Reflection

A dervish whirls across the sand of the deserts of Elona.

See this, not because it is a good thing, because battle is not a good thing (and those who think it is are generally fools). See it not because it is a beautiful thing, but because it is ugly. See it because it is a man in his prime executing a skill he has perfected throughout his entire life, and that is worth seeing. No matter what the circumstances

The fighting style of the dervish has often been compared to a dance, and rightly so. This dervish fits the stereotype exactly. His scythe becomes an extension of his arms; his feet pirouette gracefully; his eyes glow ever so faintly with the fire of the gods. As he fights—no, dances—impressions are left in the sand that look as though a family of snakes has passed through overnight. Even though it is hot in the desert, a cowl is pulled over his heat, as it should be. The dervish is a man of the desert, and he knows that shade and the preservation of body water is more important in the end than any mere ephemeral comfort. Nonetheless, sweat drips off his nose and onto his robes, hot and salty. He dances. He fights.

His opponent is a heket, a frog-man with a crude axe and buckler who, despite his species, seems remarkably adept at combat. He too dances, though to a different, more chaotic, rhythm than the dervish. He too fights. In his eyes, however, there is a dull and unthinking fear. He knows that he has met his match. He knows that today is his death-day.

The dervish swoops forward with his scythe; the heket jumps back. The heket leaps up with his powerful legs and lunges towards the dervish; the dervish swerves to the right and comes back with a horizontal thrust of his scythe. The heket parries this with his buckler and swings his axe around. And so on. And so on.

Alone but for the sun, the desert, and the scavenger birds waiting patiently up ahead, the dervish and the heket do battle.

The sound the heket made when Grim Mortbane killed it was a pathetic squawk; a ribbit that ended with resounding finality when the dervish brought his scythe down for the final blow. The heket lay at his feet in a heap, its limbs twisted at uneven angles. Its tongue hung from the side of its mouth almost comically.

Grim nudged its stomach with his foot, checking to see if it was really dead. The creature’s lungs expelled a small burp, the last of the air remaining in its reptilian lungs. Then, once more, all was silent. In the small area around him, the sand was rife with footprints. Had there been more heket to fight, the footprints would likely be all but impossible to read. As it was, Grim could occasionally make out a parry, a thrust, a swing, a leap. He was lucky to encounter only one heket. It probably had been on a patrol, or some such thing. He could have handled more, but what would he have done with the excess meat? Left it for the scavenger birds, probably. Waste. The desert abhors waste.

It was noon, and unusually hot. He felt the last of the adrenaline of combat pumping itself out of his bloodstream; felt sweat matting his hair and his beard, making the inside of his robe wet and uncomfortable. It didn’t bother him. His father had belonged to the temperate climates of Tyria, but Grim was a creature of the desert. The heat energized him.

He felt disappointed. The fight had been a good one, his opponent worthy enough for its kind. Pleasurable in its own way. Now he was confronted with the mundane tasks of the after-battle: the drudgery of gutting, cooking, and eating the foul meat of the creature he had slain. Then he would search the surrounding area for one of the round water-barrel cacti with which to refill his canteen. The water the cacti trapped smelled like urine and tasted worse, but it would have to do. It was worse than bad water and bad food and boring tasks, though. In the past few weeks, Grim had been facing a deep and abiding melancholy that was very unlike him. Only two things really seemed to matter to him any more: fighting, and the chase.

The people he was chasing after was a small group of corsairs. The reason he was chasing after them was because they had kidnapped his son. It was a crime they were going to pay for with their lives, which seemed perfectly fair to Grim. It wasn’t the first time he had killed, nor would it likely be the last.

It did not occur once to Grim that there could be a battle he could not win.

The day after his fight with the heket, Grim came across the first signs of the men he was pursuing. The fools had left in a rush that morning and had not covered up their campfire properly. The dervish squatted on his haunches and surveyed the campsite. It was the second of its kind he had seen since he had begun to follow the corsairs. The first had told him two vital things: from a crumpled red head-scarf he learned that his enemies were corsairs, and from a tuft of brown fur he had learned that his son was still alive. If the boy was still alive, that meant that these corsairs were slavers. If they were slavers, his son was safe—for the time being. The latter revelation had filled him with uncontrollable joy. Before that point, vengeance had been his only goal. Then a new one had come into play: rescue.

This campsite offered no new vital revelations, however. Grim gave it a cursory search, then went on. There was nothing for him there.

That night, he ate some more of the heket meat he had stored away in his belt-pouch. He lit a fire with what little drywood he could find in the surrounding area, deciding that discovery by the enemy was preferable to eating the meat raw. Fire was a necessity anyway, for even despite his thick robes night in the desert was cold, and made more cold by bad dreams. He dreamt of his son. How the boy had grown so big in just a few years. How he’d never really been accepted by humans, but also how the tiny Charr had never seemed to begrudge them that. Roan never really seemed to begrudge anyone anything. He had a very charming simplicity of personality, in which jealousy or vendetta did not seem to play a part. Even the fierce rages that he occasionally descended into never lasted for long. Grim had high hopes for his son’s future, though what it would be he did not know. He hoped that the boy might one day become a Sunspear like his father, but that was unlikely. More probably he would join some guild that was accepting of differences and go on his own adventures. That would be fine—there was honor in that. At least he wouldn’t be a farmer.

If someone had ever asked Grim whether he could love a Charr just a few years ago, he would have laughed, and then possibly been angry at them for the insult. Roan, however…yes. Grim did love his son.

Acceptance of that thought did little to make his sleep easier.

The following day, and the day after that, went much the same. He found campsites of the corsair on both days. His enemies were getting sloppy. Possibly because they were getting close to the sea and were eager to return to their foul mischief, probably because they knew that they were being followed. Grim was fine with that. He estimated that he would catch up easily with them even if they doubled their speed. One dervish carrying very little can move far faster than a band of corsairs. Grim suspected that he was getting very close now. At best they were two days ahead, maybe only one.

As he ran across the desert, the pea-sand crunching beneath his shoes and his scythe casting a long and ugly shadow in the evening light, he found himself thinking more about his son. Specifically, his son’s capture. He didn’t blame himself for it—wasn’t the type to lay unreasonable burden upon himself—but nonetheless couldn’t help but think that he could have done something different. If only he hadn’t taken Roan on this little vacation to Kourna. If only he hadn’t let Roan go hunting on his own, no matter how much the little tyke had bugged him about it. Sure, Roan was as strong as an adult human man now (probably stronger than a few) and he could handle himself well enough, and there hadn’t been anything dangerous near the campsite, and how was he to know that the corsairs had ventured all the way up to the edge of the desert here, and it really had been reasonable for him to let the boy go out but…but…if only.

Grim shook his head and tried to fight off the melancholy once more. It wasn’t like him to be introspective, but something about his son always made him feel this way. Maybe it was the way he had come across Roan: that moral crossroads he had found in the far north of Tyria that had burned itself into his memory like a hot iron brand into soft flesh.

Worst of all, Grim missed Roan terribly. Missed him so much that it hurt. He longed for a happy reunion with his son, and longed to wreak terrible vengeance on the corsairs who had stolen him.

He only had one more day to wait.

So close!

He could see the party of corsairs ahead. Their red robes formed a scarlet mirage over the surface of the desert. Instinct and battle-lust told him to rush ahead immediately and charge the enemy. Experience and wisdom made him drop back further, so they wouldn’t see him. Charging in now would do no good at all. He would lose the advantage of surprise, and they could blast at him with wands and cestas and shoot him down with bows. Worst of all, they could hurt Roan. He would wait until nightfall.

He still wanted to charge though—oh, how he wanted to charge!

When nightfall came, Grim began to creep forwards towards the camp of the corsairs. They all appeared to be sleeping—their fire had burned down and just barely illuminated the little radius of the camp. There was one very large tent, which Grim assumed belonged to the corsair captain. Running with that big heap of canvas to weigh you down had to be dreadful, and it explained some of the corsair’s slowness. Why they would have brought the thing, Grim couldn’t fathom. Possibly the captain was a bit of an egomaniac. Roan was nowhere in sight; Grim guessed that he would be in the tent. That seemed odd, but he didn’t give it too much thought.

Seven corsairs were strewn about the campsite haphazardly, swaddled in blankets to ward off the night-chill. Grim didn’t feel cold. Eager anticipation and adrenaline mixed and burned red-hot in his blood.

As it turned out, the battle was not much of a battle—or at least not at first. Grim cut the first corsair’s throat with the blade of his scythe, and the second. The third, however, stirred ever so slightly and rolled off to the side. Grim swore. The corsair woke, gave a muffled shout, and then Grim killed him, but it was already too late. He had woken his brethren.

The remaining four corsairs sat up groggily and stared at Grim dumbly. He waited for a moment and allowed them to get their wits about the. Creeping around and killing enemies in their sleep was for Assassins (people whom Grim had little respect for). Now it was time for a good old fashioned brawl, and that was much more to the dervish’s liking.

The first corsair appeared to be the smartest, because he caught hold of the situation immediately. Without hesitation he charged with a sword he grabbed from beside his bed. Grim neatly blocked his awkward swipe and then swung his own blade across the man’s mid-section. The corsair crumpled to the ground in a heap.

His comrades, upon seeing this quick exchange of blows, appeared to finally wake up fully. One of them ran away behind the tent, and Grim scowled. Coward! He would pay dearly for abandoning his companions in such a way.

The sole remaining corsair grabbed a blade similar to the one the first had used, and charged towards Grim. The dervish sighed. No creativity in these louts at all, none at-

The corsair’s blade ripped through Grim’s robe, and the dervish felt the slightest stab of pain in his left side. His eyes widened and his mouth formed a shock O of surprise. It wasn’t much of a blow, but it was a blow. Grim realized that he had been tricked, and had paid for his inattentiveness.

He stepped back and swung the scythe around in a wide arc. His opponent was nowhere to be seen—until Grim felt another jab at his back. Once again, just a small cut (it would have been worse if Grim hadn’t been stepping forwards at the moment) but a cut nonetheless.

Then it occurred to him what was going on: his opponent was under some sort of spell, probably one that enhanced his speed. The man had lunged with incredible quickness, and then had managed to get around Grim despite the dervish paying full attention. Nearly full, he thought with chagrin. It was his own fault and his own mistake, but not one that was unsolvable. After all, dervishes had their own variety of magic at their disposable.

Grim swung around and stepped to the left simultaneously, trying to make his movements as unpredictable as possible. He offered up a very quick prayer to Dwayna to shield him and to Balthazar to give him strength. When most people pray, they don’t really expect to get answered. Dervishes, Grim included, not only expect it, they took it as a matter of course. The gods heard his plea.

He saw the corsair once more, to his left. The pirate was jabbing towards his heart, perhaps hoping for a quick killing blow. Grim smiled. His eyes glowed with holy light,and he smirked with less-than-holy self-satisfaction. The corsair’s expression was one of undignified terror. Grim swung his scythe around once with unnatural speed. The blade itself blurred and then was just a metallic streak in the air.

Speed? I can show you speed, Grim thought.

The corsair attempted to dodge, and failed. Grim’s scythe made a huge gash in his abdomen, and the corsair fell over into the campfire. His clothing immediately burst into flames, and he stated to scream. Grim didn’t feel pity, he was just disappointed that the corsair captain would likely now be wakened by this man’s shrieks. He cut off the screaming with one more downward chop. Silence.

Now he stalked around the back of the tent. There he found the coward corsair huddled up, probably hiding. The man babbled to Grim unintelligibly and fell down onto his knees, but Grim ignored him. One more slice, and the last corsair fell, or rather, slumped over against the back of the tent. His arms moved to cover the gaping hole that was now his mid-section, trying to hold in his now-spilling guts, and then he moved no more.

Truly, the blessings of the gods were with Grim tonight! Glorious victory!

Grim went back to the front of the tent and pushed open the flap, prepared for a final confrontation with the corsair captain. As it happened, that would not be necessary.

The corsair captain was already dead.

The sand on the floor of the tent was awash with blood, clearly visible even in the dull light the captain’s bedside lamp provided. The corsair leader’s corpse was horribly mangled, one of the worst bodies Grim had ever seen, and he had seen many corpses. The captain’s head was separated from his body by a few feet. His face was contorted in agony, the corners of his mouth twisted down at an unbelievably sad angle. Grim could see that this man had not died quickly, but in long and excruciating pain. Why hadn’t he screamed, though? Ah, yes, there was his tongue. On the opposite side of the tent. The man’s body was lying face-up (or what would have been face up, had he a face) and his stomach and left arm appeared to be almost entirely gone.

And, straight in the middle of all the carnage, there was Roan, with the biggest puppy-dog grin on his face that Grim had ever seen in his life.

Grim was infuriated. Infuriated at the corsairs, but mostly infuriated at his son (what son? how can an animal be a son!). He was angry because the child had acted exactly the way that Grim had wanted to prove he didn’t have to act: like a monster. Grim had failed, and spectacularly so. That the corsair was a monster himself didn’t matter. Roan had killed a human, and he’d…eaten. He was lucky that Grim had attacked when he had, apparently, because their moves had coincided. Roan—no, the Charr—‘s bid for escape, and Grim’s assault. And to think, he’d come to rescue that creature! That monster! For Grim, everything had come undone.

Most of all, he felt guilt.

So much for wouldn’t-hold-a-grudge-against-anyone, Grim thought.

The dervish stalked across the room. His scythe was still in his hand, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do with it yet.

“You little monster, you…” he shouted, and then stopped. He didn’t know how to continue. Roan had…he’d…

He’d killed a corsair.

Grim was assaulted by visions of the outside. A corsair bending over himself, trying to hold his own pathetic guts in. A corsair burning in the fire, screaming for mercy and not getting any. More men killed in their sleep. Did they have lives? Families? Had they even known that Roan was anything but a monster? Then, the heket—weren’t they intelligent? And hadn’t he eaten them, sometimes, yes, even raw?

Was the violence even necessary? It had seemed so at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure. Could the corsairs have been bargained with? Could he at least have tried?

The dervish felt sick with guilt again, but guilt over his own actions. He thought of a thousand other instances, a thousand other deaths. Charr, corsairs, soldiers, beasts, so many. How many had he witnessed? How many had he caused? Countless. Some of them no doubt for a good cause, but some of them…some of them admittedly for fun.

How many could have been avoided?

Roan looked up at his father and whimpered. The sound was remarkably human. The smile was gone from his face. There was still blood smeared across the child’s furry face, and he appeared to be wearing bright red gloves.

This time Grim looked down at his son (for he certainly was that), but it wasn’t with rage. He felt nothing but sadness for the child.

My son is just like me, he thought. He’s just like me.

Grim wept, for the first time in countless years. Maybe the first time since his father had left their family for Tyria, so long ago. He wept because of another loss, this once no less great than that one on Istan so long ago.

He wept because of his son’s loss of innocence. He wept because of his own loss of innocence. He wept because of deep, pervading guilt.

Most of all, he wept because he knew that his son was going to be a warrior, and, in that moment, Grim would have preferred for him to be anything else. Even a farmer. That wouldn’t happen, though—couldn’t happen—and for this, Grim wept.

Roan also wept.

“Battle not with monsters,

lest ye become a monster;

and when you gaze into an abyss,

the abyss gazes also into you.”

– Friedrich Nietzsche

“And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me,
He’d grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.”

– Harry Chapin

The Dark Knight’s Prophecies

The Dark knight’s Prophecies
By Kevin Bontje

This was one of those days that Grim could sit back in his chair, staring in front of him. Grim was thinking about that very first time when his adopted charr son spoke to him for the first time. “Daddy?” that was Roan’s very first human-word. To think of it that a charr could learn human words was remarkable indeed. “When I grow up I want to be a great warrior like you daddy”. Those are the words which still bring joy to Grim’s life. Grim stood up from his chair, looking for Roan to exercise and do his daily sparring with his son. “When do I get to use a real weapon dad?”was the first question when Grim finally found his son. Grim looked his son in the eyes and said “I give you a handmade crafted sword when I think you are ready to use it”. Roan grabbed his training suit and his wooden sword. “Are you ready?” said Grim when he grabbed his wooden scythe. Roan nodded and dashed forward holding his sword up in the air. Right before the moment Roan would hit Grim, the father blocked within a flash of the eyes making Roan falling back.

(Somewhere in a darkened place beyond the mist)

“Ah yes, it seems my little charr is improving his fighting prowess”. A Knight covered in dark armor walked towards a mirror. When the knight turned his head he saw his servant. “Master, please give me the command”. The dark knight turned his head back in front of the mirror. “Soon my charr servant, soon I shall have immortality. But for that I must have the life essence of that boy there”. The dark knight pointed towards the mirror which now showed both Grim and Roan sparring. “Why the boy my lord?” asked the servant. “Because my little char friend”, the dark knight laughed a little in himself. “Because the boy has this special essence which gives me the opportunity to be immortal”. “But in order for me to get his essence, I must take the life force of thousands of living beings”. “I think I understand” said the charr servant. “You want me to declare a war against the humans so you can take the life force of the fallen?” The dark knight moved his hand in a waving-motion on his mirror. “Exactly, when I take the life force, the spirit shall not go to the mist. Instead, it’s spirit will be in my possession which will make me more powerful whenever I take a life force. The charr servant kneels before his master. “Master, our agreement is still intact right?” “Yes, you and your fellow charr’s shall declare war against the humans, in exchange you all shall not be sent to the mist” said the black knight. The servant stood up and bowed before his master. “Then I shall execute the command at once my lord”.

(At Grim’s place)

“Yes! That’s it my son, give me all you got!” Grim was really surprised about his son, it only took him a few years to have discovered the way of the blade. Although Grim prefers the  scythe, Roan on the other hand studied the way of the sword. His swordplay was remarkable. To only think of that Roan just turned eighteen, for a young lad as himself he should be very proud of himself. “Let’s take a break now my son” said Grim with a smile”. “My son, you must listen very carefully to what I’m going to say now”. “To become a warrior is not half as tough as being a warrior”. Roan gave a confused impression, “what do you mean father?” Grim let his arm lean on the shoulder of his son. “The warrior is someone who protects those in need, a man or woman being the first in the frontlines”. “But there are also warriors who strike fear in people’s hearts and use their power other than to help the defenseless”.  Roan took a deep breath, the youth charr seemed to understand what his human-father is trying to tell him. “Father, then let me be your protector. Let me defend you when you cannot”. Grim smiled upon his son, “My son, you have grown of age”. Grim stood up and reached out to Roan to help him getting on his feet. “Follow me Roan, I have saved something for you which I now want you to have”. Back in the house Grim grabbed a chest underneath the dining table, Grim is holding a key in his right hand. “Roan, open the chest”. Grim gave his son the key, Roan took the key and opened the chest wondering. Roan picked up a light-blue dyed sword out of the chest. Examining the sword Roan found an inscription, “When light is shining, the Brotherhood is there”. “Father, what does the inscription means?”asked Roan confused. “For that to be answered, you must find out yourself for I cannot tell you” answered Grim. “But what I do know” continued Grim, “is that a friend of mine in The Brotherhood Of The White Dove gave this to me”. Roan was still confused, “did this friend of you made it?” Grim smiled at his son. “No my son, a friend of his made it”. Now Roan was even more confused, “what is your friends name and where did you met him?” Grim laughed a little and answered, “His name is Nolran, I met the guy in the Norn arena tournament. Ah yes a fierce opponent, strong of will and brightness. Nolran is the guildleader of The Brotherhood Of The White Dove”. Roan looked at the sword full of surprise, “but Nolaran is not the man who made this sword for me?” Asked Roan full of surprise. Grim took the sword for a moment to look at it. “No my son, this sword is made by one of Nolran’s officers. I believe he mentioned a name from one of his officers once, I believe the name was Kevin Neos.

(Somewhere in a darkened place beyond the mist)

“Ranor!” The charr servant of the dark knight ran towards his master and kneels before him. “Yes my lord?” said the servant in fear. “Is everything into place?” asked the dark knight. The servant nodded, “yes my lord, the men are waiting on my orders from you”. The dark knight walked toward his servant and stood before him. “Rise general Ranor, and let the blades of your army turn red of victory, save your fellow charr’s. The servant stood up bowing before the dark knight, “at once my lord”. Ranor ran away without hesitation and the dark knight walked back to his mirror. “Soon the dark knight’s prophecies shall give me finally what I have waited for so long. IMMORTALITY!”

(At The Brotherhood Of The White Dove guild)

“No, no, no, no, that is all wrong I tell you!” “Then what would you have me do Kevin? We are sparring for a very long time now and I still got no hit on you”. Two men are sparring at the centre of the “Wizard Isle” which is now home to the The Brotherhood Of The White Dove. Standing in the middle are “Kevin Neos” and man named “Shadow Assassin”. “If you want to get a hit on me, you might as well tell me your real name first”. Kevin is a man who is a little taller than the average human, wearing a plate armor of the elite templar’s.  For the looks, the man dyed his armor light-blue. The other man is a very skinny man, agile and he wears a small grey gear as a lot of assassins do. “Why is it that you can block my attacks that easily?” Asked the skinny man with sweat on his forehead. “hehe” Kevin laughed at his opponent, “if you want that as well you might want to speak with Nolran because he teaches me. “Pfff, okay I give up. But this will not be the last time that we are sparring you hear me Kevin?” Kevin smiled at his opponent with a friendly laugh, “Okay, but you do know that you are saying that a lot in the past few days?” The skinny man ignored Kevin and waved him goodbye with his back toward him walking away. “Okay now that I have handled that I can finally have some lunch” mumbled Kevin. “Not so fast Kevin!” shouted a voice from behind, “I’m coming with you”. It was Nolran the guildleader of the guild.  “My friend, how good of you to join me. You do know that I’m very generous when it comes to sharing a meal don’t you?” “Save the pleasantries, there is enough food for a whole yak’s farm”. Kevin nodded, in that case I don’t really mind sharing some with you my friend”. Nolran gave Kevin a sarcastic look, “yes, I thought as much”. When the two comrades sat at a table in a pub, both men had a lot to discus. “So uhmmm, you did gave that sword to Grim right?” said Kevin when he was trying to ate some roasted bear meat. Nolran took a gulp of his ale, “yes I did. As a matter of fact, Grim has given the boy his sword you crafted two years ago”. Kevin also took a gulp of his ale, “Nolran we both know what is about to happen”. Nolran nodded at Kevin, “yes”. “Our intelligence have said that the charr are uprising in Tyria and soon they will attack cantha”. Kevin stroke his hand trough his hair and looked afraid. “Nolran, this means that the dark knight prophecies have began”. “Yes it has my friend” answered Nolran. “But that means we must get to Grim and his son Roan now” said Kevin in a haste. Nolran grabbed Kevin’s arms so he would sit down. “I know you are worried, believe me I feel the same”. But this time the prophecy has an own will, the druids have predicted that Roan will die if we act to soon. Also the darkness behind this war can be beaten if we are just a little more patient”. Kevin nodded at Nolran and understood what his friend is saying.

(At Ascalon City)

Before the city of Ascalon stood a large army of charr like no man has ever seen before. The city was surrounded, the only thing the people of Ascalon could was nothing but fleeing. General Ranor stepped before the huge army. “My men, bring pride and honor to your families. Leave no man spared nor woman nor child, leave no stone unturned nor do you flee from this war. Should you die, do so for your brethren. My men, this prophecy will change everything from today till thousands decennia’s. My brothers and sisters, assault the city of Ascalon!”

It only took a few hours for the charr army to bring the city of Ascalon into dust, as the general commanded no man, woman nor child were spared at this dark day.

(Somewhere in a darkened place beyond the mist)

The dark knight stood once again before his mirror, after a few seconds he took a deep long breath. “Ah yes, the life force of the fallen is giving me power and strength just as the prophecies were foretold”. “Ranor is doing a good job with his army, just a little longer and I will have your essence as well my young charr”. The dark knight waved over his mirror letting him see the location of Roan. “What?” “Who are those two little humans near the presence of Roan?” The dark knight looked again in his mirror and laughed loudly, “whoever they are. The shall not interfere”.

(At The Brotherhood Of The White Dove guild)

“Grim, you must get Roan into safety. We cannot risk his life and the outcome of the prophecies”. Grim was in fear, he does not want to lose his dear son. “My son, I get you to Anthony and Fend. They will take care for you.” Roan nodded, but deep in his hard Roan wanted to protect the people of Tyria although he is charr by birth. Before Grim and Roan left, Kevin addressed Roan. “Roan if needed you must not hesitate to use your sword”. Roan was confused, how could this man know about my sword? he thought by himself. “I explain on the way” said Grim with a haste, “we must leave now!”. “Nolran, we join the Tyrian forces to counter the charr’s assault” said Kevin. Nolran agrees with Kevin, “yes let us turn the tide of this war while we still can”.

(At Ascalon City)

Nolran and Kevin looked for the tyrian army, however they could find none. “General Mastov, we have found survivors!” said a voice behind the two men. The shouting man ran toward Nolran and Kevin, Kevin grabbed the man by his shoulders. “Where is the tyrian army my friend?”asked Kevin in a haste. “They’re over the hill fighting the charr right now, are you going to fight with them?” Kevin looked at Nolran, “yes we are ”answered  Nolran. Nolran and Kevin ran over the brown dusty hill as fast as they could. A top they saw the largest char army they had ever seen. Nolran grabbed his scythe and took a deep breath, “are you ready my friend?” he asked Kevin. Kevin took out his longsword and a blue-green shield. “Let’s do this, for Ascalon!” The comrades took a sprint down the hill to join the tyrian army as fast as they could. Coming closer to their enemies Kevin bulked his power up for his adrenaline. A group of ten charr spotted the two comrades and closed them in, Kevin bashed in and aimed for a slash trough the chest which was lethal. Behind Kevin stood a charr with a hammer almost hitting Kevin. Out of intuition Kevin blocked the hit and countered with a shieldbash  which left the char unconscious. Nolran got attacked by a charr in front and one from behind, Nolran  used his scythe for a spinning attack making both charr smack to the ground. As Nolran looked at Kevin, his comrade was being attackd by five charr at the same time. But in some way Kevin wasn’t taking any damage at all, in a way Kevin’s adrenaline forced him to defy the pain and slashing all the charr’s out of his way. Nolran ran after Kevin. “Kevin we need to combine our strength!”. Kevin hitted a few more charr’s, using his defensive skills of evading the enemies attacks. Even a group of ten could not defeat the comrades. Nolran used an enchantment to blind all the charr’s in the nearby area, after that Kevin stroke down every blinded charr clearing the path. When both comrades turned around both men saw a tyrian being crushed by a group of charr fighters. The tyrian fell to the ground, not moving anymore. Kevin took a few deep breaths which meant that he was really angry now, Nolran looked at Kevin with unbelief. Nolran has never seen his friend this angry before, his body turning red of anger, shaking fists and the pupils of his eyes were growing bigger. Kevin bashed forward to the group who just killed one of his fellow countrymen. Kevin got his sword ready holding it in a horizontal position. “ I will avenge you!”yelled Kevin when he slashed trough the group of charr’s. When both comrades looked around, they saw nothing but corpses of charr’s and tyrian’s. Nolran looked with unbelief once again, how did he do that? He thought by himself. “Well done my friends” said a familiar voice from behind. It was Grim who had also joined the fight. “The knights who survived the battle have retreated, we should do the same while we could” said Grim. “You might not want to leave just yet Grim Mortbane” said a dark voice. The three men turned their back. They saw a portal of dark energy and miasma hovering in the air. Out of nowhere came the dark knight with Roan at his left side. “Roan!!”yelled Grim. “You shall have the honor of seeing me becoming the immortal being.” Said the dark knight with a laughing voice. “Father!!” shouted Roan, “help me father!”. Grim took a sprint toward his defenseless son lifting his scythe to break his dark chains. The dark knight grabbed Grim by his throat and threw him back. Nolran and Kevin ran toward the dark knight lifting their sword and scythe but only to be forced to the ground by a ray of dark light. Suddenly the sword on Roan’s back began to glow light blue, out of its own  it slashed the dark chains from Roan’s hands. Roan ran toward his father helping him getting back up. “No! this was not as the prophecies were foretold!”Shouted the dark knight. “Too bad huh? You might not become immortal after all” grinned Kevin. “Nolran, Kevin, Roan! With me! “Yelled Grim. Out of in intuition all four men knew what to do. Kevin used it’s shield to block the dark knight’s black ray. The dark knight threw two bolds of dark balls attacking Nolran and Grim. Both dervishes countered the attack by slashing the bolts in two. The dark knight used his dark bolts again leaving Nolran, Grim and Kevin paralyzed and unable to move. “Argh no not now!” yelled Kevin. Nolran tried to got loose from the grasp, Grim tried to grab his scythe which had fallen on the ground. “Now you shall be part of my immortality” said the dark knight who had prevailed over his opponents. Kevin closed his eyes, desperate waiting for the final blow to come. But out of sudden, “No!” You wanted me! Now fight me! Said Roan running toward the dark knight. Roan hitted the dark knight multiple times with his sword which actually seemed to hurt his opponent. Within a few seconds Nolran, Grim and Kevin were free from their bounds. All four men attacked the black knight at the same time, but only Roan’s sword dealt the damage. Without control Roan’s sword was guiding his hand and Roan attacked even faster inflicting a deep wound on the knight’s chest. The dark knight fell to the ground, powerless. Roan stood before him, raising his blade in the air to strike at the knight’s heart. The sword slashed down, penetrating the dark knights armor and his heart. “I …could…ha..ve .. been.. im…mor..tal…” where the dark knight’s dying words. Finally the war is over.