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The Tale of Arenor
by Cidellus

The village of Cropsford slept below the red moon, Larkor, first of the three moons of Erus. Larkor, to the philosophers, was believed to be a massive red desert, and as such, it was named as the realm of Marath, God of Rape, War, and Destruction.

Karmor, the second moon of Erus, was believed to be Erus’s little sister, as it was similar to Erus in many ways. Using telescopes, philosophers had found deserts, oceans, grasslands, and mountains on the surface of Karmor, and it was commonly believed that it was home to Mermon, God of Life and Peace, and his wife, Kara, Goddess of Love and Nature.

The final moon, Herem, was the white moon, and was believed to be the home of Harulan, God of Order, Honor, and Justice, and his wife, Heremia, Goddess of Marriage and the Hunt.

The Gods of the Pamorian Pantheon were powerful, with limitless influence in their realms. However, outside their realms, they were powerless, Marath would destroy, Mermon would create, and the battle would last until one side made a grave mistake.

Calia was her name, a young, beautiful human woman of twenty years. Her husband, Armull, had been struck with disease, and his life had fled Erus two weeks before. She was still in mourning, but at the moment she was sleeping, her dreams plagued with images and memories of her dead husband. As she slept, a presence watched from outside, watching her thoughts, analyzing every detail of her mind and body. She was quite beautiful by human standards, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, she was around 5’4", and she was slim in build. Yes, the date was correct; to seed her now would generate a child. The presence generated a red orb, and sent it through her window. The orb was only an inch in circumference, but the magical nature of the orb caused it to generate more light than fifty torches. It was blinding, but the presence would not allow young Calia, or anybody in Cropsford, to wake. The orb landed on her chest and burrowed into her body, leaving no mark on her. Then, the light dimmed and disappeared, and all was as it was. With satisfaction, the presence departed the sleeping village, leaving its seed behind.

***Nine months later***

The process of childbirth had probably been the most painful thing Calia had ever been through, but to her, the result was more than worth the pain. It was a miracle, childbirth, but not in just that way. She hadn’t had sex in two years, since before her husband had gotten the disease. How was it that she had become pregnant? She was afraid to tell anybody, for fear or the reaction. The child was a boy, with black hair and bright blue eyes; he was beautiful to his mother. There was only one other person in the house, and that was the house’s owner: Gall. Normally, most of Cropsford would be packed into the house, but most of Cropsford didn’t know who the father was, and that made them nervous.

"What will his name be?" asked the new child’s Uncle, Gall.

Gall had once been a soldier, alongside his brother, Armull, and both had been conscripted to fight in the Red Coast Conflict. Afterwards, both were given a small amount of land in Cropsford. Armull had built a scriptorium on his land, and his wife, Calia, used it to support herself. The Cropsford scriptorium was the only scriptorium for fifty miles, and as such, it drew more intelligent people to Cropsford. Gall built a large house on his land, using his bare hands; Gall was also the local blacksmith. He was tall, strong, and jolly, despite his horrific experiences during the Red Coast Conflict.

"Arenor," replied Calia weakly.
"An excellent name," exclaimed Gall happily, "Your sister will be upset that she missed such a happy occasion."
"My sister is probably off screwing the town guard Captain," replied Calia.
Gall let out a loud laugh, and caused baby Arenor to start crying. Gall then leaned down and began speaking softly, attempting to comfort the crying infant.

***Six years later***

Arenor was six years old now, and he was proving himself to be the toughest child in the village, being near impervious to pain. This was considered strange to all, and some considered that it could be an early sign of leprosy. He was also very serious, having a very limited sense of humor. At the moment, Arenor was sitting on a dirt mound, waiting for the attack. It was often considered unfair, pitting four against one, but the only rule for the game is that the defender was by himself. As Arenor sat, he heard a noise in the bushes. He grabbed the wooden sword at his side and looked around carefully, fear was far from his heart. His careful eyes searched the bushes, and his ears listened for the slightest noise.

"ATTACK!" roared Vorgen, who was nine, the oldest child in the village under the age of twelve, and was currently pretending to be Valan the Demonbane.

The children rushed from the bushes from all sides, and as they ran, Arenor ducked down, grabbed a rock, and through it, striking Vorgen in the shoulder. Vorgen stumbled, and Arenor turned around to see Balom, one of the younger, faster kids, climbing up the mound. Arenor kicked him square in the chest, sending him backwards down the mound. Arenor barely felt a wooden sword smash against his head, and turned, punching the attacker in the face. The attacker fell to the side, and Arenor turned to see Vorgen climbing the mound. Vorgen was six inches taller than Arenor, and was a little bit stronger. But that didn’t help him as Arenor jumped off the top of mound, tackled him to the bottom, and began punching his face savagely.
"AH! AH! AH! OKAY! OKAY! I GIV-" screamed Vorgen before being cut off by a thunderous crack.

Arenor didn’t hear it as he continued punching, the screams having been muffled by a rage that came from nowhere. Two of the other children dragged Arenor off, and Arenor fell unconscious, unaware that he had knocked Vorgen unconscious, broken his nose and jaw, and had caused a large number of cuts to cover his face, injuries well beyond a couple of punches from a six-year old boy.

***Four years later***

Arenor was at his Uncle Gall’s house, his mother was working at her scriptorium. Arenor was one of the few children in the town who could read and write, and he enjoyed doing both. He was currently reading a book describing the adventures of Valan the Demonbane, a legendary hero who had been fighting evil for twenty years. The book was written by Valan himself, and Valan described it as entirely truthful. As he read, however, his Uncle Gall walked into the room and sat down in another chair. His blond hair and beard were showing large streaks of gray, and Arenor could see wrinkles forming around his eyes.
"Arenor, m’boy. What is it you’re reading?" asked Gall.
"Valan the Demonbane," said Arenor as he looked up, "He’s killed two greater demons, and nine lesser demons! They’re thinking about making him King of Alturin!"
"Valan the Demonbane? I’ve heard plenty of stories about him, great man he is. Well, I want to make a bet with you," said Gall, smiling.
"What is that?" asked Arenor curiously.
"I bet you that I can get you away from that book," declared Gall.
"I doubt that," countered Arenor.
"If I win, and get you away, I’ll give you lessons in how to use a sword. If you win, you keep on reading," said Gall.
Arenor put down the book immediately and got up.
"I’m done reading," said Arenor quickly.
Gall let out a long laugh, and got up.
"Well then, c’mon! Don’t tell your mother though, she’d skin me alive," warned Gall.

***Two years later***

Cropsford had changed in the twelve years since Calia’s Scriptorium had been built. What had once been a farming community had evolved into the largest town for twenty miles, with a town wall and its very own guard garrison, with Uncle Gall repairing and maintaining their weapons and armor. A large addition had been built to the Scriptorium, and was now a library worthy of a royal. However, these changes were not in Arenor’s mind as he stood in the crowd near the town gates. The greater demon, Jorlehein, was on his mind. Two months before, the miners in the iron mines had dug a little too deep, releasing a terrifying demon that enslaved the miners within. Two weeks before, one had escaped, and told the mayor what had happened. Jorlehein had made them dig up two lesser demons: Nureil and Farsteim. They were now preparing an attack, and the mayor had called out for the one man he knew capable of stopping them: Valan the Demonbane. Suddenly, the crowd cheered, and through the gates, on a bay horse, rode a man with graying brown hair with a longsword at his side and a shield on his arm. His armor was gold, and seemed to glow with an unnatural light.

The Mayor ran forward, and Valan got off his horse. He was around 5’9", and seemed shorter than Arenor had imagined him; however, his respect for him did not wane in the least. Valan held up his arm in a silent gesture for the cheering to stop, and the cheering stopped.

"Mayor Barlor, greetings," said Valan with a smile.
"Valan! You come alone?" asked the Mayor.
"No, I have two companions with me, but I instructed them to begin riding towards the mine. I stopped here to see if you had any more information before I rode out," said Valan.
"We have had no new information since the miner escaped, milord," said the Mayor.
"Then I leave, and I will come back with news of victory, or not at all," declared Valan before hopping back on his horse and riding out the gates. Arenor wished he was of a fighting age, because he very much wanted to go with him.

***

Valan rode up to the mine entrance, and saw his two companions standing near the body of a lesser demon. One of his companions was a mage named Harell, a former mage of the Guild of Mages in fact. He was tall at 6’3", and slim. The other was a ranger named Bomerin, he was 5’10", and was one of the best bowmen Valan had ever met.
"Valan, this one was called Farsteim, rather weak for a demon, but he was still difficult to dispatch," said Harell.

"They’ve been in hibernation for Harulan knows how long," said Valan as he jumped off his horse, "They need some warming up."

Valan then drew his longsword and knelt on the floor, the tip of the longsword resting on the dirt in front of him.

"Harulan, guide my blade and steel my heart, let not my courage falter. The demon within these caves I send to you, to punish as you will," muttered Valan before standing up.
"Are you ready?" asked Bomerin.
"I’m ready," said Valan before walking towards the cave, his longsword held tightly in his right hand, his shield at the ready in his left. The shield, which Valan called the Bane’s Aegis, was a shield with extraordinary protection against the dangerous power that demons held, being able to withstand slashes from their magical claws and hellblasts. Valan kept walking, cautiously, his eyes, ears, and nose searching for signs of a demon. He saw plenty of human carcasses, their faces kept intact for the look of horror they held. None of the three said a word, they wanted to remain as silent as possible, and the cave would be sure to echo far. The demons Nuriel and Jorlehein were likely to be together, wherever they were. It would be the more intelligent thing to do, as they now knew they were up against professional demon slayers.

"Adventurers!" roared a deep voice that seemed to have an unnatural echo, on top of the echo present in the cave, "Halt and run! We will not fight you if you turn back now!"
Valan didn’t say a word; he wouldn’t allow the demon the opening to take control of his mind, if it were that type of demon.

"I give you a final warning! Flee! Now!" yelled the voice.
Valan kept walking forward, his shield-arm ready to block anything, and his longsword ready to pierce the flesh of anything that attacked.
"Then it is settled, enjoy your death," spat the voice as two figures came from the shadows. Harell shot off a flare of light from his staff that lit up the cave, and Valan saw the two demons for the first time. Nuriel looked to be a female demon, and was around seven feet tall, with red and black skin and the wings of a bat. Jorlehein was different, his skin was an icy blue, and he was around ten feet tall, with bat-like wings similar to Nuriel’s. He shot off several beams of energy as he landed, one of which was blocked by Valan’s Aegis. The other two were aimed at his companions, with Harell absorbing it into his staff and Bomerin rolling out of the way before firing several arrows at Jorlehein. They stabbed into his skin, and Jorlehein laughed a short, piercing laugh.
"I am not what you are used to fighting, humans," snarled Jorlehein as he walked forward.
"Your death will be slow and painful," said Nuriel.
Valan didn’t respond, he never responded in combat, it was plain stupidity. He ran forward, his shield in front of him, and slashed at Jorlehein, which was blocked by a claw. Jorlehein slashed with his other claw, and Valan blocked with his shield. Jorlehein then let out a shockwave that sent Valan stumbling back, but he didn’t lose his footing. Suddenly, a magical burst and several more arrows came from Harell and Bomerin. Nuriel jumped at them and engaged them, leaving Valan and Jorlehein to single combat.
"You are alone," said Jorlehein.
"I was alone when I killed Torinof, it made no difference," said Valan, finally speaking.
Jorlehein grew visibly angry by Valan’s remark, and he assaulted Valan with both claws. Valan raised his longsword to block the strike at his right, which was enchanted with similar enchantments to the shield. He had never taken the trouble to name it. He raised the Aegis to block the attack at his left. Valan then jumped back and ran forward, his shield in front of him. He tackled Jorlehein and delivered an underhand stab, which went into his lower chest and out the other side. He quickly pulled the sword out and jumped back. Jorlehein looked down at his injury, and up at Valan before sending magical bursts at him. Valan raised his shield and blocked the ones that were coming from the front, but two circled around and struck his back. Valan fell to the floor, his life protected by his armor, but his footing was as vulnerable as ever. He flipped over in time to shield himself from several angry strikes delivered by Jorlehein.
"You little insect! You’re like your whole damn kind, believing yourself capable of winning every battle! You are wrong, and you will die for the mistake you have made," declared Jorlehein as he transformed, growing taller and more grotesque, just what Valan had wanted. Valan took the opportunity to get back up and get back to a more favorable distance as Jorlehein turned into a true monster. When it was finished, he filled most of the cavern, being near twenty feet tall, with massive black horns and a fiery red body. On his chest was a swirling black orb and a great many spikes ran down his back. Valan did not smile, but he was happy, because as the demon advanced towards him, Valan released a large amount of energy into his sword. It glowed indigo, then blue, and when it finally changed to white, Valan aimed his sword at Jorlehein and muttered a single, whispered word.

"Harulan," muttered Valan.
The sword discharged the white energy, and it zoomed forward so fast that it appeared to be a streak. It smashed into the black orb on the demon’s chest, and caused it to explode in dark energy. The white engulfed the black and exploded, causing a brilliant flash of light to fill the cavern. Jorlehein fell backwards and landed with a loud thud before his body dissolved into the cavern floor, leaving nothing behind. Valan, his energy expended, fell to the floor. His companions had defeated Nuriel almost a minute before, having fought to the outside of the cave. They were now on their way, and he could rest. He was getting too old for the adventurer’s life.

***

Arenor saw Valan, and two mighty looking companions walk into town, with several emaciated miners resting on their horses. Several wives and children cried out with joy, and several more grew more fearful.
"Were there any more?" asked a woman, running forward with tears sliding down her cheeks.
"We searched the whole cavern, m’lady, and found nothing but corpses. You may go recover them and give them a proper burial, the demons are dead," said Valan to the woman.
She cried out in anguish, and Valan continued walking, approaching the Mayor.
"Mayor Barlor, your demons are dead, and the survivors are free," reported Valan.
"Sire, our town cannot thank you enough for what you have done," said Barlor, "Gold…we have gold!"
"No need, Mayor, slaying the dark creatures and saving this town from their wrath was reward enough," said Valan.
Arenor could stand being still no longer, and ran up to the hero.

"Demonbane!" yelled Arenor.
"Hello there!" exclaimed Valan with a smile as Arenor ran up, "What is your name?"
"Arenor!" yelled Arenor, unable to keep his voice under control.
"Calm down, Arenor, I am Valan," said Valan.
"I know sir, everybody knows! I’ve read your book!" yelled Arenor.
"You can read, eh!? An unusual skill for somebody your age," said Valan before pulling a silver ring off of his right index finger. Set in it were three words "Honor, Order, Justice".
"Harulan guide you, Arenor, as he has guided me," said Valan as he held out the ring.
Arenor took it, and looked at it in shock. Valan smiled, and turned his head back to the Mayor, who was surprised by Valan’s act of generosity.

Arenor felt like the luckiest boy alive.

***Three years later***

Arenor and Gall were circling each other, their practice stretched out before them. Gall stabbed at Arenor, and Arenor parried the attack, delivering a counter-stab to Gall which Gall batted out of the way with the quick return of his practice sword. He then delivered a punch to Arenor’s face, causing Arenor to stumble. It wasn’t due to the pain, Arenor didn’t feel much pain, it was due to the force. Gall took that advantage to simulate a run-through with his practice sword.
"And that’s over," said Gall.
"That punch wasn’t what I’d call fair," said Arenor as he spat out a bit of blood.
"Duels aren’t fair m’boy, the opponent will always do whatever he can to defeat you. You need to me ready to block a punch as well as a slash," said Gall.

Arenor swallowed some blood and spit and walked over to a wooden table in Gall’s backyard, where he put down his practice sword and put back on his silver ring. The silver ring had instantly become his prized possession. The adventure in Cropsford had been Valan’s last major adventure, he had retired a year after and was now living in Aloroll, capitol of Aloran, a Kingdom of legendary heroes and epic adventures. The King in that land was not chosen by blood, but by their heroic feats. The Council of Aloran would pick a new King when the old King died, and would factor in a great many things. Many believed without a doubt that Valan would be the next King of Aloran.

"Arenor, how’s your mother doing? She alright?" asked Gall as he walked up beside Arenor. Arenor was getting taller; he was now around 5’6" to Gall’s 5’10". Arenor’s black hair had lightened slightly, and could now be considered a very dark brown. His bright blue eyes, however, were unchanged..

"She’s fine, her arm isn’t as quick as it used to be," said Arenor, referring to his mother’s skill at writing quickly and neatly.

"Ah, arthritis?" asked Gall.
"Could be, I hope not, but she’s got others to write for her now," pointed out Arenor.
"That she does," said Gall, "I ever tell you why my parents named me Gall?"

"No, why?" asked Arenor.
"Because I looked bitter all the time, when I was young," said Gall, "I don’t mind, but it was a pretty funny decision on their part."

"What does that have to do with my mother?" asked Arenor, confused.
"Did I say it had anything to do with your mother!?" asked Gall loudly.
"No," said Arenor.
"Where’d you get that idea? The things kids come up with," said Gall in a funny tone as he walked into his house laughing.

Arenor questioned the sanity of his Uncle sometimes, but Gall was Gall. He slid the ring onto his finger and walked into the front yard through the gate at the side of the house. He would visit with his friend, Ignis, he had finished his weekly swordfighting lessons with Gall, his reading and writing lessons with his mother had been two days before, and his bowman training with the guard’s bowmaster, Nurell, had been two days before. He had the rest of the day to himself, and as usual he wished to use it to his fullest. He ran through the streets of Cropsford, which had evolved into quite a large town in the time he had known it. It was always expanding, things were always being built, it was probably the fastest growing place on the continent. He reached Ignis’s house, and found his brothers and sister playing out the front, Ignis’s home was big, even compared to Gall’s, and Ignis’s parents owned several farms and plantations outside the Cropsford walls. Ignis was the oldest, and he didn’t enjoy playing with his siblings for whatever reason.
"Hello," said Arenor.
"Hi Arenor!" exclaimed one of the twin brothers, "Ignis is out riding."
Arenor silently cursed, for Ignis could be anywhere around Cropsford. He would have to find another friend to play with. As he ran back through the streets, he heard a noise coming from an alleyway in between two shops, it sounded like a fight, or a beating. Arenor stopped, and thought about continuing.

That was enough for Arenor, he ran into the alleyway and saw three thugs and Borem, a blacksmith.
"Stop!" commanded Arenor.
The thugs turned around, laughed, and continued beating the blacksmith.
"I said STOP!" roared Arenor, the word "stop" was strangely commanding, and made one of the thugs turn around.
"Get out of here, kid," said the thug, "Now!"

"No!" said Arenor, overcome by a strange courage, "You will leave Borem alone!"
"That’s it!" yelled the thug
The thug walked quickly at Arenor, and swung his fist at Arenor. Arenor caught the fist in his hand and squeezed, making several crackling noise as Arenor broke the thug’s hand.
"Ahhhhhhh!" screamed the thug in pain.
Arenor pushed the thug back, and caused him to tumble backwards.
"What in Marath?" yelled the ringleader as he drew a dagger, "Kill him!"
The two thugs charged Arenor, and Arenor grabbed the ringleader’s arm in his left hand before punching him in the chest with such force that it broke three ribs and destroyed some of his organs. The thug flew back and Arenor punched the other thug in the face with his left arm, causing his skull to fracture and his brain to be destroyed. The third thug fell, dead, and the first thug looked at Arenor with fear in his eyes.
"What the hell are you?" he asked.
As Arenor calmed, he looked down at the mortally wounded Ringleader and the dead thug.
"I’ve killed two men," said Arenor with great remorse, "What have I done?"
"Arenor...why didn’t you stay out of it?" asked Borem in shock.
"I...I don’t know...I don’t know..." said Arenor, "I wanted to be a hero..."
"You were a hero, Arenor," said Borem, "I’ll vouch for you with the guard...these murders were self-defense."
Arenor said nothing, he was in shock, both due to the fact that he had just killed two men, and the fact that the men he had killed were both killed with abnormally large amounts of strength, strength well beyond a veteran warrior, let alone a fifteen year-old boy.
""C’mon Arenor...we’ll go to the guard, we must report this," said Borem.
Arenor said nothing, and let Borem guide him out of the alley...what had he done?

Calia was at the guard Captain’s office, as was Borem, Arenor, and the surviving thug, whose name was Verdok. Captain Urem was behind his desk, examining the people in his office. Calia was looking at Arenor with a mixed look of sadness and love.
"Arenor, Borem says that the thugs were trying to extort him, is that true?" asked Urem.
"Yes sir," said Arenor.
"Verdok, I’m trying to remember what I said to you last time we met...’One more law broken, and you’ll be hanging from the gallows’ if I remember right," said Urem.
"I wasn’t breaking any law! We were just having a conversation with him!" exclaimed Verdok, obviously not the brains of the now broken outfit.
"I have your word, the word of a previous criminal whose credibility is less than that of the town drunk, to that of an honest citizen and a young boy," said Urem, "I’m sorry, but I have to believe them over you."
The guards in the room grabbed onto Verdok and dragged him out as Verdok pleaded for mercy, Urem then looked at Borem.
"Borem, how long had they been hassling you?" asked Urem.
"About a month, sir," said Borem.
"Hmmm, why didn’t you come to us?" asked Urem.
"I don’t know, I wanted to solve it on my own," said Borem.
"Borem, I look at filth every day, I listen to filth ever time I walk through the prisons. I know you’re lying, now tell the truth," ordered Urem.
"I owed them money..." said Borem.
"For what?" asked Urem.
"Gambling," admitted Borem.
"Gambling...and it is because of your addiction that a fifteen year old boy killed two men in the alleyway of your shop," said Urem.
"I’m sorry, to Calia and her son," said Borem.
"It’ll require more than that...Borem, your debt will be repaid to young Arenor here now," said Urem.
"I owed them over a thousand silver!" yelled Borem.
"And now you owe Arenor a thousand silver...is that clear?" asked Urem.
"No he doesn’t," broke in Arenor.
"What?" asked Urem and Borem, Calia stayed silent.
"He doesn’t owe me anything...helping him was a good enough reward," said Arenor.
Urem, a man who had seen just about everything there was to see, was shocked.
"You’re turning down a lawful thousand gold coins?" asked Urem.
"I am," said Arenor.
"Borem, Arenor has declared your debt repaid. You’re quite lucky that the young man is so generous," said Urem, "This matter is settled. You may leave."
Borem, Calia, and Arenor walked outside, and Borem turned to Arenor.
"Thank you, young Lord! Thank you," said Borem as he shook Arenor’s hand.
"Don’t gamble," said Arenor.
"No more, milord! I promise!" exclaimed Borem, "Feel free to drop by my shop any time your heart desires!"
Arenor smiled, and Borem walked off quickly with a smile on his face. Calia turned to her son and smiled.
"It was a noble thing you did," said Calia.
"I have no need for the money, and if I did, I want to earn it," said Arenor.
Gall then walked up, and looked at Arenor and Calia.
"What happened in there? They wouldn’t let me in," said Gall.
"A very noble thing, I’ll tell you on the way home," said Calia.
The trio began walking out of the guard headquarters, and Gall walked beside Arenor.
"Arenor," began Gall, "I have killed too."
"You were in a war, what I did was different," said Arenor.
"Whether it’s war or not, it doesn’t make you feel any different when you take a man’s life," said Gall, "But you did it for the right reasons, don’t let the feeling inside you, the one you receive after you kill…don’t let it destroy you."

"I won’t, Uncle Gall," promised Arenor, sensing a tone of regret coming from his Uncle.
Uncle Gall didn’t respond, he simply looked off into the distance as they walked, his mind wandering elsewhere.

It is a very good story. Greatly enjoyed it.
Can't wait for the next part

This is it, you'll see Ignis mentioned there! XD

This looks to be an interesting tale. I can't wait for the next part.

...

*hits Himanil with a jug of purple stuph

*hits Himanil with a sporkstun gun*

"And stay down!"

***Two years later***

Arenor enjoyed riding horses, he wasn’t as good at it as Ignis was, but he enjoyed it, and as the two rode through the forests and grasslands around Cropsford, Arenor took in the surroundings. Cropsford was beautiful in the spring; there was no doubt of that. As they rode, however, Arenor heard voices and the sound of twigs breaking. His friends had often commented on how sharp his hearing was, and he doubted Ignis could hear it, but it was there. Normally, it wouldn’t have bothered him, but they were attempting to be far too quiet, and there was no game in this part of the forest.
“Ignis,” whispered Arenor, “Stop.”
“Why?” asked Ignis.
“Listen,” suggested Arenor.
Ignis stopped and listened, and heard the sound of twigs breaking, but the voices had stopped. Soon, the twigs stopped breaking. Then, Arenor saw them, there was three of them, one carried a bow, the other two carried spears, they were outfitted in the mass produced leather armor of the Kingdom of Carilon. Fifteen years before, Carilon had abandoned Cropsford and much of the surrounding lands because their army was stretched, and for almost five years, Carilon had been attempting to annex Cropsford. Cropsford had refused at every request, and now it is obvious that they were growing very tired with asking.
“We’ll ride back and warn the guard,” said Arenor quietly as he turned around and rode off, Ignis followed. After twenty minutes, they reached the gates.
“Where’s Captain Urem!?” asked Arenor.
“Why?” asked Jorvel, commander of the guards at the southern gate.
“There are soldiers from Carilon on the way! Close the gates!” exclaimed Arenor.
“How do you know this?” asked Jorvel.
“We saw them!” yelled Ignis, “Leather armor and all.”
“Close the gates and blow the horn!” yelled Jorvel turning his head to the other guards, “I need to stay here, go tell Urem.”
“Yes sir,” replied Arenor before riding down the street, Ignis followed once again.

***

Arenor was in Captain Urem’s office for the second time in his life, this time for entirely different reasons and with Ignis.
“You did well by coming back, however, I am not a military commander, I enforce the law. There is a very large difference between those two things. Our guards are not soldiers, and without a proper Commander they won’t stand a chance,” said Urem, scratching the top of his head, “This isn’t a good situation to be in…those bastards. Arenor, get your Uncle, he’s the closest thing to a Commander we’ll get.”

***

Uncle Gall, now Colonel Gall of the Cropsford Militia, inspected his troops. He was very nervous, but he did a good job hiding it. He was wearing a suit of chainmail, and had his longsword at his side. He didn’t say a word, he simply stared, and Arenor doubted that he was actually inspecting the troops. He was probably thinking deeply while pretending to, for he needed a battle plan that would result in around two hundred guards defeating an invasion army of around a thousand soldiers. Arenor and several others who had been trained in combat were also amongst the guards, outfitted in leather armor and given low quality iron longswords from the armory.

Gall soon ordered assignments, and Arenor was assigned to the southern gate, Ignis was assigned to the northern gate (he was skilled somewhat with a bow). As Arenor walked through the streets on his way to the southern gate, somebody approached from one of the shops. It was Borem the smith.

“Arenor, take this,” said Borem, throwing Arenor a steel longsword inside of a metal sheath.
“What’s this for?” asked Arenor in surprise.
“You saved me and you’re protecting the town, I owe you at least that much,” said Borem.
“I can’t accept thi-“
Borem had already walked back into his shop and closed the door. Arenor took the iron longsword off of his girdle and buckled his new steel sword. Arenor placed the iron longsword at Borem’s door and continued towards the town gate.

***

The walls around Cropsford were mostly made of wood, with the gates being made of stone. As such, only the gates and towers could hold archers. Due to the fortification of the gates, there was a chance that the enemies would attempt to batter down the wall in other locations. However, King Caril had decided to lead the army himself, and in his stupidity and pride, refused the advice of his officers and soldiers, he decided to assault the most fortified position for reasons unknown. He was a fool, and as the army approached the south gate, Arenor began to gain hope that they would win the battle. The archers on the gate fired their arrows, and the arrows zoomed down on the approaching army, the battering ram reached the gate and began smashing it, with Arenor and the gate defenders attempting to keep it pushed shut. Hot oil was poured down on the men guarding the ram, causing their faces and bodies to burn with fierce intensity, screams echoed out that would pierce the heart, and the battering ram broke through the gates. Enemies began pouring through the gates, and Arenor began fighting. Men on both sides fell, with the guards falling faster than the numerically superior and better trained soldiers. However, Arenor did not fall, and as the battle lengthened, as did his strength and courage. He was in a wild bloodlust, his sword parrying and slashing with inhuman speed, in his heart was a feeling of great joy, joy at battle. He reveled in it, he loved it, he felt at home, and as he cleaved off limbs and pierced the organs of enemies, he could not help but let out a fearsome battlecry. The soldiers began running, falling back through the gate, and Arenor began slashing once again, this time with great ease, his sword slicing through each soldier like butter, and then, a series of fiery waves came from his body, and he fell to the floor as the fleeing soldiers were burnt to ash.

***

“It’s awake,” said a voice.
“He’s not an it, he’s my son,” said the familiar voice of Calia.
Arenor opened his eyes, and looked around. He was in the infirmary of the guard headquarters, and his leather armor, or what was left of it, was hanging from the wall. It had more stab wounds in it than he could count, and was stained with blood, but not enough for the wounds in it.
“What happened?” asked Arenor.
“Well…we were helping you could tell us,” said Gall as he walked in, “We came to the gate to see you under the gates with a large number of half-burnt bodies and enough stab-wounds in you to kill a dragon…”

“I remember…waiting for the gates to open…that’s all,” said Arenor.
“Your majesty, somebody wishes to speak with you,” said a guard as he opened the door.

Your majesty!?
“Now?” asked Calia.
“It’s about your son,” said the guard.

Calia turned her head to Gall and Arenor.
“I’ll be just a moment,” said Calia as she got up and walked out.

“Hmmm…well, I rode out and met with King Caril this morning. He was clearly afraid that we had some sort of demon under our control, and I began making demands. First, we are recognized as the Kingdom of Calion,” said Gall.
“After my mother?” asked Arenor.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because her Scriptorium built this town, Arenor, and your mother’s administration of the Scriptorium allowed it to succeed,” declared Gall, “Urem and I agreed that it was a fitting name. We appointed your mother Queen, Arenor.”
“My mother is a Queen!?” asked Arenor, in utter shock.
“Queen Calia of Calion,” said Gall, “The second condition was for a large amount of money as reparations for the war damages. The third was for an end to hostilities. They accepted all three.”

Gall then turned his head to look at Arenor’s leather armor.

“I think I’ve ignored that long enough…the bodies were burnt, Arenor, and there was no way the burning oil we poured did all of it.”

“I have no idea how it happened…I really don’t…”

“I think there’s somebody here who does. I’d like to introduce somebody.”

The door opened, and a man of average height in blue robes entered the room. Arenor quickly noticed the pointed ears, and came to a realization.
“You’re an elf!” exclaimed Arenor.
“Half-Elf,” corrected the man, “My name is Erunion, and I am a representative of the Venifician Order…I see by the expression on your face that you’ve heard of us.”
“Venificus is who I’ve heard of,” said Arenor, speaking of the first mage, now long dead.
“Ah yes, well, we have no connection with him, nor have we ever. However, we do use his name, it is rather suiting,” said Erunion, “I am a representative of our order, and I come to you to both inform you and make an offer.”
“You have my full attention,” said Arenor.
“You have magical potential, the wave you released was raw magical energy,” revealed Erunion, “And I would like to tutor you in how to better control your magical ability. You wouldn’t have to move, I would live here while teaching you.”
Arenor was in absolute shock, and as he sat, thinking about what Erunion had said, Erunion began playing with the hilt of a strange sword that Arenor hadn’t noticed.

“What kind of sword is that?” asked Arenor out of curiosity.
“It’s called a Trendarat, designed it myself,” said Erunion.
“Good craftsmanship,” remarked Gall.
“Thank you,” said Erunion.
“Why do you want to tutor me?” asked Arenor.
“Well, it’s not that I want to, I’ve been assigned to you. However, you seem like a nice young man.”

“No, I mean…why does the Venifician Order want to tutor me?” asked Arenor.
“They don’t want some untrained mage running around without any control of their powers, it could be quite dangerous,” said Erunion.

“Well…in that case, I accept,” said Arenor.
“Excellent, I will be here the day after tomorrow to begin your instruction, goodbye.”

With that, Erunion left the room, and Calia stepped in.
“So you said yes?” asked Calia
“Did he speak to you outside?” asked Gall.

“Yes, he did.”
“At least the bastard gave you that much courtesy, he spoke to me through my head…”
 

***

Arenor was sitting in the Scriptorium, a book on the history of the Venifician Order opened on the table in front of him. He had been released from the infirmary the morning before, even though he had no real physical injuries from the battle. As soon as he was released, he began reading everything he could find on magic and the Venifician Order. He had already finished five books, and he was working on his sixth. The door opened, and Calia walked in with Erunion.
“Sorry to interrupt your reading, your majesty,” said Erunion politely.
“No, please sir! Call me Arenor,” said Arenor as he quickly got up and stood straight.
“As long as you call me Erunion instead of sir,” said Erunion before turning to Calia, “I’ll train him well, don’t worry, but I must do a few tests first.”

“For what?” asked Calia.
“To find out the source of his magical power, and the scale of his magical power. It’ll only take around an hour,” said Erunion.
“I’ll wait outside,” declared Calia.
“As you wish, m’lady,” said Erunion.

Calia turned and left the room, and Erunion gestured towards an empty chair.

“May I sit down,” asked Erunion.
“Master Erunion, make yourself at home.”

“Just Erunion…and that can be unwise permission to give, my home is a very dangerous place to be,” he said with a smile, “I’ll just take the liberties I usually take in the houses of friends.”

Erunion sat down, and pulled several pieces of equipment from his robes. Only one of which Arenor recognized, and that was a wand.

A magical being, no matter what the class, requires a type of magical concentration device to keep control of his or her magic. The most common types are wands and staffs. Wands were concealable, and more favored for city mages who wanted to keep their identity secret. Staffs, however, were far more powerful, and could be used with far more ease.

“What is all of that?” asked Arenor.
“Well, it’ll make the spells I am about to cast far easier on me. Please sit still,” said Erunion. He aimed his wand at Arenor’s neck and began chanting. Within five seconds, a torrent of white energy surged from his wand and into Arenor’s mouth. He felt uneasy for a few seconds, then, he felt nothing strange.
“Done,” said Erunion before looking at his equipment, “Hmmm…you received your powers by blood…I was wrong. Do you have any idea who your father was?”

“None, neither does my mother,” said Arenor.

“Strange that she wouldn’t know….”
“Well, she doesn’t.”

“Oh! Don’t take it wrong, I believe you…it’s still stran-”

Erunion suddenly looked very surprised, and looked at his equipment closer.

“What is it?”

“Hang on just a moment.”

“Erunion…”

“Be quiet, please.”

After a few seconds, he sat back, bewildered.

“Arenor of Cropsford…your magical potential rivals that of Victon Primoris, it might be even higher,” said Erunion.

“That can’t be right…”

“The equipment has never lied, Arenor, I can assure you. I am going to summon the Victon.”

“Why?”

“There is a spell that can be performed that will…”

“Yes? It will what?”

“It’ll allow us to find out who your father is. But I can’t perform it, it’s a very difficult spell.”

“Then do so, please!”

“Be patient…he is already on his way.”

“How lo-”

A flash of energy occurred in the room, and a man in a red hooded robe with a long goatee appeared. His build was rather thin, and he was average in height, however, he appeared to be far taller than he actually was.

“Victon,” greeted Erunion, bowing his head.

“Erunion,” said Victon Primoris, “This must be Arenor, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Arenor attempted to say something, but he couldn’t. Meeting a legendary mage wasn’t something he had expected to do that day.

“Arenor,” said Primoris as he reached his hand out. A staff instantly appeared in his outstretched hand, “If you don’t mind, we should begin.”

“Go ahead,” blurted out Arenor.

“Stay still and calm, the more you deviate from my instruction, the more this spell will hurt.”

“It’ll be alright, Arenor,” said Erunion.

Arenor relaxed his body and let out a breath, but his mind could not be tamed. He felt an invading tendril enter his body, and yelled out in pain. Images floated through his brain, images of his mother, images of his Uncle, and a final image of a man he did not know.

And the last thing he heard before fading away was a single word muttered from Primoris’s mouth.

“Marath…”

Is Septim's computer working again?

Arenor woke to a room empty except for one man: a town guard.

“Prince Arenor!”

“What’s happening?” asked Arenor.
“An army arrived two hours ago, they came out of nowhere, we had no time to close the gates,” said the guard.

“Where is everybody?” asked Arenor.
“They’re out fighting, your mother is in the town guard compound leading the forces with Colonel Gall, the town is a warzone!”

“Get me a sword,” said Arenor.
“There are none here, I can give you mine!”

“…no, keep yours,” said Arenor as he got up, then he remembered Primoris and Erunion, “Where are the mages?”

“What mages?”

“The Venifician mages!”

“I don’t remember any being here, but their order declared itself neutral long ago in political affairs, they probably left.”

“Dammit! I must get to my mother!”

Arenor walked out the door and into a large room filled with beds, and those beds were full of wounded guards being taken care of by three doctors and several nurses, Arenor noticed no guards. Arenor looked around on the floor and saw a pile of bloody leather armor with the girdle still attacked, and attached to the girdle was a longsword in a scabbard. He grabbed the girdle and buckled it on.
“What’s your name?” asked Arenor to the guard.
“Valtrem, milord.”

“Stay with the wounded, Valtrem.”

“Yes, sir.”

Arenor walked outside the infirmary and listened. There was fighting from all directions, but there was the most in the East of the city. Arenor ran through the city, seeing nobody in the streets. People were being smart, at least. After five minutes of running, he reached the fighting he heard.

Fifty guards were currently fighting against almost seventy of the foreign soldiers. Arenor recognized the painting on their shields.
“Carilon,” muttered Arenor with hatred before a feeling of great rage built inside of him. He craved battle, he craved the warmth of fresh blood on his body as he cleaved through the enemy, and he would not, could not, resist. He charged forward, drawing his sword and roaring a terrifying cry. Several of the enemies turned and yelled in panic, but one stood at the ready, dropping his shield and holding his strangely glowing bastard sword in a two-handed grip, he also wore a strange black and red armor, with a great helmet concealing his face. Arenor chopped his blade down with great force, and his strike was blocked with equal force, the force causing Arenor’s blade to shatter. The man then brought his sword down into Arenor’s leg, nearly cleaving his leg off. Arenor did not feel it, all he felt was rage, but rage alone couldn’t keep him standing, and he fell to the floor. He then pulled off his black helmet with his left hand.
“Arenor of Cropsford, another the spawn will die this day, have you any last words before your taint is driven from this world?” asked the man.
“What is your name!?” asked Arenor with rage as he reached his hand covertly for his dropped sword, wanting his name for several reasons, chief of which was a distraction.
“You wish to know the name of your slayer? Fine, my name is Barunar,” he said before stepping on Arenor’s arm with great force, causing a loud crack.
“There’ll be none of that,” said Barunar before raising his sword. Suddenly, a familiar sword came forth from his neck covered in blood, ad Barunar fell to the floor, choking. Behind him stood Captain
“Come on, Arenor!” yelled Urem as he grabbed a fallen soldier’s sword from the ground, not wanting to risk pulling his own from Barunar. Arenor got up, realizing that his leg was almost entirely healed, and stopped as Urem tried to pull him away. Arenor reached down and grabbed Barunar’s sword with his left hand before following Urem. As he ran, he realized that his right wrist was broken. They continued running until they reached the town guard compound. The gates opened slightly, and the two ran in as they closed.
“Arenor!” cried Calia as she ran forward, hugging her son. She was wearing chainmail armor, and had a sword at her side.
“My Queen! What has happened since I was gone?” asked Urem, walking forward.
“They’ve tried a few attacks, but our archers have repelled them,” said Calia.
“Did Primoris ever say anything, about me?” asked Arenor.
“Calia! They’re here!” yelled Gall up on the gates.
“Yes he did son, but it’ll have to wait, I need you and Urem to lead the forces down here if they break through,” ordered Calia.
“Yes, my Queen,” said Urem as Calia ran off towards one of the watchtowers.

***

As the gates were being pounded, Arenor looked at the sword he had taken from Barunar. It was black with red veins running through it. Arenor did not understand the sword, but he knew it was unbreakable, and that would give him an advantage if he was to fight Barunar again.

BOOM!

BOOM!

CRACK!

[[OOC: Nice! Firengard does make a return... I await Icengard with baited breath. Of course, I don' t know how I feel about this, when danger reared it's ugly head I bravely turned my tail and fled... Stupid "Don'tinteferewithlocalpoliticsmageoath"]]

Arenor and Varumar had been travelling for nearly three hours, and they were only a mile from Cropsford's gates.

“Arenor, if we are to go into Cropsford, I believe it would be best if we did so discreetly, who do you trust in the city?” asked Varumar.
“My friend Ignis, the barkeep Horus, and that’s about it. Any man is susceptible to the lure of coin.”
“Then we will seek them out, I must change into something a little less conspicuous, you should too, and you should wash that blood off before riding into town,” said Varumar, “I still think this is a terrible idea.”
“As do I, but it’s the right thing to do,” said Arenor.

***

Varumar took the lead disguised as an old farmer coming to inquire about the recent battle, and Arenor was his son. Using a bit of magic, Varumar grew Arenor a short beard and changed his hair color. The changes were temporary, but they would last the few hours they needed. Upon riding through the open town gates, they saw that many of the houses were boarded and barricaded, and men carried weapons wherever they went. They first rode to Ignis’s house, and Varumar knocked on the door. One of Ignis’s younger twin brothers answered the door.
“Hello, my name is Vurull, I am looking for Ignis,” said Varumar.
“Ignis?” asked the brother, his face looking quite sad, “Ignis is dead, sir, he died in the recent battle. Got his head chopped clean off.”
Arenor heard the words from the street, and his heart sank. His best friend was dead, another victim of Barunar’s bloody campaign against the sons of Marath.
“My condolences to your family, I am sorry to have bothered you,” said Varumar as he bowed his head and walked back towards his horse.
“I am sorry for your friend,” said Varumar quietly.
“To the inn, then…”

***

Horus’s inn was quite full of people wanting to drown their sorrows, and Varumar had a very tough time catching Horus’s attention. When he did, Horus had a man relieve him and walked outside into the alleyway. Arenor approached him and pulled back his hood.
“Arenor?” asked Horus.
“Shhh!” exclaimed Varumar.
“Sorry…we thought you had been captured, or killed! How did you survive?”
“This man rescued me…is it true? About Gall…and my mother?” whispered Arenor.
“Aye, I’m sorry. Gall was a good friend of mine, you’re a good friend of mine.”
“I believe that, Horus. I cannot stay in Cropsford long though. Do you know any men you trust?” asked Arenor.
“A lot of good ones died in that battle, but there are a few left. Harmon, Lanoc, and Archion, you can trust them,” suggested Horus.
“Can they fight?” asked Arenor.
“Well enough, they survived the last battle, which proves something.”
“Can you have them meet me in a room here tomorrow?” asked Arenor.
“Yes sir, or sire. Why can’t you stay?”
“If I stay, my friend there believes that Barunar will return.”
“Barunar? Who’s Barunar?”
“The man who attacked Cropsford.”
“Mermon knows we don’t want that…alright, you can sleep here tonight if you have nowhere else.”
“We have somewhere else, thank you though,” said Varumar before walking off, Arenor followed.

***

Horus was waiting in one of his four rooms with the three men he had promised Arenor. Harmon was around 6’1” with black hair and hazel eyes. He was athletic in build, and carried a bow and a longsword with him into battle. He also had a strange affection for cats. Lanoc was shorter at around 6’0”, but was larger in build, and carried a longsword and a shield with him into battle, and could also use a spear. Archion was a gifted tracker and hunter, and was quite gifted with a bow, but also carried a shortsword with him, just in case. Arenor and his friend were quite late, and Horus was wondering what was taking them so long.

***

Over the previous night, Arenor and Varumar had stayed at another end as a precaution against an unlikely betrayal by Horus. Arenor's arcane induced beard and hair color had gone away, but Varumar had done the same again in the morning. They were now on their way to Horus's inn. As Arenor and Varumar rode through the streets, Arenor saw a familiar figure walking out of a nearby shop.
Ignis!?
“It’s Ignis!” said Arenor to Varumar.
“Arenor, he’s dead, his own family confirmed it.”
Arenor hopped off his horse, handed his reigns to Varumar, and quickly followed the man. Arenor waited until Ignis walked down a less-crowded street before attracting his attention.
“Are-“
Arenor raised his index finger to his mouth, gesturing silence.
“Ignis, your brother said you were dead,” said Arenor.
“One of the twins!? I oughta beat that little bastard to a pulp!”
“What?”
“You don’t know ‘em like I do, Arenor, no respect for the dead, no respect for battles. I’m sorry, but yes, I’m alive,” said Ignis, “The town thought you captured, maybe even killed.”
“I know, and I don’t want to reveal myself yet. Follow me,” said Arenor.

***

After nearly half an hour of waiting, Arenor, his friend, and Ignis walked into the room. Ignis and Varumar sat down, Arenor decided to stand.
“Many of you thought me dead or captured, but I, Arenor, son of Calia, am alive,” said Arenor.
“Didn’t think you were dead. I saw you get your side chopped into and I saw you get run through with a sword. You pulled the sword out, I’m pretty sure you can survive anything…” said Harmon.
“I am mortal, I can assure you,” said Arenor, “Harder to kill than most people, but I can die. I require your aid in a delicate mission that is important to the survival of Calion and Cropsford.”
“Didn’t expect this when I woke up this morning,” said Harmon.
“Harmon…show some respect to the guy who got run through with a sword and promptly pulled it out,” said Lanoc.
“That’s nothing, the other guy got his head nearly cut off and got up a minute later!” exclaimed Archion.
“Silence! All of you!” yelled Horus.
“We will travel to Aloran, gain the support of King Valan the Demonbane, and slay Barunar. Hopefully, that will end our problem.”
“First off…who the hell is Barunar? Second…why Valan the Demonbane?” asked Harmon.
“Barunar is the man who led the attack on Cropsford. Valan the Demonbane is King of Aloran, which is basically an entire nation of heroes. If they can’t help us, nobody can,” said Arenor.
“That could work, I’ll help you in your endeavor,” said Harmon.
“My blade is yours, Prince Arenor,” said Lanoc.
“I will travel with you of course, Arenor,” said Ignis, “I have been practicing my entire life in riding. I can fire a bow and arrow with some skill, maybe Archion could teach me something.”
“I’d be glad to, I’ll come Prince Arenor,” said Archion.
“I am glad to meet you all,” said Varumar after staying silent for the entire meeting, “I am Varumar, former senior novice instructor of the Venifician Order and a good friend of Victon Primoris. We leave today, can you all be ready in an hour?”
They all said yes, and Arenor silently wondered what Ignis would tell his father.

When it is done.

An hour later, Arenor, Varumar, Ignis, Harmon, Lanoc, and Archion rode out of Cropsford through three separate gates and regrouped outside the town. They continued southeast, in the direction of Aloran.

“So, Ignis, what’d you tell your father?” asked Arenor.
“That I was going off to see the world,” replied Ignis, “I don’t think he was too happy, but I don’t really care at the moment.”

“We’re only eighteen, Ignis, not many our age wants to go out of the fortified cities. Have you heard the stories?” asked Arenor.

“Not many of them are true on the peninsula here, however, on the mainland and on the old Cidellian peninsula, they are worse than the stories,” said Varumar.
“I’m glad Aloran is on the peninsula,” said Archion.
“How long will this journey of ours take?” asked Lanoc.
“Aloroll is around 325 miles from here, a few weeks would be my guess,” said Varumar.
“You know…I don’t think I’ve ever been out of Cropsford,” revealed Lanoc.

***

They had been travelling for nearly a week, living off the results of Archion’s hunting trips. Few people were on the path, only the occasional merchant. According to a map that Harmon had brought from his house, they were nearing the large town of Renlor, an agricultural town with a walled keep. The throne of the Lord of Renlor was often changing hands, and Arenor had no idea who was Lord at the moment. As of ten years ago, it was Lord Grelvon. However, Varumar stated that it would be a bad idea to enter Renlor, as the city was in a constant state of civil war. As such, they continued on their journey. As they continued, however, Arenor made a mental note to return to Renlor some day to try and help stabilize the political situation.

***

Over the next two weeks, they came across many small villages, but the land between Aloran and Renlor was largely uncivilized. There were many groups of raiders as well, but the group was able to avoid them. They were big and loud, and were easily spotted early. Eventually, the group reached Aloroll. The city was not as Arenor expected, for he had expected a city of white marble, gold, and greatness, but what he saw was a stone wall surrounding what appeared to be a city of shacks with a rather small stone castle in the center of town. There was a circular stone building as well. They rode towards the gates, and upon getting close, the gates opened and a familiar figure in gold armor walked through. Arenor recognized him as Valan the Demonbane, his beard and hair had a little more gray, but it was him. Behind him were two men in similar armor.
“Greetings travelers, I am Valan the Demonbane, King of Aloran,” announced Valan, “Our scouts spotted you several days ago, but I do not know your names…”
“I am Arenor of Cropsford, do you remember me, sir?” asked Arenor.
“Arenor of Cropsford…ah! Arenor of Cropsford! Last time I saw you, you were not yet a man. Forgive me for not recognizing you. I see you still have the ring I gave you,” noticed Valan, “However…I do not think this is a social visit, you are far from Cropsford.”
“Cropsford was invaded by forces under a man named Barunar. My mother and uncle were slain,” said Arenor.
“Milord, Barunar is one of the sons of Marath,” added Varumar.
“And I am as well,” announced Arenor.
Ignis, Archion, Harmon, and Lanoc all broke into surprised cries, and Arenor turned to face them.
“I apologize for not informing you earlier. I will explain more later,” promised Arenor.
Arenor then turned back to Valan, who looked to be thinking.
“And where is this Barunar now?” asked Valan.
“We are not certain, but we believe that he’s close to Cropsford. He is waiting for me to return,” said Arenor.
“He wants to kill you because you are another son of Marath?” asked Valan, “I regret to inform you that I cannot leave the city at the moment. A treacherous ‘Hero of Aloran’ named Hrov the Lion is attempting to steal my throne, and to make sure that he doesn’t make any moves. I cannot lend assistance, as sending one of our armies to aid you would be a good excuse for Hrov to lead a civil war. After this crisis is over, though, I would be happy to aid you.”
“Are we allowed to stay in the city?” asked Arenor.
“Of course, though I would prefer that you stay in an inn rather than the palace. Hrov has instilled in our people a great phobia of foreigners, and keeping foreigners in the palace is likely to start a revolt,” explained Valan.
“An inn is fine,” said Arenor, “I know you will aid Calion.”
“Calion?” asked Valan.
“You probably didn’t here. My Uncle Gall led a successful defense against Carilon and secured the recognized independence of Cropsford and the surrounding lands. The people named it Calion, after my mother, and gave her the throne,” explained Arenor.
“Well, Prince Arenor, I am pleased to have a royal of Calion in Aloroll, and I will be pleased to aid you claim your throne when I can secure mine.”
“Thank you, King Valan,” said Arenor.

***

As Arenor and his group walked through town, looking for an inn, Harmon stopped him.
“It is time to explain yourself, Arenor,” said Harmon.
“I am the son of Marath, but I have little of him inside of me,” assured Arenor.
“You have quite a bit of him in you, Arenor, just very few of the bad parts,” said Varumar.
“I am stronger, faster, and more dangerous than an ordinary man when I feel bloodlust,” explained Arenor, “That is all.”

“You won’t stab us by accident, I hope,” said Lanoc.
“I won’t,” promised Arenor.

Over the next two months, Arenor and his group stayed in the Ierbrod Inn. The inn was named after King Ierbrod, son of King Grefdow, first King of Aloran. Both were great heroes, as were almost all Kings of Aloran. Arenor also learned that the inhabitants of the city did not care for beauty and riches, which explained the lack of proper houses throughout the city. The only reason that they had a stone wall and a castle was to accommodate for defense. Nine weeks after Arenor had arrived; he heard that Hrov the Lion had challenged Valan the Demonbane to a fight to the death in the pit. The prize: the Throne of Aloran.

***

“The Pit” was one of the few stone structures in town, and it was there that the heroes of Aloran proved their skill. It was rare to see a fight to the death, even rarer to see a fight to the death involving a King, and unprecedented to see a fight to the death between the King and a powerful hero. Valan entered the arena dressed in his gold armor, with his longsword sheathed at his side, and his shield, Bane’s Aegis, in his left hand. Hrov was dressed in gray chainmail, and he held a one-handed axe in his right hand, a round shield in his left. He was a tough looking man with long red hair and a long beard.
“We are gathered here today to watch a battle to the death between our King, Valan the Demonbane, and a hero, Hrov the Lion!” exclaimed somebody on a large stage above the arena pit, “Hrov the Lion, do you wish to confirm your challenge against Valan the Demonbane?”
“My axe will cleave through his neck!” roared Hrov at the crowd, “I confirm the challenge!”
“Valan the Demonbane, do you accept the challenge?”
“I accept,” said Valan calmly as he drew his longsword.
“Then let it begin!” roared the announcer.

Valan remained in a defensive position as Hrov advanced. Hrov looked to be a fierce warrior, and Arenor had no doubt that he was. Hrov was also young, and Valan would probably have a tough time keeping up with the younger warrior. Hrov lunged forward and delivered a blow, which Valan amazingly sidestepped. Valan swiped his longsword into Hrov’s unprotected right side, which Hrov ducked under. He did a slash to Valan’s stomach as he ducked that Valan blocked with Bane’s Aegis. The two warriors backed away from each other. The crowd was silent as the two heroes stared into each other’s eyes. Not a breath was released. Hrov then charged forward and bashed at Valan with his shield. Valan raised his own shield to hold it off before pushing off of it and stepping to the side. Valan slashed at Hrov’s legs, and Hrov let out a yell as Valan’s sword cut through his flesh. He stumbled a bit, and then lunged at Valan, his axe swinging down at Valan’s head. Valan raised his shield, blocking forceful attack, his legs shook. Valan then charged forward and stabbed his blade through Hrov’s stomach and out through his back. Hrov let out a rapid series of gasps, and Valan pulled the blade from Hrov’s stomach. Hrov fell to the dirt, and Valan drew a dagger from his boot. He bent over, and with a single motion he sliced through Hrov’s throat, ending his suffering.
“The victor is our glorious King, Valan the Demonbane!” roared the man on the stage.
Arenor was surprised, for an aged hero; Valan had easily kept up with Hrov during the battle. That didn’t matter much though; Valan would now be able to lend support to Calion.

A little abrupt in style, but I like it.

P.S. Where am I?

*Delete this post after answering to it*

Something more complexly creative than that, perhaps.

Hmmm...would anybody be interested in this if I continued? Is anybody left TO be interested?

Thank you, Senturu. It's been a while since I've seen you around here! I'm going to PM you my contact information, in case you want to get in touch. 

now now, i dont lie, i just tell my version of the truth, whether or not you believe it is none of my concern