After the funeral, Thentare went back to his home, thinking over what to do next. Dankalm had really given him some interesting things to think about. He did really think the quest was a good thing. They could get rid of Morwan, convert him, or something, but Morwan’s plans did not concern Thentare too much.

Thentare decided he would talk with Dankalm one last time before deciding. That in mind, he headed to the tavern, telling Disinteyel he would be back in an hour, with a final decision on his going or not. He walked towards the tavern, still wearing his mourning clothes, thinking about his decision.

Because of his preoccupation, he was not watching where he was going and so he collided with a neighbor’s child. Apologizing profusely, Thentare helped the child back up and brushed him off, asking, “Are you all right?”

The child nodded, and rushed into the arms of its mother who had just exited the small house in which they lived. The mother hugged the small boy, and sent him inside to clean up the scrape he had acquired on his kneecap. Thentare turned to walk away, but the mother grabbed his arm.

“Thentare, I just wanted to thank you so much for fighting last night. My husband as you know is prone to fits, and in all the excitement last night he got one. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to all the men who went out and defended our city and my children from those terrible men who attacked us. I hear you did quite well in battle. Please, don’t ever doubt that what you’re doing is useless or unappreciated.”

She went inside, and Thentare smiled and waved. “Thank you!” he said, putting as much of the gratitude he felt into it as he could, and then continued on his way to the tavern. He arrived, and found Dankalm sitting in a corner, a hat over his eyes, snoozing. Thentare tapped him on the shoulder, and he awoke with a slight start.

“Oh, sorry about that. It has been a long last few days, and I was sleepy. Have you decided yet? We leave tomorrow morning, with or without you.”

Thentare nodded. “Well, as I left my house to come here, I was unsure of my decision. I was still not comfortable much at all with the idea of killing people on a regular basis. I wasn't sure if that's what Intholore wanted me to do with my life. Then, I met someone who thanked me for what I did. It was an honest, heartfelt gesture on her part, and I suddenly realized that you were right.

“We are not fighting for us, for justice, judgment, or gain. We are fighting for those who can't, and they appreciate it. Of course, I debated whether or not I would be serving better here or out there, questing, but eventually I decided that my leaving will not only put me in a position to protect more people, but it will also push the ones I leave behind to improve themselves, thus balancing out any loss from my going away. The end result is that yes, I will come with you to the land of shadow, through the dark tunnels and into the lair of a dragon and the Nia Hunga.”

Dankalm nodded. “Then so be it. Now, Thentare, I am curious. How much do you know of the artifact we go to seek?”

“Well, it is the armor of Gartmalant. It consists of a breast plate, helmet, greaves, and a pair of custom weapons. According to most scholars, the weapons were basically a pair of sword blades attached to long, thin shields, that strapped to one's forearms. The shield extended past the elbow, but no longer than the arm, and had a handle to ensure you could hold on to it. There also were three stones, one in the breast plate, one in the right weapon, and one in the helmet. The one in the helmet was crystal blue, the one in the weapon was shimmering and black, and the one in the breastplate was bright red.”

Dankalm raised one eyebrow, and nodded. “Very good. I am impressed. Few people know that much about its appearance. Now, what can you tell me about it's forging, and the circumstances of its use?”

“It was forged one thousand, three hundred and thirty seven years ago. It was not made by one person, or even one race, but was a collaborative effort. The circumstances were that Jarizaux had landed with an enormous fleet with many men on board. He had conquered good parts of the coast, and after taking over the capital of men, he started invading the rest of the world. No one was safe from his armies. They invaded elf, dwarf, and man indiscriminately. The leaders of the three free people met together, and realized that acting as individual armies they would not succeed.

“They allied themselves, and decided by vote that Gartmalant should lead, as he had the most success with the least resources during the war. So, to further cement the alliance, each race would forge a piece of his armor. The dwarfs, with their strong and yet light forging, put together the Breastplate, to ensure that it would protect from damage well. Men, with their knowledge of weapon crafting and specialty in the unusual, put together the two weapons. The elves, with their exquisite craftsmanship, put together the helmet and greaves. Each nation put in their most fitting stone.

“The night before the first battle of the united forces and the armor, a wandering monk appeared. He prayed for the men, and insisted on seeing Gartmalant. The elfin king agreed, and received him in his tent. The priest entered, and told Gartmalant that he had good news, and bad news. Gartmalant asked him for the bad news first, so the priest sighed.

“He told Garmalant, 'You have less than two weeks to live. I cannot say for sure how long it is, but it is less than two weeks'

“Sighing, Gartmalant asked for the good news. The priest smiled. 'You will fight tomorrow, and you shall win! You shall beat back Jarizaux and establish a legacy of hope. One day, your armor will be a symbol of the victory of good over evil. However, there is only one condition to this. When all hope seems lost, you must stab the banner. More I cannot say.'

“Gartmalant nodded his understanding, and the priest went his way. The next day, the battle was an even match. Gartmalant was unparalleled at strategy, and his armies teased, taunted, and destroyed the enemies all over the field, but they were against a horde of men unseen before. The Nia-Hungas were in full force on the battlefield, and Jarizaux himself was wreaking havoc with his dark powers. Gartmalant knew what he must do. He must destroy Jarizaux.

“So, Gartmalant worked his way to the front where Jarizaux was decimating his men. Jarizaux saw him coming, and thinking he saw an easy way to defeat the morale of the elves, attacked with great relish. By this time, his magic was waning, so he used an enchanted blade, with an elongated black blade. Every time his blade clashed with anything, a puff of black flame appeared, giving his battles a very arcane and magical appearance. He and Gartmalant engaged in an epic duel that slowly captured the attention of the battlefield and caused them to stop fighting to watch the spectacle.

“Gartmalant had the benefit of two weapons, and incredible speed and agility. Jarizaux though had great endurance, and brute strength. Finally, he managed to penetrate the defense of Gartmalant, and had his sword at Gartmalant's throat, a slit second away from beheading him. Gartmalant despaired, but at the last instant, he saw a banner nearby. He dropped to the ground and rolled, leaping up to stab the banner, which had upon it the silver hand which the symbol of the united army.

“Gartmalant's weapon took on an unearthly glow, and Jarizaux turned to finish the fight. Making a split-second decision, Gartmalant shouted 'In the name of Intholore, begone violator!' and struck the ground with his sword.

“Jarizaux was in the middle of another swing, but suddenly found himself thwarted as his blade shattered, its shrapnel falling into a shape like a hand. From each of the five fingers, a gout of purple flame spouted, striking Jarizaux in the chest. From the sky, five bolts of lightning struck from the blue sky, converging on Jarizaux's head. Five roots rose from the ground, and embedded themselves in Jarizaux's arms and legs. Jarizaux screamed, a high-pitched undulating scream, and then turned into a black mist that blew away in the sudden wind.

“Jarizaux's armies put up a desperate fight, but it was downhill from there. They were eventually chased off the battlefield, leaving the free peoples victorious."

Dankalm raised a hand, shaking his head. “That's incredible Thentare. Not only was that the most detailed recitation I've ever heard of that story, it seemed like I could actually see and hear the battle raging around me, and feel the tremors in the earth as the flame burst from the ground.”

Odralin, who was sitting at a nearby table, nodded. “It was strange...I wasn't even paying that much attention at first, but then it was like I started hearing the swords clanging, men yelling, and see the smoke rising from the battlefield.”

Thentare looked puzzled. “Well, I've always been a good story teller. I suspect I ought to go home and sleep and eat now though. After all, the impossible is not done on an empty stomach.”

(All right, this entry contains a few quotes, so I figured I'd explain that. This story, in it's original incarnation, needed to incorporate...five different plot elements suggested by fellow writers. A few of them included quoting various things...so I did.)

Meanwhile, a few hundred feet away, the guard at the gate stayed at his post. He wished he could have joined everyone at the tavern, but he had a job to do, and he meant to do it! He took great pride in his diligence, and puffed out his chest a bit as he remembered his superior complimenting him on the way he handled the situation with Morwan.

He looked out over the forest, sharp eyes searching for smoke, lights, or disturbed wildlife. Those were the three things his supervisor had always told him to look out for, especially the wildlife. Often the small creature's being disturbed were the only warning you would receive, if an invasion force was intelligent in their approach. He snapped out of his introspection as he noticed a lot of owls moving about restlessly, and other birds flying off. It looked an awful lot like something, or a lot of some ones, was heading their way. He ducked out of sight, and pulled on the emergency notification cord.

Within minutes the town militia were rushing around, grabbing weapons and putting on the little armor they had. Thentare too dashed out, grabbing his bow and arrows along with his sword. He hoped he would not have to use the sword, but it was a possibility. He reached the north gate, where the call had come from, and found most of the village men all ready there.

Dankalm had followed him, and the men milled around waiting for the captain, Yoamipe. He appeared shortly, the only one with a full suit of armor. He stood on top of the wall over the gate and looked over the men. He declaimed, “Ten years ago when I arrived here, I told you that you needed me to guard against a day when someone would attack you. You scoffed at the idea, and gave me this job out of the kindness of your hearts. Tonight, you shall see your kindness rewarded! And they shall see that this is no town full of undisciplined peasants, but a town of trained warriors. Companies one two and three, up on the walls! Company four, patrol the walls perimeter. Alert us to any distract and attack maneuvers they may try to pull on us! To battle!”

The men charged to their allotted part of the defenses, Thentare heading up to the wall, with Morwan, Odralin, and Dankalm. Thoreklan led the patrolling unit, saying that he needed room to use his naginata well. Thentare asked Dankalm, “Would you please cover me on the hand to hand front? I'd like to use my bow as much as possible before switching to sword.”

Dankalm nodded, and they took stations at the wall. They crouched down, taking shelter behind the part of the wall sticking above the walkway, and waited for the first sign of their attackers. It soon arrived in the form of a flight of arrows, thudding mostly into the woodwork of the stockade instead of the defenders as intended. The enemies then broke from the trees, and the defenders stood up and shouted back at them in a wordless display of aggression and defiance.

They were being attacked by men very similar to the one that had attacked Thentare and Dankalm a year ago, with short swords and boiled leather armor. They had made a few makeshift ladders, but mainly seemed to have ropes with grappling hooks. There were a few arrows fired from the attackers, but their main thrust seemed to be in scaling the walls. They threw up the grappling hooks, and climbed up the ten foot wall with surprising speed, stabbing upwards as they climbed over the top to try and clear the wall of defenders.

Thentare shot as rapidly as possible, hitting every target dead on. Dankalm defended him from would be short range attackers, while severing as many of the ascending ropes as possible. Within five minutes Thentare had exhausted his ammo, so he cast aside his bow and drew his sword. He took one last deep breath to calm himself, and then waded in, concentrating on improving himself instead of his doubts and fears.

He deflected a stab to his left, spinning and elbowing the man in the face. Completing his spin, he smashed aside a direct overhead blow, bringing his sword around in a grinding circle before disengaging to attack with a low up-sweeping cut that changed directions at the last second, dodging the man's sword and striking his arm. The man screamed and swung frantically in a wide sweep, leaving him open and off his balance. Thentare stabbed at his chest, eliciting the reflex to jump back which threw the man off the wall onto his fellow attackers. Thentare turned to the side while bringing his sword down onto the sword of the next man up the rope, using the man's stabbing impetus to embed the sword tip in the woodwork. Thentare brought his sword up to throat level and sliced, killing the man.

Thentare looked for someone else to fight, but was surprised to see the few remaining attackers, fleeing. They had not brought many men, probably expecting surprise to be on their side and untrained villagers to fight. The villagers had lost only a handful of men, their long hours spent training finally paying off.

The village men cheered, and hurled warnings and imprecations at the fleeing invaders, laughing at the relative ease with which they were beaten off. The whole conflict had taken less than ten minutes.

Yoamipe stood on the wall, over the gate with two sputtering torches silhouetting him against the night sky, his long sword raised in his right hand. “Brethren, tonight you have fought well. Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of the men who follow and of the man who leads that gains that victory. Your spirit was as great as any army I have seen! But do not think that all victories will be as easy or as glorious.

“Some day, you may have to fight more fierce men, or Nia-Hungas, trolls, or worse! You may be frightened, more frightened than you were tonight, or ever thought you could be! Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get the snot slammed out of them watching men fight who are just as scared as they are. The real hero is the man who fights even though he is scared. Like you did tonight!”

The men cheered again, clapping and whooping in their exhilaration. Yoamipe held up both hands, joining in their celebration, then motioned for silence. “Men, you are tired. But we cannot abandon the defenses. Now, I want companies four and three to stand watch in turns tonight, as they were hit the least hard. The people not on guard will need to start cleaning up, taking the bodies of the men we lost to the church while casting the bodies of the foul pigs we slaughtered into a fire. Companies one and two, go rest! You will need to watch tomorrow. I will personally stay with the troops through the night. To everyone here, I am proud of you! Good job!"

The men cheered one last time, then separated up to go home, stand watch, or sort through the dead. Thentare was in company one, and was about to head to bed when he suddenly wondered where Dintlak was. He was in company four, the one that had patrolled the walls. Seeing Thoreklan, Thentare went over and asked, “Do you know what happened to Dintlak? My friend, the other one that volunteered in the tavern. I don't see him.”

Thoreklan sighed. “If you were, you would be facing your judgment. I am afraid he was struck by a stray arrow and killed, right at the beginning of the fight. He was your friend? I am very sorry then. He's at the church, along with the rest.”

(All right, soon I will post a sound clip of me pronouncing the important names. Am at work now, so can't.)

It was a year later. A full moon hung in the sky over the mountains, shining down with its soft intensity on the trees blanketing the mountain. The rocky tips poking above the tree line bathed in the light, and the small village of Dagomathe basked in the pale beams. Thentare lay on his roof, gazing into the night as he thought back on the year that had elapsed since he met Dankalm. He had started a small wood carving business with the money he had taken from the man who had attacked Dankalm, and was doing fairly well.

He mainly carved while on hunting trips, which meant his service was not fast but did mean that it was high quality, something few others in the village could say. He wondered as he stared off into the stars sprinkled across the black velvet of the sky whether Dankalm would ever return. And if he did, Thentare wondered if he would be being pursued again this time. He smiled a bit. He had not had so much excitement in one night since he had met him. Something perhaps to be glad for.

He heard a loud voice shout from the north gate, “I will let everyone know then, you oafish guard! I have arrived!”

 Thentare cocked his head, his slightly pointed ears pointed towards the gate. The gruff voice continued, “Who am I, you may ask? I am Morwan Crimson beard, the most infamous Dwarven adventurer ever to set foot outside our lands. Now that everyone knows I am here, how about you let me in? If I were trying to destroy your city, I would not come and let everyone know I was here, now would I?”

Thentare slid off his roof, dropping to the ground and rolling to absorb the impact. He grabbed the torch from beside his front door, quickly telling his sister Desinteyel he was leaving. He ran towards the north gate to see what the fuss was about, and joined a crowd of people with the same mission. Pushing his way through the crowd that had arrived at the gate, Thentare found the flustered gatekeeper consulting with the leader of the town’s defense, Yoamipe.

“Well, he does not sound malevolent.” Yoamipe was saying. “There is no large army nearby he could be hiding, and if he thinks to conquer our city with merely the four of them…he is insane. All right, let him in. You did the right thing in consulting with me, we should not just let people in after dark.” Yoamipe helped his assistant unbar the gate, and swing them open.

Everyone strained to see who would come through the gate, and cheered as a dwarf with a crimson beard and long brown hair swaggered into the city, waving to the gathered people. “Greetings, citizens of…this fine city! I have come to these mountains with the express intent of visiting you. Before I divulge the reason for the visit though, I will need some ale for lubrication! Where in this beautiful town of, um…”

A voice called out dryly from the other side of the gate, “Dagomathe. The beautiful town of Dagomathe.”

Morwan harrumphed and continued. “Yes, yes, of course. Where in this fine city of Dagomathe may I find some ale?”

Most of the people laughed, and everyone started walking to the local tavern, calling “This way Morwan Crimson Beard! Or perhaps it should be Morwan empty head?”

Morwan grumbled under his breath and followed them, allowing the others with him to come through the gate. First was a tall man, with red hair cut at shoulder length, intense green eyes and a dour expression on his face. He was of medium build, but had disproportionately large hands, one of which gripped the handle of his Naginata closely, and the other swung loosely at his side.

Right behind the red haired one was another man who was shorter and stockier. He had an honest looking face, topped with black hair and framed by a small beard. His eyes were also brown, and they darted around actively, taking in everything as quickly as possible. He had a broad sword in his belt and a small round shield on his back.

The next person through the gate was cloaked, and had the hood over his face. He stopped, and took off his hood, revealing Dankalm. Thentare started, and Dankalm winked.

“I told you I would be back.” Dankalm said as he stretched a bit. “Though I had not quite anticipated these circumstances, I am here now nonetheless. Let’s go get some ale, shall we?”

Thentare walked by Dankalm, heading for the tavern along with the rest of the men of the town. The women that had come out headed back to their homes, rolling their eyes and muttering about their menfolk.

“So, I see you have picked up a few companions on the way, Dankalm. Would you mind introducing me to them?”

Bowing, Thentare replied, “No, not at all. The tall red haired man is Thoreklan. I know not from where he hails, but we picked him up while traveling here, about a day’s journey east of Yontgarm. There is much bitterness and anger in him, but it serves him well. I have seen very few people wield a Naginata with his level of proficiency.

“Odralin is the name of the other man, the black haired and brown eyed one. He is a personal friend of Morwan’s, and one of the many princes of Dartumeyal. And of course you already know a bit about our fearless leader, Morwan. He is indeed infamous, as he has been adventuring in and out of the dwarven lands for years, doing everything from playing practical jokes to rescuing maidens from rebels. I will tell you more about him later, let’s go hear what he has to say at the tavern.”

They used Dankalm’s status as a member of Morwan’s party to push to the front of the crowd, and there found Morwan drinking a pint of their finest ale. He downed it, and put his mug down on the table with a loud clank, belching and wiping his beard with the back of his sleeve.

“Well, friends, fine ale that is indeed.” Morwan began. “And now that I have my lubricant and your attention, I shall tell you the purpose of my visit. As I have told you, I am the most famous Dwarven adventurer. I have escaped imprisonment more time than I can count on my twelve fingers, and I have eluded capture more time than that. In my escapades I am used to breaking heads, hearts, and furniture.

“But, one can only be satisfied with these small scale things for so long. Soon, one wants it to escalate! One wants to feel the rush of doing something on an national level. So, I decided I would scale up my operation. I decided I would try and steal something important to everyone! The sword and armor of Gartmalant.”

The assembled locals all gasped, as Odralin basked in their attention and Thoreklan gave a small, wry smile that indicated he found their shock amusing.

Morwan also grinned, and after drinking another swig of his ale, continued. “So, I have decided to go after the war trappings of the beloved first Elven king, who  was the only one to lead the free people's allied armies. Mighty as I may be, and foolhardy as I may be, I have enough sense not to go after this prize by myself. So, I have scoured the lands looking for men, elves, and dwarfs willing and worthy enough to come with me. Dwarfs were in short supply this time, but...”

Morwan stopped to glare at the people snicker at his use of the word short with dwarfs, and after he was satisfied that everyone in the room was suitably chastened, he continued. “I have found three companions so far. Thoreklan, the tall red haired man of mystery. Odralin, with the less height and more dark hair, the tenth in line prince to the infamous throne of Dartumeyal. And Dankalm, fair elven messenger of the king and a distinguished member of the house of Thintis.

“So, now you know our game, and our names. Are there any confident, brave, skilled and hardy warriors in our gathering tonight who would like to join us on our mission? We need one more, to make an even five.”

Dintlak, Thentare's friend from childhood, raised his voice. “Well, it sounds fine enough, but what exactly is your plan for getting to the armor and sword? I hope you have one. Otherwise, this hardly seems like an advisable venture.”

The crowd nodded, muttering among themselves, and then turned to Morwan expectantly.

“Well, harrumph, of course I have a plan! I have studied a few ancient texts, and gotten some more new information, and have a rough outline on the defenses. First and foremost, there are the Naragamtorey, mountains which guard most of his kingdom. There are very few passes, and these Jarizaux guards with a jealousy that is only to be expected. The only other way in is either across a vicious river, from the sea, or through his gate. I think we can slip through a mountain pass, if we time it right and have a little luck.

“After one has entered his land, one must then sneak across the forests and plains to his castle, which stands near the sea and rises over a hundred feet into the sky. It is naturally well guarded, but I believe an entry he would not think of exists. You see, because of its proximity to the sea, the castle possesses a no longer used drainage system that leads directly to the ocean. We can crawl up these to gain access to the lower layers.

“Once in the lower layers, we must find our way through his Labyrinth so that we can make it to the inner sanctum. There, we must first get past a five headed dragon that always has at least two heads awake, and through the lair of his Nia-Hunga. Once past that, we will be there!”

The gathered crowd sat slack jawed at the enormity of the undertaking. Dintlak, Thentare, and Morwan's companions were the only ones who retained their composure. Dintlak nodded slowly, looking reflective.

“I like it. Enough planning so that we have direction, but vague enough planning so that we have leeway and do not have to panic because a part of the plan is contradicted. The quest sounds far from easy, but also far more exciting than anything going on here. I am in, if you think me worthy.”

“Count me in!” Thentare raised his hand, clenching it in a fist. “For too long has Jarizaux sat comfortable on the throne he stole. I say it is time that we give him a wake up call!”

Morwan clapped. “Fine speeches, and fine lads. I cannot really disqualify either of you just from looking at you, so tomorrow we will have a contest! Whichever of you performs better can accompany me. Now, let's have song and dancing!”

The townspeople recovered from their shock and were only to glad to comply. A fiddle was brought, and soon a lively tune invited those that heard it to get to their feet and dance. Thentare was about to join in the fun when Dankalm tugged on his sleeve.

“Would you mind if we went back to your house? We have some things to discuss.”

Thentare shook his head, and the two of them slipped out the back, into the void that was as black as only a night in a small mountain town could be.