that his armour, helm and shield were missing, also the great sword that Surya had restored was no where to be seen.

Franticly the knight searched the room, even looking outside the window again, but there was no sign of them. There was only one place left to search and there was no way his gear could be in there, he thought, as he picked up the sack the dead man had been carrying. It was quite small and like most of his possessions was black, weighing about fifteen pounds. Geriant open the bag and looked in, but it was too dark to see if there was anything in it. He tipped the bag upside down and poured the contents on to the stone floor. To his surprise many objects fell out of the bag, in fact the number and sizes of the objects that now littered the floor could not have come from a bag this size. To his relief all his possessions now lay on the floor in front of him, mixed in with many other items.

Geriant retrieved his belongings from the pile of equipment that now lay on the stone floor and scanned over the remaining objects. There were a few items that interested him and he placed these with the rapier for further examination. He then noticed buried amongst the remaining mundane items was a small sack. The sack had split and many black coins had spilt out onto the floor. He picked up one of the coins and examined it. The money was coated in a black powder, which easily rubbed of on to his fingers. He sniffed the powder, which had an acrid sulphurous smell to it. He now noticed that where the powder had rubbed off, the metal now gleamed a dull yellow colour. It was gold, but this was no ordinary gold. Geriant brushed off more of the soot from the coins and to his shock saw the emblem of his beloved Rankan Empire upon it. How had this thief come across this treasure, he thought. But that mystery would have to wait for another time, because just at that moment all hell broke out.

From outside he could hear the sounds of the Basilica's alarms going off. He moved himself painfully to the window, but the pain from his wounds was now so considerable, and he found himself reaching to lay his hand on them. A moment of doubt touched him, but it passed and he continued the movement, placing his hand onto the bloodied slash. Reaching out, he placed his trust in Tyr and his faith in his healing. When the response flowed through him, bringing much needed relief from his wounds, he started upright, his eyes widened with realization. "Forgive me, Lord, for my lack of faith," he shouted joyfully.

Though the bleeding from all his wound had now stopped and some of this damage had been cured, Geriant was still very badly injured. His strength had been sapped by the crippling, almost surgical, strikes from his unknown assailant and he needed help.

Now looking out of the window, he could see the inner Basilica was a hive of activity. Many armoured solders and knights were running around, clearly looking for something or someone. Geriant called too one of the Basilica's guards standing near to his window and asked what was going on. The young man told him they had found several unconscious guards in the grounds and they where looking for a possible intruder. The guard then noticed that Geriant was badly injured and asked how he had come by his injuries.

Geriant told the guard that he had disturbed an intruder, probably the one they were searching for. The guard called to his comrades and then he climbed through the window to investigate for himself. Within minutes the pair were soon joined by three other soldiers, including the captain of the watch. The captain, a rather short and plump man answering to the name of Tolan, interrogated Geriant briefly and when he was happy that he had the facts he needed, he ordered the room to be cleared. The three guards removed the corpse and the thief's belongings that had been piled up on the floor next to the body and left the room. Tolan looked Geriant up and down, a said rather unhelpfully, "I see you were caught with your pants down laddie, you had better trot down to the infirmary and get fixed up." The paladin flashed Tolan a grim smile. "Pants or no pants, my sword was within reach soon enough to kill an invisible assassin." With that said Geriant sauntered down to the infirmary, were he spent the night recovering from his injuries. His healing was greatly aided by the clerics of Aderra and by morning he was discharged, fully recovered. He returned to his apartment and was glad to find his room completely cleared of all evidence of the fight from the previous night. In fact his room had been tidied, the blood and guts had been cleaned up and his own equipment had been returned and put back in its right and proper place.

An hour later there was a loud knock at the door. Geriant opened the door to find two knights of the Blades of Mercy and Wisdom standing in the corridor. They greeted him courteously, but demanded that he follow them to meet with their commander.

Geriant was shown in to a small office. The only significant thing in the room was a large oaken table, covered with papers, behind which sat an elderly knight. The knight stood up as Geriant and his escort entered the room, he dismissed the guards and introduced himself, "I am Gythien, Knight-commander of the Blades of Wisdom and Mercy and Commander of the fortress at Lorindel." Geriant bowed respectfully to Gythien. "My honour," he murmured politely.

Gythien then gestured to Geriant to stand at ease, as he walked round the front of the desk. He squared up to Geriant and looked him in the eyes, almost as if he were probing his very soul. Geraint felt rather uncomfortable, but show no outward signs too his inquisitor. After a moment or two of prickly silence the commander spoke again and simply said, "Good." He then gestured for the knight to sit.

Both men sat and Geriant asked why he had been sent for. Gythien told him that he had been summand for two reasons; firstly he wished to tidy up the unpleasantness from the previous night and secondly offer him an opportunity to prove himself as a knight of god. Geriant raised an eyebrow at this but made no comment.

The commander told Geriant that his attacker was a known criminal from the Red Dust Tract, who occasionally visited the capital. The man was known in these parts as Sorté, but this was very probably not his true name. Gythien went on to tell Geriant that Sorté had a reputation as a gentleman thief, so it was unusual that this confrontation had led to blood letting and death. The commander proffered an explanation that perhaps his employer had used very persuasive measures to ensure the rogues success. Gythien continued with a veiled warming that under normal circumstances killing in the Basilica was forbidden, but in this case no action would be taken and the matter was closed. "Thank you, sir. It was self-defence, after all."

Gythien said there was a reward for the thief's capture, which he felt sure Geriant would wish to donate to the church coffers, Geriant nodded in agreement and added all but one of the thief's coins to that donation. The commander than told him that the items found on Sorté appeared to be his own belongings and he was welcome to take any or all the items. "Thank you my Lord, but that only leaves," Geriant added, "the mystery of why the man was carrying coins minted on my home plane of Medgaerd, thought to be destroyed." He hesitated. "Some magic's allow the questioning of the dead. Should we ask the priests here to question the dead man for us?"

Gythien's eyes widened at the young paladin's suggestion, but for a moment or two said nothing, he was clearly pondering the knight's proposal. "That would be an excellent line of inquiry, but..." He paused, "There is no one in our order capable of such feats and I believe necromancy is frowned upon in the Basilica, but you are welcome to ask if you desire." Geriant shook his head. "If it will offend our hosts, I will not pursue it. It seems poor thanks for bed and board and for sponsoring my rescue."

Geriant thanked the commander for his words of wisdom and changed the subject asking how he could prove himself. Gythien now smiled and said, "In many ways Geriant, but I would like you to join the Blades and Wisdom and Mercy and serve under my command in Lorindel." The commander informed him that they had debated his case and could see no reason why a godly knight of a similar faith, like himself, could not serve Aderra. Gythien went on to tell Geriant that he would expect obedience to him and to the cause of Aderra, but he would be allowed to worship his own deity openly.

Once Gythien had finished telling Geriant of his proposal and what he expected from him he paused and waited for his answer. Geriant's spirits rose at the prospect of once more belonging to a fellowship; of having a cause to fight for. "Lord," he replied, "I would be honoured to join your Order, so auspiciously named. May both Tyr and Aderra bless my blade and guide me. I will uphold what is noble and good and smite the wicked to the limit of my strength, on my honour do I swear it."

The old knight seemed please, smiling as he welcomed him to the order. The pair spent the next few hours discussing the role of the order and what was expected from its knights. Gythien told him he would be expected at Lorindel in one month which should give him plenty of time to get there in time for his investiture.

Geriant asked if he could take a horse from the stables in the Basilica, to which Gythien agreed. With their business concluded, the latest recruit to the Blades of Wisdom and Mercy left his commander and made his way towards the stables. As he entered a large wooden building he was greeted by one of the monks who asked politely how he could assist the knight. Geriant told him he had been sent by Gythien to take one of the spare horses for his journey to Lorindel. The monk asked Geriant to follow him to where the Blades stabled their mounts.

The building was huge, housing many hundreds of horses, the majority of which were warhorses. The beast were of all different, breeds, colours and sizes, some had clearly seen many battles and others possibly naive in the ways of war. The let him to the far end of the building and spoke, "These mounts are, at present, without a master. Please choose one for your purpose."

There were about ten mounts and like the other steeds he had seen were all from different stock. His eyes were drawn to one of the creatures in particular, probably because of its size, for it stood almost twenty hands tall. The beast was pure white in colour, with a golden mane and tail. Geriant eager to take a closer look entered the horse's stall and then noticed the heavy strapping around the right foreleg. His heart sank, he really thought this was the mount for him. Disappointed he turned to the monk and asked what was wrong with the creature. The monk told him that the beast had turned up at the church about a month ago, lame. Clearly its former owner could not afford to have the creature treated and had left it for the church to care for, but in spite of their best efforts they could not find anything wrong with the leg and could not cure it.

Still disappointed, Geriant started to look the other horses over, when he had another waking vision, this time of his god riding in to battle upon a white charger. His sword raised high in his left hand as of cause his other was useless….

His spear he shook, his shield he brandished,
His horse he spurred, with his sword he hewed,
Wars he raised, and reddened the field,
Warriors slew he, and land he won.

Geriant turned to the great white horse and it looked back it him. Geriant stroked the soft nose of the animal. "Great heart. Like me, you have taken wounds in a good cause. Like me, you need a new cause, new purpose. Maybe we can seek it together? If Tyr will aid me and it seems he will, I will ease your hurts." Gently, he took hold of the noble beast's leg and unwound the bandages. There was no visible sign of damage to the creatures leg, no cuts, no bruising or swelling. The monk, now looking over Geriant's shoulder, told him they had tried several times to heal the animal. He informed him that they had tried magic as well as the more traditional methods in an attempt to cure the horse, but to no avail. Not deterred by the previous lack of success the paladin, laid his palm on the wound and called on his god's power to heal.

Moments later Geriant felt the emergent power of his deity course through his veins and into the wounded beast. The healing power flowed between man and mount forming a bond that now only death or dishonour could brake. It was all over in a second, but the effects of this act would be felt for two life times. The link between the two was now so strong that Geriant could empathically feel that the horse was healed and thankful. The knight turned to the stable hand and said, "That seems to have done the trick, now does this fine animal have a name?" The monk seemed astonished that Geriant had healed the creature, when he and the Basilica's clergy could not. The monk just shook his head and said, "No, we had not got round to giving him a name yet."

Geriant turned to the horse and spoke softly to it, "You must have a name, what is it?"

"Hugihard, my lord, Strong Heart in the tongue of these men."

Geriant led the horse from the stable and not bothering with a saddle, mounted the great stallion. It had been a while since he had ridden a horse and the first few strides almost ended with the knight on the ground, but Hugihard compensated for his masters rustiness and suggested a saddle until he regained his legs. Politely Geriant ignored his mounts suggestion and within no time at all had re-mastered the skills he needed and the pair were riding as one through the fields and lanes around the great city.

Several hours later the pair returned to the stables. After seeing his mount groomed, fed and watered, Geraint returned to his quarters. It had been an excellent day, he now had a job, a mount and turning to the bag that Gythien had given him, some new and interesting equipment to investigate. The paladin now used some of his arcane skills to ascertain the nature of the dead thief's gear. It was almost midnight when he had finished the inspection and he packed away the items he intended to keep. The remaining goods he would take to the armoury in the morning.

Next morning Geriant awoke early and after a hearty breakfast made his way to the armoury. It was a lovely day in the Basilica, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and there was not a cloud in the sky. Geriant spirits were very high; this world seemed very pleasant, as did the people he had met so far, well all bar one. He was glad he had chosen to join the Blades, he would hopefully be given the chance to keep this world free of the rottenness that had blighted his own world.

Still day dreaming he wondered in to the armoury. The armoury was quiet and Brother Armourer was busy working when the young knight entered the work shop. The monk looked up from his work and asked, "What can I do for you this fine morning, sir?" Geriant placed the unwanted items he had recovered from the thief's corpse and explained he wished to donate these to the church and hoped they would be useful.

The old monk looked over the items and cast a simple arcane spell upon them. He picked up the buckler and the bracers and said these will be very useful indeed. He turned his attention to the remaining items and after a few moments thought claimed that the rapier may be of use for one of the lady knights, but as to the lock pick set, he could not use, but it might fetch a reasonable price in the city. Geriant asked the monk if he could recommend a few shops he could purchase equipment for his journey to Lorindel. The brother said he could draw much of the goods he needed from the stores here and considering his recent generosity these would not be too expensive. After about an hour the young knight had much of the stuff he needed and the names of a few city establishments where he could purchase the rest.

Geriant thanked the old monk for the equipment and given that no money had change hands he felt a little bit cheeky in asking for a further favour. He asked if he had a good plain longspear, preferably with an ash shaft. The monk smiled and said, "If you think you can carry any more stuff, please take this." He handed the knight a very well made weapon and wished him luck on his journey.

Geriant bowed low to the Master Armourer of the Basilica. "Your generosity once more overwhelms me. I shall do deeds to bring credit to your kindness, my friend," he said, and left the smithy.

Back at his small room, he collected his equipment and packed it carefully. Aside from his armour and weapons, he was taking a pair of saddlebags loaded with dried rations for several days for both man and steed - though he hoped for an inn or two on the; the faith of Tyr was not one that precluded a rousing evening's drinking and his hosts here, while unfailingly hospitable, were a bit abstemious. A bedroll was wrapped in a small but waterproof oiled canvas tent and tied behind his saddle, despite not needing one to ride and fight, he would need one to travel, if only to hang his luggage from.

The magical bag hung at his belt and rather to his amazement held a complete change of clothes, the silken rope the murderer had carried to which he'd added a grapnel, five flasks of alchemist's fire, tools for repairing armour and weapons, a lantern and some oil for it, a small neat spyglass, a whetstone and a crowbar. Two pouches at his belt held his family cross, the mysterious gold coin as well as a few odd coins of local currency, and the three potions he'd acquired from his nocturnal visitor.

The Road to Ruin

He returned to the stables, mounted Hugihard and picked up the spear, setting the butt into his stirrup. A small pennon of pure white trailed from the tip, steadfastly refusing to flutter in the approved manner. Oh well, he thought, one step at a time, and tapped his mount gently in the ribs, riding out of the Basilica and into the streets of Stryre.

It was a fine day, and his armour glinted as he walked his mount down the hill from the basilica, past the King's palace, and across the city to the northern gate. Nodding to the guards as he rode through, he took the road leading north to Raden and then to Lorindol.

Once more, he was what he'd been born to be, a knight errant, with the road ahead, good friends behind, his god in the heavens and the minions of evil to oppose. He breathed deeply. Life was good again.

The journey to Raden was a little shy of one hundred mile and Geriant counted on the first leg of his trip taking three to four days, if he kept up a reasonable pace. The first day passed very pleasantly. The weather was excellent, not a cloud in the sky and not a drop of rain too be seen. His route took him through several small villages during the day; he stopped at one at around midday and partook of a light lunch, washed down with a few very pleasant flagons of the local brew. But as night fall came he found himself between villages and more importantly, between soft comfortable beds.

Making the most of the good weather and his brand new equipment, the knight soon had a place to sleep in and a good fire to cook by and warm him as the night's cool set in. After seeing to his mount, Geriant prepared a simple supper for himself. After which he sat by the fire and reflected on the path that had brought him to this world and the paths and choices that lay ahead of him. After a few hours of thought and a full bottle of ruby red port, he had purchase that day, he became somewhat sleepy and retired to his tent.

The latest recruit to the Blades of Mercy and Wisdom woke early the next morning to the sound of rain hammering on his tent and a thumping in his head. The change in the weather was not welcome, but the headache was not unexpected as the knight notice the empty port bottle outside his tent. An hour later and after a rather wet meal for both him and his mount, the pair were on the road again.

The rain, so unwelcome to a man in metal armour with a headache, continued for the rest of the day, dampening his mood further. Towards the middle of the afternoon the paladin spirits rose at the sight of a wayside inn. As he drew near to the pub his heart sank again as he noticed that the column of smoke issuing from the building was not that of a warming bar room hearth, but that of a recently burnt out building.

As he approached the tavern the paladin realised the scale of the disaster. The Lamb and Flag had once been a large two story stone build building, but now was nothing more than a burnt out shell. Smoke still rose from the roof and he noticed that the timbers crackled and smothered still. Whatever had happened here, thought the knight, was recent. In front of the inn several chard bodies now lay, these poor souls had clearly escaped the flames only to die of their burns. Or had they, thought Geriant, who looked more closely at the corpses. Several of the dead had wounds that could have only come from battle, he also noticed that one had arrows still stuck in his flesh. This was no accident.

First things first, he thought; secure the area, aid the survivors if any. Still mounted, he circled the building several times, his senses questing for the taint of evil, but none was detected. Fearful of ambush he also checked the grounds around the Lamb and Flag for any signs of danger, but again he saw nothing. Whoever or whatever had done this was probably long gone.

Then he dismounted, leaving his faithful mount un-tethered and free to keep watch while he went to check the ruins for survivors, and for clues as to the perpetrators.

Finding nothing further outside, Geriant decided to look inside the inn for further clues as to what had happened here. The vision that greeted the paladin was that of hell on earth. The walls and floors of this once vibrant and merry place were now blackened and burnt. The upper floor of the inn had almost completely collapse and here and there in the ruins were charred remains of the last visitors to the Lamb and Flag. The sight and smell of the burnt corpses was becoming too much for this new knight in Alair, bring back as it did, memories of the demise of his own world.

Geriant convinced that there could be no survivors made his way out of the inn. As he left thought, what was once the back door to the Lamb and Flag, three black feathered arrows whistled over his head and embedded themselves in to the charred and blackened door lintel.

Geriant ducked back inside the remains of the doorway to partial cover, his heart racing as the old instincts kicked in. Memories of a hundred ambushes and combats tumbled through his mind, feeding his response with experience.

An unprovoked attack almost certainly meant he'd located the culprits, but there was always a chance of local law, twitchy survivors or other avengers instead. A flick of his shoulder dropped the short bow lately borne by the mystery assassin into his hands and he strung it rapidly and nocked an arrow, then cast a Light spell on it. He glanced up for an instant at the angle the black arrows were stuck into the lintel and swung out just long enough to loose his arrow of light back along the same track before returning to cover. In those brief moments Geriant saw several figures moving about in a small thicket approximately one hundred feet from the inn. He recognised them instantly, Orcs, the scourge of his own world and no doubt this one as well.

The shinning arrow flew straight but not true, for it did not strike its intended target. Instead of hitting a tree or bush, the arrow struck one of the vile creatures in the stomach, with such force that it was dead before it hit the ground. For a few moments indiscipline broke out amongst the illuminated Orcs and several of them left the relative safety of the thicket. Seizing the opportunity, Geriant fired at both creatures as they ran, the first he struck squarely in the chest, bringing the creature down easily. The second of Geriant's arrows passed straight through the other Orc's abdomen, taking with it many of its vital organs. The creature ran on for a few paces before crashing to the floor in a crumpled and bloody heap.

Geriant returned to the safety of his own cover, just in time, as order was restored amongst the Orcs and with it came a volley of arrows. Fortunately all missed the paladin, passing harmlessly over his head. He nocked another missile and peeked around the edge of the doorway again hoping to see further targets.

The Orcs had now re-grouped and under the command of what was clearly the leader, were launching an attack on the armoured knight. The paladin could now see most of the Orcs were running at full speed towards his position, covered by two or three archers, who had remained in the cover of the thicket. The running Orcs were well armed and armoured, most of them carrying spears and were clearly preparing to launch them at the paladin once in range. Arrows flew over their heads are they ran, with the intention of keeping the human pinned down.
Geriant used the time while pinned down to cast one of his very few arcane spells, hoping it would give him the edge of true sight against the leading Orc.

Disdaining their missiles, Geriant tapped his sword twice against his shield to Tyr's honour and prepared to attack. He'd fought Orcs before, and knew a display of overwhelming force could often dishearten them.

Picking his moment carefully the knight with sword in hand, stepped from cover in to the path of the charging Orcs. Baring down on him were five chain clad Orcs, four where carrying spears which they launched simultaneously at the sight of the human. The other larger Orc, brought up the rear. Bruulix was clearly the leader of this war band, he stood over a foot taller than his troops and used all of his three hundred pounds to command allegiance from them. What worried Geriant was the three hundred pounds of muscle, bone and sinew he would use against him with one of the largest great swords this paladin had ever seen.

Over the heads of the charging Orcs flew three black feathered arrows, fortunately for Geriant all passed harmlessly over his position and struck the wall behind him. With no let up the four spears raced towards him. Two fell short and stuck in the mud in front of him, the remaining two continued towards the paladin, forcing him to check his run to avoid them. One sailed over his head missing him only by inches, the other bounced of his shield, shaking the paladin to his core.

Moments later and with the distinctive ring of steel against steel the two combatants crashed head long in to each other. The speed of engagement was so quick the leading Orcs did not have chance to draw their weapons. Geriant's attack was lightning fast, brutal and deadly. The holy warrior cut deep into the stomach of the first Orc, with Deathsbane slicing through its chain and flesh as if it where butter. In the same movement he stove his sword in to the second Orc with similar devastating effects. Both creatures were dead before they hit the ground. The paladin attacked again, this time his sword struck the Orc in the shin, as it struggled to draw its sword from its belt. The creature fell to the ground screaming in agony as his vile black blood spilled in to the mud. The sight of its own severed limb lying in the mud beside it, was enough to see it pass on from this world to the next.

The two remaining Orcs now attacked Geriant, seeking revenge for their fallen comrades. The first swung violently with its battle axe, but the blow bounced harmlessly off the paladin's shield. Geriant could see the rage and hate building up in this young Orcs eyes and he expected there was more to come from this maddening creature. In complete contrast Bruulix swung his huge sword with great skill and experience. The combination of this Orcs skill and enormous strength meant Geriant would have to be especially careful of this Orc. Bruulix's first few blows were easily parried by the knight, who was growing in confidence as the battle went on.

Adjusting his approach to cope with a more competent opponent, Geriant lifted his shield ahead of him and cocked his sword-arm ready to swing into a suitable gap. Carefully shifting his feet to guide the larger Orc into blocking his opponent's path, he struck at the moment their paths intersected, launching a succession of skilled, curving cuts and sharp jabs designed to challenge the Orc's ability to bring the heavier great sword around in time to block them all.

Geriant's mastery of the combat was so complete that Bruulix did not see the mighty blow until it was too late. The huge creature tried in vain to bring his weapon up to parry the paladin's attack, but to no avail. Deathsbane struck the Orc full in the face, passing through his eye socket and with a cracking of bone drove deep in to the creature's brain. Bruulix was dead before he or his sword hit the ground. His body lay in the mud lifeless as his blood and brains mixed with the sodden ground.

Now fully enraged the other Orc swung wildly at the paladin with his battle axe, missing the armoured knight by a full yard. Geriant regained his composure and adjusted his fighting style to cope with the berserk creature. The creature offered very little in defence as Geriant drove his weapon repeatedly into the Orc's body. Blood and viscera erupted from the gaping wounds in its chest and abdomen. These wounds should have killed the creature out right, but still the young Orc warrior came. Geriant was momentary stunned by the Orc's ferocity and its unwillingness to die. The young Orc seized on this opportunity to plunge its battle axe in to the paladin's leg. The resulting pain shot through the paladin's body focusing his mind once more on the job in hand. Geriant swung again with the ancient weapon and with one mighty blow cleaved the creature's leg clean off. The Orc fell to the ground, unbelievably still attempting to attack Geriant with his axe. The creature lunged wildly at his opponent missing him by a clear mile. With great caution Geriant delivered the final killing blow, driving Deathsbane deep it to the Orc's chest.

Geriant drew a few deep breaths before turning his attention to the three remaining archers in the thicket. The creatures with arrows already notched let fly. Geriant reacted quickly and brought his shield to bear as the three black arrows flew towards him. Fortunately all passed harmlessly over his head. The three Orcs then turned and ran back in to the thicket. Geriant had no great desire to chase down and slaughter fleeing, defeated foes just for the vengeance, but didn't want them doing this again, or sneaking back to shoot him later. He also wanted one alive if possible, to find out what was going on. Orcs this deep in civilized lands meant trouble, and there had to be someone or something behind them.

Geraint had faced similar Orcs on Mëdgeard before and he knew he would not be able to out run them on foot, nor was the thicket a place for a large warhorse. If he were on the battle field, he would not have thought twice about what to do next, but here and now the Orcs had the advantage of local knowledge, cover, manoeuvrability and speed.

Hughihard was a noble steed, but Geriant didn't want to risk his life for a couple of orcs. If they wanted to fight some more, they'd come back. If they were running away, there was always a chance, however slim, that they would repent their evil deeds and turn away from evil.

Leaving the alert and intelligent horse to watch for another attack, he returned to the felled Orcs. Hopefully, one might have some identifying marks or papers or possessions, or best of all one might be alive to be questioned. Someone was behind this; Orcs tended to work for someone, he thought. Also, whoever commanded the local militia here had a lot to answer for.

Geriant now turned his attention to the fallen. Five Orcs lay dead on the ground close to where he stood. A further three lay in the thicket near by. The paladin, had no real compunction to disturb them, but he needed to know more of his quarry. The smell from their mutilated bodies was over powering, their corpses oozed and seeped a vile black blood which mixed with the sodden earth.

The paladin noticed that the creature's equipment was, for Orcs, remarkably well made. The equipment that Bruulix carried was particularly fine and Geriant's eyes were drawn to the very splendid chain shirt he was wearing. The knight thought that this item may very well be magical. He continued to search the bodies for any clues to why they attacked the inn and him for that matter. The smell from these creatures was now overwhelming and he was about to give up, when he noticed a small leather pouch, tucked in to the belt around Bruulix's waste. Geriant opened the pouch and poured the contents on to the ground and sifted through the small collection of coins and minor gemstones. Then to his astonishment he saw several more of the black coins he had found on the corpse of Sorté, the assassin he had encountered at the Basilica.

Geriant thought carefully. Paranoia ill behove a knight of a high and holy order, but there had to be a connection. Either whoever sent the intruder had also arranged for this lot to be here, or whatever was going on was very widespread. If the former, someone was after him personally, someone with a connection to Mëdgeard, he could imagine who all too readily. If the latter, it pointed to a rot that needed expunging.

He gathered one or two useful items and then heaped the bodies in the ruins, gathering fresh wood to build a final blaze. They had died in clean battle, and however evil had earned a warrior's passing.

Geraint watched the flames lick over his victims, saying a few final words as their bodies were consumed by the blaze. There was nothing more he could do here, he thought, so he decided to put some distance between the scene of this attack before resting for the night.

He mounted Hughihard and was once again on his way towards Raden in the pouring rain. Several hours later with night drawing in and many miles from the inn, the holy knight decided to stop for the evening. Cold and wet from the days ride and knowing full well the risks he built a small fire. The flames soon warmed the knight and once the rain stopped his clothing quickly dried. With his mount bedded down for the evening and after a simple meal, Geraint rested for a few hours.

Morning broke and with it came more rain. After the knight had fed and watered both himself and his mount, he packed up his belongings and headed on towards Raden. If he was lucky, he thought, he might make the city before night fall.

At around midday the knight found himself in a small wooded area. The rain had almost subsided now, but the ground under hoof was sodden and heavy after several days of continuous precipitation. Geraint stared up the road which carved its way through the wood, hardly noticing the light drizzle, to a point several hundred yards away. Laying in the road were three humanoid figures, and beyond them a larger creature also laying in the road. All were motionless and from this distance, seemed quite dead.

Geriant drew rein and sat upright in his saddle, eying the probable corpses. What's going on in this kingdom, he thought to himself. He glanced at the trees to either side, measuring with his eyes the distance between the wood and the road. Reaching into his newly-acquired Bag of Holding, he extracted his spyglass, glanced sourly upwards and wiped the rain from the lens, before using it to scan the four bodies in more detail.

It looked like a trap; but fear wasn't a consideration for paladins; trap or not, they went in anyway, just made damned sure they knew as much about where they were going first. He considered his bow, but concluded that in this weather it was not likely to be a great deal of use. Instead he pulled the long spear that Brother Armourer had made for him from it's' scabbard behind his saddle and hefted it ready. He cast a couple of protective spells. He patted Hughihard on the neck encouragingly. Then he shook his reins and the great horse walked slowly forwards towards the bodies.

The spy glass had reviled little more that he could see with is naked eye, but as he approached something moved in the trees, to the right hand side of the road, near to where the bodies lay. He held his glass to his eye once more but whatever he had seen was now no longer visible.

The knight of Amlwch strung his bow and nocked an arrow, then walked his steed forward to within two hundred feet of the disturbed trees. Lifting up his voice, he called over to who- or what-ever was lurking there.

"Come forth! If you are innocent, I mean you no harm; but if you are responsible for the felling of these travellers, there will be a reckoning!"

For a few long moments nothing happened, but then to the knight's surprise the silence was broken by an ear piercing scream and a few moments later a figure emerged from the trees at the side of the road. The figure was not what he was expecting to see, some evil from the forest, but a screaming young woman. She was dressed in what were once fine cloths, but now were nothing more than rags. The reason for her distress all too soon became apparent, as two frenzied creatures pursued her from the thicket, Orcs. From their demeanour, it was clear to the knight that these creatures were about to violate this poor young girl.

With the Orcs so close to the victim, Geriant dared not risk using his bow. Dropping it a safe distance off to the side, he reached behind him and gripped his long spear, gift of Brother Armourer, and drew it from the saddle-scabbard, at the same time nudging the noble steed Hughihard into a canter. As the spear came up and around into position, they reached a full gallop and Geriant cried his defiance at the evil creatures;

"For Tyr, courage, and honour!"

The knight now galloped at pace towards the vile creatures, his spear levelled and true, ready to strike any evil that got in its way. But as the distance between them closed, the paladin became aware that all was not as it seemed. His god given powers revealed there was evil all around him. He could now felt malevolence in front of him and in the trees on both sides of the road, but the greatest source was from the very creature he was about to rescue. The trap had been sprung.

Moment's later arrows, bolts and spears flew at Geriant and his mount from all sides. Most of the missiles passed harmlessly by, if fact they posed a greater threat to the Orcs themselves, emphasized but the scream of agony heard from the thicket as an arrow struck one of its own square in the chest. Geriant felt a sharp pain in his side as one of the black feathered arrows found its mark.

The paladin spurred his horse on, ignoring the pain from the wound and sped towards the three creatures in his path. In front of him the two Orcs that had been pursuing their apparent victim had turned to face him. As they drew their weapons, man and horse ploughed into them. Hughihard trampled the first to death under his mighty hooves, whilst Geriant's longspear smashed into the other's shoulder, cutting though armour, flesh and shattering bone. The Orc was hit with the full force of the charging warrior and was driven in to the ground, where it lay dead or dying.

In front of him the damsel was changing, the creature was growing in size and now stood ten feet tall. The feminine garb and features were gone and in its places was five hundred pounds of demonic humanoid. But this was no demon, the green skin, dark hair and the short horns protruding from it head could only mean on thing, an Ogre Mage. The creature levelled it's greatsword at the paladin and fixed its dark eyes on its next victim.

The Geriant had little option other than to engage the monster, at this speed he could not turn from its path and choose to plough into it. The huge creature swung his greatsword and hit Hughihard square in the chest. Blood poured from the animal's chest as the sword sliced into the muscles that powered this holy creature. The horse reared up in agony, tipping his mount from the saddle.

Ask Geriant fell from his mount he plunged his spear into the vile creature's face with as much force as he could muster, blood now poured from the open wound and it screamed in hellish agony. But its pain was short lived as the rearing horse brought its hooves crashing down up on its head. The Ogre fell to the floor with a crash and lay on the ground motionless.

Falling off a horse in armour was never much fun. As well as being noisy, it's often painful. Geriant called on long years of practice as he swung his legs around to try and roll through the fall. Leaving his spear standing in the carcass of the Ogre Mage he rolled to his feet and ripped out the Sword of the Azimuth, swinging his shield from his back as he did so.

For a few moments everything went quite, the Orcs in the trees were clearly stunned by the easy at which their Ogre Mage, Gorguul, had been felled. The paladin knew this would not last long and prepared himself for the inevitable onslaught. But it did not come, despite the clear barking of orders from their sergeant at arms. Seizing this god given opportunity he quickly remounted his horse. Geriant then heard a noise from behind and spun round to investigate. Ten feet from him stood Gorguul, clearly not as injured at the knight had first believed. It spoke as it drew, with easy, the spear from its head.

"Is that your best shoot, holy knight?"

It paused for a moment, now griming at him with the spear in his hand,

"Now lay down your weapons and I may let you live."

Geriant could see that the wounds to the creature's head were healing before his very eyes, but it was his horse that had altered him the treat behind. For a moment the knight took his eyes of the monster in front of him and checked behind. The Orcs had now taken up a position just in front of the tree line on both sides of the road, with missile weapons at the ready. Waiting for the order to open fire.

There was no way that Geriant could leave this monstrosity to ambush more travellers. It also struck him that the Orcs who had destroyed the inn he'd found were probably part of this band, as they appeared to be clad in similar garb to the ones he had slain before. Even were he to run for it, he'd likely find himself in the open with all their missiles converging on him, whereas in battle with the Mage, he'd have some cover against the archers. His decision was made in a flash.

Surging Hughihard forward towards the Ogre, he gripped his sword and bellowed his god's name as he struck with all the might he could muster. The sword of the Azimuth struck the foul beast twice, tearing huge chucks of green flesh from both its right and left legs. As his master struck so did Hughihard, kicking the monster in the guts for all his might. But it was not enough to fell this creature a second time. Now enrage Gorguul through the spear towards the mounted warrior, but the lighting quick reactions of this knight of god meant it sailed harmlessly over head. But there was no time for complacency, for the giant had grabbed his greatsword from the ground and in one clean movement plunged it in to the horse's foreleg. This time the steed stood its ground allowing his rider to counter attack. Geriant struck the creature on the top of his exposed head with all his might, splitting the creatures scull almost in two. But lessons had been learnt from their first encounter with this beast and Geriant followed up with two further blows to the monster's belly. As the creature fell to the ground Hughihard took his own personal revenge and stamped upon the prone Ogre, crushing its chest and pulverising its head.

Geriant looked down upon the Ogre's broken body and noticed that despite the huge amount of damage they had inflicted upon it, it was still regenerating. He quickly took out a flask of alchemist's fire and through it at the remains. The flask shattered on impacted and flames engulfed the corpse.

Seeing their strongest fall for the second time and knowing that the actions of this knight meant that Gorguul was unlikely to rise again, the majority of the Orcs panicked and fled in to the trees. A few remained and let loss with the arrows they had already nocked. Two of the missiles fell short, but one lucky short caught the knight's mount in the chest. Renewed by their success and despite being abandoned by their comrades they let loss with another volley. This time they were not so lucky and all of the arrows passed harmlessly over the paladin's head.

As the Orc archers reached for yet more arrows, Geriant and Hughihard were already moving again, accelerating into another charge. The knight braced himself behind his shield and extended his sword straight in front of him in a cavalryman's attack.

The pair drove straight at the remaining Orc barbarians, who desperately tried to jump clear. One was knocked to the ground by Hughihard, who stamped the creatures head into the rain socked mud. His efforts were rewarded with a loud crack as the skull was crushed under his great weight. Another managed to avoid being trampled by the great steed, but his reward was to feel the cold bite of warrior's steel. Geriant hit the Orc twice with the sword of the Azimuth, cleaving its foot clean off with one blow and almost severing the creature's leg with the other. It fell to the ground stone dead.

The last Orc had had enough and she turned and ran towards the trees. Geriant swung the holy blade at the creature and brought the flat of the blade crashing down upon its head. The she Orc collapse to floor, were she lay motionless.

Geriant slid down from his noble steed and patted him on the neck in gratitude. Hughihard had probably saved both their lives today. He used what healing he had left to ease the horse's wounds, set him to graze, and then turned his attention to the felled Orc.

Separating all her weapons from her, he heaped them in a pile with those of her fallen compatriots. He used some of his healing powers to reverse her mortal injuries and made her as comfortable as possible. Then he detached the strings from a few Orc-bows and lashed her limbs securely with them.

Duty done. Only then did he unbuckle his helmet, scrub a cloth over his sweating face, and wrap a quick bandage over his own fairly minor wounds while he waited for his prisoner to recover consciousness.

While he waited he heaped the dead Orcs and their gear by the road, as a grim warning to other such bands, and then he checked over the ogre's equipment. The massive sword it had carried was probably enchanted, and also represented proof of what had happened here. He slid it under the saddlebags to take along. The coins he stared at for a long time. Medgaerd again. There was some conspiracy here, and it related to his old home.

As he gazed upon the familiar coins and thought of his long lost land, a strange feeling game upon the knight. For a few moments he was back on Middle Earth, soaring high above its green and pleasant land. The land as it was, before the Dark Lady had poisoned its rivers, levelled it great cities and turned its fertile lands in to a barren wilderness. Or perhaps this was a vision of the future; this thought lifted the knight's heart. As he continued to fly over the land, the strange poem he had heard before rang out once more, its words filling the air.

In like princes, came they all,
The long-beard men, with mantles red,
Short their mail-coats, mighty their helms,
Swords at their belts, and brown their hair.

As suddenly as it had started, his waking dream was over, but the feelings of good he had felt remained. Even the sight of the stinking Orc corpses could not dampen them.

But something had changed, his helmet felt different somehow. He removed it from his head and inspected it, but he could see no physical difference, but he seemed to know it had altered somehow. What ever it was would have to wait though as he now noticed that his lady prisoner was coming round.

When she was fully aware again, he tried to question her firmly but fairly, probing for details on where she had come from, who had sent her, and how many more Orcs and Ogre Mages there were loose in northern Stryre, but this creature refused to answer the paladin's questions.

While he questioned the Orc, she tried to break free from her bonds. At first Frakrah tried to undo the bow strings from behind her back, but to no avail. She then reverted to her primary asset and tried to tear herself free using her brute strength, but again it was not enough. She was now becoming so frustrated with her lack of success and she could feel the blood starting to boil in her veins. "Good" she thought, this would give her the means to free herself, but not to escape. Her heart pumped quicker, sending more and more blood to her ever expending muscles.

The paladin continued to question her, not noticing the change in his prisoner's demeanour or her attempts to free herself. Finally it dawned on the knight that something was wrong, but by then it was too late, she was free. The young Orc throw herself at the armoured warrior, grabbing for the dagger at his side.

Geriant scrambled to prevent her arming herself, struggling to immobilize her. But her desperate strength was too much for the knight of Tyr though, and he hurled himself back, drawing his sword to defend himself as he did so.

Frakrah came at him again, this time with the knight's own dagger in her hand. She lunged forward driving the blade into Geriant's neck, but his armour was far too strong and deflected the blow with ease. She knew this was a fight she could not win, this human was too strong for her, but only her death would not stop her now. Suddenly pain racked though her whole body, but her raging state prevented her from crying out. She looked down it her chest, only to now notice she had impaled herself on the paladin's weapon as she charged at him. Her black life blood freely flowed from the mortal wound and as she died, she cried, "Graak Troll-hammer, will avenge my death…."

Geriant withdrew the weapon from the creature and it fell to the wet ground with a dull thud, her life now utterly expended.

Gasping for breath, Geriant recovered from the shock of the unexpected attack, and stood for a moment gazing down into the she-orc's glazing eyes as the rain fell unheeded into them. "Poor creature," he said quietly, "So does evil undo itself ever in the end. May the Soul Harvest be kind to you." Recovering his dagger, he cleaned and sheathed the Azimuth blade and lifted her body to add to the pile of her comrades, and fired it, murmuring a prayer to Tyr to deal honestly with what had at least been brave foes.

As he worked, he wondered. Who or what was Graak Trollhammer? He'd assumed that the Ogre Mage, a formidable creature in its' own right, was the leader, but unless she was expecting him to make an unscheduled reappearance, it seemed this mob was more than a couple of raiding parties. Was he a troll with a hammer, or someone who hammered trolls? Either way, it did not sound good, and the local authorities needed to know before he went on to Lorindol.

With the smoke still rising from the funeral pier, Geriant climbed into the saddle once more and continued on his journey towards Raden. He was still a good day's travel from the town and knew he would have to stop for the evening, to recover his strength and rest his mount. If un-molested he should seeing the town walls by morning.

As most of his equipment was soaking wet from the continual rain, he hoped to find a village or a road side tavern. He was quite still aware there was a band of murderous Orcs, or worst, still out there, so he was ever on his guard.

The hours passed quickly and with the improving weather he made good progress along the Raden Road. With this change in fortune, Geriant's thoughts turned to more pleasant things. He removed the Helm of Tyr and cast a simple spell upon it, in an attempt to discern it apparent growing nature. He was very please with what he discovered, as it would now afford him greater protection and not just for his head. Placing the helmet back on his head, he continued his journey.

Geriant made his way thought small forests and open flat lands and by late afternoon, he saw in the distance what appeared to be a farm house. The land around appear well tended, giving hope of a fine supper, a good night rest and a hearty breakfast to see him on his way.

Geriant turned from the main road and made his way down the rugged track towards the farm building. The single story stone dwelling appeared to be well maintained and newly thatched.

Find out what happens to our hero in the next unedifying episode of this tale.

The Story Continues...

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