It was a beautiful night as the moon rose over the mountains around the town of Klaer. The moon light reflected off the clouds, bathing the land in pale silver light. A lone stranger rode toward the town, his horse covered with sheen, for he had been riding hard all day. His right name had long been forgotten, but to most he was simply known as Harn. How he had come by that name was also long forgotten. As he rode toward Klaer, he glanced up at the silver tinted clouds, and was reminded of the old expression “Every cloud has a silver lining.” Harn could only hope that this town would be the proverbial silver lining. He had been riding hard for the past week, trying to desperately to catch up to Ethelion and his group. Things were moving faster than any of the Council had predicted. Harn and others of his order had been sent to inform those Council members who had gone to renew the old alliances. He was bone tired, and wanted nothing more than a good drink, and then a soft bed for the night. And by all reports, the inn of Klaer, named Heaven’s Way Station, lived up to its name.
Klaer had always been a town of some importance to the local area, as it served as a sort of hub around which most of the mines of the mountain communities had been built. Situated in a shallow basin in the Mountains of Iron, or the Ruedren Mountains in the dwarven tounge. Indeed, it was the Dwarves that first discovered the vast iron deposits that gave the mountains their decidedly reddish hue. Mines they delved, vast and deep, and mansions deep beneath the earth. But in time the Dwarves gave up the mines to be run by the Men that had settled nearby, while they themselves turned to other pursuits, namely that of gold and silver, with which they could then buy all the iron there skill needed. No where else was such a profitable arrangement to be found, for the Mines were profitable, and the Dwarves eager to buy much of what was produced. Thus the towns prospered, and were protected, and the dwarves smithies were ever busy, making weapons, tools, and other such things as were required. The town of Klaern was built on the chief roadway among the mining towns, and it grew, for it was one of the few which could boast to having available water. A stream flowed through the center of the town, and clean and cold were its waters. With the return of the Evil to the near north, the mines and their iron ore became exceedingly precious to the other lands, and great convoys of wagons could be seen winding out of the mountains, delivering great stores of weapons and war gear to far off countries. It was probably for this reason that the scene upon which Harn's eyes fell was that of a raging battle.
Harn's eyes widened in suprise at the sight before him, and he dismounted. Down the slope upon which his horse stood, he saw the town of Klaer; half of it was aflame. As far as he could see, an army of Orcs was rampaging through the ruined half of the village, spreading destruction, and looting and pillage as they went. Why they simply didn't reduce the remainder of the city to ash was not readily appearent. Deciding to lend whatever help he could, he leaped back upon his horse, and thundered down the mountain side toward the beleaguered town. As he approached, he saw that a deep ditch had been dug, or blasted, into the earth, to deep and wide for the orcs to cross. Suddenly a steep drop loomed up before him, and he barely managed to check his horse to keep it from going over. Harn dismounted and, bidding his horse await his return, he began to look for a path down which he could climb. He had wandered 3 yards at the most, when off to his left he heard a sudden commotion in the woods. Four large warrior orcs came through the trees, armed with shield and sword and spear and bow. All four stopped in momentary surprise, then let a roar of malicious laughter when they saw that it was only a single, tall, unarmed man that stood before them. The largest of the four, appearently their leader, said in a growling chuckle "Lookee 'ere lads! Seems we've stumbled on a travler lookin' for the inn. And a drink and bed too perhaps?" The others began laughing again. "Seems you've come at a bad time. Inns closed, though maybe you gathered that already." One of his companions, getting the better of his mirth, spoke up, "Captain, oughtn't we take this one prisoner. Might come in handy for sport with lads after they've had their fun in the town." The Orc captain paused to consider this idea, when a bright flash and echoing boom brought everyone's attention to the town. Two small figures stood in the middle of the road, and several orcs lay dead across the ditch. The captain muttered a curse under his breath, then said "That'd be the sorcerous witch Aryadne.Curse her and her ilk. Killed a number of our lot, or so they say. Lord Damias will make her pay." As he said this a grim leer spread on his face. "Now where were we, ah yes. Boys, I believe we may have some use for this wanderer, take him!" With that one of the four advanced, his sword ringing as he drew it, a wicked look glinted in his cruel orc eyes.As he approached, Harn allowed his eyes to half close, and took a deep breath, falling into trancelike state almost instantly. "Come along quietly, and you might live." said the orc as he came up behind Harn to bind his hands with rope. Harn snatched the rope from the orc's hand, lept onto its back, and strangled it with a quick twist of the chord around its neck. The orc fell dead with a crash, and its sword rang clattering across the ground. The other orcs looked in shock at this man, whom they clearly had underestimated. Bellowing curses in their own language, two orcs charged him, swords drawn, while the captain drew his bow and and took steady aim.
Swiftly Harn snatched up the fallen orc's sword, and parried a thrust, dodging aside another. Striking swiftly, one orc fell dead, its helm cloven in two. Before any of them could move however, the other orc stumbled and fell, an arrow through the back of his neck. At first Harn thought the orc captain had shot its comrade, until he heard a familiar voice from the trees saying "Well brother Harn, you owe me for that one." He spun around and saw, to his everlasting joy, an elf standing in the tree above the orc captain. Even as he did so, he heard a loud twang. He caught the orc's arrow just inches from his face. The orc captain gaped in astonishment, turned to run, and fell as his companion had, an arrow in his back. Harn looked up into the tree, and called "Hail Elrilan! What brings you so far from your lord's side?" The elf jumped lightly to the ground, and clasped hands with him. Elrilan's dark hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, and while his face appeared somber, his flaxen eyes belied his joy and mirth. His green and brown hunting garb was torn, and underneath could be seen the glint of steel armor. His sword was sheathed at his side, and his bow hung across his back. "The war, of course." Elrilan answered, "What else? King Glendilian bid that the strongest of his warriors should go and help our neighboring lands as best we could. I arrived here, too late it would seem." Harn and Elrilan walked stealthily towards the embattled town, whipsering about events going on in the world. Elrilan reported that the Fell Wizard Damias had been seen leaving the Gates of Norgaur nigh on three days ago, but what this signified, he could not guess, though by the way the orcs had mentioned the wizard, he may have been heading to the town. "In which case, we'd best be on our gaurd," murmured the elf. As they entered the town, the smell of burning wood and flesh reached their nostrils. As they surveyed the scene, they could see that most of the orcs were held at bay on the other side of the ditch by two people; an old man, and a young woman. The wizard Malke and his daughter Aryadne were putting forth all their power to defend their home and friends.
While Malke was not reckoned among the great of the age, few could surpass the care which he gave others, nor the sincerity with wich he gave it. Many would have gladly sacrificed themselves on his behalf, so great was the loyalty and love he inspired in others. His daughter Aryadne had her mother's firey temper and warrior's blood, tempered by her father's caring and compassion. Fiercely protective of her own, she fought all the fiercer when they were threatened. Eldritch bolts of argent power shot from her iron staff into the ranks of the orcs, while her father used his oaken staff to succor the wounded. Elrilan and Harn advanced within bowshot, and the elf set an arrow to his bowstring. Though the smoke made Harn's vision hazy, it posed no problem to the elf. His bow sang, and an orc fell screaming into the chasm. The defenders archers began to find suitable marks as the orc ran hither and thither, trying to escape. Aryadne continued to deal death from her staff, and the thrum of bow strings rose to a hum. The orcs now began to panic. They had no weapon against Aryadne's magic, nor any place to hide, for wherever they hid was blasted into ruin.
They were on the verge of fleeing the fight, when suddenly a mighty yell went up from the ranks of the orcs, drums beat wildly, and horns blew shrieking. A sudden disquiet fell upon Harn and Elrilan, and Aryadne's bolts were silenced. The hoarde of orcs parted, and from their ranks rode a horseman. Tall and menacing he was, and steel cold eyes glinted from under his hood. His right hand held a long black sword, and his left clutched a black crozier, at the top of which a pale fire pulsed. As he surveyed his foes from across the chasm, the very malice of his will beat upon them with his keen piercing glance. Here indeed was Damias, Captain of Gaurthang's armies, Lieutenant of Norgaur, and Lord of Fear, Emissary of Death. As his foes quailed, a cold and cruel laugh could be heard echoing into the night.
Damias dismounted, and strode to the chasm's brink. An eerie silence had fallen, and no sound was heard, not even that of the wind. Suddenly the dark wizard cried aloud in a voice like thunder, and plunged his staff into the earth. The earth groaned, as though it were undergoing some foul torture; and slowly the chasm began to close. When the fissure had at last been sealed, Damias retrieved his rod, taking it in the crook of his arm, and approached the towns remaining defenders. He drew back his hood, revealing a narrow face, yet fair, as only elves are. His eyes were dark, and malice glittered like ageless fire in them. His raven hair fluttered in the night breeze. Malke strode towards him, his daughter not far behind. Harn and Elrilan watched from their rooftop perch, poised and alert. Damias smiled thinly and said in a mocking tone, "Ah, old Malke. Only a grey beareded fool such as yourself would dare treat with me. My great master bids thee to lay down your arms, and cease your insurrection against him. Long ago these lands belonged to him, and were stolen unjustly. He merely wishes to retake what is his by right. If you but lay down your arms, and submit to the benevolence of my master, it will go better for thee. If not, things will go otherwise." Malke stood silent and made no response, as though in sudden doubt. Damias tone now wholly changed, and he said in a voice that was nearly a plea "Will you not surrender? Consider your land, your homes, your people, your own daughter. Are they worth so little to you, that you would sacrifice them for naught? You have but to submit." Such was the power that Damias now exerted, and the intensity with which he spoke, that few were unmoved, or taken with sudden doubt and fear. They were caught between a rock and a hard place, yet here was one who held open the door to safety, and offered it freely. Malke now stood erect, head held high, staff in hand. Speaking in a high clear voice, he said "Nay Damias, you speak naught but lies. Has Gaurthang become so weak that he must plead with his enemies to surrender? Even if these lands were justly his, as they are not, then he would still have no right to force us from them. Better to die free than wearing the shackles of despair. Your words are treachery Damias, and decieve none but perhaps yourself." The spell was broken.
In a soft voice, full of evil, the black wizard answered, "Old fool, you are right." Suddenly Damias seemed to grow, taller and more menacing; a great dark shadow, blacker than the night behind it. The malice of his eyes glittered piercingly amidst the gloom. He lifted on high his crozier and from it, hurled a blast of molten fury. Malke, wizard though he was, stood against a foe that was more than his match in strength, lore, and power. Aryadne could only stare in horror as her father was incinerated before her very eyes. Elrilan's bow twanged, but the arrow dissentegrated to dust before it ever found its mark. Malke's charred body tumbled to the ground and lay still, never to move again. Aryadne wailed in grief, and Elrlan and Harn could merely look on, dumbfounded, while the dark shadow of Damias loomed over them all.
The remaining orc host charged towards the stunned and frightened defenders of the town. Recovering from their shock, Elrilan and Harn leaped into the fray, Harn dancing among the orcs, fighting with nothing but his fists and footwork, while Elrilan used the last of his arrows, before drawing two long knives, dealing death. Aryadne knelt over her father's body, tears running down her face, oblivious to the shadow advancing toward her. A host of orcs now stood between her and any who could help. She looked up, and saw Damias standing over her. She rose, and a light flicked in her eyes. "You will go no further, monster!" she cried. Damias merely smiled and laughed in scorn. None had ever challenged him and lived, and he was indeed as great as fear and legend made him. "Young fool, do you not know your doom when you see it?" he asked. Out swept his great black sword, striking to kill. Aryadne's staff leapt up in answer. Damias and Aryadne both retreated a pace. A glimmer of moonlight pierced the clouds, illuminating Aryadne. To those that saw them, it seemed as though a glimmering light stood before a towering shadow, defying it. The fire in Aryadne's eyes continued to burn, as she stood against the one who had bereft her of her father. The air around her began to crackle as her power gathered. With a yell full of rage and hatred, she pointed her staff at the dark shadow looming before her, and let her power erupt. For a moment, sudden doubt entered Damias' eyes. Never before had anyone attacked with such ferocity, such power. Even he, powerful right hand of Guarthang though he was, was suddenly afraid. But his fear he quickly mastered, and the cold cruelty of his eyes returned. He had been taught by the Dark Lord himself, and his lore was dark and deep, his wizardry strong. He caught her argent blast with burning end of his crozier, turning it to black. Blast after blast of magic power she hurled at him, shrieking until her voice was raw, and still she fought. To those nearby it seemed as though the gods themselves were engaged in combat. Aryadne continued fighting until she had exhausted herself. She leaned on her staff, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Where Damias stood she saw nothing but smoke. The orcs saw this too, and letting out a yell of terror, began to flee. A strong gust of wind blew away the smoke and dust, and behold! there stood Damias. And yet, he did not attack. He turned his eyes toward the horizon, and as though listening to some unknown summons, he began to walk away. Slowly he seemd to shrink as he donned his hood and cloak, and his dark majest and power were veiled. Mounting his horse, he turned and followed the orcs into the night and disappeared.
Aryadne turned, and began to stagger back towards the town. Harn and Elrilan met her, and carried her to what had been set up as a makeshift rest area. The battle had left the northern half of the town in ruins, and most of the townspeople were unscathed. Harn had suffered little more than minor cuts and bruises, and Elrilan had suffered nothing other than spent arrows. Aryadne was exhausted in mind, body, and soul. As she was layed on a bed, she fell into slumber before her head had even touched the pillow, and knew know more. Harn went to and fro tending the wounded as he could, while Elrilan went into the woods to search for useful herbs, and any remaining orcs.
ok granted this is all abit rough, but there you have it. my masterpiece *yeah right* in the making
