My name is Rollot Doreen. Stories and songs are my trade. Do you wish to hear a story or perhaps a song? ... A story then, now the wealth of the story will be determined by the wealth I find in my hat. ... good, good...
I will tell you of Tarmel... not Tarmel Dragon Scale, his story is far grander that that which is in my hat. I will tell you of his grandson the first to be born after the old chef died. So a new Tarmel was born named in honor of his Grandfather and raised in the ways of the Genith clan. Now you must understand the Genith clan are a people of honor who honor the battle and the weapons they wield. A warrior of this people learns to trust and respect the weapon in his hand. ... Now where are we? The city of Manittal yes?... Well the Genithens are barbarians who live far to the north of here in the foot hills the great Alaton mountains just outside the Kingdom of Alanea. ... Why do I tell you this! Why!?! So you know what kind of man our Hero is! Where was I? Ah, yes...
At the end of the winter of Tarmel’s 20th year he grew restless in the village of his birth, so he and his friend and sword-brother, Tindos, set out to see the world and to make a name for themselves. As they traveled they took pay as body guards for merchants and wealthy travelers. So they traveled for two years, honing their fighting skills against bandits and other such highwaymen, not all of whom where human. They fought goblins, orcs, even a giant once. In that instance our two Genithens were the only two of the merchants guard to survive. This was in part due to they where stationed at the rear of the company, so they missed the initial attack and had time to take stock of the situation. They saw that the others where quickly dwindling and that they had to act fast, Tarmel gave one simple command, "Take out it's legs." With that they were into the fight;
Tindos went low as Tarmel swung his huge great sword at the giant’s midsection over Tindos's head. The monster blocked the blow from Tarmel but did not see Tindos make his dash at its legs, twin swords crossed over his shoulders ready for the strike. In a moment Tindos was behind the giant, its face registering surprise as it fell to its knees having tendons in both legs cut. On its knees it was only the matter of a simple thrust on Tarmel’s part to end the creature’s life. It was only the great size of the sword Tarmel wielded that let their tactic work. It put Tarmel on a more or less equal range as the giant with a weapon that could hurt it. You see, Tarmel was fond of using a sword that stood six feet tall, such a weapon one would think unpractical? However he did use such a blade, and it does not move at a snail’s pace either. It is a weapon of significant weight but well balanced to let it move swifter that one would expect.
Well after that encounter the merchant decided to retire. After receiving their pay with some contestable extra as hazard pay they traveled on. After another year of such traveling the pair felt the need to part ways for a time. Tindos wished the go east and Tarmel west. They did not see why they could not do both. So that's what they did. Tindos joined a merchant train that was headed to Calintin the city of silk. Whereas, Tarmel traveled west to the land of the horse folk, and their city of Plainshold. He traveled with a royal caravan taking the princess to her betrothed, the prince of the Plains. I was her majesty’s minstrel and was to keep her occupied with songs and jest on the journey... You don't believe I was the minstrel to the princess of Alanea!! Well I will tell you! Rollot Doreen has played this harp for more royalty than you will ever lay eyes on! Do you wish me to continue or are you tired of this old man’s voice!?! ... Very well, I’ll tell my story despite the scorn I have been shown.
We traveled for about two weeks out of the land of Alanea without an incident. The going was slow due to we had to stop at every sizable town on the road for the princess to say farewell to her people. After that we expected to move quickly. To tell the truth, Tarmel did not fit in with the regular guards that were escorting her majesty. He was hired by the guard captain who had heard of his fight with the giant orc and thought it would be wise to have at least one man under him that had some experience of the road and it dangers. The others, however, looked down on him even thought they feared him. Because of this he was often given scouting duties to check for danger up the road. He got on well enough with the servants because he often hunted as he scouted ahead, bringing back fresh meat for the cooks which is much better than the stuffs that we had in the stores in our carts. It was on one of the days that the captain sent Tarmel to scout the road ahead that the trouble came.
We had traveled past the last of the small villages that still holds Alegeans to Alanea, and were about to enter the Whispering Wood, the forest that runs the length of Alanea’s western border. It is a forest aptly named-- sound acts in strange ways within the wood. You can talk but no mater how loud you shout all that can be heard is a whisper. Stranger still, some times you will hear your own words spoken an hour before coming out of a tree stump, and the cries of others long since gone, but still just whispers. Night was falling and the Captain called a halt to make camp. None of us was eager to enter those woods at night. It was as we made camp, they came like shadows swift and silent, but with a solid form that will give me nightmares until the day I die. They were once men but now just the shells of men. They came dead, bringing death. No matter what the guard did they could not halt their ghostly advance. I saw them head straight for the princess’ carriage, cutting and smashing all that came in their way. As I watched I saw one of the things tear the door off the royal carriage and another take the princess and stuff her into a bag. After that I remember nothing. I think I was hit in the back of the head for when I came to I had a nasty lump on my head. I was brought awake by a splash of cold soup in my face. It had to have been the middle of the night a good three to four hours since the raid on our camp. Tamel stood over me, the cook pot in one hand, a sword in the other. As I surveyed the camp all I saw was destruction. I only lived because I was under one of the carts, unconscious that I avoided the fate of the rest of the company. He asked me simply what had happened with such a look in his eyes that I stowed my complaints and gave him an accounting of what I saw. He passed me the cook pot and said, "Eat, you'll need your strength if we are to catch up with them." You can imagine my surprise.
"What do you mean we?! I'm no fighter. I'll just be in the way!"
"Yes, but would you rather stay here?" And he was right. I did not want to stay there with the dead.
As I spooned up the stew Tarmel went around the decimated camp gathering up supplies. When he came back to where I sat he handed me a short sword, "What's this? But I don't know how to use one of these." I moaned.
"I think you will learn quick enough." was his retort and with that he started off toward the wood. I stared after him a second and then when on after.
The Whispering Wood was stranger than I could have imagined. The lack of sound of any kind was unnerving. We followed the path the undead monsters made. They did not expect pursuit or they did not care if any one followed for they left a path straight, walking through or hacking down any underbrush that got in their way. Tarmel pointed out the only variation in their progress, "it seems that the princess is still with them and they do not want to harm her." he said as he knelt by a set of tracks. "These two are taking more care than the rest, as if they carry something fragile."
After what felt like days to my feet, but Tarmel assured me that it was only hours, we came in site of the things. It appeared that they came to their citadel, a gray tower that stabbed the landscape like a dagger in a dark bosom. The monolith stood on the top of a small hill to one side of a clearing. There looked to be only one point of entry. As we watched from the safety of the edge of the clearing where we could not be seen, we saw the party of undead enter, two carrying the sack I saw them stuff the princess into. Tarmel unslung his pack and handed me some dried meat with the command to stay there. I had no problem complying with that order. He took some dried meat for himself and headed off around the clearing to see what could be done. As he walked, he ate keeping inside the tree line always with one eye on the tower. As he circled he saw window slits, the kind for an archer-- narrow and high, but one he spied that was low, only a short climb from the ground and it had crumbled outward from years of weathering. The two undead guards at the front gate where the only two that he saw. None were in the clearing and he saw no movement from within the tower. The sun was just rising over the tree tops and the dawn held that eerie note. He decided that it was the time to act. With a last look to the two guards he dashed out from his cover and straight up the hill to put his back against the gray stone wall under the crumbling widow. Griping shards of stone and mortar, our young hero climbed to the portal and peered inside. The portal was a tight fit for Tarmel. He had to place his weapons in first before he could squeeze in, himself. Once in, the morning light showed him an empty corridor that curved around the center of the structure, the floor sloping up and around with it. Deciding quickly, Tarmel started up the incline thinking that the princess would be held close to the top. Unable to draw his great sword in such a confined passage he drew his long sword ready for any monster or beast that might show itself. As he climbed he checked the rooms that he passed. Some he found empty save the moth eaten tapestries that still hung on the wall. Other doors he let be, hearing the telltale shuffling of undead feet. At these doors, as quietly as possible, he glanced through the keyhole to be certain that the princess was not there. She was in none of them.
Higher and higher he climbed until he fond himself at the top looking down over the small valley. The top of the tower was rubble, open to the sky and the sun. By this time the sun had gone in it course half way to its zenith. The rays of light hit the floor at Tarmel’s feet and lit the letters of an ancient inscription. The words were illegible to the barbarian, but the mural that lit up as well was easy enough to cipher. It showed a sword black as night within the hand of a man who was holding it, hilt extended out. Around the man were the undead monsters reaching out for the man with the black sword .Their faces, normally impassive, wore masks of fear and joy. The man himself stood tall and unafraid, his hair the color of the summer wheat, his eye the blue of a mountain stream, and his frame was that of a smith, the kind that works his forge day and night. As Tarmel stared transfixed by the image at his feet a cloud passed over the sun and with its shadow the mural with its strange writing was gone-- only a cracked dusty floor was there. Snapping back to his surroundings he heard the tread of boots on stone coming up the passage with the clank and sliding of steal on steal. As the foe drew closer a male voice came on the air up from the stones. It screamed "You came and up you went. Clever you were to pass my sentries and reach the top undiscovered but your prize is not there and now you will die by the hands of the undead! Fight you may, but to no avail. They will overwhelm you and you will fall." With a final cackle the voice faded away. Sheathing one sword he pulled off his back the other, a good six feet in length and six inches across. In this open space he had the room he needed to wield it.
Two by two they came, their faces impassive and uncaring, they movements fast and to a clockwork precision. Without waiting Tarmel went into the offensive, his master of a blade coming down cleaving the first down the middle leaving another chip in the stone floor. The second was skewered by the great sword but that did not stop its advance. With a mighty heave Tarmel swung sword, creature and all, over his head throwing it off his blade and off the tower but not before the thing tore the cloak from his back. More and more creatures came up from the hole. He chopped and smashed, where his sword swung a monster fell but the fallen pieces were not done. They too advanced on our hero.
As he fought he did not go unscathed. No mortal wound did he sustain but many minor ones. His foe fought with ferocity but not skill. He knew that it was only a matter of time before they would overwhelm him, but he determined to destroy as many as he could of those, leaving whatever evil magus to have to do without a good portion of his undead host. As he stepped back the cloud moved from in front of the sun and its rays once more struck the stone tower revealing the mural once more. No sooner did Tarmel see this than the stone under his back foot gave way sending him tumbling into the room below. As he fell he released his sword and went in to a roll. Shaking his head to clear the stars from his vision he saw that he was not alone in his fall. Most of the undead monsters were still above, but one fell with him. Mangled from its fall, it had already got to its feet and was pulling its sword out from its ribs as it advanced. Tarmel, seeing his great sword behind the thing, blindly reached for the sword closest to hand. Without thinking he pulled a sword out of the hands of a statue and ran the creature though. It gave a shudder and went limp, the faint word "peace" passing the monsters lips, a monster no more, just the corpse of a man. The action happened within moments. Tarmel saw in his hand the sword depicted above. It was black as ebony with only one side of the blade sharpened but that one long edge was almost as long as his own great sword but shorter by a foot and the weight of his blade. Turning, he faced the statue that he had inadvertently pulled the sword from. As he expected, it was the man from the mural as well, but now it appeared to be gesturing toward the door, but on a second look it only stood there hands in the position it held the sword in. Judging by the height of the walls Tarmel did not recall a room at this level of the tower but leaving that sort of speculation for a more leisurely time he retrieved his own sword. Then going to the door he opened it to see that most of the undead were on the floor above. Sword in hand, he again climbed up into the sun. This time the creatures fell to the sword he held. As the mural depicted, they showed fear at the sight of the black sword but as they fell joy and peace were on their faces. These monsters were the tortured remains of men. Men not allowed the rest of death that was theirs by right, but forced to do another's bidding for who know how many years.
Once he had dispatched the undead on the top level of the towel, Tarmel descended back down the spiraling ramp passing now empty rooms that once housed the horde that lay at peace above. Continuing he passed the crumbled window that had granted him entry to this dark fortress. He followed its passage yet down to the entry gate with its two guards, backs to the intruder, seeming oblivious to the battle that took place over their heads. With two quick thrusts Tarmel released the two from their unnatural captivity to final rest. Having that threat taken care of our hero knew that he must look down at the entry gate with the ramp to its left and a stone wall to its right. Deciding to look for a secret door Tarmel approached the wall. As he did the thought kept coming into his head that up was the way to look, but he knew there was no more room unfound up that way. Closer to the wall he moved and thought that he might have missed some thing, such as the room with the black sword. Didn't he miss that room initially? With that, he turned around and started back up the ramp but around the first bend he remembered that the last part of the climb to the top of the tower had struck him as odd due to the lack of doors that had patterned the rest of the tower with consistency. There was no space for a secret room, save the one that held the statue of the man from the mural. Down was the way to go, and a spell had been place over it. This did not surprise him. It was to be expected for a place that was guarded by the undead to have some spells in place too, but now he knew the nature of this spell. Turning back down, he returned to the gate and then the blank wall. This time he approached it echoing the protests that seemed to come from has own mind. As he was about to reach the wall, it and the protests disappeared to reveal a flight of stairs leading down.
Down the stairs he went stepping lightly as to not make a sound. Each movement checked for all the gear he carried. Softly swords were controlled and guided so they did not clank. So deftly he moved down the stairs, listening all the way for any noise of his enemy. The stairs opened on to a tight passage with a red light at the end of it, and that laughter that he had heard on the tower top he heard down the hall and yet out of sight.. As he crept down to where he could see the one that ruled this place, he heard this: "Oh you are mine, little thing! I will be your master. I will have bound your will! You shall be my tool to use as I see fit. And to dispose of when it is time. With you, I will see the proud heads of the Plains men fall. I will turn their honor into shame! With you I will bring the beautiful land of Alanea to its knees at my feet." All this Tarmel heard as he moved his silent way down the passage. The boasting of a mad man, but one who holds a measure of power and not a power to be underestimated for was it not this mad magus that summoned and commanded the undead host above. But the magus was not done. "I will rule them both now. I will make myself King of two lands! King Salamar! But who's to stop me then from expanding my empire as far as I wish?"
"There is me, for one." Tarmel stepped out of the shadowed archway, black sword in one hand, head held up, proud, eyes on the magus, this Salamar.
Tarmel’s stance and stare unknowingly had the same quality as that of the statue man from above. He faced the magus in a circular chamber, which had the hideous carvings of demons and devils doing their perpetual dance around the room. At the opposite side as the archway where Tarmel stood was a throne with the magus Salamar standing in front of it, the princess to one side. In outrage that can only be held by that the self righteous his shout rang out of the tower to reach even my ears. "You! How are you here?! Did not my savants dispatch with you hours ago?"
"No, but I dispatched them. They are no longer in your employ."
"You! You are nothing! A mercenary, by the look of you, but just a mortal man!"
"And you are not?" With that Tarmel spent no more time on words but started to advance on the magus. Salamar circled away from the young hero that he saw as a fool.
"You think that those bags of flesh were the only weapon in my arsenal? Well think again." With that his arms shot out to either side with a quick chant, "Stone that I have shaped awaken and protect me." Tarmel, knowing enough about magic to know that one should not let the enemy complete a chant, rushed forward to stop this mad wielder of magic from summoning this new demonic aide. But as the black sword was about to strike home a great mass smashed into him pinning him to the ground. The blow stunned him for an instant, no longer, but that was all it took to loosen his grip on the black sword causing it to slide across the floor. "That is an odd weapon to carry." said Salamar as he walked to his throne and sat. "You," with an off hand gesture to the princess "bring it here. I think I shall run him through with it. Gargoyles stand him up." At the command given her the princess moved to pick up the black sword. As her fingers touched it she wavered. Seeing this hesitation the magus refocused his energy of will on the girl "Why do you hesitate? Bring me that blade now!" With the habitation gone she picked up the sword and presented it to her master, Tarmel waiting with his arms held in stone manacles. "Good" Salamar said with an impassioned air. He greedily reached out for this black treasure that was now his.
As Salamar grasped the hilt of the blade, a new light came into the chamber and with its source being the sword, the grin of triumph melted into the rictus of pain and fear. As their master became distracted, the two Gargoyles that had been holding Tarmel so tightly loosened their grip and stumbled back as if they were trying to keep their bodies of stone from refreezing to that motionless stone once more.
Not wasting any time, Tarmel reached over his back and started toward the magus writhing as he stood. With one swift slash from his back to the floor Tarmel brought his great sword through Salamar, splitting him in to two pieces, breaking the throne behind the magus as well. As the two halves of the magus fell they began to smoke and burn, leaving only ashes behind.
The princess lay on the floor in a swoon beside the broken throne. Tarmel went to her and felt for a pulse, she was alive. Quickly Tarmel removed the girl’s knife from her belt and securing it to his own. Then he turned to the black sword where it lay, picking it up "You are a strange thing, a thing of the night but yet of the day and the sun. You are a thing that deserves a name, I do not know the one that was given you when you where forged but I will call you Tombstone, the Tombstone Blade." With that he placed it on his back next to his great sword holding it fast with strips of leather he cut from the back of the throne. Gathering up the still unconscious princess he remounted the stairs returning to the spot where I still hid. Stepping out in to the sun he saw that its light was starting to ebb from this day letting all know that night was at hand. Without any more delay Tarmel strolled across the clearing to find me still where he had left me that morning. "Come. Night draws near. Let us leave this place to its peace." he said to me then added with a smirk "unless you’re up for a night in this wood." With that I was up and eager to return the way we had come but sill fearing that this man would have us camp in the refuge of the caravan. We only stopped there to gather some supplies and collect some of the horses that went astray.
That night, as he and I sat around the camp fire I asked him question after question about what transpired in the tower. Late in the night I asked him "What shall we do now? Do we return to her father?"
"No" was his reply. "On to Plainshold. That is where we started to and that is where we shall go."
And we did, the three of us traveled quickly. The princess missed her soft pillows and the saddle did not sit well with her at first but she bore it well and after the first week started to grow accustom to the road more so than she had on the first part of our journey. She even joked with me that her husband to be was a renowned lover of horses and would be please that she could ride so easily.
It was only a three weeks of travel on the road until we reached the border of the Horse folk land. Only a mile or two past the marker of the border we where stopped by a border patrol. Once they understood who we were they granted us an honor guard and sent messengers on ahead to announce that the princess of Alanea had been met at the border and was safe but had lost all but two of her retinue on the road. We were welcomed graciously to the castle at Plainshold with a feast held in the honor of her majesty. Sadly Tarmel was not included in these festivities but he was paid a handsome reward for bringing the princess safely though. The last I saw of him he was on his way to a new road atop a fine stallion that was a gift from the heir apparent and the princess betrothed, as well as a new scabbard hanging from its saddle holding that black blade Tombstone. I will see him again and if not I will hear of his deeds.