Powerschool12




Chapter 12: The Third


sword




Many years ago, when the art of magic had reached its peak and Sendinior, the most powerful of all magicians, was soon threatened with death, the ruler of the shadowy realm broke out a mighty war. All the creatures of evil came together and stood against the forces of good to finally be the sole rulers of the world. A bitter struggle arose and ended with the death of Sendinior, who was impaled on the Hades rock by the inquisitor of evil, Muragecht. But before the spirit of the magician died, he gathered all his energies in the one sword and made it a symbol of holiness, which let all evil be extinguished with a huge tidal wave of light. But several times later, Muragecht 's soul began to regenerate and bundled all his armies to attack the Hades rock, on which the largest fortress in history had been built to protect the legendary sword.But the Hades rock fell and so Muragecht came to the almighty weapon. Swords of power were forged quickly in the two human states, but even both would not stand a chance against the one perfect sword. To regain the holy weapon, the two kingdoms each sent three princes with swords to search for Muragecht and his magical blade. Their names were: Gisildur, Warior, Savamir, from the Order of the Steel Eagle and Kalikor, Isribus, Badenius, from the Order of the White Dragon.






VERSE 1: BEGINNING


Warior walked a little faster and crouched down the bank. At the edge of the slope stood a group of conifers, which for the time being hid it from the enemy. He was a sturdy man with long, wavy, black hair, brown eyes and a three-day beard. He wore a breastplate with a gray eagle, which had spread its wings, on and below it a mail shirt, steel shoulder pads and gloves and metal boots.He was dressed in a ranger cloak and a long sword, which he carried on his back next to a green backpack. In the distance he could hear the crash of weapons and the fighting cries of the fighting people. The screeching and roaring of shadow beings, servants of darkness, could also be heard. The prince's face was smeared with dirt, sweaty, and testified to the great lack of understanding of the war. A hint of fear also shimmered in him and erupted as soon as he clenched his teeth more tightly and jumped over the little stream that flowed in the direction in which he wanted to go. He had just come from his father's castle and was on the run to a small, remote village in the south. The stone walls towered behind them and were already half hidden by the branches of the tall fir trees when Warior turned around again. The sun had just set, and so it bathed the horizon in red to golden light and let the shadows of the dense trees on his right grow even longer.He had been told to just follow the small river and after two hours he would arrive in the village. The ground was covered with brown, prickly needles and he ran along the edge so as not to get lost in the dark woods. The brief moment of carelessness was enough to draw the attention of one of the enemy warriors to him and he was already drawing the black bow. It was one of the slender gnomes, small slits in the eyes, flat noses with short nostrils and dented skin. He wore a copper helmet with protruding horns on his head and a short chain mail shirt with leather shoulder pads over his chest. His putrid breath rattled lightly and the bowstring whirred as it was released and the blackened arrow pierced through it. It drove itself right in front of the prince into the roughly patterned bark of a pine tree and got stuck there with a small crack. Immediately the knight turned his gaze to the attacker, because he was not allowed to get any help to make everything known about his escape, so he pulled the broad sword from its sheath, twisted it over his head and blasted up the small slope.With a wild scream he was at his opponent and hit him with all his strength, but the gnome backed away in despair, because he had not expected the aggressive action of his victim. The mighty blade chopped up a medium-sized branch on the ground, dug itself into the needle-strewn earth as if through butter, and when it struck a stone, there were not even sparks as it cut it in half. Warior quickly pulled the magic sword out of the underground and rushed again, now with a horizontal blow, at the creature. Again this dodged, but half of its ear was cut off and it was about to scream when the prince sank the point of the sword into its green chest. Less than three seconds later, the man broke away from the fallen enemy and returned his weapon to its ornate case on his armored back. He sprinted as fast as the weight of the armor and the sword would allow him and soon came to a depression in the river bed.The brook splashed down several small waterfalls and then flowed into a blue lake which stretched for about two hundred meters. Dragonflies and fireflies circled above the water and the war cries could only be heard vaguely and the warrior of goodness jumped down some small stones overgrown with moss and fern in order not to have to take a detour into the valley. Now, he could see it between the black tree tops, he made out a small number of huts and houses, from which weak light shone outside. A little look up was enough to see that it was already night and the sun had disappeared behind the mountains. Purposefully he walked on the bank of the lake to the buildings to meet his brothers there, because they had decided to disappear from the castle one after the other in order not to attract so much attention to themselves. He, Warior, was the penultimate and should therefore carry the sword, because the others wanted to secure the way and later Isribus would also come to them, since he, as he himself decided, brought up the rear.When the newcomer opened the wooden door, bright, warm light fell in his eyes and he only blinked a few times before he stepped in completely and let the door close behind him. His first look was at the innkeeper, an old gray man whose face was tanned by wind and weather and who gleefully pushed a straw through his mouth, then he looked at the table at which five warriors in full gear were already sitting. among them were his two brothers, Gisildur and Savamir. He only knew the other two by sight and looked at them urgently and suspiciously.


"Now we're just waiting for Isribus!" Badenius murmured in a low voice and looked at the innkeeper. As if he could have read his mind, he went straight behind the counter and began to pour two beers. Badenius was a stocky fellow with funny eyes, a rigid mouth, and shoulder-length blond hair. Warior sat down with them and leaned close to Gisildur 's ear."Who are these guys?" asked he.


"That one over there is Badenius," whispered Gisildur and nodded his head in his direction, "and that's Kalikor!" Kalikor had an arrogant look and a tough smile. His hair was cut short, dark brown, and his head was propped on the backs of both hands. Warior knew the last one, it was one of his real brothers and saw them almost every day in the courtyard while training or on royal missions like this one today. But these used to be only a day long at most and this time they would definitely need more than three weeks to travel through the eastern countries. Suddenly he noticed that the blonde was staring at him the whole time, smiling somewhat conspiratorially.


"So ... how are you?" he suddenly brought out and looked at Warior. He was the youngest and had always hated such excitement and action, but his father made it clear to him that having served in a real battle once in your life was useful.

"Well!" replied the one with the mighty sword after some hesitation, a grin crossed Badenius face, he half straightened up and held out the hand wrapped in a leather glove to Warior.


"Badenius!" he imagined when the other grabbed his hand and shook it.


"Warior!" he said and curtsied, "I'm happy to meet you!"


“No, no,” denied the other, “the joy is entirely on my side!” Kalikor, who had watched sullenly the whole time, trembled with tension and finally he got up halfway and held out his hand as well.


"Kalikor ..." he stuttered and the one with the sword said with a smile:


"It's an honor for me! You were probably also located as a weapon bearer?" Surprised, the one from the Order of the Dragon nodded again and now didn't seem as arrogant as it was five minutes ago, rather scared. Now Warior also noticed that Kalikor had to be younger than him, even though he knew he was the youngest.Indeed, this man looked strangely young and distraught as if for his age and, unlike his brothers, seemed to take the situation very seriously. Actually it was like that, but everyone else radiated calm and strength and in a brief moment it seemed to Warior as if the one with the hectic movements already knew what to expect. Restlessly, he knocked his fingers on the table top, observed everything and everyone precisely and even read the landlord with a mug came, he read his eyes briefly to the door, to the counter and back again to squint at the angular man. The whole thing happened so quickly that Warior wouldn't be able to tell anything about the color of his eyes if someone asked him about it, but immediately he knew that the probability of receiving such a question was pretty low. So he first took a strong sip, dipping his lips through the head of foam into the yellow liquor. Again he looked at the strange guy and this time he noticed it:

"What are you looking at?" he stuttered, feeling caught.


"Nothing, I ..." he pondered the answer for a moment, "... you seem so disturbed today!"


"Yeah, what about you?" asked Savamir, also one of Warior 's brothers, inquiringly.


"Is it because of Warior?" Badenius intervened questioningly, "When he wasn't here