arius sat beside Durie and Olaf, trying to ignore the blood that lapped at his feet, and the whimpering guard whom Marius had removed a hand from. The barkeep of the Mother-locke Inn had piled all of the corpses out in his courtyard to await the grave diggers. The surviving guard had been helped into the kitchen and had his wound cauterized by the cook, who seemed quite adept with the procedure due to the fact that the guard was still breathing. The guard now sat in a booth in the corner of the pub, resting his stump in a bucket of snow and having his face constantly topped up with whiskey. The bard had come out from his hiding place and continued to play with a nervous twang to his voice, and Olaf, Durie, and Marius sat in the middle of it all, still drinking and discussing what to do next, and what route to take to Doflhiem.

Durie took another swing of his ale and pulled out a map of the southern kingdoms. "Well, the way I see it, you have three ways to get into Doflhiem. You could take the trade route straight to Doflhiem from Trystem along the eastern fork of the Mother-locke into the eastern gate, or you could walk along the banks and pass through the corrupted section of the Black Forest and enter into the northern gate. Or, if you wanted to take the long way around, you could cross the Mjolik Fjords into Alturine and enter via the western gate. Whichever way you take would get you in."

Olaf looked at the map and nodded. "Aye, I think they are the best options, but I think the best of all would be to cross the mountains. It may be the hardest, but if Doflhiem has had any rangers in the area, it wouldn't take long for old Saurin to send one my way to make sure I know about Stonehill, Plus, it would be good training for you, Marius."

Marius looked at the route and nodded. It would take them past the ruins of Stonehill, and memories flooded back to him from that night. It had been over a month ago, but it felt like a life time, and Marius had become quite proficient at dismissing the painful thoughts.

Finally, ready, Olaf and Marius stood up and bid farewell to Durie. They had a list of what they were going to need for their journey, and the first on that list was transport, which meant horses. As they left the Mother-locke Inn, Marius thought about the type of horse that would be able to hold Olaf.

His thoughts dropped dead as the sun shone on the drawn swords of the town guard. They had surrounded the bar and were hungry to see Marius's blood. At least a hundred of them stood in formation with a mounted man in command. He wore rich clothes and had on his head a golden band to display his position as Jarl. A gilded sword hung in his hand, and a furrowed frown plagued his unshaven face. His breath came out before him in a mist, and his steed's hooves stamped impatiently upon the frozen packed earth of the street.

His voice rang out and bounced against the surrounding walls. "Olaf and companion: surrender your arms now or perish."

The Jarl seemed confident of his position, and understandably so; Olaf and Marius were surrounded.

A snivelling, shuffling crowd gathered behind the guards to see the attraction that was unfolding. Olaf stood up to his full height, and Marius felt satisfaction bloom within him as he saw a few guards look nervously at Olaf's massive figure.

He stretched his arms above his head and then lazily looked up at the Jarl. "Ah, Tiberius, how are you?"

This took the Jarl off guard; he was used to being feared and respected, not casually engaged in a conversation – and in front of his entire garrison no less. The Jarl of Trystem tried in vain to keep control of the situation, but with Olaf standing in front of him, calm and collected, he knew he would have to either release or attempt to execute the old hero and his companion. Olaf knew these two options, and hoped for release; he did not want to massacre a whole garrison and their leader in front of a crowd. On the other hand, if the corrupting influence of the Eldar was here as he suspected, these men would only cause misery and weaken this town. It was a hard decision and Olaf prayed he did not have to make it.

The Jarl was still trying to make his own decision, and in a moment of selfish and egotistic pride, he chose wrong. Pointing his sword at Olaf, he called out his sentence.

"Olaf and companion, it is my duty as Jarl Tiberius Reanik the first of Trystem, to sentence you to death by sword for the crime of murder, and aiding murder."

Olaf nodded as if in agreement, then looked hard at the Jarl. "You can try, Tiberius, but you and your men will fail."

Olaf unsheathed his sword just as Marius unsheathed his; together they stood against a hundred guards. The onlookers had fled to safety and peeked out at the showdown from their shuttered windows and overturned tables. Both blades twinkled in the cold sunlight against the armoured and shielded men. Confidence exuded from Marius and Olaf, and seemed to have the opposite effect upon the guards. Leaves flew amongst them and acted as an intermission between the two forces.

Suddenly, the Jarl called out and the guards charged. Olaf immediately flew into action, leaving Marius to defend against the encroaching threat. Olaf's blade flew through the air, and didn't seem to slow as it tore through guards, armour, blades, and shields. Marius watched in awe as within three sword strokes, half of the garrison fell into screams. Marius sliced with Nurlin's blade. The effect was not the same as Olaf's, but it still cut down all who opposed him. One more slice from Olaf's glittering blade was enough to send the guards into retreat.

The Jarl turned to run, but was grabbed at the scruff of his neck by Olaf, leaving his horse to charge off, and the Jarl to hang in Olaf's hand. The Jarl's sword clattered to the ground, leaving him to flail helplessly against his fate. Marius could see Olaf's mind at work, and he watched as Olaf’s tattoos began to glow. The Jarl had stopped flailing and hung limply. Marius saw fear in his eyes, and began to think that maybe he was not a corrupt monster after all. That was until Olaf threw him to the floor, and in a large booming voice that echoed around the whole town, and magically fixed into the heads of every person within Trystem, he bellowed, "Jarl Tiberius Reanik of Trystem, you are charged for the crimes against your people, including cavorting and bargaining with the known enemy of man, The Eldar, as well as the corruption and abuse of the power that you hold. How do you plead?"

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The Jarl knelt in the dirt, and Marius felt his mind spin at the situation they were in. So far, Marius had established that the people of Trystem were cursed. He did not know why, but Olaf had clearly made a connection with this event and the Eldar who were responsible for the massacre at Stonehill. From what Olaf was saying, the Jarl had bargained with the Eldar for something, and now as a result his people suffered and his guards became greedy.

The Jarl panted in his fear. Guilt seemed to wrap around him as he appeared a broken man before his people, knelt in front of Olaf, the ancient hero of these lands, and the only power great enough to take away the life of a Jarl. The Jarl began to mutter and stammer, pleading for his life. He tried professing his ignorance, but by now the entire town of Trystem had filled the streets. From the rich families out of their gilded halls, to the mud splattered peasants with their fear filled eyes, all of them came to see their tyrant's end. Olaf saw this, and after allowing the Jarl to lie through his teeth Olaf turned to the people.

"People of Trystem, I have tried your ruler, Jarl Tiberius Reanik of Trystem, for crimes against you all. After looking into his mind, I have found his discussions with an unnatural creature – a creature that delights in the pain of mortals. He sold you all in the pursuit of his own wealth, and as such, I plan to execute this false lord and seek a council of your most highly regarded citizens to elect a new ruler. If anyone disagrees with me, speak now and know you shall not be harmed."

Not a single soul stepped forward, and after what seemed like an age, Olaf nodded in acceptance of what he must do. It struck Marius at this point that this had been the whole reason Olaf had come here. Olaf did not need supplies to venture out of his castle, he did not need to come to Trystem at all, but from Marius's limited knowledge of Olaf, he knew that this was a lesson, his final test.

The Jarl's face went pale as Olaf turned to him, and raised his sword. A scream cried out into the street, but was cut short as Olaf's glittering blade flew through the air. The Jarl's head struck the ground with a sickening thump, and blood pooled at Olaf's feet. Some of the crowd gasped, whilst others stood with a stoic expression watching their Jarl's headless body slump onto the street. Olaf turned to the people of Trystem, and Marius could see, with the Jarl's death, their sickness and fever fall away. The crowd as a whole stood up straighter and looked about them in wonder as their curse lifted. Laughter trickled out from the youngsters and leaked through the crowd until the whole town was cheering and dancing in delight. Olaf nodded once with approval of his work. and then, sheathing his sword, made his way back into the Mother-locke Inn. Marius stood for a moment, and thought of the events that had just unfolded before following Olaf into the Inn.

Durie still sat at the table Marius and Olaf had left before the showdown with the Jarl and his men. He looked up from his mug and cocked his head, listening to the cheers outside.

His eyes settled on Olaf and his lips flicked up into a smile. "Well, it would seem that your plan has worked. Chopping the head off the snake seems to have pushed Trystem into full bloom again."

Olaf collapsed into a chair next to Durie, and the barkeep rushed over to him with a smile and planted a keg next to Olaf.

"On the house, sir" The barkeep said, and Olaf thanked him, then poured two mugs of ale and passed one to Marius. Olaf drank heavily, then slammed his mug on the table.

"As I said before Durie, for a tree to flourish, one must cut off the rotting limbs!" He grinned, a hint of sadness at the deed still in his eye.

Durie's smile grew and his head bowed in agreement. The door into the bar flew open then, and the outside cheers bounced around the Mother-locke Inn, causing Marius to cover his ears. Standing in the doorway were five very different men, and a woman.

They did not dress strangely, indeed they actually seemed to fit in with the town. But the station which each were from was an unusual mix. A rich noble man stood in the middle, but did not seem to look down on his companions. The next was what appeared to be a shepherd; with his crook and mud splattered features, he stood tall and proud. The man standing behind him was either a smith or belonged to another manual profession due to his rippling muscles and bent back. The woman stood beside him, and Marius could tell she was a tailor; she wore a sewing cap that held various needles for various tasks, and was tied with a length of measuring tape. The two other men dressed in a similar fashion. Their padded clothing and weather stained features made Marius think that they were herders of the massive cattle that roamed the planes. The door closed behind them, and the cheering from outside was muffled. The six figures walked over to where Olaf, Marius, and Durie sat, and the nobleman looked at Olaf with a frown.

He had a well-trimmed blond goatee that matched his braided hair, and his steel grey eyes seemed to stare right into the soul. He had a certain kind of presence with the way he held himself. His fur lined cloak bore his family's coat of arms, which depicted a large black bear rearing up on its hind legs, and in its front paw held a thistle. The surrounding shield was stitched in golden thread, and Marius could immediately see that this was going to be the new Jarl.

He took off his black leather gloves and tucked them into his gilded belt. He then extended a hand to Olaf and said, “My name is Wulfred Beorson. Would you care if my friends and I joined you?"

Olaf indicated to the surrounding spaces around the table, leaving Wulfred's hand to hang unshaken. He leant back in his chair as the new arrivals dragged their seats into a rough circle around the table. Olaf pulled out his pipe, and lit it with a snap of his fingers, which caused all but Wulfred to stare slack-jawed at the spiralling smoke.

Wulfred sat down and cleared his throat. "Olaf, before you executed Tiberius Reanik you asked for the most highly regarded people in all of Trystem to allocate a new Jarl. We are those people. In past years, we have held this town together. We have tried to cure the sickness, and curbed the guards’ aggression, but now that we no longer need to heal and skulk in the shadows from our oppressors, we can rebuild Trystem into what it once was. In order to do that, we need to restore the governing body of this town."

Olaf sat and took in what Wulfred was saying.

Nodding once, he looked around at the newcomers. "Very well. I will accept your proposal as well as allow you to vote for a new ruler, as Vakringuardian law dictates that in a challenge to the death, the winner, which would be me, must rule in the stead of the loser. However, I do not wish to rule, nor will I ever seek that path. Therefore, I will give my position to the people of Trystem to decide who their new Jarl shall be. My guess is that you, Wulfred, are the people's champion, and you will be wearing the crown next. However, this will be brought to the attention of the high king in High Hall, so I will write a letter of recommendation to whomever is voted to the throne. Remember this, Wulfred: to rule is to be a servant of the people. The crowd does not need an old battered hero to chop off their ruler's head."

Wulfred stood up, bowed to Olaf, and thanked him.

Olaf merely waved him away, and looked over the table at Marius. "Now, lad," he said. "Are you ready to go to Doflhiem?"