An act of Kord

We set camp for nightfall. Nothing exciting in these pasture lands, under the protection of the crown. It feels so different; so alien; so far away from the forest. I miss the forest. The old days were happy ones. Difficult yes. At times lonely. But happy ones nevertheless. I have been watching the stars for some time now when I hear a strange sound. Outworldy and yet so familiar. I can't pinpoint it, but it is something from my past. The stars seem to be moving; slowly at first then faster and faster. An image was forming. An image I knew well. I have seen it plenty of times in my sleep. I have seen his form next to me in battle when the rage takes over me. Kord was making an appearance; in full battle gear

In times of peril; in times of woe.
Another place; another world.
The sword that was; the blade to be.
The grandfather and the son form the key.

Through the gate; the shadow lies.
All wander; everyone dies.
But one must fall; in a place of gloom.
A legend dies to perish the doom.

His words continue to ring in my head. The dream fled quickly my mind, but the words have been imprinted with fire and brimstone. What could they mean. I riddle for sure. The sword? Old Grandfather? Perhaps. At times it does seem that the sword has a mind of its own. When the blood runs the hottest during a battle the sword seems to take over my actions. Protecting me. I felt it the strongest with the bestial orc lord in the inn.

What can it mean? What? My past has always been like a fog-filled night. So close and yet so far; always just a hair away from clarity. It seems that my dreams follow the same road.

But Kord; Kord has always been true to me. He was always there. A trusted friend. A worthy companion. A terrible enemy. Fearsome to friends and enemies alike. And I, just one of his children; a spike in his fire chariot's wheels.

The omen will reveal its true meaning in due time. Till then the Grandfather and I have work to do; with flesh and blood...

Civilization

- You fought bravely and have earned a well deserved rest, and my respect, but I need to ask a favor from you, says the dwarf sergeant in hastened words. I need you to bring warnings to the nearest fort, so that they may send help.
- We need to travel fast, Sonia replied. We could use the help of some of the mules I saw in the stables.
- Yes, you could, but, alas, the orcs in their flight killed the poor animals. You will have to walk. Rest now. I’ll asks the priests to tend to your wounds in the morning, so that you may leave immediately. Time is of the essence.

With those words we retreated to our rooms. An unnerving sleep washed over me. Strange dreams visited me in the night. Dreams about “The Grandfather”. A strange sense of power permeates this old sword. There is writing that has almost faded from the blade. And the metal itself. No matter how much care I take, no matter how much I try to polish it. The metal is dull. Not dirty, or unkempt, but something else. As if it is not steel per se. I will have to find out. Perhaps this will give me a trail to my birth parents. It is time to find out my true heritage.

The morning came uneventful. We set out at dawn towards the fort to the north. The halfling was slowing us down the poor thing. Very capable with that blade of hers, but short on the stride. I took her on my shoulders once or twice to speed up our pace.

Vadania was even less accustomed to the roads than I was. A creature of the forest. So fragile and yet so deadly with her bow. I could feel her gaze upon me from time to time, but I could not know of her thoughts. We hadn’t spoken much. We never did. I could only but hope that there was something more in her heart for me, but for now her cards were kept slowly to her chest.

We reached the fort on the morning of the third day. The letter from the dwarf proved more than enough for the commanding officer to offer us food, shelter and safe passage to Anathull, the Golden Plane, a small village, as he said, further towards Bravil.

We took the first caravan out and a week later we arrived at our destination. A “small village” indeed! Ganannath was but a 400 souls hamlet compared to Anathull! A tall wall made of wood, stone and metal joints was build around it. From the top of the hill we could see buildings as far as the eye could see! From what the half-elf leader of the caravan had told us this was a small village indeed of about 5000 people!! The number was huge. I could not remember so many trees in the area of Ganannath, and here was a multitude of races, professions and building. It seems that the outside world was even bigger than I imagined.

We were looking for a way to earn a living, now that we had nothing left, but it seemed that work was in fact looking for us. A trip to the commander of the guard to relieve myself of the trophies I got from the goblinoids revealed that there was a need for a good blade, and perhaps a bow and a knife. The commander asked me if I could but help him with a problem we had in one of the southeastern farms. A killer was on the loose. Already four of his men went missing while trying to investigate the situation. He would pay 150 gold pieces! A king’s ransom! I could not count that much!

And then again, while selling of the wolf skins a dwarf came up to me. Or better yet came down to me. Too short to even be bothersome I guess. He had the look of a trapper. He had the equipment it seemed. He even had the smell. He mentioned of a strange “birdie” that he needed help trapping. I told him that we would meet him a couple of hours later in the central square.

But, the strangest thing came in the weapons smith. He had a particular interest in “The Grandfather”. He inquisited as to the nature of the sword. “It was my fathers’” I told him. The truth as I knew it. He asked me to come back so that he could take a better look at it. It seemed that the dream was right. Something about the greatsword did not fit.

As we later met the trapper and set out to find his “birdie” I had a day-dream. An image more likely. I was holding “The Grandfather” above my head. My other hand was holding the head of Burgs’ killer, and at my feet scores of orcs dead or dying. A strange glow was emanating from the sword.