Einar Ryland's Story

As the sun started to illuminate the sky above and brighten the large empty plains and fields on the ground, a single lone carriage pulled by two horses clattered along the stone road towards Ethaland. There were two lone figures sitting at the reins, one a plump figure, dressed in extravagant clothes and the other was a larger man, with two swords sheathed upon his back. The two were talking, with the plump man doing most of it.

"I must say Einar, I've very much enjoyed your company, and you've shown much more competence than some of the previous guards I've hired. Even if you have that... beast with you." The man said.

"His name is Hylar, and if you wish to hire me again then you will need to have to get comfortable with him Gerald." His Northern accent made him sound like he was growling out his words in an almost intimidating fashion, but anyone with any experience with people from the North would know his tone was natural.

As they continued down the road they started to pass towards a small section of empty land, the grass tall and waving as a wind passed through them. The road still passed through it, but it was a desolate place. Einar didn't like it and he motioned for Gerald to slow the carriage to a stop. A few moments passed as they sat in the middle of the abandoned area when Gerald broke the silence.

"Now usually I'm not one to question your judgement, but really is there any need to stop here? We can see for miles out here. I'm sure we'll be able to spot any thugs trying to get-" As he said this an arrow thudded into the side of the carriage and six men rising up from the grass, shaking off their camouflage and stepping onto the road, the archer fitting another arrow into the groove of his bow. Four others used swords and one used an axe.

One of them walked in front of the others and spoke first.

"If you would kindly get off the carriage." His voice carried authority, but also a certain cockiness that came with experience.

Gerald looked at Einar, and he simply nodded. The two got off the carriage and stood in front of the group of men as they gathered around them.

The man motioned for one of the men to open the door into the innards of the carriage before looking at Einar, regarding the man carefully.

"I've never seen a Northerner this far south before. I've made many men kneel before me, men better than you. So, Northman. Kneel.

Einar stood rigid straight, looking right past the leader's head and at the archer behind him who still had his arrow aimed at Einar. The man who went to go and open spoke out.

"Er... boss? I think there's something in here."

Being too caught up in trying to intimidate Einar, the man just waved the concern away and told him to open it up anyways.

When Einar heard the door to the back of the carriage, he whistled. The sound was sharp, it was short but it did the job. A cry rung out, then a gurgle of death as Hylar pounced on the man, sinking its teeth into the bandit's throat. As most of the men except the archer turned to look at the dying man, the bowman let loose his arrow but the speed at which Einar pushed the man in front of him into the path of the flying stick of death was incredible. So was the speed at which he took the leader's sword as the arrow thudded solidly into his back. Then he threw the sword at the archer. While it did not hit, it did give him time as the archer dodged out of the way of the flying blade.

He drew his own sword from the scabbard on his back and rushed towards the scrambling archer. Two of the men, shook off their stupor and charged at Einar, their blades drawn. The one with the axe turned to Gerald and took out his axe and stalked towards him. Before any of the two sword wielding bandits could do anything, Einar plunged his sword into the archer's chest, killing him as the blade cut through the man's shirt and into his heart. He withdrew the blade in time to parry one of the bandit's blade and dodge the other. He delivered a punch to the one whose weapon he had dodged with his free left hand and whistled again. Hylar turned and charged straight at the axe wielder who had to fling himself out of the way of the wolf. This gave Gerald the chance to scramble to the other side of carriage, put he peered out to watch Einar at work.

He parried the same thug's blade and kicked in his knee, sending the man falling onto the ground as he screamed in pain. He spun around and deflected the other bandit's sword into the ground before kneeing him in the groin. As he keeled over in pain, Einar raised his blade and thrust it down, tip first into the back of the man in front of him. He slid the bloodied blade out of man's abdomen and turned to face the axe wielding bandit who was still trying to hit Hylar as it dodged the man's clumsy blows. The man, being too preoccupied trying to deal with the wolf basically dancing in front of him, to notice Einar behind him. He only realized when a blade chopped into the back of his knee, biting into the bone and nearly cutting clean through. He finished him off by stabbing his sword into the thug's chest.

Gerald came out from around the back of the and looked at the death Einar had inflicted.

"Well, I must say, this has been your most impressive display so far but I have to ask. What will you do with him?" He motioned his hand towards squirming man as he lay on the ground.

Einar, without saying a word, went over and took the fallen man's sword and plunged it into the injured knee. A new scream of pain ripped through the quiet air. He walked back over, wiping the blood off his sword on one of the dead men's clothes before sheathing it. Gerald only looked at him in shock. Einar motioned for him to get back on the carriage and he did so, having a new found fear of the Northerner.

As the sun illuminated the sky above and shined upon the large empty plains and fields on the ground, a single lone carriage pulled by two horses clattered along the stone road towards Ethaland. There were two lone figures sitting at the reins, one a plump figure, dressed in extravagant clothes, and the other a larger man, two swords sheathed on his back.

Ozmorin walked along a road with his nose deep in a book, as usual. He penisvely strutted along indulged in a tome titled The Classical History of the Orcis People and he furrowed his brow often while straining to find information he did not previously have knowledge of, but his concentration was occasionally diverted when he could feel, by habit, the stares of his short fox companion on him, almost piercing into his mind. Knowing that Little Eden could read his body as well as Ozmorin could read his books and vise versa, Little Eden gave the look that spoke If you know it all, why read it?, and Ozmorin gave the amused response, "If I followed your philosophy, my Little Eden, I would never read at all. But nay, every book has a sentence of knowledge at the least I did not know, so I read on." So once again Ozmorin absorbed himself in the pages, well endowed in blood, and Little Eden took her gaze to the morning wood, seeming to stare off far into the distance.

It was a beautiful morning, and as far as the eye could see, lush green stretched on either side of the grey stone path. Yellow light softly lit the picturesque scene of life and radiance on each border of the stone road that, even it, was made gorgeous by the brisk seeing stone that was the morning, by the paintbrush that seemed to add a lightness to all which was called in the morrow, but none appreciated this more than Ozmorin. He looked back down at Little Eden as she gave him a blank stare, pondering almost at him, and in response he abruptly stopped and turned to face her.

"What?" he said in his most obviously oblivious tone.

Little Eden dropped her head in a Seriosly?.

Ozmorin put his hand on his chest and shook his head in a dramatic display of ignorance. "What?!?"

Her stare intensified as she seemed to say Really? Are you serious?, but as she was about to turn away in exasperation, a familiar sound stopped her still.

A devious and playful smile was painted on Ozmorin's lips as he pulled out a small bird's cooked leg, and his smile broke out into a cheerful laugh as Little Eden took to feverishly turning, jumping, and yapping in excitement for her food.

"So you want to break our fast. Then let us, my Little Eden," He gently spoke as he carefully placed the miniature meal before his only companion, and he softly stroked her head as she nimbly, but to what seemed to her ferociously was to him cute, eating the meat bit by bit, a slight smile on his face as he admired her beauty.

When he looked up, he strangely found several figures on the road approaching, and he was contemplating for a while before his merry face turned grim in realization of their clad.

"Dul isteach ar na coillte. Anois!" (Get into the woods. Now!)

He spoke the archaic tongue, the tongue had spoke to him when he was small and the only speech any of the elementals used. A language that was spoken only by trees, long before the birth of the first elf, man, or orc, but he never knew what conversation material the trees would honestly have.

He knew well what the approaching group of men were, bandits, so Ozmorin and Little Eden dashed into the forest, staying in a distance to where they could see the road, and, knowing there was no possible chance of detection, listened in.

"I know it wrong, but what can we do? I gotta feed meh family." one said.

"But banditeering, I dun wanna kill nobody." said another.

"An we won't, we just gonna scare em. Just enough to get through the winter, remember? Our children will die without us, remember? Starve right well till death without this, without us!" the first retorted.

Ozmorin was on the verge of stepping out and offering what change he had in a deal for them to head home, maybe give them his food as well, but the noise of a cart stopped him. Approaching from the very same direction the men were, a cart pulled by two horses traveled along with two men for passengers, but Ozmorin could almost sense the wolf with them.

The next few minutes played out in horror. They stopped the cart, but before he could explain so things remained controlled, a wolf ripped the throat of the man that spoke second. He could almost feel Little Eden's sadness as she watched the man cut through the untrained men, no doubt farmers, and then show a confident swagger as if he killed twenty rangers! Ozmorin took his bow of his back, a bow that could pierce a knight's plate armor from a hundred and fifty yards, and hear it's purr as he pulled it back with an arrow knocked and ready. He held, aiming with dead accuracy at the man's jugular, as he watched the burly brute mercilessly kill a father, the first to speak, as he was already on the ground, and images of a little girl crying at the door, waiting for her father that would never come, hungry!, flooded his mind whilst the life of the savage laid in his hands. When suddenly, a voice that was like the sweetest breeze cutting through boggy and heavy summer air whispered in his ear.

"Let him go, would you be no more of a tyrant sitting on death's throne if you knew not his story first, you would be no better, no?" and as he heard Kind's familiar voice, he slowly relaxed the string of his long bow. When the cart was well out of sight, he stepped out into the road.

Ozmorin walked among and looked down upon the dead, the slaughtered, with grief, and he silently closed their individual eyes. He looked down the road from where they had come, the opposite way the cart was traveling, and he thought of trying, even if for naught, to find their families and do what he can. So, with purpose, Little Eden and he continued their walk, but it was entirely different. Within minutes they walked with their thoughts heavier than before, and the morning seemed to lose its sweet taste. Ozmorin swore, although impossible, his little fox friend shed a single tear.

Einar Ryland

Gerald's carriage rode up to the stone gates of Ethaland and was stopped by the guardsman who was slouching by the gate.

"Inventory?" He said, sounding as bored as he looked as he walked over to speak to Gerald.

As Gerald rattled off the list of items he had in the carriage, Einar thought about what he was going to do later. He was already getting old for this kind of work. In his clan there were few old warriors and even they'd usually had been trained in the safer side of warfare, like archery and the likes. Usually by the time they'd reach Einar's age they'd have sustained a few injuries that put them in no condition to fight, leaving them to train the new generation of warriors.

Then the carriage jerked as the Guardsman waved the pair through the gates as they opened. The streets were already starting to get busy, as shops started to open and small stalls being set up at the side of the road to sell items like jewelry and antiques at a cheaper price than the stores. There were of course the street magicians and the beggars also on the sides, performing their tricks to earn a measly coin or two. Gerald drove the carriage through the streets, eventually stopping in front of an inn that had a stable large enough to accommodate the horses. Einar brought Hylar out of the back of it, its muzzle still blood stained.

"I've got to clean you up Hylar, I don't think the city guard will take too kindly to you looking like this." he whispered to the wolf, who responded by nuzzling his face against Einar's. Gerald came out from behind the carriage, carrying a small pouch in his hand.

"Here is the rest of your payment Einar, five hundred Tybalts as promised. You may count them if you wish but you have my word that they're all in there. In fact, to repay for your excellent... work that you did, I'll pay for a night in this fine establishment."

Einar just nodded, not being one to turn down a gesture of kindness from this man who'd he'd known for the past few weeks. Gerald lead the way into the relatively quiet inn, with only a few people sitting around the front. This level of the inn was a small tavern, with a bar counter where the innkeeper served both roles of a barkeep and an innkeep. It was about fifteen steps in when Einar was stopped by one of the hired muscle that this particular inn employed.

"You can't bring the beast in here." The man pointed at Hylar.

"He stays."

The two stared at each other, even if Einar was a full head taller than the man. Then the innkeeper spoke.

"Let him have it. As long as he pays I don't mind if he brings it along. You may want to wash it though, I don't think the folks around here would take too kindly to a sight like that."

Einar nodded in response, and the rest of the process went easily enough. He stayed in his room for a while, cleaning his swords, armor and Hylar. He went to the main room and sat to eat his meal, a plain simple one, just a slab of meat and roasted potatoes with a mug of ale on the side. He watched the inn as he ate, taking note of the people who came and went.

Stephen Kane had sat in the room for another half hour. The blood mage had still not shown up, and the Tellem had still not awaken. Sighing, he left the room and went down the stairs into the main room to get a meal. He looked around the room, noting a middle aged man eating meat and potatoes. He sat in a nearby table and the innkeeper quickly hurried over to him nervously.
"What would you like to eat, my lord?" He asked Seph. As a Ranger, Seph was used to being called by "Sir" or "My lord" even though he was not of nobility. At first it had bothered him, but he had learned to ignore it. Seph ordered venison steak and a glass of goat milk. He waited for his mean then, the cowl of his green cloak pulled up, the shadows hiding his face, and bow strung across his back.

The dingy tavern was nothing but dark and wet, droplets making annoying taps on the ground as they from the ceiling and into buckets, a slight gloom fogging throughout and touching the few sulking who sat in the last of the decrepit chairs that were still standing with the worn strain of overwork, and among these melancholy few was Mundy, slumping low in his seat with his head down in a drowsy manner, sighing noticeably heavy to aware people of his normal and typical surroundings. Bored to beyond any measurement, he found himself having the deep urge to start a fight with one of the common drunks to at least be doing something, anything, for he would not just sit around and wait ages for adventure just to walk in the door. Mundy had half a mind just to walk out of the door, staring at it longingly, with the zeal to walk all the way to Ethany, the grand city, instead of being bogged by the second fiddle city with much less beauty and copious amount of less things to do, but, as usual, Mundy just remained lounged with his feet staying ever still, in fact with the thought of not going, he slumped even farther down into his chair, his feet outstretching and his chin to his chest. So, deciding to just pass the time, Mundy slowly creaked his joints, rigid from his long rest, in the process of standing to fight one of the many thugs or gang member that would sit, attempting at ominous, in the dark corners while checking just as nervously for the guard as the lesser criminals, when suddenly a man walked the door, and not just a man but a man with a beast.

This man was a curious giant, tall as an elf but burly as one of the stout rangers or better, with the swagger of a person who could cleave the head off of all the thugs with on fair swing, and his beast, no doubt a wolf, even now had blood on his muzzle and the look of readiness to kill in his eye. What a queer life the life of that wolf must be, to wait most of your life for one word, a word to signify your battle where you could no doubt die, and once the quick and hellish slaughter and carnage have ended, you go back to waiting for that one word. How even stranger that words existence must be, but Mundy digressed to the situation at hand. Looking at the man again, he thought of the adventures this man has no doubt had, fighting drakons and slaughtering hydras for the same price as painting one of the corner shops, and he thought of the no doubt adventures he would have if he would just shadow the man. Mundy, thinking of adventures and wolves, slowly rose in his seat to sit with a slight lean forward of interest as he watched the man take powerful steps to make his way through the room. Mundy, now pensive, tried his best to come up with a conversation starter with the man, but when he drew blank, he slowly nudged his full mug to the edge until it came crashing down, brown liquid spilling every direction, with a loud clank with a bit of ale landing on the burly's leg.

Mundy shot up, standing straight, and approached the man with a kind but confident mood about him, and he did a short bow before realizing that was the elves he read about and adjusted himself.

"Terribly sorry about that," he said curiously still, all the while eyeing the beast, knowing that their battle would hang in the balance of a word.

"I am Ambadark, the best mage to ever live. And who might you be?"

Einar frowned as the man in front of him knocked over his own drink and some of its content splashing onto Einar's pants. He heard Hylar growl at the man, but it was disciplined enough to not tear the man's throat out. At least not until Einar gave him the command. Einar looked the man in the face, examining him. He looked young, at least younger than he was. His robes and staff gave him away as a mage, though Einar could not tell what type since he couldn't see auras anyway. He put down his fork and knife slowly. He took a swig from his own mug before answering the mage, Ambadark, as he called himself. He smiled in amusement at the man's arrogance. He'd put this man down a step.

"Well, Ambadark, first of all you don't look like the most powerful mage in existence. I can tell you the names of fifty other mages, both more experienced and more powerful than you. I've been friends with them, enemies with them, and in the cases I was paid to, killed them as well. So tell me, why would I even want to tell you my name?"

Mundy, seeing the man's smile, smiled back. Proof! He knew for sure now that this man was everything that he thought him to be, but his train of thought was interrupted by the another growl from the wolf. Mundy tried his hardest to hold back a jump, the wolf was rather terrifying, and he turned to the man, his smiling not fading, although the wolf did not help.

"Because, my kind... terrifying sir, none of them have this!"

Mundy looked politely at him and held out his hand as if handing something, and he whispered the words as if for no one to hear.

"Ignis de nocte nostras regni."

Suddenly, fire ignited from his hand, but this fire was no normal fire. It was completely black, it was more of a silhouette of fire, and it cast no shadows, strangely shadows seemed to go towards Grinning like a boy who just out played his father, he bounced the fire back and forth from hand to hand like a ball, and finally he snuffed it out.

"And if you are still not impressed..."

He quickly repeated the words, but this time he made a gesture towards the plate which exploded into black flame. He knew that there was no way for the man to put out the flame, so he grinned happily. He would have either impressed the man or angered him, so he thought of a way to quickly win the fight. His gazed shifted towards the wolf, who still looked just as mean, and he decided.

He would be impressed or he would roast the dog.

Einar looked at the black fire burning on his plate, looking at it. He hadn't had too many encounters with dark magic, but he knew that he hadn't come across anything like this before. He didn't like it when the mage cast his gaze at Hylar. This is when he was pretty sure that his own speed, no matter how fast wouldn't be able to stop this mage casting his black fire at Hylar. So Einar, with little choice, muttered his own words of power, quietly so only Hylar and himself could hear it.

"Terra pugnus."

His aura poured itself into the air behind Ambadark, quickly forming into a small chunk of rock. If it didn't knock him out when it hit, then the distraction would give Einar ample time to draw his blade and finish the dark mage. He looked at the mage again, and spoke. His smile was no longer there, rather a more aggressive scowl.

"Interesting magic, but this seems like you're trying to intimidate me, and I don't like being intimidated. I suggest you go on your way now."