The Union

“All who are shrouded in darkness can be shown the light.”
From the Prayer book of Solarth the Light Bringer.


The young priest stood and looked at himself in the mirror. Zender had expected the armor to weigh more or encumber his movement. Strong and light, it fit him like a second skin. Once the priestly robes were put on, it was hard to see he had any armor on at all. The shield strapped to his back was another story; Zender only hoped that he would be out of the temple before anyone saw him, before he had to face questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Satisfied with his appearance, Zender reached for the last object in the bag his father had left behind for him, a war hammer. Thrusting it through the loop on his belt, the cleric turned and left the room. The only sound in the temple was the woman that was still crying to herself. With dawn more than four hours away, the young priest slipped out of the temple and retrieved his horse from the stables.

The streets of Eystlundtowne were dead at this time of the morning. Yet Zender could smell fresh baked bread in the air so he wasn’t the only person going about his business. Zender didn’t like the idea of rushing out of the temple in the middle of the night but he could not risk being seen by Bishop Drent. The Bishop would be more than happy to keep him busy with other task; none of them would include helping that poor woman find her missing children. Zender believed that there were more important things to do than weeding the vegetable garden or scrubbing pots in the kitchen. He had been given a sign that there was a greater need for his talents. One that he could not ignore, he did have a younger brother after all. What if Rath had been one of the missing children? Shaking the thought from his head Zender continued on with his night ride. Zender was also sure that had anyone dared to take Rath, they would return him the next day, pleading with mother to keep him.

Zender found the sheriff’s office to be a regular hub of activity for it to be so early in the morning. There were men uniformed rushing in and out. Stepping down from his horse he tied it off outside and started to make his way into the building. Zender had been here several times before in the past with his father but that seemed to be a life time ago. Looking at the bench under the wanted posters, Zender smiled to himself. His fingers had found many splinters in that old bench. Zender then looked to the older man who spent most of his time barking out orders to others. When Zender saw the badge of office sewn on his shirt, he knew that was the man he needed to speak with.

“Hello sir, I am here to help, what can I do?” Zender asked him.

“Look kid, I don’t have time for games, get the hell out of here and don’t get any mud on your mothers dress on the way home.” Sheriff York told him.

“No, you do not understand. I am Zender, Cleric of Solarth and son of Windfall the bounty hunter. I heard there were some missing children and I wanted to come offer my services.” Zender was rather pleased with himself, he was sure this would change the tone of the conversation.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are; I don’t have time for this. Someone get this little shit out of here before I have him tossed in a cell.” He said as he turned away and went off in another direction. Zender was stunned and more than a bit angered by the rejection he felt. He was sure that he would be given something to do, something that would help. Turning away he started to leave only to pause at the wanted posters on the wall. Letting a slight smile crack his face he sat down on the old bench and pulled out his prayer book, Zender was determined to sit there until a use was found for him. As the sun started to brighten the window in front of him, he wondered if he was just wasting time.

“Why are you still here?” Zender looked up at the guardsman who was asking the question, placing a single finger in his prayer book to save his place he stood up.

“I found a hysterical woman in my temple last night; she lost both of her children. I am here to help in any way I can, I have to be able to face my god knowing I did all I could for her.”

“Look, old man York doesn’t have time to baby sit you. Hell, he told me that if you don’t get out of here I’m to toss you in a cell. If you really want to help, head over to the Dew Drop Inn. They are going to send out search parties from there to see if anyone can find anything. Go over there and join up with one of the parties if you really want to help.”

“That was all you had to tell me, may Solarth shine his light on you this day.” Zender returned his prayer book to the pouch on his belt and made his way out the door. Fetching his horse, he started to walk to the inn the guard mentioned. He knew where the inn was, it wasn’t that far away. It was also one of the larger ones in town. Zender was pleased with himself and enjoyed walking in the morning light. It felt good on his face, a true blessing he thought. As he approached the inn, he could see what looked to be a good twenty horses, all of them waiting for riders. After tying off his own mount he approached the inn and pushed his way inside past the few people who were standing near the door.

“Well, this is not what I expected.” Zender said to no one at all. The common room was filled with what he assumed were normal patrons. Sitting at the tables, eating and drinking ale. None of them in any uniform he recognized. Looking around the room Zender searched for just a place to sit. The only table with open seating had four other men sitting around it. As he drew closer to the table he paused when he saw the black robed figure sitting there with them. It wasn’t until he saw the man’s face did he continue to walk. While the robes were different than what Zender had seen him in before. He knew the man’s face; he had even spoken to him a time or two while buying herbs for simple healing poultices. Placing a hand over his Medallion of Solarth he pressed on towards the table. As he walked up behind the chair he looked at the gathered men and asked if anyone was sitting there? The black robed figure looked at Zender, raising a single eyebrow in his direction.

“Sit if you wish.” The black robed figure said while pointing at the chair. He then turned away, disinterested in the priest. Zender reached out and pulled the chair back from the table. As he did this, the man in the next chair leaned over and vomited on the floor, a rancid steam of eggs, ale and bile splashed on the floor. “See what I have to deal with priest.” The black robed figure said. As the man who puked tried to stand Zender reached out to help.

“Shuts up Loooooooomark.” The drunken man said as he struggled to stand with Zenders help. He then stuck out a hand to the priest, “Names Zackary, Zackary Red Beard, that there is my cousin William, the elf is Christos.” Zackary tried to sit back down in his chair and crashed to the floor. As Zender sat down in his own chair, looking around at the other laughing mercenaries he wondered just what it was that he had gotten himself into.

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“Revenge is rooted in darkness, those who serve the light pray for justice.”
From the Prayer book of Solarth the Light Bringer



“Who is that?” Zender asked as loud as he dared. The group did its best to stay hidden, while watching the man in night black armor. The sudden and unexpected death of Christos that morning left the group overly cautious.

“Why are you asking me?” Lomark responded while mopping off his bald head. It was late in the season and the heat in the air was driving the wizard to the point of irritation. “If we had returned to town as I said, we wouldn’t be squatting here now. No, you insisted we push on, follow the trail. Now we sit in the bush like a brace of rabbits hiding from the wolf.”

“I am telling you, I can feel it. That man has something to do with the missing children. He has led us here and…”

“Yes, priest. He led us to a pack of hobgoblins. We are very fortunate indeed. It is too bad Christos is no longer with us to celebrate this joyous occasion.” Lomark said.

“I told you that was not my fault. There was nothing I could do for the poison. I did my best, could you have done better?” The priest asked the wizard.

“Perhaps.” Was all that the wizard said. The two then turned back to watch the armored figure barking out orders to the creatures on the ground. While he tried to concentrate on the forces ahead of him Zender could not shake the image in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. The giant spider that killed their former companion injected Christos with a poison that killed quickly. Far quicker than Zender had been able to deal with in the end. As he gripped the handle of his war hammer, Zender could feel his rage building inside. While he would never admit it to the quick witted wizard, he did feel it was his fault. It wasn’t until the man in black armor rode away did Zender put the thoughts behind him.

“We need to capture one of them, do you have anything?” Zender asked the wizard.

“I have a scroll that may be of use. We will have to move quickly though.”

“Zackary, you and William head to the other side of the trail, hit them from the right flank. We will come up from behind, wait for the signal.” Zender had become impressed with the mercenary. When sober he was brave, willing to do what it took to win a fight.

“What’s the signal?” he asked.

“Just watch for Lomark, you will know.” He told him before the two men moved off. The priest then turned to watch the wizard as he read over an assortment of scrolls that he pulled out of the interior of his black robes.

“You must shield me until I finish the casting, can you handle that priest?” Zender said nothing, only moving towards the group of Hobgoblins on the forest path. So quickly did he move, the wizard had to run to keep up. “Stop when I tell you to.” He said to the priest back. He wasn’t even sure that he was heard, he only hoped. With a half cocked smile he thought it would serve the self important priest well to get caught in the effects of this spell. “Now!” he said as he rolled out the needed scroll. As ordered the priest stopped off to the side and lifted his shield, ready for any attack to come. As Lomark spoke the language of magic written on the scroll the runes began to glow, consuming the paper they were printed on. As the scroll crumbled to ash, the wizard projected the effect towards the creatures, enveloping the area in a field of grease.

Zender watched as the cousins stepped out on to the path at the edge of the grease. They all watched with some amusement as the creatures struggled to move. “Don’t let any of them get away. I want to question the big one.”

“Where in da bloody hell are dey gonna go? Lookit da sorry bastards, dey can’t even move.” Zackary shouted back at the priest. Zender only pointed, some of the creatures had started to thrust their weapons in the ground, pulling their grease coated bodies out of the grease.

“Interesting.” The wizard remarked. “Next time I shall combine this with the use of flaming hands. Yes, that would be most effective. See how the grease clings to their bodies. Yes, this is very interesting.” Without taking an eye off the fighting that had started in front of him, the wizard reached into a pouch on his belt, pulling out a pinch of sand. Speaking the words of magic while dropping the sand in the air, three of the creatures who were still able to stand went down face first into the grease. A twisted smile crossed Lomarks face as he pulled dagger from the sleeve of his robes. Unlike some of their companions, these monsters would not see death coming.

Zender watched the fighting with satisfaction. His companions were taking care of the hobgoblins with ease as far as he could see. He stood at the edge of the grease patch and watched the supposed leader, the one who had been talking to the man in black armor. While it was the largest of the creatures and was having an easier time of moving, it wasn’t doing much better than his fellow hobgoblins. As the creature reached the edge of the grease it pulled itself free and stood up, facing the cleric with a roar. Holding his medallion of Solarth in one hand, the cleric pointed to the hobgoblin and said a single word, “die”. Using a prayer of command, Zender made the creature believe it was dead. As it fell to the ground the fighting came to a swift and sudden end.

“ZENDER” Zackary shouted across the path. “William’s hurt, get over here!” The priest forgot about the creature on the ground and took off at a run around the grease patch that was still covering the ground.

“What happened?” he asked as he found the warrior out cold on the ground. When no answer came he squatted down and rolled over the body. A deep gash crossed the warriors chest, blood was flowing at a rapid pace. As he laid his hands on the warriors chest he said “Solarth, giver of light and life, grant me this prayer of healing to save the life of this humble servant.” A gentle light formed around the hands of Zender which then spread to the chest of William. As the healing light faded Zender sat back to watch the big man. Watching the rise and fall of his chest as he was breathing. As his eyes started to open, a smile crossed the face of the cleric.

“Umm, hello.” William said while looking at the cleric.

“Be more careful William, I can only do that so many times a day. I want you to rest here for a bit until we are ready to go. Zackary will keep an eye on you ok?” The big man nodded his head and rolled over on the spot his blood and been pooling in moments before. He did this without a single care; such is the world of William the Dim. As Zender stood up again, he turned around to see the smiling face of Zackary Red Beard.

“Thank ye lad!” he said as he put his arms around the cleric.

“Don’t thank me; thank the good god who made this possible. We could have lost him today. Really, he should think about getting some better armor. I know he is a big man but running around in bits of leather will not help him.” Zender tried to push away from the warrior while talking but found his strength was lacking. Once Zackary let him go, Zender returned to Lomark searching the bodies of the creatures they had just killed. The magical grease that had once covered the ground was now gone. “Lomark, help me with this one.” Zender said as he pulled a rope from his pack. “I want to tie him to this tree so he can’t get away when he wakes up.” While the wizard protested having to do manual labor, he was interested in what the cleric had in mind for the creature. Once that was completed, they only had to wait for the creature to wake up.

Zender watched while Lomark continued to search the bodies of the fallen, ignoring how many times items were put into hidden pockets of the long black robes. The priest knew if the wizard found anything important, he would make it known, at some point anyway. Lomark was fond of holding back information until it served him best. He would even hold back the smallest of things until he could achieve the most use or profit from it. When Lomark unrolled a map that was in the pack of one of the creatures, Zender knew this was something he should see. As he was about to call out to the wizard, the hobgoblin roared.

“Untie! Now!” it shouted at Zender.

“I will let you go when you tell me what I want to know. Where are the children being held? What are they doing with them and who was that man?” The roar the beast let out continued on for some time. Zender watched as the beast continued to struggle with its bindings, his patients was starting to run thin. Lifting up his hammer he pressed it into the throat of the creature, once again asking his questions. “Where are the children being held? Who has them and what are they doing with them?” With each question he pushed just a little harder on the hammers long handle.

“Lord Morkyth will crush you!” The hobgoblin growled at the cleric, still trying to free his self from the ropes.

“Lord Morkyth, I assume that is the man in the black armor I saw you speaking with. Now, where are the children?” Zender asked.

“The little ones feed the beast. We give little ones to humans in black robes, smell like death. They feed the beast.” The creature gave Zender a toothy grin as it spoke, as if it enjoyed the idea of harming the children.

“What?” Zender asked in a state of shock. His mouth standing open he felt his blood run cold. Many long hours were spent in the temple, in study of not only his god but of all the gods. Priest of Orcus, corruptors of the living, priest of death and disease. Zender looked to his companion, for the first time in days the wizard had removed his hood from his head, if only to make it clear that he was now shaking his head at the priest. Zender could feel his grip on his hammer growing tighter.

“Hahaha, I bet beast enjoy little ones. They be tender, no fat. Good meat. Their blood is sweet, drink it like wine.” Hobgoblins have never been accused of having an over abundance of intelligence. Yet it could see the distress it was causing the priest as it spoke, it took joy in this. It never even knew the danger it was in.
“Where are they?” Zender shouted at the creature as he dropped his shield to the forest floor. “Tell me, NOW!” The hobgoblin just continued to laugh at the priest in white.

“Where they belong, in the belly of the beast.” The creatures laugh filled the air, making a flock of birds take flight from a nearby tree.

“Tell me!” He shouted again. Zender took his hammer into both hands while pacing back and forth in front of the creature. His fury building with every step he took. The hobgoblin looked on, thinking that he was causing the human pain with his words. The creature never learned how to tell the difference between a human in pain and a human who was angry. As Zender stopped in front of the creature again he asked one final time, “Where are they?”

“Dead!” was the last thing the hobgoblin ever said. It was in that moment that Zender felt his mind break. Lifting his hammer Zender took aim and started to swing. It was then that the hobgoblin saw his mistake. Assuming that this human in white was weak or like the others it had seen. Like the one who delivered the sleeping children many nights ago. As the war hammer connected to the hobgoblins head, all thoughts of anything went away. As the creatures head was crushed between the hammer and the tree, it had no thoughts at all.

“Interesting.” Lomark said to no one but himself. He tightly held on to the map he had behind his back. “Yes, very interesting.” Lomark wondered just who his new companion really was. He had seen him work before now, yet this was something different. This anger, this raw primal rage was something new, something the wizard had not seen coming. As he turned away from the carnage in front of him he wondered what else this priest was capable of and how it could be of use to him.

“Lomark, show me the map.” Zender said to the wizards back. Lomark turned and faced the cleric, watching as the cleric cleaned the brain matter from his weapon.

“Who are you? Do you know cleric?” The wizard asked while holding out the rolled map. “I know who I am; I know the nature of my being. So I ask you now Zender, who are you?”

“I am a servant of the god Solarth, anything else you want to know?” Lomark could hear the irritation in the voice of the cleric.

“Does he approve of his servant? Does your god know of the darkness inside of you?”

“Lomark, why don’t you let me worry about what my god does or doesn’t approve of? Now, I need an hour, keep an eye on the cousins, I don’t want them walking off without us.” The wizard only nodded his head and held is hands up. Once the wizard turned away Zender unrolled the map and started to move off into the forest, pretending to look at the map as he walked. Once he was sure he was well away from the prying eyes of the wizard he put the map away and continued on.

Once Zender was deep into the forest he stopped, looking around at the small dirt patch where nothing grew he nodded his head and dropped his shield and pack to the ground. The cleric then went about the task of gathering a small bundle of dead branches. Using the dead wood, the cleric started a small fire, nothing that would be seen from a distance. Once he was sure the fire would stay lit he pulled three things from his pack, a simple knife, a roll of bandages and a bottle of holy water. He first pulled the stopper from the bottle and used it to wash the blood and dirt from his hands. With that completed the cleric knelt down next to the fire, with the knife in his hand he began to pray in silence. It is unknown what the cleric was asking of his god as he drew the knife blade across the palm of his left hand. The blade was sharp and cut deep into the palm of the cleric. This was done without so much as a grimace or even a wince, as if this was a practice that the cleric had done before. He watched as his blood poured from his hand and held it over the fire.

“Solarth, father, giver of light and life. Forgive me for my transgression, know that your humble servant strives to stay in the path of the light and seeks your forgiveness for going astray.” With this said Zender placed his blood covered hand directly into the flame, watching as the flames engulfed his hand. As the flames fell away Zender set aside the knife and once more picked up the bottle of holy water, pouring what was left of the bottle over the palm of his cut hand. In this Zender received his answer from his god. While the cut was healed, what looked to be an old scar remained. A scar that he would carry with him for the remainder of his days.
Using water from his skin, he put out the rest of the fire and covered the ashes with dirt. With his mind at ease, Zender pulled out the map given to him by Lomark and went about studying it while walking back to his friends.


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Judge a man not only on his actions but how he accepts the consequences of those actions. From the Prayer book of Solarth the Light Bringer

Hans of North Hembers sat on his bunk and looked around at the very few men who were left. When his eyes landed on Marcelo, the leader of the band, he felt nothing but disgust. It was he who had told Hans and the others about the job more than two months ago; solid coin to guard valuable cargo was what he had promised. Hans thought nothing of it at the time until they arrived in this gods-forsaken place. Trapped under ground, living by torchlight, fighting off whatever band of would be heroes or opportunists that would come along, keeping them away from the ‘cargo’. Hans spit on the ground in disgust, as if those crying children on the other side of the door had only been cargo. While Hans had done many things in his life that he wasn’t proud of, this was by far the worst of it all. At the same time, he wasn’t even sure he cared any more.

They were twenty men strong when they came down in this pit, now only six remained among the living. Marcelo freely gave any of his men who had killed over to the priest of Orcus. Men that at one time deserved better than to be given over to those monsters. Now Hans wasn’t so sure about that. The money there were paid was soaked in the blood of the innocent. As a fresh round of crying started on the other side of the door, Hans started to look forward to his fate. Being killed, sent to the abyss only to have his corpse spend the rest of eternity walking the halls of this hell hole. As Hans leaned back on his bunk he started to warm to the idea. ‘I could just lay here until it happens’ he thought to himself. ‘Wait for death to take me, it is what I deserve.’

“Hans!” Marcelo called out. “It is your turn to feed the brats. Shut them up would you.”

“Why should I? The priest take them away, we never see them again. We all know they are being killed.” As Hans shouted at his leader, he started to heat the water for the children’s oatmeal. It was the only thing they were allowed to feed them. “Are they supposed to be fat when they are fed to whatever dark beast they are hiding down there? How many are even left in there, do we even know?”

“Twelve, the priest came and took four more while you were sleeping this morning. Now shut your trap and do as you are told. We have maybe a week here tops left. We are going to walk out of here with a nice fat gold bonus.” Hans stood and looked at his leader, the fires of rage he had been feeling just a moment before started to turn cold in his chest. A numbing cold that would turn your hands and lips blue in an instant like the winters in the northern countries. Hans started to wonder if it was possible to suffer frost bite to your soul as he poured the dried oats into the vat of water. When he reached up to the mantle to pull down the bowls, he could still see his hand shaking from the chill he had inside.

“To the hells with all of us.” He said to no one at all. Reaching into his shirt he pulled out a flask. While he thought he might like to take a good long pull from the flask, it was better to give it to those who needed it the most. Dumping what was left of the contents into the bowls, mixing it into the pasty oatmeal. The bitter whisky didn’t do anything for the taste of the sludge the children were eating but it did help them sleep. ‘If I can give them nothing else, let it be a good night’s sleep. Fear will be back in the morning.’ He thought.

With the bowls filled, Hans took the keys off the wall next to the door that led to the room where the children were being held in cages. When he pushed the door open and light flooded the dark room all sounds stopped. Two large cages held them all, boys in one, girls in the other. They were all huddled together at the back wall of their respective cages; the brave ones who wouldn’t cower from their captors were taken first. Hans didn’t even look at them as he set the bowls on the floor in front of the cages; he knew there was nothing to fear from them.

Hans wasn’t much older than the caged boys when his father sent him off to live his own life. He had seen boys that age die in battle, wearing armor that didn’t fit while using weapons longer than their small arms should have had to hold. These boys had no chance to fight, these where the lambs who were being led to slaughter. The girls all looked the same to him. Stick thin and nothing like the women they would become in a few years time. After setting their bowls inside their cage it dawned on Hans that they would never become those women, women who would have children of their own. Marcelo told him they had a week at the most and then this job would be done. There wouldn’t be any children left to guard. As he pulled the door closed behind him he could hear their bare feet shuffling in the dark to get the bowls of food.

Hans returned the door and cell keys to the peg on the wall near the door. When he turned around he saw Marcelo staring at him. Hans tried to ignore him but something inside of him wouldn’t allow him to do so. Resting the palm of his hand on the pommel of his sword, Hans did the only thing he could think of at the time. He stared back at his leader.

“Yer pathetic you know that? What happened to you Hans, you are not the same man I met on those docks years ago? At one time I could count on you to do a job, now I am starting to wonder if I had too much faith in you. Two years Hans, two years I have been with you and look at you now. A sniveling little bitch suffering under the blood moon.”

“What happened to me?” Hans shouted back while looking around the room at the other men. None of them were watching. The only one that seemed to be doing anything at all was Geoff, who had his ear stuck to the door that lead to the hall outside. “We used to do good work, fight for a cause. Maybe not always on the right side but we fought as men. You always avoided taking jobs that would call on us to do things like this. Those priests are doing something vile to those children and we do nothing but stand here and watch it happen. Their blood is on your hands just as much as it is the priest. The moment you took their blood soaked gold, you damned us all. We might as well have killed them all ourselves.”

“Ummm I think there is someone out there, I can hear them.” Geoff said from near the door. Both Hans and Marcelo ignored the man.

“Blood washes off and the gold was too good to turn down. Do you think jobs for men like us just fall out of the sky, you arrogant little prick, who are you to question me?”

“I am not joking, there is someone out there. I can hear armor, voices.” Geoff scrambled away from the door, getting his armor and weapons. Hans and Marcelo were the only ones who ignored the warning.

“Geoff, there are two dozen kobolds down the hall, we would have heard something if they were attacked.” Marcelo said out of the corner of his mouth, never taking his eyes off Hans.

“Not to mention our former companions, isn’t that right Marcelo. How much gold where you paid for them, you son of a bitch? It is bad enough we are trapped down here you had to give our dead over to those priests. You have damned us all Marcelo, there is nothing we can do to save ourselves. We might as well slit our own throats and join the rest of the undead.”

“I can arrange that for you, happily.” Marcelo told him as he started to draw his long sword. Hans saw the movement in his eyes before it was made, dropping a step back from his leader to pick up the shield that was still lying on his bunk. It was when he turned back, weapon in hand did the unexpected happen. Everyone in the room heard the roar in the hall outside the door. Before this moment, if an enemy had breached the perimeter, the mercenaries would be summoned to deal with the problem. When the crash came, they all knew something had gone very wrong.

Both Hans and Marcelo watched as the door crashed into the room, the lock shattered, the hinges ripped from the wood. He looked at the two new men standing in the door way, one with fire red hair on his head and face. The other was bald as a baby with a grin on his clean face. It wasn’t until the two moved away from the door way did the mercenaries understand what had gone so wrong, why there had not been any warning to the trouble headed their way. When the two large men moved, they all understood. The reason was standing there like the specter of death, draped in black robes.

“Wizard!” Marcelo shouted far too late. Hans saw the small red ball of fire spring forth from the wizard’s hand, growing larger and brighter as it shot into the room. For one small moment he took solace in the fact that he would be warm when he died. As the fire ball exploded into the room, Hans and the rest of the mercenaries were knocked to the floor. While their bodies were smoking and burnt in places, everyone was still alive. Hans let out a sigh and got back to his feet, trying to prepare for the fight to come. “Hans guard that door at all cost, we can handle the three of them.” Marcelo told him.

“Yes, can’t let anything happen to the sheep.” Hans said under his breath. He watched as the two men who kicked in the door rushed in to engage his companions. When Hans saw the man in white robes rush into the room, holding a hammer and shield the light of understanding grew a little bit brighter. While Hans had never fought a cleric before, he had heard the horror stories from his friends. They all told him the same thing, the only thing worse than fighting a man defending his home is fighting a man who believes he has a divine right to oppose you.

Geoff was the first to fall. His body impaled on the sword of the large bald man, his face showed no emotion as he ripped the blade from the body. As Geoff fell to the floor, he just turned to attack someone else. Hans could not believe how quickly his companions were falling, even if he took some joy in seeing Marcelo writher on the ground, his body covered in some kind of green acid. As it clung to his body Hans assumed it was something the wizard did. As the man in white robes stepped over the prone body of Marcelo, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs, Hans readied himself to fight.

“Die!” the cleric said to Hans while pointing a finger towards him. Hans felt his knees start to buckle and the world started to go black. Shaking his head he resisted and stood up straight again, just in time to see the hammer about to strike his head. It was all he could do to get his shield up in time. Even if he saved his head for the moment, it was all he could do to keep the cleric off him. A flurry of white was all he could see as the cleric continued to press the attack, nearly pushing him back to the very door he was guarding. Hans knew in his heart that his end was coming, in a way he was almost thankful for it. Using his shield he pushed the cleric back with the last of his strength. Giving his self a little room to do what he needed to do.

“I yield!” he said to the cleric, dropping to his knees while tossing aside his weapon and shield. Hanging his head down, Hans waited for the killing blow to strike. Eager for it to come and send him off to the fate he deserved. When he opened his eyes he saw the booted feet in front of him but did not hear anything else. Looking passed the white robed figure he saw that his companions were dead. The two warriors were standing not far from the cleric; the wizard in black was searching through the bodies on the floor. Still waiting for the killing blow, Hans looked up to the face of the cleric.

“What is your name?” the cleric in white asked Hans.

“My name? Why do you need my name, just kill me and get this over with.” Hans said as he once again hung his head back down. When the ringing of steel sounded in the air, Hans was sure someone was going to kill him at last.

“Zackary, no. I will handle this. You two go help Lomark. Now, what is your name?”

“What game is this, just kill me already, it is no less than I deserve.” Hans told the cleric. As he stared up at the clerics face, he could see that he would be alive until he answered the questions. “Hans, Hans of North Hembers in the province of Arcadia.”

“Hello Hans, my name is Zender. The man in black is Lomark. Zackary Red Beard is the one who offered to kill you and the other man is his cousin William. Do you know where the children are being held, speak the truth?”

“There,” Hans said while pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “The key to both the door and the cages is on the wall behind me. What do you intend to do with me?” he asked the cleric.

“We could use a hand, another sword arm wouldn’t hurt.” Zender said.

“You can’t be serious.” Hans said to the cleric in disbelief.

“I am very serious, we need help, and I am offering you a chance at life. There is still a lot of evil in this place and we could use your help getting the children out.” Hans was in shock and could not answer. As the cleric stuck out his open hand to the mercenary Hans could only stare at it. “Take my hand Hans we really could use your help.” After what seemed to be an hour Hans reached out and took the hand of Zender. At first he resisted, unsure about standing up again. When he felt the strong pull, he placed one foot on the ground and pushed himself up. Unsure of what his future would hold, he stood up and faced the man in white.

“Just know that I will be watching you.” Zender told him in a soft voice while still holding his hand in a strong grip. “Cross me or my friends in any way, you will die by my hand. Help us with the children and we will go on from there, understood?” Hans couldn’t say anything he only nodded his head at the cleric. The only thing Hans understood in that moment was that he now owed Zender his life. As he turned to pick up his weapon, one random thought came to mind. ‘For however long that is.’ As he slid his father’s sword into its scabbard, he accepted just that.