FOREWORD
The shadow had risen from the east and the evil of the Peaks had come to pillage and burn the lands of Cormyr for greed and land for the massing of their great army of the Orc. Hullack had fallen without a fight and the elves driven out, for not even their great wisdom could foresee the wickedness drawing near. They crossed the river Thunder and burned through Thunderstone and soon later Hidden vale. Both went unchecked into the hands of the advancing force. The Wyvernwater was crossed and the metropolis of Arabel was taken and its people run to western regions of the country, for Cormyr was falling into darkness, and the Orcs, goblins and other evil foes were unchallenged.
The death and agony combined with hatred unknown to the Human Folk drove them on though the remaining fields, but this is when the land of Cormyr turned its sword to the chaotic armies and massed to the west near Eveningstar and Immersea. The last army of Cormyrian Men had gathered and stood fast to the power of the goblins and evil winged ghazneths. They could not break through. In the final attempt to take the land of the Purple Dragon, the two armies, one dark, the other light fought on the hills surrounding Arabel. The battle raged for four days and five nights. Then, on the light of the fifth day, the army of the east defeated, most of their barbaric creatures slaughtered at the hands of men; their carcasses slew across the realm. The evil red dragon Nalavarauthatoryl, slain by the hands of the noble king Azoun IV lay deep within the waters of the tributary of Arabel, never to be discovered, as did Azoun, who fell in battle with the horrific Wyrm of fire.
The days after this battle brang great years of peace and prosperity from the evils of the world, but the orcs were yet to leave in their full number. These days were brought fourth by the Regent Alusair Obarskyr, daughter of Azoun IV, who took the throne and holds if in the place of the infant Azoun the V. The years of Cormyr's great monarch had come and gone and come once more, but fate has a way of repeating past events and this will not go forgotten to her.
CHAPTER 1
"Come on! Line up now, their coming!" Cried a voice, residing below the great, green canopy of Hermit's Wood. Equal to this voice was the roar of Armor; the clanging of gauntlets, pauldrons and scabbards before the storm of battle, and the yells of Knights ordering and organizing their troops. Many there were stripping the leaf covered ground to dirt under heavy boots of steel, while not far ahead were the bare feet of and orc kin rushing across the fields to meet them under the early morning moon, which loomed high above in the heavenly dark of the sky.
Upon the violet cloak of each soldier there was but a tiny crest of attached steel and low karat gold in the shape and colored of the dragon of the purple scales. They were proud of their symbol, or mascot as some called it, though, it had never been seen and any that had, did not live to tell. These soldiers of good were the proud from Crag and Marsember, for they were the Purple Dragons of old, the defenders of their home realm of Cormyr.
"Bring fourth your sword men!" The Knight bellowed out to his company, "For today we today shall meet the last of the Goblin kin who threaten your lands and bring down upon them a great and swift vengeance for the dead and those who mourn of them. We will slay every last one if it kills us doing it. Today is the day we end our suppression to these disgusting creatures and stain this wood with the dark blood of their veins." The majority of the knights stood restless beneath their long, cloaks, but some others still scurried about, closing in gaps of the line. Then with one great ring, the men drew their blades from their scabbards and hoisted them in front. "For the honor!" He ended quickly and the forest filled with war cries and the clanging of shields; this was the morning in which one immense question would be answered: Who would rule the country.
Time past slowly in the dark between the trees as they waited for the enemy, and listened to the thunder of their steps. Many prayed willingly to their many gods for protection in the coming engagement, but others just looked forward and were silent. It was a slow wait, but all welcomed it ant its peacefulness, for it might be their last.
The sounds grew near and the Knights restless in the shadow. Their men were eager, but ready, excited but terrified, the mix of emotions by any man in battle's eve. One Purple Dragon Knight sat high on his black steed, looking out into the field beyond the windblown oaks and spruce. It was baron for miles outside the entanglement, and none could be seen but it was crystal that all was approaching, and they would be approaching quickly, for they were fleeing to their final escape of the lands, but if their fellows of other lands would see them return they would summon an army greater than that of the Dragons, and they would overrun. Today Cormyr would stop its invaders or die in attempt.
From the shadows they emerged clad in their rusty steel. Their dark grey, almost greenish skin shimmered with sweat and course hair covered much of their faces from sight, along with a stout body and a pig like forehead and nose. Orcs they were, of the Hullack forest and Thunder Peaks to the northeast followed by the Bugbears and goblin warriors of the Stonelands and Storm Horns in the north. It was a formidable mass, and equally compared to the two thousand purple dragons knights that waited to bring them their doom, for they were unaware of the knights position and ran carelessly through the thick trees, watched only by the neutral Dryads under the treetops of which they spoke too everlastingly in shadow.
"For the fair Alusair, ruler of our homelands! Charge!" The orcs halted in awe as the Yelling cries of the army moved through the trees in perfect posture, the captain Knight of its forces riding upon his steep beside them to the right. The orc leader, the feared Gro-shalank, stepped fourth upon a large boulder and shot his arm out from his side, growling out the evil language of his tribe. Upon hearing this, the condemned armies drew their weapons and hooted out various war cries and stomach curdling screams, before also taking up speed at the opposing lines.
The two great and equally powered hordes charged in the moonlit, mystifying area of the forest and the Treants, Dryads and others creatures of the wood watched as upon that hill before the Wood, they slaughtered one another.
For Eight hours the battle raged on, switching favored sides as they backed off and charged, over and over again. It seemed as it there would be no victor, only two defeated, but the accurate arrows, powerful spells and stainless swords of the Cormyrian Archers, War Wizards and foot soldiers soon overcame the last of the foul creatures. The battle was won by the forces of good.
Throughout the front, wounded and dying cried out in agony as their destiny drew ever nearer, but to the Captain of them it was a sight in which he was absent to witness, he was slain by that of the opposing leader and his poisoned blade.
Arrenes Cantan woke with a start the next morning, his head aching with an indescribable pain. His vision was part blank and the lights were blurred, but it was the last he worried in his troubled mind, for it was the battle that lingered within. He remembered faintly his courageous troops, but retained not the outcome; he had been cut down at the waist by an orc scimitar. Feeling along his rounded thigh, he touched the scar that was left and the pain shot up his left side and into his neck, it still required rest, despite the magic that was clearly used to mend it. Talking was heard beyond the scope of his resting place that sounded of praying and almost a sort of moaning, but clear to him was the fact that he was in a clerics care, it all added up to that. With this in mind he rested easier through the day, only waking to the sounds of crying men of the past clash in the Hermit Woods, and the nightmares that came with every battle or skirmish. He thought it quite boring as he waited for his caretaker to return to see him, but not until late within the night of the eighteenth of the month of tharsack was he reunited with his holder. "Greetings, I can see your up and well!" He exclaimed cheerfully as he walked through the fair, white door from the somewhat noisy hall. His robes were long and pure white, and his staff was clearly highlighted against its wrinkles. Atop his head above long, thin white hair was a small, blue cap of a cleric, though it seemed that it was freelance and that it wasn't of a temple. Immediately Arrenes ejaculated: "What was the outcome of battle?" The cleric smiled with bliss and gave him the news of the great victory and that any remaining orcs goblins or other creature of darkness were fleeing to the Stormhorns and beyond to the sands of the Aunorach. The news was blessing to his ears, but hearing of his eight hundred dead men was of a terrible origin. For it was a great, but terrible hearing.
"Tell me cleric, what is your name?" He asked inquisitively.
"I am Barony Shalk of the town of Waymoot to the east. I have come to help out with the wounded, for in times of peril it is I who shall always be obligated to help with the effort of your Purple Dragons. They are magnificent." He replied, easily flattering Arrenes with the complement of his forces.
"I would like to know where I am being held as to this moment and the time of day, as well as when I should be able to see my men once more, and my family?" Still standing quite still the man answered without any haste in his mind.
"You are in the city of Marsember, in the temple to the god of Lathander, where the clerics here have let you stay for your contribution to the victory. The time is about midnight and as for your family," there was a short pause, "You shall have to wait, for your wounds are still to near to the past, you will do more harm than good if you were to walk once more on the roads of our great country before possibly the thirtieth or even later, I am sorry master Cantan, but it is my only choice." At this he exited the room and left Arrenes in the shadow of the bed poles for what seemed an eternity. For he would be in the temple for much more than mere days.
Time past slowly, but he cared not; it was not his choice. The wound upon his side was tender but irritating, showing signs of healing day after day. The cleric left him for over eight days before seeing him once more and informing him of the purple dragons victory at the mouth of the thunder gap against a group of Trolls unlike any they had ever seen, but to the troll's demise, they were defeated and ran back deep within the thunder peaks. Some other news presented to him at this time was that of Arabel and the rebuilding of the city that fell long ago and that it was nearly completed over the last few days due to the absence of the raiders.
"Well Arrenes, I can see your doing better!" The cleric shouted upon seeing him on the morning of the fifteenth day. Arrenes was happily let loose from his room and taken to a broad, stocked kitchen of significant design and fine wine, for it was that of the most expensive temple in Marsember, that of Lathander, the chief god of their country. After a sufficiently filling meal alongside the clerics of the wealthy place, he was taken to receive his belongings held for him, and to a physical type of training that they put him through for a short while until around noon, when the sun was high and the air hot, it was the time of his release, for it had finally come.
The warm spring air was as if the god had personally warmed his pale skin with his hot breath. The trees were green and grass as well; it was the season of growing. It was Arrene's favorite season and preferred by most of Cormyr for all he new and really cared. He was finally out and he was as happy at that, for he was loose and ready for a new life without frequent raids and killings by orcs and goblins. It was a new age for Cormyr. It was a good one.
Walking fourth through the risen street, he consumed the sights with ease. The buildings were tall and orderly through the city, with its people walking freely in peace before its great gates of red wood. The windows were wide open and it was clear as the sun on his long black hair that his men had not died in vein, but for this cause. Continuing he saw the dogs and horses roaming through the streets alongside their owners in glee. It was finally peaceful.
Soon he stood fourth in the dimness of his home. The chimney puffed white smoke from inside and its green roof was shimmering in the falling light. He walked foreword up the wooden bridge leading to the front door and stopped before the handle, gripped it tightly, and boomed it upon the woodwork indentions that resided in the shape of the purple dragon crest. Footsteps approached from within and halted, before a long set of clicks and snaps came from the handle. It was locked. As far back as Arrenes could recall from his long life with his wife, they never locked the door in the daylight and he deeply knew the person behind the door was anybody but his wife. With a dark force from inside him he through himself upon the door and hit it with his hard knuckles. The unlocking quickened but it seemed as if there were more locks on this door than he had ever seen or heard of in the stories of old. Then, suddenly the door swung open and Arrenes fell to his knees. The man was tall in the doorway, and held a thick set of papers in his left hand with a quill in his right. "Master Cantan!" The man exclaimed surprised, backing off and dropping his handfuls of items. His face had shriveled to an inch smaller as he looked into Arrene's face and saw the awakening flame. He stormed foreword gripped the man's neck pushing him easily to the back of the white entry room and shoving him against the wall, began to cry. For it was the man that came when your house was no longer occupied by the living. "Why are you here!? Tell Me!" He shouted, spitting wildly into the man's face. He opened his mouth to talk: "Well.uh.you see sir.well.I'm sorry to inform you that your family is no longer among the living.please don't hurt me sir...please." He began to weep loudly but closed his mouth and ran when Arrenes let him loose and dropped to the ground, propping himself against the wall. He began hitting it violently with all of his strength, for all that he could think was what he would do to the man who did it, how he would torture and kill him with the most aguish and hatred that he could muster. He would get revenge, no matter the cost.
The Lords room was magnificent. The paintings were of none other than pure greatness and the food resting on the table in the center was of grand magnificence. Along the floor were various different rugs off hides of many dire animals from the deep woods of his country. The door was guarded by two purple dragons with golden poleaxes and the window on the left wall revealed not only the entire perimeter of the city wall but a pair of archers of half-elf appearance. "So why have you come Arrenes Cantan?" The Lord asked, swaying around to face his faithful knight. "Is it about your family," Arrenes shook his head up, then down, "You known I can't change what happened, it was fate that took charge and its fate that will have my allegiance in these situations. I'm sorry, but you will have to go now, for I request you return home and take your house for free, it's a token of my sorrow." At this he smiled thoughtfully and turned back to face out his circular window at his great city. "I don't want your sorrow!" Arrenes replied, raising his voice as he spoke with such anger. "I want permission to leave the purple dragons sir, I want to find the fate of my family, and if that goes against your beliefs, than I will tell you this sir; you can't stop me from going and I will leave." The lord was already facing him once again and he began to chuckle. "I don't care what you want Cantan, you're a loose arrow and your staying where I can see you. Times are rough with us and Sembia; scouts say they're attempting to cross The Vast Swamp, and we cant have that happen or were gonna start another war. Don't you see Cantan, I need every Purple Dragon Knight that I can gather and I need them ready to lead the soldiers of Cormyr. Do this for me Cantan." Arrenes looked upon him and frowned miserably, "If you don't cooperate I will have to have you contained, don't make me do that to my best Knight." "You can not have my servitude if you don't wish to help me. I will not fight this new threat of the east. I am going and I'm not coming back without my goal walking next to me." He turned his clothed back to the lord and began walking out to the door, but was stopped by his leaders next words. "You are of no decency Cantan, and your abandonment of my land will be punished severely." He clapped his hands twice and two fully plated Purple Dragons rushed in, holding tightly their poleaxes and standing straight in the shadow of their master as it crept across the floor from the window. "Guards, see to it that this man catches the next carriage to the front near the marsh." Both of them gasped and looked into the eyes of the criminal, and he looked back. He was their leader and they always followed him. For they were of HIS company. "Yes my lord." The taller one replied and bowed his head. The short soldier walked to Arrene's left and took hold of his arm, griping it tightly with his shimmering gauntlets. He had no trouble pulling the man out of the room, for he walked with them. "You just wait Cantan," Lord Bledryn Scoril muttered under his breath, "It will kill them soon." He turned back to the window, "I know you, and you will go to them, but what will you do to the one who took them." At this he rotated and resided his feast.
The shadow had risen from the east and the evil of the Peaks had come to pillage and burn the lands of Cormyr for greed and land for the massing of their great army of the Orc. Hullack had fallen without a fight and the elves driven out, for not even their great wisdom could foresee the wickedness drawing near. They crossed the river Thunder and burned through Thunderstone and soon later Hidden vale. Both went unchecked into the hands of the advancing force. The Wyvernwater was crossed and the metropolis of Arabel was taken and its people run to western regions of the country, for Cormyr was falling into darkness, and the Orcs, goblins and other evil foes were unchallenged.
The death and agony combined with hatred unknown to the Human Folk drove them on though the remaining fields, but this is when the land of Cormyr turned its sword to the chaotic armies and massed to the west near Eveningstar and Immersea. The last army of Cormyrian Men had gathered and stood fast to the power of the goblins and evil winged ghazneths. They could not break through. In the final attempt to take the land of the Purple Dragon, the two armies, one dark, the other light fought on the hills surrounding Arabel. The battle raged for four days and five nights. Then, on the light of the fifth day, the army of the east defeated, most of their barbaric creatures slaughtered at the hands of men; their carcasses slew across the realm. The evil red dragon Nalavarauthatoryl, slain by the hands of the noble king Azoun IV lay deep within the waters of the tributary of Arabel, never to be discovered, as did Azoun, who fell in battle with the horrific Wyrm of fire.
The days after this battle brang great years of peace and prosperity from the evils of the world, but the orcs were yet to leave in their full number. These days were brought fourth by the Regent Alusair Obarskyr, daughter of Azoun IV, who took the throne and holds if in the place of the infant Azoun the V. The years of Cormyr's great monarch had come and gone and come once more, but fate has a way of repeating past events and this will not go forgotten to her.
CHAPTER 1
"Come on! Line up now, their coming!" Cried a voice, residing below the great, green canopy of Hermit's Wood. Equal to this voice was the roar of Armor; the clanging of gauntlets, pauldrons and scabbards before the storm of battle, and the yells of Knights ordering and organizing their troops. Many there were stripping the leaf covered ground to dirt under heavy boots of steel, while not far ahead were the bare feet of and orc kin rushing across the fields to meet them under the early morning moon, which loomed high above in the heavenly dark of the sky.
Upon the violet cloak of each soldier there was but a tiny crest of attached steel and low karat gold in the shape and colored of the dragon of the purple scales. They were proud of their symbol, or mascot as some called it, though, it had never been seen and any that had, did not live to tell. These soldiers of good were the proud from Crag and Marsember, for they were the Purple Dragons of old, the defenders of their home realm of Cormyr.
"Bring fourth your sword men!" The Knight bellowed out to his company, "For today we today shall meet the last of the Goblin kin who threaten your lands and bring down upon them a great and swift vengeance for the dead and those who mourn of them. We will slay every last one if it kills us doing it. Today is the day we end our suppression to these disgusting creatures and stain this wood with the dark blood of their veins." The majority of the knights stood restless beneath their long, cloaks, but some others still scurried about, closing in gaps of the line. Then with one great ring, the men drew their blades from their scabbards and hoisted them in front. "For the honor!" He ended quickly and the forest filled with war cries and the clanging of shields; this was the morning in which one immense question would be answered: Who would rule the country.
Time past slowly in the dark between the trees as they waited for the enemy, and listened to the thunder of their steps. Many prayed willingly to their many gods for protection in the coming engagement, but others just looked forward and were silent. It was a slow wait, but all welcomed it ant its peacefulness, for it might be their last.
The sounds grew near and the Knights restless in the shadow. Their men were eager, but ready, excited but terrified, the mix of emotions by any man in battle's eve. One Purple Dragon Knight sat high on his black steed, looking out into the field beyond the windblown oaks and spruce. It was baron for miles outside the entanglement, and none could be seen but it was crystal that all was approaching, and they would be approaching quickly, for they were fleeing to their final escape of the lands, but if their fellows of other lands would see them return they would summon an army greater than that of the Dragons, and they would overrun. Today Cormyr would stop its invaders or die in attempt.
From the shadows they emerged clad in their rusty steel. Their dark grey, almost greenish skin shimmered with sweat and course hair covered much of their faces from sight, along with a stout body and a pig like forehead and nose. Orcs they were, of the Hullack forest and Thunder Peaks to the northeast followed by the Bugbears and goblin warriors of the Stonelands and Storm Horns in the north. It was a formidable mass, and equally compared to the two thousand purple dragons knights that waited to bring them their doom, for they were unaware of the knights position and ran carelessly through the thick trees, watched only by the neutral Dryads under the treetops of which they spoke too everlastingly in shadow.
"For the fair Alusair, ruler of our homelands! Charge!" The orcs halted in awe as the Yelling cries of the army moved through the trees in perfect posture, the captain Knight of its forces riding upon his steep beside them to the right. The orc leader, the feared Gro-shalank, stepped fourth upon a large boulder and shot his arm out from his side, growling out the evil language of his tribe. Upon hearing this, the condemned armies drew their weapons and hooted out various war cries and stomach curdling screams, before also taking up speed at the opposing lines.
The two great and equally powered hordes charged in the moonlit, mystifying area of the forest and the Treants, Dryads and others creatures of the wood watched as upon that hill before the Wood, they slaughtered one another.
For Eight hours the battle raged on, switching favored sides as they backed off and charged, over and over again. It seemed as it there would be no victor, only two defeated, but the accurate arrows, powerful spells and stainless swords of the Cormyrian Archers, War Wizards and foot soldiers soon overcame the last of the foul creatures. The battle was won by the forces of good.
Throughout the front, wounded and dying cried out in agony as their destiny drew ever nearer, but to the Captain of them it was a sight in which he was absent to witness, he was slain by that of the opposing leader and his poisoned blade.
Arrenes Cantan woke with a start the next morning, his head aching with an indescribable pain. His vision was part blank and the lights were blurred, but it was the last he worried in his troubled mind, for it was the battle that lingered within. He remembered faintly his courageous troops, but retained not the outcome; he had been cut down at the waist by an orc scimitar. Feeling along his rounded thigh, he touched the scar that was left and the pain shot up his left side and into his neck, it still required rest, despite the magic that was clearly used to mend it. Talking was heard beyond the scope of his resting place that sounded of praying and almost a sort of moaning, but clear to him was the fact that he was in a clerics care, it all added up to that. With this in mind he rested easier through the day, only waking to the sounds of crying men of the past clash in the Hermit Woods, and the nightmares that came with every battle or skirmish. He thought it quite boring as he waited for his caretaker to return to see him, but not until late within the night of the eighteenth of the month of tharsack was he reunited with his holder. "Greetings, I can see your up and well!" He exclaimed cheerfully as he walked through the fair, white door from the somewhat noisy hall. His robes were long and pure white, and his staff was clearly highlighted against its wrinkles. Atop his head above long, thin white hair was a small, blue cap of a cleric, though it seemed that it was freelance and that it wasn't of a temple. Immediately Arrenes ejaculated: "What was the outcome of battle?" The cleric smiled with bliss and gave him the news of the great victory and that any remaining orcs goblins or other creature of darkness were fleeing to the Stormhorns and beyond to the sands of the Aunorach. The news was blessing to his ears, but hearing of his eight hundred dead men was of a terrible origin. For it was a great, but terrible hearing.
"Tell me cleric, what is your name?" He asked inquisitively.
"I am Barony Shalk of the town of Waymoot to the east. I have come to help out with the wounded, for in times of peril it is I who shall always be obligated to help with the effort of your Purple Dragons. They are magnificent." He replied, easily flattering Arrenes with the complement of his forces.
"I would like to know where I am being held as to this moment and the time of day, as well as when I should be able to see my men once more, and my family?" Still standing quite still the man answered without any haste in his mind.
"You are in the city of Marsember, in the temple to the god of Lathander, where the clerics here have let you stay for your contribution to the victory. The time is about midnight and as for your family," there was a short pause, "You shall have to wait, for your wounds are still to near to the past, you will do more harm than good if you were to walk once more on the roads of our great country before possibly the thirtieth or even later, I am sorry master Cantan, but it is my only choice." At this he exited the room and left Arrenes in the shadow of the bed poles for what seemed an eternity. For he would be in the temple for much more than mere days.
Time past slowly, but he cared not; it was not his choice. The wound upon his side was tender but irritating, showing signs of healing day after day. The cleric left him for over eight days before seeing him once more and informing him of the purple dragons victory at the mouth of the thunder gap against a group of Trolls unlike any they had ever seen, but to the troll's demise, they were defeated and ran back deep within the thunder peaks. Some other news presented to him at this time was that of Arabel and the rebuilding of the city that fell long ago and that it was nearly completed over the last few days due to the absence of the raiders.
"Well Arrenes, I can see your doing better!" The cleric shouted upon seeing him on the morning of the fifteenth day. Arrenes was happily let loose from his room and taken to a broad, stocked kitchen of significant design and fine wine, for it was that of the most expensive temple in Marsember, that of Lathander, the chief god of their country. After a sufficiently filling meal alongside the clerics of the wealthy place, he was taken to receive his belongings held for him, and to a physical type of training that they put him through for a short while until around noon, when the sun was high and the air hot, it was the time of his release, for it had finally come.
The warm spring air was as if the god had personally warmed his pale skin with his hot breath. The trees were green and grass as well; it was the season of growing. It was Arrene's favorite season and preferred by most of Cormyr for all he new and really cared. He was finally out and he was as happy at that, for he was loose and ready for a new life without frequent raids and killings by orcs and goblins. It was a new age for Cormyr. It was a good one.
Walking fourth through the risen street, he consumed the sights with ease. The buildings were tall and orderly through the city, with its people walking freely in peace before its great gates of red wood. The windows were wide open and it was clear as the sun on his long black hair that his men had not died in vein, but for this cause. Continuing he saw the dogs and horses roaming through the streets alongside their owners in glee. It was finally peaceful.
Soon he stood fourth in the dimness of his home. The chimney puffed white smoke from inside and its green roof was shimmering in the falling light. He walked foreword up the wooden bridge leading to the front door and stopped before the handle, gripped it tightly, and boomed it upon the woodwork indentions that resided in the shape of the purple dragon crest. Footsteps approached from within and halted, before a long set of clicks and snaps came from the handle. It was locked. As far back as Arrenes could recall from his long life with his wife, they never locked the door in the daylight and he deeply knew the person behind the door was anybody but his wife. With a dark force from inside him he through himself upon the door and hit it with his hard knuckles. The unlocking quickened but it seemed as if there were more locks on this door than he had ever seen or heard of in the stories of old. Then, suddenly the door swung open and Arrenes fell to his knees. The man was tall in the doorway, and held a thick set of papers in his left hand with a quill in his right. "Master Cantan!" The man exclaimed surprised, backing off and dropping his handfuls of items. His face had shriveled to an inch smaller as he looked into Arrene's face and saw the awakening flame. He stormed foreword gripped the man's neck pushing him easily to the back of the white entry room and shoving him against the wall, began to cry. For it was the man that came when your house was no longer occupied by the living. "Why are you here!? Tell Me!" He shouted, spitting wildly into the man's face. He opened his mouth to talk: "Well.uh.you see sir.well.I'm sorry to inform you that your family is no longer among the living.please don't hurt me sir...please." He began to weep loudly but closed his mouth and ran when Arrenes let him loose and dropped to the ground, propping himself against the wall. He began hitting it violently with all of his strength, for all that he could think was what he would do to the man who did it, how he would torture and kill him with the most aguish and hatred that he could muster. He would get revenge, no matter the cost.
The Lords room was magnificent. The paintings were of none other than pure greatness and the food resting on the table in the center was of grand magnificence. Along the floor were various different rugs off hides of many dire animals from the deep woods of his country. The door was guarded by two purple dragons with golden poleaxes and the window on the left wall revealed not only the entire perimeter of the city wall but a pair of archers of half-elf appearance. "So why have you come Arrenes Cantan?" The Lord asked, swaying around to face his faithful knight. "Is it about your family," Arrenes shook his head up, then down, "You known I can't change what happened, it was fate that took charge and its fate that will have my allegiance in these situations. I'm sorry, but you will have to go now, for I request you return home and take your house for free, it's a token of my sorrow." At this he smiled thoughtfully and turned back to face out his circular window at his great city. "I don't want your sorrow!" Arrenes replied, raising his voice as he spoke with such anger. "I want permission to leave the purple dragons sir, I want to find the fate of my family, and if that goes against your beliefs, than I will tell you this sir; you can't stop me from going and I will leave." The lord was already facing him once again and he began to chuckle. "I don't care what you want Cantan, you're a loose arrow and your staying where I can see you. Times are rough with us and Sembia; scouts say they're attempting to cross The Vast Swamp, and we cant have that happen or were gonna start another war. Don't you see Cantan, I need every Purple Dragon Knight that I can gather and I need them ready to lead the soldiers of Cormyr. Do this for me Cantan." Arrenes looked upon him and frowned miserably, "If you don't cooperate I will have to have you contained, don't make me do that to my best Knight." "You can not have my servitude if you don't wish to help me. I will not fight this new threat of the east. I am going and I'm not coming back without my goal walking next to me." He turned his clothed back to the lord and began walking out to the door, but was stopped by his leaders next words. "You are of no decency Cantan, and your abandonment of my land will be punished severely." He clapped his hands twice and two fully plated Purple Dragons rushed in, holding tightly their poleaxes and standing straight in the shadow of their master as it crept across the floor from the window. "Guards, see to it that this man catches the next carriage to the front near the marsh." Both of them gasped and looked into the eyes of the criminal, and he looked back. He was their leader and they always followed him. For they were of HIS company. "Yes my lord." The taller one replied and bowed his head. The short soldier walked to Arrene's left and took hold of his arm, griping it tightly with his shimmering gauntlets. He had no trouble pulling the man out of the room, for he walked with them. "You just wait Cantan," Lord Bledryn Scoril muttered under his breath, "It will kill them soon." He turned back to the window, "I know you, and you will go to them, but what will you do to the one who took them." At this he rotated and resided his feast.