The walls of Levora came into view and Callindra heaved a sigh of relief.  She was certain she would lose her mind if she had to put up with one more hour of Jordan’s chatter.  His hero worship had degenerated into some kind of awkward attempt to pay her court and she couldn’t decide which one was less welcome.

All thoughts of the boy and his strange behavior vanished as they drew close enough to see details.  Throngs of people were outside the city walls, living in what she could only think of as abject squalor.  The sheer number of them had churned the grass into mud and when an errant breeze swirled around her, Callindra could smell the rank scent of human waste, fear and illness.

“What is this?”  She demanded in disgust, “Why are these people forced to live in such conditions?  Doesn’t the Lord of this Holding take care of his people?”

Tom Gild ignored her as usual and frowned, looking at Tryst.  “Levora got a strong town council and is full a folk with plenty a gold.  Ain’t like ‘em ta tolerate such outside their walls.  Guards shoulda run ‘em off else fed ‘em.  Bad for business havin suchlike around.”

Callindra’s eyes narrowed, and she rode forward so as to avoid making acerbic remarks to the stubborn farmer’s face.  “Damn prejudiced old goat.”  She mutters, riding through the throngs of people who line the roads.

“Do you have any food?”  A woman with sunken eyes asks in a hopeless tone, “Or clean water?  I wouldn’t ask, but… my children…”

She gestures behind her and Callindra is shocked to see three children in dirty rags huddled together on a tattered blanket.  Even though it was obviously inevitable that children would suffer as well, seeing them in such a state wrenched at her heart and she wordlessly handed over her waterskin and what was left of her trail rations.

“Gods favor you!”  The woman said, clutching the food and running back to the blanket.  Several others close by saw her giving food away and ran toward her, startling her horse as they began to clamor for food, water, anything to help.

A few became a dozen, and a dozen became a hundred.  The crowd of people, each shouting their need, trying to be louder than the others to be heard.  She needed to calm them down, but her voice wasn’t loud enough, she wasn’t tall enough and worse they had spotted the grain wagons.  Hundreds of hungry, angry people surrounded the wagons, their voices melding into an angry rumble.

A rock flew from the anonymous crowd, striking the canvas of the lead wagon and several more followed, one nearly hitting Jordan Gild in the head.  Tom shouted, his voice barely audible to Callindra although he was only a few yards away.

“Get back ya filthy scavengers!  If ya got coin we cn deal, but get otta th way!  We’re headin ta Levora an yer blockin th road!”  His angry words exploded the mob’s already tinder dry mood into a raging bonfire of anger and desperation.

As people began to try and climb onto the wagons, Callindra’s companions prepared to defend themselves.  She couldn’t stand by and watch these poor people get hurt just for trying to feed their families.  Whipping Brightfang from his sheath, she drew upon the Weave to lend her voice strength and shouted, “STOP!”

Her voice broke through the low rumble of the crowd whip crack sharp.  A swirling vortex of dust and dry leaves spun around her rising two score feet into the air and taking on the semblance of a humanoid form.  The crowd took several involuntary steps back, staring in stunned silence as she continued.

“WE HAVE NO WISH TO HARM YOU.  WE WILL HELP ALL WE CAN BUT YOU MUST LET US PASS IN PEACE!”  The vortex gradually spun slower and slower, collapsing into nothing and leaving her covered in filth, but the people stood by, watching her with frightened eyes as they rode past and through the town gates.

Callindra sheathed her sword as they passed the gates and fatigue hit her like she’d just run for miles.  She saw Cronos staring at her and gave him a shaky smile, “I didn’t know I had it in me…”

“That was quite the display of power.”  He said, “I haven’t known many skilled enough with the weave to manifest an illusion that could appear solid and speak at the same time.”

“Illusion?”  She asked, confused, “It was just a whirlwind… and my voice got louder.”

“That might be what you saw.”  He said with a raised eyebrow, “I saw a forty foot tall Callindra with a drawn sword and a voice like a bolt of lightning.  Would have scared the life out of me if I hadn’t known what a kitten you are.”

She bristled and then shook her head, still adjusting to his wry sense of humor even after knowing him for months.  “I just wanted to make myself heard… I guess I accomplished that.  Gods and Demons it took a lot out of me though.”

He stared at her for a few more moments as if trying to ascertain if she was making fun or serious and then shrugged.  “My… ah, teacher… pushed my limits pretty ruthlessly.  I’ve felt the exhaustion that comes with it.”

Anything else he might have shared was cut short by the sound of the great gates of the city booming shut behind them.  As the sun had yet to reach its zenith, it was highly irregular and caused Callindra and her companions to look around in alarm.  A phalanx of guards closed rank around them and an officious looking man in dark blue robes trimmed with gold came out to greet Tom with a pleased smile on his face.

“Ah, Master Gild, I see you’re punctual as usual.”  He flicked his eyes dismissively over Callindra and her friends, “Picked up some rabble along the way?  No matter, we can deal with them.”

“My pardon sir but we are on an errand of some importance.”  Tryst said, his voice dripping contempt.  “We will leave you to conduct your commerce.”  He wheeled his horse and swept down the street with the rest of them following close behind.

Once they were out of earshot, Cronos brought his horse abreast of Tryst’s.  “What are you trying to do?  Those guards might look like a bunch of idiots with their matching armor and plumed helmets but there are a lot more of them than there are of us.”

“I’m just following the Hand.”  Tryst said shortly, referring to the precious artifact that Jorda had given them. “I checked it briefly just now.  Those guards can go to the crows for all I care.”

Vilhylm glanced over his shoulder, “Well you certainly got their attention.  There are a dozen of them following us.”

Too late, Callindra realized Tryst had led them down a blind alley.  She vaulted from the horse’s back, not wanting to try and fight from there since she had no experience and Brightfang was hardly long enough to use from horseback.

“You must return with us for proper questioning and customs excise for any items you might be attempting to smuggle into the city.”  Their captain announced, his men lining the exit of the alley and forming a wall of burnished breast plates and shining shields that bristled with spear points.

“Smuggling?”  Callindra demanded indignantly, “We SAVED those wagons of grain from monsters on the road and again just now from an angry mob.  If anything you should be on your knees praising us for our bravery, not treating us like criminals!”

A stone bounced off the captain’s helmet with a resounding clang and he staggered to one side.  “Rebels!”  He shrieked before a hail of stones, slate shingles and other assorted heavy objects rained down upon his squad, reducing them to twitching, bruised unconsciousness.

Ropes dropped from the rooftops and three figures dressed in leather armor slid quickly down them.  Without paying any attention to the others in the alley, they began stripping the weapons, armor and valuables from the comatose guardsmen.

“Hey!”  A voice from behind them said, “Hey you, an enemy of the guards is a friend of mine, come on!”

Callindra felt her heart quicken, the voice was … beautiful.  She spun in place and saw an ordinary looking man who was holding a gate aside, wearing much the same nondescript leather armor as the others.  It was cunningly painted to look like the stones of the alley, a deception that was only apparent after it had been opened.

“Never mind them, they’ll be done in two shakes.  But you need ta get them horses in here quick like if ya wanna keep them.”  He grinned at Callindra and she found herself grinning back.  “No need fer that little slicer here.  I ain’t one ta tell a girl she can’t do as she pleases.”

“I’m Callindra, and these are my friends.”  She said, not bothering to introduce the others, “Who are you and what’s this about rebels?”

“Oh, I’m Tanner.”  He said, making an elaborate bow, “We’re rebels.  Ya see, these bastards have taken all the food and such for themselves, leaving all the refugees and the poor cityfolk high and dry.  So we’ve been sticking it to the buggers!  We steal their food and hand it out.  Soon, maybe we’ll be able to really do something about it too.”

Callindra followed him through the door, a wide grin on her lightly blushing face.  He wasn’t very cute, but there was … something about him that she found irresistible.  Turning, she saw her friends following with expressions of relief on their faces.  Only Tryst had a mild frown creasing his brow.

Tanner led them through twisting back alleys and narrow streets until they came to a large stable attached to what appeared to be a cathedral.  No grooms came to tend the mounts, but that wasn’t an impediment to Callindra and her friends who would have wanted to take care of their own animals anyway.  Once their beasts were settled, they followed Tanner through a door.

Callindra felt her breath catch in her throat when she saw what lay beyond the door.  The room was the largest she had ever seen, and it was packed with folk.  They sat in rows, filling the pews.  They stood in ranks, filling the isles.  Hundreds, perhaps a thousand or even more and they all cheered when Tanner walked through the door.

“We gave ‘em hell and chalked up another victory for the resistance!”  Tanner said with a wide grin of triumph, “Afore long them highborn jackals won’t have a choice but ta give us our share!”

The cheers grew louder and Callindra surveyed the gathered people.  Most were much the same as the ones outside the walls, although they were slightly better fed and in far better spirits.  Most were grown men, but there were a fair number of women and children as well.

“And now I’ve taken these heroes!”  Tanner continued, “They’re gonna fight for us against the tyranny an lead us ta victory!”

“Wait a minute-“ Tryst started to say, but Callindra was swept along by his words and found herself cheering along with the masses in the room while brandishing her sword aloft.  Tryst’s hand landed on her shoulder and she was jarred from her exuberant state with a shock.

“Callindra!”  He hissed urgently into her ear, “He has a piece of it, look!”  Tryst was pointing towards Tanner’s neck.  A pendant hung there, a strange half rounded looking flat piece of what looked like clay but if it was anything like the Hand it was near as indestructible.

“Is that… a tongue?”  She asked, “Wait, why aren’t YOU affected by him?”

“I think because I have a piece of it too.”  He said, “We need to get Tanner alone so we can have a serious talk with him.”

The crowd had finally quieted down, and Tanner turned towards Callindra still beaming.  With Tryst touching her, she could see through whatever glamor was covering him.  He really was quite ordinary after all, she thought with mild disappointment.

“We should go and discuss your plans.”  She said, “We can hardly have a war council out here with all this noise.”

“Of course!”  He said, turning back to the crowd.  “Prepare yourselves!  Brother Dominic will speak and then you shall all follow his instructions for the next raid.”

The four of them followed him into a small alcove that had likely once been used by priests to prepare sacraments or vest themselves.  It was paneled in dark wood, had thick carpets and tapestries on the walls.  Tanner moved to the sideboard and poured wine, handing cups around.

“So, how should we plan our attack?”  He asked, eyes shining and Callindra began to slip back under his spell once again.  Tryst, however, was having none of it.

“Take off that necklace at once.”  He said sternly, “You have no business using such a powerful artifact on any whom you meet without warning or giving them a choice but to follow you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  Tanner protested, “This necklace is a gift from Brother Dominic after I expressed interest in helping to gather the people for the resistance.”

“I think he’s telling the truth.”  Cronos said, uncharacteristically trusting.  Callindra opened her mouth to agree, but before she could speak Tryst reached forward and yanked the braided leather cord from around Tanner’s neck.  It parted with a snap and that seemed to break them all free of the spell of belief and adoration they had been under.

“Where.”  Vilhylm asked, his voice deadly with menace, “Is this ‘Brother Dominic’ then?”

“He’s just outside talking to the folk!”  Tanner said, his voice sounding shrill and unbecoming.  “I swear, I thought they were following me ‘cause I was a good leader!”

Cronos pushed past him and opened a small window, looking out at the back of the man speaking on the raised pulpit.  He hissed a breath in warning and fear.  “That’s Dergeras out there, I’m certain of it!”

Callindra crouched behind a small hill, listening to the sounds and smelling the scents the Winds brought her way.  There were creatures moving out there, and they didn’t have the best interests of any living creature in mind.  Glancing back at Cronos she gave a quick hand signal, and he nodded, slipping around the hill to the left while she went to the right.

The shouts of distressed humans reached her ears, curling on the back of a malicious breeze.  Gritting her teeth, she dropped the guise of stealth and sprinted over the hill, whipping Brightfang’s slender length from his sheath with a whistling rasp of steel against leather.

Two huge wagons drawn by teams of eight oxen each were surrounded by strange creatures, seemingly humans with heads like dogs, long powerful arms and short hair covering their bodies.  Most importantly, their eyes glowed with green fire.  These were her enemies.

With a shout and a swing of her blade, Callindra sent a blast of wind that cut like razors into the closest beasts.  One of them fell shrieking and clutching at a severed arm, and the other two ran to meet her charge.  Just before they reached her, Cronos slammed into them from one side and Vilhylm from the other.  The creatures toppled to the ground, but dozens more reared up from the grass, some with flaming arrows nocked to bowstrings.

“Ware!”  An older man with a mattock in his hands shouted to them, “There be grain in them wagons!”

Callindra watched the arrows flying through the air, the flames on the oil soaked heads flickering in the evening light.  She tried to do something, to use magic, but it slipped through her fingers.  She might as well try to hold onto a handful of water.

Tryst shouted three words that echoed in the air and the ground around one of the wagons rippled, forming into an earthwork berm.  The arrows thudded harmlessly into it, but the oxen bellowed in fear, rolling their eyes and straining against their yokes.

Vilhylm ran forward, breathing into the lead bull’s nostrils and he quieted enough that the wagon wasn’t in danger.  Donning a mask of polished wood, he seemed to grow and change.  His skin became less like flesh and more like bark.  Vines sprouted from his arms and twined around a group of advancing creatures, forcing them to slow their mad rush.

Ignoring them, Callindra slashed the closest one to her from neck to navel before spinning to catch the downward swing of a pike on Brightfang’s blade.  The force of the impact drove her to one knee, but she shed the impact and swung her sword to hack the thing off at the knees.

She growled in pain as an arrow slammed into her thigh, deflected by her armor but still hitting hard enough to bruise and then was nearly thrown to the ground when another struck her chest, this time finding a weak spot and plunging into muscle.  A swipe of Brightfang cut the shaft off close to the armor and she continued to carve a trail of destruction through the seemingly endless swarm of enemies.  A half dozen burning shafts arced high to strike the grain wagon and it began to catch fire, but vines from Vilhylm raced up to smother most of the flames.

Callindra swung about to look for another enemy, but found they were all down.  She carefully cleaned the oozing green ichor from Brightfang’s blade before it could etch the steel and sheathed him.  Tryst was speaking with the wagon master, Cronos was making sure of the dead and Vilhylm was checking the condition of the wagons with a woodworker’s critical eye.

“- bound for Clarion with grain.”  The man was saying, “Good thing you all came up when ya did.  Them critters woulda been a fair lot more trouble than we coulda handled.”

“It was a pleasure to assist you master Gild.”  Tryst replied, “The Adamantine Brotherhood is bound by duty to help those in need.”

“And we don’t mind killing creatures that need killing.”  Callindra said dryly, “Wel met, I’m Callindra-“

“Yer the ones what handled them critters at the Graiven place ain’t ya?”  Orin interrupted, giving Tryst a critical look.

“Uh.  No.”  Tryst said, “We’re just…” he paused; knowing he shouldn’t really talk about their mission. “We’re-“

“Where are you headed then Orin?”  Callindra interrupted, annoyed that the farmer was ignoring her.

“We gotta couple loads a grain bound fer Levora.”  One of the heavily muscled boys with obvious family resemblance to Orin said, grinning at her.  “Ya got some skills with that pigsticker.”

“Aye, I ain’t never seen fightin like that!”  The other said, obviously a brother or cousin.  “It were like ya was dancin or somethin.”

“Boys!” Orin barked, “Get them teams under control and quit yappin!”

The two young men looked away from Callindra with startled expressions on their faces, talking over one another in their haste to obey.  “Yessir! Yes father!”

He turned back to Tryst, still ignoring Callindra.  “So ya ain’t from Levora?  I heard there was patrols from there tryin ta keep the roads open.”

“No, we’re The Adamantine Brotherhood.  We fight evil wherever we find it.”  Tryst said, repeating the name he insisted on using for their group.

Callindra rolled her eyes, “We aren’t heroes Tryst, that silly name isn’t going to stick.”

Tryst gave her a resigned, resentful look and then noticed the stub of the arrow shaft protruding from her chest.  “By the Powers Callindra, come here at once!  I must remove that arrow before it gets infected.”

She unbuckled the breastplate of her armor and winced at the pain when she removed it.  She was used to getting injured by now, but it didn’t make the pain any less.  The flowers in her hair released a tiny burst of pollen that made her sneeze but somehow it had an anesthetic effect.  Either that or she was going into shock.

“Just pull it out.”  She said through gritted teeth.  “I got lucky, I think one of my ribs stopped it from puncturing a lung, but you can’t push it through.”

Tryst made her sit and frowned.  “I’m going to have to cut these clothes off… at least your underthings.”

Callindra pulled her tunic over her head with effort, wincing again as the arrowhead grated against a rib.  “I go through more breast bands.”  She grumbled, but looked at him and nodded tersely.

He took a small surgeon’s kit from his belt pouch and deftly sliced through the cotton band, exposing the arrow shaft.  A look of surprise registered on his face as he looked to the left.  It was an ancient trick but Callindra fell for it, glancing away in confusion as he pulled the arrow out in a smooth practiced motion.

She gasped in pain, but nodded her thanks.  “Keeps me from tensing the muscles at the wrong time right?”  Callindra looked down at the wound just to one side of her right breast.  The bleeding had already stopped and she could feel the roots of Jorda’s gift slowly pulling the flesh together.

Tryst was staring intently as well, and based on the location of the wound some women might have taken offense.  Callindra knew, however, that he was interested in the healing process.  “I just can’t get over this.  It’s such an amazing thing to see.”

“Yes, well can I get dressed now?”  She asked, smiling at the touch of color on his cheeks, “Those boys are starting to wonder what we’re doing.”

“Of course, just don’t put pressure on it for a bit.”  He said, clearing his throat.  “No seriously strenuous activity for a day if you can help it.”

Callindra nodded, too tired to argue.  She would ignore him as usual, they both knew it, but the routine still felt good.  It was so strange and wonderful to have people who cared enough about her to mother her about her injuries.  Shrugging back into her bloodied, sweat stained tunic, she went back to the horses to get fresh clothes and a drink of water.

One of the boys met her halfway there with a waterskin and a friendly smile.  “I’m Jordan Gild.  Don’t mind pop, he’s just scared… likes ta fall back on old habits when he gets rattled ya know?”

“All too well.”  She said, taking the waterskin from him with a nod of thanks.  She drank deeply and splashed some over her face, feeling it sting where there were still small cuts from the battle.  The Crown always healed the largest wounds first, sometimes it was days until the smaller ones got closed.

“I’m not really offended.”  She said, then gave him a critical look.  “Well honestly I am, but I’m just too tired to worry about it right now.  We’ve been on the road for weeks and I don’t think I’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep that whole time.  How far out of Levora are we anyway?  I want a bath and a real bed.”

“Oh, just about a day an a half.”  He said, “At least as the wagon trundles.  Ya could probably get there a mite sooner travelin by horse.”

She sighed in resignation, taking another drink from the waterskin before handing it back to him.  “I’m sure Tryst will insist on us riding with you, and honestly I will welcome a slower pace until these wounds heal.”

“I ain’t seen anyone take an arrow to the chest an not just fall over dead.”  He said, his wide face shining with honest admiration.  “How do ya keep them flowers fresh anyways?”

Callindra sighed.  It was only for a couple of days, but they were going to be long days if this farm boy spent them all gawking and asking questions.

“Magic.”  She said shortly, “I need to go and change… and maybe take a quick scrub down in that little river over there.  You should see to your beasts.”

“Oh, uh… right.”  He said awkwardly.

“Thanks for the water Jordan.”  She said, and went to find fresh clothes.

The winds danced over hill and field.  They swirled around a city under siege, only holding on by the sheer force of will of thousands of Weavers of Magic.  They tickled the tree tops of the High Forest, twirling leaves into whirling patterns.  The raced over mountain peaks and were drawn to heat and smoke, an oddity in the cold, barren landscape.  Following them back to their source, they traveled down a long chimney.

A Dwarf with arms the size of tree trunks was standing at a small forge in front of a classroom of students.  Although young, they all showed the beards of adulthood, or very close at any rate.  They were old enough to be trusted with the heat of the fire and the soul of the forge.

“You must listen the metal, for it will tell you what it needs.  You must smell the metal, for it will warn you when it is close to damage.  You must watch the metal, for its light speaks of its willingness to change and bond.”  The master smith turned to his apprentice with a twinkle in his eye, “I would recommend waiting to taste the metal until it has cooled.”

One of the Dwarves in the front row of desks was scribbling furiously in a notebook.  When the master stopped by his desk he looked up with a serious expression on his face, obviously waiting for the lecture to continue.

“You can become skilled at metallurgy by research and practice, but one who would be truly gifted must learn to feel her work.  What I attempt to communicate with all my talk of using your senses to interact with the metal is that you need to put aside what you think you know and allow the passion of creation to guide your hands.

“It was this passion of Creation that caused Thraingaar to forge the first of our race.  We were tempered out of the bones of the earth on his Soulforge, and his love is what drives each of our creative impulses.  This is what sets us apart from the other races when it comes to bending what flows through the veins of the earth to our will.”

The youngster had stopped writing and was looking at him with awe on his face.  Ah yes, his name was Durrak.  His father and mother were renowned warriors, but he had shown an interest in learning to use a forge hammer instead of a war hammer and it had been encouraged.  In Dwarven society, being able to make things was always valued over destroying things.  Well no matter who his family was, he wasn’t going to get any preferential treatment.

–

Durrak wiped the sweat from his brow.  The forge was hot and the steel glowed on the anvil but he was distracted.  He was making a weapon for the first time and for some reason he couldn’t focus.  Every stroke of the hammer seemed to bend things the wrong way, the metal was either too hot or too cold.  It would either spark or crack, and eventually he threw the hammer down in exasperation.

“What is it Apprentice?”  Dethen asked, leaning down to inspect the ruins of what had been intended to be a dagger with a mild frown on his face.

“I can’t get it to… it just won’t work Master!”

Dethen looked at his Apprentice’s bench where the variety of small tools, kitchen implements, barrel staves, and other assorted items he had made were neatly arrayed and organized.  If his apprentice was having difficulty with the knife, it certainly wasn’t due to a lack of skill.

“Why don’t we stop for lunch, take some time to clear your head and we’ll look at it after.” Dethen said.  Once Durrak was out of the room he picked up the knife and turned it over in his hands.  To his surprise it appeared the alloys had begun to separate.  He’d never seen anything like it before; it was almost as though the metal was resisting being made into a weapon… or as though the smith who was working the forge somehow didn’t want to make one.

Not that someone could do something like that on purpose; alloys didn’t just break apart in random lines in a piece of hammered metal.  No matter, weapons weren’t for everyone.  Perhaps it would be better to try something more delicate.

–

“You wanted to see us Master Smith?”  The low rumble of Storgar’s voice would have been intimidating even had he not been an important member of the Shieldwall Warriors.  His wife Brenlena cut an equally imposing figure in the dress tabard of the King’s Own.

“Yes, thank you for meeting with me.” He said, organizing the papers on his desk before looking them squarely in the eyes. “Your son Durrak has incredible talent.”

“Wonderful, here I was afraid-”

“But it is a very focused and specific talent.” Dethen said, interrupting Storgar.  “I am convinced that with the proper training he could be the most influential jeweler Farenholm has seen in a thousand years.”

“Jewelry?” Brenlena said incredulously, “My son making Jewelry?”

“Impossible, he has military lineage!” Storgar said, stroking his beard. “There must be some mistake…”

He trailed off as Dethen removed the muslin cover from one of the wooden trays on his desk.  An array of bent and distorted weaponry sat on it like hideous gargoyles.  “Here are his attempts at anything with an edge.”

The silence of Durrak’s parents spoke volumes.  The master smith quickly uncovered the other wooden tray, “But here are his jewelry pieces.  Look at the intricacies of this scrollwork.  His intuition is better than many who have been working with precious metals for years!  I haven’t ever taught an apprentice who has learned to blend multiple metals in less than a moon-”

“Ridiculous!” Brenlena interrupted, “My son will make a Fullblade for me as his Master’s Piece or he shall be removed from your care.”  Dethen opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, “DO I make myself clear?”

“Of course Exalted.” He said, giving her the military title in the hopes that it would diffuse the situation.  “I will make sure his instruction continues as per your initial request.”

The two stood stiffly and stalked out, anger clear on their faces and the set of their shoulders.

“I told you.” Durrak said, “I knew they wouldn’t be interested in any of this.”  He said bitterly as he gestured toward the tray of intricate necklaces and bracelets.  “All they care about is military rank and fighting prowess.”

“Well Apprentice, then I guess we’ll have to work harder on your weapon smithing until you can create something that will pass for a blade.” He said with a wry grin, “And you can make beautiful things when you have the time.”

“Yes sir.  As you say Master.”  There was relief and sadness in Durrak’s voice.  He had so badly wanted his mother and father to understand.  He could never fill their shoes, and even if he could, in five hundred years nobody would remember the name of the warrior who had served so valiantly in combat.  He wanted to leave a legacy behind that would last forever; not just the corpses of a few thousand goblins.