in front of the altars and prayed for the six princes and their own husbands. Desperate children were running around trying to put out the fires within the city walls. But when suddenly burning arrows were shot over the battlements, the little ones withdrew so as not to burn themselves and only when the bombardment had ended they could rush out and at least continue with their task. -


If they did not manage to wrest the sacred blade from Muragecht, to subdue him and bring peace to the whole country, all would be lost for good.


- Suicides, almost crushed by fear, rushed into the middle of the turmoil and were immediately impaled by the monsters with their spears, lances, swords or pikes. The carnage continued and the armies rocked each other up again and again. -


The fight raged in the desert in front of the Hades rock, where the dark lord was to stay with one sword at a time and from there command and control his subjects from the shadow realm.

- From a hidden Plato between the rocks he crouched and enjoyed the raging battle sinews with sword in hand. The sun had already set and half of the warriors were already dead on the ground, but if their corpses weren't burned or dismembered, they would rise again and throw themselves into the fray all over again. -


Dark smoke rose from the ruins of Hadesfelsenburg as Muragecht drew a dark ring of smoke and shadow around his new fortress.


- With his eyes closed, he showed gestures that commanded the sooty steam its direction. Behind him stood his two assistants, Sowem Dun and Arborak Dun. Once they were great kings, but today they were demons. -


This rock had once been a seething volcano, but now only the shadowy creatures and the other dark figures were digging for the hard rock from which they made their arrowheads and swords.



As soon as Warior disappeared into the woods, Isribus stumbled down the little path to the hut. He too was sweaty, his hair disheveled and his clothes smeared with enemy blood. He had probably also dealt with beings of darkness and the one with the second sword had been unconscious for less than he had thought. Isribus was alerted to the low hum caused by the insects buzzing across the lake, because something was wrong. The light was still burning in the wooden, mud-reinforced building in front of him and he looked around briefly and fervently. The surrounding huts stood empty and the wind gently shook the branches, so that the shadows they cast, as the moon shone lightly on them, seemed like the worst creatures. Further ahead, behind the huts, there was rustling in the bushes, otherwise he heard and saw nothing inconspicuous, except that now and then an owl-like shadow hovered over the trees.To the right of him it was first up a steep slope and then flat into a dense deciduous forest, through which subdued sunlight fell and behind which a small mountain appeared again. But if you looked down the steep edge and through the forest strip, you discovered fields, corners and meadows. No sooner had he allowed himself a glimpse of the beauty of nature than a light mist appeared between the oaks and beeches and was now illuminated by the moon instead of the ground. A ghostly shiver brushed Isribus' s body and inevitably he winced, because it seemed as if another creature had appeared with the fog and had materialized as two red glowing lenses. To his left it went up an earthy slope to a sandy area with only dry bushes and through a gap in a tree, he saw large, conical, pointed rocks. Isribus was the only one of the three brothers from the Order of the White Dragons who had a strong beard and, like all of his three brothers, had light rather than dark hair.He had a noticeably curved nose and wore gray leather armor with red velvet, under it a chain mail and gold decorations on the gloves. In his belt was a morning star, a spiked iron ball on a chain, which was connected to a piece of wood as a handle. Around his shoulders he had hung a blue velvet coat, which was embroidered with mother-of-pearl and looked like the night sky with a thousand stars. Finally he entered the brightly lit dining room, almost trembling from the exertion, and his first glance was on Gisildur, who stood half crouched behind the counter with his sword drawn and looked around anxiously in all directions.


"How do you get in here? Is he gone?" he huffed and Isribus felt his tension.


"Who?" the newcomer tried and soothed him with a short gesture, “There was no one out there!” Slowly he felt what Gisildur was getting at and a slight but inexplicable shiver ran down his spine.

"I have to!" the other hissed at him and stepped restlessly from one leg to the other, "I can no longer hold out here ... if the enemy discovers us we are delivered!" His voice became lighter: "How does the blood get on your clothes Isribus wanted to come closer, but Gisildur snapped at him imperiously:


"Do not come closer!" with one swift movement he held his weapon to the chest of the Order of the Steel.


"Hey, take it easy!" he tried again and raised his hands defensively, "We'll go out there together now! Sure?" After a brief hesitation, Gisildur nodded and Isribus' s head was raised and lowered. Gisildur wore a simple, black linen shirt with a large neckline, a leather belt with iron studs, and gloves made of the same material. Besides the normal sword with the dark hilt and the strange engraving in his hand, he wore a bow on his back and looked almost exactly like his younger brother Warior.His gray eyes drooped, looked uncertain and after a brief moment they moved to leave the house through the back entrance. Again they saw the dead landlord, listened to cautious footsteps in the grass outside the building, Isribus put his finger to his lips and hissed softly at his disturbed friend. He pressed his sword to the simple wooden door and tried to open it with a little nudge. The wood creaked, but otherwise the door swung open quietly, a cold wind blew against them and Isribus got thirsty. Without further ado, he grabbed a beer mug from one of the shelves, it was the host's mug, and drank greedily from it. After he had swallowed about half, he put it down again, wiped his mouth and shoved the other man to hurry up. Outside they looked around for those who had heard the footsteps and came across Savamir, Kalikor and Badenius behind the corner of the house. The last named was, as always, always on the lookout and fearful, because only the three who had met the black had slowly but surely developed into bundles of nerves and the others could not understand why.

"Where's Warior?" Gisildur immediately gushed out with his question, “Isn't he with you?” They looked at each other, startled.


"No he is not, we thought he was still with you!" Savamir defended himself.


"He's still half a boy," said the one whose brother had disappeared, "He can't cope with that so easily! With ordinary gnomes, yes, but not with shadow creatures!"


"Maybe he's already in the forest ..." suggested Badenius almost questioningly. Something was stirring in the bushes behind them.


"So will it be!" Gisildur encouraged himself again, "I told him that we only had to go east first and then see further!"


"Come over!"


Then they walked quickly into the misty forest and right through the oak trees. Strange noises from the forest reached her ear and her step quickened a little. The path was wide, but still it seemed to them as if the fog was crushing them and they kept closer together.Herbs and clammy grass grew at the roots of the surrounding bushes, the trees were damp from the ever-flowing fog and a putrid smell was in the air, but it did not come from a dead person, but from a swamp, which must be very close by here . Suddenly something cracked between the leaves and everyone turned their frozen gaze to the undergrowth, but it didn't do them the favor to crack again, instead the trees began to rustle light and cautious, as if water lines were sweeping through the air . Something moved in the shadow and Gisildur put one hand on his sword.


"Who's there!" he called in a firm voice into the dark, trying to suppress his fear.


"Don't come any closer to me!" an excited voice whispered to them between the bushes and the knight waved his newly lit, brightly blazing torch in the direction from which the voice had reached them. The reddish glow shone on a pale face covered in sweat, the body of the wearer was torn and it was bleeding in several places.

"Warior!" Savamir exclaimed and he swallowed, “How do you look?” One knee was open and a gaping wound could be seen under the torn trousers.


"Come along!" said Gisildur and put his arm around Warior, "The sun will rise soon and we will be safe from enemies that long. They never come out during the day, only at night!" Then they ran back towards the hut during the morning it was already graying and the sun, foggy with wispy clouds, was standing over the slopes and let its rays glide through the veiled layer of haze ...