Trollbane - Part 10

The stink of the alleyway roused Reven from his sleep. The smell of human excrement mingled with the powerful scent of last night's ale made his stomach churn as his eyes struggled to open against the power of the morning sun. He brought one his hands to his face to cradle his head as he pushed himself upright, trying to remember how he had got into the alley in the first place. Still half-drunk he knew that last night had involved ale. The blood caked on his knuckles told him there had been violence. The general mess he was in told him that whatever had transpired it wasn't something he would be proud of. Another exercise in excess that had left him asleep in a shit-stained alley. Wonderful!

Shuffling down the streets of River Rise, trying to find his bearings he was pleased when the marketplace came into view. He would return to The Rest in the hope that Fang would have made his way back. As he pushed through the crowds of people, many of whom turned their noses up at his heavily scented passing, a commotion at the side of the market square caught his eye. Familiar stalls that he passed yesterday came into view as did a large contingent of the city watch. A crowd had gathered to gawk at the watchmen as they went about their work. Reven made his way through the onlookers until he stood at the front of the crowd. As he looked upon the destruction in front of him, the events of the previous night started to slowly fall into place.

Gap Tooth's animal stall had been smashed to pieces. Empty cages and splintered wood littered the floor. Tables were overturned; animal bedding, faeces, and feathers were spread around adding to the chaotic scene. The animals themselves were missing. The vague recollection of drunken anger washed over Reven. This looked like his work, his style of raw primal anger unleashed. His face flushed as he looked upon the destruction he had wrought. He struggled to remember when he had done this, it must have been whilst drunk. He had brooded over the deaths of Gap Tooth and his fellows and the way he and Fang had snuffed out their lives all of the previous day. He had wondered about the fate of the animals that were caged at their stall. The scene before him told him of what had transpired. In a red-hued fit of kindness, he had decided o set the animals free. Releasing them into the night so that it may envelop them in its embrace and help them find much-deserved freedom.

Whilst he stood musing over yesterday's mistakes, and small victories, he had started to draw attention from some of the watchmen who were casting sideways glances in his direction. The blood caked over his hands and his general demeanour made him stand out and he couldn't help but think if he were a watchman he would want to question this wastrel. He drifted back into the crowds before the watch could act, melting away into the hubbub of the market place. Head down, he marched back to his lodgings at The Rest in the hope he would be reunited with Fang and they could be away from the city before he started any more trouble.

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 8

Before sitting down to breakfast, Reven went and checked on Fang. Peter had already fed the warhound and he was noisily crunching through bones that were leftover from the previous evening's meals. Reven crouched next to Fang and despite his low, warning growl scratched the huge beast behind the ear. Fangs back leg spasmed in response to his master's touch, scratching at thin air as Reven found a spot that he would never reach on his own. In truth, it was Reven who needed to feel another's touch. The dream that had woken him in the night had plagued his thoughts since he had dragged himself from his bed. Being with Fang helped ease his discontent and he stayed with his friend for almost an hour to enjoy the warmth of his companionship. 

Breakfast was a simple serving of honey-bread, bacon and pastries. Whilst eating alone, Reven thought about how he would spend his day. They had two nights in River Rise to restock their supplies, rest and enjoy the multitude of distractions that the bustling town offered. He resigned himself to looking for some new armour pieces for Fang in one of the markets. Warhound's were not typical mounts and were hard to buy for. Most equipment had to be made to order and would often take days or even weeks to make. Despite this Reven was confident that the flow of trade through River Rise would enable him to find something suitable for his hulking friend. The town was well-used by travellers from all points of the compass. The only problem he had is that he would have to take Fang with him. The armour would need to fit and if it didn't would need to be altered. He needed the hound with him to make those purchases but  Fang did not like crowds and they also didn't like him. The news they were going out into the throng of people at the market would not be received well by Fang. This simple act would no doubt turn into an adventure all on its own.

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 5

Rienhart came around, his world turned upside down, literally. Suspended by his ankles from a beam that ran across the length of The Emperors Hand frontage. Blood ran freely from a large gash in the back of his head, courtesy of Muldar’s hammer. His vision blurred as he opened his eyes. As his senses came back to him he focused on the form of his captor.

Reven stalked back and forth in front of the man. The bloodied remains of Reinhart’s men piled in the street behind him. Crimson speckled the floor around the bodies and here and there rivulets of blood came together to form sticky, dark puddles. The sun was already rising and Reven’s shadow danced across Reinhart’s face, momentarily keeping its glaring rays out of the man’s eyes. Several Briarmoot residents had gathered to watch the spectacle and their stern, unforgiving face’s darted between the mercenary captain and the hanging man. Looks of derision were cast at all involved in the previous night’s disturbances, yet not a word was uttered as the small crowd watched the events that unfolded in front of them.

Reven was much recovered from the previous night’s attack. The worst of the wounds he had received was already just a long pink line across his forehead. Anger burned through his veins as he eyed his prisoner returning to consciousness. He approached Reinhart and grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him to the side so that the men could meet face to face. “Your men have been most helpful with my enquiries and have been rewarded justly for their assistance”, Reven said as he indicated to the pile of bodies in the street. “The only information I need from you is your name before I release you from your miserable life. I like to keep a list of all those that fall beneath my blade.” The smile the mercenary gave Reinhart hid the fact that all of the captive man’s men had been too grievously injured or too dead to answer any questions. Reven hoped to use shock and awe to bluff the man into giving up his identity and the reason for the attack. Searching him whilst unconscious had proven futile with nothing of any value being found beyond a few coins and a silver pendant. The pendant was finely fashioned into the shape of a hoof but little could be divined in terms of its importance to the man’s identity. Reinhart tried to chuckle but couldn’t gave his laughter voice due to Reven’s grip on his throat. He was released and swung widely from his tether, gasping he finally sputtered a chortle but much of its mocking intent was lost as spittle dribbled over his top lip and down his cheeks. Successful chuckles erupted from onlookers causing Reinhart to thrash and whirl in an apparent rage. This caused a fresh round of laughter from the crowd as the bound man flopped around in mid-air like a freshly caught fish. Reven rolled his eyes at Agrippa as he held his hand up to appeal for calm from the crowd. It was at this point that the interrogation fell into farce, Reinhart roared, “The great pigs foot will crush you beneath its magnificence and destroy you with its stench”, more laughter rang up and down the street, even the mercenaries couldn’t contain themselves. “Strength…. I meant strength…”, Reinhart corrected but far too late, his cries lost in raucous howls of mirth.

It became apparent to Reven that nothing would be gained from his ministrations and with quick whistle he summoned Fang to his side. The warhounds arrival quickly ended the noise from the crowd and silence reigned. Reven turned away as Fang advanced and screams of horror replaced what only a moment ago was laughter. 

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.