Chapter 1: the Adulling

“Dad? Do you think I’ll be a hunter?”

“Hahaha, I don’t know son. I suppose the options are wide open.”

“What about….. a guard? Oh oh! Or even a warrior?” A boy grabs his hoe and swings it like a sword.

“Well son, lets look at your talents. You’re quick, clever and small framed. Oh I know! You’re going to be a law man!”

“Ugh, Dad i don’t want to be a law man. I want to be a fighter like you and Grandpa were!”

His father scuffled the boys hair. “I believe you can be whatever you want son. All you have to do is show your true talents at the festival this evening.” He smiled a sincere, fatherly smiley.

“Boys! Lunch is ready!”

The two gathered their tools and left the field, just a small boy trying to keep pace with his hulking veteran father.

It was early afternoon, the small family made their way to the tribe’s annual festival, celebrated when the sun was at it’s highest point in the sky. The festival was to celebrate all the boys and girls of the tribe coming of age and receiving a boon from the chieftain that would help them as they apprenticed and specialized in a trade or profession. Some would become warriors or smiths or tanners. Some unfortunate lot, as the boy saw it, would become farmers and cooks. He hoped to become a warrior but he knew his chances were slim. He had a small wiry frame more suited for farming, or gods forbid law keeping.

As the family entered the large village they were greeted with cheers and dancing and loud music with a fast rhythmic beat. The scent of tarts and warm hard cider filled the air enough to make the large framed man slink off to a nearby stand for a couple ciders.

“Now dear, remember what happens when you drink too much” Mother scolded in a loving manner, a slight smirk creeping across her pristine face. She came from a good family, marrying below her status for love rather than title. Her hair was a bright, curly red made all the more bright by her fair complexion.

“I know dearest, I know. I promise i won’t go berserk.” He held her hips, a sincere love in his eyes, and a smoldering smirk on his lips. “Come mother, let Tor play and revel with the other children.”

With that Tor’s mother and father left, bidding a sweet promise of safety and loving as they disappeared into the crowd.

The boy looked around. Astounded by all the people and scents. Mesmerized by the sounds. Tonight he would become a man, accepted by the entire tribe, and with it he would know his fate. A jolt of excitement and fear sent a shiver down him as he made his way towards the tart stand.

Chapter 2 a profession of death

The small boy stood in line with the others. Only a few were smaller than him. His face soured.

Before the group stood a tall portly man in flowing green robes, his head adorned by a goat horn head piece. He spoke the old tongue, though Tor didn’t understand every word he knew enough that the chieftain was blessing the festival and prayed the children would perform well and receive a boon blessed by the gods. He droned on about peace and prosperity until finally he spoke in the common tongue. A thick burly accent resounding in the courtyard.

“Today we are in the presence of the future of this tribe. Long will they stand while our bodies fertilize the soil. Long may they reign and prosper in whatever trade the gods wish! Arnet, please step forward and place your hands on the alter.” A tall strong jawed girl stepped forward following the chiefs instruction, before her appeared a long thin blade. The blade of the kings guard! She had been chosen to protect the chief.

The chief continued to call names, and the children continued to receive boons. Some received the axe of the berserker, some the branch of an ash tree, the symbol of a healer. And some unfortunate few received a scythe for farming or a chefs knife. But now it was his turn. His heart pounded. He stepped forward, each step seemed bring him further from the alter. All eyes on him. The chieftain smiling as his hands stretched towards the alter. this was it, no turning back no what he received would write his entire future.

Blood splattered on his face as he looked in a stupor at the chieftain, a viciously tipped spear protruding from his chest, gurgling blood as he coughed and waived at the crowd to run. “Protect yourselves! Protect the tribe!” He coughed again, falling to a knee grasping at the spear. The chieftain, seeing the boy and the look of utter terror in his eyes, stood entering a rage and turned to face the attackers. A strong man, a brave man. A warrior chief. The bloody green robes cascading to the ground, his arms and chest bulging the chief pulled the spear from his torso knowing he would die either way and mounted a defense with one arm, pushing the boy back a last, desperate attempt to protect his kin his people. His life blood poured from the cavity left by the spear yet he fought on. It was said a tribesman in the berserk state could fight even after death.

Still dazed Tor started running. It seemed as though the world came to a stop, everything seemed slow, he could see the silver studs on one of the invaders glove just before blood scattered as his left hand fell on a guard. He could see the droplets wobble as they fell from a spear of a rider an on a black horse. He could see the steam from the horses nostrils. He could see his father raging, lacerations and arrows covering his body. He saw the animal look in his eyes as he roared at a robed man who snapped his fingers and engulfed his father in blue flames. He heard a blood curdling scream close by. Wait, it was him. He felt the thrum of a horse galloping close by as he spun and saw the spear wielding warrior drawing near, no he was on top of him already. And before he could blink he was swept up by the man. Carried away, watching in horror as he saw the carnage behind him. His tribe was being slaughtered and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He hadn’t even tried.

Chapter 3 the old magic

Tor finally found his bearings as he looked up at his captor, galloping through the countryside, a few other riders were spread out raping the land with fire and ice. He let out a loud, deep horrifying scream as something within him burned and toiled. His body began to glow and he found himself on a bed of moss, a black armored man, lying still underneath him.

Chapter 4 Sir Tristran

It was temperate day, as the black rider made his way through the dark wood. Keeping his horse at a slow pace he hummed a low mellow tune about an ancient battle. He was clad in black studded leather armor, the studs were blackened to hide his presence in the night. An almost golden brown fur wrapped his armors collar, attached to a heavy bear hide of a darker brown. His helm slung behind his head resembled a bear, maw opened wide in rage. Beside him stood a vicious looking sword spear, able to slash and pierce. On his hip was a long slender rapier with an ornate black hilt. He was a terrifying presence to behold, many people avoided his path when he arrived in a town. Many times he heard young proud lads whisper about challenging him, but they never did other times he heard old maids whisper tales of death horror about his faction. But most of the time he saw mothers hurry their children in doors, fathers turn their back, and children look in wonderment.

He stopped his horse, Touscant, as he heard a babbling brook and steered him towards it. It’d be nice to take a break. After all he was well ahead of schedule.

As he dismounted from Touscant he patted him and let go of the reigns allowing his trusted friend to drink and eat at his leisure. The warrior sat down, back to a tree and pulled out one of his dried meat rations, taking a deep gulp from his water skin he sat, listening to the brooks calming melody.

The peace didn’t last long as the black warrior stood up quickly, something rustled about 200 yards away in the thick brush. He grabbed his spear and muttered unintelligible words. With that he shimmered and his form blurred, becoming almost invisible as he backed up to the tree, the natural curvature enhancing his new form and waited.

A few minutes went by and a haggard, small framed boy appeared from the foliage. He approached Touscant looking around and petting him as he grasped the reigns. The black warrior, still unseen silently moved behind the boy. As he tried to swing up on the horse he was ripped back and thrown on the ground. The black warrior unmasked his presence as he said “boy! You dare steal a deathcasters horse! Reveal thy name!” A spear thrust towards the boy as he retreated, back against the tree. Seeing the horror and glazed over look in the boys eyes the man in black kneeled down, “I’m sorry boy. Bandits prowl this forest. I mistook you for one, please let me help you.”

The boy, covered in blood, clothes a mess looked at him. Eyes dilated, ready to run for his life snapped at the man, bearing his teeth. The man’s instincts were too sharp, he shot back, bashing the boy in the head with the haft of his spear and knocking him unconscious.

———————

When the small framed lad awoke he was laying next to a fire, the crisp night air cool on the bare parts of his skin. He sat up, eyes wide as he smelled properly seasoned meat roasting. He scrambled towards the fire where a boar lay on a spit. Before he could reach for it a shimmering long blade appeared before him. “Whoa whoa whoa kid. You want food, i want answers.” The man spoke in a deep low voice.

The boy spat, “i know you. I know what you are. Heathen, murderer, conqueror.” He slowly backed up to where he had woke. Eyes never leaving the man. The fire barely reaching him, shadows danced on his face, but the black rider could see the hate in those eyes. He could almost feel an aura of hatred thrumming towards him like heavy waves in the ocean.

Upon closer inspection, the boys clothes were of fine make. Inlaid gold and silver threads intertwined as knots decorated his woolen tunic. The tunic was dirty of course, he had noted that before. But it also carried with it blood stains, by the pattern it was from a vicious attack. Atop his crown was an ornate band. Tearing into the boar again the mysterious figure said, “so you’re either royalty or come from money of some sort. Should i be worried about some bandits attacking us tonight?”

“No. No bandits took me.” The kid cautiously said.

“Sooooo. Will you at least explain the blood stains? Your not a killer are you?” The man chuckled deeply.

“No. Not one of your kind.” The boy snarled, his face warping into that of utter disgust.

“Look kid I’m not going to harm you. I admit we got off to a bad start, but you aren’t dead. I didn’t tie you up. Just tell me what happened at the very least so i can be prepared for what comes our way.” The man put out his arms in a pleading manner, body language showing he meant no harm.

“My people call your army the fog of death. Why would i tell you anything?” Once again the boys face soured. “I hope somebody attacks us and i watch you die. You are filth!”

The boys accent was thick, the man recognized it but couldn’t remember from where.

The man stood up, he was slender, but every ounce of him was finely tuned muscle. Made for quick combat. He rested his spear against a tree and walked to the boar, tearing a leg off and stalking towards the boy, holding it out. “You know, you probably shouldn’t talk to a death caster that way. Haven’t you heard we’re monsters.” A slight sarcastic grin crossed the mans face. “Please tell me if you may have been followed. That’s all i need to know.”

The boy ravenously took the boar. “ no i…. I don’t know where i am. The flame tongues couldn’t have followed me.”

“Flame tongues?” The man cocked his head in curiosity.

The boy said nothing. eyes glazed over, his mind revisiting whatever horror he had endured.

“Well boy, you speak of a monster or man I’ve not yet heard of. Either way, rest easy tonight lad. I am Sir Tristran, you will not be harmed this night or any that i am near.”

CHAPTER 5 THE FLAMETONGUE WRITHES

Eventually the boy fell asleep, it was late, but his body was worn and weary. Tristran pulled out some silver yarn, running around a perimeter, muttering some words before he rested against the tree and falling asleep. Cloak wrapped tightly around him.

He awoke to a blood curdling scream. Snapping to action he drew his slender blade and grabbed his vicious spear. Scanning quickly but seeing no threat. His eyes snapped to the boy, writhing on the ground body convulsing. “Boy! Boy!” tristran was shaking the small child, “It’s ok, you’re safe!” Tristran grabbed the boy and held him close to his chest. “It’s ok lad. Nothing is here, the death keepers mare visits your sleep. It’s but a dream.”

The boy opened his eyes, sobbing. Where Tristran thought the boy would push away he actually hugged him. Holding the armor clad man, grasping at his armor clamoring for some a semblance of safety. “The flame tongues, they did follow me. They’re tracking me. Black Death, that set things alight.” He was shaking like a hare watching a predator circle it.

“Boy, nobody followed you, it’s been an entire night and nothing has come. You’re safe. Come, lets eat.” Tristran, tried to calm him. He made some porridge and jerky. A sad attempt at comfort food with what he had at hand. “Boy. Ugh, I can’t keep calling you boy. Please son, what’s your name?” He knelt down and handed him a bowl of the bland mixture.

the boy looked at him cautiously. weighing the options. “I am called Torrin. Thank you, for the kindness.” He shoveled the food down his gullet. “You are nothing like what my people have encountered of your kind.”

Tristran sat down, slowly eating his food. “And what exactly is it that your people know about my sect?” Choosing his words carefully he said, “what area do you hail from?”

“I am from a tribe in the far north, though i do not know where i am now.” The boy continued eating ravenously.

“Well right now.” Tristran pulled out a scroll and unfurled it to reveal a map. “we are here, in the dark forest. It’s on the western side of the continent, near the kingdom of Amal. It sounds like your from here.” He pointed to a plain surrounded by mountains, a curious look in his eye.

Torrin, started in amazement. “That’s my tribe! How did you know that?” Recoiling in fear he might be a threat now.

Tristran’s face twisted in a malformed sadness. “Torrin, if you’re lying to me i will end you. Don’t you dare lie to me. Is that truly where your tribe sits?”

“Y-yes. It is. My father was a chieftain. Were you the ones that attacked all those years ago?” Torrin asked matter of fact.

“No Torrin, i was not. Most of those men are dead now. Felled by my hand for their atrocities. Sit, and i will ease your mind with my tale.” Tristran started to clean up, and then jumped to action. A shuffling in the bushes alerted him as he readied his spear standing between the threat and the boy, as a lanky scaled figure appeared. It wore chain mail, bearing a sinister curved sword, curled horns wrapping on the side of its head like a ram. “who are you, and from where do you hail?”

Torrin started shaking, his eyes glowing a bright blue. “Flame tongue!”

The creature hissed, and snapped towards Tristran. “Give me the boy, and i spare you.” It’s voice was grotesque resembling nails across slate.

It readied its sword in a stance Tristran had never seen before. Tristran took a low defensive stance, knee’s bent ready to spring. “That boy will be staying with me. Now name yourself and your purpose or fall to my blade.” He barely dodged as the creature twirled it’s body, head staying motionless and let out a wide swath of flame. The heat stung his arm causing pain to sear up his left arm as he countered with a quick thrust. The creature parried, closing the distance as it ran its sword up the blade, caught by the wings at the base of the spear head. Tristran recoiled, falling back to balance on one leg as he pulled his spear in close, his hand at center mass of the haft. Readying for close combat.

The creature shot forward a bright cloth tail on the pommel of his sword. A trick that distracts lesser foes, but not Tristran. He planted both feet, kicking the haft of his spear up adding more velocity to his swing as he twirled to one side of the strike, allowing the blade to cut upwards where he once stood. He felt the blade slow as it found purchase up the creatures thigh and it screeched in pain. Tristran returned to a low defensive stance ready to unleash a flurry of thrusts but waiting for the right opportunity.

The creature fought well, it didn’t allow any holes in its defense now. It learned from their last exchange. The creature started to circle around Tristran slowly, it was blatantly obvious to him this monster was making it’s way to Torrin. It was now or never, Tristran had to make the first move, his honed instincts screaming not to do so. But he had a trick up his sleeve this creature didn’t know about.

Tristran thrust forward, the scaled foe easily side stepping and knocking his spear up. Tristran countered with a whirl away, his foes blade was short it couldn’t bite into him if he backed up, he spun the long slender blade in a wide circle keeping the enemy at bay. As his body turned frontward he pulled the spear back, choking up on the haft again and beginning a flurry of relentless, uppercutting slashes. His enemy staggered backwards, blocking the onslaught. He kept pushing it further away from the boy as it’s eyes grew wide realizing the skill gap between them. It threw itself on the ground, beginning an almost animalistic counter attack, his curved blade slashing at Tristran’s feet and ankles, this monster had a tail he realized as he saw the creature use it to spin and pivot itself for balance. Allowing for quick dodges when Tristran found an opening to thrust downward. “ enough knave! This ends now! I had hoped to gather some information from you.” The black clad warrior used the spear as a lever and launched himself over the scaled menace, he whispered, “burn.” As the creature was engulfed in raging black flames, a horrible scream erupted as it’s maw opened wide and in a last ditch effort it let out its own flame, but Tristran had already cleared the area.

triumphant Tristran walked away, going to the boy and checking him for injuries. “I will tell you my story but first it is imperative you tell me yours.” As he stood up something wrapped around his ankle and yanked hard, ripping him down as his forehead slammed into the gravel and loose earth. He flipped over on his back some blood creeping into his eyes to see the charred withered enemy before him, sword held high ready to strike when Torrin leapt over him and buried a dagger into its heart, blue flames erupted from the wound, Torrin was howling like nothing he had ever heard. A rage filled this boy that could not be trained, it was in his blood lineage. A royal blood, a blood from elite warriors. The creature wildly swung it’s arms about for a moment before it collapsed to it’s knee’s and was no more.

CHAPTER 6 a tale of coming doom

Tristran stood, blood dripping from his head wound, Torrin grunting as he breathed, eyes glowing blue scanning the area for more enemies. He was a beast, but where had that flame come from? Tristran’s head pounded from the trauma. “Torrin, Torrin. Calm down. The battle is won.”

Torrin let out a howl. One of victory and challenge to anymore would be attackers. His blood still boiled but soon after he did calm down, his body was sore as if he had run from one coast to the other without rest. Noticing Tristran’s head wound he started. “Tristran! Your head! Sit down, let me dress that wound.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. So that was a flame tongue eh? Well trained bastard, I’ll give him that. Where the hell did it come from, and why are they after you?” He staggered a bit as his vision blurred and he fell to his hands and knees falling unconcious.

————

When Tristran woke his head was wrapped with a thick mixture under the bandage. There was a stew cooking on a fire near him. It smelled of earthy herbs and rabbit. “Torrin, did you do all this?”

“Yes, the stew will be ready soon, your head will need some time to heal. You hit it pretty hard.” He scurried about, taking care of Touscant and preparing the camp.

Perhaps it was the head wound, but Tristran was amazed at the rapid change in demeanor of the boy. Yesterday the boy would have watched him bleed out slowly, today he not only dressed his wound but cooked for him. A flicker of a past life flashed through his memory, before he could grasp it it was gone. A sense of emptiness overwhelmed him momentarily and then dissipated. A dozen minutes went by as he dazedly watched Torrin pour the stew into two bowls and bring one to him. The boy sat cross legged in front of him looking awestruck almost. “What’s wrong? Why are you staring at me?” He said eating a spoonful of food.

“You fight like a whirlwind of death. I wish to learn this, i have to protect my people.” The boy glanced at the sinister spear.

“Hahahahahahaha, oh wow. I am so lucky to have an admirer of your stature!” Tristran laughed until his head started pounding, at which point Torrin started laughing uncontrollably. “Stop it you damned fool, i don’t think you could handle the training. And more so i don’t think you want to deal with the trainers.”

Torrin’s face turned grim, “it’s not a jest. I will protect my tribe. I beg you to teach me your ways.” Torrin bowed, placing his head to the ground.

“Torrin, you’re just a boy. You’re not ready for the horrors of war. To see men ripped apart by creatures created solely for war. It’s a horrifying-”

“I know what it looks like,” The childs eyes stared into the distance. Looking at something nobody else could, seeing ghosts nobody else knew. “It was the last thing i saw as i watched my father be impaled and my mother burned alive. I know all too well what death looks like, and what horror war brings. And i fear my people will see it, with no warning.” Torrin stood abruptly, pointing a spoon at Tristran.

“Well, first ” Tristran pushed the spoon aside, “I recommend not using a spoon to fight. I’ll tell you that much. Tell me more about how you got here, and what happened when you encountered the flame tongues. Then we can discuss training and war.”

Torrin dramatically turned his back, “fine. I agree, but i want to know your story as well. If i am to trust you i need to know you.”

“Aye, i can agree to that. But my how proper you’ve become in such a short time. Why just yesterday you were a feral beast looking to take my head.” Tristran, set his empty bowl down pulling his spear close and taking out a whetstone and silk cloth. Torrin began to spin his tale as Tristran cleaned, sharpened and buffed his spear.

“I don’t know how i came to this forest. But i will tell you what happened yesterday.” Torrin pulled out his dagger and began to clean it before whittling a stick. “My father is chieftain of our tribe. He is highly respected and lead an uprising after our people had been enslaved and tortured. He came from a strong warrior family known for their animal behaviors during battle. We call them berserkers. After the uprising the people looked to him to lead the tribe in restoring the buildings and reinforcing the defenses. He did so happily. A month or so ago my family left to create a treaty with another tribe to the south, after the ceremony and agreement we headed home. My brother and I were so happy to accompany my father.” Tears started flowing down Torino’s face as he hid his face from the strong warrior.

“We had camped for the night when a scout came back saying there was trouble up the road, we were a full days ride from help and my father tried to hide us away. We didn’t know what was happening, The elite guard was scurrying around, creating defenses with what they could. father bore his mighty axe and blessed the group in the old tongue. It was then we heard it, the terrible screeching from above. We all looked up in horror as a winged lizard swooped down, i will never forget that hideous beast. It had a barbed tail, long spines down it’s back and three clawed fingers on its wings. It was no normal plains creature, a griffon has four legs, this had two and then it wings which it leaned on. That scaled fiend you fought sat atop it, or at least one similar to it. Two more dropped from it’s back, those wicked curved swords cleanly cutting through the guards. Two more appeared from behind our warriors and continued the slaughter. Soon only my father stood, bloodied. Multiple mortal wounds littered his body, but he stood Strong, deflecting the blows and swinging his mighty axe. He slayed 3 of the four before that beast killed him. It caught him off guard and separated his torso from his legs, my mother screamed, my brother was wailing and the last standing creature came for us. It grabbed me, and a rage and terror filled me. A blue light appeared and then i was here, in these woods. I found you an hour later.”

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Tristran stood up fast, “no! There’s no way. No, you have to…. We have to… a blue light?” He was frantic, memories flooded back. Horror gripped him as he realized this boy was not safe, he would be hunted if word got out about this power. “Torrin, i don’t know what these things are, or why they attacked, but they will come after you now. That blue light, that power. Don’t speak of it again. Ever! Not here, not in this land.”

“Tristran, what’s wrong? I don’t understand.” Torrin, still weeping said.

“That blue light, the power your have. It’s an ancient power that many want. It’s the reason my tribe was attacked so many years ago.” Tristran said somberly.

CHAPTER 7 a tale of death

Tristran took some time to ponder what Torrin had said. He puffed on his pipe slowly, the sweet acrid scent of tobacco filled the air.

“Tristran, i need to hear your story. Why does this power frighten you so? What is it? Where does it come from?” Torrin had sat silently waiting for Tristran.

The black clad man slumped and sighed. “Alright. Believe it or not i am your kin. I hail from your tribe. When the deathcasters attacked they surprised us. We were peaceful then, many of the battles between clans had ceased and we weren’t ready. They came during the adulling festival. I had just turned 14 then and was to be named a man by the chief while being blessed by the gods with a boon that would tie my fate to a profession.” He finally remembered the accent Torrin had, it was the same as the Chieftan had all those years ago.

“Wait. You were there? You saw the fog of death kill our people? Why are you dressed as one?” Torrin exclaimed.

“Well you’re just going to have to shut up and listen aren’t you boy.” Tristran snapped a little harder than he meant. “When it came time for me to receive my boon they attacked. I watched the chief fight to save me. I watched my father burn alive. I watched our people be trampled and skewered. It was as if everything was moving slower, i noticed every detail happening around me, but i was stolen away by a rider. I looked in horror as they rode through the outskirts burning everything. And then it happened, a blue light appeared from my body and i woke on top of my captor in a foreign land. This land. At first he struck me, and i tried to kill him but i was a small child. Not much of a fighter like my father. As the days went on we grew to trust each other. He wasn’t attuned to nature as i was, and i couldn’t fend off the predators. Eventually we spoke, at that point we were just two people trying to survive, not enemies. In the end I learned the power i held is ancient, from a time when people harnessed magic able to shape time and move miles away with a word. This power is sought by many, though they don’t know where to search. In the end he taught me to fight, taught me an accepted magic for this land. All the while we travelled. We made our way to the crimson tower, where the deathcasters call home, he had accepted me as his apprentice knowing my vow of vengeance against his brethren. He disagreed with their atrocities. Some years passed and where others excelled at brute force, i was a prodigy of speed. The training was relentless, i had to reforge the very core of my being. But i held onto that hatred, the disgust i bore for these savages.” Tristran sneered, his lip quivering as if a hound.

“I slaughtered most of those old fools, and the rest are in hiding fearing death may come for them one day. A revolution unfurled, and my order was born anew. Now the head of my sect is a fair man, but the training isn’t any easier now. to become death you must know death. For we serve the mistress of death. But if your tale is true, and i have no reason to doubt it. There is an evil spreading across your land, an ancient evil that harnesses the power of wyverns, the ancient winged beast you saw. And I have no doubt they now want your power, perhaps they always have and they simply meander trying to find it. But now they have found it.” Tristran got up and collected the gear. “You ride, I’ll walk beside Touscant. We make our way north.”

Torrin jumped to his feet, the glazed over look of a victim gone. Excitement shone. “Wait, so are you going to train me? Why did the flame tongue burst into flames? What is that fighting style?” Torrin had so many questions. So much had transpired in the few hours they had been awake. But one thing was obvious, he had to learn from this man. A kinsman who rode the wings of death.

Tristran shook his head, “this is going to be a long journey if you don’t stay quiet.” He lifted the small boy onto Touscant, “on the way i have a couple stops to make. I need to collect my friends.”

Chapter 8 friends in low places

Endalmiir stood in an alley way, not quite in the slums, but close enough that many people were an unseemly sort. The sort you probably didn’t want screw over in a dice game. But once again he had, and once again he found his back against a wall in a stinking alley, three less than fit men angry and wanting their money, he sighed. “Gents, if you don’t want to die i suggest moving along.” He tossed a few coins on the ground before them, when would he learn? Armon, was the thief, not him.

The men stared in disbelief, and then anger. They didn’t want money they wanted retribution. Their eyes turned from the coins, to the tall Dragonborn before them. His armor was covered in precious gems, his two scimitars shimmering of the same gems in the lamp light. “You bastad, you tink you can come down ere and steal our money? Nah nah nah. You got some pain coming your way.” The three men drew long thick knives, more short swords than anything.

“Alright, but you don’t wanna do this guys.” Endalmiir drew his scimitars.

“Now i know you did not try to scam the kindly gents Endalmiir.” A soft charismatic voice echoed through the rank alleyway. “Honestly could you have picked a more terrible place to run?”

“Oi! Who are you?” The lead man snapped around, dagger at the ready. “Do you know this thief? Well i oughta gut you too!”

“Now now gents. Can’t we settle this like civilized people?” Armon watched as the man grew more angry. Shit, that did not go as planned. The man attacked, but Endalmiir had already closed in from behind. Armon dodged, the man realized his folly and that gave Armon The advantage. He didn’t even fully draw his short sword just quickly jutted upward with the hilt catching the fool under the chin and knocking him unconscious. “I suggest the rest of you take that money and go back to your families.”

The two remaining men dropped their large knives and scurried away, coin clanging in their pockets. Armon picked up one of the daggers, they were a bit crude for his refined taste but well made. This city had a ban on all long blades, these “knives” probably measured just under the 29 unit measure and thus abided by the law. The guard had three points, perfect for catching a blade, the hand guard wrapped downward to protect the digits. As he glanced over at the other knife he noticed this one was different, the blade was more curved but doubled edged, the hand guard looked like hills and valleys where knuckles would fall. You could punch with this one. Armon grinned, “well endalmiir it seems saving your life yet again has bore me a couple gifts.”

“Ehhhh, Armon i had that under control i swear.” endalmiir took a swig of his never ending flask of rum. It wasn’t fine by any stretch of the word, but it did the job. “I thought I had the trick right this time. But when i stood up the loaded dice fell from my pocket, and it just went downhill from there.” He kicked the pool of water at his feet, at least he hoped it was water.

“Come on friend. Lets go back to the hotel, i heard tale of an unsavory sort strolling into town.” Armon winked at endalmiir and turned to gracefully walk away, new weapons strapped to his thighs hidden beneath his cloak.

“Wait! Are you saying…. No way! The little shit came to town did he?” A large toothy grin slowly filled Endalmiir’s face. Anybody who didn’t know the large dragonborn would have thought he was going to eat the small noble. But he was just happy an old friend and colleague came back. And with that the two odd friends casually walked away from the scrap in the alley. Victorious.

When they arrived at the hotel, as usual the finely dressed aristocrats turned and snickered at Armon and Endalmiir. Armon fit right in, but Endalmiir did not. He was covered in dirt, his bejeweled armor a gaudy interpretation of fine living, but he didn’t care he was proud as all Dragonborn of his jewels. the Dragonborn people typically coveted jewels and gold above all else, a more simple tribal people the draw to shiny wealth was descendant of their draconic ancestors. It typically meant they were higher on the social food chain than others with less.

Armon on the other hand was a duke, or so he said. His papers were impeccable, nobody could prove otherwise though he had no land or property. He was a master of the silver tongue, and regularly snuck out at night to steal from the ultra wealthy. His web of spies and thieves was vast, interweaving through every major city. If there was an expensive artifact he knew where it was at all times. But was the masked mans bidding, Armon Valus was just a simple noble who enjoyed the finer things in life. Wine, food, fine clothes and weapons. He strolled through the lobby without a care, some of the single noble ladies batted their lashes at him as he made his way to the bar, “two whiskeys and water please.” He put two silver pieces on the counter.

“Ugh, yes ma lord. Right away.” The bar tender wasn’t high born, he probably got this job through some unseemly connection his mother had made. A prime target for information. “Here you are sir. Seems a lot of alcohol for you.” The young man started as he realized he shouldn’t have said that.

“The whiskey is for my friend over there, waters for me. Say, have you heard of a man clad in black that arrived recently?” Armon slid him a gold piece.

“Well i believe i have sir, an unsavory man. He arrived just yesterday funny thing is there was a small boy with him. Not sure what would drive a child to travel with a man like that but nobody was stone enough to ask.” The young man shook his head.

“A boy you say?” Armon one eyebrow raised as he chuckled, “what the hell has he gotten himself into?” He said under his breath. “Any idea where this terrifying man is staying, or where he went?”

“Aye, he headed to the northern part of the city, where the merchants live and sell their wares.” The young man started cleaning a fine Congac glass.

“Isn’t there a library nearby as well?” Armon asked knowing full well exactly where the man was staying, and what he was doing in that district.

“Um, yes sir there is. Biggest one in the country as a matter of fact, lots of learned scholars and book worms in there.” The bartender continued cleaning his glass.

“Thank you, if you ever want to make some real money,” Armon stopped and leaned over the counter, “contact me.” And with that he left a simple plain white card with a sigil on it and strode away making his way to Endalmiir.

“Well?! Is he here?” Endalmiir had a brightness about him. He loved when his friend was around, though the group rarely convened anymore when they did it meant there was a fight to be had, and a good bit of drinking as well.

“Yes Endalmiir, he is here. I’ll let you guess where we can find him.” Armon chuckled handing over the two whiskeys.

“Agh! I hate when we get dragged to the library. Why is it always a damned library?!” Endalmiir opened his mighty maw, more pouring the whiskey down his gullet than drinking it. “Well… when do we go fetch him?”

“In due time my friend, in due time. First let us sleep. The library is closed now, and i think we need to be rested for the surprise we await upon meeting our friend again.” Armon sipped his water and made his way up the stairs.

“Wait! Surprise? What do you mean?” Endalmiir chased after armon, yelling without a care in the fine hotel lobby. “God i hate when he’s vague”

Chapter 9 the trip

Tristran’s face twitched as he was assaulted by Torrin’s onslaught of questions. Gods he hated traveling with people. Alone it was peaceful, he could hear the whispers on the wind and the babbling brooks. Now all he heard was Torrin. They were a short distance from the destination. The city of Akal, where he had been sent to dispatch a certain murderous fiend who liked to tear apart women of the night and eat their hearts. The same city where he would find his friends if sources were correct, well at least two of them. “Torrin, do you ever stop? We’ve only travelled a day!”

“Tristran, how dare you speak to your chief like that. I’ll have you know when we arrive at the village you will be punished!” A smirk crossed the boys lips. He had grown fond of the spell blade. And he had come out of his shell learning that the horrors inflicted by Tristran’s sect on their tribe had been personally punished by the powerful warrior.

“I’m sure you will boy. I’m sure you will.” Tristran chuckled, “now slowly, this time. What do you want to know?”

“Well, the fire that engulfed the flametongue. How did you do it? Oh! And that vault you did, how did you learn that? Oh oh! And that stance with the one leg. Where’d that come from?” Torrin, apparently did not understand the meaning of slowly.

Once again Tristrans face twitched, but he entertained the boy. “The flame is a spell taught to the deathcasters. Everyone’s flame is a different hue. Mine happens to be black. It’s a simple yet powerful spell used in the right circumstances. The vault, honestly it was a terrible strategic mistake that happened to work out. When you’re fighting, a true fight where your life is on the line, the only thing you have is your instincts. If you question them you will die. My instincts said to go over the fiend, so i did. And it worked out. The stance i used is a defensive stance specifically made for long weapons. It allows the user to quickly manipulate the way in which they strike, to counter any number of foes. If a halberd user attacks you then you allow the heavy weapon to miss and close in while choked up on your spear. If a sword or dagger user has parried you and closed the gap you can recoil, regroup and either keep them at bay or match them by using both ends of your long weapon. In terms of defense it’s strong, balancing on one leg allows you to quickly spring into action.” Tristran smiled, “it’s also very flashy and catches the eye of on lookers.”

Torrin’s eyes lit up, his kinsman was a master of Warcraft. “Tristran, will you teach me? I want to learn so i can protect my clan. And i mean it all, the spells the weapons! I want to learn it all!”

“Torrin, i empathize with your plight. But i cannot subject you to the horrors i went through. Not when there is no reason for it. You’re a boy. Stay a boy, let me handle the fighting.” Tristran looked into the devoted eyes of the boy, knowing his warning would not be enough. “But… if you are truly dedicated to this, yes i will train you. However i refuse to do so in the crimson tower. You will not become a deathcaster. You will learn to fight and protect your tribe and once in your village you will stay there and lead your people. Is that clear?”

“But-” Torrin was cut off as the man beside him interjected.

“No arguing. I have said my peace, if you wish to be trained by me those are the rules. And hence forth you will call me master.” tristran snapped back. He recalled the horrors of training in the crimson tower. How many of his comrades had been slain in the culling, and to make things worse by his hand. Boys he had once called his friend pitted against one another in a battle royale. They were not clean deaths, they were messy done by untrained hands. There was no pride or skill from those years. Only a lurching in his stomach.

“Yes Tris- i mean master.” The slender boys head hung a little in disappointment.

“Now. First things first. We need to get you some gear. What weapon have you trained with? Or would like to use?” Tristran asked hesitantly, expecting another onslaught of words and questions.

“Well, my father used a long broad axe. I’d like to learn to use that. Or a halberd?” Torrin was in deep thought as his excitement toiled with his wit.

“I highly doubt you’ll ever be able to wield the axe of a berserker. You’re similar to my stature as a boy, thin and wiry. And a halberd is also out fo the question, though a powerful weapon it lacks finesse and speed. I’d at least expect you to understand your limits and how your body handles movement. If not then i am already wasting my time.” Tristran was a little harsh, but it was true. The boys first lesson would be to have realistic expectations. For himself, of what battle truly was, and of how this new relationship would work between master and apprentice.

“Your right.” Tristran started in amazement, the boy had a dream he knew he couldn’t attain and he had just accepted that. Perhaps it was the reality he had faced a few days ago that mellowed his mind from childish dreams to painful reality. But he accepted this critique in stride. “Perhaps a spear like you use. Or some small axes? Or even daggers.” The boy was holding his chin in thought.

“Well lesson number two is never rely one on weapon proficiency. You should always have a back up that you are equally skilled with. I can use my swordspear, however should i find myself lacking, my rapier is just as deadly. I don’t think my spear type would suit you just yet, it’s a middling between simple spear and hefty pole arm. We can start you out with a standard spear, a blade long enough to practice slashes and cuts, but not heavy enough to hurt your training. As for your back up…. I think either choice is a good one. Axes are great for leaving a mortal wound in a single strike. Daggers are fine tools that are easily concealed. The question is, do you wish to be stealthy and conceal your weapon? Or have them known?” Tristran raised an eye, curious to the boys answer.

“I wish it to be known. Axes, i want the axes.” Torrin raised his head, emphasizing his sureness.

“A fine choice for a tribesman. We’ll find you some in the city. Now tell me, have you ever trained?” The warrior was still stalking next to the horse, allowing the boy to ride so as to not slow their pace. After all time was a factor. They needed to make their way far north, and they had but two months to do so. It would be tight, and not knowing the numbers of their enemies was troublesome. He didn’t fear death but he certainly didn’t want to die and allow a genocide to happen.

“My father turned away from fighting. He rarely allowed us to train.” Torrin looked at Tristran as the mans muscled face dropped. “But I always snuck out and practiced a bit with my uncle.”

“Well at least we’re not starting from scratch. Ah! There it is. The city of Akal. Some of the finest scholars live there, as well as some of the worst crime organizations.” Tristran let a big grin show.

Chapter 10 reunion

the odd pair rolled into the city around noon. Just enough time to do some shopping and figure out where his target may strike next. The deathcasters were now a group of mercenaries, taking on the highest paid jobs in the land. Usually a Beast or particularly skilled murderer needed to be dispatched. But some were hired as personal guards to traveling nobles and mobsters. During times of war they tried not to take a side, but some left willingly to defend their home country often pitting members against each other in a war. Their numbers weren’t large due to the grueling and horrendous training process. But they were well trained, hence the nicknames. Each culture called them something different but all had to do with death or reapers. On his travels tristran had been part of the valiant light, a group devoted to helping the world. Though his ideologies never resounded with the code, the outcome was always the same. Save people. It was here in this city he needed to recruit those old friends again. Unlike many factions The deathcasters weren’t a cult, he could freely come and go as he pleased. But if he was called to action by the mistress of death he needed to answer. Many notices were sent out for bounties and work but unless it was directly from the Mistress you needn’t oblige. The quest he was on was one such request, she had asked for him by name. It seems two other deathcasters had attempted to take care of this problem and never returned, to save face for the mysterious band, they had sent him. He wasn’t the best but he was intelligent and quick on his feet. A perfect blend of magic and steel that created devastatingly wonderful results.

“Torrin, up a ways is the mercantile district. We’ll find all we need there. Armor, weapons, and a library.” tristran was stone faced, scanning the crowd.

“What’s a library?” Torrin puzzled.

“It’s one of the greatest places in the world. You can travel to different kingdoms, fight monsters, learn new skills. All from reading words on a page. You can also learn spells, crafts, history. Which is why we’re going. To gather supplies for your training.” Tristran hadn’t stopped scouring the area. He was on the hunt.

“Books? Why do i need to read to fight?” Torrin again was confused, “the tribal warriors never read.”

“And most of them die in combat don’t they? Knowing the past means you can learn from it. Make a better decision than a previous combatant. And if you truly want to learn magic you need to hone your mind. This is your third lesson, a mind ill prepared will rarely win the war.” Tristran looked up, his face still unreadable. “But first, we should check into the jokers sphere and rest. You could use a bath, fresh clothes and we could both use some rest.”

Torrin snickered, this land was odd to him. Large stone buildings built as tall as the sky were everywhere. People wore odd clothes, and they smelled sweet. The streets on the other hand were pungent and smelled of feces and urine.

———

After Torrin had bathed, Tristran went to take a nice soak. Leaving the boy in their room with a book on battle tactics. Aside from his spell book it was the only reading material Tristran carried on him. Almost like a religious text he could recite every line word for word. The philosophies in it had saved his life on numerous occasions. he sat in thought letting the warm water seep into his bones and calm his aching joints. He wasn’t as young as he once was travel took a toll on him as he came closer to 30. The burn on his arm was tender, and his head still throbbed a bit. Probably a concussion. “Damn it, if i hadn’t had to protect the boy my arm would be whole, and my head would be unharmed. Ah! Who am i kidding, i did this to myself. I let my mind get in the way of the fight. I’m better than that.” He mulled over the fight in his head. Given where they were headed and why, figuring out a counter to that odd fighting style would be beneficial. The creature had gotten on all fours balancing with it’s tail while it’s strong legs pushed it forward. If he struck down the tail slapped to one side and the creature quickly rolled from the attack, all the while advancing. It was like a snake slithering through the grass. His mind was fatigued and hurt so he gave up trying to find a counter… for the time being.

Some time went by, and he got out. Body rejuvenated, and eyes heavy. He made his way to the room where he found the boy asleep on his bed a book named “the art of battle” draped over his chest. He slept peacefully as any child should.

As Tristran laid down in his own bed he pondered if he had made the right choice to train the boy. He’d seen carnage, but he had never had to live with himself after causing carnage. Who was he to object, the boy had free will, he chose this even after being warned. Either way, Tristran wouldn’t allow the boy to come to harm, not while he was near at least. And this world was survival of the fittest, if you weren’t strong you were a victim. Slowly his eyes closed as he drifted to sleep.

———

Tristran woke first, did his morning exercises and stretches. Torrin’s eyes slowly opened half way through, and without a word joined in. Not as fluid or dexterous but he’d learn and his body would adapt to the training. After that Tristran sat down and memorized spells for the day while Torrin struggled to read “the art of battle.”

“You’re not great at reading are you?” Tristran looked up as Torrin’s head cocked back and forth and he mouthed vowels and syllables.

“Well…. No. I never had a need for it.” Torrin looked up, his pride a little hurt.

“Well before you can learn spells we’ll have to teach you how to read first. Two hours a day we will school you in literacy. Two hours will be dedicated to solo endurance training with weapons, and two hours will be sparring. With me. I will not go easy on you. Is that understood?” Tristran glanced up below his brows.

“Yes master. I understand.” Torrin began his struggle with reading again.

“And when you have free time you will devote it reading, not combat. Once you are fluent with reading, your literacy training will turn to scholarly work and writing. And free time will be dedicated to running your drills. Is that understood as well?”

“Yes master. Understood.” Torrin carried on.

An hour went by as tristran reviewed his spells, preparing ones he deemed useful for the terrain and possible encounters. Torrin rubbed his belly, clearly hungry and they made their way downstairs for breakfast. When they reached the mess hall tristran grabbed Torrin and quietly said, “there’s trouble here. See those two? The noble and the tall Dragonborn… if they come over i want you to leap for the tall one. Got it?” As Tristran turned his head a small smirk crossed his face and the two made their way to a table.

“Yes master.” Torrin loosed his knife a bit in the scabbard.

“No no. No killing. He’s immune to blades. Use your teeth.” Another smirk.

“Yes master.” Torrin prepared himself as they sat and the two foes stalked over. He noticed they walked confidently. A mistake they would regret. When they neared the table the tall dragonborn surged ahead of the noble.

“Tristran you no good, slimy son of a bi-” endalmiir hadn’t finished his sentence when Torrin leapt. Catching Endalmiir off guard he staggered backwards receiving a flurry of bites as the boy clamored his way up the armor. Tristran burst out in laughter. “Ugh gods, what the hell! Get off me you beast!”

Tristran stood up grabbing Torrin by the collar and pulling him off. “You were saying Endalmiir? I’m curious of the end of that statement.” He chuckled, Torrin still thrashing in his arms. “ calm down boy i was playing a prank on an old friend. He’s fine, we’re safe.”

As Torrin was set down he scowled at Endalmiir and spat a shiny scale out. “Yes master.”

A soft aristocratic voice spoke, “Tristran i see your just as raucous as ever. I tried to warn Endalmiir. But he refused to catch you at the library.” A wide smile crossed his face, and he stuck out his hand.

“Ah bugger off, come here old friend!” Tristran batted the hand away and hugged the finely dressed man. “Armon Valus as i live and breath. It’s good to see you old friend. And you as well Endalmiir, i do expect some good stories and even more of that cheap rum you carry.”

Endalmiir patted him on the shoulder a little too rough. “Good to be with you friend. What brings you to this city?”

“In due time friend. In due time.” Tristran sat back down a little shaken from the beating he just took.

“Say Tristran… what’s with the boy? A previous conquest track you down and haunt you?” He gutturally laughed as Tristran frowned.

“No. That’s also a story for later, and why i was hoping you’d seek me out. A storm brews in the north.” Tristrans face turned to stone.

“Oh. Well why does he call you master? Ow!” Endalmiir rubbed his shin, Armon had kicked him in warning. “Well where does the road take you today?”

“We’re heading to a few merchants and smiths. The boy needs armaments and armor. Then the library. Then… the hunt.” Both new comers understood the last part all too well. They knew of the situation in this city. When they had arrived a few days prior whispers of terror spread like a fog in the streets. When Tristran “hunted” he was relentless, his fighting instincts, beaten into him from a young age. Mixed with his barbaric bloodline made for a true spectacle. Tristran, although not a brute, had once quested to see a shaman and find his animal spirit. It was a bear, vicious and intelligent. Unrelenting when provoked, and even more terrifying yet it didn’t take much to provoke the spell blade. All those years of pain and emotional terror created a frenzied flame within him. His friends knew it took every ounce of will to hold it in day to day so when it was released it exploded. Unyielding, merciless. A rage that could tear an entire kingdom apart.

“I see. We are on the same quest.” Armon’s pleasant face twisted, remembering the gruesome nature of the murders. Armon was against killing. Even when he fought, which happened much more than he would have liked, he never killed. Unbenounced to his friends, his true father was a crime boss and they had a deal. If he killed he was to go back home and become an assassin. His resolve was strong. And there was only one person he would kill for, though he rarely saw her anymore. “And let me guess, a raging path of destruction will lay in your wake once you find this beast?”

Tristran smiled, “of course. What else would i do? Without that you wouldn’t have anybody to clean up after.” Tristran’s face softened, they were close friends. Two sides of the same coin. One benevolent and thoughtful. The other raging and careless. But their goals always aligned. Save the people. That was it, simple and to the point. Tristran was blunt and laid out what needed to be done. Armon, understood but put civilian lives above all else. Together they could lay waste to a continent, or save an entire country. In fact they had, many years ago when they were still young and proud and fool hardy. “Tell me what have you learned? Is it a beast or man? Where can we expect the next attack?” His face turned to stone once more.

Torrin was the first to speak up. “Master, what are you talking about? Is a flame tongue here?”

Endalmiir and Armon laughed. the large warrior stood and grabbed the boy, “come on kiddo, let the grown-ups make their plans. We’ll have some fun!” With that he whisked Torrin away, the boy carried a terrified look as Endalmiir strode towards the food line.

“Well. You know me, I’m not good with the arcane. But,” Armon paused. “It looks like something we’ve seen before. Hearts missing, completely unharmed bodies but the chest cavity is hollow. There’s no way she can be back right?” Armon showed no signs of fear, but Tristran knew better. Fikri was one of the worst enemies they’d ever faced. A powerful spell caster and evil to the core.

“That’s not good. Not good at all. You still have that silvered blade? Might need it. You might not need it. Could just be a copy cat. Or some deranged virgin who can’t sheath his sword.” Tristran, knew better than to hope. But he did not want to deal with one of those… a were creature. Werewolves, werebears, wererats. They were strong, and hard to catch. And to top it off, they reverted to humans when killed leaving you to look like a murderer instead of a hero.

“Aye. I still have it. Perhaps you should take a look at the bodies. See if you can deduce anything.” Armon took a sip of coffee.

“Nah, we’ll be alright. Between Bjarnhand and Fjord breaker,” first he tapped the spear then his rapier, “i think I’ll be alright. I still have the armor of Coatl as well. Plus spells. You know how I prepare.” Tristran sat back a bit.

“True, true. And if it’s just one then we’ll make quick work of it. But more than 2…. We might be in trouble.” Armon sat back. Always playing devils advocate to Tristran’s ego.

“Bah! Do you know how many enemies I’ve killed? 3 werewolves is nothing. Wear chain mail to protect from the bite, have a cleric ready for curing a curse. You’re good. But…. Armon i was sent here to KILL whatever the perpetrator is. I have a job to do, i don’t expect you to do the deed. But i definitely need to.” Tristran raised an eyebrow.

“I know. I won’t kill, but this fiend deserves to die.” He cocked his head, “so are we going to talk about this kid or just ignore it? I never took you for a father.”

“I’m not. He’s not mine. But… he is from my tribe. Happened across him 4 days ago. Something travelled with him. Something bad. Something we need to stop.” As Armon’s brows furled Tristran went on to explain the circumstances of meeting the boy and the fight that ensued.

“Tristran! You of all people are going to train him? I wouldn’t trust you with a cat let alone a kid. And one that has seen what he has. You’re leading him right into the belly of the beast. Handing him a stick and telling him to defend himself. It may have worked for you, but would you wish the same on anybody else?” Armon was pissed. Always the savior.

“Calm down Armon. I’m not taking him to the tower. I Am training him personally. And i was hoping you two would help. We all know I’m not cut out to be some fatherly, idol for that boy. He needs… more than me. I can show him how to kill,” Tristran laughed, “in too many damn ways even for me. But he’s a boy. He needn’t walk the path i walked. Will you come with us? Help me train him? Help me save him and his tribe?”

“Well i can’t leave that brute alone with you,” Armon shoved a thumb in Endalmiir’s direction. “Lord knows he’s going if you ask, and you two would cut a bloody path through the entire kingdom. So yes. I will come along.”

“Thank you. We should head out. I still have to survey the area and plan. There’s also the small matter of getting the boy proper equipment.” Tristran shook his head not ready for the struggle ahead of him. “Evil i can handle! But that boy never stops talking.”

“You go survey, we’ll take the boy shopping.” Armon stalked away.

“Torrin! Come here boy.” Tristran gestured over to Torrin.

“Yes master.” Torrin jogged over, face red from laughing so hard.

“Change of plans. Armon and Endalmiir are going to take you shopping today. We’ll go to the library tomorrow. I have some work that needs attending in the area.” Torrin looked disappointed, but Tristran grabbed his chin. “Now listen, you are to get a spear, 2 tomahawks and leather armor. That is it. Don’t you dare buy something you can’t use. Do you understand?” His words were firm.

“Yes master. Nothing more. What beast did you speak of earlier?” Torrin questioned.

“Don’t you worry about it. You’ll know when you need to.” With that he sent the boy away and made his way to the entertainment district.

Chapter 11 The finest sort

Armon began to understand why Tristran complained about the boy. It was a non stop onslaught of questions and queries. But Endalmiir entertained them all. Their first stop was at a tailor. Armon planned to properly clothe the lad as he was still wearing the dirty, bloody garments from when Tristran first found him. Torrin did not see the point in dressing nicely when he would be on the road for a month. But he did it anyway. Nothing too gaudy, a simple tunic, trousers and boots. Next was the armorer.

Here Torrin perked up a bit, gawking at all the heavy armor as it shined brightly illuminated by the sun. A smart salesman. “Torrin, i believe you’ll be using something more like this, rather than clunky plate armor.” Armon pointed out a set of black leather, on the tag it read ‘displacer beast armor 1000 gold.’ Armon recoiled a bit, “how much did Tristran give you for all of this?” He asked knowing the answer.

Torrin scampered over, his eyes alight. “Huh? Oh he didn’t give me anything. Why? Don’t we trade? Or is it given as needed? That’s how it is in our tribe. Those who need receive, those who have, give to who needs it.”

“No Torrin, unfortunately that ideology does not live in this world. It’s fine,” he said with a grin, “your master can pay me back.” He turned towards the store keeper, “this one. We’ll take this one. Can you please properly fit it to that boy? And make sure he can grow into it a bit please.”

Torrin went off with the man for about 20 minutes a few sighs and shouts resounded through the store. A quick glance at Endalmiir and he was awe struck by some fancy full plate armor inlaid with gold designs. A bit more for show than protection. When Torrin reappeared he had the armor on, it fit well, if Armon didn’t know any better he would say Tristran was his father. The two were identical. Same pitch black hair, same tanned skin, a deep brown eye color. At the very least they were related in some way, between the visual similarities and the exact same mystical powers… there was almost no denying it. He would follow that trail some other time.

“There ya go Torrin! Ready for battle.” Endalmiir strode over. His bejeweled armor shimmering in every direction. “Weapon time?” He asked Armon.

“Yes boys, it’s time to go pick out a weapon.” Armon hung his head, a little defeated.

“Armon, I’m supposed to get three weapons. A spear, and two small axes.” the boy chimed in.

“Of course you are. Why wouldn’t he give you money for an entire armor set and three weapons.” More a statement than a question.

A short walk down the street and they were at the black smiths. He was an old dwarf with a fading red beard kept short by the embers while forging. “Hello! Name’s Seamus. Anything in particular you’re looking for?” He had a deep gruff voice, forged from years of inhaling smoke.

Armon pushed Torrin forward nudging him to speak up, “I need a spear and two small axes please.” Torrin’s voice changed a bit, he wasn’t the usual inquisitive boy Armon knew. His voice had a flatness to it now.

“Ah yes, just picking up training are we?” The dwarf turned around and headed to the back of the store a slight limp in his step. “This way my boy.” Torrin followed a stiffness about him. “Here we are, a fine starting spear. Especially for your build. Light and sharp, yet sturdy like an iron oak. She’ll turn those soft muscles strong.”

“I’ll take it.” Torrin reached for the spear.

“Ah ah ah, not so fast. Give her a try, feel it in your hands, though a simple spear everybody prefers different balance and weight. Though i wouldn’t stray too much heavier.” He casually handed it over as Torrin gripped it and entered the stance he had seen Tristran use before. “Whoa there killer! Careful with that! My old bones don’t move as quick as they used to. Haha, but it seems a good fit. How does it feel?”

“It feels good, i think. I don’t really know. It spun easy enough.” Torrin was way out of his depths here. He had no clue what he needed. “Can i see your small axes please?”

“Of course, of course.” The old dwarf hobbled a few shelves away and stroked his beard staring at a wall of different sized axes. “Well, i think,” his hands hovered over different small axes. “Aye, these’ll do i think. Here give em a whirl. Test dummies right over yonder.” Seamus pointed to a straw man in a corner surrounded by hay bales.

Torrin took the axes, these he knew. He struck the dummy a few times. Striking in combinations he remembered seeing the guards practice. They were clumsy, but he remembered. “I can’t explain it. But i like these. They feel…. Right.” Torrin looked at the dwarf and thanked him. The pair walked back to Armon, Torrin only standing a hand taller than the old dwarf, spear in hand axes already hanging from his belt.

“I see you found what you needed. Seamus how much do we owe you?” Armon asked while pulling out his coin purse.

“For this lad…. Toss me a coin of any kind. He’s sure to become a good fighter. And nobody buys the simple weapons anymore. It’s all rapiers and longswords now. Or Langemessers. I appreciate a customer that strays from the path and appreciates quality craft. Just promise you’ll come back to me should you need anything new.” He gave the boy a wink and put his finger on his nose knowing he had just earned a lifetime customer. Another good salesman.

Armon tossed him a gold piece, and thanked him. The odd group headed back to the jokers sphere.