Blood dripped from the chair, making ripples in the large puddle by the body,
this body used to hold the soul of my wife, I cherished her dearly and now she
is dead. By the hand of an unknown man she had been slain, her corpse sat,
gruesomely twisted in the blood soaked mahogany chair. Her face had been left
untouched as if to mock me, as if the killer had wanted for me to know that she
was helpless and that I was not there in her time of need. Her large dead eye
stared lifelessly at me, a stagnant expression draping across the paled face.
She and I were large and tall, taller then most but not of all. We were
Krokani, a troubled race. Our kind was eternally afflicted by a racist feud
with the Aslaran race. Often when we wandered away from our homes and joined a
city or commune, the crafty generals used as meat shields in the regiments of
armies as a miniature building for the higher ranked soldiers to cower behind.
That night I wept for the loss but by morn I would not do so again. My mind had
been made up during the sleepless night, and there was blood to be paid.

Carefully I lifted up the ancient chest that held my family’s greatest
Heirlooms from underneath our bed. Placing it on the sturdy table in our
sitting room I started to unpack it. I removed the ancient field plate, the
weathered frogges and the cherished flails my family’s tools of choice. I
slipped into the outfit quickly. Finally I drew the great helm, raising it high
above my head I lowered it down over my brow. All was dark until a red light
appeared and my great eye stared out the blood red lens. The lens had been made
to never allow the wearer peace, so he must always seek battle when wearing it.

Over the years all had been lost in my life, my family was eradicated by the
Aslarans, my children slaughtered at the hands of the Taint. My wife was all I
had to hold on to. Now she was gone, just like every thing else… all I was
left with was a stream of anger impossible to be vented.

That afternoon I left my home in the moors and ventured across it’s vast
fields towards the place all Krokani feared, the Aslaran camp. The sun shown
brightly that day, its intensive rays heating up armour and the handles of
weapons waiting to be used. I walked up the encampment with no fear, for all I
saw was blood through my helm. As soon as I stepped foot in the camp of
billowing tents two warriors rushed me, both swung spears of shining steel. One
flew to my gut the other to my head; I parried the blows and killed them without
a second thought for all I saw was blood. More flowed out of tents now, their
swords and spears clashed against my armor in a feeble manner that an old
Krokani woman would surely laugh at. I let the blood poor from their veins and
slick the ground underfoot. I crushed many under my great flails with
supernatural accuracy. The weak Aslarans were no match for one as strong and
twisted by hatred as I. Soon the pile of bodies grew higher and higher at my
feet and I began to take relish in the killing, as I avenged my fallen kin.

The battle persisted, one warrior swung at my head letting the blow land
purposely in order to deliver an effective offensive. The result was a
deafening ringing inside the metallic helmet. I focused on the daring foe who
cowered in my shadow’s chest and crushed it brutally; he fell in a heap at my
feet, bleeding and broken. Another attempted to stun me by means of a head slam;
quickly I struck him in the gut twice, driving the air from his lungs. I kept up
the assault upon his gut until the last swing was swung and his organs were
crushed, leaving him to vomit them. A third attacker came from behind me, she
slashing at my legs, I was quick to spin around and confront the sneaky whelp.
With a roar I crushed her skinny legs leaving her prone and helpless among the
bodies and stampeding feet of her fellow warriors. Three banded together
pointing there menacing swords and spears in my direction the second who stood
on the right and the third who stood at the left swung forwards. The blades
slashed against the wrist-guards of my armour, sparks flew as I dropped the
heavy flails with a clatter at my feet. Their ranks had thinned out but not
enough for me to strangle the life out of with my bare hands.

“Ye die today beasts!” I chortled, for it was the helm that was talking. I
swung a mighty fist at the second, shattering his jaw and sending him sprawling.
I felt an Aslaran charging behind me, whirling around and creating a miniature
sandstorm I lunged for her, grabbing the female by the waste I smashed her into
the ground. Quickly I stood and delivered a viscous uppercut to the unprotected
belly of a warrior. A roundhouse befell the next Aslaran who charged from the
right and then a series of jabs to the one on the left my fists were numb from
the adrenaline that pumped through my veins. The old cracked leather gloves of
my ancestors only hid the severe bruising underneath. And so I killed them, I
let loose every devastating action of aggression I could muster until nothing
was left, except for a luxurious tent to the west. Killing the being that lived
in that tent would be a great deed of vengeance.

Picking my flails up from the ground I marched towards the untouched tent, my
footsteps sounded like thunder, and small blood-drenched pebbles quivered and
jumped with the quakes. With flails by my side and helm covering my face I
marched through the doorway, pushing aside the decorative animal pelts that
served for doors. I stood in a large “gathering” area of sorts now this
room alone could easily hold up to a score of Aslarans. And so I entered the
throne room, the farthest west room in the camp, and there he stood. A young
Aslaran who was called Ciarrus, Leader of the Aslarans. He wore ceremonial
robes, made of deerskin adorned in feathers. I might have been impressed by it
if the helm didn’t make it entirely red. His sword lay at his feet as he
shook violently, if I left him he would no doubt die of fright. I cast aside my
flails and lifted him two feet from the ground, a firm grip I had. “You… you
bastard” he wheezed. “You killed them all didn’t you? Your kind doesn’t
deserve to live! Filth is all you are! Filth, a blemish on the basin!” His
insults were those of a dying being. A sound from behind made goosebumps erupt
on my neck, dropping my foe I spun around. Standing in the doorway stood
Surtami, a warrior-woman who was a fable among the Moores folk.

I picked up my flails and she gripped her sword, we then walked out to the east
â€"back to the gathering room- and without a word we began to dual. She was a
fast and lithe just like the god her race descended from. He actions were quick
and beautifully executed with and elegant grace so stunning I almost didn’t
parry the first hit. Lucky for me blood distorted my vision. She slashed at my
legs with lightning speed, I half parried one blow and my armour reflected the
other. With one flail I struck her unprotected gut and then left leg, her sword
flew at me and I was to slow to parry it, the blow clashed against my helmet. In
desperate need of time to regain me footing in this dual I smashed my helm
against her for-head, she fell backwards stunned and prone by the sheer force
of my unexpected blow. If Krokano and Aslarn were to dual this is what any
Krokani would tell you: “Krokano would use his immense size and strength to
over power Aslarn” and I did just that. I threw myself on top of Surtami and
beat her with my flails while pinning her against the floor. A somewhat brutal
way to end a dual but necessary and beside, All I saw was blood.

With a cool air about me I walked back into the throne room and ended the
Ciarrus’s life I walked out of the tent, all alone except for my racing
thoughts, my family’s heirlooms and my lack of conscience. For all I saw was
blood, on that unfortunate afternoon.

All my life I had forbidden these… instincts to overwhelm me, taking over
my actions and thoughts. Now that I had, it felt as if a great weight had been
lifted off of my shoulders leaving my arms free to smite relentlessly.

Leaving the camp massacred, I walked slowly pondering who was to be avenged
next.
I eventually came to the conclusion that sleep would clear my adrenaline
charged head, so I slept there in the dirt. My dreams were mellow, with small
emotional outbursts, which resulted in visions of strange colors and beings…
mostly of those who I had avenged. A few hours later I woke with the
realization that someone still had to pay for the death of my wife. The problem
was; How was I to discover her killer while wearing this helm? And so I removed
my battle-scarred helm, just for a short while to clear my head and to help me
think straight. The killer would have had to been from a great city, for they
were the only ones who bore a grudge with my family. Which city? A hired man
perhaps? It was impossible to tell. Hiding my helm in my pack and cleaning my
armor and flails upon the grass I began to head to the nearest tavern. For all
things worth knowing are found in a tavern.

Stewartsville held the closest tavern and it was not far from the moors, so I
ventured down the Southern highway, keeping to the shadows of coarse. The
village was easy to infiltrate; the guards at the front didn’t even bat an
eyelash when I approached. The whole village was as lax as the guards were. The
doors of the small pub were ahead of me already; I could hear the drunken voices
and clinking of glasses emanating from within. The door handle was old and
rusted, and creaked with protest as I pulled it open.

If you were one of the drunks sitting inside I would have looked like a tower
of shadows entering from a doorway of light, this of coarse made fear rise up
in there feeble hearts and eye me with suspicion. I chose a stool at the bar
only to find it very unsteady and unaccommodating for someone of my extreme
proportions, but I sat none the less. The man beside me slumped in his glass,
he looked asleep but I didn’t observe long enough to know. I sat there for a
few minutes taking in the conversation around me; most of it was just pointless
ramblings of drunken men. Then slowly a different voice came to ear; it was
gruff and commanding. Leaving my crippled stool in shambles I strode over to
the speaker. Listeners surrounded him, but due to my immense height they
cleared a path for me so I was within earshot. He was a warrior wearing black
armor and two swords sheathed at his side, his black helm sat on the table
beside him.

“You boys should see Magnagora now! Never before have we flourished as we do
now. Our enemies die a thousand deaths just from the sound of our city’s
great title!” boasted the not quite sober man.
“At this very moment our enemies are being hunted down and killed! Every
single one!”
“Like who?” Asked I keeping an innocent tone in my voice.
“Well there were some Celestians who needed to be taken care of, that was my
business of coarse”. He paused for a moment, considering the others. “There
was also a krokani… lived down in the Moores I believe.” Making the
connections I probed deeper. “What was his sentence?”
“Sentence? … Not a clue, but I do know that a strange fellow did the dirty
work, I volunteered but I guess I wasn’t qualified”. He spat the words with
disdain. “This man would have killed my wife if given the chance”. I thought
to myself.

Slowly I reached for my pack and drew the helm. Slowly I lowered it over my
head, all the while the drunken fool watched curiously. “Today you die!”
yelled I, the whole tavern went silent as the words left my mouth. “What? Ya
think ya can take me? He said with a chuckle. “I’ve seen more battle…”
flew my flails did, meeting there target -the warrior- cleanly on the head, he
howled with rage as he fell of his bench and reached for his darkened swords.
At that moment the tavern erupted into chaos like an anthill under siege. The
drunks all started smashing chairs and punching each other blindly hoping to
get at the man who slugged them last. I only caught glimpses of the fallen man,
who now stumbled upwards, raising his dark blades. With a roar I made the first
move, tackling him into another end of the tavern. I rose first, and smote him
twice in the leg and then twice in the chest, both areas gave a satisfying
crack. He sluggishly tried to heal the wounds but I was faster, smiting his
head with a series of crushing blows, I killed the man and left him in a pool
of his own blood. My blood surging I looked for my next target -and there were
many to choose from- I stopped before I lost control, and made for the door,
For all I saw was blood.

The fresh air felt good in my lungs, I never liked the musty scents that
taverns held. To my revulsion my thoughts wandered to killing, that was when I
realized I still wore the helm. Quickly I removed it and hid it in my pack.
Quickly I walked out of the village trying to keep my composure. The man I slew
was no doubt an Ur’guard and a member of the city known as Magnagora. This
meant that every being of taint would be looking for me… including my
wife’s killer. “Excellent” I mumbled. Of coarse it would have been better
if I had thought those words instead of saying them just as I passed through the
gates, luckily the guards weren’t paying attention and I passed through
safely. “Whew” I sighed, I would be sure to guard my mouth in the future.

So I headed east towards the next village, Angkrag, the closest thing to
Magnagora besides the plane of Nil and the great city itself. I was so close to
the tainted city that I could hear the screams of the pitiful beings dying
inside. Soon I entered the blasted lands; the despicable place that separated
Angkrag and Magnagora. I trod heavily for my great journey had worn me out,
leaving my eyes drooping and feet throbbing for a rest. But I could not do
that, for the taint’s assassins were at my heels, searching for me. The sun
was lowering and every minute it became darker, giving the scenery a truly
ominous feeling. The exhaustion was slowly setting in as my need for sleep
increased, my eyes became bleary and my steps turned to stumbles. Right foot
forward, left foot forward, right foot forward… left foot… my left foot
fell right through the ground and the rest of me followed.

It was a gravedigger pit, the beast lashed out at me as I tried to regain my
footing, red-hot pain shot through my body as it landed blow after blow.
Finally I was able to draw my flails and fight back. The battle was long and
after every hit from the beast I was positive I would surely die here. Until it
fell, dead at my feet. I collapsed in a heap badly bruised and barely alive,
silence came over me only to be ripped away as the howls of more gravediggers
reached my ears. With a rush of adrenaline I began to clamber out of the pit, I
heard clawing coming from behind me.

The edge of the pit was under my arms now; I hefted my weight over and lied on
my back, refilling my lungs with air. But I wasn’t alone. A shadow slammed
into me, driving its great blades into my legs, pinning me there. I tried to
escape but its boot met my face faster. Darkness.

Next I awoke in a dark room, voices could be heard faintly from somewhere… I
was to disorientate to pinpoint them. I moved to sit up â€"for I was lying on
some slab of metal- but a pair of shackles restrained me. Flexing my arms I
attempted to break the shackles with my might only to have my entire body erupt
with singeing pain. I went to move my legs but the bones were broken and
shattered in what felt like a thousand places. I relaxed letting my head rest
upon the hard cold slab; I closed my eye and waited for a solution. But of
coarse, the only solutions my race had thought of was to “kill” the
problem. At times effective, at others just hopeless. So I prayed to the gods
for an idea, a way to escape, heal my shattered legs and avenge my wife before
death. None came.

I was going to be lying hear for a long time thought I, all alone and terribly
cold. But at that very moment the voices grew louder and seemed to be coming my
way! “Oh, what luck! Perhaps these people can help me!” I thought. The door
to the east swung open to reveal two shadowy figures both had
long-flowing-black robes on and large hoods hid their faces. Their conversation
ceased as they entered the room, one stopped at my right the other walked around
to my left, both stared down, I stared back. Moments drained by like hours as I
met their icy stares in turn. Two minutes passed of them not stirring, so I
decided they were waiting for me.

“What be the meaning of this?” asked I, trying to sound puzzled and
unawares.
“Silence!” hissed the won to the left.
“You speak when spoken to, vermin” hissed the right.
I nodded and let them stare for I was now much more interested in the ceiling
then the two visitors. A spider crawled upon the cobbled bricks, weaving a web
of silk, that would in turn catch it’s dinner. Eventually the two strangers
shifted their gazes up to what I was so entranced by. They laughed and I heard
whispers of ”stupid beast” and “silly being”.
“Enough!” shrieked the left; it turned and stalked off.
“We shall be back, Krokani” whispered the right and followed his companion.

Releasing a breath I had been holding for some time I glanced at the door and
listened. The door was thick but a faint muffled conversation was just barely
audible. Five minutes passed and the two came back
“Who killed your wife krokani, Was it the empire?” questioned the left
“Aye, ‘twas the empire”
“And what were you doing near our village of Angkrag? Were you trying to hurt
the empire?
“Yes” I replied foolishly.
“Do you know what happens to people who kill the empire?”
“No”.
“Death, death, death” whispered the right.
“The same path awaits you now, we’ve been hunting you ever since
Stewartsville, where you killed a high ranked member of our beloved city, do
you remember that?”
“No” I stated blandly.
“Liar!” the speaker â€"who just happened to be the right hand of the two-
raised a small club and smote me in the gut. I cringed and twisted in agony
-thus causing me more pain form my already damaged body-.
“You speak truly and we may heal you” said the left.
“But only so you may put up more of a fight when death comes” hissed the
right.
His partner gave him a glare, obviously the right had given away the end of the
lefts well thought out plan.

If these… beings were going to kill me or have someone else do it what kind
of honorable Krokani would I be if I were killed as a cripple and not a strong
warrior? Not very honorable at all. So I told them all â€"except about the
secret behind my helm, for that was a secret I would never tell- and answered
their questions truthfully. There were times when I doubted the honour of these
two but in the end of my interrogation they healed me, I could once again move
my legs and sit up freely without almost going unconscious from the pain. They
left me soon after, neither looking happy about having to heal me -for I’m
sure they viewed it as a great waste of willpower- before departure the left
said “death comes soon”. “Tomorrow!” shrieked the right. His out burst
was met by a very sinister glare. With a great turn they walked out of the dark
room, robes billowing behind them

So here I lay, in the heart of Magnagora â€"or so believed, for it was
impossible to tell- bound on a cold slab of metal. “Hooray” I muttered. I
closed my great eye and began to ponder, very slowly for that is how a Krokani
ponders. They will let me fight to the death… who will I fight? A grand
warrior? perhaps the assassin that slew my wife. Finally the exhaustion from my
journey over ruled the adrenaline from the two beings and I fell into a deep
sleep, upon the cold slab of steel.

The door creaked open late at night I was only half stirred when the shadow
descended on me, its cold hand embraced my face, I woke, startled and confused.
An old wrinkled and pale hand covered my entire face except for my eye which
peaked out between the middle finger and ring finger â€"the thing had five
fingers, that was a good sign if I ever did see one-. “Shhhhhhhhhhhh” it
hissed
“You fight in the morn, bloody morn, death awaits in the morn. It paused
dramatically
“Kill in the morn and then sprint east, for your troubles will be confronted
there and only there”. The shadow released me and sped off, closing the door
behind it hurriedly.

The morn came, or so I thought, for there was no sun in this dungeon. I had
laid awake all night thinking deeply about what the stranger had said. Just
before I came to a conclusion the door swung open and an ensemble of soldiers
marched in. They undid my shackles and pulled me to my feet â€"I towered high
over there heads- and together we marched â€"I was more dragged then marched
though, my legs were still slightly numb from the slab-
We traveled for a short while, until we arrived, the midnight arena was our
destination. There stood many taint, all varying in size and appearance. The
two hooded figures came out of the crowd and greeted me with sly grins â€"I
could now see that there skin was indeed pale and not just a mass of shadows-.
“You die today Krokani, we play a game of fox and hounds in this here arena.
Said the left in greetings. “You be fox!” cackled the right. “And we”
he paused and pointed with a sweeping motion towards the ensemble, “be the
hounds”.
“You shall be given your armor and weapons, not that they’ll help you in
this ordeal” said the left with a grin.
“If you lose inside the arena then everyone who watches will have the chance
to end your pitiful life, and there a quite a few”.

With a laugh the right dropped an arm full off my possessions at my feet.
“Get dressed for death” he hissed.

There were ten hounds and a single fox, which of whom was I. I stood at the
ready before the arena, my helm under my arm. -It would go on once we were
inside-. With a flash we all left to the aether. The event commenced! Quickly I
drew my flails and tensed my muscles; this was going to hurt. I took note of the
northwest and south exits, I chanted Carcer so the enemy would have trouble
following and began to wait. It was a minute before the group rushed in, I
chose my target, a small Ur’guard. I tackled him out and began beating him
over the head with my flails, he did very little to defend himself, thus he
fell after three swings, and left, transported by the aether. I continued this
tactic, slaying one Geomancer and a Nhilist in the process, both suffered
terribly. There were seven left, the group rushed into my Carcer infected room,
and block all the exits. This was when the adrenaline combined with my blood red
vision and my muscles flexed, ready to take death by the throat and squeeze the
life from him. I wasn’t going to die.

A small Orclach of an Ur’guard lunged at me, striking an artery in my left
leg, blood splattered and my flails fell, crushing his skull in four hits. I
had been forced to use my pentagram and Faeleaf for rebounding. All of these
opponents were weak but together they were almost potent. They were most likely
the fodder of the empire. This thought pleased me, all of these weak and inept
targets for my flails to sink their teeth into. Six left, a Mugwump swung her
klangaxe at me, I parried the blow and smote her thrice in the head rending her
unconscious. I diverted my attention to a Geomancer who was blasting me in vein;
this fool will die like the others I thought. And so he did the weak and
incompetent mage fell easily.

Their soldiers thinned under the rain of flails, until only three were left: a
helpless Nhilist, and the two shadows. I tackled the Nhilist and murdered him
swiftly only receiving a small number of afflictions in the process. The
shadows entered. The true battle was about to begin. One drew two mighty swords
â€"he being the right- and the other raised a knurled and twisted staff â€"he
being the left-. The right lunged at me with his scimitars, slicing open my
gut. I healed the wound and razed his defenses. While I waited for my balance
to come back, the left pointed his staff at me and let loose great blast. It
hurt tremendously. Switching to a more tactical approach I shielded, thus
blocking the next onslaught from my two opponents. Taking advantage of their
lack of balance and equilibrium. I directed two crushing blows to the ribs of
the right; he grimaced as the bones broke. The left let loose yet another blast
from his staff, this hurt just as much as the last but I stood my ground and
shielded. The right razed me and I crushed his gut. Forcing him to vomit blood
at his feet and nearly stumble in it from the force of my hit. His legs would
go next decided I. Taking a new approach to the left I head slammed him with my
think skull then I let my flails destroy his head smashing it into pulp in a
series of complex maneuvers.

Just the right was left now, simply waiting to be slain, never before had I
fought this well, perhaps it was because I felt like I had a true purpose,
perhaps not. I smote his legs as he struck my chest; I survived the blows
thanks to my ancient armour. I broke the bones in his left leg first and then
his right. Watching as he contorted his face into an expression of utter agony.
He moved to heal them with his shaking hands but I smote them to, cracking his
left hand’s knuckles and making his arm lye loosely at his side, barely
clinging onto the clutched weapon. With only one arm to parry with, while prone
the right was defenseless, so I moved in for the kill. My reserves had filled
once again allowing me to crush his sorry looking face with my right and then
left flail. His skull fractured on the second hit, as he looked about with a
dazed expression I crushed again, resulting in a black eye. And so I smote him
twice. Drenching my sweaty arms in gore as his skull was crushed under the
force of my flail. I had won.

Not thinking properly, I rushed out to the east like the stranger in the night
had instructed. But there was no east, just stairs leading upwards. So I
climbed them at a haphazard pace and kept climbing until there was an east. But
still there wasn’t one. So I ran desperately looking for the correct way that
would lead me to answers. I could hear the scampering of feet behind me, -not
far but not close either- so I doubled my efforts, I ran faster and more
frantically then my mentality would have ever thought possible. I rushed
inwards, the door closed behind me sealing me with a ghastly figure for
company. It wore a white cloak, dyed crimson with blood.
“Are you… are you the murderer?” I panted
“Murderer of what?” its voice sounded like a thousand fissures in the earth
hissing all at once.
“My wife!” disclaimed I, for I had regained part of my composure.
“Yessssss” it hissed
“I killed her while ssshe ate, in a chair it wasss, I swept down her back and
acrossss the neck with my blade!” it laughed sadistically, throwing it’s
head up to face the sky.
“I have traveled long to taste vengeance, to taste your blood upon my
bludgeon. In the process I have killed, killed, killed, many were almost
innocent, with crimes that had been lost in the vastness of memory in my
skull.” The words left my mouth instinctively as if I had spoken them before.
“Vengeance! Death awaits thow today! FOR ALL I SEE IS BLOOD! Pray now, for
death awaits”
The spirits of my ancestors had eradicated all my fears and enforced them with
an aurora of power. It shielded my mind from all thoughts of failure. Banishing
despairs and doubt to the depths of the Akashic. All that remained was an
instinct, an instinct to kill thy enemy.

From behind the bloodied cloak it drew a great axe. Its blade was of silver
although crimson stained it now; the blood had sunk deep into the metal
eternally staining it. I drew my flails, still fresh with blood and gore from
my past foes. Before we began it produced a blood stained dagger and flung it
at the ground. “That blood issss your beloved” it hissed. With a roar we
embraced each other in battle, dancing across the damp stone. I swung, he
jabbed. I razed, he cleaved. What I dealt out and what I received was almost
equal. The almost was the fact that this being was stronger then I. My muscles
would have throbbed from exhaustion but they did not, for the feeling of pain
was gone. I broke his jaw and he and he sliced open my gut. I cured, he cured.
He broke my arm and I his leg. It wasn’t until my reserves had been drained
to zero that the tides turned greatly. It hacked at my helm and opened up my
chest with two violent swings. I attempted to heal my wounds and parry at the
same time but it was difficult under the force of its mighty axe. With a great
swing it knocked my feet out from under me. With an air of supremacy and ease
it swung and sliced my throat. It stood above me axe in hand as I lay in a pool
of my own blood. It raised the axe high preparing to decapitate my poor figure.
In my last fleeting moments I freed the dagger from the ground and thrust it
forward. It leaned hard into the swing and I buried the dagger deep in his
single-large-eye. Together we howled. For one as strong as it, a Krokani never
lost its grip. Together we died. Enemies we may have been but brothers by blood
and kin we were as well. For all I saw was blood.

Proudly Written by Sir Karrack, Knight of the Dawn.