"Evil must be destroyed no matter the cost! No matter the means!" ~Lord Ayron Davol of Highwind

A Chapter by TMM

Footsteps echoed through the grand hall. Its massive ceiling let the sound continue to bounce around as it pleased. Thick, marble pillars lined either side of the huge room; each of them effortlessly supporting the impressive building. Only about half of them were truly needed, the rest were just for show, a very expensive show. The cost of just one of these pillars could feed a modest sized village for a year. Gorgeous stained glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling lighting the room; each of them telling a pointless story of some selfish noble doing some pointless deed. The rich marble floor was painted a verity of colors as the mid day sun shown through the poor man's books. The footsteps continued till a thick red carpet greedily swallowed the sound. The now silent footfall belonged to a richly clothed young man who was clearly in the prime of his life. His golden blond hair, shiny and healthy, came to just below his shoulders. His nails, face and skin were well cared for and pampered. He was fit and had a powerful build standing close to six feet tall. He was the perfect example of a prince. And he knew it. He approached a massive oak throne with gold inlays in nearly every curve and edge. The chair had two golden lion heads adorning the armrests and a third crowning the top. It actually resembled the stone throne from earlier, just gaudy and clearly built at the cost of many broken and bleeding backs. A slightly aged and richly clothed man was sitting comfortably on it. He had the look of one that use to be very handsome and refused to accept he wasn't young any more. In his prime he might have even rivaled the looks of the young man now approaching him. But age and wealth had stolen his vigor. He sat there with his head down as the young man knelt, before addressing the city-king.

"My Lord? Uncle? Are you awake?" The young man took a step to the throne and gently shook him. The older man jumped and reached for his hip out of reflex but no sword had hung from his belt in many years.

"What! Who? Ayron? I'm sorry my boy I must.... I was lost in thought." He stammered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Really uncle, ‘lost in thought?’ You were asleep again and you were supposed to be holding court over an hour ago. There are resent events that demand your attention!" Ayron was clearly worked up about something. However his uncle cared more about due respect then any real issue happening in his lands.

"Demand? No one has the right to demand anything of me except the high-King himself. Remember your place boy. You are young and full of passion but you'll soon realize very little is actually important." Lord Pelleaon said as he slowly stretched.

"What about the loss of an army? Would that be important enough to disruptyour nap my noble lord?" His words dripped with bitterness. And the older man considered putting him in his place but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"What are you talking about Ayron? What army?" Lord Pelleaon sighed not having to try hard to feign disinterest.

"The one your son, Sir Tayren, was leading into the northern waists. Or had you forgotten about the abomination living there?" Ayron was doing his best to stay civil. The man before him was everything he hated about the ruling nobility.

"I hadn't forgotten but that thing has never bothered my lands or my people. I've learned to leave well enough alone. But what has my foolish son done? What news of the battle?" Lord Pelleaon sat up in his throne leaning forward as much as proper etiquette would allow.

"Do you really care or are you just making polite conversation Lord Pelleaon?" Ayron made little attempt to hide his disgust.

"Enough with your tongue Ayron! You are a noble lord. Act like one! Now what news?" Pelleaon leaned forward and spoke with earnest. In spite of his many faults he did love his only son.

"It's gone. The whole army has fallen. Only a few scouts on detachment from the main force have survived. When they fled the army had been crushed." Ayron didn't soften the news at all. He actually took some pleasure in dealing so sharp a blow.

"And my son? Was he with the army when it fell? Did he make it out alive? Answer me!" Pelleaon was in a state of panic as he stood up from his throne taking a few steps toward Ayron.

"There has been no news of him. But the dead do not take captives. His only chance is that he had some how lived through the battle and evaded capture." Ayron stood his ground as Pelleaon slumped back onto his throne.

The two nobles just looked at each other in silence. They both knew how unlikely that was. Tayren was the pampered son of a city-king. Rich from the time he was born never knowing hardship or struggle. Tayren had a false sense of the world and how cruel it could really be. He was no weakling however. He had the best schooling and training money could buy. But no amount of money could buy experience or patience. He had come to his father months ago asking for troops to bolster a new army. He had this grand quest in mind to rid the world of a powerful evil and gain fame and glory for his family. Pelleaon had no idea how serious Tayren was about it or what evil he wanted to destroy. Pelleaon reasoned Tayren couldn't raise an army from the small village he had given his son and that soon he would give up this wild fantasy. Sadly while money cannot buy a lot of things, it can buy mercenaries. Without his father's knowledge or support Tayren marched on the Northern Waists vowing to end that vile abomination. Ayron was the first to break the silence.

"I'm putting together a scouting force. It's clear that you and the other nobles are wrong about that lich not being a threat. If that thing really does have the strength to crush an army then something must be done. I'll send word if I find out anything about Tay." Ayron said in a serious but uncompassionate tone.

"Ayron that would be foolish. While I want to know the fate of my son it's not worth starting a war with the undead. A war like that can not be won." Pelleaon cautioned again leaning forward a touch in his throne.

"So what would you suggest my Lord? That I sit on my throne and ignore this growing threat? If any another enemy had done this the high-King would be leading us to war right now. No, I will not cower from this mockery of life! I'll send you Tay's body when I find it uncle. Maybe then you can treat him with the respect you should have.” Pelleaon started to protest but Ayron turned away from him in disgust.

“Ayron! I will not stand for that kind of disrespect! Ayron? Ayron get back here!” Lord Pelleaon shouted as he rose from his throne. Ayron continued to ignore his uncle closing the large doors behind him as he left. He looked up at the bright blue sky then at the large group of people waiting to request aid from his uncle for one reason or another. He rolled his eyes and started back toward his horse. Ayron was arrogant and prideful and he was anything but kind. He was a hard man that thought it was his duty to guide his people with an iron hand. He didn't care if they obeyed him out of fear or love as long as they obeyed. He was, however, one of the better nobles and did take care of his subjects. Granted he still treated them as expensive cattle to be used however he saw fit. Still his people were healthy, safe and even enjoyed a degree of comfort that most commoners never knew.

Ayron mounted his horse and started for Highwind castle. It was at most a day’s ride. Most nobles would insist on an escort for that long of a trip. But again Ayron was different. He couldn't stand nobles that would hide behind armies or guards. He felt that if you were not strong enough or smart enough to protect yourself then you weren't fit to rule. It was thinking like that, that made Ayron so dangerous. He firmly believed he was right. And in many ways he was. His people were among the healthiest. His lands were one of the safest. The end results seemed to say he was a good ruler. Indeed everyone loved him. And that was the problem. No one disagreed with him. No one had a different point of view or disliked his laws. No ruler has ever been truly, universally loved by his or her people except if that love be forced or bought. Not one of his people will say so openly. But get the right ones drunk enough and they'll speak their minds. You'll hear a very different tale, one of “Master Ayron” and his merciless laws.

Ayron rode hard thinking how best to handle this situation. He knew better then to march another army north unless he wanted to repeat Tayren's failure. He needed more information. It was more then just knowing numbers. He needed to understand his enemy. He needed to know what weakness he could exploit if any. He needed to take this thing seriously and know fact from rumor. He'd heard the tales of how the undead Lord of the north could kill whole armies with a wave of his hand. Or raise a thousand ghosts with a thought. His favorite story was one about undead dragons being kept as pets. Ayron never believed any of it. Honestly he even had his doubts if this “Undead Lord” was real. But a whole army doesn't just go missing. And the scouts’ stories collaborated one another too well for them to have just made it up. No this thing was real enough to bring down an army.

What really bothered Ayron was that the Northern Waists were only a few days march from his lands in the deep inside the borders of Hillsborrow. What made it worse was that no one had heard from the Lord of Hillsborrow in a very long time. Many wondered if he had passed away and left the lands without a city-king. Many had pressured the high-king to give Hillsborrow to a new noble but the high-king had stubbornly refused. Saying it was within the rights of a noble to live a private life so long as they paid their taxes and offered their armies when the need arose, which he claimed Hillsborrow did. Ayron shook his head. It seemed far more likely that the city-king of Hillsborrow was long dead, in service to the Undead Lord, or both. Why else would any noble allow such a dangerous monster free rain in their lands? Ayron was so lost in thought that he almost missed the odd birdcalls coming from the forest. He rolled his eyes and slowed his horse down to a trot. He casually pulled a crossbow from his saddle and armed it. A little way in the distance was a downed tree blocking the path.

“You can't be serious, yet another failing of my uncle.” He sighed and rode up to the tree waiting for the “ambush”. He didn't have to wait long as two men jumped up from the other side of the blockade with swords drawn. Two more appeared from the forest behind Ayron one with a spear the other with a bow and arrow ready to fire. Ayron sighed again and rolled his eyes.

“Let's get this over with. How much do you want?” Ayron asked in bored voice.

“Two hund' crowns and that shiny sw'rd you got 'er.” The largest of the group answered

“What did you say? Was that the common tongue or are you from that flea infested country of Extoria?” Ayron was only half joking. The man talked like his mother and sister was the same person. He did look like his father might have been a troll though.

“Are you makin' funn'a me! Lil' rich boi! I'll gut ya' fer less!” The large man yelled back and smiled. Ayron noticed something that gave him pause as the man drew near. This man may have been ignorant but he was massive. The sword he wielded was a two-handed a weapon. The man used only one and it seemed to be about the right size for him. Ayron weighed his options knowing he only had one shot with his crossbow. However he knew the real threat was the bow behind him.

“Not at all my good man I was just keep you busy so I could aim.” With that he raised his crossbow and fired behind him listening to the crunch of the leaves to find the bowman. A scream and a thud let Ayron know he hit his mark. With a flick ofthe reins and a kick, his horse spun around and kicked the largest of the group square in the chest. Ayron pulled up hard on the reins a second later stopping just short of the spear's tip. He looked down at the man and at the shaking spear. He slowly pulled his short sword out and casually looked at the blade.

“Mmmr... please just give us the gold... we don't want any blood on our hands...” The man was clearly scared for his life.

“Don't worry. You won't have any,” Ayron said calmly.

He quickly flicked the sword at the man burying it deep in his chest. He causally rode up to him and pulled it out. Flicking most of the blood off then turned his horse back around to face the last man.

“I'm sorry but I can not suffer you to live.” Ayron said with a stoic expression.

The man stumbled over the fallen tree and took off down the road running for his life dropping his sword on the way. Ayron just sighed and kicked his heels into the side of his horse. The horse reared up and took off at full speed easily clearing the fallen tree in one leap. Ayron caught up to the man bringing the sword down across his back cracking the man’s bones. He then pulled his horse around he trampled him into the ground. Then throwing a rope around the lifeless body and trotting back to the others dragging it behind him. He found the large man was still mostly alive even after the horse had kicked in his chest.

“Good. You'll make a fine example,” Ayron flashed a wicked smiled.

It took him about an hour but after he finished he took a step back and admired his work. He remounted his horse and dragged the downed tree off the path. Looking up at the sun he let out a low sigh.

“This little set back will force me to tire out my horse now.” With that he set off at a brisk pace quickly lost in thought.

It was several more hours before a lone woman happened upon the scene. She was covered in a thick gray cloak with a matching heavy hood pulled over her head. The long strands of black hair framing her face were the only clues to her gender. She rode upon a powerful looking brown horse. The beast could easily have been a warhorse that was simply not wearing its armor. She pulled the reins and stopped to stare at the grizzly scene before her. A large man was impaled from the back on the sharpened tip of tree limb. Three other bodies were displayed in a similar fashion lining the road. The cloaked woman looked on only for a moment before she threw a rope around the largest man and started to pull him off the branch. To her surprise the impaled man started to scream!

“You... you're alive?” Even through the horror in her voice it was amazingly soft and almost musical in quality.

“please... please kill… please...” the large thief begged.

“Who did this to you?” She asked in complete shock.

“please.... I dunno... please... stop... it hur’” the man replied as he coughed up blood.

The woman pulled back her hood, her raven black hair falling in a heap over her shoulders. With tears in her dark blue eyes she unsheathed the dagger strapped to her thigh. She rode over to him covered his eyes with her hand and then kissed his cheek. The large thief choked and coughed more blood as she slit his throat putting him out of his misery. She then pulled the man off with the help of her horse. When the thief fell to the ground his shirt pulled up and revealed who had done such a disgusting thing. There carved into the man's skin was a warning.

“I, Lord Ayron of Highwind, have judged these men guilty. They are to rot as they are till their bones give way. Any who aid them will suffer the same.”

“Lord? Self-righteous noble took the time to carve his title too? Lord Ayron huh? Well 'Lord' Ayron. I'd like to see you try this with me.” The raven-haired woman spat on the ground as she talked to herself.

She spent the rest of the day removing the other men from their places of dishonor and gave each man a proper burial. Before she went on her way she carved something on the tree the large thief was impaled on. She then remounted her warhorse and gently patted his neck.

“You know the way.” She softly whispered to her steed. The horse threw its head back very pleased with itself and started to trot down the road. Joyel pulled the hood back over her head and glanced back to the four make shift crosses on the side of the road and at the tree that will now forever be marked with the following.

“Lord Ayron impaled a living man on this tree and then carved a warning into his flesh for any who would bury him. I am Joyel of the Grey Cloaks. I buried this man and his fellows. Come and get me.”

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