The Shadow Of The Tower

I

The warrior stood in the doorway of the small inn. A blanket of silence slowly fell over the few patrons as the howl of the winter winds announced the newcomer to their midst. They watched him pull shut the heavy oak door to keep the bitter cold outside. He was tall, taller than most men in the village, so much taller that he had to duck his head a bit upon entering the warmth of the inn. Draped about his wide frame were furs from many different animals sewn together in the distinctive style of the northern tribes, a clever layering pattern that helped trap body heat close to its wearer. But this stranger was no northern tribesman; his hair was black as soot and much longer than any barbarians. The tribes of the north, according to their rites of manhood, wore their fair hair short. In his dark hair were many braids, warriors braids, symbols of an accomplished fighter, one who has killed many. The stranger stalked forward like a great cat. He watched all and seemed to notice everything without ever turning his head to actually set his gaze upon anything. His weapons hung at his left hip, two great blades sleeping quietly in a double sheath, one right on top of the other. The villagers had word from the scouting outposts that an armed traveler was heading towards the village. Very few warriors take solace within their village walls being that the town’s proximity is so close to the mating caves of the Other Race, a breed of humanoid creatures, bent and misshapen by whatever god created them. Every winter they travel to the caves in the west to mate and all within their path is razed to the ground. All inside the inn had heard tales of this particular stranger, however. They had heard tales of a large, dark haired warrior with a dual sheath for two arcane blades. One who is said to have accomplished great deeds, tremendous battles fought and won. They say even mighty wizards have fallen beneath his blades....and everyone fears wizards.

The stranger unclasped his weapon belt and placed his two sheathed blades atop the bar. His arms were bare and the barkeep, a young redheaded girl, noticed his thick, sinewy muscles. Soon enough all noticed as well as he stripped out of his damp furs. An old man that was sitting at the bar watched the stranger intently, with what looked like fear and apprehension on his face. The warrior stripped down to a heavy cloth shirt and trousers, still wearing his warm fur boots.

The redheaded girl walked toward the warrior slowly. Her father, who owned the small inn, put her to work behind the bar with the hopes of luring more of the older men in the village to give up their coin for a drink from the pretty lady. She studied the warrior’s face; it was very different from any of the other men in the village. His skin looked hard. He had a broad mashed nose that didn't look like it sat right on his face; his skin was pale and dirty from what must have been a long journey. His cheeks were scarred in places and his hollow eyes were shadowed and mysterious. He had a square jaw line that melded smoothly with his neck, which was thick and powerful. With a large callused hand he rubbed the days worth of beard stubble that had grown on his chin, he seemed displeased. While he searched through his journey bag she studied his arms and chest; both were massive. She wrung her hands and wondered what a powerful warrior like him had come to their meager little village for. She only knew one thing; A handful of farmers and miners would stand no chance against such a man.

He placed his belongings on the long wooden bench that ran the length of the bar. Everything but his blades, which he dropped within reach on top of the counter. An old man, the only other person to sit on the bench with the warrior, eyed the stranger carefully. He had been watching the stranger from the minute he entered the bar. Slowly the warrior lowered himself down and sat hunched forward with his large arms resting on the smooth wood of the bar top. He slowly raised two thick fingers signaling to the barmaid that he was ready to order. The small redhead hurried over and stood before him with her hands behind her back and her chest thrust out just like her father had taught her. Much to the girl’s surprise the warrior didn't even glance at her out thrust bosom, his eyes flicked immediately up to meet hers, and he stared at her squarely. She hadn't really noticed his eyes when he came in because the inn was too dark and her eyes, like her mother’s, were starting to fail her. This mans eyes looked like that of a hawk. They were darkened by shadow but she could still feel the intensity that radiated through his amber orbs. They sparkled with a ferocity she had never seen before, but there was something else as well, something that she would have thought impossible. In his eyes she saw a kind of wisdom. A cool intelligence she would have never expected to see on a barbarian, but perhaps on a wizard, or a priest. His harsh voice broke her concentration and she snapped to attention. He stared at her expectantly and she immediately realized that she had been too busy staring into his eyes that she had missed his order. Not wanting to offend him any further, she quickly spoke up.
"W-what? Excuse me sir?"
His eyes narrowed. A shadow obscured them from her view as he leaned in closer. Close enough so that she could smell his breath, which was, again, not what she expected of a barbarian. He smelled clean, cleaner than most of the men in her village.
"I said I'd like a farwyne...please."
She wrinkled her brow and felt a slight perspiration dot her forehead. Farwyne, farwyne...c'mon Krynissa don't anger this man any further.
"We...umm...we don't carry that...sir." She tried to flash her best smile but was much too nervous to pull it off correctly. She imagined she looked as if she were in pain.
The warrior sighed and bowed his head. He slid a powerful arm from the bartop and rummaged through his journey pack. Krynissa's stomach dropped. What was he looking for? She thought. A dagger with which to carve my heart out? A battle axe to split my skull? She jumped backward as he quickly jerked his hand from his pack and thrust something at her face. She had to stifle a yelp until she realized what he held before her. It was an empty waterskin.
"Just fill this with water then."
She relaxed, nodded, took the skin from him and walked to the back room where the water pump was.

The old man's eyes involuntarily followed the young girl as she carried the skin through the deep red curtain that led to the back room. He looked back at the warrior and licked his lips, realizing how dry his throat was. Not from the lack of fluids, for he had been drinking all day, but from his nervousness of the task at hand. He lifted his glass of milkroot to his lips and swallowed the last of it. The soothing, minty liquid slid easily down his throat, but he swallowed hard anyway. The bargirl pushed her way through the curtains holding the full waterskin. She placed it in front of the warrior and asked if he needed anything else. She looks more nervous than I feel, the old man thought to himself. He couldn't hear what the warrior asked for but the young girl stepped into the back room again. He laughed inwardly at his own tension, who would have thought that I, Vrin Mallor, would ever have trouble talking to anyone? He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out, perhaps a wizard has stolen my voice? No, no wizard, He realized, just cowardice.
The barmaid came back with a plate of meat and bread and set it before the stranger then got him a mug of Sweetale. The barbarian started to eat heartily as the old man once again begun to psyche himself up. Vrin you old fool! This stranger may be our only hope. He can kill the Baron and free this town, just tell him the story. He seems just and reasonable, surely he won't kill you for speaking will he?
The thought of the warriors blade slicing it's way through his old neck caused him to swallow hard.
"E-excuse me kind sir?"
The sound of his creaky voice startled himself, no turning back now. The warrior lifted his head up, but did not look at Vrin. Vrin moved in closer to the barbarian. "May we...converse?" He said, gesturing slightly with his hands. The stranger swallowed a mouthful of meat, gulped down some ale, then turned to look at the old man.
"My name is Vrin Mallor," he announced with pride, "and I am the eldest of this village. It is not a position of power but it does put me in the unique position to...” He paused to search for the right word " …welcome, newcomers to our small town."
The warrior lifted his cup to his lips and drank again. Vrin cleared his throat; his nervousness was beginning to abate.
“We…well, that is, I would like to make a proposition. A small bargain that could be mutually beneficial to the both of us."
As he spoke he tried not to look into the strangers’ eyes, for they bothered him. Not as dull as most people's, and blackened by shadow...within, and without. The warrior placed his cup on the bartop and leaned forward.
"Go on."
He spoke, Vrin thought, with the raspy shadow-like a voice of a man who has spoken to no one for many days. Vrin cocked his head to the side and coaxing confidence into his voice he spoke.
"Before we bargain, sir, might you grace this old one with your name?"
The warrior stared in silence for a few moments before he spoke, and for a second it appeared to Vrin that the man had forgotten his own name.
"I am called Kall."
Vrin raised a brow, now you know his name old boy, and names hold much power.
"Yes Kall. As I was saying...” he trailed off, trying to remember where he had left off.
"The deal." Kall reminded him.
"Ahh yes, the deal. You see my good man a few days before this hellish storm rose up a great tragedy befell me, and the good people of this town. My only daughter, the village seer, has been abducted...kidnapped."
Kall detected some sorrow in the old man's voice as he looked down to cracked, shaky old hands.
"I was powerless to resist as the wicked land Baron traveled down from his lofty black tower and snatched my darling...Theresa, away from me." A tear rolled down his cheek and sweat formed on his brow. Kall turned back to his plate.
"What does this have to do with me?" He growled.
Vrin looked up, astonished.
"What? Why, you, my barbarous friend could help me! Help us! This wicked man, this Baron Ungerdaak has held us in his thrall for years. He taxes us beyond any amount we can pay and he steals our children and livestock as he sees fit! If you have even a shred of humanity in you, you would lend us your mighty sword and right this egregious wrong!"
"What's in it for me?" Kall sighed.
Vrins' eyes glanced around the room, all were watching now and he racked his brain for the right words. Before he could find them, Kall offered them up,
"Gold?"
Vrin looked him in the eyes.
"All that we have!"
"Women?"
"You can take your pick, we have fine breeding wenches here. To bed down with a warrior would be a welcome privilege for many."
"Animals?"
"Sadly we have very few. But you may take as you see fit!"
"And if I do take; the gold, the women, the animals. What is it that makes me better than this...Baron Ungerdaak?" Vrins' eyes flickered about, searching for a response, one that he found quickly.
"You will not stay. You will take your bounty and go far away from this town. It will be part of the deal."
"And if I decide to stay old man? Who’s to stop me? Say that I enjoy your gold and women and animals so much that I decide to partake of them every month? Or week? Then you have just hired yourself another Baron Ungerdaak. One that will not be as easily vanquished, I can assure you of that. But no, old man..." Kall turned back to his plate of meat, which had now gone cold, "you have nothing I want."
Vrin was astonished, he would never have thought that this warrior was capable of turning down such an offer.
"You...will not help us?"
"I am not a hero, and you have nothing to offer me."
A new argument sprung into Vrins' mind, if he couldn't get this barbarian to go to the Barons tower things would only get worse. His shoulders slumped in mock defeat as Kall finished up his plate of cold meat.
"So, great warrior, where will you go then after leaving us to our fate?"
Kall chewed, swallowed and answered.
"I will travel east, toward Gryphon Mount."
"Gryphon mount is a long way from here friend, and it is a nigh impenetrable mountain range, but you will surely be killed before you reach it."
Kall’s head perked up at this and angrily turned toward the old man.
"Do you threaten me old man?"
Quickly Vrin threw his arms up in defense, "No! No, kind sir. Know you not what season this is?"
Kall narrowed his eyes and thought.
"It is...OothorMarch." He said quietly, now aware at what the old man was getting at.
"Exactly...the Other race will be traveling to their mating caves in the west. Imagine a great misshapen horde of those beasts stomping their way across the snowy countryside. You are a great warrior, and, most probably, a wonderful journeyman, but in this storm even you will have to use the roads. Eventually you will happen upon the horde and they will not leave you alive."
Kall bowed his head, the old man was right; there was very little chance of him evading the mating horde and an even smaller chance of him being able to fight his way through. Vrin leaned back in the bench, triumphant.
"Now, the people of this village would be glad to extend some courtesy toward you and lend a helping home 'till the storms let up, but," He continued with a wry smile, "we are not heroes, and you do have something to offer us."

Kall leaned forward and grabbed the cloth of the old mans shirt, enraged. How dare this old man mock him using his own words! How dare he presume that Kall could be subjugated like a sheep in the field! Kall felt the icy grip of the dark lord Thanatüs clasp around his soul. With little effort he heaved Vrin up into the air and the other patrons of the inn stood, startled at the warrior’s sudden violence.
"Know you this, old man! Know that if I needed a home to seek refuge in during the storms I would take one! Know that if you ever speak to me in such a way again my lord Thanatüs will have your soul!"
A portly farmer grew brave and armed with a thick walking stick rushed to aid the old man. Kall tossed Vrin aside and turned to meet his attacker. The farmer swung downward with the stick to try and brain the tall one, but Kall easily shielded the blow with a muscled forearm. Kall quickly grasped the stick and gave it a good yank, with intent to wrest it from the farmers grip, but the farmer held fast. Instead of letting go he stumbled forward and Kall smacked the back of his fist into the fat mans face, swatting him aside, and unconscious. A heavy wooden chair flew in Kall’s direction and he used the walking stick to deflect it. Hoping the warrior would be distracted by the chair a younger and thinner man ran to attack the burly warrior. Kall easily snatched the boy out of the air in mid leap and held him off the ground by his thin neck. The boy felt consciousness leave him as the warrior squeezed the air from his throat, he had no chance of fighting back as darkness encircled his brain.

"STOP THIS!" The old man yelled from atop the bar. "Warrior, I implore you, put the boy down before he dies!" Kall tossed the boy to the wooden floor and took a menacing step towards Vrin.
"I meant no threat warrior! I did not mean to mock you! We are but farmers, not fighters. These men work deep in the caves harvesting shade fruits and Shadavars because the land around here is frozen and unyielding. You will be well taken care of if you do us but one service, a service that should not cause you to even break sweat. You mentioned the dark one, Thanatüs, he is one of the old gods. The darkest of the stars in heaven above! Your allegiance to him proves to me that you are well versed in the ways of death, and your actions and movements in battle do nothing to dissuade that point. BUT! The only way to align yourself with the dark one is to enslave yourself to him. Kill Baron Ungerdaak, free my daughter and our land, and...and, perhaps this one act of kindness will be the one that frees you from his clutches."
Kall looked around at the fruit of his anger. Two men felled and the rest too scared to stand up for themselves. When would the lord of darkness release his steely grip forever? Kall stood thinking. He glanced up at the barmaid; she was huddled in the corner shaking. Her hair had come loose from its bindings and now splayed out across her shoulders. True fear pervaded her eyes. Kall thought back, back through time. Back to his days in the city of alabaster, the Priests City, city of holiness and healing. He thought of an apprenticeship, his apprenticeship, one that went tragically wrong. When he was younger he had dreams of bettering their world. Too many wars had ravaged the populace; his own father had died in the Great War, leaving Kall with a younger sister to take care of. Kall loved his sister; he would have given his life for her.
If he hadn't taken her life first.

Kall’s eyes searched he barmaids' features, she bore an undeniable resemblance to his sister, his now damned sister. If only he hadn't dabbled into the halls of Arkana. If only she hadn't entered the summoning chambers whilst he invoked the minor deamon, Azter-rath. Now his beloved sister lay in the pits of Thanatüs' dark kingdom. The only way of getting her back was to agree to become the hand of the dark lord. To be used to inflict his evil will on those of Kall's world, using Kall as his vessel of destruction. Fists clenched and head bowed Kall said the five words that he knew he would come to regret,

"Show me to this Tower."

Go back here to let me know what you think, and if I should edit and post the rest.