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Aelfwyrd after he leaves Furthest Arena.

Now I know not where to go from Furthest, many paths lead from here, there destinations unknown. My mind still numb from relentless slaughter, fractured senses slowly reforming. On an ancient windswept Tor deep within Dragon Pass I pause for sleep. I am exhausted yet strange portents and omens assault me, awake or not.

It is Kargan, he is with me again, and he shows what may come to pass

Lush green forests teeming with strange and beautiful creatures. A road to a huge city by the sea; it is Nochet. A journey through the broad fields of Esrolia. A verdant forest. There are many tall plant like men. They are adorned with odd armour made of copper leaves and duel with exceptional speed and skill with spears and swords made of the same. They are the Aldryami and I am their sword brother but known by another name. They have great gift to bestow, and greater still are their expectations.

It is deepest night, the air is still. Heavily wooded forest all around but for a moonlit river nearby. The Aldryami are here, all is still, and they are hidden from sight. Suddenly an explosion of noise as huge lead clad Uz crash through the foliage. They bellow and roar, rending and tearing all before them. The elves fight valiantly but are beaten by lead and fire. The battle is over quickly for them. The Death Lord, wreathed in fire, roars a command. The Uz fall to the ground and begin eating my elven brothers. As bone cracks and flesh tears there is screaming, some of the fallen are not yet dead. These are not warriors but base animals of darkness, they have no honour, and they will die by my sword, this I swear.

An ancient and foreign man smokes a thin pipe which fills the room with sweet smelling smoke. He is robed in red and sits upon fine rich cloths. He speaks in tongues but I know his words like my fathers. He is a mystic and tells of his homeland: Kralorea. It is a distant place of dragons only reached from the sea. His home is now an oasis in the desert, surrounded by rubble, yet full of promise. He knows my heart; I am a servant of conflict. The mystic gestures to what looks like some nightmare instrument of torture. Yet to his mind it could not a faulted, a perfect union of sword, spear, staff and trident. The perfect weapon; it slides into my grip as he tells me it was made for one such as me - a warrior born from conflict. It weighs so little and flashes with brilliance even in the low light of the room. Inscribed down the blade are runic carvings of seven dragons entwined in ferocious combat. I know its name now and the names of the mighty wyrms that are carved. I must meditate on these dragons; to understand their conflict is to understand the art of war.

There are a thousand battle worn of soldiers, sword brothers and sisters all. Born of courage and of honour, they march throughout the lands of the world. Battle after battle, wreathed in black and armed with truth, they fight against their enemies. Marching onwards they merge to become one; they are a sword, they are Hereward, they are his Legion, they are unbreakable.

I travel further through Dragon Pass but always malevolent dreams; the arena and the endless slaughter within. The faces of the fallen leer at me, ever accusing. Rage and despair in equal measure; my mind is shattered and numb. I pray for guidance from my lord in these days of weakness.

None is forthcoming, who watches over me now?
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