Trollbane - Part 11

Reven had reunited with Fang at The Rest and they had said their goodbyes to Peter, leaving him a generous tip for the kindness he had shown them. As Reven approached River Rise's north gate the sun was high in the sky. Over the course of the afternoon, his men would drift toward the gate ready to continue their journey and their search for fortune. As was customary, Reven would be first to arrive and would secure a table at the closest inn to the gate. This ritual was the norm when travelling with his mercenaries; the last drink at the last inn in a city before moving on. The Harlots Arms was a huge inn and coach house, nestled against the city wall. Once upon a time, it may have served as a staging area for military forces to muster before travelling but the addition of the city's inner keeps and barracks over the years had meant it hadn't been used for military purposes in years. Well worn cobblestones spoke of the number of travellers that had walked in its courtyard, ivy climbed the stone of the inn's walls, framing the latticework windows. The courtyard was full of tables which were occupied by city dwellers and travellers from all over that were enjoying lunch and ale in the midday sun. 

Reven chose a table at the edge of the courtyard where Fang's monstrous bulk would be less of a hindrance to the patrons. The warhounds size always made it easy for the mercenaries to find Reven and it wasn't long before the twin's Kris and Bran sauntered up to the table greeting Reven and Fang in turn whilst sharing a joke. They were soon joined by Agrippa who was shaking his head as he sat down. His arrival prompted stifled laughs from the twins. "Go on", Agrippa said, "Get it over with". "Get what over with?" Reven enquired. The twins, unable to contain their hysterics any longer burst into laughter. Muldar and Orwen arrived as Kris started his tale.

"We were in some back street pub, little more than a hovel, beating a group of merchants guards at cards when in stumbles a very drunk Agrippa and no word of a lie, he had what appeared to be the ugliest woman in the history of Atla on his arm" Kris sniggered as Bran continued his brother's story. "The bar was propping him up as he ordered drinks for him and his beautiful 'female' companion". Bran delivered the word female in such a way that immediately the whole table was hooked, leaning in for more. Kris took up the telling, "We watched in horror as Ag's new friend slipped 'her' hand down the front of his pants and started kissing him in full view of the whole taproom." Agrippa dropped his head onto the table in an open display of shame as the mercenaries started to roar with laughter, "I didn't know... I was pissed out of my mind" his muffled words came out as a shout but he would not raise his head to meet the other's eyes. "Boss, this 'lady' had the biggest hands I've ever seen and had more stubble than you", Kris said addressing Reven. Bran chipped in, "Come on Ag, the bloke looked like he'd put his makeup on in the dark and you could have spotted that wig a mile off". The whole table laughed together as Agrippa filled in the blanks of the story, being heckled the whole time.

In high spirits, the group set off.  Fang was once again adorned in his armour as he and Reven led the group through the great north gate of River Rise. Engleheart awaited and beyond that, their prize.

Trollbane - Part 9

As Reven suspected, Fang did not react well to the news that they were heading off to the market. The warhound had already known about the trip thanks to the link he shared with his master. Reven’s anxiety oozed out of him as he rounded the wall to the stable. Fang sat in a corner on a mound of heaped hay, his back set firmly against the walls. He would not meet Reven’s eye and made his contempt for the trip plain by turning his head completely away from his master. "Fang, we don't know what danger the roads ahead may hold" Reven started as he began his attempt to placate his huge companion. "The equipment we get today could be the difference between your life or death. I couldn't imagine life without you in it my friend?". In response, Fang raised one of his great paws to fend off Reven’s advance. The paw was taken like the proffered hand of a lover. One hand was placed underneath and one on top that gently caressed the beast’s foot. Fang tried to snatch the paw back but Reven would not release it. It made the hound whip his head around to better see what was happening and Reven took his opportunity with relish. He leapt at Fang and wrapped his arms around the warhound's neck. A mocking growl escaped Reven’s smiling lips as Fang lurched forward to balance himself. A swift shake of the head and Reven was sprawling on the ground and he couldn't help but laugh. Fang nuzzled at him, pushing him around the hay-filled floor and a play fight ensued. The hound was the clear victor but his battle for the trip to the market had been lost. 

Ten minutes later fang was saddled and muzzled. In truth, the muzzle would do nothing to stop Fangs powerful jaws from opening but it gave an air of security that could calm any nervous onlookers. Instead of saddling his friend, Reven led Fang by the snout using a short rope to project an air of control. The only real control that Reven would have was the side of beef that had been promised to the hound for good behaviour whilst in public. They set off, waving Peter goodbye as they made their way further into the city.

The market was a bustling hive of activity. It sprawled across a square that was lined with small shops, pastry wagons and alehouses that were already open and doing a roaring trade even though it wasn't yet noon. Jugglers and musicians entertained small crowds for pennies whilst a puppet show kept a mass of excited children busy. There were people everywhere and even Fangs bulk didn't do much to part the crowds that hindered their progress. Reven eyed each stall, in turn, looking for the tell-tale glint of morning sunshine as it kissed armour or weapons. At one point he seriously considered mounting Fang so that he might have a superior view but thought better of it. Despite the throng of people ahead of them not paying much attention to the warhound those they had passed gasped and stood back, slack-jawed at the sight of the awesome beast. 

Warhounds were once often seen being ridden by nobles or wealthy merchants but the art of their care and breeding had been mostly lost to the common man. The armies that guarded Orland now seemed the only ones capable of rearing the beasts with very few being seen without a soldier sitting astride it. It is for this reason that Fang was a spectacle to be gawked at. Reven himself got a fair few appraising looks. Whilst he was armed for battle, he was plainly no soldier.

They pushed on through the crowds but even Reven was starting to feel claustrophobic so he led Fang away from the market stalls to the edge of the square. There Fang drank from a water butt whilst Reven bought some pastries and a cold ale. The pastries were to placate the agitated Fang, the ale was to placate the close-to-agitated Reven! As he tipped his head back to quench his thirst the tell-tale glint he was looking for caught his eye. At the other end of the side of the square he was on he saw tables set out in front of a shop. Reven’s keen eyes picked out gleaming vambraces and pauldrons laid out for purchase and knew that merchant would be his best shot at finding something for Fang. Reven downed his ale and motioned to Fang to finish his last pastry.

Halfway to the armour-laden tables, they came across an animal vendor. Reven looked at these people with disdain and the animals they touted with sympathy. Being bonded with a beast gave him a special kinship with animals and seeing the conditions these ones were forced to endure he could feel his ire rising. He saw a pair of Rock-Tailed Beavers from the mountain streams of Ironhill, their fur matted and teeth overly long. He saw a young Thornspire Bear whose name was taken from the woods they inhabited. The bear was dosed with something and wore a look of befuddlement as if his addled mind couldn't comprehend his surroundings. A tuft of bright white hair grew on the crest of his head upon a wound that slowly healed. There were countless birds that squawked and chirped as Reven approached. Animals from all over Orland and beyond crowded the stalls. Reven couldn't help but notice some of the beasts appeared to be dead. He stopped looking to calm his anger before he did something rash. Fang sensing his unease let loose a low growl that actually quieted the majority of the birds and drew alarmed stares from passers-by. 

Reven quickened his pace to put distance between himself and the animals but a shout from behind him brought him to a halt. He turned to see a group of five men behind him, all in the garb of trackers or hunters. Mottled brown and green shirts and trousers sat under leather jerkins and other arrayed pieces of hide armour. Enough protection from animals but not much against the point of a sword. The lead man moved toward Reven, "Ho there, friend" he called as he approached. "We couldn't help but notice and admire your beast and wondered if you came to market today with the intention of selling him?". The man brought his hands together and steepled his finger as a wide, gap-toothed grin spread across his face, feigning friendliness. Reven knew the question he asked was moot. Nobody saddles a beast they are going to sell. "He's not for sale", Reven replied matter-of-factly and turned to leave the conversation there but the man pressed him. "We would pay handsomely for such a fine animal, we have gold and you can take your pick from our fine stock of beasts", his grin returned as he gestured back at the array of miserable animals that sat in cages over his shoulder. Reven didn't respond, Fang did. His growl rumbled and reverberated off the wall of the square and made the man nearly jump out of his skin. A menacing step forward was all it took for the no longer grinning, animal vendor to turn tail and run. 

Reven had hitched Fang around the corner from the armourer's just off the square whilst he looked through the stock. The armourer himself was busy bringing pieces from the back of the shop whilst explaining that most of the warhound armour he once stocked had been melted down long ago as there was little need for it. The pieces he was showing Reven were 'too fine' to be destroyed in his opinion and he had held on to them in the hope that he would one day see a hound adorned with them. Reven picked up a weighty spiked shoulder plate to inspect it. Inwardly he couldn't deny the quality of the armour. There were no casting marks, no rough edges and it was in excellent condition that told him it had never been used. Fine etching along the sides, which mirrored the curves of the edges, were inlaid with azure and some red metal that Reven couldn't identify. The metal itself looked to be a deep bronze but lacked the weight that bronze had. When questioning this he learned that the armourer had not made the armour himself but had inherited it from his father who ran the forge and shop before him, its true origin was a mystery. This was what he was here for though and despite the lack of information about the armour’s provenance, he bargained for the whole lot. Chestguard, barbed hind guards, a segmented back piece and spiked shoulder guards. They were loaded onto a small hand cart and Reven wheeled it around to load Fang up with his new purchases. The hound ran an appraising eye over the armour as Reven strapped it to place. The armourer had offered the use of his backyard so Reven could have some privacy and he had accepted happily. Some lengths of hide were needed to ensure the metal didn't chafe on Fang's skin or fur but an hour later when he was all strapped up the armour looked as if it was made for the hound. Reven was about mount up and move on when the armourer rushed out of the shop holding a huge piece of metal that sat across his chest. It was the top half of a snarling wolf cast in the same metal as the rest of Fang's new armour. he explained he knew he had one more piece and would give it away for free only to see the suit complete and in use. As Reven fit this final piece he felt he would burst with pride as he looked in wonder and the armour-clad behemoth before him. Fang was fearsome to look upon at the best of times but clad in metal he looked truly monstrous. 

It was at his very moment that five men burst into the yard armed with axe handles and whips. The same five men that had not long ago stopped Reven in the street to attempt to barter for Fang. Reven slid Bloodthirster from its sheath and sidestepped around the men until they were between him and Fang. The sword radiated its hunger for blood and almost hummed with longing for battle. As Reven turned to bolt the gate to the yard shut he couldn't help but wonder at the idiocy people displayed. Take these five fools for example. They obviously wanted Fang. They obviously had no knowledge of warhounds. They obviously didn't hold their lives dear to them. Despite all this, their stupidity still amazed him. 

Once the door was bolted and the armourer had fled, Reven raised his sword. In response, Fang opened his mouth wide enough to rip through the stitching of his muzzle and let the leather drop to the floor. For some of the men between them, the sound of that leather muzzle slapping against the stone cobbles of the armourer’s yard would be the last sound they heard. As one Reven and Fang came together, tearing asunder the men that stood before them. It was like some terrible god had brought his hands together to swat a fly. Justice and vengeance crashed together and blood began to flow. Gap Tooth was the first to die. A slash from Bloodthirster opened up his neck just a second before Fang bit the head clean off one of his cronies. The several seconds of violence that followed ended with entrails, an arm, four fingers and two heads without bodies strewn about the floor. Fangs new armour was splattered with gore and Reven shook his head as he wiped the blood from his eyes. "I hate to say it my friend", he said as he looked at his bloodied hound, "but maybe you were right. We should have stayed at the inn."

Trollbane - Part 7

The wind tugged at his hair and stung his face. Snow from the twin peaks whipped down the mountainsides and obscured his vision. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed temporarily flooding the area with bright white light, casting deep shadows across the withered landscape that lay to the front of The Horns of Atla. 

Reven stood at the base of the mountains, in a narrow corridor known as Scabbard Pass. Only wide enough to for two men to walk abreast, its sides were made of jagged, razor-sharp rock that stretched up beyond the sight of mortal man. Reven was scrabbling to don armour that was scattered at his feet. He strapped various parts on as he found them; grieves, gauntlets, pauldrons were all fastened in place. He was covered shoulder to foot, in archaic pitch-black armour. He strapped on a sword belt that he found lying at his feet. He was surprised to find the armour moved with him, flexed as he did despite its bulk. 

With the armour on Reven was almost as wide as the passage he stood in. He moved forward, the wind no longer hindering him even though it still stung his face. He squinted his eyes against the storm that raged about him and as he came to the end of the passage could make out a splinter of darkest night. Moving toward it he could see it was a sword, but its blade was made from metal the like of which Reven had never seen. Where it impaled the ground, a black helmet sat. Reven recoiled for he recognised the fearsome visage that was etched onto its front. The armour he wore, the helmet at his feet; they belonged to the demon that haunted his dreams. Without conscious thought, he reached down and plucked the helmet from the snow. He placed it onto his head and the world around him was drenched in a haze of red. He felt power course through him, strength raging through his muscles, the raw essence of war intoxicated him. He plucked the sword from the ground and stepped to the spot where it had rested. 

The silence was deafening. The wind ceased, there was no snowfall. The thunder was mute and the lightning lightless. The storm ended so quickly it bewildered the senses. The power contained in Reven’s armoured shell peaked and forced a long, undulating scream from his lips. As he gave voice to the energy coursing through his veins, etchings on the armour burned bright red filling the pass and the plain in front of him with a bloody-hued glow. 

As Reven’s scream died it was met by returning shouts and screams far off in the distance. Drums and horns sounded across the barren plain. Fires roared to life in the distance and the ground started to rumble with the weight of advancing feet. Reven watched as the ashen sands of the wasteland before him shrank, the emptiness filled with an immense advancing force. Made up from what looked to be every race that walked the lands of Atla, they shouted battle cries and challenges as they ran toward the lone armoured figure. Reven planted his feet and made ready for their advance, backing into the pass so that none could get around him. He held his sword aloft and the storm sprang back into life, the etchings on his unholy black armour blazed bright red once again and words that were all too familiar fell uninvited from his lips. “I am the vessel, I am wrath, the bloody-handed reaper.” The storm raged harder. “I carry their word, give life to their rage and I shall bring this world to its knees”. The advancing hordes were almost on him. “I am their vessel, I am ruin, I am death, look upon me and despair”, Reven raised his sword for his first strike.

He woke with a start, sweat beaded his brow. Shaking his head to try and free it from the horror of his nightmare, Reven regained a measure of sense. “I am their vessel” he intoned before unconsciousness claimed him once more.

Trollbane - Part 6

Orland in all its glory

Two days had passed since the mercenaries had left Briarmoot and they had gone by without incident. The inhabitants of the small village had been glad to see the back of them and waved them off with clenched fists and curses, once a suitable distance had opened up between them and the warriors obviously.

Reven sat astride Fang at the head of the troop and idly played with the silver hoof necklace that he had taken as his trophy. It wasn’t the first time he had been set upon without provocation but the assault on him and his men had been well planned, despite its poor execution. He would like to meet those responsible for the plan as he was in no doubt that the fools that perpetrated it didn’t have the brains to fashion it alone. More so, he wanted to know what the reason behind that attack was. He had upset many people in his time but he could recollect none that worshipped “The Great Pig”.

He tucked the pendant away and cleared his mind of his wonderings. By this evening he would once again behold the great West Gate of River Rise. His thoughts drifted back to the last time he was there and his friend and comrade in arms, Borengar Steelskin. Maybe he would search for his old friend whilst he was there. It had been well over a year since they had shared each other’s company and he very much wanted to see the old dwarfs face. They were staying in the city for two nights rest and recuperation before pushing on to Engleheart and eventually their fabled prize.

The mercenaries parted ways shortly after arriving at River Rise. A swift ale was shared to celebrate their safe arrival and then they went off in search of booze, brawls and less than wholesome women. Reven had to find somewhere he could house Fang. He hated leaving the hounds side, he was his best friend after all. He had considered camping outside the city but he was in no doubt this would only lead to trouble, especially considering their recent engagement outside Briarmoot. They made their way through the streets toward the more affluent northern part of the city, Reven certain that he could secure lodgings here that could accommodate the both of them. Despite being a lowly mercenary, he was not a poor man. The abilities of he and his men commanded a good price back in Blackcliff and they were kept busy enough to not have too many opportunities to spend their earnings.

Reven made his way to the main arterial route that ran northward through the city. The Forest Road was wide and full of traffic. Carts of goods were being brought in from the north and taken to the docks in River Rise’s centre and likewise from the docks, up to the cities north gate and the lands beyond. The part of the street where Reven walked was lined with merchant’s shops and inns. Their gilded facades hid the tenements that sprawled behind them. Drunken sailors spilled out of the ale houses whilst fops and merchants rode high in their saddles looking down on the human flotsam that floated past them. Fang afforded Reven a wide berth as man and beast alike scattered out of the hulking warhounds way. The mercenary pondered the emptiness of the lives of the people he was surrounded by and was thankful of the freedom his profession afforded him. Despite its dangers he would rather live by the sword than suffer under the yoke of some unscrupulous lord or rich merchant.

The road remained busy as they continued but the shops and inns were replaced by large houses with wide forecourts and sprawling drives. The larger, upper class inns were also located here and Reven was sure he would find somewhere suitable to stay on one of the side streets that led off the main road. The North Gate loomed far off in the distance and Reven knew he didn’t want to get that far as again the road would be choked with drunks and freshly arrived travellers as well as less than fitting lodgings.

As darkness tightened its grasp on the city Reven headed off the Forest Road down a street where the firelighters were going about their work. The more well-to-do areas of the city had fire globes mounted on poles that would illuminate the streets. The firelighters cast the simple spells that would keep these globes burning through the night, balls of flame leaping from their hands and igniting the magical orbs. It was quite a sight and most of the firelighters added a degree of theatrics to their jobs, making wild gestures with their arms before letting loose their spells. Reven had enjoyed the spectacle on his previous visit to River Rise and stopped to watch as the globes ahead of him came to life, their yellow glow slowly spreading up the street.

Five minutes further down the road he found his lodgings. The Rest, as it was called, was a little run down compared to other buildings on the street but it had a large empty stable and sold hot meat and cold beer. Reven settled Fang in the open stable whilst discussing payment with the proprietor. The man was the first Reven had met in a while that wasn’t taken aback by Fang. He said he was an ex-soldier and has spent many campaigns in the company of beastmasters and their mounts and seemed genuinely pleased to be up close to Fang’s magnificence.

Reven made arrangements for haunches of meat to be brought to the stables for his companion and a hot bath and cold beer to be poured for him. He ate with Fang and the owner, Peter, and shared their tales of adventure until his bath was ready at which point he removed himself to his room with several more beers and sunk into the hot water to wash the build-up of travel grime from his body. Before bed he checked on Fang from the window of his room, the mental link he shared with the hound meant that he knew he was alright but visual confirmation was always reassuring. The only surprise being that Peter, the proprietor was curled up in the stable with him. With a wry smile Reven crawled into bed and fell into a deep and troubled sleep.

Trollbane - Part 4

Agrippa and the rest of the mercenaries were relaxing in The Emperors Hand Inn. Many ales had been consumed and the inn had started to fill as farmers and farm workers returned from their toil in the fields for some well-earned beer. Reven's men and other travellers had filled the place with a jovial atmosphere. Some of the newcomers took up instruments and before long bawdy drinking songs were being sung and a good time was being had by all. 

Kris and Bran sat in a darkened corner playing cards with some of the locals. They were winning but the game was a low stake, friendly affair and they joked and drank with the farm hands they sat with. Muldar, the man mountain, was arm wrestling the locals being cheered on by Agrippa. Orwen was listening intently as a traveling merchant relayed news from across Orland, talking of unrest in the capital, Ux. Rosholt rebels were on the rise again and were causing instability across the great city.

Reinhart watched the big man wrestling. He noticed how his warhammer was resting against the table that he sat at, just out of easy reach. He smiled to himself. Soon the attack would be signalled and these thugs for hire would be put down permanently. Reinhart played the lute frantically, maintaining his cover. His men were spread throughout the inn. All the travellers with the exception of Reven’s dogs were his. Even now more of his men would be racing to the inn, their assassination of the abhorrent Reven complete. When they arrived, they would fulfil their contract and collect the heads of these men. He mused to himself that he had probably used too many men to snuff out the beast master’s life but it always paid to err on the side of caution. He smiled as he played. His tactical genius would win out the day. The longer he waited for his men the drunker the mercenaries got, everything was working in his favour. He glanced around the room watching his men feigning drunkenness, taking pretend swigs from their flagons, carousing with the locals, one man even looked as if he was asleep and had cleverly vomited over himself to keep his true purpose concealed. On the other side of the room one of his men was being slapped by a bar girl who was being cheered on by more of Reinhart’s men. Once the mercenaries slaughter was complete, he made a mental note to congratulate his men on their acting prowess.

Muldar celebrated his latest victory by draining the last of his beer and wiping away the remnants with one huge hand. He looked around the inn and was thankful for this night. His companions were all having a good time and the inn was alive with friendly banter and raucous singing. The other travellers that had swelled the numbers in the inn all seemed to be especially drunk. Slowly the music they played had gotten further out of rhythm with only the lute player still managing to hold the tune and rhythm. That very same lute player was staring at Muldar intently and only moved his gaze when he met Muldar’s eyes. A maniacal grin painted the musician’s face. The big man surmised that he must have either really enjoyed the music or that he was drunker than everybody else in the room. To Muldar it seemed that the drummer was getting further and further out of rhythm but looking at the man he could see that he had laid his drum down to get another drink. As he concentrated the drumming continued to grow louder but not loud enough for the majority of drunkards to notice. Kris looked at him across the room knowingly. Muldar rose to his feet and snatched up his Warhammer from where it lay resting. The incessant lute playing stopped and was replaced by a thunderous growl from outside the inn. The mercenaries were now all on their feet, weapons in hand and poised for action. Half a second later the door to the inn and its frame exploded in a hail of splinters as Fang forced his way in. The warhound stood immobile, a low growl reverberated round the inn making cups dance and drinks spill. The patrons of the inn fled to the back of the room, many flinging themselves over the bar in terror. Only the travellers that were still sober enough to stand held their ground, stupefied looks on their faces. Reven entered, pushing past Fang. He was crusted with blood. In one hand he held his sword Bloodthirster and in the other he held a severed head.

Reinhart dropped his lute and pulled free his woollen tunic revealing his midnight black leather armour and the array of weapons he had strapped to him. “To arms” he screamed waiting for his men to rush past him into the fray. That rush never came. The dozen men he had under his charge were in no shape to face foes as fearsome as this monster and his blood red master. Reinhart felt a surge of panic, one of the men to his right fell with an arrow stuck in the side of his head. The mercenaries were on the attack. This at least goaded his men into action as they made a pathetic defence against the fury of Reven’s men. Reinhart watched in horror as his master plan was torn apart in front of him. His idiotic men were drunk! Fools. If any of them survived he would flay the skin off the imbeciles.

Reven stalked toward Reinhart, who dropped into a fighting stance at his approach. Reven roared, Muldar swung and Reinhart dropped like a stone. The whack of the warhammer meeting Reinhart’s head reverberated round the room and signalled the end of the brief skirmish. Reven tossed the head he had been holding on the floor and it rolled to rest against Reinharts own head. “Bind those that live. I have questions I would have answered”, Reven bellowed, “And get me a beer!” he added.

Trollbane - Part 3

At the end of the second day of their travels, the mercenary band stopped to spend the night at a small village that was signposted Briarmoot. The settlement was surrounded by farm fields and was made up of no more than 30 ramshackle buildings. Barns and sheds scattered the distant landscape and the land looked green and fertile even in the fading evening light. 

The band made their way into town without Reven and Fang, which was customary. The warhound was a fearsome sight to behold and had too often scared timid villagers in the past. Lesson learnt the hound and his master would stay outside the village until lodgings had been secured. Agrippa brought them to a halt outside a large wooden building that sported a sign that read, The Emperors Hand Inn. Their horses were tied to the hitching rail outside the inn and the mercenaries moved inside buoyed by the idea of cool ale and warm food. 

The inn was close to empty. The common room before them was lit by a few scattered candles and a fireplace that was little more than embers. Two men that had the look of farmers propped up against one end of the bar and engaged in casual conversation with the stocky barman that ended abruptly upon the warrior's entrance. "Ho travellers, welcome to Briarmoot and The Emperors Hand. What can I get you today?" Agrippa and his brethren were taken aback by the man's sunny disposition and welcoming manner. It was in stark contrast to the gloomy interior of the inn but it immediately put the men at ease and they moved toward the bar to quench their thirst.

Reven relaxed against the trunk of an oak tree a short distance from the dusty track that led into Briarmoot. He had let Fang hunt and sat alone as night crept up on the evening. The sunlight waned as he closed his eyes. As he started to doze words sprang unbidden into Reven's thoughts, 'I am the vessel. Look upon me and despair'. Instantly he rolled to the left a fraction of a second before an arrow whacked into the tree where a moment before he had been resting. As he rolled he grabbed his sword, Bloodthirster. It sang as he whipped it free of its scabbard coming to his feet in one smooth motion. The vampiric blade flickered as it moved to intercept another missile, smashing it out of the air. Reven could see his attackers as they moved toward him. They were still a way off but they moved with purpose and precision as they closed on him. Reven had used this technique himself and he scanned left and right to find where the trap would be sprung. It didn't take him long, he ducked behind the tree to avoid more arrows and spied the pincer movement that was supposed to have caught him. Four men, two on the left and two on the right crouched low in the grass made their way toward him. They broke into a run as soon as they knew they had been discovered. Reven regretted not unpacking his bow from Fang's harness, with the four at his flanks and the six or so that advanced from the front it would have been good to have whittled down their numbers before engaging with them up close. Bloodthirster twitched in his hands, hungry for blood the blade almost willed Reven to battle. 

They were almost upon him. The arrows came less frequently but did enough to keep him pinned behind the tree. They came on him all at once, adjusting their pace to hit with maximum force. Reven ducked under the first swung blade and it splintered tree bark as it landed. Up close he could see all the men wore similar garb. Light leather armour and masks, dyed black or dark brown. They roared as they swung at him. Three swordsmen made up the front rank, well trained and vicious they thrust and swung at Reven in unison forcing him to parry with his swords and vambraces. He whirled lashing out with his sword but even as he moved men at the rear stabbed through openings with spears and tridents. They formed a tight circle around him, forcing him repeatedly onto the tree at his back. Within seconds Reven was covered in nicks and cuts and bled freely from a spear wound in his side. He dropped low and took one of the swordsmen's leg off at the knee and pushing his advantage launched himself through the gap he'd made, barreling a trident wielding attacker to the ground in the process. Leaping to his feet he back-peddled desperately as he tried to prevent the attackers from closing round him again. One thing working in his favour was the combination of the blood-drinking blade in his hand and the newly stumpy swordsman. Blood flew through the air from the severed limb to the blade splashing the attackers as Reven swung the sword in defence. The blood drew one of the attacker's attention and Reven capitalised on the moment and with a neat back swing carved the mans face in two. He pressed his advantage snapping the haft of a spear with his vambrace, he spun into his next pursuer impaling him through the chest, the light leather offering no resistance to Bloodthirster. Sensing a change in fortune the attackers re-doubled their efforts. Pressing Reven into defence again. They circled around him trying to force him back to the tree. Reven was breathing hard and now laboured to see after a large gash had been opened across his forehead and his vision swam with blood. 

It was as the attacker's confidence grew and Reven's dogged defence weakened that the tide turned once more. Silent in his approach and deadly in his arrival Fang's hunt had led him full circle. The towering mass of muscle exploded into the fight frantic in the defence of his friend and master. Hitting the attackers at full speed he sent them sprawling. Reven emboldened by his warhounds arrival ceased his retreat and once more went on the attack. Fang tore men limb from limb as Reven enacted his revenge on the ambushers. One tried to flee only to be pounced on by the beast, his head removed in one swift bite. 

The whole exchange lasted less than two minutes and the broken bodies of Reven's would-be killers lay strewn around the tree where only moments before he was resting. Reven rested his hand on Fang's lowered snout and met him forehead to forehead. The wound in his head ached but he needed to thank his companion for his timely intervention. Fang had saved Reven's life countless times and the bond they shared was unbreakable as a result. A whimper from one of the downed men drew Reven's attention, "Time to find out who these bastards are my friend" he whispered to Fang. Exhausted but determined he made his way over to the man and drew his skinning blade. He would get the information he required before this wretch died.

Trollbane - Part 2

The mercenary band rode their horses along the winding roads that led away from Blackcliff and into the heart of Orland. Reven sat astride Fang who loped along at a slowed pace so as not to outdistance the slower horses. It was a bleak morning. Grey cloud blanketed the sky for as far as the eye could see and a fine rain was the riders constant companion. Droplets of water dripped from saddlebags and the array of weapons that were strapped to the sides of the mercenaries mounts. The riders themselves looked bedraggled but their spirits were high. They sang songs of women and war and exchanged barbed jibes as they travelled to pass the time. Only Reven stayed silent. 

Reven was almost the youngest in the group but his ferocity in battle and his keen intellect has seen him don the mantle of command. He already had a fearsome reputation amongst his peers and his legend was growing. Only one of his band were younger, Orwin, but he unlike Reven acted his age. The commander was lost in thought. He rolled in the saddle as his huge warhound Fang trotted along the path. Reven paid no mind to the passing countryside, his mind focused on the task at hand and the promised riches that lay at the end of the journey. 

Gandleson's Trove was the prize they sought and was legendary throughout Orland and beyond. Gandleson was an elven explorer who had spent his life gathering riches and famously took them with him wherever he travelled. It is said that by the time he reached Orland his train of followers was over five miles long and every cart and pony in it was laden with gold, antiquities and items of such rare beauty and extreme power that just a handful of Gandleson's treasure would be enough for a man to live like a king for a lifetime. Legend has it that one night whilst travelling through a valley Gandelson's men were brought to a halt by a ferocious storm. Riders were sent ahead of the main body of travellers to scout out the lands that lay ahead of them whilst Gandleson and his men hunkered down for the night. When the scouts returned in the morning the valley was empty. The only sign that they were there were the furrows left by cart wheels and the hoof prints of horse and pony. 

The map Reven had in his position revealed the location of the valley. It had taken weeks to decipher the landmarks scratched onto the ancient parchment but they valley had finally been pinpointed, lying between in the wilds between the cities of Kynmarch and Fording. What perplexed him is what he would do once he had found it. The legend was just a story after all and adventurers had spent centuries in search of the treasure without finding a thing. Reven feared he was leading his men on a foolhardy quest that may have little gain but he couldn't ignore what may lay at the end of their journey. A treasure of such fortune would see he and his men written in to the history books as heroes. Glory awaited and Reven would grasp it with both hands.

Trollbane - Part 1

The sword pulled free of the dead mans chest as his limp body fell away from the fight. Crimson droplets of blood floated from the toppling marauder as Bloodthirster drank its fill. Reven turned away from the crumpled corpse as his enchanted blade supped on the last of the mans lifeblood. He sought his last victim; the final foe in this dismal quest. "Show yourself coward. I require your head to collect my reward", Reven's voice reverberated off the dungeon walls. He searched the gloom of the abandoned throne room for a sign of the marauder warlord. "I am no coward, assassin", the voice came from everywhere, refusing to betray the speakers position. "However your legend grows and I have no wish to test my mettle against your vampiric blade or the warhound that is no doubt awaiting your return at the entrance to my lair. So I have an offer for you" as the echo of his voice faded Warlord Greer stepped into the torchlight to Reven's left.

"You are a man of honour" he said as he moved toward Reven. "I trust that if I have your word you will keep it". Reven snorted, "Do not attempt to talk your way out of this. My word may be trustworthy but yours are spoken with the tongue of a rapist and murderer. I should remove it before you try and pour poisoned honey in my ear" he brought Bloodthirster to bear to accentuate his words. "Please master slayer, stay your hand until you have heard what I have to offer" Greer hastily pulled a scrap of well used parchment from his leather tunic. The bone trophies of his many victims jangled as he did so and he threw the paper down in front of Reven, before backing away, arms wide to show no menace. Reven edged forward and bent to pick the paper up, never taking his eyes off the warlord. "Kneel", the hunter called and Greer quickly complied, sinking to his knees. Reven scanned the paper in his hand, it was a map; of where and of precisely what he was not sure but any fool could see it was incomplete. It was ripped down one edge. "What is this? You try to buy your worthless life with some half finished scratchings on weathered paper. You take me for a fool". "No mercenary" Greer responded, scrambling to his feet, "that piece of paper is the way to a long lost fortune, well, half of the way. I will trade the other half for my life. Swear to me that your fearsome blade will not separate my head from my shoulders and I will reveal the location of the second piece of the map." "You really do take me for an idiot Greer" Reven responded dropping the torn map piece to the floor. "Draw your weapon and die with some dignity. Reven advanced as he spoke, making Greer back away. "Tis' the way to Lord Gandlesons lost trove. A treasure that has been sought by adventurers for centuries. The elven relics it contains are beyond priceless, please I beseech you Reven. Heed my words and spare my life". The warlords hastily spat words stopped Reven in his tracks. Lord Gandlesons lost treasure was stuff of legend and would promise legendary status to whomever should find it. "You have my attention fool. Speak quickly, how did you come by this map." Greer held his palms up in supplication, "I happened upon it after we sacked a wizards tower outside of Ux. It's meaning was lost on me until a scholar of my acquaintance studied it. I tore the map in two to protect the knowledge the parts contained."

Reven snatched up the part of the map he had cast aside. "Fine, you have my word. I will not end your life. Where is the second part of the map?"  Greer, smiling broadly rushed at Reven, hand outstretched. The mercenary grasped his hand to seal the deal, releasing it swiftly. "It is right here my lord", chuckling Greer pulled another piece of paper from his tunic and placed it in Reven's outstretched hand. "Well played murderer" Reven responded as he turned to walk out of the room. "Leave his head in tact" he said as he disappeared into the gloom. "Who do you address warrior?" Greers voice echoed after Reven. "My friend was cold so he came in from the night." On cue Fang, the towering warhound, appeared out of the dark. His growl shook the ground beneath Warlord Greers feet. The evil man didn't even get a chance to scream. Fang launched himself forward and snapped his powerful teeth down on Greers shoulder, separating a huge chunk of torso from the rest of the vile mans body. Reven smiled in the darkness as Fang finished his meal.

The Dead Lord

It had not gone as planned. Reven and his company of mercenaries hunkered down behind tipped over tables as crossbow bolts and arrows thunked into their wooden shield. They had come up through the sewers of the old fort and walked straight into a trap. The men were already grumbling at having to walk through human excrement but now their whining was irking Reven more than the constant patter of arrows. They were there to kill a disgraced lord, it was their biggest contract to date and they had spent a week planning it. No doubt the weasel observer that had been sent to liaise with them by the magistrate had been a turncoat. He would be dealt with as would Lord Umpold, the mark, but first they had to get out of this room.

The two long dining tables in the barracks room they had emerged into were taking a pounding and Reven knew they had to move soon. Umpold must have paid some serious coin to get this many guards in. He was supposed to be woefully unprotected. Reven thought this contract to be a gift, something that would elevate them above the other mercenary bands operating out of Blackcliff but obviously, the intelligence they had was wrong. He looked over at Agrippa and Muldar who were behind a table with Kris, “Ag, move forward in five” he shouted across the room. The guards held a line across the end of the long room, crossbowmen knelt before the bowmen. More troops filed in behind them choking the doorway, the rooms only exit. Reven hadn't waded through shit to turn tail and run. He would complete the contract. At his signal, the men at his sides and those behind the other makeshift protection lifted the tables and rushed forward using them as shields to close the gap between themselves and the guards. Taken aback by the move the hail of fire faltered and the mercenaries used the opportunity to launch the heavy tables at the front row of defending troops. Swords were drawn and Reven’s men hacked into the startled front ranks of the guards who were hastily drawing swords of their own. Reven was in the centre of the line, whirling and spinning with Bloodthirster in hand. He gutted a guard, his sword going through his chain-mail like a warm knife through butter. Blood droplets swam about him in the air as his vampiric blade drank in the crimson of its wielders foes. He decapitated the man to his left before spinning away from an attack on his right, returning with backhand swipe which took the attackers arm off at the elbow. Reven’s relentless assault was mirrored by his men who fed off their leader's fervour for battle. Muldar shattered and pounded opponents with his mighty war hammer, the big man was speckled with blood that exploded from his foes with the force of his blows. Agrippa fought with sword and shield, drawing men in by taking hits and then launching into them as they extended toward him. Kris and Bran both fought with short swords in each hand. The twins fought as one, trading blows with multiple opponents and dispatching them with clinical strikes. Orwin the youngest of the troop fought with sword and dagger, his unorthodox style of fighting saw him defending with his longer blade and attacking with his knife.

Soon the guards that had been clambering to get into the room only moments before were on the retreat and trying to squeeze back through that same door. The mercenaries spilt out after them, shouting taunts and slights as the last few guards managed to run clear past the next line of defenders. These troops were different, big and decked out in plate armour head to toe. These four iron giants carried two-handed blades the length of a man and stood unmoving. Reven quickly assessed his options and a window to his right gave him the opportunity his men needed. “Gentlemen, through the window and up. Kris, Bran keep climbing, find the fat Lord and bring him to heel. Ag, Orwin, Muldar get the front gate open, my friend hungers. Go”. With nods of affirmation the men clambered out the window and started climbing the rough stonework of the walls. Reven turned toward the statuesque foursome that faced him once his men were clear, as one they came to life, taking a step toward him raising their massive blades. Reven rushed toward them, Bloodthirster held before him, a smile on his lips and battle singing in his heart.

Agrippa watched Kris and Bran continue the climb as he, Muldar and Orwin slipped inside the next window they came too. He waved them off and then concentrated on the task at hand. They had to get out to the battlements to raise the gate. Agrippa understood Reven’s logic. This looked as though it was going to be a bloody fight and the warhound Fang excelled in combat, a lump of muscle as tall as a horse and almost twice as wide.

 The three mercenaries made their way along the hallway they found themselves in. It was richly furnished with rugs, paintings and sculptures that dotted the floors and walls. They moved quickly down the corridor toward the front of the fort but the sound of approaching footsteps arrested their advance. Orwin tried the closest door, it was locked. He started racing down the corridor to the next door but the guards that were searching for them rounded the corner at the end of the hall and immediately formed up to advance on Muldar and Agrippa. The warriors drew their weapons and dropped into fighting stances as the men came on. Muldar shouted with glee as he launched himself into the fight. Agrippa was more economical with his movements and dropped a man with his first swing, shouting over his shoulder for Orwin to continue to the gate. The boy stood for a moment, hesitant, watching his comrades wade into battle. His hand played with the hilt of one of his throwing knives as he weighed his options. He watched the massive Muldar pulp another opponents head with his war hammer and without another thought, he pushed the door closest open and padded inside.

Kris and Bran emerged through the highest window they could reach. They both massaged their fingers to ease out the ache of the climb. The twins were armed in a similar fashion and both unslung their bows and nocked an arrow. It was quiet up here in the loftier sections of the castle and no expense had been spared here. Where bare rock was sported throughout the rest of the fort, here wooden floors had been laid and wooden panels lined the walls. The wood had a dark polish over it and the panels on the wall were adorned with masks of all shapes and sizes. The twins were a little unnerved by the sightless parodies of faces that stared out at them but they carried on regardless. Hugging the walls they made their way through the gloom of the corridors the first soul they came across was a servant that was hurrying down the hall they were travelling, carrying a silver tray in one gloved hand. They crouched low behind a cabinet and when he came into view Bran smashed the man in the side of the head with the pommel of his sword whilst Kris jumped out to catch the falling tray. Bran stopped the man from hitting the floor and the pair bound his hands and gagged him. They pushed his recumbent form underneath the cabinet and continued their advance heartened. Servants meant blue bloods, and the sooner the one they were after was dead the better.

Reven decapitated the last of his foes and watched the man's body drop away as gouts of arterial blood sprayed the walls a lively crimson. He had taken a battering over the past ten minutes. Fighting the four big bastards had been tiring and he had been opened up across the stomach and had taken a length of steel through the thigh. The group of guards that came after that had sliced through his cheek, ripped his ear and almost cost him a finger. He wondered to himself how many times over he would have been dead if it wasn't for the gifts bestowed upon him by his union with Fang. The resilience, superior healing, heightened senses, speed and strength of the warhound coursed through him. The wounds on his stomach and thigh had already crusted into cuts and were no longer painful. He wiped blood from his face using one of the fallen guards ripped tabards. He had to regroup with his men. A stairway lay ahead that spiralled up to the next floor. Reven bounded up it hoping to be reunited with Agrippa, Muldar and Orwin.

Agrippa and Muldar had been victorious against their hunters but they had both taken a beating and were breathing hard. They sheltered in a side room as guards continued to search for them. Muldar was wrapping some ripped table cloth around a deep gash on his upper arm, trying to stem the tide of blood. Agrippa was concerned, the next fight they might not walk away from. They were still supposed to be getting to the gates, as per their orders from Reven but the guards seemed almost endless and they fought with the fury of a man defending his home even though they appeared to be hired help. “We have to move” Agrippa said to the big man who was just finishing tying off his makeshift bandage. Muldar nodded his assent and picked himself up off the floor, “We should find the boy” he said as he limbered up with his war hammer. Agrippa moved past him patting one of his shoulders as he did so. He moved over to a door and listened for movement with his head pressed against its dark wood. Muldar was just behind him as they moved through the door and further into the fort.

Orwin was crouching between some shelves in a storeroom just off the main courtyard. Stealth and brought him this far and now he hid between the various rolled tents and flagpoles that were stacked along the shelves, he found himself to be stuck. Guards were patrolling backwards and forwards on the inside of the gate that he needed to get open. He had waited for them to be relieved or move off but to no avail. If he didn’t act soon it may be too late and there were too many men out there for him to take alone. He would wait a bit longer before returning into the fort to locate his friends.

Kris and Bran were in trouble. They had found the lords lair but before they could burst in kill the old bastard they had been set upon by a score of heavily armoured troops that had been laying in wait for them. Now they were running for their lives, stopping occasionally to turn and fire arrows at the men that rushed after them. They had found some stairs and headed down them. Horn’s sounded behind them that echoed through the corridors of the fort warning of their presence. “Those bloody horn’s will bring every guard in the fort down on our heads” screamed Bran as they ran. The noise of clanking armour from below made them arrest their descent, forcing them onto another floor of the building. They ran into cover as more noise from along the corridor they were in spooked them. “We’re buggered” Kris said to his brother, Bran nodded his assent and pushed his fingers to his lips. They listened as the furtive footsteps came closer. Whoever they belonged to they were trying to be quiet, sneaking along the edge of the corridor. All was near silent until troops barrelled out of the stairway and into the flickering light of the lanterns that lit the hallway. They were shouting challenges down the corridor that seemed to be directed at somebody other than the twins. The curses that flew back were distinctive in their flamboyant use of language, “There’s only one person I know that swears like that” Kris smiled at his brother as they both rose from cover. Muldar was bellowing at the guards that were still filing into the hallway, “By the Great Bull’s dangly balls, you filth have no place amongst such warriors. Return to the dung pile you came fr….” He faltered as Kris and Bran stepped out of the shadows. “Hah” the big man screamed, “You’re doubly buggered now”. Agrippa was smiling as the twins approached and turned to face the foe. “Fight or flight Ag?” asked Kris as they bunched together, “Bit of both I’d say, pin the front ranks and let's get out of here” as the twins drew their bows more heavily armed troops rushed in at their backs. Agrippa sagged as he turned and saw them coming. No retreat against numbers too great for them to prevail against, hope was fading fast. The troops pressed in on all sides and a wizened old man stepped forward, “Drop your weapons scum” his voice boomed above the clamour of the troops, “Our Lord wishes to have words with you before he washes his alter with your blood”. The four mercenaries turned to regard the man, his voice so compelling that their grips loosened on their weapons at once. Agrippa was the first to resist the magical compulsion but too late. The guards were on them, bludgeoning them to the ground, knocking them senseless, the four warriors drifted out of consciousness almost as one.

Orwin was about to move off when the horns sounded. Most of the guards that had been milling around the courtyard on their patrol routes rushed into the fort in response, leaving only a handful of guards in their stead to watch over the gates. Orwin knew it was to be now or never. The horns meant things had escalated even further inside and they needed support. He drew two of his throwing knives and moved out of the storeroom into the open space of the courtyard. He immediately regretted his decision. The handful of troops he saw from his vantage point were mirrored on the other side of the gate by a force of equal size. The youngster was outmatched but driven by a devotion to his comrades and the duty bestowed on him he acted regardless. The first of his blades sang through the air and lodged itself in the flesh of the guard's neck, neatly landing between his body armour and helmet. The guard pulled the blade free as he dropped covering those nearest to him with a spray of bright red blood. The guard turned to face Orwin as another thrown knife thumped into the face or another dropping him without a sound. Both groups of guards rushed at him. Orwin threw once more but only managed to knock off a helmet. He hastily drew his sword and the knife sheathed at his hip and roared his defiance.

Orwin blocked a blow from the first guard to reach him but he saw a second man swinging a sword at his head that he knew he couldn't stop. Involuntarily he closed his eyes and waited for the blow to connect. It never did though, instead, he was pushed roughly to the ground as a whirlwind of death ripped into the onrushing guards. Reven was a fearsome sight to behold. As soon as his first stroke fell, beheading a guard, his sword started to drink hungrily. As Reven whirled and spun striking out at the guards he was surrounded by a rain of blood. The guards were cut down like wheat. They fell back under Reven’s assault. Blades shattered as they tried to match Bloodthirster, hands were taken off at the wrist, legs severed at the knee. Reven pushed on pausing only to point at the gate. Orwin struggled to move he was so mesmerised by his leader but he knew what needed doing.

He ran to the gate, straight for the mechanism that would raise the hefty portcullis that barred entry. He struggled with the release but using all his strength pulled it free. He repeated this on the lever on the other side of the gate and the massive web or iron slowly rose as the counterweights did their work. A low reverberating howl rumbled from nearby, rolling through the courtyard like thunder. It was met by Reven who also howled as the blood of his last opponent dripped down his face. The tide of blood was about to turn.

Agrippa, Muldar, Kris and Bran were bound at one end of a great hall. Hands tied to ankles and heads pulled back, necks bared. Huge Tapestries hung from the high walls depicting bloody rituals and sacrifices performed by goat-headed men. The hall was full of guards and servants from the fort. The elderly wizard had donned purple robes and uttered incantations over the mass of men that had gathered to watch the sacrifices. A hushed descended as a lone figure walked to the front of the room. He wore loose-fitting purple robes that barely covered his obese bulk and wore a stuffed goats head that covered his own face. He held a long curved blade in one hand and a censer in the other that billowed purple smoke in its wake. As he reached the chancel where the men were bound he turned to face the adoring crowd. “Let these sinners wash Heskor’s alter with their blood. Our Lord and Master bids us do his holy work so that we may endure”, the crowd responded in unison, “and endure we must”, “The blood is our life” the leader shouted, “and spill it we must” the crowd retorted. They chanted over and over ‘spill it we must’ as the leader turned to face the four men. The mass of worshippers swayed as they said the words led by the old wizard. Louder and louder they chanted as the goat-headed man raised his wicked blade. He smiled down at those he was about to slaughter, flexing the fingers of his hand that held the sword aloft, ready to strike.

Another voice entered the mercenaries dazed minds as they looked up at the purple-robed leaders smiling face. A whisper at first, it grew louder and they started to speak the words aloud as one. Lord Umpold couldn’t hear what they were saying properly under the cover of his mask but as their voices grew in strength the words became clear. “I am Their vessel, I give life to Their wrath, I am the bloody-handed reaper. I am ruin, I am death, Their collector of skulls” they repeated the words over and over confusing the big man. “Silence” he hissed at them. They continued and regained their composure as they repeated the words throwing off the dreamlike state the wizard's compulsion had left them in. Their voices rose and were joined by another that boomed through the hall drowning out the noise of the crowd. The masses chanting faded as the words reverberated around the room. Two guards who stood at the door at the far end of the hall to the chancel were flung through the air as the doors were flung wide. Reven sat astride Fang who slowly walked up the central isle of the hall. The old wizard was first to react using his booming voice to try and persuade Reven to turn about. As soon as the words left his mouth they were replaced with a well-thrown dagger. Orwin’s blade buried itself so that only the tip of the hilt could be seen protruding from the old man's mouth. As soon as the man fell it was as if a spell had been broken. The masses groaned and wailed as if waking from a nightmare and confusion reigned as people scattered in front of Fang’s bulk as if only truly seeing it now. Reven slipped out of the saddle and mounted the dais on which his men and Lord Umpold were.

Orwin had pushed the doors at the end of the hall shut and was preventing people from escaping. Some of the guards had started to regain their wits and were heading his way. Reven walked straight past the stunned Umpold and freed his men as the distraught Lord looked on. The now free mercenaries recovered their weapons and formed up at Reven’s back. With a flick of the wrist, Reven loosed Fang on the guards that were heading toward Orwin. The war hound tore into them with relish, scattering them all over as he barrelled through them to stand at Orwin’s side. Lord Umpold’s goat-head headwear had fallen off and tears streamed down his face. He fell to his knee’s grovelling at Reven’s boots for mercy. Reven had none. Agrippa, Muldar and the twins drew their blades knowing what was to come. Reven loosed Bloodthirster neatly severing Lord Umpold’s head from his body. Holding the head high he addressed the crowd, “We will not judge you heathens. You murders of men and twisters of fate. We will leave your fate to the gods. If you make it out of this room the gods smile on you and you shall live. The rest of you be damned”. With that he secured the lords head to his belt, trailing blood as he walked toward Fang and Orwin. The crowds parted to let Reven and his men pass. When they reached the doors Reven threw them wide and turned to face the crowd. He drew his sword and beckoned the mass of people forward. “Kill them all” he said under his breath as he gutted the first man that came within his reach.

The slaughter in the hall was immense. Not a single member of Umpold’s congregation made it out though their blood seeped through the doorway and into the hall beyond. The story of the bloodletting reached far throughout Orland and despite the viciousness of the act it was used as a cautionary tale for those who would turn their backs on the Gods.

The Conversation

Reven sat across the table from Master Fedoris Brusser. They both cradled steins of ale, a potent brew by the name of Giant Slayer. Brewed by dwarves it was regarded as one of the finest ales in the whole world and spoke volumes about the establishment they drank in. The Emerald Paladin was somewhere that the elite met, the rich and powerful of Blackcliff frequented this place; princes, lords, merchants and high ranking military officials.

It had been three months since Reven had arrived in Blackcliff with Agrippa and his mercenaries in tow. Soon after that arrival he had sought out Master Brusser who he carried a message for. His acquaintance, Master Missner had instructed him to seek out Brusser upon his arrival to help Reven make sense of the frenzy that would take hold of him when he immersed himself in battle. Their meeting had not been what Reven had expected…

~

Master Brusser had greeted him in the offices of the Temple of the Everguard. Reven sat patiently whilst the Senior Minister read the note that he could not, sealed as it was by magical enchantment. Brusser was an older man, thin with short grey hair dressed in the red and white robes of his office. Reven watched him as he read the note, there was a vitality to the man and even though they had only shared a greeting the warrior couldn't help but warm to the Brusser’s calming presence.

Brusser put down the note, his small thin lipped mouth curling into a smile. “Why are you here Reven?” he asked plainly. Reven straightened in his chair before answering, “Master Brusser, I was led to believe that you may be able to render me some aid with that which ails me. I have a demon within me, awful power coils around my very soul and overwhelms me when I am in battle. It scares me, fills me with the urge to rend and kill. I…I fell ashamed. Am I tainted?....I was led to believe you may be able to end this madness that afflicts me”. Brusser’s smile widened, “The note says something about ending this yes. When exactly does this ’frenzy’ begin? When you draw your sword? Draw blood? Or is it when your blood flows?”. Reven thought for a moment before responding, “It is when all appears lost, when I'm outnumbered, close to death. The rage fills me with unnatural strength and speed. I act without thinking, slay without pity. I am their vessel, an engine of destruction”. “So you could say this affliction is your saviour? It has saved you from death yet you fear it.” Brusser stopped to muse on his words. “Some are bestowed with power Reven. The gods bless the worthy with unassailable gifts. If what you say is true you may be the first in hundreds of years to be bestowed with such power. 'Tis a gift, you should embrace it, control it.” Reven sat back as the hammer of realisation hit, “The gods! Why do you believe the gods responsible for this? I am not a pious man.”  Brusser looked confused, “You said ‘I am their vessel’, I assumed you had an understanding of the Everguard to use such a phrase, the Everguard were all vessels of power and now through worship we are their vessels”. “You are a truly enlightened man Master Brusser to see a curse as a blessing. I would learn more of these gods whilst I am here in Blackcliff.”, “You should” answered Brusser, “for enlightenment may lead you to choose your friends more wisely. Missner wanted an end to the curse as did you. But he had an entirely more bloody conclusion in mind” Brusser pushed the note across the desk and Reven picked it up and read the words which were now as clear as day.

Fedoris,

I imagine right now you are sitting at your desk looking across at the one who has handed you this note. He is no friend, he is a demon in skin, a nightmare made flesh. As one scholar to another I urge you to bring your powers to bare against this apparition of evil. He is cursed, red ruin courses through his veins. Destroy him, by all that is holy destroy him and rejoice in Their name.

If you do not it is your death you sit across from, we will all pay. I know you’ll do the right thing

Your Friend,

Ceedric Missner

Reven jumped up readying himself for combat as soon as he had finished the letter. He sword was in his hand and he dropped into a defensive posture. Brusser didn't flinch, “If I was to do what this fool wanted, do you think I would of sat and spoke with you. Ha! Enlightenment is sorely needed”

~

In the months after that initial meeting Reven had spent much of his free time in the company of Master Brusser. He learnt of the Everguard and of magic whilst he was not hiring his services out to the highest bidder. His little band of mercenaries were already making a name for themselves in Blackcliff for their ruthless efficiency and Reven had used each contract to test his skills and further his knowledge of his ‘blessing’. He and Brusser had become friends as the Minister had tutored Reven in various aspects of the arcane. He had picked up some basic alchemy skills and been tutored in the arcane so that he could cast spells of healing and fire. With every week that passed Reven grew in confidence and power.

It was sitting at this table, talking with his friend that Reven truly realised what he wanted; power, glory and all that came with it. He also knew that he would wade through as much blood as needed to achieve his goals. He had been given a gift. He was death incarnate, the bloody handed reaper and in time all would bow before him or despair.