Ok, so like... it's been a LONG time.. I've got some more story coming up... Just not ready yet. I've also picked up a book on how to write, etc.. So I'm doing some reading and may redo the previous chapters of my stories if the writing book helps me better express my thoughts to story...

So anyhow.. just updating you all... All one of you that's reading anyway....


:P

Flight of the Dwarf - Chapter 3

"Ses gronak na, Non Va."

The song of the angels have faded away. Familiar faces and shapes come to mind as a gentle wind caresses his face. Family members and places long gone; friends both recent and old, flash by in his mind. Then suddenly, it all stops. Barrent finds himself looking around a large well lit cavern that appears to have a city built within. As he glances around, everything has a light haze about it, and his peripheral vision is blurry. Even with the visual hindrances, the feeling of being warm and comfortable fills him. Moving forward slowly and in awe, Barrent comes upon what appears to be the city gates. His jaw drops as he sees standing out in front of the gates is none other than his father, Dugan Lockerhelm!

"Barrent! Good to see you again my boy!"

"Father, I've missed you. Is.... Is this our final resting place? Is this the Great Forge?"

"Yes my son. The Great Forge welcomes all our clan. Moradin has taken care of us here. No pain; no suffering; no nightmares. All that is here, is joy and happiness."

"Father, I would like to see Grandfather again!", Barrent starts to walk towards the gates, only to be stopped. And stopped by his father none the less! "I'm sorry Barrent. The Great Forge is for only those who are deserving and have passed over."

"Father, I'm here aren't I? I was murdered by Drow. Why are you stopping me?"

"I'm sorry Barrent. Ses gronak na, Non Va." Dugan brings up both arms and gives Barrent a deep hug. After the embrace, he brings arms back around to Barrents chest and shoves him back the way he came. Confusion clouds his mind as to why he's being pushed away, and then, why the hell is he flying out of control? Everything goes dark and finally completely black.

Sudden pain erupts from.... everywhere! A blinding bright light makes it impossible to see anything. Barrent suddenly takes a huge gasp for air, as if he had been holding his breath for an hour and couldn't hold it any longer. "Tarrik! He's awake finally!" says a smooth feminine voice. A familiar husky voice, "Barrent! Are you ok Lad?" He finally manages to crack his eyes open and the brightness impossibly gets brighter. "Yeah, I'm just fine. My bruises have bruises, and there's isn't a spot bigger than a gold piece on me that DOESN'T hurt, but yeah, I'm just dandy!" Tarrik! Now he remembers! "The dwarf from Ashbenford. I'm among friends!" he thinks to himself. Feeling warm suddenly and the pain is quickly subsiding, Barrent feels soothing hands on him, melting the pain away. The sudden comfort causes Barrent to pass out.

The next thing he remembers is sitting up in a bed. "Where am I?" Barrent looks around and tries to place his surroundings. They look familiar, but he just can't place it. A purring noise comes from above his head, and grabs his attention. Just as you would expect to see some furball of a feline sitting on the rafters above, a even more familiar sight assaults Barrent's memory. A deep purple, scaled tail with a scorpion like stinger swings back and forth from the rafter. Following the tail up into the rafters, Barrent spots the beast that owns such a tail. "Sting!" he cries out. And from the rafter flies down a small dragon like creature to land on the bed. Even though he looks like a dragon, he sometimes acts more like a cat. Sting, the pseudo-dragon, crawls up next to Barrent and starts rubbing all over him, like a cat would, all the while purring just like a cat.

"I see you've finally woken up." comes a gentle soothing voice. In the doorway, stands a very attractive human woman (Well as attractive as human can be, but nothing beats a good dwarf woman!), but other than last night, he can't seem to place her. "Pardon me, I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but who the hell are you? Not that I'm not grateful for you saving me mind you...". A small smile breaks across her face. "My name is Larissa Darkstar. I'm Sable's wife." Larissa states. "Sable?! I'm at the wayward arms?" he asks. Suddenly the room's familiarity finally sinks in. Sable Darkstar, semi-retired adventurer and his best friend Tarrik Truesilver, found Ashbenford in their adventures and eventually ended up staying there. Taking on weapon and armor smithing trades, they had become a large power in their own right, and were usually key to the town's defenses. Sable was a potent spell-caster and sword wielder, while Tarrik was a warrior and best friend to Sable. Together they had seen more fantastic adventures than most could imagine.

"I take it you are feeling better then?" Larissa asks. "Huh? Oh! Yeah I feel great actually. Did you heal me?" She responds, "Yes. My lady helped me find you and healed you before you fell into death's grasp." "Your... lady?" Barrent asks. "Lady Mystra. She guided us to you. We found you just in time. I spotted you just as the Drow" He winces a little and grasps at his stomach at the mention of Drow, remembering the intense pain caused by them. "were about to finish you off. I called for power of daylight to drive them off of you, and they ran. Sable and Tarrik finished them off." A purring into growling "Rowrp" comes from Barrent's lap. "Yes, and Sting helped to finish them off too. I'm sorry Sting I was too busy healing Barrent. Forgive me?" A small bow from his head, and back to purring and rubbing against Barrent. "Barrent, I have a question for you, if you feel up to answering." 'Well, I don't see why not' he thinks to himself, 'I mean she did just save my life last night', "Sure lass, what is it?" Larrissa then asks Barrent,"You said something just before you regained consciousness. Ses gronak na, Non Va. What does that mean?" Thinking back he does remember those words being said to him during the vision of his father. But even then he didn't understand it. "I'm sorry Larissa, but honestly I don't know what that means." Barrent replies.

"What was that Larissa?" comes from behind her in a familiar voice. "Oh, hello Tarrik. How are you?" she asks. "I'm good. How's our friend here doing?" asks Tarrik. "He appears to be doing well. I was just asking him about something he said last night. I wanted to know what it meant." Tarrik responds, "Well, what did he say?" "He said, 'Ses gronak na, Non Va.'". Tarrik thinks about it for a moment, "Wow.. That's a pretty old dialect of dumathoin. Didn't know you spoke such an old dwarven language." Barrent seems little taken aback by this. "I don't speak it actually. I think I died last night. I saw the great forge and my father. He wouldn't let me pass through the gates though." He says with a look of sorrow on his face. "I guess I didn't live up to be a good enough dwarf to get in." With a hearty pat on his back, Tarrik laughs for a moment but informs Barrent, "Easy on yourself lad. He wasn't stopping from entering because you weren't good enough or anything bad you may have done. You just weren't really dead yet. 'Ses gronak na, Non Va.' means 'Now is not your time, my son."

A strong wave of relief passes over Barrent. It wasn't because he did something bad in his past, or didn't do something good enough. It just wasn't his time. "Thank you father." he whispers to himself. Larissa and Tarrik leave the room to let Barrent get himself together and come downstairs to eat. Sting flicks his wings and takes off down the corridor at the mention of food. "I'll have to ask Sable if he's sure Sting isn't really a cat in a dragon costume." Barrent mentions aloud.

Flight of the Dwarf: Part 2

Hunted!

Two days since the escape, and still no sign of anyone or any civilization. Seeds of spells Barrent doesn't yet know have started to form in the back of his mind. He can almost make them out clearly. He has felt this before. He is again at the edge of acquiring new magic. For sorcerers, obtaining new magics just comes natural. This is where wizards and sorcerers differ. A wizard must study and prepare the spells to memory in order to use them. A sorcerer simply casts the spells, as they come naturally. Like breathing comes naturally to everyone. But both must rest to recover spent energy used up in casting those spells. Ever since his capture, Barrent hasn't had proper rest to recover his energy. The constant attacks on him as a prisoner, and even now through his escape, he has barely been able to get more than 2 hours of sleep at a time. Using the last remaining arcane energies to channel into his draconic breath, he has been depleted of any useful magics.

Night. For most races, the night is not welcome, wanted or desired. Those races usually can't see beyond the edge of their torch or lantern, all the while stumbling, tripping and barely able to move faster than a cart with no wheels. But not so for Barrent. Dwarven generations upon generations have lived long in the lightless underground passageways in their kingdoms. They developed long ago, the ability to see in complete darkness. Normally, the night would benefit him in this situation. But not this time. This time his pursuers see just as well as he can, if not better!

Running, jumping, ducking under branches, and tearing through brush like there's no tomorrow, because well… because for Barrent, there may not be a tomorrow if he gets caught! Familiar is the "fzzzt" sound of little crossbow darts flying by his head. To be struck by just one could mean the end of his life. Historically, dwarves are hardy enough to withstand most poisons and toxins, but the Drow are so much more capable when it comes to poisons.

Barrent spots a thin and a long branch jutting out the side of a tree, and a fallen log lies in front of it. A little bit of a grin creeps across his face as he jumps up to get over the log, and in stride with his run, and grabs a hold of the branch, while continuing past. Down he goes, stepping from the log, raising his arms above his head, bending the branch as far as it will go, then releases it. The grin turns into a smile as the satisfying thud from the branch as it hits the pursuers across their faces. Stunned for a moment, the Drow yell out curses and try to shoot Barrent again with their drow-made hand-crossbows.

Barrent quickly surmises that this will probably be his only chance to lose them. The terrain seems to be shifting to a more rocky composition. Trees are becoming sparser, and he can see for longer stretches at a distance. One last spell is all he has, so he will have to make it count! The ground gives way to a short landing on the other side of a tree. Rather odd, as it's like the ground was up heaved on one side, and pushed down on the other. No matter, it helps him in this case. As he runs by the tree Barrent jumps down to the lower landing, and immediately sidesteps and back pedal to few bushes that have grown in this recessed area. Quickly he brings forth the last spell in his mind. It's nothing powerful, hell, it's not even a spell that can cause damage but it's all he has got. "Et Mos Imagicara" escapes his lips in a barely audible whisper. Concentrating in his mind, Barrent pictures himself still running, dodging, and making his way to the edge of the hill ahead. As he opens his eyes after casting, he can see an image of himself doing exactly what he wanted it to do.

Silent as death, two shadows pass over Barrent, intent on following the image. He sends his image over the hill and out of the sight of the Drow. Without knowing what lies on the other side, the ruse won't last for long. As fast as he can, Barrent gets on to his feet and heads to the left of the direction he sent the image off on. A quick thought crosses his mind, and he dismisses the image before the drow crest the hill. That should keep them guessing for a few moments longer and buy a little more precious time to escape.

One minute passes, and no signs of them. Five minutes, then ten, and still no sign of them. He may have just finally managed to pull it off. Thirty minutes pass, and Barrent feels confident enough that his body finally starts shutting down. The adrenalin has finally wore off, and now all the scratches, bumps, bruises, and probably even a few broken bones all start yelling at him. Weary and exhausted, he tries his best to find the largest tree in the area to attempt to hide against. As he sits at the base of the tree and dares to relax a little, he can still feel his leg muscles twitching as they still believe he is running. Barrent glances around trying to examine just where he is or at least, what direction he is heading. He begins to realize why the ground seems so odd.

A long time ago, when he was but a child still wandering the mountain paths that covered the mountain range he called home, Barrent's father had taken him to some place his father called a "crater". He said the clan had found rock that had fallen from the stars. Upon seeing this crater, Barrent came to respect what devastation this rock from the stars had caused. The fallen rock had pushed up the surrounding ground giving it a ripple effect hills that were pushed up. The odd leveling of the ground came later with time as the earth settled and the sheets of bedrock that had been displaced because of the earth underneath now being eroded away by weather. Ashbenford was southwest of such a landmark, and not too far!

This sudden realization of hope surges newfound energy through his limbs. "This is not the time to be sitting on your butt.", he remarks. Getting back on his feet this time proved to be a little more difficult, and a lot more painful. Having to actually turn and push himself up to one foot with his arms makes Barrent think he is getting too old for this kind of stuff, even though he's barely an adult. He chuckles at the thought and proceeds to bring himself up to stand on both feet. ...Or so he thought. For some reason the right leg didn't answer his brain's command to move, and he ends up falling face down in to the dirt. "Ow! Damnit, I wasn't sitting for that long for my leg to fall asleep." he mutters while he tries to pull his face out of the dirt. Then the shock hits Barrent. His other leg was no longer listening to him. “Just great.” He tries to roll over on to his back to at least get his face out of the dirt when he finally notices a small needle sticking out of his right shoulder.

Panic sets in and now he feels the rest of his body not responding to any of his thoughts. Suddenly, Barrent jerked over to his back and hovering over him, is the pair of drow that was chasing him. "You actually thought you were going to get away, didn't you?" A diabolical laugh erupts from the drow, "You really are dumber than dirt, but what else should we expect from a dwarf, no?" The drow smiles as he pulls out a rather wicked looking dagger, "Well now, I suppose it's time to have a little fun before we kill you." Downward he plunges the dagger into the stomach, twisting a few times and starts "sawing" with it towards Barrent's right side. Tears roll from his eyes as all he can do is sit there. Not even the muscles in his neck and throat are responding now. A silent death is all he has to look forward to. "I tried. I did your best, but it apparently wasn't enough against these drow..." he tries to say, but the words never leave his mind. Never could he have imagined such pain. "Father... “Barrent starts thinking to himself, "It will definitely be good seeing you and Grandfather again.” Barrent finally tries to resign his thoughts while fighting off the immense pain. "It's time to go. There's no point in delaying this." Barrent begins to see a bright light from above him. Thoughts of stories by people who have claimed to have seen the edge of death and returned, we coming back to memory. Stories of those who saw a light at the end of a tunnel. Never before did he think it was real. But now, maybe those people weren't so crazy after all... He starts to feel himself lift up and the pain is no more. Barrent can even swear he hear angels singing above you. Believing that part odd but inconsequential, he tries to shrug but of course it's useless at this point. He remarks in his mind how peaceful everything is becoming. Everything around him darkens as the light grows brighter and brighter. It pulls Barrent, and he cannot resist its urge.

"Yes, it will be good to see Father again...."

An alternate story to be told.

Flight of the Dwarf: Part 1

Captured!

Dark, cold, and very painful. Being a drow prisoner is far, far down, if it's even on it, Barrent's list of things to do in his lifetime. Blindfolded, bound, and gagged so that he can't possibly cast any spell what so ever. Barrent is a sorcerer. And a dwarven sorcerer at that. Very rare is the dwarf that can master and control the arcane magics that both sorcerers and wizards can manipulate. Barrent's days and nights as of late haven't been so pleasant. Occasionally stabbed, kicked, or even both, is almost a daily routine for him. Little did they know that his dragon heritage, the bloodline in him that grants the ability to cast spells at will, was stronger and more potent than most others. It is rumored that to be a sorcerer, you must have had a dragon mate with a family member at some point in their lineage. Dragons have been known to take on the forms of humans and elves to interact and shape society in ways they wish to see things unfold. For Barrent, this is far more than just rumor.

There are too many enemies around him to attempt an escape so soon after being captured. His elf companion, the "animal lover", had tried to escape too soon. The drow poisoned him with a dreadful new poison of theirs. Paralysis sets in and you remain fully awake. Then they slowly start cutting you into pieces until you die from blood loss. You can't scream in pain or cry for mercy. At best you can try to give up the will to live and hopefully your heart shuts down on its own.

Barrent decides that this not going to be his ending. Too much left to do and complain about in this world. After what he guesses to be about 2 weeks, he notices less noise around himself, and surmises that it's most likely daytime. The air is a little warmer and he can hear birds singing in the distance. Carefully and slowly, he makes his way around aimlessly, trying to find *something* to touch. Finally he finds something that he can rub his head against, and it doesn't appear to be moving. Carefully and methodically, rubbing his head back and forth slowly, he manages to get his blindfold pulled off of his head. The light is dim, but even at this level it's still blinding him for the moment. Once his eyes finally adjust, he can see that the only guard is a lone drow. He has yet to notice that Barrent has managed to move across the ground and pulled the blindfold off of his head at the base of a small tree.

"First things first." he thinks to himself. "This gag has to be removed. All they did was shove a rag into my mouth, so this shouldn't be too difficult." Around this time the guard notices that Barrent has moved quite a bit away, and comes over to investigate. The drow starts yelling at Barrent as he unsheathes his weapon and approaches him. "Closer, just a few steps closer and..." Barrent thinks to himself. The timing has to be just right! Barrent's eyes, for just a brief moment if you looked hard enough, had a small twinkle of green light. Arcane energy that has been flowing through his body now coalesces deep in his throat. The shocked look on that drow's face as an icy like object as hard as stone, shoots from Barrent’s mouth and smashes into the drow’s forehead violently, while frost sprays the drow and painfully freezes his skin and belongings. The drow drops his dagger not far from Barrent, and falls to the ground fighting to remain conscious. Quickly Barrent crawls over to the dagger and manages to pick it up, flip it over, and starts cutting his bonds.

After he frees himself, Barrent gives the drow another cold blast of his draconic breath to finish him off. Barrent quickly scrounges around the camp to pick up what he can for survival, and heads North-West, the original direction he came from before he was captured. Knowing he needs food and water as they provided very little water, and no food during his capture. Any water he received had to be sucked through his gag. A short while after escaping, Barrent goes through the items he ransacked from the drow camp. There was some old, stale rations, but for someone who hasn't eaten for a week, those were the best damn things he has tasted in a long time. It won't be long until the rest of the drow return to camp. They're bound to start tracking him. Barrent picks up the pace and knows that he has to get to Ashbenford, and get there NOW!....

One year ago… [Ulrik's Story: Chapter 2]

The air is crisp, the sky is clear, and the township of Caer Caldwell is bustling with activity everywhere. The winter festival is but a few days away. Set atop a small row of hills, bordering to the west is the Scarborough Woods. A large forest over rolling hills and a winding path leading through it, takes almost 6 weeks by horse to travel to the next town of Yarnell. To the south and east are the Hammerlock Hills. These are rolling hills as well, and take several days to cross on foot to reach the town Belgrinn. To the north of Caer Caldwell lays a small grassy plain that rides up to the base of the Talonshear Mountains. Within the town, lies the center of Lord Caldwell’s domain. Caldwell Keep, a large castle surrounded by forty foot walls at least fifteen feet across in its thinnest sections, and up to twenty-five feet across at its thickest. The main keep, the garrison and several barracks and stables fill most of the space within these walls. There is some space provided for training, but most of the training grounds were moved outside of the keep walls many years ago.

The township has prospered under the recent ruling of the forth Lord Caldwell. In the past 15 years, Caer Caldwell has seen growth unlike ever before. Lord Darrin Caldwell had the vision to see opportunity, where his predecessors did not. During a war that had dragged on for nearly a decade, Darrin had shifted the balance of power by placing strategic embattlements at specific points surrounding Caer Caldwell, and building up break-walls. He had slowed the enemy’s forces down to such a degree that the Caldwell soldiers could take out most of the enemy forces at range. He deftly negotiated a truce sixty three days after his soldiers defeated over a thousand enemy troops, while only losing thirteen Caldwell soldiers. A trio of new recruits in the lords’ army had shown remarkable combat skills working together as a team, with one of the three standing out among the other two. Six feet tall with short black hair, steel blue eyes, and the beginnings of a full on beard, the young 16 year old Ulrik Taewynn has shown to be the lead point of this group. Despite being younger than the other two by only a year, the raw combat prowess of Ulrik is remarkable. Even besting a few of the top knights in a duel, Ulrik was clearly a force that could not be easily stopped. When paired with his two lifelong friends, Eric Leness and Hemet McGrory, these three are absolutely remarkable in combat.

Now the town has grown from a few hundred to almost fifteen hundred, with around three hundred and fifty of those being the soldiers of the town. Prospering as a trade point, the local mines from the Hammerlock Hills sell raw ore and refined metals. Caer Caldwell also supplies some excess farmed food as trade stock as well. Now thirty one years old and part of the Elite Guard surrounding Lord Darrin, Ulrik enjoys a respected life he never could have dreamed of. Combat tactics and maneuvers seem to be simply absorbed by him whenever he views something new for him. Thinking five steps ahead only seems to be natural to him, like it’s something so obvious. He trains himself with a different weapon every day, while attempting to discover a new way to use a weapon in a certain type of situation. Whether it’s close quarters fighting, cramped hallways, or open expanses, Ulrik does everything he can to use whatever is at hand in various situations.

A few years back he was sent to train in unarmed combat from monks in a distant monastery. The monks at first would not train him, but he spent several weeks simply observing the monks in training, and practicing what he saw in private each night. Then one day he asks again to be shown proper training, but when he is denied training again this time, he challenges the high ranking monk to combat to prove his worthiness. At this point the monk declines and informs Ulrik he has to leave. Then something unexpected to the monks happens. Ulrik simply states, “Make me.”

After three hours of combat and five exhausted monks later, Ulrik is finally restrained. The monks are surprised as they are impressed with the level of hand to hand combat Ulrik has picked up in the short time he has observed them. In his final attempt to become a student of the monks Ulrik says, “I have trained to the best of my ability with only that which I have been allowed to see. My dedication to the art and the way of the monk is not taken lightly. After now seeing my devotion, if you still wish for me to leave, I will not disobey.” “You have shown great prowess and remarkable improvisation with techniques of the other styles of combat you already know. You seem to be very dedicated, but you could still afford to learn more about respect. We will train you but make no mistake, if you slip from the path we lay out before you, your training is finished.” states the head monk. “I understand.” replies Ulrik. For the next five months Ulrik trains until he feels he learned enough. He has no use for the higher advanced techniques that would require years of practice and patience to achieve. His main focus was to learn to be the best he can be without an available weapon in hand, be able to protect himself if caught unaware, or while asleep.

Throughout his years of service Ulrik garnered much attention. Well known throughout the township, Ulrik saw fame and recognition in what he did. He met and married a woman named Brianna. Ulrik was dedicated to his work though, and rarely did he see her. Always was there someone that needed to be trained in something new. But being one of the handpicked few that serve as the lord’s personal guard, this did break his routine of keeping the soldiers in top condition. For now, there hadn’t been any real need for so many soldiers in the past few years, so the lack of personalized training for his soldiers hadn’t been a pressing issue. But now, a heavy decision was put on Ulriks shoulders. Retire some of the older soldiers, or put them into reserve duty. No need to keep them on a steady pay if their services weren’t needed, but just letting them go wasn’t really an option that anyone liked. A tough and hard decision was about to be made….

I'm working on the next part, honest. Life just gets in the way. I've got a good part of it fleshed out, but it's actually too much for the next chapter, so I have to trim the excess and stick to the main plot of the story.

Massacre... [Ulrik's Story: Chapter 1]

A small town that once was. At one time it used to have a name, but now it's just a memory. A dark memory for a dark night. Even though the night is cloudless, the smoke billowing up into the sky blots out the stars. The waning moon giving off but a sliver of moonlight provides almost no light as well. The earth scorched by fire and all the buildings raised. No longer will anyone inhabit this place. The sheer brutality of the devastation is a sight that few can stomach. Hundreds of people, massacred for no logical or apparent reason. The crisp and normally cool night air this time of the year, is now tainted with the stench of burning flesh. Screams and moans of those dying echo throughout what is left of this town. Most people are dead, with limbs severed or broken. A few bodies appear to be cut in half, or gutted like a fish being prepared would be. Headless bodies can be spotted. And while all of this is horrible, upon closer inspection reveals that quite a few of the bodies are children or the elderly. Mercilessly slain in various horrible ways, anyone else left alive won't be for very long.

Dragging himself across the ground trying to get out from under the debris of his destroyed home, is a middle aged man. Wendell Jerosh, tailor by trade but at one point was a solider of the lord’s army. No stranger to pain, he keeps as silent as he can while trying to get to some form of safety. Judging by the intense sharp pain coming from his legs, Wendell surmises his legs are probably broken. The town was a small riverside trade stop. He spots his target, a small skiff tied to the edge of the docks. Problem is, he still has just over 50 yards to go and his assailant is closing in on him. Wendell glances behind himself, and spots him. The fires behind the enemy clearly outline this man. There is no mistaking who he is.

Ulrik the Fallen.

Ex High-Captain of the royal guard, and hand chosen to be one of the lord’s personal guards. Ulrik had turned. For no known reason he slaughtered his wife and unborn child, then upon his incarceration at his trial he managed to break free of his bonds, dispatch his guard, and began wholesale slaughtering of nearly everyone in the court. He was unstoppable. Having been the top master of combat tactics and the best warrior in the lord's service, there truly was no one who could stop him. Ulrik had killed the two guards that had been posted to restrain him during his trial.

It was believed that the two guards, Eric and Hemet, would solicit a little compliance from Ulrik, as these two guards were also his best friends in the garrison. They all grew up together, and they were like brothers. In battle they all worked as one. A triad of perfection. Where one stopped, another began. Turning and twisting in combat, when one stepped away from an opponent leaving an "obvious" hole in their defense, at least one or both of the other two would strike the enemy that would try to take advantage of the apparent hole in defense, falling for the bait.

Apparently that wasn't the case. Ulrik overpowered and killed both Eric and Hemet. He struck with such brutal power and speed; the former friends had no chance to defend themselves. Ulrik killed the head prosecutor, a court wizard, and several councilors, while the remaining participants fled for their lives. Ulrik dispatched all the combatants without a scratch upon himself. Since his escape he has been spotted in various towns and cities. Anyone who tries to confront him so far has ended up dead, and everyone within swords reach gets the same fate. But this time, this is the first time where he's has destroyed an entire town. Brandishing armor and weapons of ancient power, he has become unstoppable. A murderous machine, for which there has been no way of turning off.

As fast as Wendell can crawl, he knows he won't make it to the skiff. Ulrik has spotted him and is even now, making his way to strike Wendell down. Arm over arm, dragging himself despite the pain shooting through is body, Wendell is determined to live. Forty yards. He can hear the clinking of the armor, the creaking of the leather boots, and even Ulrik's breathing. Panic sets in and he tries to crawl even faster. But it doesn't help. Within moments Ulrik is above him. An explosion of pain in his side, and a heavy boot kicks him over and on to his back. Wheezing, and barely able to see through the pain, Wendell looks up and sees the emotionless face of Ulrik. "Please! Spare me! I've got a family to care for! I'm NOBODY!" Cries Wendell, bringing his arms up as if to try to defend himself in some meager way. Ulrik brings up a large claymore in front of himself, sword point down, "Of course you are." he states simply. Wendell closes his yes and Ulrik begins his thrust downward into Wendell.

Thunk comes the noise that Wendell did not expect. He also is not feeling any stabbing pain other than his legs, and is almost scared to open his eyes. In disbelief Wendell opens his eyes and looks up to Ulrik. Odd is the look on Ulrik’s face. It's more of a look of annoyance, like a small nagging child that simply will not stop begging for something from a parent. Inches from having the sword tip pierce his belly, Wendell being unable to do anything but look in disbelief, watches Ulrik turn around and notices a small group of warriors that have shown up brandishing crossbows. The source of the thunking noise is now apparent, as a heavy crossbow bolt protrudes squarely from the middle of Ulrik's back. His jaw drops in amazement as Ulrik simply flexes his shoulders and the bolt dislodges and drops to the ground! Where the flesh was torn by the bolt, the wound closes and in moments isn't even there, like it had never happened!

With impossible speed, Ulrik closes ground to the new attackers. Wendell looks on in disbelief and he only counts Ulrik making about five steps to reach the newcomers that are about sixty yards away! During the dash towards the new warriors, a few more bolts are fired at him. The shots are dead on target, but something unexpected happens. A quick flash of blue light appears in front of Ulrik right as the bolts would strike him, the bolts shatter as if they had hit a stone castle wall. A shoulder slams in to the front warrior with such force, his crossbow breaks, and he is sent flying backwards about fifteen feet or so. Quickly pivoting and rolling behind to his left, Ulrik brings the claymore down and out wide, in a long but fast sweeping arc towards the next warrior on his left. Trying to deflect the attack with the crossbow, the warrior is only partially successful. He did manage to deflect the attack away from his upper legs, but unfortunately he couldn't stop the swing completely, Up came the blade higher, cutting into his arms and squarely across his chest. The most unimaginable pain sweeps across the warriors face.

This is no normal hit. As if the sword itself was reaching inside him and ripping his life out of him, the poor warrior screams in agony. His face begins to look a little thin and his cheeks are beginning to look sunken in. His brown hair now showing gray. Looking down at his wounds, the final breath escapes his lungs as he looks on in confusion at his hands looking old and decrepit.

Ulrik pulls his blade from the dead body as it slumps to the ground. The last warrior standing just looks on in horror and turns to run. He doesn't get far as he takes a few steps and stops. Confused for a brief moment as he is suddenly unable to move. Then he feels life being sucked out of him through his back. Looking down, he now notices the point of a sword sticking a few inches out of his chest. Moments later, another aged corpse hits the ground. At this point the first warrior is barely picking himself off the ground, when he finds Ulrik standing over him. "Run." is the only word that Ulrik speaks. He turns and runs as fast as he can, fear fully motivating him at this point. Ulrik reaches down and picks up the heavy crossbow left on the ground with a bolt that was trying to be loaded into it. Slinging the claymore over his back for a moment, he then proceeds to pull back the draw cord with one hand and latches it. This is something that normally takes both hands and some time to do! Flips up the crossbow, slides in the bolt, takes a bead on the warrior running away and fires. The bolt whips through the air, striking the fleeing man in the neck. "That'll do I suppose." mumbles Ulrik as he watches the warrior fall to his death.

Turning around and focusing on his prior task, Ulrik notices that Wendell is nowhere to be seen. Quickly getting back to where he last left him, Ulrik sees the drag marks in the ground leading to the dock. Gone is the skiff that was tied there. "Hmpf. I'm sure this one will be looking for me eventually. I'll deal with him then." Pulling open a small pouch on his belt, Ulrik removes a small statuette of a black horse. He places it on the ground before him and mutters, "Provanti Merosa". Thick black smoke begins to pour out of the statuette, quickly engulfing Ulrik and growing to about ten feet in diameter, swirling about him. The smoke starts to dissipate and standing where the statuette once was, is a jet black steed, a full 15 hands high, with flames emitting from its hooves and nostrils. Glowing red eyes, piercing the soul of anyone trying to make eye contact. This is what is known as a Nightmare. A horse born and bred in the lower levels of hell, bound by evil magic’s and pulled into the world from such magic’s. Ulrik climbs up on to it's back and proceeds to ride off, leaving this once small and prospering town to burn to ashes and be blown away in the chill night wind.