u/JohnPathfinder

There seemed to be an accident with removal of pinned links to discrod servers. I am adding the active ones back here.

S&S Zine Community: https://scribe-and-sigil.com

DISCORD (Sword and Sorcery Tavern): https://discord.gg/N6cYqrJ4Zr 

DISCORD (Sword and Sorcery Gaming): https://discord.gg/KbjAbntbUz

DISCORD (Sword & Sorcery A/V Media Arena). https://discord.gg/CJ4485qDmg

Please let me know of any active ones not on the list and I will add it.

Steven began to walk, “We caused quite the stir, let’s make haste. Let’s be sure we’re there to intercept this town’s evil in the morning.” 
Steven and Rowan hiked a short route through the forest and arrived at the clearing recorded in the celestial map. During a short respite, they watched the sun rise over a hill-shaped abode with a door made of knotted branches. They found themselves in a grassy clearing in the forest, with the mound situated in the middle, the grass a dark blush green, as if a disease or curse had blighted the region. 
Steven drew his sword and began to move towards the hill before he heard Rowan’s voice behind him, “Steven, before we go forward, I need to know something.” Steven turned and faced Rowan, longsword drawn and visage uncharacteristically somber. She continued, “We don’t know exactly what we’ll find down in the pit, and we face the unknown. I need to know what I’m fighting for is worth it.” 
Steven responded, “What do you propose?” 
Rowan raised her longsword into a fighting stance, “A spar. To first blood. The winner determines the truth.” 
Steven stared at her, “We don’t have the time for sport.”
 Rowan smiled, “Not sport. Fight me as if I were a foe ready to strike you dead. I’ll be doing the same.” 
Steven asked, “Are you afraid I might kill you if I do that?” 
Rowan chuckled, “Not at all.” 
As soon as Steven raised his shield in a fighting stance, Rowan lunged forward and slammed her longsword into Steven's shield. 
The paladin braced himself against the force of the attack and pushed back. Rowan immediately took a step forward and attempted to strike on the side of Steven's arming sword. He parried the sword with his own and stepped back. Another strike came for his shield, quick and heavy, which this time glanced off his shield after Rowan’s blade was pushed aside. 
Steven could see the fury, frightening yet alluring, blazing in the eyes of Rowan as each strike landed with full force, but Steven kept his resolve. The paladin knew that battles are first won or lost in the mind, and he would not let his own be overwhelmed. 
After Steven blocked the blow with his shield, he moved his arm inward for a deflection with his sword, causing Rowan to stagger backwards. She immediately went to meet Steven's visor with her elbow, which Steven sidestepped, still watching her intently. 
“Strike at me, damn you!” Rowan yelled as she lunged forward with another side slash. 
Steven stepped forward as well, blocking her strike and then bringing his sword down on hers, knocking it out of her hand. 
Steven then drove his pommel into Rowan's cuirass, knocking her supine. Steven raised his visor and knelt in front of the now knocked over Rowan propping herself up on her elbows, staring at Steven with a look of both worried and excited anticipation. 
He sheathed his sword, held out his hand, and smiled, “You’ve proven yourself to me a while ago. Have I proved myself to you?” 
Rowan grabbed Steven's hand and let him pull her up. She immediately wrapped her arms around the paladin and pushed against him for a long kiss. As they began to break, Steven still saw a smouldering desire and Rowan's eyes, and pushed back in, knocking her over in another long kiss laying on the ground. 
As they finally broke, Rowan stared deep into Steven's eyes as they both began to stand up, “You’ve proven one thing to me Steven." 
Steven lowered his visor, “And what is that exactly?" 
Rowan smiled, “That I didn't fall for some prudish temple guard." As they let go of each other, Steven and Rowan collected their equipment and moved towards the entrance of the mound. 
As they stood before the contorted branches blocking the entrance, roots curled and receded back to form an opening in the center, as if the boreal tendrils withered to provide an opening. The path forward was a cramped sodden tunnel of downward cobblestone stairs, with roots growing through the roof and walls and bioluminescent moss lighting the way down in an eerie malachite hue. 
Steven and Rowan descended slowly, side by side, weapons raised. Worms and rodents could be heard burrowing in the walls, deafening in the eerie silence, and each step felt as if it invited the attention of every malevolent force known. As they reached the bottom, they saw the moss pulsating with light in a large cavernous atrium. The room was empty but for an azure glowing pond, opaque and shimmering. 
As they tread cautiously towards the pond, a disturbance began to trouble the otherwise  still pool. Stepping out from the water and before them was a woman with pale skin and otherworldly beauty. On her head of incredibly long braided blonde hair sat a garland of mistletoe. The only clothing that clung to her body was a sparkling but sheer and transparent white gown which did nothing to conceal the portions of the body it did cover. Her skin seemed to radiate in the dark, and her green eyes glowed like emeralds by firelight. 
“I have not seen you among my children. Are you new devotees?” Her voice seemed to reverberate softly in Steven and Rowan’s mind. 
Steven glared at the strange woman beneath his visor, “So it is true. You’re the supposed goddess the people of Dubhan Dearg fear.” 
The woman giggled and began to pace, circling Steven and Rowan, “I assumed one day they would overextend their hand and call attention to themselves. But I don’t seem to understand why you come to me with weapons drawn instead of praises and thanksgiving. A vagabond taken here, a wandering thief there, and all to allow a town of the lowliest to thrive. That’s more than what your gods do.” 
Rowan lunged forward with her longsword when the woman stood in front of the pool, “I’ll not have another insult to the integrity of the gods of my people, you slut!” The blade did not make contact with the woman, but she carelessly fell back into the pool and disappeared with not even a splash, as if she simply phased through the liquid. 
At the same time she fell through the pool, a small hole in the wall gave way and a puddle of groundwater poured behind Steven and Rowan. They stared into the water, checking for any sign of movement or disturbance. 
Suddenly, from the puddle, a hair raising shriek could be heard as a withered claw gripped Rowan’s ankle and pulled her to the floor. Steven quickly turned around to see the assailant. From the puddle the waist up figure of a hideous shriveled woman with wisps of black-gray hair with celadon hued skin covered in warts, cloaked in a simple brown dress, with arms like gnarled branches ending in taloned hands and sharpened yellow teeth. 
Steven brought his sabaton down onto the head of the hag as if crushing a rat, but the hag released her grip and slipped back into the puddle now unseen. A hideous cackle emanated throughout the room. 
Rowan stood up and grabbed her sword, “Gods of the earth, my blade will rend her head from her wretched body!” 
Steven was reassured at her oath, “It’s good to know you’re still at fighting strength.” The paladin scanned the room until he saw an oval opening in the wall to their right. 
Steven began to move swiftly, “Follow my lead.” 
Rowan began to follow, “Only if you let me slay the beast.” 
Steven and Rowan ran through and were met with a bending hall. On either side illuminating a mired path forward with the earthen walls and low roof was the same glowing water. 
The paladin scanned the room. He knew the witch wanted them to follow this path, and anticipated a trap with every step. Rowan, however, kept her gaze on the water, waiting for the hag to arise at any moment. 
Suddenly, Steven felt a sensation like an ice cold hand moving down his back. The paladin wheeled around, only for his face to be met with a gray cloaked figure of shadow with long gray wispy hair and glowing red eyes. As soon as he turned around, to the surprise of Rowan, the creature let out a deafening shriek which filled both Steven and Rowan with an icy fear. 
Steven stepped back, only to be grappled from behind by another gray cloaked figure whose hand phased through the paladin's armor and began to grasp his throat. 
Another specter tried to grab Rowan, but she quickly shook it off of her and swiped her steel across the one restraining Steven, causing it to quickly dissolve into a wisp of smoke. 
Steven whirled around and thrust his holy blade through the chest of the ghost who attacked Rowan, causing it too to dissolve into smoke. Four additional specters crawled forth from the pools, two on each side. As they emerged, they let out blood freezing screams. 
Steven and Rowan backed into each other, each tightening their stances and raising their weapons. As they poised to strike the spectral figures slowly moving towards them, there was a familiar disturbance in the water facing Steven. Rowan turned around and saw a wart ridden green arm gripping the edge. She pivoted around and was suddenly grabbed by two spectral assailants. Steven heard Rowan's sword hit the ground as she was restrained by the ghastly creatures and swiveled around to see the two specters swiping their claws against her as they dragged her towards the water. 
The paladin flashed his sword low into one of the ghosts, which swiftly dissolved. As soon as he completed the motion, one behind Steven began to hold down his arms in a freezing grip and the other wrapped its hands around Steven's neck in a chokehold. 
Rowan drove her elbow into the specter grabbing her and then knelt over the ghost, punching it in the face until it slowly dissolved into smoke with each strike. As Steven's consciousness began to fade, Rowan picked up her longsword and thrusted it down into the one choking him. 
When air returned to the paladin's lungs, he wrestled against the grip of the last ghost until his sword’s blade touched the creature, causing it to let out its deafening cry and release the paladin. He flashed his blade across the creature's neck as it disappeared. Steven sheathed his sword, raised his visor, and gripped Rowan’s arms, pulling her in. His eyes locked in with hers. 
Rowan stared at Steven defiantly, “I took a risk to strike our mutual foe. I don't want to see your anger regarding this.” 
Steven gripped more firmly “I don't care about that." Rowan's eyes went from confrontational to inviting, and Steven pulled her in for a kiss, short but intense, "I just care that you're okay.” 
Rowan smiled, "You almost make me forget we still have a witch to slay. Don’t let me get lost in fantasy.” Steven nodded as Rowan lowered his visor for him, "That being said, I guess there’s nothing like being in the arms of a knight in shining armor in the heat of danger.” 
As Steven stepped back, “I saw you smite our attackers with both your weapon and your fists.” 
Rowan smiled to herself, “The banshees are one with the land. My parents and their parents for generations have lived here. I am as much of the land as the banshees.” 
Steven and Rowan walked through a curtain of knotted roots at the end of the hall and stepped into a vast room with the mold above and its eerie glow accompanied by a ring of water around a large boiling iron cauldron sitting upon a wood fire, the smoke rising densely upward but seeming to dissipate without ventilation. Around the room were shelves and stands holding jars and bottles as well as free standing objects of various hideous reagents from foetid scented plants and fungi to the pieces of animals as well as whole insects, small amphibians and reptiles. The most disturbing additions to the room were the human remains. Bone effigies hung from the ceiling, skulls and ribcages decked the gnarled wooden furnishings, a rocking chair of bone was formed in the corner, and piles of flayed and gutted human corpses were stacked neatly in the corners. Both Steven and Rowan were unnerved by the grotesque sight they were greeted by, but were greatly disturbed by the stillness of it all. 
The hag was nowhere to be found, and besides the boiling of the cauldron, no sound was made. As they scanned the room for any potential threat, the cauldron began to boil violently, the shelves began to shake , and the ring of water began to seep along the floor until the whole of the floor was covered, yet leaving the fire beneath unaffected. Steven and Rowan both backed towards the wall until they felt the roots lash out, both lunging forward instinctively to avoid their grasp. 
Steven immediately whirled around in hopes of countering an attack from behind only for the cauldron to overflow in its boiling and a celadon hand to grip Steven’s leg and knock the paladin prone. 
The hag leapt up from the water onto Steven’s back, laughing maniacally as Rowan cried out in anger and swung her sword with all her vigor. The fae hag suddenly vanished as the cauldron stopped boiling over. 
Steven, suddenly free to move, rolled to the side, Rowan’s sword a hair’s breadth away from him. 
Jumping from the boiling water, landing on Rowan’s shoulders and clawing at her head was the hag, cackling madly. 
“Strike me now, you petulant wench!” cried the cronish witch. 
Steven moved in close and jammed the pommel of his sword into the hag’s eye. The strike knocked Rowan onto her back in the shallow water, but caused the hag to fall into the water, phasing through and disappearing. As she disappeared, Rowan stood and grabbed her sword. 
The room went dark except the boiling cauldron water which turned an incandescent purple. Immediately, the water jumped out, forming into an amaranthine aqueous skull screaming in laughter as it leapt to devour Steven and Rowan. 
Steven jumped to the side while Rowan was struck with a bolt of internal clarity. She leapt forward under the apparition and slammed into the cauldron, scattering the wood and knocking over the iron bowl. As the water swashed and the skull dissipated, the hag stood from the splatter and turned around. 
With a speck of fear in her eyes, she charged towards Steven with her sharpened claws. Steven sliced off her hands in a single stroke and then removed her head, which he caught before it touched the ground with his shield arm. 
The body dissolved into a puddle of blood before out from it rose a swarm of spiders which scattered every which way as the waters receded into the earth, though the decapitated head remained intact. The spiders seemed to burrow into the ground and not recede with the water.
Steven held the severed head low and unceremoniously, “My apologies for stealing your revenge, but I could not leave a chance for the bringer of such inhumane carnage to escape.” 
Rowan stared at the knocked over cauldron with extinguished firewood, “I did more to kill her than you think, paladin. Now hopefully the people of this land are left to the mercy of gods less cruel than this one.” 
Steven sheathed his sword, “Are you sure the people of Ulfbehrtshire will believe this is the cause of their suffering?” 
Rowan stopped somberly, “It’s not, but it’s close enough.” 

A few weeks later, Steven stood outside a lone wood cabin. To the south stood the city of Silverfist, with its large stone walls, high towers, and layer upon layer of rot and decay. To the north laid a road leading to the forest where the shires and villages he spent the ordeal of weeks past. 
The people of Ulfberhtshire were all too eager to believe a fae hag had caused their suffering. Neither Rowan nor Steven were willing to divulge the truth. They only hoped that the silence of the false god would be enough to quell the violence. 
In any case, Steven could not dwell long on this, for he was saddling a white warhorse, inspecting the creature and the harness with precision, readying for the journey ahead of him. 
The paladin then felt strong arms grab him and turn him around. It was Rowan, who had recently come out of the cabin, no longer wearing armor but rather a long sleeve viridian tunic and brown trousers. She pulled Steven in and her eyes were filled with ferocity and excitement. 
“Join me inside, paladin. We’ll have another spar, the kind where neither of us wear armor." Her face turned to a grin, “Unless you want me to wear that non protective chainmail again." 
Steven put his hands on Rowan’s shoulder and pushed her slightly away, “Rowan, I treasured immensely the time we spent together, but you know the oath I took. My god calls me once again to wander." 
Rowan stared intently at Steven. No words were said, just understanding. She extended her arm, and Steven clasped it as he would a fellow warrior. Steven pulled Rowan in, and Rowan pulled back, with them meeting in a long kiss. 
Rowan spoke as they slowly parted “I’m going to have a hard time forgetting you, Steven Lightblade. I could not have had a better sword at my side. I also can't think of any other man I would want alongside me in battle." 
Steven smiled as he lowered his visor. As he turned around, Rowan grabbed his shoulder once more 
"Wait.” Her voice commanded. 
Steven turned around. Rowan stared once more with the eager look she had before, "Aynor requires your presence, but not at this moment. I, however, do. Now, are we going to have one last spar or not?” 
Steven raised his visor and smiled, "If that's how you wish to remember me.” Rowan began to pull on the shield arm of Steven towards the cabin until Steven swept his sword arm under her legs and picked her up. Steven walked through the cabin door and shut it with his shoulder as Rowan stared into his eyes in anticipation.

This story was written in promotion for my upcoming book The Lightblade Chronicles. If you like what you read be sure to subscribe to the newsletter found at johnpathfinder.com and buy the book upon its release.

Circle of Evil

With eyes of emerald and mane of gold I met a maiden fair.
Lust and jealousy got the best of me, and my doom she made right there.
-Geatish drinking song excerpt

A gloomy mist crawled along the floor of the birch and sycamore forest in the northern island of Albion. The dark, verdant trees huddled together and flanked a dirt path that served as a road. A tenebrous gray sky hung overhead in the morning, concealing the ground beneath and the beings that lurked there from the inquisitive light of the sun. A chill hung over the environ and a dense humidity in the air portended a coming rainfall. 
Walking down the path was a man in white full plate armor and visored helmet. In his left hand was a large white heater shield and on his belt in a scabbard hung an arming sword. The amulet on his neck and the emblem on his shield was of a sword bearing scales by the hilt, a holy symbol marking him as a paladin of Aynor, god of justice. His name was Steven Lightblade, paladin sworn to an errant oath to wander and carry out Aynor's justice. 
As the paladin continued down the dusty road, he came across a wooden ox cart still laden with barrels and crates. The oxen were slain, but no human bodies were able to be found. Before Steven approached the cart, he slowly moved his hand to his sword and drew it from its scabbard. 
His eyes moved across the treeline furtively as he treaded forward, spying for any possible disturbance. Suddenly from the left of Steven out of the treeline leapt a figure who landed just outside of sword point. 
The figure was a woman. She had long curly red hair, fierce green eyes, and a stern gaze holding back excitement. She wore a knee length hauberk with a plate cuirass over it, as well as simple brown trousers and leather boots. On her shoulders was a dark green cloak, and in her hands was a broad bladed longsword. 
“I count six of them on the side of the road." She whispered harshly to Steven, "We have superior equipment. Let them know we’ve seen them and let's fight them back to back.” 
Steven moved his shield arm to raise his visor, revealing his pale skin, gray eyes, short beard, and strands of his shoulder length brown hair, "I don't even know who you are.” 
The woman grinned, "Show me that you can hold your own and you can have my name.” 
Steven lowered his visor, “Can I trust you to not plunge your sword in my back?" 
The woman began to turn around, even as Steven's sword was still pointed at her, "Don't insult me. If I wanted to kill you, I’d do it with you facing me.” She smiled slyly, “Besides, being with a man as handsome as yourself is its own reward.”
Steven lowered his sword from the woman and cautiously turned to face behind him, "I just need to make sure I can trust to fight with a stranger to my back.” 
As Steven positioned himself into a fighting stance, his eyes began to follow the treeline from the treeline flew a net with lead weights on the edges. 
Steven rolled from the incoming net, but the woman stood hunched over, with the net on her back. He took a step forward towards the woman until he heard a step behind him. The paladin pivoted around and blocked a club wielded by a verdant cloaked man with a green mask over his face. He drove his sword through the man’s innards, and violently removed it as the assailant collapsed. 
Just as another similarly cloaked figure with a dagger approached the woman, she lifted up her sword in an upward slash, cutting the net and causing a large incision up his midsection, blood profusely spilling as he collapsed backward. Steven heard motion behind him and raised his shield to his flank, blocking a strange arrow sharpened to a point but missing an arrowhead. 
The paladin spied the archer past the treeline, another green cloaked man, and charged him, shield raised. The archer dropped his bow and drew a short sword in preparation for the inevitable melee, but by the time his sword was raised Steven had brought his own blade across the man’s neck, removing his head. The paladin then felt a hand jerk his shoulder and instinctively turned around in preparation to strike down yet another brigand, but stopped the swing of his sword when he saw the woman behind him. 
She pointed down at a green cloaked corpse in a pool of blood, flanged mace in his hand, “Keep your wits about you, paladin. I could have let you die.” She turned around and brought her longsword through the neck of a green cloaked man with a woodcutter’s axe as he stood up from a crouch, removing his head. His lifeless and headless body collapsed, blood staining the woman's sword and armor. 
As Steven watched, a staff was put around his neck in a chokehold around Steven as he dropped his sword and shield. 
He heard a man's voice whisper in his ear, “For our Lady.” 
Steven drove his elbow into the man’s stomach and before the man could take another breath he grabbed the attacker by his head and violently twisted it. The paladin’s demonstration of force made a hideous crack that left the forest in a momentary silence. The silence was broken as he dropped his lifeless assailant to the forest floor with a thud for him to fulfill his new destiny as a carrion creature’s feast. 
As he picked up and wiped his sword, he heard the woman behind him, "Since you kept up with me, I’ll tell you my name. I’m Rowan, Sword Maiden and Queen of the Battlefield. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” As the paladin turned around he saw Rowan make a bow while wearing a sarcastic grin. 
Steven raised his visor “Steven Lightblade, paladin of Aynor. What brings you along this road?" 
Rowan sheathed her sword, “Paladin of Aynor? Gods curse the day that I’m stuck with some prudish temple guard.” Steven gave no response, but stared in mild annoyance at the avoidance of his question. Something deep inside him stirred, as if he felt annoyed that his battle performance did not prove himself to her. 
Rowan then changed her tone, “However, I know from experience that the greatest treasures are the closest guarded.” 
The paladin kept himself composed. “Can you please answer my original question?”
 “I’m investigating a kidnapping. The town behind us, Ulfberhtshire, has a case of a string of kidnappings. I'm being paid to investigate. It's not my usual work, but gold is gold.” 
Steven looked at her quizzically, "You said Ulfberhtshire?” He pulled a parchment out of his back belt pouch and unfurled it, showing it to Rowan, “I received a similar contract.” 
Rowan smiled and slapped his pauldron, “I guess we’re working together then. Were you planning on searching the town of Dubhan Dearg up the road? It’s where I was going.” 
Steven silently nodded and lowered the visor on his helmet. They traveled together through the forest side by side, both not speaking to each other. Steven eyed Rowan with suspicion, while Rowan eyed him back with curiosity, both of them considering the demeanor of the other more than the task at hand.  
After the long walk of silence, they arrived at the hamlet by the evening. Even in the early spring the chill of winter hung in the evening air, biting at the extremities of the visitors. The adventurers were greeted by a huddle of wooden cabins in a circle around a central uncarved standing stone in the center of town. Even in the early planting season, the full yield of wheat in the fields and vegetables in the gardens were spotted in the ground, the roots and herbs uncharacteristically stalwart in the still cold late winter air. The smell of evening fires hung over the small town like a miasma, guarding against the inclement weather. The town seemed as a small glowing timber pyre in the wilderness, where these people gathered hopelessly against the outside darkness and hunger. 
As they walked in, they saw people with flaxen hair and plain woolen drab hued tunics, trousers, hoods, and dresses. They passed by to either their homes or the tavern, some leering at the visitors suspiciously. Their faces revealed their minds bore too many of their own concerns to care for those of strangers.
A man with long blond hair and a long beard wearing a gambeson as well as a club on his belt stopped Steven and Rowan, “We don't get visitors here often. What brings you two here?" 
Rowan stepped forward, “We need to talk to your town alderman. We're here on behalf of the people of Ulfberhtshire. There's been roadside kidnappings and we’d like permission to inspect for any possible raider hideouts." 
The bearded man spat on the ground, “I don't know who you think you are, girl, but strangers don't get to talk to the priest and he doesn't speak to women as equals." 
Rowan gripped the hilt of her sword and stepped forward, “I’ve come across many men who think themselves above me, I can assure you they’ve all been proven wrong." 
The guard reached for his club and gritted his teeth. 
Steven raised his visor and walked up to Rowan, “That won't be necessary, Rowan. Leave the man be. My apologies. I’m Steven Lightblade, paladin of Aynor. I'm her associate, and I can assure you we mean no harm. We’d just like to inform the priest of the happenings on the road. We won't leave until both of us speak to the priest.” 
The man leered at him, "I know what god you follow, Aynorian, and we don't particularly care for him here. In any case, I’ll just let the priest refuse you himself. Keep your woman quiet and at a distance, and I’ll take you to him.” 
Rowan smiled with pride and irreverence as she nudged Steven. She whispered to him as the man led them to a long cabin in the center of town, “Thanks for giving him a way out. You granted him a fate worse than death." 
Steven turned to face her, “What do you mean?" 
Rowan smiled, “Cowardice." 
The paladin felt a sense of satisfaction he never knew he was reaching for. He had won the favor of the warrior woman, and it would be a prize he would treasure more than a knight of his homeland would treasure any courtly token. In his mind, he had something far more valuable.
Steven and Rowan were led to a long and plain timber cabin reminiscent of a regular town hall in a village in Albion. As the watchman opened the door, the three were greeted by golden glowing hearthlight and warmth emanating from the middle of the room. The building was windowless, but various herbs and plants hung from the walls, incense braziers burned throughout the room, and on the table scattered about haphazardly were containers, tools, and reagents for creating all manner of potions and treatments. 
Sitting by the fire in a large wooden chair nursing ale from a drinking horn was an elderly man in viridescent robes and hood. He had a long white beard, and was staring into the fire with tired eyes. 
A tired and clearly aged voice from him rang out, “Who has been brought to me, Aylwald?” 
“Two strangers. One’s a paladin of Aynor from some part of Heiliegsreich by the sound of his accent. The other’s a Keltoi woman. Do you want me to let them in? The paladin says he won’t leave unless he and the woman talk to you.” 
A silence from the elder’s pause emanated throughout the room. 
“Bring them in.” 
The watchman left as Steven and Rowan walked forward to the man sitting in the chair, “There is ale and horns on the table behind you should you desire it.” 
While Steven stood silent, Rowan grabbed a horn and began to pour herself ale from the clay jug behind them, “We’ll be gone soon. Now we-” 
The priest interrupted, “We are discussing the realm of the public, the realm of men. If you have a question regarding the private, I am willing to hear from you.” 
Steven’s tone was restrained, but contained a hint of annoyance, “We are working together; dismissing her concerns is equal to dismissing mine. Now, we are requesting to simply inspect the area around your village for any possible clues regarding the disappearance to the villagers of Ulfberhtshire. Will you let us carry out our task?” 
The priest looked up at Steven, “I’m assuming you suspect our village in conspiracy with these disappearances, paladin. You see our objects of worship and notice that we see that the gods of the earth are closer and of keener ears than the gods of the stars. We only give to the earth what it asks of us. What do your gods demand?” 
Steven glared in frustration, “I didn’t come here to debate theology. I just want to bring peace to the minds of frightened families.” 
The priest chuckled, “There you go in your star god intellectual sterility. Did you or the people of Ulfberhtshire consult the gods of their lands before searching? Perhaps they would have told them if they only asked.” 
"Silence!” barked Rowan, "The gods you speak of are the gods of my people! The Geats plundered and settled Keltoi lands, and I will not tolerate one weaponizing my gods against me!” 
The priest sat back with shock in his eyes, as if a sharp pain struck his back, "I invite you into my home and you speak to me in such a manner, woman?” 
Rowan stepped forward, "Call on my gods to strike me down. Better yet, fetch your weapon and do it yourself. If not, leave us to our task.” 
The priest stood up "Get out! Get out by first light or you’ll have only yourselves to blame for your deaths!”
As Steven and Rowan stepped out, Steven gripped Rowan's shoulder and pulled her towards him, “What the hell do you think you're doing? You almost got us killed." 
Rowan grinned, “I knew he wouldn't do anything to us. If he thought the gods disfavored me, he would have struck us with a spell.” 
She rubbed the gauntlet on her shoulder and smiled with admiration, “I didn't know there was this side to you, Steven. I’d like to see more of it.” 
Steven pushed her away and lowered his visor, “Light a torch. It’s getting dark and we better work fast.” 
The sun just set below the horizon and the last lights hung over the village. The people had sought shelter inside their homes or were in the still lit tavern. Rowan gathered some timber, cloth, and grease and brought flint to steel. She handed Steven a torch and grasped one herself as they began to advance towards the standing stone in the middle of town. They spotted no runic carvings, but rather a crude depiction of a long haired woman. 
Steven stared at it, “A harvest goddess perhaps?” 
Rowan peered at the stone, “No goddess I’ve known. Besides, Keltoi idols have prayers of dedication inscribed on them. Our script has been hidden to all, even back to the Imperials of old. However, that doesn’t mean we don’t have a script.” 
Steven looked closer and ran his torch over the standing stone, noticing the sharp carvings on the surface, “These carvings are relatively new. I don’t think it’s a worship object of anyone’s ancestors.” 
Rowan stared at it more closely, “Strange choice for these people. Keltoi standing stones are typically protective wards, and invoke the oldest gods a tribe knows. That being said, I don’t know what this has to do with kidnappings.” 
As Steven examined the area surrounding the statue, he noticed something. The paladin pointed at a trail of recent footprints to one of the timber houses in the town circle. As they crept up to the building, Steven tried the door handle and, noticing it was unlocked, began to quietly  push it open. The building was completely unadorned except for an unlit hearth in the middle, with wooden plank walls and floors. They slowly slipped inside, slowly checking the barren walls and floors for anything of note. The glint of iron caught Rowan’s eye. She spotted that on the wall were bolts that would not look out of place in a prison cell. On the floor were drops of blood. 
She crept along the trail inquisitively, following the blood drops out the door, Steven following close behind. They both followed the track of faint blood drops and footprints of what appeared to be the trail of several people outside of town until Steven looked up. He tapped Rowan’s shoulder and pointed forward.  She looked to where the paladin was pointing. At the end of Steven’s finger was a circle of stones in the middle of a grassy field, each in a section of three large rectangular stones, the height about three times the height of Steven, with two side by side and one lying horizontally on top of them, with each of the sections forming a doorlike structure. 
Steven whispered, “Perhaps this is where the victims were brought.” They quietly hurried over inside the ring of sentinel monoliths. In the center of the structure was a simple stone slab around waist height that was about as high as a man and half as wide. They looked over it with torches to reveal the surface stained with dried and blackened blood. 
Rowan shook her head, “This blood is old. If it was used for sacrifice, it was a long time ago.” 
The paladin immediately looked behind Rowan as he saw movement in the dark. Two shadowy figures moved silently towards what they now spied a cluster of rocks in the distance. Steven snuffed his torch in the dirt and as he gestured towards the movement, Rowan followed suit and snuffed her torch. They both drew their weapons, Steven his arming sword and shield and Rowan her two handed longsword. They quickly but stealthily moved towards them. 
As they closed in, they spied a circle of small stones decorated with intricate interweaving carvings, and one of the silhouettes was laying out the other on the large flat stone platform in the center, kneeling over the other. The low voice of a young man could be heard from the one kneeling over the other. They crept closer, the details of the two shadows becoming clear. They saw the person lying on the ground being a woman’s form, pale skin and long blonde hair exposed. Steven and Rowan slowly closed in, now within striking distance. Steven placed his sword under the chin of the man straddled over the woman. 
At their close range and in the pale moonlight, he could see the man dressed in the typical farmer’s fashion of plain brown shirt and trousers and brown hood. The sword may have encouraged the man to turn around, but what most likely caused it was the woman shrieking as she covered herself with her hands as she reached for her blouse. The man spun around into a sitting position, and even in the darkness Steven saw the look of worry on his face. 
Steven and Rowan also saw at their distance that this was not a man and woman, but rather a boy and girl, no older than eighteen by what they could guess in the dark. 
“Don’t hurt us.” Pleaded the boy. 
Rowan brandished a grin, “Easy, boy. No one’s going to hurt either of you.” She put a hand on Steven’s pauldron, “The paladin here had his fair share of midnight escapades when he was your age. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have wanted a sword to his throat ruining that for him.” 
Steven lowered his sword, but his gaze beneath his visor just as intent, though behind his stare laid the sting of embarrassment, “Just tell us what you know of the sigils you’re on and we’ll be off.” 
The boy and girl stared at Steven and Rowan in fright. 
As they slowly turned around, there was a small band of green robed villagers, each one of them an axe, seax, or club in hand. Steven and Rowan stood in a fighting stance and placed themselves in between the youths. 
The leader of the mob spoke, a male by the sound of his voice, “You disrespected our priest. That means you disrespected our Lady. We will not tolerate such blasphemy.” 
Steven kept a lowered stance as Rowan raised her longsword, readying herself for combat. 
The paladin lowered his weapon, but kept his shield raised, “Your priest gave us permission to investigate the town, given we leave by sunrise. Unless you all want to be suspects of kidnapping and murder, I recommend you yield and go back to the town." 
The young man and the maiden began to run towards the forest behind them as the mob leader stepped forward, “You're stuck between death and becoming a murderer, paladin. Your words can't threaten us." 
Rowan lunged forward and thrusted her sword through the abdomen of the leader and twisted the blade, blood staining his robes and entrails pouring forward onto the ground. Rowan ripped the sword out and moved towards the mob, “It's your word against ours if we don't leave survivors." 
Steven moved forward and slammed his shield into an axe wielding assailant charging toward Rowan and brought his sword down into his skull. This gave Rowan the chance to bring her sword across the neck of a club wielding mob member just at the end of her blade, removing the attacker's head. 
The mob, however, moved by religious fervor, emotive frenzy, and confidence in superior numbers pressed onward. A man with a seax and a man with a club closed in on Steven, and the paladin let their weapons clash against his shield. He then pushed back and flashed his blade across the abdomen of the club wielder, causing him to effuse blood. The blood sprayed into the eyes and mouth of the seax wielder. Steven then brought his blade across the abdomen of the seax wielder, causing blood and viscera to pour out as the attacker went limp. 
Steven pivoted as he heard movement and saw a club just a hair’s breadth away from his head before he saw Rowan drive the pommel of her sword into the face of her assailant. She then brought the sword down onto the viridian robed figure’s skull, causing a font of blood, brain, and bone. She wheeled around and thrust her sword into the heart of another cultist with a seax. Steven lunged to his right as a more dishevelled man with a woodcutting axe prepared to strike Rowan from behind. He sent his sword through the hidden striker's throat; tepid blood staining Steven's blade and the back of Rowan's head, and then aggressively tore the sword out of the cultist's throat. As if in perfect synchrony, both whirled around, Steven's sword going across the midsection of a seax wielder and Rowan lopping off the head of the cultist behind her. The chaotic whirl of blades suddenly ended in silence. No other people could be seen by either Steven or Rowan; they were left alone with a crowd of corpses. The last throes of their adrenaline and passion burned in the silence.
Steven and Rowan turned around and silently stared at each other, each of them wanting to move towards the one across from them, but neither moving. Steven slowly knelt at the same time as Rowan. They both wiped the blood off their blades on the cloaks of the dead cultists while they silently stared at each other, as if one were about to lunge towards the other first. They walked towards each other as they sheathed their blades. Rowan raised Steven’s visor and Steven put a gauntleted hand on Rowan’s face. 
Steven then did his best to wipe the blood off of Rowan’s face. She grinned as she lowered his visor, “How about we look at that sigil?” Steven moved his hand and nodded. They looked down and stared at the stone sigil carved onto the ground. 
The carvings looked new, bearing eight glyphs of a soft flowiness uncharacteristic of stone sigils along the stone circle’s edge with a circle with a dot in the middle, below the one to the right of where they were facing. Along the center was a network of intersecting lines both straight and curved, as if to make a strange and intricate magic circle. 
As they stared at the circular stone table for a while, Rowan finally spoke, “I don’t know what this is. Could it be a magic circle?” Steven stared silently and considered the glyphs. 
Suddenly, the meaning of the glyphs came to him, “It’s crude, but it’s an astrological chart.” He moved his hands along it until he reached the circle, “This is the symbol for the sun.” 
Rowan studied the carvings for a while and suddenly an idea came to her, “The sun… Paladin, this is a map.” She stepped until the sun was at the top from her view. Steven followed and looked at the two crossed lines from where Rowan stood. 
He pointed at the bottom one, “This one is closest to the star of Yalgor, god of cities and civilization.” 
Rowan pointed to the one at the top, “And this one?” 
Steven stared intently, “Star of Erlas, goddess of the wilds.” 
Rowan smirked, “Gods of earth and wind, they hid their place of worship in the middle of a field.” 

This is the story of a sword

who led one king in total madness

created by the chaos Lord

and hammered by the runes of darkness

Now let me tell you for thy king

also known as Dark Avenger

he crossed his land by fire and steel

and so his name became a legend

I am the Last Emperor of Melnibone

cursed by the Gods to live forever

with this sword. This sword I know

one day is gonna take my soul

Chorus

STORMBRINGER!

Oh magic sword master of night

STORMBRINGER!

Grant me your wings and let me fly

STORMBRINGER!

And when the Elders Gods will die

STORMBRINGER!

I'm gonna catch you in the sky

STORMBRINGER, STORMBRINGER!

STEALER OF SOULS!

I burned to the ground the Melnibone

Did that for you and not for glory

Without a friend without a home

Let see who's gonna tell my story

My love I know you're not alive

But in my heart you'll live forever

And now I hope after this life

To find you and reign again together

I never wished to leave in ashes

my birthland. What I felt that night

you'll never understand. so here

I am alone to make my final stand