The Swords of Power: Based on Fred Saberhagen's Swords

[The GrandMage]

Who holds Coinspinner knows good odds
Whichever move he make
But the Sword of Chance, to please the gods
Slips from him like a snake.

The Sword of Justice balances the pans
Of right and wrong, and foul and fair.
Eye for an eye, Doomgiver scans
The fate of all folk everywhere.

Dragonslicer, Dragonslicer, how d'you slay?
Reaching for the heart in behind the scales.
Dragonslicer, Dragonslicer, where do you stay?
In the belly of the giant that my blade impales.

Farslayer howls across the world
For thy heart, for thy heart, who hast wronged me!
Vengeance is his who casts the blade
Yet he will in the end no triumph see.

Whose flesh the Sword of Mercy hurts has drawn no breath;
Whose soul it heals has wandered in the night,
Has paid the summing of all debts in death
Has turned to see returning light.

The Mindsword spun in the dawn's gray light
And men and demons knelt down before.
The Mindsword flashed in the midday bright
Gods joined the dance, and the march to war.
It spun in the twilight dim as well
And gods and men marched off to hell.

I shatter Swords and splinter spears;
None stands to Shieldbreaker.
My point's the fount of orphans' tears
My edge the widowmaker.

The Sword of Stealth is given to
One lonely and despised.
Sightblinder's gifts: his eyes are keen
His nature is disguised.

The Tyrant's Blade no blood hath spilled
But doth the spirit carve
Soulcutter hath no body killed
But many left to starve.

The Sword of Siege struck a hammer's blow
With a crash, and a smash, and a tumbled wall.
Stonecutter laid a castle low
With a groan, and a roar, and a tower's fall.

Long roads the Sword of Fury makes
Hard walls it builds around the soft
The fighter who Townsaver takes
Can bid farewell to home and croft.

Who holds Wayfinder finds good roads
Its master's step is brisk.
The Sword of Wisdom lightens loads
But adds unto their risk.

For a game the gods have given the world twelve Swords of Power so that they might be amused as the nations go to war for possession of them. But Vulcan Swordmaker has had his little joke: the Swords can kill the gods themselves. What started out as Divine Jest has become all too serious. Now the gods want their swords back--but even gods must tread most carefully when faced with the Swords of Power.

The Swords themselves are strewn across the land, in the hands of mortal men. The Gods have detached themselves from their mountaintop home, and have gone a-hunting for the threat to their rule. From the cracks and holes in the faith that the Gods rule the world, the Black Temple has arisen, in an attempt to claim the swords for themselves, and take control of the world of men, for men.

One man stirs the souls of the Black Temple, sending them out to die and collect the swords for 'the cause'. His cause. The cause of men being ruled by men. One man, a man-made God.

And those whose lives have been pulled into this by the swords are about to find that life is not what it seemed . . . Will they have the strength to find the true power the Swords hold, and the power within themselves?

This is thier story, Swords, Gods, Temples, Men. Let the Game begin,....

 

[chewbacca71]

Roderick Flagg

Roderick has always looked forward to the local fair. Even in the worst times of financial hardship, the village always did its best to put on a good time for the townspeople. Roddy was especially anxious this year since he had heard tales of a beautiful sword that was being shown off this year. It had a silvered scabbard and was reported to be a razor sharp blade. In his line of work, a good sharp blade was invaluable. He turned to the nearest cage......"Right my pretty, a handy slicer makes light work. " He hummed softly to himself as he hitched his wagon to the horse. "Come on Matilda, we have places to go." He finished the hitching and started the wagon towards the fairgrounds.

 

[Gnarlemaine]

Raygen Klein

Sweat trickled down his spine.

The cards were not good.


Damn my luck, he cursed himself.

His eyes flicked nervously about the table. Faces looked nervously to each other in the flickering candlight.

These private games were the worst. If you couldn't afford to pay up, you died. But luckily Raygen's luck had been with him... till now.

His hands began to tremble.

He reached out and picked up his mug and took a gulp. The firey liquid scalded his throat as he drank. Then he slammed the mug down.

"I call" said the obviously rich merchant before him.

"Ack damn man!" Cried Rayen as he slammed his cards face down upon the table, revealing a low hand. He pushed his few chits forward, knowing he had lost more tonight than he owns.

The other faces about the table lit up at the revealed hand, playing their cards down one by one to reveal mediocre hands.

The merchant grinned as one by one the hands were played. Proudly he played his hand...

"Well gentleman, a good game indeed" chuckled the merchant as he reached forward for the coffer.

"Hold, merchant... I still have to play my hand." Stated the hooded figure.

The Merchant scowled at the man. "You must be joking, you expect to beat that?" He demanded, poking his cards roughly, reaching for the coffer again.

"Alas I do, merchant, now leave the coffer."

"To hell with you, you can not possibly win!"

The hooded figure revealed his cards. A horrible twist of fate for the merchant as 4 gods were revealed, plus a trickster.

The merchant shook, with fear? with rage? Raygen could not tell.

"HAVE AT YE!" Screamed the merchant, flinging the table, the chits, and the occupants to the floor, the singing of metal from scabard could be heard.

Raygen fell to the floor, banging his back, the effects of the drink numbing his pain. He looked dazed aboutly the dark room. Could he see shapes moving about? The clash of metal brought light to the room as sparks flew.

Ha! What luck! he thought as he scrabbled to his hands and knees, scrabbling along the floor, snatching up chits he finds.

There was a scream, and a person tripped over his kneeling form, crashing into the floor. Raygen froze in his spot, listening to the heavy breathing.

The door to the chamber was kicked open, and the temple guards rushed in. Cudgel flying into faces, screams of pain and fear filled the room as bodies ran for the door.

As light spilled into the room, Raygen saw the body beside him... the merchant, his throat open, lying in a pool of his blood. Raygen paled... but his eyes focused on the blade in the merchants hand... THAT! would fetch me some money he reached forward and grasped the blade, standing and grinning at his find.

"YOU! COME ERE!" One of the guards called to him.

"Huh? What?" He turned to look at the scowling guards.

"COME ERE YOU... Sir?... by the gods sir! We never knew... apologies sir..." The guards paled, and backed out the room. "We shall file a report straight away sir!" Then they ran.

Raygen looked himself over... no... he was he... a drunken gambling fool with a sword.... what made them guards run?
Ah... who cares....

Raygen walked out the room unopposed, out into the temple, and out to the fair... a few chits richer, and possibly more, once he sells this sword.

 

[The GrandMage]

Gregor Mendal

He raised an eyebrow, the young man dancing back and forth, in need of a hit. It was so obvious he almost laughed. He nodded, and pulled the blade free. He switched it with the sword at his side, smiling as the meter of blad disappeared. He put his own sword in the sheath, and gave it back to the junkie.

"Here, you might need to sell it for your fix." He saw the man's eyes light up as he raced inside the temple, into a section he shouldn't be allowed in without a lot more money than he had.

Whistling a merry tune, Gregor turned, and started walking away. His tunic and trousers were the red and black uniform of Red Temple Guards, but he had just quit. Of course, no one else needed to know that. He walked through the halls, hearing the sounds of sex and gambling as he smelled booze. He left through the front doors, walking out of the small courtyard garden with its lewd statues of Gods, Goddesses, and sex.

He chuckled to himself, his fingers curling around the black hilt with the small white target on it. Farslayer. What a fool. He smirked to himself. He would go home, get his small fortune, his horse, and get out of this damn town. He owned a Sword of Power. No more guarding prostitutes and drunks for him.

 

[chewbacca71]

Roddy

Roddy looks over at the mayor of the town. "So Sven, there can I set up my wagon. I want to be able to show people my wares in a better place this time than the last time. Don't stick me next to the sheep traders this time. I had few customers last time due to the smell. "

"Ah Roddy, I have just the spot for you. You were a good sport last year, so I have a great place for you this year. Come , right over here next to Master Delban the weaponsmaster. I hear that the new sword he has to show is exquisite. "

"Excellent Sven, that will be a great location. Some people have taken to using my pets as guardians. Little do they know that after they eat a few intruders, they will grow big enough to eat their owners. But that is their own problems. Come Matilda, let us set this up."

Roddy spends the next few hours setting up his wagon. The placed the awning on the side of the wagon, and opened the side door. He set up his tables with the cages of his most beautiful charges out in front of the wagon . He fed all the creatures some frogs. He then manhandled the larger cages off to the back of the wagon. Ah, he now had some room to move. The final touch was when he set up his well worn sign out in front of his wagon.

Master Roderick Flag..............Dragon Hunter and merchant of all dragon wares.

 

[poohlive]

It was a small town, but in the early morning, it bustled with life. Men and women scrambled about in the early sun, going off on errands, or chores, or doing whatever had to be done before the heat had gotten to them.
It was surely a sight to see, if one simply stood back and watched. Garret leaned against a baker's shop, intrigued by it all.
A small woman, hunched over with time peddling some flowers and other knick knacks that were in a basket over her shoulder. Her wrinkled face smiled to any potential customer.
Out of pity he took a tulip. A little girl ran past, and he quickly gave it to her.
She smiled, the most pleasent smile a person could ever see. Those eyes, sparkling up at him, as she smelled the flower now in her hands.
"Run along now," he said, and she ran off, yelling out to her mother.
In just a year or so, she'd truly know what's it like to get a flower from a man. He'll be calling for her, as they all do. The pressures of a woman, so distant to her know, but coming so soon.
Treasure it, that was his only advice to the children of the world, treasure it.
There was a grunt as a man tried desperately to get his ass out of the street. The donkey neighed and backstepped, anything to stay in the exact same spot that he was now.
The man grunted, sweat now coming off of his forehead. He pulled as hard as he could, but the ass matched his strength.
Finally, he gave it a menacing swat, and the donkey relented, moving to wherever the man thought that he should be at this time.
Mid-Morning.
He moved through a small horde of children, running off as they heard the school bell in the far distance. Up the street he walked, glancing around at the few merchant shops open. Some wares for sale, all interesting to look at, but nothing in particularly interesting enough to actually spend coppers for it.
He pasued at a tavern, where a few of the locals were starting up early. One was at the end, swaying so badly he looked about to fall off his stool at any moment. Apparently, no one had told him he had had enough. Perhaps he was wrong, they weren't starting early. Mid-morning was just the time some people started drinking in this town.
As he walked away, he heard a muffled thump, and then laughter. Apparently the man had fallen after all.
"Hey, mister, you looking for a horse?"
Garret looked at a boy, no more than 15, with eager eyes, and a mat of brown curly hair. A reigned horse was in one of his hands, as he petted it gently.
"Sorry," he said, "Already got one."
The boy nodded, moving on.
Reminded him of when he was young. His hair, now a bit straighter, and back in a ponytail, used to do that. Just grow like ragweed out of the top of his head. His mother used to complain about it ever few months when she cut it.
It seemed with age, even his hair knew the wisdom of straightening up.
He gave a chuckle, moving on. Such an interesting morning, and he didn't want to miss a minute of it.

 

[chewbacca71]

Roddy

When Roddy was finished setting up his wares, he went over to greet Master Delban. "Hello Master Delban, it is good to see you again. I have not seen you since last years fair. I have heard that you have a new sword to display this year. "

"Ah, Roddy, that I do, it came to me under mysterious circumstances. One night in my shop, I heard a noise in the front room. I got out of bed, got my candle and went inside. I heard some scurrying around but did not see anyone. I noticed that my front display case had been broken into. I quickly took inventory and strangly enough, I was not missing a sword. Instead I had gained one. Here let me show it to you."

Roddy moved to the side as Delban pulled out the sword. What a beauty. The handle wrapped in black, the blade straight and bright. He looked at the pommel and saw a symbol. It was a stylized dragon taking flight. Roddy brought this to Delbans attention. "Wow, I did not see that before and I examined it pretty closely. Hmmm....that is strange. Its almost as if that appeared when you did. I wonder why that would happe.........."

All conversation stopped as a huge Bugle came out of the forest adjoining the fairgrounds. People looked in awe as a large Landwalker dragon came out of the forest on a run. It attacked the sheep vendors stalls, grabbing and eating two of the sheep with a quick snap of its jaws. It turned to the other sheep with a slavering look on its face.

 

[HotStuff101]

Calis

Calis watched the small town from the wood line. He usually didn't concern himself with this kind of thing but, a nagging itch made him stop and watch the town... Something inside of him told him, his fate required he pass through this town. He had watched and learned that this small town was suprisingly busy. He thought it amusing that they could be so happy living out their lives.

He had discovered that the town was holding a Fair, and thought it more then coincidence that this was the time he showed up. This morning he was watching it closely, as he had that itch again when he had woken up. While hunting for his lunch int he forests at the very edge he discovered somethign strange... there was nothing to hunt. Wondering what could cause it, he returned towards the fairground and was shocked at what he saw before him.

"By the gods, what is a Land walker doing in this area!" he said to himself as he cursed below his breath.

Calis unslung his bow, and notched and arrow, and drew back his bow. He had his sights locked onto the dragon's large head, when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. With his Senses and Eye sight being greater then normal he caught the glimmer of a sword int he fairgrounds. He glanced towards it and saw a strange sword being shown to someone...

 

[chewbacca71]

Roddy

The sword seemed to jump into his hand out of its own volition. Roddy turned towards the dragon, and the sword started a strange keening sound. The landwalker, hearing the sound , lumbered over towards them. Roddy took a step back, giving Delban some room. Delban grabbed the sword from his back and attacked the Dragon. He showed great skill, weaving an attack in and out and not getting scored by the dragon. But his sword could not cut through the hard scales of the dragon. Roddy felt a particular tugging as the sword pulled him closer to the dragon. He took a mighty swing, and the sword cut right through the left foreleg of the creature. It gave a cry of rage as the blood started to leak out of its severed limb.

 

[HotStuff101]

Calis

Seeing the landwalker's limb get cut off, stunned Calis. If not for his training he woudl have stayed shocked at what he justs aw, BUt coming to his senses he Unleashed a volly of Arrows towards the Dragon, with almost all of them not even penetrating the scales.

 

[The GrandMage]

Gregor Mendal

He walked along the road, whistling to himself. The sun shined, and light filtered through the trees on either side of the road, playing along the shadows. He glanced to his left, at the gallows in the small clearing. A single body hung there, naked. Blood and grime smeared down skin. A bird, Gregor knew not the name, nor did he care, pecked at the eyes from it's perch on top of the head.

Gregor looked back to the front, and grunted. His fingers curled around the blade, and he drew it. A meter of the finest metal he'd ever seen. It had designs etched into it, giving the illusion of depth that was not there. Forged by Vulcan himself. The legends were everywhere now. The Swords, the Gods, Jord,....He grinned. And here he held one, given to him by a simple drug addict.

 

[chewbacca71]

Roddy looked at the sword in wonder as it cleaved the bone and sinew straight through. He moves carefully to avoid the streaming blood. He looks towards the rear of the dragon and sees arrows pelting its hide. He wonders who it could be. His concentration wavering, he takes a claw swipe to the shoulder. Landing hard on the ground, Roddy spits out some dirt. He gets back up and swings the sword again, this time aiming for the heart. The sword opens the flesh in a tunnel of destruction, baring the dragons heart. Roddy plunges the sword full length into the hanging organ. The dragon screams its death knell as it writhes to the ground in agony. Its blood streams out in a river of red, bathing the ground. Roddy pulls the blade back out and stands to admire his handiwork. This blade was a godsend, it was the only reason that he and others had lived. Roddy looked over at Delban, and saw a look of awe.

"Roddy, i have never seen the like before. You were made to wield that sword. Take it with my blessing. It will prove invaluable in your line of work. "


"Thank you Master Delban, it did feel right in my hand. I promise to use it wisely. Right now, we need to get this corpse out of here, before it attracts vermin. Please go ask Sven what would be the best way."

Roddy looks at the priceless treasure in his hand. This sword can help make his fortune. The god must be smiling on him to give him this sign of divine favor. He carefully cleaned off the sword and put it in the scabbard. He hung the scabbard over his back and decided to go to the woods to see who was trying to help him.

 

[Gnarlemaine]

The light stung his eyes as he stept out of the shelter of the Temple. People bustled about in the Morning light. He had been up all night again, playing cards. And although he had not won, he had come out richer.

There was a muttering amongst the crowd. The drink addled his mind some, and he staggered down the steps. The Guards at the steps didn't give him a second look. So he approached one.

"Who am I?" He asked. The Guard looked down at him in disgust and contempt.

"You what?"

"I said: Who am I?"

"Get out of here you piss pot, before I give you a beating" And the Guard spat on his clothes.

Not the answer he was looking for, he stumbled into the bustle of the morning. Catching the word fair everynow and then, he headed to the fields. As he burst out of the crowd a scream went up.

Glancing about quickly, fear shooting through him, he looked for someone pointing at him. His breath quickened.

As his eyes flicked over the stalls and pens, he saw the focus of fear. A Landwalker. But something else too. A young lad stood before it...

Damned fool is gonna kill him self.

Pushing the dead fool out of his mind, he approached a weapon stool. The owner was watching the young lad in awe, so Raygen turned to watch. The young lad was beaten to the floor by the Land Walker, but picked himself up and plunged his sword deep into the chest. He stood by as the lad attempted to return the sword to the owner, waiting patiently so he could sell his.

 

[Zircon]

Lothar Mathershorn

The wind is blowing hard in my face. The dark clouds in the horizon bear evil tidings. The golden sheaves, swaying and rolling only to the music that they alone can hear. I sighed. Not of discontent, but rather of what the sky will bring, all the misfortunes and such. I long to rest, be willfully lazy for a change. But distant roars of thunder brook no such fanciful thoughts. The hoe grows heavy, and my arms burn, fueled by an internal fire. The chores of the day shall be done soon. The edges of the mounds are now bereft of all intruding weeds, and the crude markers, side by side, can clearly be seen. I had carved those markers myself, with a sword that I found. No, that is not correct. Rather, the sword found me, now that I think back about it.

It was a blustery day not unlike this one. Only difference was that my parents were still alive. We lived and worked on Faldring’s farm. The year had been a good one, and Farmer Faldring was happily counting his coins in the counting room above the kitchen. The farm was like any other in the area, a collection of houses and barns surrounding a central courtyard. It was self sufficient, meaning that it had its own smithy and a large dining hall, enough to feed all the farm hands at supper. My father was the farm supervisor, occasionally aiding in the smithy when Mr. Pickens, the smith, had more than he could handle. Being a naturally curious boy, I found myself wandering more into the smithy than being out on the fields. Of course, under the watchful eye of Pickens and my father, I became quite proficient in the smithy, as I grew older. As Pickens grew older, I naturally helped out more in smithy, as cartwheels, hoes, scythes and other farm implements needed repairing. The occasional pots and pans from the kitchen demanded my attention as well. About the only thing I was not proficient in was the making of weapons. Pickens and my father had taught me how of course, but there was always not enough time to be indulging in such frivolous activity.

My mother was a helper in the kitchen. Woe is the day when harvest time came around, for there were as much as fifty farms hands to be fed everyday, three times a day. The pots and pans needed as much attention as the farm implements, which kept me fairly busy. I learnt that you could actually burn water during these times. During the winter’s times, when the lull of land extended to the farm, was when I indulged in my secret hobby making swords. The mixing of the raw materials required concentration and time. The fire had to be tended meticulously. For the color of the molten steel will determine the final product. The frequent heating and dousing required finesse and experience, and so too the number of times the steel and carbon was melted and mixed. The edge had to be hardened, but the core must be soft. It took me a while to figure the correct temperature, mixing and tempering. A brittle but hard sword edge served no use.

During the seasonal lull, when there was nothing do except watch the wheat grow or the snowfall, an occasional storyteller or bard would venture out to our farm. In exchange for meals and shelter, stories and songs would be passed around. After a hearty meal, we would all sit back and enjoy the stories and songs till late at night. During the past winter, one such vagabond storyteller arrived at our remote farm. He had said that his name was Hephaestus, but I had doubt that was his real name.

 

[The GrandMage]

Gregor Mendal

He stared off as he walked. His boots meeting ground at each step he took along the old road. He'd heard of a fair a few towns over, but he really didn't care. He didn't have the time, he had to get where....

He pulled up short. Where was he going? He laughed out loud. Of course,....he'd go there. It was a perfect place to go. Amazing, how many people he heard wishing for vengance in the tmple, and he he held the perfect tool for it, and he almost didn't know where he was going.

He shook his head, and turned at the crossroads. Maybe he would stop at that fair....

 

[Zircon]

Lothar

Hephaestus, the storyteller, was very good, as I remembered it. He could spin tales and hold the audience spellbound for ages. His cadence and felicity of style drew all in, until the dying embers of the fireplace announced that it was way past midnight.

One such tale was about how Vulcan aided by Jord to make the Swords of Power. Each Sword, with its own symbol and powers, were revered and feared by Mortals, Demons and Immortals alike. For each Sword hold the power of life and death for all, All. This was one subject that held my attention, that I had hardly taken note of the time. When the tale was finished, everyone sought his or her beds. Eager to learn more about the Swords, I had volunteered to show Hephaestus to his bed.

‘What exactly are the Swords? Where are they now? Who has them? Why do they have such magnificent powers?…’ The words tumbling out of my mouth when I showed Hephaestus to his bed that night.

Laughing heartily, with a twinkle in his eyes, he said, ‘Now, now, young Lothar… So many questions for such a young fellow. Be patient, and knowledge will come to you in time. The Swords are real, despite everyone tonight who thinks that they are a myth. No one knows where they are, or who has them now… Perhaps you, my young friend will find one… Hahahaha…’

And such, my mind was alit with a burning desire to own one. But the seasons passed as they usually do, and the storyteller was long gone from our minds. Wheat and weather became the focus again, and I hardly remember at all the old man who lit the fire of curiosity in me.

Then this summer, Hephaestus showed up at the farm gate again. Looking bedraggled and tired beyond normal, he sought me out, knowing that I could always steal some ale and food from under my mother’s watchful eye. And he kept having look nervously at the main gate, expecting trouble to descend at any moment.

‘What brings you back again to our little corner of the world?’ I asked as Hephaestus chewed on some bread and cheese, washing it all down with some warm ale.

‘Oh, this and that…’ being quite evasive as to the answer.

Thinking it was impolite, I asked no further.

‘Come with me, young Lothar,’ after Hephaestus had finished his food. Without a glance back to see if I was following, Hephaestus strode off into the direction Tarn’s Lookout. Tarn’s Lookout was just an outcrop of rock in the middle of a clearing, rising from the ground a hundred feet up. The sheer face of the outcrop made it a local landmark of sorts, as there was no other such outcropping in the vicinity. Of course, he did not need to know whether I was following, for nothing on this earth could have made me do otherwise. The trek to Tarn’s Lookout was not difficult, and Hephaestus knew exactly where he was going, which really surprised me because I had assumed that he knew not of the lay of the land beyond the farm.

 

[The GrandMage]

Throm Almost

The rugged man looked down the hall. He snorted, and turned to look over his shoulder. He was getting dirty looks from some of the nobles who had joined to snatch power for themselves. Obviously, they were upset that a mute had been selected to go out and collect the swords.

Or maybe they were angry he only had one so far. He turned back, wishing he could laugh. But the times he had tried only brought about a rasping hack which had caused discomfort. He shrugged, and continued on along the hall.

Torches at odd intervals lit the way, seemingly put there by chance. He snorted again, and turned to a large iron door in the middle of the hall. It was on his left, and the only door in this hall on that side. Pushing against it, he forced it open into the cold mountain air before stepping outside, and forcing the door closed again.

It was time to start his quest, and collect the Swords of Power!

 

[SpectralDragoon]

Adron had been travelling along the Spine of Spiraldah, looking for an ancient stone doorway and shrine. It had taken a few weeks to make the journey to the Spine, and once he got within site of the mountain range his morale was bolstered. Searching certain caves he came to and dismissing others took days, but he finally found the little den of darkness he was looking for.

He lit a torch and headed into the cave, anxious to see what he would finally discover. What he found was certainly unexpected. He came upon a room carved from the stone, a few hundred feet from the opening of the cave. The passages looked natural enough but this looked to be worked by master stonecarvers. Runes and symbols covered almost every surface, and driven into a pedastal with a carved shield motif, was a beautiful sword.

 

[chewbacca71]

Roddy

On the way to the forrest, Roddy passed a man waiting patiently for Master Delban. Roddy could see that the man had a sword, similar to his own. He wondered if the man had any idea of what he had in his hands. He turned to the man, his walk into the forrest temporarily forgotten. "Hello stranger. That is quite the sword that you have there. It is very similar to mine, look at how close in appearance they are. So have you come here for Master Delban to appraise its value for it. I am sure it is worth a lot of money, but the intrinsic value of that weapon is priceless. May I take a look at it? "

 

[Zircon]

Lothar

Flitting like a squirrel amongst the stones and rocks, Hephaestus soon stood on top of Tarn’s Lookout. I was slightly out of breath when I too reached the top. The view from the top was magnificent to say the least. The golden sheaves of wheat dancing in the wind. The river sparkling in the sun, and the green forest on the edge made for a splendid sojourn from the chores of the day.

And still I spoke not until Hephaestus granted me leave to. Hephaestus was busy, not with the view, but rather something else. Despite his frail frame and aged countenance, he darted amongst the rocks with lithesome limbs and some hidden energy. I had trouble following him, although the fear of dropping from such heights did not cross my mind.

Suddenly a booming call from a horn reverberated across the peaceful valley. In the distance from my perch, I could see clouds of dust kicked up, heading towards the farm. Not knowing that it was danger and death that were descending upon the farm, I remained with Hephaestus.

‘What are you looking for?’ I finally broke the silence.

‘A dead guy.’

When that answer finally registered in my mind, I decided to sit on a rock and watch the sun set in the horizon. A harmless excursion out on Tarn’s Lookout, so the day was not entirely wasted, in my opinion. Hephaestus did not find what he was looking for, by the sounds of his grumbling and curses. I, of course, had a piece of sausage, which I brought with me, so I had no trouble with hunger. Then the lull of the day, coupled with the windy and pleasant afternoon, made my eyes droop. A nap was harmless, and so I took one.

The sun was way past its zenith when I awoke. Only the sound of the wind could be heard. Hephaestus was nowhere to be found. Although, I was in no hurry to find him anyway. A crazy old man was one thing, but a crazy old man with a death wish was another. Hephaestus was coming close to the second type, as he ignored life and limb by scurrying around like he did.

I made my way back towards the farm. The tall forest obscured my view of the farm, but occasionally I saw wisps of black smoke arising from the farm. It was not normal for Mr. Pickens to be burning so much wood and coal. But one never knows what old Pickens was up to anyway, as long as the pots, pans and hoes got repaired. I saw the main gate wide open, and the thoroughfare that led to the main courtyard was wet with a dark stains, although it had not rained.

I quickened my steps. As soon as I rounded the barn corner I saw horrors upon horrors. Some farm hands had been impaled on tall stakes. The smoke was from several burning corpses, although none of the barns or houses was on fire. Now, my heart was at my throat as I searched for my parents. When I came to the smithy, I recognized the form of my father smoking and burning amongst the glowing embers of the furnace. I pulled the charred body to a more dignified position before continuing my search for my mother.

I lay my shirt over her half-naked body in the kitchen. She had died with her eyes opened. Her hand was clutching a piece of cloth, black, well made, that seemed like from the robe of a priest or a noble. I carried her lifeless body to a great oak tree. Biting back my tiredness, I did the same for my father.

Great many questions were running in my mind. Just as thoughts of retribution or divine justice ignited like a wildfire storm. I grabbed fistfuls of the freshly turned earth, and vowed revenge.

 

[poohlive]

It was a scream that pierced the mid morning air. Something that sliced through every man, chilling them to the bone, and every women. For women know, more than anyone, what that scream meant.
It was total depseration, an act so desolate, that the victim's only help was to scream aloud for anyone that could hear her.
Unfortunately, in this day and age, that help was near impossible. Women were easily looked upon as property still, and not human beings.
Garret stopped in the alley, as he saw the struggle take place. A woman, propped up against the side of a wall, wimpering. Blood was running down her face.
The man was behind her, pushing up against her. One of the drunks he had recognized from earlier in the bar. A surly man, with long greasy black hair, and stubble that almost looked like a beard.
"That's right," he almost whispered, as his hands were busy down the front of his pants, "Just sit still, it won't take but a minute."
Garret's sword just lightly touched the man's neck. It probably split one of those small bristles jutting out. His actions stopped immediately.
"Actually," Garret said, moving around so he could look at the man more closely, "It won't even take that long."
His hands slowly came up, as the woman, terrified, suddenly found that her fate wasn't sealed. She looked through her tears at him, a smile on her face.
"Go on," she was gone before he got the second word out. All he could see was a blue of her dress, and she was gone.
"Hey, Harry, you done with her yet?"
Garret turned back for a moment, but it was a moment too late. In the corner of his eye, he saw two rather big men, stepping out of the back of the bar, looking at their big friend, Harry was his name apparently.
Harry however, had used this second to send his elbow right into Garret's head. Blood red shot past his vision as he fell back into the brick wall. His sword clattered to the ground.
"No," he cursed, taking out a small dagger, "This asshole ruined the party."
"Oh shit," one of them took out a rather big looking sword. Garret's eyes shifted to his piece of steel, now underfoot. Doing these kinds of things all his life, one might think at some point, he'd be good at it.
He nearly cracked a smile.
"Let's hang him."
Harry shook his head, wiping brown spit from his already dirty cheek. Even for three drunk guys, this would take a lot more than just a lucky kick or two.
"No, I want him right here, right now. He ruined my fun, so I'm going to ruin his, permanently."
"What?"
What?
He pointed the dagger to Garret's crotch, "Drop his trousers."
Out of all the things he thought might happen out of this, that wasn't it. He wanted to...
No, he didn't.
Oh god, just one look on that face told Garret that he did. He really did.
"Wait, wait, guys. Hold it."
They each took one side of him, holding him against the brick wall as he fought with all his might. If there was one reason he would fight for all his might, apart from his life, was that.
"You'd better be still, otherwise I'll cut a lot more off."
Helping sucks!!!!!!

(a word, Garret isn't in the same city as the fair, just so there's no confusion

 

[Zircon]

Lothar

It took me a while to gather all corpses. Farmer Faldring was still clutching his precious coins. So it had seemed that this raid had a specific purpose in mind, and that purpose had nothing to do with money. Perhaps Hephaestus can shed some light on the matter, if he could be found. It was now apparent that his nervousness was justified. Maybe the Raiders were looking for him, and when he could not be found, the Raiders punished the farm’s inhabitants.

Hephaestus had a lot to answer for. Least of all, why he was in such a hurry to find a deceased person. It was then that I realized that someone or something was giving me hints to find what secrets that a dead person would be in possession of. Because my grief and thoughts of inflicting painful and slow revenge was suddenly replaced by the thought Hephaestus and his search.

I slept late into the next morning before heading back to Tarn’s Lookout. I scrambled to the top. The vista held no solace for me. Instead, the pervading silent wind only served to mock the loneliness and pain. I look at every crevices. I even leaned over the edge. But no dead guy to be found. I knew that on the north ridge, there was a ledge that juts out from the main formation. From afar, it looked an eyebrow, with the dark granite against the white background. The climb down was easy, and the view from the tiny ledge was spectacular as usual. And that was about all there was to that. On the view, and no corpse. The afternoon was getting on, and I thought that my search had been a totally waste of time. And yet the thought of Hephaestus and his search kept nudging me on. Taking one last look at the scenery, I saw something peculiar. From the ledge, the shadow created by the peak of the outcropping cast upon a specific place. At the base of a gnarled old oak tree. The peculiar position suggested that it was no mere coincidence. I scrambled off the Tarn’s Lookout without a thought for life or limb.

Among the ancient roots could be seen some bones sticking out. In the middle of the roots was a hole, hidden and just big enough for a man to crawl inside. I gathered up my courage and crawled in. The end of the tunnel yielded an astonishing find. An armored knight was clutching a sword. By the rust on the armor, this person had been here for quite a long while. I was not interested at the knight, but rather at the sword. In the late afternoon, I believed that I’ve found what Hephaestus was looking for. The edge had not lost its keenness, by the amount of blood flowing from fingers as I cleaned it. On the hilt was etched a symbol that looked like a Hollow Circle.

Holding the sword up high, I yelled my vengeance. I had cared not whether the perpetrators had heard it. I cared only that I have said it, and that was enough.

I used the sword to carve the crude stone markers that marked the final resting place of my parents. The edge had not dulled even when used in such a way. With the winter fast approaching, I turned my thoughts on survival. The harvest was in, so I had no problems with a steady food source. The raiders had not destroyed the vegetable patch either, although all the milk-beasts were slaughtered. But the forest holds plentiful game, and so I managed to survive the winter thus. During the long wintry days, I practiced with the sword, and eventually made a scabbard to hold it. It was not fanciful, but I had a lot of time to make it well. The following spring saw me clearing the newly sprouted weeds on the grave mounds.

 

[Zircon]

Lothar

I had the long wintry days to think on what had happened. The sword called to me, showing me where it had lain for ages. The farm is usually bustling with activity during this time of the year. But the silent howl of the wind through the barns and houses compel me to think about leaving. I have grown up in these familiar surroundings, and now the feeling of safety is long gone. There is nothing here anymore, and in a few years the forest will reclaim back the land and the farm. The traces of humans will be erased, and only a memory carried by the wind will ever know that we were ever here.

My arms are strong from the years working in the smithy, plus the constant training with the sword. The mottled surface of the blade concealed the fine balance of the sword. A true tribute to its maker. I’m sure that somewhere, someone will need the services of a strong young back. This is how I intend to live once I make the first steps out of the front gate. My simple belongings fit quite nice into a pack slung over my shoulder. My father’s stout axe and my mother’s ivory comb, are all that remains of my memory of them. The boots is a gift from Pickens, and the stout cudgel was the walking stick of Faldring. The most prized item, the piece of black clothing that my mother clutched in her death.

The walk to the nearest town took several days.

 

[The GrandMage]

Gregor Mendal

Steel clashed on steel. He danced back, ducking low and moving to the right as steel flashed by. He threw his upper body around, pulling the sword across his vision. He saw a flash of the sun across the meter of steel before it crashed into the face of one of the men. Blood was freed into the air as he pushed forward, and set his feet. Halfway through the head, it met resistance. He pulled moving into a crouch as the blade slid out of his head. The man fell, the great open wound where his face had been causing the other two to move back.

A younger man, and a woman. He sneered, and drew his tongue over his upper lip. They held their ground, looking shaken. He readied his sword, and moved forward, going for the man. He brought his sword around, and steel flashed on steel again. The wioman fell back as the two began to move in the dance of battle. Blade to blade. He could see the other man begining to lose strength. He saw something in the corner of his eye, and ducked to the left. The heavy axeblade cut deep into his shoulder. With a cry of rage, he turned, and kicked the woman, hard into the gut.

She fell back, hands clamped around the axe, drawing it out across his flesh. "Damn woman!"

He had to bring the sword up fast to block the swrod attacking, and fellt the hard kick to his knee. He snarled, and redoubled his efforts. He fought through the pain, but his right arm was hard to move, and the wound spread pain everywhere. But he was trained soldier, and these were just some country bandits. Steel hit steel a few more times, until he saw his opening. He attacked again, a high attack that brought his oppenents sword up. Kicking up, he managed to hit the young man right in the crotch.

While he doubled over in pain, he brought his blade in for the kill.

 

[SpectralDragoon]

Adron set his pack down carefully, juggling the torch from one hand to the other as he slid the straps down off his arms to its new resting place on the stone floor. In awe, he held the torch up against the carved runes on the walls and tried to decipher them. Fortunately, it was a language he was somewhat familiar with. It was an odd language to find in this place though, it was an alphabet that is seldom used and rumored to be a dialect of common that was used by the gods.

Most of the writing was commonly known history of the gods and the surrounding lands. But on the pedastal was an ornately designed placard of metal, inscribed with runes which read:

"He who can break the hold of the shield, may possess the Sword, never again to be hindered by weapon or armor."

Adron sat cross legged, staring at the pedestal before him and wondered.

What have I found?