"I remember how hot that day was...The cavern I was praying in offered little sanctuary from the heat, in fact it made it worse. I remember the sweat..I remember my praying was difficult...I remember my mind being unable to consentrate...I remember...​

I remember...​

The simple tomb that lied there, in the center of the cavern, was looking at me, trying to comfort me. How ironic and cruel fate is! How could I have known? How could I have ever guessed? I went to that Island of Pilgrims, spent two years in nothing but prayer, in an effort to repent for my past sins. I found more than what I asked for. I found what I was looking for since the night I left home. ​

Home...Is it really that strange that the cavern in the tomb, there, in an island in the middle of nowhere, felt like home? In that unmarked tomb was lying my brother, my last hope of a link to my past and my family. And she was the one who told me. ​

Oh, indeed how twisted your child is Amnor, Master of Fate! Her wyvern's wings flapping arose me from my prayer. She landed near the cavern, clad in pitch black armour, like her hair...Her hair...Her smile...Her tormented eyes... She captured my heart in a moment. She captured my heart just as her blade had captured my brother's soul, releasing it from his body. The moment we looked at eachother we both knew. We would love eachother and we would fight eachother, forever, again and again, until either our duty, our love or our body died. And what would either of us two be if any of those died?​

We exchanged so few words...Her voice was filled with sorrow and pride I remember. Such a beautiful voice... Made my heart ache that I would never let that voice put me to sleep. Oh, Allagon, what have I ever done to deserve such fate? What sin have I possibly commited to deserve my heart being given to the woman that took away my brother, my home, to a woman that is all I am and aren't at the same time. You play unfair, Father of Light, but I will play along for I have offered You my body and soul. And as I have offered You everything, I offer You my love for her too. Take it, feel it, treasure it and hate it as I do. Maybe then You will see my loyalty to You. Let this be my prayer before this battle.​

 

Whether I live or die, I am Yours, Father of Light. Thy will be done.

​

Amen."

​

​

Thunder clashed and lightning threw it's momentary illumination to the field. The man blinked in distress, his face tired but determined. No longer was his skin young and spotless, no longer was his expression uncertain. Some few wrinkles have made their appearance, jeweling his eyes with the mark of time. His mouth was surrounded by a well cared for beard, his hair were shorter and well comped. The excitement and curiosity of his eyes were replaced by calmness and experience. The boy that was there was long gone or well hidden.

​

"Where were you travelling, Man?" whispered a voice with the calmness of Death himself. Alfos turned to look at his friend. Only a step next to him, covered in a grey cloak that moved as of it's own, the hood covering her face lower than her eyes, stood a she-elf. Hair long, blond hair were falling on her breasts like a golden waterfall, a shining contradiction to her dark clothing. She bore a long, grey bow with no string attached to the two carved swans on it's edges, hugging it as if it was a lover.

​

"She is there, Alyss." sighed Alfos. "She is among them."

​

The she-elf nodded silently. Her elven eyes had detected the woman long ago. She stood silently for some moments then said:

​

"Then I sudgest you change your plan and be in charge of the left flank. I will let Dancan know at once."

​

Alfos looked at the elf, smiling with sad gratitude.

​

"Aye..." he whispered. "You do that."

​

He watched his friend walking away with a grace a cat would envy. They have met only days after the night Alfos lost the duel with Sir Michael Navarinov. Together with Daerglar, a huntress named Illithan and a rogue named Zarif they have formed a team, brought together by chance. For almost twenty years, the company have never parted for more than months. They have fought uncountable battles together and walked paths most men would think impossible. They knew eachother almost as much as each one knew him or herself. There was no need for explanations or thanking between them. They were family. When she was off his sight, he walked in his tent and started preparing for battle.

​

*****************************************************************

 

"Sir Alfos, Lady Alyssanathil informed me of your decision to take command of the left flank." The man who spoke was old, his voice firm like steel. His white hair fell long in his back, freshly washed and combed. Clad in a red armour with a carved red sword and two stars on it's chest, the man looked like a veteran of war, a man who forged both character and mind in battle.

 

"Yes, Sir Dancan, that is correct." replied Alfos. "Now, Alyss, are your archers ready?" The elf only nodded in reply so Alfos went on. "Good. Sir Dancan, you will then take the right flank, covering the archers as long as possible. If anything happens, your ranks break in two, one retreating with the archers to the hills in the east giving them time to escape and regroup, while the other attaches itself to the main army. Do not allow them to flank from behind the main army! Illithan, your squad has butt one mission: create a divirsion in their camp. Cause as much damage as possible and give our infiltrators enough time. Leave when you get the signal. Daerglar, Zarif, you know your mission. Infiltrate the camp while Illithan causes the diversion, signal her with your ring to let her know you are in, find the piece of the Rod and retrieve it."

​

"I would prefer if I went there alone". A figure of a dark haired man stirred somewhere between the shadows of the large tent the meeting was held. "In any case it would be easier to walk in there unnoticed with a whole battalion of dragons than Daerglar."

​

"Daerglar will come with you, Zarif" replied Alfos. "If things get ugly he will be the best protection you could ask for."

​

"Whatever" came the reply and the darkhaired man vanished again in the shadows, covering him like they were a blanket.

​

"Good. I believe that is all." said the Paladin looking at the map infront of him. "Good luck all and Light be with you!" The others replied wishing good luck and the company walked out of the tent, heading towards ther positions. Alfos looked at his companions leave and stayed sitll for a moment. He closed his eyes and emptied his mind. Searching in the dark corners of his consciousness, he brought the feeling of companionship and friendship in his heart.

​

"Dreamwalker! Come to me!" he screamed, summoning his faithful steed.

​

A blue flame roared in the air and a cinammon smelling smoke rose out of nowhere. And there, among the smoke, neighing in joy and power, appeared Dreamwalker, the blue flamed Nightmare, the demon-horse that had found goodness in it's heart and served it by the side of Alfos ever since. Snorting harmless to it's rider flames, the horse galloped to the Paladin and pressed it's huge head against the Paladin chest. The man hugged the horse's head lovingly.

​

"There, my old friend.." he whispered while caressing it's neck softly. "Another battle lies before us." Dreamwalker snorted happily in reply, his eyes glittering with intelligence, as his rider was jumping on his bare back. Alfos wore his helmet, covering his eyes behind the crosslike slot, as the blue plummet fell on his same coloured cloak above his plate mail.

​

"Now!" screamed the Paladin. "Let us ride, together, again! In battle and mayhem, until Light prevails!" The horse screamed in excitement, rising to it's rear legs while it's mane and hooves were covered by roaring, blue flames, then jumped forward, galloping hard to the left flank.

On the other side of the field, a wyvern, ridden by a female Paladin of Darkness, clad in black armour, landed on the head of the western ranks, opposite of the Paladin.

​

*****************************************************************

​

The two armies met with ferocious force. The sounds of metal hitting metal and hissing arrows was only surpassed by the cries of pain and agony from the dying and the wounded. Orders were never heard, cries of encouregement never found their way, screams of insults were never noticed. It was a bloody day, a day of Battle, a day of Death and the Gods of the underworld were sucking the offer with unsurpassed pleasure.

​

Whatever plans the two armies had were soon forgotten. Such was the violence and ferocity of the battle that few men could keep a clear head. Alyss and her archers soon had to improvise, abandoning their arranged targets to help themselves however they could from the battalion of flying mounts the enemy had thrown at them. Sir Dancan's flank held only because of the veteran's clear head and calmness even in the hardest of moments. Alfos side had the easiest fight, the western flank of the enemy being much weeker. With his new sword, the Stoneflame, in his hand and with Dreamwalker's flames spreading chaos at those who neared him, the Paladin quickly opened way among the ranks of his enemies. His troops and himself had soon taken an importand advantage over the opposing force, ready to clear way to the camp, were their target was kept: the third part of the Rod of Law.

​

But fate had other plans. Suddenly, as his men approached the wooden barricades of the enemy camp, Alfos saw the men coming to a halt. The torso and head of an unlucky swordman landed near Alfos, his chest opened as if torn apart. The Paladin's eyes widened. Whatever monster did that, it was no match for the few spearmen he had among his ranks.

​

"Quickly Dreamwalker!" he screamed at his steed. "Fly! Find the paths you alone see!" The beast neighed in excitement, his flames roaring in battlerage. Snorting heavily, Dreamwalker galloped forward and upwards, in the air, his hooves landing on paths beyond the world of Men.

​

He rode hard some ten feet above the soldiers' heads, heading towards the first lines. And then he saw her.

​

She was standing cut off her ranks, surrounded by Alfos' troops. The giant winged wyvern she was riding was spreading chaos among the lines, it's long neck permiting it to bite from distance. Whoever was unlucky enough to walk closer than he should, died swiftly, loosing a limp or half his body. Spears were rising against the beast, yet it stood valiantly, guided by his Lady which screamed in fury.

​

Alfos gulped, his heart aching as Dreamwalker was bringing him closer to her every passing second. He felt his hands grow numb as they realised their duty. It was at this hour that he had to choose between his heart and his faith.

​

As his steed and himself were almost upon her, the Paladin's vision was blurred by tears.

​

"Enough!" screamed the Paladin pointing with his sword at the rider, trembling in agony, as Dreamwalker, surrounded by roaring flames, landed between the wyvern and the troops, making the winged serpent withdraw a few steps. The she-Knight, lowered her sword and shield, feeling her powers failing her.

​

The two enemies, the two loving souls, removed their helmets and looked at eachother, their eyes filled with pain by the choice they made so long ago. For a moment, the two fierce warriors were gone, replaced by a man and a woman, two longing lovers. Faintly, relanctantly, Alfos motioned for his troops to leave, whispering orders of reinforcing Sir Dancan's front. Then, acting as they were both one, they screamed their agony off and raised their swords, pushing their steeds forward, charging to duty.

​

​

*******************************************************************

​

​

Daerglar and Zarif walked silently near the rear end of the wooden barricades of the camp. Though not strong, the barricades were tall, making it difficult to climp unseen. Despite the ongoing battle, guards were left at all sides of the walls. The enemy knew what they were after.

​

"Now what?" said Daerglar, making Zarif jump in surprise. The rogue turned to the dwarf, his eyes glittering with anger.

​

"Is this you idea of a whisper, you loud bunch of meat?!" he whispered angrily. The dwarf chuckled, making Zarif only angrier. "Just shut up then will you?! We wait for Illithan. She should.." his sentance was cut there for from the eastern side of the rear wall a loud explosion was heard, as fire roared high in the sky. Screams from the guards and boots running heavily came to the two infiltrators' ears. Zarif smiled "That's my baby!" he said "Right on time". Paying little attention to the dwarf he runned to the wall and threw a hooked rope on the top. When he was sure it would hold him, he started climbing, looking nothing more than a shadow on the wall. Only seconds later he was on the top, quickly pulling the rope up. He feared the dwarf's reaction to this but if the short hunk of meat was heard, he could hide. He could hide very well!

​

However, the anticipated reaction never came, leaving Zarif a bit surprised. Checking the surroundings, he made sure there was noone in sight and being confident the screams and the sounds of battle would cover any noise he could make by accident, he jumped of the wall, inside the camp. A dog would have missed the sound of his landing. Smiling confidently, he moved crouching towards the biggest tent. His bet was the piece was located there. If he believed in anything other than Chance, he would have prayed he was right. He didn't.

​

He reached the tent easily, unseen. What few guards were left in the camp were busy fighting Illithan's troops. He knew better than to try the entrance of the tent though. He crouched to the back, took his knife out and torned a bit of the cloth of the tent as silently as he could. He looked through the little hole. Empty. Oh, no wait! A man. In robes. Little pouches hanging from the belt. No arcane symbols, no little frog feet hanging from the pouches. A knife. Aaaand there it is...The symbol of the Unnamed. Grrrreat... That's just great. That's always great.

​

Zarif sighed. He hated all those lawfull, those all-righteous or all-evil lawfull priests. Couldn't it have been a priest of Verguragon, Lord of Chaos? Or at least of Farnassa, the chaotic Lady of Disorder? That way he could at least have an interesting conversation before the whole cracking-spell-avoiding thing commenced, only to end up with Zarif faking to be dead or surrendered and then stabbing him in the back. Sighing once more, the rogue widened the hole and passed through it.

The priest turned at the sound of the torning tent, reaching for the materials of his spells.

​

"No wait! Can you please just skip the whole jumping around thing and let me stab you straight away?" A purple flame burst from the priest's hands making the cloth of the tent rot in moments, as Zarif jumped to the side in a dextrous move.

​

"Guess not" he sighed as he was getting ready to jump once more, the priest already conjuring his God's powers once more.

​

Minutes passed with the same scene going over and over again. Lightning, shadowbolts, ghostly daggers...all were aiming at the rogue Zarif, missing him by inches, others hitting at him, making him grind his teeth in pain. Little by little however, the rogue was comming closer and closer to the priest, his knife ready to do what it did best: take a life.

​

"STOP!" The priest's voice was filled with authority and non-human power. Zarif found himself unable to move, his body stucked in a ready to jump position. "Shit" he thought, "I hate that part". The priest smilled wickedly.

​

"That was not that hard, was it?" he said. "Very well...Now that the whole "jumping around thing" is over, we can proceed to the stabbing part, as you requested" he went on, while taking his black hilted knife with a twisted blade from his belt. "But not too soon. Not before I play a little with you. Not before your skin lies in ribbons on my feet. May His Dark Majesty accept you in his ar..." The priest's words were drowned in a fountain of blood as his head was split in half by a large axe. Zarif crumbled on the floor, the grip from the priest's will broken as life left him. As the rogue came to his knees, he looked at Daerglar standing next to him, trying to unstuck his axe from the priest's head.

​

"Ye can't do anything right, can ye?" said the dwarf smiling.

​

"I'll have you know that everything was under control" replied the rogue. "I was merely playing a bit."

​

"A'ight, next time I'll let 'em skin ye then! Now let's git out of'ere. We aint getting any younger."

​

"Wait!The Rod?"

​

"Already got it, ye prick" replied the dwarf, patting at a cloth covered thing on his belt. "Now move!"

​

As they run for the walls, Zarif kept staring at the covered piece of the Artifact. This was the third time he didn't got his hands on a piece, even for a while. They wouldn't let him. The rogue now understood why the others were so keen of the dwarf comming with him. They didn't want him to touch any of the parts. But the man was curious of how an object like that would react in his hands, how the incarnation of Law would react when in touch with his chaotic nature.

​

He didn't care what the others thought. He would find out.

​

*******************************************************************

​

​

 

Dreamwalker snorted with power at the wyvern's head, as it approached to attack, the fire comming out of his nostrils making the beast retreat in pain and distaint for the blue flames' cleansing heat. The she-Knight urged it to attack again, screaming at it. The beast growled in anger then attacked again, more determined this time. It would not disobey it's amazon.

​

The holy mount neighed in pain as the beast's fangs found their way to his neck. In a desperate attempt to free his friend and steed, Alfos reached as far as he could from his saddle and stabbed with his sword through the wyvern's brain. Both mounts fell, throwing their riders to the ground.

​

They stayed on the ground for a few moments, trying to shake the fall of their tired bodies. Then, again as one, they rose and stood against eachother.

​

"You killed her!" she screamed at him, fury and sadness dancing in her eyes. Alfos looked briefly at Dreamwalker, the former demon-horse crying in pain. So many sentiments, so much confusion...

​

The woman screamed and charged at him. He blocked her attack with his shield easily. The hit was desperate, aimless. He took the offence, anger taking over his mind. Anger for his lost family, for his faithfull Dreamwalker, for his stolen inoscence. Anger for the love that filled his heart for the woman standing against him and the cruelty that brought them where they were.

​

"You were not supposed to be on this side!" he screamed at her while delivering a blow on her shield.

​

"You changed your position!" She replied. "You were in charge of the eastern flank!" They both screamed in anger and desperation. What wicked plan of their Gods was this? Which power could have permited this to happen?

​

They fought for half an hour with a ferocity that would scare a demon. Blow followed blow, shields blocking, swords singing, cries of distress and agony. Yet noone dared to take the advantage. Neither wanted to face the inevitable dilema. But then, she made a mistake.

​

Her eyes were burning from sweat and tears. She did not see his sword aiming for her arm. Crying in pain, she let his sword fall as his blade crashed trough her armour and slashed her elbow deeply. She knew that he had pulled back. The hit could have cut off her arm, but he pulled back. Letting her head hang low, she kneeled infront of him, tears running down her cheeks.

​

"End it" she said whispering. "Please, my love, just end it." Alfos looked at her, his heart aching at the sight of her bleeding. The Stoneflame was singing with lust in his hand, longing for the Paladin to do his duty. It landed as far as his strength could throw it, as Alfos kneeled infont of her, taking her hands into his.

​

"I can't" he muttered. "May Allagon forgive me but I can't." She simply nodded, unable to speak.

​

"Come with me" he said. "Light burns within you, I know it, I can see it! Allagon will accept you, I know he will! And we can ride, together, side by side, fight as one, not as enemies!" She smiled bitterly.

​

"That would be nice" she said. "But it is too late for me now. What I have done to the world, to your family..."

 

"If I have forgiven you, so will He."

​

She looked at him in the eyes, smiling bitterly. "But I could never forgive myself... I can never forgive myself" she said.

​

"She is right you know." The voice echoed in his mind like the sound of thunder falling only feet near one. He raised his eyes to gaze at the familiar figure of Sir Michael Navarinov, smiling at him with that wicked, icy smile of his. He too had grown but time seemed to have treated him kindly. He nodded curtly at the Paladin and went on.

​

"It is too late for her. Your god would never accept her. Too much blood on her hands, is there not, my dear wife?" The last word stroke Alfos like a stone wave. His eyes widened. She let her head hang low once more.

​

"Now you see why..." she muttered.

​

"Don't listen to him!" cried Alfos, fighting the shock as realisation hit him. "He knows no forgiveness, he knows no love!"

​

"It is pointless, Sir Alfos" Sir Michael said. "Now, my dear, if you would spare the drama please and rise. You have a job to do. A Paladin of the Enemy is standing surrendered infront of you. Seize him! It seems that our piece was taken. We can use him to negotiate it's return."

​

The she-Knight remained motionless. In the distance the noise of the battle was slowly easing down.

​

"No" she said after a while.

​

"What?! Don't be stupid woman. If you don't seize him, I will and you will suffer the consequences of disobedience nonetheless. And they will claim more than your life."

​

"Then I will come. I will not let anyone harm you."

​

"You would abandon your mission?" asked Sir Michael, smiling with pleasure at the Paladin's wielding. Alfos simply nodded.

​

"I said no" she said. "And you will not touch him. He is the winner, he stroke me down. Neither you nor I have any right on him. If anything, he can claim me as prisoner." Alfos looked at her, his eyes glittering with joy. The joy was killed only moments after.

​

"But he will not" she said. "He will not take me for he knows that I am your wife and that would be a crime and he would never commit one. He will not because he has a mission and he cannot drag a prisoner with him, for it would endanger both the mission and his comrades. He will not for he knows that I do not have to be with him to have me as prisoner."

​

She looked at the Paladin's eyes, smiling almost happily. Alfos smiled back. For a moment there was nothing else in the world for either of them. No Gods, no duty, no laws and codes of conducts, no battles or enemies. Only their smile. His smile widened as he closed his eyes and tightened the grip on her hands, lovingly. He never saw or heard Sir Michael hitting him with his gauntlet on the back on his neck, leaving him unconscious.

​

She looked at her husband calmly. The hatred in his eyes did not make her faulter.

She leaned over the lying Paladin and kissed his forehead softly.

 

With no warning, no whispered prayer or conjured divine power, light krept from his hands, that she held still, and the wound on her shoulder closed, leaving only a stain on her destroyed armour to remind it was ever there.

​

She closed her eyes, a blissfull expression covering her face.

​

"Thank you" she whispered. "Fear not, now, my love. For whatever happens, you have saved me. You are, my knight in shining armour."

​

Bringing his gauntleted hands to her lips, she kissed them and rose slowly. Her husband looked at her with widened eyes. The bitter taste of jealousy was covering his senses.

​

"That is enough!" he screamed. "Take your sword and let's head back to the camp. While you were acting in this pittifull manner, you would be interested to know that, though the piece was taken, the battle was won. We must plan our next move."

​

"Poor Michael..." she said smiling at him. "Can you not see? No battle was won today by you."

​

"I said take your sword!" he snarled. The she-Knight looked at her sword on the bloodied ground and raised her elbows.

​

"I have no use for it" she said calmly and started walking towards their camp. The anti-Paladin screamed in anger while he took the sword of the ground. The only thing that comforted his twisted mind was that the Paladin would never know what happened to her. He would always be tormented by the thought she still served him. Him, Sir Michael Navarinov, and no other! Permitting himself to laugh at that thought, he walked behind his wife, leaving the unconscious Paladin in whatever nightmares he was seeing, lying next to fallen Dreamwalker, his flames gone forever.

​

*************************************************************

 

After the battle with Sir Michael Navarinof and and the third piece of the Rod recovered, Alfos was able to return to his homeland. Arrested at first, he was then released by the Order of the White Shield and the Order of the Pegasus, the last standing orders to oppose the Crossed Blades, a treacherus order that had stole many of the Mouintan Noble's legacies, in their effort to overthrown the King. In the civil war that was wagged, the Crossed Blades were destroyed, their conspiracy exposed. Those of the lost noble houses who still had living represantives were restored and Alfos was named Count of Mouintan, as the last decedant of his family. Yet the Paladin could not stay bared behind his tower walls. Appointing his trusted friend, Sir Dancan Redblade as a Stewart of the County, he resumed the quest of assembling the Rod with his comrades, visiting his homeland whenever he could.

Years passed, years filled with fights and battles in the quest to assemple the Rod of Law. The five friends have walked paths that had little difference from nightmares, paths that simple men and women don't know that even exist. Ancient Catacombs and toombs filled with undead whose powers surpassed imagination, strange planes of existence where the laws of the natural world were but toys, even the Abyss, home of the Demons of Chaos were places the adventurers had to visit in order to fulfill their task. From giants and dragons to Vampires and Mummies and Princes of Demons, the Paladin and his comrades stood against in order to escape with their lives. Then, after two decades, the last piece was recovered.

​

​

*********************************************

The night was cold and snow was falling hard, forming quickly a thick white carpet that covered the land. The little campfire that was burning shyly offered little relief yet it was better than nothing, giving what little warmth it could and litting the comrades' faces in it's dancing light.

​

Time had clearly taken it's toll on all of them. Wrinkles jeweled their eyes, grey hair crowned their tired faces and the little shivering they all felt prooved their constitution was not what it used to be. Only Alyss seemed the same, ageless, with a spotless face. Yet her eye too showed she was not the same elf she was when she first met the others. However, all of them, even the humans, were treatly much kinder by time as they could have been. Strength still lied in their arms and their faces looked confident and strong, making them figures to be respected for their age, not looked upon with understanding or pitty.

​

The five comrades looked at each other smiling warmly. After almost half a decade of fighting side by side, it seemed now that their quest was over, their rest well deserved. With Dearglar's magical keg pouring endlessly ale to their wooden flasks, the company celebrated their victory of recovering the last piece in the wilderness of the Mountains of the Forge. Soon they would deliver the Artifact to the High Council of Magic, who were already planning it's destruction. Even though the Artifact was extremely powerfull and could be used for good, it's powers were beyond mortal understandings, making it a danger in anyone's hands. The Chosen of the Godess of Magic, being the only ones to know it's full potential, would not risk the world's destruction by safekeeping it. The Rod was to be destroyed.

​

Ignoring their fatigue, the comrades celebrated almost until the next morning came, drinking ale and remembering all they have been through, laughing, smilling and remaining speachless with respect for fallen allies and battles lost. Only Zarif remained reletively calm, looking at Alyss' bagback where the parts of the Rod were held, drinking in silence, participating on the celebration when Daerglar threw stuff at him laughing, but only to grow calm and thoughtfull again with eyes fixed on the covered pieces after a while. And thus came morning and the comrades fell asleep, exhausted but happy.

​

But not everyone was asleep. Carefully avoiding to drink much without other's figuring out, he was know stirring slowly, silent as death, creeping out of his tent and aiming for the one Alyss used. He looked around carefully, his head out of the tent, knowing that Alfos would rather stay sleepless than leave the camp (and the Rod as well) unguarded. The rogue smiled when he saw the Paladin sleeping near the fire, his back turned to him, with his sword and shield resting on his knees. Twenty years before, the Paladin could have stayed up for three days in a row with ease. Now, all it took was some ale and a day's walk.

​

Moving as silently as he could on the snow, Zarif reached Alyss' tend, all the way making sure Alfos was still sleeping. He crowled to the back of the tent, so even if Alfos did wake up he could not see him, and slowly raised the tent's cover. Even in the little light of early morning hours, his eyes lid with excitement as they landed on the specially made metal case where the pieces of the Rod were kept. He has longed to touch the Rod for fourty years and for fourty years the others would not allow him near it. Now finally it was in his grasp! Carefull not to wake Alyss, the rogue reached for the metal case, picked it up and took it out in of the tent. Alyss' breathing never changed a bit.As fast and as silently as he could, the rouge crowled bback to his tent with the case under his shoulder.

​

With hands trembling with excitemen, he sat on his blankets and opened the metal case, touching in the right order all the magical glyphs that were carved on the case. He was not supposed to know how to open it, but then again it was his job to find out things other people didn't woant him to know! Obeying to his touch, the case opened with a soft sound that caressed the silence of the night like a whisper. With widened and glittering eyes, the rogue gazed upon the seven small pieces, smiling to himself wickedly. Seven pieces of simple wood, in various sizes, gazed at him in return, or so Zarif felt.

​

One by one, he took them out. They felt cold in the touch, he noticed. Cold as only Everstable and Eternal Law is. His mouth grimaced in distaint. Something in him stirred violently, an inner feeling of hatred towards this Absolute embodiment of Law, as the Chaos inside him rebelled against the being of the Artifact near him. Zarif nodded to himself, ignoring all those feelings as only a man with no real allegiance to anyone can. He much preferred Chaos, yes, but that was no reason why he couldn't play with Law, was it?" Besides," he thought to himself, "it's just another wooden stick!" Permiting himself to chuckle softly in this thought, the rogue looked at the objects more closely. He knew they were not supposed to be assembled to one Piece, not before some serious magic-doodoo happened. Noone knew why though. "Damn those mages, scarring people off! I bet it gets a much more beautifull form when it's all back into one piece and those mages were just afraid someone would use it if one held it in one piece. I ain't gonna use it though, couldn't care less about using law...stuff. I just want to see what it will look like in it's real form". Making a mental note that if they all ever saw it together in one peice he should act surprised, he begun examining the possibilty of putting them together. They all had carved edges to their ends, obviously intended for joining. He tried to make out which were matched by looking at them at first, but all the edges looked the same. Shrugging in a careless manner he picked two of them up, selecting by mere chance.

Alfos stirred in his sleep. Something was not right. A lifetime of adventruing develops a sixth sense concerning danger and the old Paladin could feel that sense more clearly than ever. it was almost like he was called to wake up bu a voiceless scream. He picked his sword up and jumped up, his muscles aching from sleeping sitting in the cold. But the Paladin payed little attention to the pain. He loooked around worryingly and tried to listen for a warning sound of any kind. A soft chuckle was heard from Zarif's tent. The Paladin sighed. The rogue was probably playing some weird game of his again, like the time he was pretending he had a ghost leaving in his body or when he tried all night to lick his own elbow. The Paladin smiled, allowing to himslef to relax. No matter how many years Paladin, Zarif would still remain a like a child, curious and ignorant of some truths of life. Yet that was why everyone loved him, for being the one who didn't allow the others to be overwhelmed by their serious approach of things. Smiling still, the Paladin was ready to resume his sit near the fire when he stopped, the smile abrubtly erased from his face. Tracks. Near Alyss' tend. Tracks leading to Zarif's tend.

​

Horror covered the Paladin's face as realisation hit him. Stunned at first, he then screamed with the top of his voice, all the while rushing through the snow to Zarif's tent.

"ZARIF!!!!NOOO!!!!!LEAVE IT ZARIF, LEAVE IT NOW!!!"

Cries were heard from the tends of the others as they woke up reaslising what had happened. But Alfos payed no heed. He rushed inside Zarif's tend, pale as the snow that layed on the land around them, only to gaze upon Zarif, sitting calmly with a piece of the rod in each hand facing the other and a big smile of satisfaction as he looked at Alfos.

​

"No biggie, Alf, I got it. These two deffinately go together. Look!"

​

"NOOOO!!!!" screamed Alfos jumping to Zarif in a desperate attempt to take the pieces away from each other. He touched them just when Zarif put the two edges together.

​

A flash of light outbrightened the sun on the mountain as a thunder sound echoed in the air, louder than a giant's scream. Alyss, Illithan and Daergal covered their ears, kneeling down in pain from the sound. When the sound died away, they all looked to eachother and rushed to Zarif's tent.

​

Five rod pieces stared at them angrily as they entered the tent, lying around the ground. Zarif and Alfos were nowhere to be found.

​