I walked among the ruins of a past age.

The area was overgrown: trees had sprung up, vines entangling their new branches, the undergrowth obscuring the floor of the thick forest, forest where once, years ago, people revelled.

An hour or more I walked, until finally some aged and wizened trees stood where I had once remembered them; indeed, marked by knives which had been thrown in contest for a mug of ale or a silver piece had grown into broad scars on the bark.

It took only a moment more before I located the empty shell. Surveying the building, I saw that the construction was sound. Although the windows were gone, the roof opened gaping holes to the weather like the threatening maw of an aged dragon come to threaten anyone who would disturb its sleep, the frame of the building was solid, able to support the roof, the walls, or whatever growth beneath which nature would bury it.

It could be brought to life once more.

I returned to the keep. Men were available--loggers to cut away and remove the trees blocking the entrance and surrounding paths, gardners to renew the grasses and flowers which had once surrounded it, carpenters to rebuild the shell, repaint the finely decorated walls and trim it with ornate engravings; smithes to replace the brasswork and silver adorning the central hall as well as renewing the stoves and cellars of the kitchens; more laborers to refinish the bedrooms on the upper floor and replace the beds and furniture.

There was more to be done. The arena at the rear of the main building once housed an armory which would need to be rebuilt. The arena itself was overgrown with brush and had to be cleared and recovered with clay and small stones. The armorer’s forge had long since fallen to ruin--the stones of the hearth fallen away, the leather bellows long since rotted.

It took several months--but the work was done. And when it was done, those who had labored in secret to insure a pleasant spring surprise for the peasantry and lords alike of the Realm had succeeded in both restoring the establishment to its former beauty AND keeping the project a secret from any who would stand in the way of its success.

The final step was to renew the sign at the end of the path leading from the castle to its door. Redone completely in yellow and white gold, trimmed in ebony and the letters leaved in mother-of-pearl, flowers were planted which would be in full bloom on opening day.

The sign read, “The Sword and Shield Inn”.


Maximus

“He Who Troubles My Brother Shall Answer To Me”

Noamos' thighs were as big around as the tree trunks he passed. He carried upon his shoulder, a hammer. It was both his means of livelihood and his weapon of choice. It went everywhere with him. The massive hand which steadied the hammer, however, often preempted the need for the use of the hammer as weapon, his fist as large as a woman's head.

To be sure he was a large man, his shoulders and chest as broad as that of an oxen, well muscled from his labour. To pass through doors, he must bend over, hunching, and, at the same time, turning slightly sideways to fit his body through, for the doors, were usually too low and too narrow for a man his size. Because of this, he preferred to be outside, or in a stable or barn, for their ceilings were high to accomodate the horses comfortably. There had been a time, when he had had his own home and forge, custom built by his own hands to house him, but that had been before the wars had passed through his township and everything in the armies' wake had been razed.

Since that time he had become itinerate, looking for work and a new place to settle. Few villages welcomed him. He looked fierce with his size, his hair, dark and unkempt, his clothes dusty and disheveled from life on the road. They mistrusted the 'giant' and closed their doors and shuttered their windows until he passed. Of course, upon occasion, he found a smithy in need of help, but nothing permanent. Usually within a couple of moons, he was back upon the road.

He had taken to the forest, after a run in with a drunken lord, who had upon seeing Noamos on the road, taken it into his wine besotted head, to show his lady that he could fight and beat the giant upon the road. The carriage had stopped, the lord had almost fallen out, staggering towards Noamos, brandishing his sword wildly, shouting obscenities and screaming at the top of his lungs for the death of the giant. Noamos had reacted quickly, side stepping the lord's wild thrusts, nimbly for a man his size. Finally when it seemed the lord was beyond all reason, Noamos swung his hammer, knocking the sword from the lord's grip, and setting the lord upon his silken derriere. The lord was enraged. How dare this giant embarass him in front of his lady.

The lord clambered to his feet and charged after Noamos, who had taken off down the road. The lord hit the huge man with his head just in that tender spot between his legs, not being tall enough to hit the small of his back, and he wrapped his arms about a thick thigh. Noamos bellowed. It would have been worse from the front, but it was still painful, and he whirled about, the lord still trying to cling to his leg. The lord could not and once more landed in the dirt, this time face first. The lord lifted his head to see Noamos, his face in pain, reach down and grab him by the throat and lift him straight up off the ground, his feet dangling and kicking while he gurgled turned purple, his eyes bulging. Finally Noamos had dropped him, as the lady's screams shrieked out and the lord's hands had plucked weakly at Noamos' fingers. The lord landed in a crumpled heap and Noamos quickly took to the forest. He hadn't killed the lord, perhaps it would have been better if he had. He had done something far worse, wounded the lord's pride and embarassed him in front of his lady. He could be killed for that, he was sure of it, so he had kept to the woods and their protection, for the last moon, never seeing another living soul but the animals and birds of the forest.

He was surprised then, when he came to a clearing in the forest and found it not a natural clearing, but a man made one. He knelt in the shadows of the trees and observed what lay before him for the better part of the afternoon.

It looked to be an arena. What an arena was doing in the middle of a forest, Noamos wasn't sure. There was a what looked to be an armorer's smithy and that was what interested him more. That and the building beyond the arena. From this angle he could not see what it was. Perhaps it was a guild of some sort.

Finally, when nothing had moved the whole time, Noamos had sat waiting and watching, he stood, and stepped out of the shadow of the trees into the light of the clearing. Not once had a smithy's hammer rung out. Either there was no work, or there was no smithy. Noamos had to find out. This place was well suited to him, hidden away in the forest.

His hammer once more upon his shoulder, he walked cautiously through the arena, noting it's good repair and the size of the armory. It suited him well.

Noamos approached the building, giving it a wide berth. It seemed to be...it was...an inn! Well blow him over with a feather. That was the last thing Noamos had expected to find out here. He swore under his breath as he saw the sign, all fancy and fine with gold and ebony, the letters turning colors of pink and purple and green in the sun...never had he seen such a fine sign.

The Sword and Shield Inn, he read.

The chimney had had a steady line of smoke whisping from it all afternoon, so Noamos knew that the Inn was occupied.

There was nothing for it but to enter the building and enquire as to the armory and work. He was curious as to what went on in the arena. Tournaments? Or training? He had once trained mercenaries and hired them out to the nobles in his town. He could not shake the feeling that this seemed to be a likely explanation for this arena. It seemed too isolated to be used for anything else.

He bent from the waist and sidled through the door. Still stooped so he would not knock his head upon the rafters or anything hanging from the ceiling, he took a few steps into the room, looking around. He saw no one, so with his baritone voice, which was loud and booming even without his trying, he hailed the occupants.

"Hail to thee, Innkeep."

Maximus had just finished working with his crew to put the final touches on the kitchen, where a fine fire now burned on the hearth. He smiled at the currents of air moving thru the room, noting that the smoke did not gather at the ceiling as it did in more poorly designed buildings, yet the heat of the fire would have the place very warm quickly on a cold winter’s night.

He had poured himself an ale and settled onto one of the large couches when he heard the voice summoning the Innkeeper.

He rose and greeted the .... the Giant of a man with a smile.

He looked carefully. With one this size, it was the wise man who would move slowly and know the person facing him before making sudden moves, especially considering the size of both the hammer slung over his shoulder AND the arm ready to wield it.

He noted the man’s clothes. Made by his own hand, no doubt, from what a forester would find in the deep wood, skins of larger animals, and furs to keep him warm by day and cover him from the elements by night.

His weapon was clearly made for his own hand, too large for most to wield, for some to even lift. Well-worn, proving both its strength in combat and its use. A few notches indicating it had been challenged, but never beaten. And clearly made by a Master, perfectly balanced, its head hardened steel.

His stance was strong, but not the lumbering ape-like stance of one with much in the way of body but lacking in mind. This man was balanced, the weight on the balls of his feet, capable of moving in a flash to avoid the blows of an enemy. The body carried extra weight, but it was obvious he was well-conditioned with exercise, well-slept and well-nourished.

Maximus stood the few seconds it took to scan the man, finally noting his eyes...confident, stealing glances at the newly rebuild forge and armory visible thru the back door. He removed his own leather apron, offered his hand in the firmest handshake he could muster under the circumstances. With the handshake exchanged, he introduced himself.

“I am Maximus, Lord of this establishment.

He drew an ale for the man himself, then spoke again.

“You like the place, that much is clear. Care to do some work for me in the armory?”

The innkeeper had been before him all the time. Noamos cursed under his breath for not having noticed him seated upon the sofa. Being bent over when inside had disadvantages besides bruising his head. Stooped as he was, also interfered with his line of vision, forcing him to constantly look downwards.

The man seemed friendly enough. Noaomos noted the man 'size' him up, but he did not call him 'giant' and readily strode forward to greet him, hand extended. Noamos took it appreciating the man's effort to exert a firm handshake.

What he did not expect was what followed. The man had poured an ale, then turning with it, offered it to him along with employment! Never had this happened before to Noamos and the shock of it caused him to straighten and he knocked his head soundly on a rafter, the thud of it resounding about the empty room.

"Seven terriers of hell!" He howled with the sudden reminder of where he was. He set his hammer down, rubbed his now aching head with one hand and accepted the offered ale with the other.

A red nail on my tongue, Master....err, Lord Maximus. Noamos realised that he should bow right about now, but being already bowed over, he decided that would suffice. "Ye have taken me aback. It is as if ye could see inside me mind. I am seeking employ and will accept yer offer. Me hammer hungers for the taste of hot metal, and me pocket for the cold."

He took a deep draught of ale, taking care not to lift his head as he did so, not quite believing his good fortune and a trifle suspiscious of it.

Maximus smiled at the big, loveable Noamos.

“Be careful there...these buildings were designed for those somewhat smaller in stature. Better yet, let us go take a look at your new forge...”

He guided the man out to the Armory and Arena. He showed him the forge, the bellows newly replaced, the brickwork around the furnace rebuilt.

“You’ll find the ceilings high enough for you out here. Perhaps we could extend the handles of the bellows to better suit your stature...it would only take a bit of time.”

There were also stocks of ores, as well as racks of good steel that could be shaped into weapons of all descriptions, as well as armor and fittings. And there was a stock also of fine metals--brass, silver, gold and platinum, for those who wished to enhance their weapons with runes or filligree work. Even the quenching tub was fed by spring water, constantly feeding and refreshing the cool bath in which the best weapons would be hardened after being forged.

He watched the man’s eyes...noting his interest, which features of the armory attracted his attention, including both the engraving area and, of course, the large anvil.

In the meantime, Maximus’ own eyes remained drawn to the large hammer carried by Noamos. And the engraved seal on its hilt. And his eyes were then drawn to the surprisingly similar seal which he had himself placed at the top of the supporting arch of the armory. And he wondered...

“So tell me, Noamos...you carry a very interesting weapon...”

Maximus
“He Who Troubles My Brother Shall Answer To Me”

The two brothers meandered slowly through the woods. They had inherited their fathers wandering spirit. Surely not through genetics for he had only been an adoptive father, but simply through acquaintance. The twins were noblemen, and their appearance surely would have given that away had anyone been around. Even in their simple traveling cloths betrayed their wealth. Their trousers, tunics and cloaks were of the finest of cloths. The brooches which held their cloaks on were of silver and sapphire, in the shape of hawks, the Woodson's family crest. Really the only thing about them that did not point towards their background was their attitude. They certainly did not think themselves above others and although they stood tall with pride, they were more humble than many peasants.

They were tall and slight, and walked lithely through the woods, with their swords swinging at their sides. Each brother carried at his hips to twin swords, as identical as the brothers were. Of course they were mainly there for ornamental purposes for the brothers deplored violence. Nevertheless they were both skilled swordsmen, just as their father had been. In fact the Woodson family was nearly as well know for their rarely used swordsman ship as they were for their great scholarliness.

As they walked through the woods the brothers eventually came up an interesting little group of buildings, and a sign that read "The Sword and Shield in."
Each brother looked to the other for a moment and spoke. "How quaint." They moved towards the building and took a step into what seemed to be the main building. It was empty, but from the look of the building it was clearly not an abandoned structure. One brother looked to the other. "I believe I heard some noise from the small building around back."
"As did I. Let us investigate." And so they did just that. Making their way around to the armory. There they encountered two men, although considering the size of one of them it was more like three or four men in the room. He towered over the tall brothers, and he was wider than the two slim men standing shoulder to shoulder.

The twins smiled brightly at the two men they had come across and began to speak. They spoke in unison, their similar voice mingling very melodically "Hello good sirs. We hope we are not interrupting anything. We came across this fine establishment in our wanderings but we found no one in the other building. So we came around here." They paused momentarily, and the continue, somewhat apologetically "How awful of us, we've failed to introduce ourselves. We are Rosen and Guilden Woodson, sons of Mantella Woodson, Isonia rest his sole, and the lord of Erindale."
"I am Guilden." Said the man to the left of Rosen.
"And I am Rosen." Said the man to the right of Guilden.
Each brother extended a hand for the shaking to on of the others.

Noamos was pleased with with what he saw. The smithy was large and well stocked. He could not believe his good fortune.

He set his hammer beside the large anvil and wandered about examining everything carefully.

Lord Maximus suggested lengthening the bellows handles. "No, leave them be. They will do. Should they need adjustment I will do it. 'Tis a fine smithy. I will be proud to work here."

He continued his inspection noting what tools were present and what were absent. The coal must be located outside. Noamos was just about to seek the bin out, when Lord Maximus spoke.

“So tell me, Noamos...you carry a very interesting weapon...”

Noamos turned, puzzled. Weapon? Sure and it had been used as such, but it was as much tool as weapon. Then Noamos saw what the innkeeper was speaking of, for the man was looking down at the handle of the hammer, where Noamos had carefully carved a pattern of runes. Did the man recognise them?

He was just about to reply, when two voices, quite melodically rang out in greeting.

"Hello good sirs. We hope we are not interrupting anything. We came across this fine establishment in our wanderings but we found no one in the other building. So we came around here."

"How awful of us, we've failed to introduce ourselves. We are Rosen and Guilden Woodson, sons of Mantella Woodson, Isonia rest his sole, and the lord of Erindale."

"I am Guilden." Said the man to the left of Rosen.

"And I am Rosen." Said the man to the right of Guilden.

...and, they were most obviously twins.

Noamos smiled and nodded, before making himself busy, checking the inventory of metal, he had not had a chance to inspect, letting the Lord and proprietor of this place welcome his guests.

Her black nose twitched, sniffing as she crouched in the underbrush downwind from the arena and armory.

She had come here everyday, since she had first heard the sounds of building. Where there was building, there was people and where there was people there was... well..there was all matter of things... like danger and excitement and food and drink and money and treasures and companionship and work and... well, she could think of quite a few other things.

It seemed that the smith had arrived and that the inn was about to open for business. The day had been bound to come. The quiet hole in a knoll in a thicket just beyond here was no longer to be a safe, quiet haven. She wondered just how long it would be before it was discovered...perhaps never, which would be fine with her. She curled her black lips into a rather canine smile and twirled strands of hair about a long nailed finger.

Living about her wits had been her business since her friends had disbanded. She was different and because of this was not made welcome in the normalcy of the towns about this part of the country. She had considered seeking out her own, but knew there would not be many and they would be as isolated as she and most likely consider her a threat to their territory, so she stayed where she was.

Now, if she was clever enough, she could quite adequately provide for herself. There would be scraps of food, drunks who would pass out, leaving their money pouches and valuables unguarded and ripe for the picking.

But...she thought, covering all angles...I should not harm or steal from any who work here... No. I should not. They shouldn't care if I lighten a drunk's load, but they would be a trifle annoyed if I pilfered from them. Perhaps, after a time, I will even visit the inn, hooded of course....but not until I feel the time is right. All things in time. Caution.

Her black nose wiggled again, sniffing as the twins came into view. She lay lower in the undergrowth, her eyes, ears and nose alert to whatever would transpire.

The common room of the Inn was quite empty when he let himself in. It did not strike him as strange. There was not much that did, for he had seen much in his lifetime, and an empty inn was by far not the strangest.

The fire was lit, the flames dancing cheerfully. A table sat in front of it looking quite inviting and he took his bones over to it and set himself down upon one of the chairs. His well worn leather pack was placed by his feet, which he promptly lifted up and placed upon an adjacent chair.

Ahhhhh... now that felt good.

He had no horse, for riding was quite awkward for him. It was not the riding itself that was awkward, but the mounting and dismounting, for horses stood much too high for him and most of the wild ponies were too tempermental, so it was shank's pony for him. He wiggled his toes inside his boots and sighed.

The balding, grey bearded dwarf reached into his tunic and drew out a leather pouch from which he drew some rather large leaves. He lay one on top of another and then rolled them tightly to form a cylinder, the thickness of his thumb in diameter. He put the end of the roll between his lips and with a snap of his fingers sparked a small flame from the tip of his thumb. Lighting the leaves, he puffed upon the end a few times, drawing the smoke in. When he exhaled, he settled back upon the chair, the picture of relaxation, the pungent smoke ringing about his head.

Someone would come eventually and until they did, he planned on enjoying his smoke and the warmth of the fire.

Maximus remained for a moment, admiring the craftsmanship of Noamos’ Hammer. He then took notice of the others that had entered the Inn proper.

“Forgive me, friend..I must awaken the sleeping serving wenches! We shall talk further as time permits.”

He extended his hand in greeting again, then walked ito the Inn.

He had taken but a few steps when he encountered Guilden and Rosen.

“Welcome friends. Did you wish refreshment in the Inn, or would you prefer to test your hands at arms in the arena?” He showed them where they could find weapons and armor, cautioning them to refrain from sparring until they talked further and he could explain the enchantment of the arena itself.

“In the meantime, I shall be rousing the help in the Inn, if you’d care to rest.”

He entered the main dining room of the Inn. Walking to the kitchen, he awakened the cooks and serving girls...”Time to work! We have guests! Would you want our first visitors to be turned away hungry or thirsty?”

The girls giggled, and the cook smiled broadly as he basted a large carcass of what looked like venison as it slowly turned on a spit over the cooking fire.

“Tell our guests they shall not be wanting for victuals, M’Lord.”

He then walked to the main room to greet the most interesting dwarf that sat by the fire...

The twins let the inkeep off to go to his duties, and bid adue to the sizable smith, then return themselves to the main hall of the inn. It was much less empty than the last time they had entered. In fact, speaking techically, it was an infinate times less empty. Now found within its walls were the inkeep, previously met the armory, and a new fellow, a dwarf sitting by the fire.
"This place is certainly becoming popular fast," commented the brothers to one another with a chuckle.

The brothers sat at a table not far from the dwarf's. It felt good to sit. They had been traveling for quite a while, but they hadn't noticed had tired it had actually left them until they were off their feet. It was quite fortunate they had come across this place. It would give them a place to rest for a while, as long as they'd like really, for they were in no hurry to get anywhere. And it would give them a place to fill their stomachs. And perhaps most importantly it would likely provide them with some good company; that was something the brothers were always up for.

Drifter …Hand propped against a tree. A lone figure looks long and hard at the worn path that leads to a new land. A line of moonlight finds a path through the light wind blown leaves reflecting off his violet eyes. I have found my home Eases out of the figures mouth.

Minutes pass as if hours. Each path seems as if it mimics the last. Music and laughter begin to ripple through the hollow woods. Finally a sign… “The Sword and Shield Inn”.

Without a twig breaking Jaige slips deep into the underbrush. Kneeling to become a breathing part of the forest. Finally the people who will become family are within sight. Watching…listening…The urges of friendship grow deep. Thoughts begin to take over any conscious effort to stay hidden. What will they think of me? A loner…needing nothing before his lands seeped into the heathen’ hands. Now all lies within sight. Aye…I need em. As they may need Me. The journey to the door begins. Each step growing faster with the door never seeming to get any closer. An out stretched hand reaches to find the handle.

The door opens…people hardly even notice the stranger. Songs never miss a tune; goblets never break the constant rhythm to the recipient’s mouths. A quick glance etches the entire structure within Jaige’s mind. All exits are carefully noted each sword and weapon alike find a way to the mind of the worn traveler. A lone table along the wall calls for the rest in need. Removing the pack from his back Jaige finds his way to the table. Pulling the oaken chair from its place of seclusion. He falls deep within its receptive craftsmanship.

A haggard female barkeep props one hand on her hip and the other one the edge of the table. Her deep smoke gripped voice belts out…Stranger, me sees… Her eyes narrow waiting for the inevitable response. Aye Rolling her eyes with all intent to offend. I have ales, some wines, and stew. Now what is it you need I’m busy? Looking straight in the eyes of the lady Jaige brings his hand to hers. I ask for a stew and a room. That’s all I need at this time. Calmly she motions at him. One room up the stairs 2 doors down. I will have your hot stew delivered to your door. Removing his hand to release the lady from her altered mental state Jaige whispers a hint of thanks within her ragged locks to her ear.

She remained in her hiding spot until the twins and the owner of this place had returned to the inn. The smith seemed quite busy accustoming himself to the armory and there was no more movement outside the arena.

Time to change postion.

Tayweth crept around to the front of the inn, keeping well within the treeline, her feet padding silently and nimbly. She was just in time to see a very travel worn man approach the inn. He seemed almost disoriented in his weariness. There was a wildness about him, that she recognised. It was always about those that lived by their wits as did she. He was staggering towards the door, reaching out to it, as if he thought he wouldn't reach it in his weariness. For a moment she believed he would not and she almost left her hiding place to help him, but he managed, and he slipped from her view into the inn.

She sat back upon her heels, letting the branch she had been holding, snap back into place. The leaves rustled and a chipmunk scolded her from above.

That had been close. She had almost exposed herself. The chipmunk was right to scold her, she must be more careful.

She settled into a more comfortable position, better to watch the door. It would be a long night.

"Well there you be. I knew you would come." The dwarf said as a well dressed man approached him, followed by the smell of roasting meat. "You are the owner of this fine establishment and it is my honor to meet you."

The dwarf looked up at the man from his lounging as he spoke. "The food smells delicious. It's been many a night since I have smelled such delicious aromas."

He slowly removed his feet from the chair. "I'm stiffening. 'Tis a horrible thing to have such old bones. One has to keep them moving all the time, lest they stop working."

Two men, the dwarf observed, entered the room, taking a table quite near his own.

The dwarf rose, adjusting his specatcles and puffing upon his rolled leaves. He sent a smoke ring into the air, then put the leaves in his left hand and offered his sword hand to the owner. It was thick and strong.

"The name is Rago Sturngaten, some call me Rago the Dragon Stumper, others, Rago the Riddle Master. I'll be wanting a room to rest these old bones, but not until I have supped upon your fine food and a tankard or two of ale, shared some conversation and entertainment with you and these fine lads." He gestured to the other men, whom he had quite quickly sized up as brothers, twins to be exact, for that was not to be missed, and from the looks of them, very intelligent.

As he spoke, the door opened and another entered, soon to leave the room to the rooms upstairs. The dwarf, missed nothing, although he kept his attention on the man he greeted.

He slowly walks into the inn hoping no one notices. He stops right in front of the entrance to take a quick look around. He smiles as he moves towards a table at the far end of the room.

A middle-aged man approaches Sphinx and gives him a grin. "I know your kind, boy," He says with a rusty voice, "I hope you get what you deserve in the end!" The old man walks away, tapping his cane on the ground as he disappears up the stairs.

Puzzled by the old man's words, Sphynx decides to forget it. He takes a seat at a table and lays his head on it. He begins thinking of the days to come and the tasks he'll be forced to face. He shrugs his shoulders and smiles.

He leans back in his chair and sighs. "Crazy old man," he says to himself with a smile.

Maximus saw to it that the Inn’s help was on duty and preparing for dinner and a night’s rest for their guests. He then surveyed the room.

The twins caught his eye first. Not just identical twins, but seemingly sharing the same mind. They jarred something in his memory...stories, he thought, rather than a meeting of his own...but he remembered a tale of a pair such as this that ruled a land of their own. He would watch them and make sure they were well cared for...allies were always a valuable treasure.

He then saw Jaige. Walking with the balance of a warrior, his weapons visible only to those trained to carry them as he did. His eyes scanning the room, as he noted every piece of visible steel and a few items well-concealed within the robes of their owners. He watches the exchange between he and the woman at the bar. “Ah yes...he IS trained in the WAY.” Indeed, he could have robbed the till under her very eyes and not be seen if he so chose. The fact that he did nothing untoward stood in his favor.

There was a window a few feet from him. Thru it the gentle late evening breeze rolled in from the forest as the nocturnal creatures there moved about feeding. Then. as his awareness focused on the forest, he heard a twig break. Just barely, he would have taken no note if he was not already listening. Then motion in reaction to the sound outside. Silence here, tiny footfalls there. He felt the brief wave of energy, of concern, radiating from a point within the wood. He sensed no threat from it, but he did sense sentience. He would watch the trees as the night progressed.

Then there was the loveable dwarf. Rago, indeed! The makings of tales to be told on a warm night, Max walked to where the dwarf sat and offered his hand in greeting.

"The name is Rago Sturngaten,...” the wizened dwarf spoke, introducing himself. “And I am Maximus, Lord of this land and owner of this establishment. Should there be anything you need, feel free to call upon me."

The dwarf spoke of his age, and Maximus recalled a dwarven friend telling him that the second hundred years always seem the hardest, until you begin the third hundred.

He alerted the serving wenches...”This tired old dwarf needs your tender mercies. Fill his tankard and make sure his plate is not wanting good meat!” He then turned back to the dwarf and bowed ever so slightly, as was proper given the relative ranks. “May your beard grow ever longer.” He then took his leave.

At the last moment he saw an old friend. “Sphynx! You rascal you...” he murmered under his breath. “You show up when least expected, but always welcomed.”

He then noticed Sphynx’s exchange with the older man, and noted the bitterness in the words. “That one will bear watching carefully.”

He continued his rounds...

The newly refurbished rooms of the Inn carry much of the old worm hole riddled wood with a new sanding. Stale ale and wine permeates out of the cracks in the floor. The tattered shades hold out as much of the torch lit street as they can. Fighting a battle that shows how lopsided the evils of war can be. Each step brings the cold creaking voice of the wooded floor to life. An inspection of the bed looks so inviting that the spread never leaves its place of rest when Jaige throws his body deep into the down filled mattress. Within seconds the eyelids of the drifter find their way to a meeting place and consume Jaige with darkness…sleep…

Minutes of driven sleep come to an abrupt halt with a knocking at the room door. Jaige twirls to find his feet. The agility is only matched by the rhythm of which each blade makes its way to his hands. Each spinning its reflection of light throughout the room in a mesmerizing fashion. His lavender eyes pickup up the slightest of interruptions in the still room. Who might be there! Breaks the tense silence. A tiny voice rings out…Your hot stew M’lord…As ye ordered. Sliding to the wall to observe the sounds given off outside the door. Place it at floor and leave me please!. The dull thud of wood on wood and footsteps hitting the steps means the instructions have been met. Food and nourishment is just a step away.

The day grows old as Hate wonders the path to his destination a meeting with old friends and new.Damn this day and all that it has dealt me ,he yells not knowing if his voice was heard by another and not caring.How much further could this damn place be he wonders as he kicks a little vermit from his path and begins ranting the way only Hate could,damning this and damning that.when finally he looks and spots his destination,damnit bout time,he thinks as he just spit his last amount of moisture from his mouth at a singing bird not far off the path.

Maximus took one last round of the Inn to make sure every one was served and accomodated, then decided to relax a bit out in the arena. He walked to the armory and selected his favorite light armors, a combination of highly flexible leathers with plates of Mithril bound on the leather in the most strategic locations. He donned his pads, gauntlets, braces and strapped all down tightly, then picked up his sparring helm--a light helmet with a broad faceplate, good for extended visibility to his sides.

He then took a pair of broadswords and stood at the entrance to the arena proper. He dropped to one knee and said his devotional prayer to the Goddess Isonia...then rose, and looked skyward.

His two swords opened as if in welcome, as his eyes closed and the glow of energy passing thru him could almost be seen by the untrained eye. After a few seconds, his right hand circled in front of him, as if wiping away rain from his forehead, but in actuality closing the contact that had been made with his personal sources of Guidance.

Done with his devotions, he entered the arena.

At one side was the traditional practice "Pell", an inanimate target upon which he could practice his sword combinations. Facing the pell, he began with single strokes, delivering each with full strength, and with each blow, the other sword stood ready and positioned to either block a counterstroke or swing for a followup strike should there be an opening.

Soon, he was running with combinations of two, three or more strokes, sometimes spinning on his feet, sometimes striking the pell from seemingly impossible angles. Eventually, he dropped to the ground, continuing to throw blows from his knees, rolling on his back, even somersaulting around the pell and striking from behind.

Finally, sated and satisfied, he stopped and took a deep breath. There was a brief devotion again to Isonia, then he walked back to the armory, set aside his swords, took off his helm and sat on the grass beneath a tree.

A Gullet of hot soup and some much-needed rest brings life back into the weary body. Jaige opens the travel pack he’s known as his only friend during the long journey. Each finger probing for the item that brought the old man here. A few swirls of the hand bring the treasure out of hiding. A tightly bound scroll sealed with the wax pressed insignia of Illuminati and Isonia. Releasing the wax unravels the written contents of the piece of parchment. The document indicates the deed to the lands of Isonia courtesy of Illuminati.

Jaige never found warmth in religion until the untimely death of his wife during the heathen raids. Holding the love of his life knees deeply entrenched in the earth Jaige saw the last breath of life leave his wife. Tears began to stream making paths through the beard of the farmer. Hugging her with all the strength he could muster trying to love life back into the limp body. Jaige looks painstakingly up to the sky. WHY!!!! BY THE GODS!!!! WHY!!!! Jaige removes his tunic and places it under the resting body. Turning to look at the destruction left by the forces of the heathen world. Taking in each smoldering building built by his hands that now have been reduced to rubble. Clearing some wood planks Jaige finds his only shovel. Handle halved by a falling cross beam. Grabbing it with the strength of a hundred men he sets out to do the unthinkable. Bury his wife.

His sweat covered body hangs over humped earth that now houses his wife. Head bowed and eyes closed Jaige mutters his first prayer since childhood I ask you Isonia…wrap your loving arms around this child of yours and bring her to the lands of promise as it is written. Please give me the strength to survive and repay the heathens of the world for this injustice on life. I ask you now for your guidance now and forever…

Jaige gathered all items that would make travel light including a lock of hair of his of support. His next stop was the local INN. Sleep never found a place in the priorities of the now widowed servant of Isonia. Study of the texts handed down for generations on the Religious beliefs of Isonia, scribing several scrolls to anyone in the lands to sell their lands and protection now take his mind off the pain. Months went by with no return on all the hard work. Never giving up, Jaige sends out one last scroll to the outmost reach from his position…Illuminati. Within a week the answer he’d been looking for came. The travel begun to the lands of Illuminati…

The time has come to meet the great leader. Stepping down each step of the Inn surveying each face of the patrons and workers alike. None fit the description of the one he seeks. A young lad with a broom franticly sweeps a section of the floor littered by food and drink enjoyed by some drunken patrons. Jaige taps the lad on the shoulder causing the youngster to jump loosing his handle of the utensil. Holding back the laughter fighting to get out… I ask you boy…Are you familiar with the one the call Maximus? I seek him for business. The boy still trying to get his heart down to a normal level points to the door and shakes out…M’lord…thi…this part of the day he be out at the Armory and spot of the Wa….Warriors…I think they call it the Areana. Jaige reaches into his leather pouch and flicks a shinny gold piece to the waiting hands of the servant boy. With a wink Many thanks to ye…You be keepin an eye on me room now, right? Not taking his eyes off the shiny piece he knods his head in approval.

Following the cobble stone streets Jaige finds his way to the place of training. A lone figure sits off in the distance propped up next to a tree taking in the day. Jaige makes his way to the figure not knowing how his feet are even moving. Every thought of this meeting races with each unnoticed step. This is Jaige’s whole life. Kneeling and head bowed at the side of the figure in the utmost respect…M’lord…I go by the name of Jaige…I’m here to serve you by the grace of Isonia. I bring little, but I give you my life

His stomach full, his whistle whetted, Rago was rolling another smoke.

There were comings and goings as there are in all common rooms. The patrons kept to themselves. That was not surprising. Rago had learned that the inn had just reopened, so chances were that none here knew one another, and so, did not share the comraderie common to most inns amongst it's regulars.

He looked about, his gaze landing upon the twins he had acknowledged earlier. "Lads," He called to them.

"Yes, you lads. You look like intelligent lads. Answer me this, if you can and I shall buy you a drink...", Rago said as the twins looked towards him. The dwarf put his smoke to his lips, snapped his fingers, a small flame jumping from the tip of his thumb. He puffed upon the leaves, his cheeks hollowing slightly, making small smacking noises. When satisfied the leaves were lit, he looked about the room as he sent a puff of smoke into the air. "....Any who can answer before they, will receive the same..."

He grinned.

"They are but simple questions..." His eyes glittered.



Rago took another few puffs of his smoke.

"Well, there you have it lads. Do you have my answers for me?"

It had been a long time. How long, she didnt really know. Months? Maybe even ears. Time had come and gone, drifted along like the tides. Sometimes she had been aware, and sometimes not. Most of the time had been spent in a dreamlike state while her spirit recovered. But, that was before the expulsion. Before the world cracked and sent her back into the nightmares.

The memories came in flashes, but the flashes were vivid. Fires ravaged a city. A land of bodies, poisoned by the water. Earthquakes. Landslides. Arrows raining down from the sky. The screams of the mortally wounded. And then there were the smells. The stench of death and decay. Blood mingled with sweat.

These were her only memories. Flashes of utter destruction. She could remember nothing more from that time. The time before.

Well, that wasnt entirely true. Her mind flashed sometimes, just before she fell into the midnight depths of sleep, the image of a man. Pointed ears, red hair. She knew he was familiar, and important, but she could only grasp the image a moment before it was gone.

The amnesia hadnt been total. She could still read, in a variety of languages. She recalled how to write, how to lace her boots, and how to shoot a bow. Though her muscles were sore from the effort, she knew now that she could indeed swing a sword, and ride a horse. But the rest was as if simply a breath upon the breeze.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was aware that her appearance had changed as well. Her raven hair was cut short, slightly past her jaw line. Though once merely lean, a few of her bones could be seen. Finely manicured fingernails were now cut very short, and a small bit of dirt could be seen under them. Her garb was simple leather. Her boots laced up to mid calf, and she carried a sizable dagger on her belt. The tunic she wore was plain, dyed to a hue somewhere between faded brown and dusty rose. It might have been rose colored at one time, but the dust of the road had changed the color a bit.

Her adornments were simple. A plain gold ring on her ring finger signified that she was married. She wasnt sure of that, but it had kept a few men's eyes off her body when she made a stop at an inn. She wore a ring on the other hand, silver set with an onyx. Around a leather tie around her neck though were her two important items. Or at least she had been told they were important. One was a ring bearing a raised mark, likely a stamp. The mark, she was told, was a fireball with two crossed swords. To her, it looked like the crafter had made a mistake and made up the story to justify the work.

The other item however was a work of beauty. It was a simple heart shaped locket. Only trouble was that she had been unable to open it, due to a dent in it. She recalled it was important as well, and because her jewelry was all scratched and marred, she didnt fear for wearing it in public. She had seen similar items on sale at markets, and they were all fairly cheap. Anyone who wished to challenge her for her jewelry, she would have probably given it to them without much argument, as they had very little value to her. She had once attempted to trade the locket for a few coins, but wasnt able to get much more than a pair of silvers for it. Deciding she could get better for it elsewhere, she retained the necklace for a while longer yet.

She was armed, and she knew how to use her items. The pack on her back didnt contain much besides a few rations, berries she had picked that morning, a travel cloak, half a dozen arrows, a small cake of soap, flint and tinder, a small pot, a pouch of dried tea leaves and a water skin. She didnt particularly like tea, but figured maybe they could be useful later. Attached to the pack was a small kite shield, a flail, and a small hunting bow. Not necessarily deadly weapons, but enough to make a person think before crossing her.

It had been about a week she had walked since she had seen a town. She wasnt sure where she was going, yet she felt compelled to walk this direction. After a few days of nothing but deer and small game for company, she wasnt sure she was going the right way, but when the forest opened up and she saw the tavern, she was sure she was in the right place.

Her first instinct was that this must be a rowdy tavern. Or at least more rowdy than most. So rowdy in fact that they had built a practice arena off to the side. Idly, she wondered how many people had been killed in this arena, but she banished the thought in favor of a place to rest for the evening. She had very little money but perhaps she had enough at least for a hot meal. Something with more substance than berries.

As she came up on the side of the arena, she saw a man striking furiously at what appeared to be a practice dummy. He was fairly good, but the entire sight was humorous. A small smile graced her lips for a moment, then was gone. Her emerald eyes sparkled, but deadly grace radiated about her. Maybe even more deadly because of the mystery of her past.

The man seated himself under a tree not far from the arena, resting a bit it would seem from his exertion. Another walked up to the man after a time. The second man knew pain, she noted. She could feel it roll off him, inexplicably. Sometimes she simply knew things. She didnt know HOW she knew things, only that she did.

Still standing a good distance away, she could not hear what was said. She removed her water skin from her pack, with the intention to offer the valiant fighter a drink. Though she came closer, she remained a respectable distance so as to not appear to be a threat nor as an eavesdropper. The fighter's eye caught her emerald gaze, and she simply waited for an invitation to come closer.

Maximus sat beneath the tree, resting after his energetic workout. It felt good indeed, as he used some muscles he had forgotten were there and earned himself a few minor bruises to remind himself to work out more often.

As he sat, he felt THE presense again. The warmth in his heart, the tingling in his head centers, the heat radiating from his palms. He sat upright and closed his eyes, then opened the other, higher eye.

He felt Her presense. There was to be a meeting here of souls, important to each of them in turn, each for their own reasons. Two new friends. “Accept them and know them, for they each have a mission”.

He felt the thrill of being enmeshed in the affairs of the day. He opened his eyes and saw them...the warrior first, along with the excitement and fear in his eyes, the desire for acceptance. Then the woman, cautiously peering from the wood in the distance. “Guide my voice, Isonia.”

He rose and smiled at the man. A warrior, and a good one. Balanced on his feet, all the weapons in the right places, his body and armor tuned for combat. This one could shake my hand and two seconds later fend off an attack with a death blow from any of half a dozen weapons.

The man knelt on one knee, as was the tradition with the true warrior--a warrior paid respects to his Liege, but never surrendered on both knees to anyone.

“M’lord…I go by the name of Jaige…I’m here to serve you by the grace of Isonia. I bring little, but I give you my life“

Maximus smiled, then offered his hand. “Rise, Jaige. If you serve Isonia, then you shall have a berth here for as long as you need it. And what you bring is all I would ever ask of a warrior.”

He rose, and Maximus looked into his eyes. He immediately saw the pain there.

“I feel the pain of a loss within you. Someone close. Dear to you. Indeed, many of us have lost a wife or husband, a parent or a child to the hands of heathens. Yet, we must rise above our pain if we are to be victorious. Sometimes, we can be blinded by our hate to the point where we cease thinking. Then, sometimes the best thing to do is to sit under a tree and contemplate the grass as it grows. Let the mind rest, the soul renew itself.”

He looked into the man’s eyes again...seeing the pain, but seeing the relief growing in his heart at having found a friend.

Maximus put his arm across the man’s shoulders. “Come, friend. Tell me more...”

As the slowly walked, Maximus’ eyes again met the woman’s at the edge of the wood. Very subtly, he looked into her eyes, nodded a polite bow to her and smiled.

“M’Lady, would you care to join us?”