Black Blooded Heart

The Black Blooded Heart

First published by Create Space, June 2011

Copyright 2011 © Joseph Barresi

Cover Copyright 2011 © Bobbi Lee Hunt

Published by Joseph Barresi at Smashwords © Joseph Barresi 2011

All right reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Joseph Barresi.

Prologue: Awakening

There were times when Atgar Thaxx really loathed his job.

Moving through a cramped and musty crypt was not what he was expecting when he was approached by his employers for this job.

Although no stranger to dank and dark places, Atgar preferred to plan ahead before he undertook any job and this included scouting his intended destination beforehand. There were times in the past where the thief would study and watch his targeted locations for weeks before finally moving in and doing his not so legal work.

He did not have that luxury this time around however.

Just hours ago Atgar was enjoying some much needed time off within Westgate, the infamous coastal city that was located on Anastone’s western shores. Known for its gigantic harbor and the constant import and export of various goods, Westgate was a melting pot of different races all looking to make a fast buck either legally…or illegally.

The city was notorious for it corsairs and pirates, and all manner of thugs, gangs, and filth that crowded the bustling streets. Crime was rampant there for a reason…with so many wealthy merchants and otherwise clueless newcomers who came to the city looking for an honest wage it left a perfect environment for criminals to thrive.

It was a perfect place for Thaxx to fit right in unnoticed.

Atgar had situated himself within an adequate room of a tavern and had every intention of using it for several days.

Having scored big in his past couple heists he had enough coin and treasure that would make him financially stable for months.

The thief had not been at the inn for more than a couple hours before a dark looking stranger wearing a heavy black cloak and cowl had approached him while he was enjoying his hookah at a table.

Atgar immediately thought it strange that the individual was wearing such an ensemble in an area that was a consistent 75 degrees. The city always had pleasant weather due to the air that would blow in from the warm waters of the Abyssal Ocean.

But there that stranger was standing in front of him opposite the table. It wasn’t just his dress that unnerved Atgar…the individual had a thick invisible haze around him that reeked of something. It wasn’t necessarily something that the thief could smell…more like feel.

And it felt like death.

The stranger was quick and to the point and came right out and told Atgar that he had a job for the thief that would make him so rich he would never have to lift another lock pick again in his life.

Always intrigued despite himself at the sound of a big heist, Atgar could not resist and he listened to what the stranger had to say.

The mysterious individual did not go into any great length of detail other than the thief’s expertise was needed by his order.

Atgar asked how they knew of him and the stranger only replied with, Your reputation precedes you Atgar Thaxx.

When asking where this job was the stranger simply had said, Do not ask questions. If you want the job then it is yours without hesitation.

Atgar had over a hundred questions to ask but then very intrigued, couldn’t help but agree to the job. The stranger had told him to gather his gear and to meet back up with him later that night at the docks.

When Thaxx had arrived at the docks, the stranger was there as promised. Before Atgar could even greet the stranger the mysterious individual teleported the both of them out of Westgate and almost 2,000 miles clear across the continent in the blink of an eye.

Once Atgar had gathered his bearings he realized that they were only 5 miles from Antamor the largest human city on Anastone that was also the main headquarters of the Knights of Arathon.

Atgar immediately thought that the stranger was some Arathonan in disguise attempting to apprehend and arrest him in the name of their God of Justice.

The mysterious individual quelled his fears however when he reached under his cloak and held out a bulging and jingling coin purse that was music to Atgar’s ears.

Atgar had deftly snagged the purse and pocketed it, and the stranger informed him that the thief would be receiving the other half of his payment after the job was done.

Making over 5,000 gold coins for simply showing up for a job wasn’t that bad of deal in Thaxx’s mind, so he decided to see the job through to the end.

Unfortunately (Or fortunately) the stranger was not going with him, for he was just a liaison between Atgar and the true individuals he would be working with.

His employers showed up on horseback within minutes of him being teleported even bringing a spare horse that Atgar could ride.

There were only three of them that met with him and they wasted no time with introductions simply instructing Atgar to climb onto the horse and to follow them to their destination.

Thaxx did so, and four hours later they arrived at a simple and bland looking tomb that was all by itself on a lone hill about thirty miles north of Antamor.

Completely confused, and beginning to get a sensation of foreboding within the pit of his stomach, Atgar couldn’t help but feel that this was not going to be an easy heist.

The three individuals had dismounted and then bid for Thaxx to do the same. Atgar had asked where they were going to secure the horses since there were absolutely no trees at all within walking distance of the tomb.

One of the men had casually said it was not important, for if they succeeded with their mission then the horses would not be needed anyway.

Thaxx wasn’t comfortable with that response, but he did not argue. He never argued with his employers…for he was paid to keep his mouth shut and do his job.

The men had finally introduced themselves as they all stood before the tomb.

One man was named Varl, a lean bird looking man with thinning black hair that he kept pulled back away from his forehead. He had beady black eyes and a hawkish nose with a thin gash of a mouth. He wore black robes that were splashed with a blood red pattern of intricate swirls all along the sleeves and front.

The thief was able to catch a whiff of formaldehyde and the unmistakable sharp scent of various potent herbs and knew that Varl was necromancer.

The other two men, Dugo and Oshar, were obviously the hired muscle for they were both broad shouldered and barrel chested.

Dugo had long black hair and a scraggly thick beard on his tanned face. He wore only a sleeveless chain mail shirt exposing enormous arms chorded with muscle, and a pair of black leather trousers. A huge double bladed axe was strapped on his back and his eyes were a piercing ice blue color.

Atgar had no doubt that Dugo was a berserker, an almost unstoppable and brutal breed of fighter that was nearly unstoppable when they went into battle and unleashed their rage onto their enemies.

The other man Oshar had short dirty blonde hair and a clean shaven face. He was donned in thick black plate mail armor from head to toe and had a large broadsword strapped onto his back.

Thaxx noted that Oshar had to be a warrior, for he seemed more rigid and disciplined then the wild looking Dugo. Warriors were expert tacticians in the battlefield and wielded two handed weapons with utmost precision.

This was quite the group indeed.

Varl was apparently the leader of the lot, for he instructed Atgar that his first task was to see to the opening of the tomb.

The thief still wanted to know why they were here, but since he did not ask questions he approached the thick stone slab and had inspected it carefully.

Atgar had run his hands with his gloved fingertips over the surface carefully, looking for any signs of a lock or some form of key hole.

There had been none, so the thief gathered that the tomb had to be opened by some other means…possibly through a spoken phrase or through magic.

He was no spell caster, but he was very skilled with forgotten languages, and as he had looked the tomb’s door over again he hit pay dirt when he noticed very faint engravings chiseled into its surface.

The markings were old…very old…and they were so worn with age that only the most astute observer would have notice them. Someone just like him…

Atgar noticed that the lettering was in ancient Anastonian, a now long forgotten and dead language that was only used currently by sages and scholars who wanted to preserve the history of the continent by writing and sometimes speaking it still.

The Anastonian language went extinct centuries ago when the common tongue began to become the standard and preferred spoken language of the humans.

The impatient Varl had snapped at him asking for him to hurry up and open the tomb, but Atgar implied back that if they didn’t want themselves to be blown to smithereens or to choke upon some noxious gas they would allow him to do his work in peace for the door could be bobby trapped.

Varl had backed down but warned him to do his job the way he was supposed to or he would be cut down on the spot.

Thaxx doubted that, for after looking upon the three of them he knew that they would never have made it past the door without his help.

After looking over the lettering on the tomb door for several minutes, Atgar finally deciphered what it said and realized that it was a warning also attached to a code that would undoubtedly open the door upon the words being spoken out loud.

The thief however, did not want to open the door upon reading the text for it sent a cold dread into him.

When Varl insisted that the thief tell them what the lettering said, Thaxx gave it to them in a nutshell.

It basically says that if we open this door we are unleashing an evil onto the world that would curse us and these lands forever. It also says that this warning was placed by the Knights of Arathon.

Varl grinned which looked disgusting to Atgar on his gaunt and avian looking face and had replied, Excellent! We are at our destination. Hurry up and open the door.

Atgar was about to argue, but after seeing Dugo and Oshar both glaring at him with folded arms the thief realized he had little choice.

Atgar had bid the three of them to stand well back away from him, and he had then read the words out loud before the tombs door.

As the last of the old forgotten words left his mouth the door immediately swung outwards with a loud grinding of stone on stone.

A huge plume of dust, dirt, and mold spores had billowed out from the darkened depths that led into the crypt, and as Atgar stared ahead into the blackened void a cold chill went down his spine.

Varl had looked at the thief with a sneer and had said, After you.

Thaxx had took a deep breath and then pulled out a torch from the black leather back pack that he always carried with him. After lighting it, he held the torch aloft and had peered down into the eerily quiet crypt.

There were stairs that descended far down below, and not being able to back out or make a break for it because of the two hulking brutes behind him ensuring he wasn’t going anywhere, Atgar began to slowly go down the stairs.

All of this was only a matter of hours ago, and during that time Atgar had been busy disabling many traps and leading the small group through the twisted and tight passages of the crypt.

With all the traps that he had already disarmed Atgar could only wonder what was inside that would make the knights go through such great lengths to keep people out of it.

Some of the traps were so complex that it took even his experienced hands several minutes to disarm or disable them. Knights were not known for their trap making capabilities, so they must have hired a team of expert thieves or bounty hunters to set them.

Not only did all that not sit well with Atgar, but the crypt looked as if no one had stepped foot within it for centuries, for the cold stone walls that had been erected to hold up the dugout earth behind them was layered with dust, cobwebs, and fungus.

There were absolutely no signs of life within the crypt, not a single rat; mouse, spider, or even cockroach was seen this entire time. This also did not sit well with the thief, for in all the dungeons, ruins, graveyards, and even other crypts he had been into in the past there always had been some kind of insect or small mammal scurrying about the darkness.

Atgar tried to keep his focus on his job, even though he found it difficult as he weaved his way through the twisting tunnels being directed from behind by Varl, who for some reason, knew exactly where he was going.

Thaxx kept his torch held up and out in front of him but it shed little light within what seemed to be a place of almost unforgiving darkness.

He kept his other hand on the hilt of his short sword sheathed at his hip…just in case.

Atgar’s curiosity finally got the best of him and whether it was from the sheer foreboding he felt within this place or the disturbing silence, he spoke up for the first time since they entered the crypt.

How do you know where we are going? This place has the look and feel that it has not been opened in hundreds of years.

We are paying you to do what a thief does…and one of those things does not include asking questions. Varl snapped in irritation from his position in the center of the group.

Atgar was not swayed by the necromancer and continued.

Do I not even have the right to know what I am getting paid to do? You are lucky I was able to disarm all those traps we already came across. Whatever is down here has to be quite valuable for the knights to go to all this trouble to keep people out.

Oh yes…what is down here is indeed very valuable…that much I can tell you. Varl replied his voice sounding actually giddy as if he were about to receive some extravagant gift he had been waiting for all his life.

That does not answer how you know your way around. Atgar continued. The thief knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t resist.

Let’s just say that we have our ways. When those cursed knights made this place we had eyes and ears all over the place…even right under their own noses. Varl said with obvious amusement in his voice.

Atgar had to hunch over a bit as the ceiling seemed to lower in the corridor he was entering. He was not normally claustrophobic but this design scheme was even making him feel uneasy.

So what you are saying is that you had spies within the knights own ranks. The thief said as he nudged his way on through the corridor. He could only imagine how Dugo and Oshar were feeling behind him. With their hulking frames and armor they had to be absolutely miserable down here. Not that they voiced it…the two hadn’t said a word at all since he met them.

You can say that. Varl replied but did not say anything further.

Thaxx no longer felt like talking for the corridor began to get even more cramped and he had to turn to his side and ease the rest of the way through.

Although he was lithe and in excellent physical condition, even his frame had trouble fitting through the tightening passage which began to feel like a vice was closing in on him.

Oshar and Dugo amazingly were able to squeeze through as well, albeit, only barely, and they had to occasionally stop so that they could force their way on.

The pole thin body of Varl had no trouble at all moving down the passage and Atgar wished for the first time in his life that he was twenty pounds lighter even though he weighed only 150lbs soaking wet.

After several agonizing minutes he finally pushed his way out from passage and into a very large room that was perfectly square.

Thankful to be free from the cluster of passages and tunnels, Atgar held his torch out before him and waved it around so that the dim light could attempt to push the darkness away.

The thief’s eyes widened when the torchlight spilled onto a large sarcophagus that was resting on a raised dais located within the center of the room.

Dugo, Oshar, and Varl finally made it in and upon seeing the sarcophagus, their eyes all widened as well.

Varl slowly stepped forward towards the dais, his beady black eyes alive with excitement as if he just received that gift he had been waiting for.

It’s true…the legends were correct…how I have dreamed of this day! Varl shouted happily. Atgar winced at his loud tone for the necromancer’s voice echoed so loudly that it could have woken the corpse within the sarcophagus.

The thief watched as Varl slowly went up the dais steps to stand before the sarcophagus. The necromancer placed his hands along the lid and began to run his fingers across it like a child would its favorite doll.

Atgar’s curiosity once again got the best of him and he just had to see what all the fuss was about. Stepping forward gingerly and ensuring that he was watching each step he made for he did not want to spring any traps that may possibly be hidden beneath the thick layers of dust and grime, Atgar came to stand next to Varl and looked upon the sarcophagus.

It was made from pure black onyx and was eight feet long by five feet high. The lid was completely featureless save for a single lone symbol that was made from pure silver that was set within its center.

It was the symbol of Arathon, a shield with two crossed swords over it.

Varl was still in a euphoric state for finding his prize, he had a lopsided grin on his face and he almost looked as if he had been smoking some swamp root….for that potent drug would also cause this kind of response.

What is the big deal? It is just a box that no doubt holds some long dead person forgotten through the ages. Atgar said simply.

Varl snapped his head around to glare at the thief with eyes that could have peeled the skin off a stone giant.

This is not just some peasant that is within this box fool. What lies underneath is one of the greatest commanders to ever walk this rock of a continent!

Atgar shrugged. He was well schooled in history but he never heard of some great commander being buried within some lone and forgotten tomb miles away from any major settlements and cities.

He must not have been so great to be buried all the way out here…though I am still concerned about just how many traps there were.

Varl snorted. There is a reason for that thief. The knights were careful to ensure that no one would ever come across the body of the first dark knight of Morith.

Atgar’s eyes suddenly widened and his face went a deathly pale at those words from the necromancer.

Thaxx slowly looked down upon the lid and suddenly realized now who was just underneath it….

Dugo, Oshar make yourselves useful and open this thing. Varl said impatiently.

The berserker and warrior motioned for Atgar and the necromancer to move out of the way. Once they did so, the two brutes placed their hands on the lid and began to push.

Atgar did not want to take any chances at the necromancer’s lack of patients. The sarcophagus should have been checked for traps first, but since he was not asked to look for them, he wasn’t about to touch the thing. The thief took several steps back away from them and stopped when he was close to the passage where they had just exited.

The lid at first was not budging, even with the combined might of Dugo and Oshar. Eventually though the warrior and berserker managed to get it moving and with a loud ear splitting grind, the lid began to move away from the base.

Once the lid was in motion it did not take them long before they completely removed it and the heavy piece of onyx slammed onto the ground with a loud thud sending a huge plume of dust and cobwebs into the air behind the dais.

Varl wasted no time in moving back up towards the sarcophagus and he motioned Dugo and Oshar away in annoyance.

The pair moved back down the steps to stand about five feet away from Atgar, and the three of them watched intently as Varl peered into the sarcophagus.

The necromancer looked as if he were inspecting the contents, and after several moments he moved his position from the front side of the dais over to the opposite side so that he was now facing Atgar, Oshar, and Dugo.

The necromancer raised his arms up wide and lifted his head so that he was staring up at the ceiling.

The thief began to have a bad feeling as Varl began to speak….

Finally after all this time you will once again have your most loyal servant back in your graces my Lord!

Atgar had no doubt that the necromancer was speaking out to his god…the very Lord of the Dead himself.

After almost 300 hundred years we now have the perfect weapon to strike down all who would stand in your path….may your blessing guide me and my work!

Varl began to chant and speak in arcane words while weaving and moving his hands around over the opened sarcophagus.

Atgar began to feel the very air around him grow thick and heavy, and he started to get a pounding headache as the magical energies that Varl was calling forth began to stir within the room.

The necromancer continued his chant and arm weaving over the sarcophagus and as he began to get louder and louder in tone, his hands began to glow in a blackish green light.

Atgar suddenly wanted to flee…to get the Abyss out of this dreaded place and be away from these obviously fanatical followers to the God of Death Morith.

The thief began to slowly back up towards the exit but was suddenly stopped when his back brushed up against something solid.

Slowly turning around and looking up he was greeted with the scowling face of Dugo who had his arms folded over his chest in warning to the thief that if he made one move to leave then the berserker would pound him into mush.

Not wanting to take the immediate risk at bodily injury, Atgar smiled meekly at Dugo and then turned back around to observe the rest of Varl’s ritual.

The necromancer was now moving his hands and arms about at a rapid pace and the flowing necrotic energies he was summoning almost surrounded his entire body.

After a few more moments the necromancer rose up both his arms and came to a crescendo in his arcane chant.

With one intentional and powerful motion the necromancer brought both of his arms crashing down towards the sarcophagus. The energy that Varl had surrounding him rushed out from his arms and into the black onyx box of death.

The exhausted necromancer slowly looked up at the three of them, and although looking as if he had been in intense physical training for hours, had a sneer of triumph on his face.

It is done.

Atgar looked towards the sarcophagus with apprehension…not knowing what to expect but just waiting for anything to happen.

He was incredibly unnerved that it seemed as if it was even more silent in the room now then it was when they entered…and the dank and musky air was so thick that it made it hard for him to draw breath.

After several more moments of nothing happening, Varl’s sudden smugness turned to confusion then panic as he looked down into the sarcophagus. He frantically began to peer his head in and out of it wanting something…anything…to happen.

What…what went wrong? This is not right…the spells I cast should be working by now!

Atgar let out a deep breath realizing just then that he had been holding it in with anticipation. Now feeling a bit more relaxed he said, If we are done here I would like to leave this place.

Varl got even more upset and began to throw his arms down in frustration at the rim of the sarcophagus.

What have I done to displease you my Lord? I have worked so hard all my life for this moment…studying and practicing for hours on end the complex rituals and spells needed to perform this task! Must I always be a constant failure?!

Atgar watched with silent amusement as the necromancer continued his rant. Varl began to pound his arms on the rim over and over again screaming, Why?! WHY?! WHY-

Varl’s shouts were suddenly cut short when a black gauntlet hand shot up from the sarcophagus to wrap around his throat.

The necromancer’s eyes bulged in surprise and fear as he began to choke and gasp for breath.

Atgar’s own eyes were wide in sheer terror as he watched the long dead individual within the sarcophagus slowly begin to rise up from it centuries long death sleep.

Dugo and Oshar immediately pulled their weapons from their backs and held them at the ready, but as Atgar looked upon the form that was sitting up in its macabre bed; he doubted that even their blades would harm the creature.

Donned in nothing but jet black armor from the neck down, the figure’s head was nothing more than a skull with grey shriveled skin that was peeling and cracked in so many places the thief wondered how it was still on its face. The creature’s entire jaw was clearly exposed showing its yellowed teeth and shredded jaw muscles that hung loosely from either side of its mouth.

Its eyes had long decayed to nothing, now leaving gaping holes that were blazing in a hellish red light. That skull was attached to a brittle looking spinal column that somehow managed to support the completely bald head up.

The monstrosity, who still had Varl in its vice like grip, rose up from the sarcophagus to stand fully erect at an impressive 6’7" tall.

Holding the gaunt necromancer up in his hand by the neck like he were some kind of doll, the undead creature looked upon Varl’s terrified face and turned its skull from side to side slowly as if in curiosity.

Atgar looked at Dugo and Oshar who even though they still had their weapons drawn in front of them, made no move to go to the necromancer’s rescue.

The thief didn’t blame them.

Varl tried in vain to free himself by taking his hands and balling them into fists. The necromancer then valiantly began to rain down hammering punches onto the undead creature’s arm that was holding him in the hopes that his pipe cleaner arms would be strong enough to break him free.

The undead knight was completely unfazed by Varl’s vigorous punches, and after a few more head cocks it suddenly twisted its wrist and there was a sickening crack as Varl’s neck broke.

Atgar watched in horror as the necromancer’s limp body fell from the undead knights grasp, his beady eyes were wide and his mouth was agape in a gruesome looking death mask, forever frozen in a look a sheer terror.

The undead creature now slowly turned their way, and as it looked upon them with its red glowing eyes Atgar felt as if all heat in his body was suddenly sucked right out of him.

A bone chilling cold began to surround then bite into him, and the thief found that his legs would not respond to his commands to flee.

He was paralyzed in terror.

Dugo and Oshar were in similar predicaments, for Atgar could tell from the corner of his eyes that the warrior and berserker were as unmoving as he.

The undead knight began to step down away from the dais, its heavy footfalls stirring up the dust and microscopic debris of the crypt as it went. As the creature moved towards them, it continued to stare at them with those emotionless burning red eyes.

When the creature was within only a few feet, it stopped, and then said a single word in a hollow voice that seemed to come from the grave itself.

Kneel.

Unable to control his movements, Atgar suddenly found himself falling to the ground on one knee with his head bowed. Dugo and Oshar also did the same, seemingly as powerless to overcome the dark force that was controlling their bodies as he was.

I have risen. You three will serve me…or you will die. The undead knight said coldly.

Atgar’s mind was racing. He was now cursing himself for taking this job on and leaving his vacation spot. He could do nothing to fight against this creature that was now controlling his every movement like some puppet master pulling the strings of its puppets.

Even though the thief knew full well who was standing before him…he now felt the sudden urge to speak up and confirm his worst fears.

And by what name does our new lord go by? Atgar asked in a trembling voice.

The undead knight was silent for several moments...almost as if he were having trouble recalling his name. Eventually however his cold and hollow voice spoke the words…

I am…Valdimir.

Chapter 1: A Fog Filled Mind

He ran for his life.

He could hear the heavy snorts and grunts behind him from the creature that was chasing him and he knew that if he even so much as slowed down for an instant he would be dead.

It did not help at all that he was running through powdery snow that was almost up to his knees making his flight all that more difficult and tenuous.

His fur lined buck skin boots were soaked from the snow hindering his movement even more, for it felt as if he had wet weights upon his feet.

He was not concerned about the cold, for he was a barbarian of the Northern Plains and they all had natural resistances to cold from birth.

They did not however, have resistances from dire polar bears.

The monstrous bear had surprised him as he was on his way back to his clan with some fish he had caught only hours earlier. He had been moving up a steep snow bank completely focused on not losing his footing while keeping his fishing pole and catch of the day steady when the dire bear had burst up from within the snow with a roar that almost shook the very mountains he was scaling.

He had dropped his pole hooked with the fish and pulled out his double bladed axe, boldly attempting to confront the beast.

As he went to lash out at the creature, the dire bear had swatted his axe out of his hand like it were a tooth pick and then had used its other paw to smack him in the chest.

Falling into the snow on his back, the barbarian was barely able to roll out of the way as the dire bear went for the killing blow.

He had scrambled up to his feet and then took off as fast as his powerful 6’7" tall frame would carry him.

That all just took place only ten minutes ago and as he now continued his run through the treacherous mountain terrain his only thoughts were of getting to safety.

There was an angry roar from behind him and his already frantic pounding heart skipped a beat, for the dire polar bear seemed to be closing in on him.

Despite being enormous in size, well over 10’ long and 15’ tall when they stood up on their hind legs, dire polar bears had special pads on their feet that enabled them to easily traverse the snow and ice of the mountains and Frozen Wastes where they dwelled.

Not only that, but they were armed with over 16 long claws on every paw, and their large muzzles were lined with razor sharp teeth and over 6 long canines.

Being a dire bear, these creatures had spike like ridges that ran from the top of their heads all the way down their backs to their hindquarters.

The creature’s pure white fur easily enabled the beast to blend in perfectly with its environment, and its coal black eyes would turn red when it became enraged…such as how they were now.

Turning his head briefly over his shoulder he could see the bear barreling down towards him, its mouth open and panting heavily. The cold mountain air caused the beast’s breath to turn into smoke trails, and the froth that dripped down from its lagging tongue made it looked rabid as it huffed and grunted at the exertion of moving its huge body with such speed.

The barbarian’s ice blue eyes widened in terror that the beast was only a hundred yards away and gaining on him.

The barbarian turned his head back to look in front of him but as he went to lift his right leg his boot struck a rock and he plunged face first into the snowy ground.

The barbarian placed his hands down into the cold snow and pushed himself quickly back up, but even before he could fully rise the barbarian was slammed in the back by something so hard that he was sent three feet forward to land back into the snow once again.

The wind was completely knocked out of him and he felt as if he had just been struck by a runaway bull, but he knew exactly what had hit him.

Turning quickly onto his back his eyes went as wide as saucers as the dire polar bear was already on its hind legs standing over him and roaring in triumph.

The barbarian closed his eyes and clenched his jaw waiting for the inevitable mauling…

Before the dire bear could even come down on him however, it made a loud growling howl that sounded like anger mixed with…pain.

Throwing his eyes open the barbarian saw that the dire bear was now several feet off to his left slowly backing away from a dark brown haired human male that was donned in sparkling silver plate mail armor.

It was a knight of Arathon.

The knight was carefully advancing towards the bear, his sword being held out in front of him and his large shield on his right arm kept tightly across his chest and torso.

The barbarian also noticed that the beast was bleeding on its right side; for the dark red liquid was falling from its body and staining the snow blanketed ground around it.

The Knights of Arathon were known far and wide, even this far up north within the Khoris Mountains where his people made their homes. The barbarians of the North distrusted the knights, like they do almost all other cultures, but they did at least respect their strength and sense of honor.

The barbarian never saw a knight before…until now.

The dire bear was still panting heavily and it had its head lowered with its burning red eyes staring right at the knight who was now as still as a statue, his knees slightly bent in a fighting stance and his sword now being held closer in towards him ready to strike.

The dire bear, despite its ferocity and sheer size, seemed wary towards the knight and kept pacing around him attempting to exploit a weakness.

The knight however, was not moving, and continued to hold his ground.

Finally losing its patients, the dire bear howled in rage and then charged in at the knight with its head still lowered in an attempt to use its massive weight and size to completely overtake the much smaller human.

The knight was not daunted by the beasts charge and he did not move until the dire bear was an arm’s length away where he then charged forward his shield leading.

The barbarian watched on with amazement as the knight met the dire bear’s charge by bashing the beast in the snout with his shield. The beast growled and backed up a few steps apparently dazed but otherwise unhurt.

The knight continued to press the attack since the dire bear was now on the defense and lashed out with his sword for the beast’s left front leg.

The sword blade bit deep into the dire bear’s skin causing a gaping wound and more of the bear’s blood to gush out onto the snow.

The beast howled in pain but it was not hurt enough, for it raised the same arm that the knight wounded and attempted a wild strike with its paw.

The knight quickly brought his sword up and then stabbed it into the dire bear’s arm just above the joint where its paw and arm connected. The blade sank deep into the bears flesh and then erupted up out the other side. The sword was so deep into the beast’s limb that it was stuck all the way up to the swords cross guard.

The dire polar bear roared in agony and as it went to stand up on its hind legs the knight grabbed his swords pommel with both hands and pulled the blade free out from the bear’s arm. The sword made a sickening sound as it was set loose and a torrent of blood spilled out from the dire bear like a gruesome fountain.

The beast knew that it was being bested, and now with a crippled limb it had no choice…it retreated.

Coming back down onto all fours the bear lifted its bad arm up close to its chest and then turned around away from the knight and barbarian, running off down the mountainside and leaving a dark red blood trail in its wake.

The barbarian watched as the knight stood there unmoving for several moments ensuring the bear had truly retreated before turning around towards him.

The knight sheathed his sword within a scabbard hanging from his hip, and as he approached the barbarian he could see that he was rather tall but not as tall as him. Standing 6’2" the knight had a square wide jaw and dark brown eyes. He was unshaven, with several days’ worth of stubble along his chin, jaw line, and upper lip.

It looked as if he had been traveling for days.

When the knight was only a few feet away he smiled at the barbarian and then bowed formally.

Coming back up he said, Are you hurt at all my friend?

The barbarian shook his head slowly and replied, No…I am fine…a little shaken but none the worse for wear.

The knight nodded, continuing to smile and said, You are lucky…even survivors of dire bear attacks tend to be so horribly mauled that not even healing magic or potions can fully fix them up again.

The barbarian stared at the knight evenly as he was a bit insulted by his words. Couldn’t he tell that he was a barbarian? If the bear had not surprise attacked him and swatted his axe out of his hand he would have made a rug out of the beast.

The knight seemed not to notice the barbarian’s reaction for he chuckled and then placed his hand out saying, Where are my manners. I am Nathan Von Blackhand Lieutenant within the 23rd Unit of the Knights of Arathon.

The barbarian looked down at the knight’s gauntlet hand in hesitation, but seeing as to how this Nathan Von Blackhand just saved his life, he grasped it firmly.

My name is Valdimir Ruthgar son of Orrus Ruthgar of Clan Red Wolf. What is a knight of Arathon doing all the way up here?

Nathan took his hand back and then said, I am on a mission from my order to seek out new recruits. We are running thin on men as of late as the uprising of humanoids within the wilds of Antamor has us at a stressing point. I was on my way to Rivia to see if any of the young men there would be interested in becoming squires.

Valdimir was a bit surprised, for Rivia was located almost two hundred miles to the North of where his own clan was. Clan Red Wolf was nearly on the other side of the Khoris Mountains of Anastone, the huge stretch of mountain ranges that separated the northern and southern continent almost clear across the middle. Rivia was just beyond the mountains nestled within a valley in the lands of Vergular.

You have come a very long way just to recruit troops. Valdimir said.

Nathan nodded and then sighed, the weariness from his long expedition now beginning to show on his young face. Indeed…that I have. But it is necessary that I succeed for our entire regiment is nearly stretched across the continent seeking willing men far and wide.

The knight placed his hands on his hips and then began to look all around the area as if he were searching for something.

Now where did my horse get off too…? He said, almost saying it to himself as if such an occurrence happened all too often.

After looking around for several more moments and not finding the horse, Nathan turned back to Valdimir and then looked him up and down as if the knight where suddenly seeing him for the first time.

Valdimir raised a brow, for he felt as if the knight were inspecting him.

You know…you are quite an impressive specimen. I mean…I know that all you barbarian folk are hulking in stature with endless strength and stamina but I do believe that you would be perfect.

Valdimir crinkled his brow in confusion and was beginning to get irritated with the knight looking him over like a piece of meat. Despite himself however, Valdimir couldn’t help but ask, Perfect for what?

Nathan beamed then replied, Why…perfect for the knighthood of course!

Valdimir scoffed.

Was this knight crazy? Or were they all like this?

There would be no way within the Abyss that the knighthood would accept a wild and crazed barbarian from the Northern Plains into their folds. Much of Anastone beyond the Khoris Mountains all viewed his people as savages, crazed and wild beast men that raided and pillaged everything in their path. Even though this was true to some barbarian clans, it was not accurate about all of them. Valdimir’s own clan lived a simple but rather harsh life in the mountains, they even took care of themselves by fishing, raising livestock, and hunting.

Even in the slim chance that the knights would allow him into their folds his father and clan would surely never allow Valdimir to be within it.

Still…Nathan had showed incredible fighting technique and finesse in battle, and he didn’t even seem fazed at all by the size, power, or ferocity of the dire bear.

Valdimir was no slouch in battle himself; he had proven again and again that he was a competent warrior and many of his clansmen respected and even feared him.

But yet he had allowed his own fear to take over when he had lost his weapon from the dire bears strike…and because of that fear he almost got himself killed.

Suddenly the thought of being as skilled and disciplined as Nathan did not seem so ridiculous to Valdimir. He would still have to discuss the matter over with his father and the rest of the clan however, and that would be a daunting task in itself.

He would have to prepare himself for the outrage that it would cause.

Nevertheless, perhaps it was time for Valdimir to stretch his legs as it were. He had never seen the lands beyond the Khoris Mountains and he always had wondered what the rest of the world looked like beyond them.

Now set with his decision Valdimir finally said, I believe you are crazier than a gremlin high on swamp root for your proposal Nathan Von Blackhand…but you do have me intrigued. Before I can make any final decision however I will have to discuss this matter with my father and the rest of my clansmen.

Nathan grinned and said, Of course, of course. I understand this is a life changing decision but I assure you after they hear how the order works and the many rewards it can bring, I am sure they will not hesitate to let you come back with me. Maybe we can even convince and bring back more of your clansmen with us!

Valdimir snorted. He highly doubted that but he brushed away his own apprehension and said, Well then…let us find your horse so you can come back with me to my home. Even if they refuse me leaving you will find a hot meal and a warm bed skin to rest in.

Nathan sighed in delight with that thought and then set off to begin to track down his lost horse.

The barbarian stood there a moment thinking long and hard about what he had just decided to do.

Valdimir Ruthgar….Knight of Arathon…for some reason he actually liked the sound of that.

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

The void…the once seemingly impenetrable darkness that had surrounded him for centuries was finally lifted and he lived once again….if one would call it living.

The memory that had come back to Valdimir when he had first encountered the knight of Arathon was strange to him…it was not necessarily an emotional response more than it was sheer curiosity.

In fact…he couldn’t feel anything other than a cold and hollow sensation within him, as if his very soul had been ripped out of him, cut up into thousands of pieces, and then stuffed back into his now undead body.

The death knight fully understood and accepted what he was. The now dead necromancer had raised him with his dark magic within his long forgotten tomb…but why…and for what purpose?

Valdimir had thousands of unanswered questions swimming through his fog filled mind. It seemed as if there were a veil over his eyes and he could not see…but he was fully aware of his surroundings and who he was as an individual.

It felt as if a large portion of his memory was blocked off from him as if some invisible and impenetrable wall was keeping him from accessing its hidden secrets. Perhaps this was a side effect from the ritual that had raised him…or possibly that the necromancer did not perform it accurately.

Whatever the case was…all Valdimir knew were his name and that one brief memory that had unlocked itself from his mind as he walked through the countryside now a couple miles away from his tomb.

The purple moon, Sanos, was now fully up in the sky and cascaded down its violet rays onto the lush green fields Valdimir was now treading.

The death knight did not even know there had been a purple moon at first, but as he stepped forth out of his crypt and had gazed up into the sky it all suddenly came back to him. There were three moons of the world…Arnos, Renos, and Sanos. Arnos was blue and Renos was red and they rose in the sky together as soon as the sun had begun to set. Once they disappeared over the horizon, lone Sanos took over the night sky.

Valdimir had gazed at Sanos for several moments then, almost as if he were a baby looking upon the world for the first time with fully opened eyes.

Everything seemed too strange to him…familiar…yet alien at the same time.

His new subjects were of little help to him, for they seemed to be terrified of his very presence and he received little to no answers from them.

The warrior and berserker flanked Valdimir on either side behind him, walking in complete silence and keeping a good distance back. The other one, a lean human male wearing a dark blue cloak and hood, trailed the rear.

The three succumbed to his dominating will easily and it also made Valdimir curious as to what other abilities and powers he was capable of.

The death knight was so lost in his thoughts that he almost did not notice the bright campfire that was in the distance.

Valdimir focused his supernatural eyes ahead of him and noticed that there were several humanoids either sitting or kneeling around the campfire.

Upon closer inspection he noticed that they were not humans…but a seemingly cross between a human and a pig.

Orcs my lord…we should proceed with caution. A voice behind him said.

Valdimir did not need to turn around to know that it came from the lean one…Atgar Thaxx was his name.

Valdimir stopped his advancement and then began to study the creatures as he had most of the things he had looked upon since his awakening.

Cocking his decayed fleshed skull to the right and to the left, Valdimir gazed upon the humanoids curiously, trying to study them in