Nichtmar

[Sir Nichtmar]

I felt I needed to iron out my back story, mostly for myself, but I hope you enjoy.

Nichtmar

The surf washed over the beach with a calming roar, the seagulls sung their song, and the sound of small feet pattered with the native boy taunting a crab with a stick and the wind wrapped itself around it all. Further along the shore his father and other men were spear fishing. There was little sound that came from the men, the occasional sound of the spear cutting through the water and maybe the pat on the back from a good catch. These were the only sounds that could be heard on the peaceful beach of Torranmar.

The sound of wood bowing and creaking cried out from the sea. The boy’s eyes snapped to it, seeking the origin of the sound. It came from around the bend. He walked closer, the sound grew, he began to run and he knew he would see it soon. He turned the bend, no longer in site of his father. His eyes rushed with a site he’d never seen. A Viking ship rested about fifty yards from shore, small boats were beaching along the coast, full of armed men.

“Boy!” A man was walking towards the boy.

“Boy! What land is this?” Closer the man came.

The boy was too freighted to move or speak.

“Boy, I’m talking to…”

The man noticed he was no human boy. His eyes focused on the pointed ears, followed along the cheek to the chin and then saw the small fangs coming out from the boy’s lower lip.

He whispers to himself, “What has the Queen of Hel released?”

The man towered over the boy and with a firm strike from his bracer he sent the boy to the ground.

The boy was left to his blackness.

The boy’s vision fluttered as he felt his way through the forest. He heard women screaming, men roaring, children crying, metal against wood and flesh. In the distance he heard the voices of his father and Lyrimar, the Chieftain of their tribe. They spoke the ogre tongue that not many would understand.

“Lyri, take them to the Ran tribe, they will have better protection,” yelled the boy’s father.

“Come, Cad!”

“No I must find Nicht!

Lryimar led what was left of the elders, women and children away. The Mar tribe are fisherman, thin leather and cloth did little to protect them. Although the ogres were larger and stronger, they were not trained and their wooden clubs were no match for Viking steel.

Cadmar stood wearing a torn leather vest and leather skirt. He was covered in ogre and human blood and a gash on his arm was bleeding out. He was about to head back to the fight, but Nichtmar reached out and cried for his father.

“Father!”

Cadmar turned to see his son.

“Nicht!”

He ran to his son kneeling and embracing him. He took him by his shoulders, looking him over.

“Are you ok, boy?”

Nichtmar nodded.

“Where’s mother?”

Cadmar bowed his head for a moment then looked back up to Nichtmar.

“She’s gone.”

Nichtmar began to cry.

“NO!” He held the boy’s shoulders firm.

“Survive now, mourn later! Get up!”

As the boy raised his head, an axe blade drove into the shoulder of his father. His father’s blood sprayed over him, he could taste it. His father fell over revealing the long haired Viking. He laughed with his men.

“Still alive little one?”

Nichtmar leaped up and drove his fangs into the neck of the Viking. The man let out a roar and tossed the boy to the ground. He raised his axe to kill the boy, but before it fell a bamboo spear whistled through the air and found its mark in the man’s arm. He let out another roar. The Ran tribe had come. The Ran fighters were organized. They wore leather armor and were trained. They drove them back. The Vikings retreated to their ship, but the damage had been done.

Years would pass till Nichtmar became a young man. He gave up his tribe’s tradition of fishing and he spent his time in the forest learning how to fight with the Ran. Spear and club had become his tools and the many battles with the Tor would be his lessons. The Tor are berserker ogres, painted red, they hide in the volcanic mountains. During Nichtmar’s years of training a man called Dhugal would visit the island and share knowledge of the ways of man. Nichtmar would learn some of man’s words to prepare him for when he left. Keeran, chieftain of the Ran, watched over Nichtmar as he grew. The two of them stood at the beach where it all began. It was a clear day.

“You don’t have to leave, Nichtmar.”

“But I do…I feel as if I was always meant to leave.”

“I understand.”

Keeran handed him the ore and Nichtmar began to walk the canoe into the water. He turns back.

“Thanks for everything.”

Nichtmar got in the boat and rode out to sea.


to be continued

[Sir Nichtmar]

Black Heart

The morning birds sing as Nichtmar gathers his gear. He throws his pack and club on his back, grabs his spear and begins to walk through the unknown forest. He heads south, he believes, along a great mountain looking for an easy trail to pass through. The sun is setting by the time he begins trekking through the mountains. He hears two voices heading towards him, he ducks behind some bushes. Peeking out, he sees two vile looking orcs wearing tattered leather armor. They are speaking a tongue Nichtmar doesn’t understand. He notices their Ogre like fangs. He rubs his own noticing the similarity. He decides to try to communicate.

Nichtmar comes out from the bushes and the orcs instantly ready their blades.

“Hel…Hello I Nichtmar,” he gestures to himself.

The orcs look at each other then Nichtmar. They speak in their language.

“Village?” Nichtmar searches.

Suddenly one orc swings and Nichtmar barely blocks it with the spear. Nichtmar flips the spear holding it down in his left hand and he yanks his club off his back with his right, parrying an incoming thrust from the other orc. They attack together, Nichtmar struggles. His wooden club is chipping away his spear is shattered by another strike. Then the sound of steel piercing flesh, he’s reminded of when his father was killed in front of him. The blood sprays and paints the leaves. Nichtmar drops to his knees and falls to the earth, the orc rips the blade out of his chest. They steal his pack and their orcish laughs echo in his mind as they disappear.

The smell of pine wakes Nichtmar, he’s never smelled it before, and he finds it to be very comforting. The cool crisp air shivers his skin. He feels numbness over his body. He puts his hand to his chest and he feels a warm stickiness, like syrup. He looks at his hand, barely focusing. He’s sees the blood and fear begins to take its grip. Wait, what is that sound he thinks? The sound of steps on dry leaves approaches. He turns his head to the sound. The first thing he notices is the silver hair. It is as bright as the moon. The ghost moves in closer and kneels down over him. The ghosts face is pale, he lowers his hood. Pointy ears Nichtmar notices.

“Mani marte?” the specter speaks.

Nichtmar shakes his head, he doesn’t understand.

The ghost closes his eyes waving his hand over Nichtmar’s chest.

“You are dying stranger.”

“Help, please,” begs Nichtmar.

“Uuma dela.”

“I can save you, but you will be in my debt. Do you understand?”

Like a blind fool Nichtmar agrees, unknowing of the darkness that exists in this world.

The ghost puts his hand on the chest of Nichtmar. Violet and white magic beams from his chest, lighting up the night. Nichtmar feels a burn searing into his heart. Nichtmar begins to awake. It is morning. A voice rings in his head. “You are mine.” Shaking his head he scrambles to his feet, feeling his chest. The wound is gone, all but a blood stained shirt remains. His pack is gone, his spear broken. He picks up his club, it is whittled and cracked. He tosses it over his shoulder and turns to see a short black handled sword glistening in the sun. A voice echoes in his mind, “follow the sword.” He grabs the sword and feels empowered by it. Something is different in him, but he doesn’t understand it. His senses seem keener than before. He takes a deep breath and starts running in the direction the sword pointed.

Nichtmar is walking along nibbling berries from a branch he found not too far back. He hears the familiar language of the Orcs. He kneels to the ledge over seeing a small orc camp. He’s learned his lesson he will bypass these creatures. Behind him he hears a loud whoosh and he feels the air push passed him. He turns to see a full grown Dragon fly just over him. He’s shocked by the site, he’s never seen a dragon before, he gets dizzy and falls back off the ledge crashing into a couple orcs, the neck of one cracks. The other one pushes Nichtmar off. Nichtmar instantly grabs his new steel and readies himself. He’s outnumbered and surrounded. Nichtmar makes the first move slicing at ones gut. He barely dodges a blow in the process. He spins around and is met with a fist that rings his chin, he turns into a gut kick, and just before an axe blade cleaves his head a spear flies into the chest of it’s barer. Several riders sweep the camp, steel clangs, flesh rips, and in seconds it is calm again. Men on horseback dawning black leather scale surround Nichtmar. One speaks.

“Lost are we?”

He nods.

“You speak common?”

“Little.”

“This area is not safe for you. Be glad not more of Grish’nak’s forces dwell here.”

Nichtmar confused, “Village?”

“Come we’ll take you to “village” stranger.”


The black riders tread towards Mittelmarch.


“Ah common, we were on its tail!”


“There are plenty more dragons out there for us to hunt, Militis.”

[Sir Nichtmar]

New Home

It’s been a month since Nichtmar arrived in Mittelmarch. Nichtmar and Zaron spar within the wooden walls of Mittelmarch. Zaron is a half-elf, warrior, Dragoon, and a guardian of Mittelmarch. Zaron presses his attack, Nichtmar trips over his own feet, falling on his butt. Zaron chuckles and give him an arm up.

“Your footwork stinks.”

“I know,” Nichtmar frustrated.

“Quit crossing your feet. Look!”

Zaron flows in his stance showing the proper way to move during battle. They spar for hours till the sun begins to set. They share stories and ale in the Silvermoon Tavern. They part ways and Nichtmar goes upstairs to his room. Right now they are letting him stay in the tavern, in service as a guard to Mittelmarch. He climbs out the window and lies on the roof. The sky is clear and the stars are bright.

“Beautiful night.”

Nichtmar startled he sits up and nearly slides off the roof.

“Who are you?!”

Someone stands in the shadow, his face hidden, and his voice smooth like silk.

“Calm yourself, I am not an enemy. You could say I am also a guard of Mittelmarch.”

“What you mean,” asks Nichtmar?

“Your shift is during the day, mine the night.”

“You are assassin?”

“I am Isen, my friend.”

Nichtmar stands.

“I am Nichtmar.”

“Your nature seems good, but there is something dark within you. I sensed it a month ago and I now find that you are the source. Can you explain this?”

“It is night, you are dark too.”

“No my friend, see I am knowledgeable of things unnatural. Magic if you will?”

“Hmm? I do not know.”

Isen lets out a small sigh, “I’ll take your word for now friend, but know that I will be keeping an eye on you.”

Many months go by as Nichtmar experiences battle after battle. They travel the mist to fight enemies he’s never seen. The blood of orcs, Romans, dark elves, demons, wizards and many other enemies spill on the battlefield, and as the blood paints the grass Nichtmar finds himself enjoying it. He battles alongside the Dragoons and his respect for them begins to grow. They are few, but the wake they leave in battle is incredible.

During the lull between battles he learned to read and write from the Elf Taos. Also a Dragoon, Taos once was a high ranking officer of the Elvin Army, before the mist brought him here. He was fast and deadly. He and Zaron had shared many adventures fighting off sometimes ten times their number. Nichtmar also learned the history of the Land Between from Alric and Taos in many long conversations. Alric was the chieftain, you could say, of Mittelmarch. He had the ability to rally the troops and get them organized. Nichtmar strived to learn as much as possible.

Its fall now, the battles have ended and during the season Nichtmar became a Black Legion of the Dragoons, their first rank. He wears his black tabard and white cross on his sash to signify this. He spends some time in the Northern Steppes, the main camp of the Legion of the Dragoons, and he learns from the Warlords Bishop and Militis. Brothers in war these two with black dragon scaled armor are an army among themselves. The Dragoons are mercenaries of good and they police the Iron Mountains for murderous dragons. For the trial of Dragoon, Nichtmar must hunt down a baby dragon.


He prepares.

[Sir Nichtmar]

Dragon’s Nest

There was a chill that flowed through the Iron Mountains. Nichtmar had been hunting and searching for a baby dragon. During his scavenging he put together some armor out of scrap leather. It wasn’t pretty but it would work. He carries a javelin, a red shield that he picked up from a battle and his black handled qama that was gifted to him by the white haired shadow that brought him back from death. He traveled lightly, some water and a few rations to tide him over if he couldn’t find food. The mountains were vast, and he barely penetrated them when he found below on a ledge a baby dragon playing in its nest. It seemed almost cute, but he reminded himself of the monster it would become. He figured he’d jump down and stab it in the back. So he prepares to jump. He leaps down and the dragon looks up, cries, and steps out of the way. Nichtmar crashes into the nest. It probably saved him from breaking a leg. Large pieces of dead grass and branches are wrapped around him, beneath him human bones, th e meat picked off. he fights his way to his feet. Suddenly he’s rammed and he leaves the ground. The young dragon had charged head first sending Nichtmar into the wall of the mountain. He shakes his head. Glad it wasn’t the ledge side. The dragon cries. Nichtmar realizes he needs to shut it up before mama gets there. His shield his near the ledge. His sword he doesn’t see. It must’ve gone over. “Ah” his javelin is sticking out of the nest. He darts for it. Yanking it out he slashes at the dragon to back it off of him and they begin to circle each other. The dragon rears up. Nichtmar takes the opening and slams the javelin into its heart. It screams out in pain and finally falls. It whimpers. Nichtmar’s eye forms a tear as he walks to it. He grabs the head and breaks its neck.

“I am sorry…”

Nichtmar throws his shield on his back looking to the dead dragon child. The wind hides the sound of the mother hovering behind him. He feels the air start to flow past him. He knows…

An explosion of fire strikes the shield with such force it fires Nichtmar crashing on to his stomach, the shields sizzles, the edges are orange from the heat. He climbs to his feet to see the mother standing above him. With no delay he runs for the ledge and leaps out to the top a tall pine. It bends so fast he can’t grip it. He crashes into another tree, then another, then another, eventually he hits the earth. He sees his sword lying in front of him and he passes out.

He has no idea how long it has been when he starts to wake. His head bandaged his gear in the corner a room. The window he looks out reminds him of the church in Mittelmarch. He hears the voice of a man.

“That’s the quickest way down a mountain I suppose, but I would use rope next time.”

Man chuckles at his own joke. Nichtmar smiles and turns to the voice. He turns seeing a white cross on a black tabard. Looks up to see a grey bearded older man.

“Call me Grey beard, everyone else does. You took quite a knock to the head. We brought you to Aethenu, our home. Fury wasn’t too happy about it either.”

A young voice comes in, “I don’t like carrying orcs!”

“I’m an ogre…”

“Shite, it talks!”

Another young voice, “Maybe it’s someone’s pet.”

Nichtmar shocked.

Greybeard wisely interjects, “He’s a new Dragoon obviously. He was hunting a dragon. How’d it go?”

Nichtmar shares his story and a few days pass and his new friends of Aethenu send him off with a pack of fresh rations, some water, and a jar of white paint.

[Sir Nichtmar]

The Rescue

I wake up again with blood on my hands and armor, chained to the cave floor somewhere deep in the Iron Mountains. Baethor, my dwarvish friend, and I fell into a chasm during a gnoll attack on a mining excavation for the new fortress. Baethor was able to get away but I did not. Since then I’ve been used by Telemachus to do unholy deeds. Every time I return, visions of killing as if I was not in my body, this time even worse. I see visions of Mittelmarchers being slain by my hand. Damn you Grish’nak…Telemachus…wait I see Oron, Zaron & many other familiar faces…

Oh my god, they killed him, Grish’nak is dead, the final blow by Oron himself. I hold on to the vision, it gives me hope. I hear arguing in the distance, it is Telemachus and his lead guard K’nar Bloodhoof, a Minotaur.

I hear the slamming of K’nar’s hoof, “Lord, what will we do, Grish’nak is dead who will lead us?”

Telemachus attempts to comfort K’nar, “Calm yourself, Bloodhoof, we shall meet with the other leaders and decide what our next step will be. Many uruks have been lost, there’s no chance of another assault now, guile will be our tactic, but first we meet with the others. Send out riders to the other generals and let them know we will meet…”

“Damnit” The conversation fades away as the voices distance themselves from me. I think to myself trying to remember how I got here, I never can remember. The caverns under the Iron Mountains stretch from Aethenu in the north and all the way south to Fangorn Forest. It is also a tomb to ancient enemies.

* * *

I can feel the winter chill fill the caverns, it must have been a few months since the death of Grish’nak. They haven’t used me since then, for that I am glad. They don’t seem to need me anymore. They barely feed me, I feel time will kill me before any blade.

Barely conscious I hear the echoing of yelling and the clanking of swords, I think nothing of it, until I hear the familiar tongue of a dwarf and a commanding voice that could not be mistaken. I hear an arrow fly through the air and the gurgling pierce as it hits its mark.
Telemachus commands, “Bloodhoof, keep them busy while I prepare a portal, when I give the word follow me through!”

“Yes, sir!” replies Bloodhoof.

“Militis, we’ll keep these guys busy see if you can find Nichtmar!” commands Bishop.

With a quick nod, Militis takes off, uses the dwarf to springboard over the uruks he lands behind them and sends an arrow through the back of an enemy. The uruk squeals as it falls to the ground. Bishop shield bashes an uruk so hard the teeth fly from its mouth. Baethor is duel wielding axes spins and hacks and the legs and guts of the uruks.

“HE’S HERE,” yells Militis from around corner.

“I told ya twas the right place,” says Baethor.

Militis slices through the chain that binds me to the floor.

“Hey you ready to get out of here?” sarcasticly says Milits.

“I don’t know…cough… I kinda like the view.” I said.

We share a laugh as Militis picks me up. As we turn we’re met with shoulder charge that slams us to the ground, Militis’s sword and bow slide across the cave floor. Standing about 8 feet over us was the minotaur, Bloodhoof, he carried a large war hammer that was stained with blood and it worn from many battles I am sure. Baethor slammed his axe into the back of his leg and K’nar responded with a mule kick. I next see Baethor soar through the open cavern. K’nar spins and tests Bishop’s shield with a slamming blow that ringed through the caves. The sound wakes Militis up, he gets to me suddenly.

“Take this,” commands Militis.

While Bishop dodges the slamming blows from K’nar, Militis pours liquid from a vile down my throat. It tastes horrible but suddenly I feel rejuvenated, I scurry to my feet. I grab the biggest rock I can lift and launch it at K’nars head. It hits just under his left horn, he growls and turns toward us. Militis fires an arrow into the minotaur’s chest. Everyone pauses for a moment to see if that killed him.

“Nice shot, lad!” Baethor says.

K’nar lets out a devilish laugh, “Ha ha haaaa, fools.”

He snaps the arrow and stands ready to fight. Militis drops his bow and pulls out his second sword and spins them around showing he’s ready to go. Bishop grabs his back up sword and tosses it to me and then stands poised, his sword shimmering in the flame lit cavern. Baethor dusts him self off sheathes his two axes and yanks his battleaxe off his back. We stand circling the behemoth waiting for the first to move. Now I’ve only heard that K’nar was amazing in a field battle I’ve yet to see him in action. K’nar feints towards me, and then slams the pommel into the face of Bishop, knocking him off guard. With the grace of an elf K’nar spins his hammer around sweeping my feet from under me. Militis leeps over the swing, the head of the hammer makes its way towards Baethor. Baethor hooks the hammer with his axe. Militis takes advantage and strikes at the beast, K’nar lowers his head and parries with one of his horns and hits Militis with a left hook. Bishop slams the bottom edge of his shield on the shaft of the hammer and it yanks from K’nar’s hand. Bishop spins through and slices K’nar’s back.

“K’nar, come!” demands Telemachus from far down the path, a glowing light shines.

“TELEMACHUS, we can’t let him get away,” I roar as I get up and run towards him.

K’nar turns and head butts Bishop, sidekicks Militis, grabs Baethor with one hand and hurls him into my back, we go down. K’nar grabs his hammer and takes off past us and dives into the fading light.

* * *

I woke up comfortable in the newly built Mittelmarch. Isen was in meditation in a chair next to me. From the window I could see Mittelmarch’s new glory.

“The people have done a wonderful thing here,” said Isen.

“It’s more beautiful that I imagined.”

I turned from the window. “Isen...how did I get here?”

“I’m sure you are confused. Telemachus has cursed you. Militis, Bishop & Baethor brought you back and you have been unconscious since. Telemachus is trying to invade your mind and turn you too evil. I have been helping you defend against it. I have created a seal to protect you from the curse, but it’s only temporary. Eventually we’ll have to find a way to remove it, but at the moment I do not know how.”

“Thank you my friend, it’ll work for now. We’ve got work to do.”

[Sir Nichtmar]

Redemption

Nichtmar would’ve been a peaceful ogre fisherman on the island of Torranmar if it wasn’t for the murder of his family. The face of the Viking that killed them still haunts his dreams. When he came to the Land Between he found death almost as soon as he got there, Orcs left him for dead, but Telemachus used a dark curse to keep him alive. The curse fed Nichtmar’s dark feelings. It led him to be controlled by Telemachus and fight his own friends during the war with Grish’nak. Lord Isen Ehtar temporarily sealed the curse. It didn’t last.

Sir Nichtmar and Lord Sir Richter rode in a land that Nichtmar had never seen before. It was beautiful. The green of the trees and grass, the blue of the sky, the flowers… the colors seemed more vivid here. It’s as if he had been brought to some far off paradise. Nichtmar noticed there were no roads or signs of any village nearby. They rode for weeks. Richter didn’t say a word. They would stop for rest. Richter was prepared with plenty of rations. Nichtmar dared not speak either. The last thing Richter said to Nichtmar before they seemed to teleport here was.

“You have fallen from the light. You will be given a second chance. If you fail…I’ll kill you myself.”

These words troubled Nichtmar. He was nervous. He had really messed up this time. He feared he’d never return to Mittelmarch. Nichtmar tried to enjoy the wonder of this place, but he kept thinking about his friends. He also thought about almost killing Baethor. He regretted his actions. He regretted a lot of his actions.

Finally they arrived at a forest. From the center of the top of the trees there was a silver glow. Nichtmar was trembling. They rode deep into the forest. The glow grew brighter. When they came upon the source it was nearly blinding. Nichtmar’s eyes adjusted. It was a silver tree. Its beauty was like nothing else. It seemed to breathe as it twisted with the wind. Richter dismounted and Nichtmar followed his lead.

“Kneel,” Richter ordered.

They both knelt before the silver tree.

The tree spoke with a deep voice that pierced their minds as well. It was strange, Nichtmar thought to himself. There was a feeling of comfort, but fear as well.

“Rise Sir Richter, what brings you back to the Silvertree?”

Richter rose, Nichtmar remained bowed.

“My Lord, you all ready to know.”

“True, but I like to hear your voices.”

“As you wish, My Lord. Sir Nichtmar here is taken by darkness. I beg for your help.”

“Hmm.”

Nichtmar could feel the gaze of Silvertree. It’s seemed to grasp him.

“Rise!” Silvertree’s voice was angry.

Nichtmar rose, his eye’s down.

“Look at me!” Silvertree ordered.

Nichtmar looked up at Silvertree. He couldn’t see it but it felt as if something grabbed his Knight’s chain and pulled him towards the tree.

“You are tainted. You have brought shame to the title of Knight.”

Nichtmar felt the release. Silvertree spoke to Richter.

“He must go to the Reflecting Pool.”

Nichtmar felt the gaze on him again.

“Alone!” Silvertree commanded.

“Take him to the entrance of the cave.”

Later that evening…

They stood at the base of a mountain. Nichtmar took in the night sky for a moment before Richter warned him of the cave.

“In there you will find darkness, you must get through it and look into the reflecting pool. It won’t be easy.”

Nichtmar nodded. Richter looked concerned. Nichtmar put a hand on Richter’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Nichtmar said and headed into the sliver that was cut out of the mountain.

* * *

Nichtmar walked down and old spiraling stair case. His torch lit the creaky steps. He came to a gap in the stairs. He’d have to jump. He readied and leapt for the other side. His feet hit and smashed through. He let go of the torch to grab on. The torch fell to the steps below. The dry old wood ignited. The fire began to spread along the stairs.

“Oh, not good,” Nichtmar said out loud to himself.

The step he held on to began to crack.

“Very not good!”

Snap!

The wood left the wall and so did Nichtmar. He crashed through the steps below. Sparks flew. He crashed on the next level down of steps. It held, for now. He saw the rest of the stairs catching a blaze above him. He looked down. If he jumped he wouldn’t survive. He started running down the stairs as fiery planks bounced off him and the stairs around him. One more level and he’d be ok, but then the wood cried out with a crackle and he collapsed to the bottom. He hit the floor. Dazed for a second he looked up. It was all coming down quick. He jumped into an opening when the whole staircase crashed down at him. He got up and looked at the blazing wreckage. “Not leaving that way.” He made himself another torch and continued down the path.

Ahead was a large columned room. Cages hung with skeletons in them. He continued through the large room. He came up to a strange shadow in the room. Nothing was casting it, he couldn’t figure it out. Then suddenly something grabbed his leg. A shadowy hand reached out of the shadow and grabbed his leg. It burned, he kicked free. It didn’t leave any mark. Then more hands came out of the shadow. Shadowy figures pulled themselves out of the shadow hole.

“Join us,” they whispered as they stalked Nichtmar.

Then one jumped at him. Nichtmar hit the ground, it slashed at him. Again no mark, but the pain was real. Nichtmar punched at it, but his fist went through it doing nothing. Another grabbed his leg pulling him. Nichtmar flipped over and tried to crawl away. One jumped and impaled himself Nichtmar’s sword. It screamed and exploded into dust. Nichtmar scurried away and yanked the sword off his belt. The shadows began to swarm. Nichtmar got to his feet and swiped through what seemed to be the gut of the monster. Once again it exploded into dust. Another shadow jumped on his back. Another came at his front. Nichtmar lopped off its arm. The arm turned to dust, but the armless shadow kept coming. He stabbed the one on his back through the head. Dust exploded over him. He swung taking out two more and then the armed one launched towards him. Nichtmar knelt and cut it in half, head to groin. The shadow hole vanished.

Nichtmar came to a vast chasm. Natural stone pillars reached up at random heights from the black to create multiple crossing pathways. Some he would have to jump to. Nichtmar’s concern was which ones will hold him. A shadow hole grew beneath him. He fell in, but grabbed the ledge just in time. He pulled himself out. The shadow grew much bigger than the last one.

“This can’t be good.”

Two large shadowy arms about 10 feet long pulled its body out of the hole. The eye’s glowed red. It stood about 30 feet. It hunched over and let out a roar. Nichtmar took off jumping from pillar to pillar. Suddenly it hit him, sending him flying and crashing to one of landings. He slid off from the momentum. The large shadow saw him go over. It came across the chasm using the bigger pillars. It leaned over supporting itself by putting a hand on another pillar. It peeked over to see Nichtmar gripping the side with his finger tips. It snatched him off the wall laughing. It opened its mouth. Nichtmar flexed to break the grip but couldn’t. The pillar that held the giants hand began to give way. It dropped Nichtmar back on top of the pillar and grabbed on to the same pillar. It struggled to steady itself. Nichtmar took his sword and stabbed its hand. It roared and a dusty hole formed where Nichtmar had stabbed. The monster thrashed to find something sturdy to grab on to, but it started pushing pillars over and the one Nichtmar was on started to sway. Nichtmar ran for the other side of the chasm. Pillars fell, just missing him, causing other pillars to fall. The whole cave shook. He made it across as the pillar he leapt from hit the wall and slid across and collapsed. He had to look. He turned to see the shadow monster descend into the black.

Nichtmar traveled through winding cavernous halls that doubled back and crisscrossed. Along the way he’d fight more waves of these shadow creatures. He then came to an open room with a reservoir.

“The Reflecting Pool…” he said with relief.

He walked down the path to a large flat ledge that over looked the clear water. It was still. No current at all. He knelt down. It looked so cool and refreshing. He thought, “What now?” He looked at his reflection. He noticed something wasn’t right. His reflection was something else. What he could become. It was an evil image of himself. He touched his own face then reached for the reflection. As soon as his finger disturbed the water he felt a pain inside himself. He tensed and convulsed. From his mouth spewed a black liquid. It hit the water swirling around. It was all out of him. Nichtmar knelt there watching the black liquid move through the water, it was accumulating. Then it started to form something growing on the surface of the water. Nichtmar stood up. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade. It was forming a man like shape as it walked across the water towards him. Nichtmar stepped back. It turned solid as it stepped on the ledge. It was the reflection he saw, now standing right in front of him.

A dark voice spoke, “You are weak.”

It roared as it slashed at Nichtmar. Nichtmar felt the steel knick his face as he back pedaled out of the way. He felt his blood trickle from his brow. “This time it’s real,” he thought. He gripped his sword with two hands swung. The reflection blocked and head butted Nichtmar. Nichtmar stunned barely able to block the next shot at his side. Nichtmar brought his sword back around and hacked to split its head, but it brought its sword up, a hand at each end, above its head, blocking the shot. Nichtmar held the sword against his, and then slid it down stabbing it in the gut. Still holding it’s sword at both ends it slammed it down on the hilt of Nichtmar’s sword breaking his grip. It roared as it pulled out Nichtmar’s sword. It swung wildly at Nichtmar. Nichtmar dodging the best he could. Slash! Stab! Slash! Nichtmar was getting ripped up. This wouldn’t last. He had to take a chance. He saw an opening and took it. He charged and tackled his dark self. It hit him with the hilt of his own blade. Nichtmar elbowed it in the temple. Nichtmar reached for a large rock ahead of them. He grabbed it, lifted it high with both hands and slammed it on to its face. It stopped moving.

Nichtmar stood over it as the body turned to dust. Nichtmar felt different. There was no hate in him anymore and no anger, just peace. He picked up his sword. He looked at it like he hadn’t seen it in years. He realized this war with himself was over.

[Sir Nichtmar]

Not So Welcome Return

Cathan had agreed to help Nichtmar use the Azoth Gate to travel to Torranmar, also known as the Ogre Island. The Azoth Gate opened a red glowing tear allowing them to be there in seconds instead of days. They arrived on the beach. Nichtmar was surprised there were no Mar tribe fishing, but the boats were gone. He didn’t think much of it and thanked Cathan for the ride and the demon left through the gate and would be back in 5 days for him.

The ogre knight wearing his blue and black tabard and silver belt explored down the trail. He saw someone sprawled on the ground up ahead. He hurried to them. The body had been there for awhile. It was a Mar tribe boy. Nichtmar headed to the Mar camp. More of the same bodies, children and adult, slaughtered. He knelt next to one. Not sword cuts, not humans. Clubs…

“Tor…” Nichtmar growled.

The Tor tribe is monstrous. They give ogres a bad name. Normally painted in red, they cause trouble with the other tribes. The wisdom of the Ran tribe normally kept them in check, but something has happened.

It was dark when he arrived at the Ran camp. The once bamboo walls were burned away. Huddles of ogres sat around several fires. Nichtmar walked by them and the ogres stared and pointed. Some laughed at him. Their chief sat upon a thrown of boulders. The ogre knight stood before him. The Chief was a very large ogre, much bigger than Nichtmar. The Warlord lifted his hand and the ogres silenced.

He spoke with a growl to his voice.

“Ha ha, what you be? You ogre, but dress like man!”

Firmly said, “I am Sir Nichtmar, where is my tribe and where is the Ran?”

The ogres erupted. One was about to attack Nichtmar.

“HOLD!!!” The warlord commanded and the ogres obeyed.

“I am Haktor, strongest ogre, killer of Ran…” He grinned. “And Killer of Mar!”

Nichtmar felt that familiar rage stab at him, but he held it in. “So none are alive?”

“Some join Tor, some die, some run.”

He took his blood stained club from his back, “Most die.”

An ogre grabbed his shoulder. Without a thought Nichtmar’s elbow flew back and the ogre’s nose exploded. Blood sprayed. Then in one motion he unsheathed his sword and swung for Haktor. Hak moved and as others were about to charge. He halted them.

“The man ogre challenges me!”

The ogres open up a ring around them.

“Hak strongest!” He held his club in the air.

He swings for Nichtmar’s head, Nichtmar ducks and stabs. Hak grabs the blade and pulls his face to his fist. He lets go of the sword as and hits the ground. The warlord has both weapons and looms over him. Nichtmar erupts and charges. Hak slams both pommels into his back. Hak stabs, he rolls out of the way and staggers to his feet. His side in pain, he circles to buy time.

“You weak like human. Not ogre anymore.”

Nichtmar knew the depth of what he said and it was true. He had grown soft in terms of an ogre. He remembered Rook’s words, “You do better when you’re aggressive.” Maybe this is just in his nature. He grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it into the Chieftain’s eyes and rushed under the weapons and tackled him to ground. He put a knee on one arm, a hand on the other and punched and punched. Hak let go of his club and shoved Nichtmar off. As he got up, Nichtmar planted a boot into his knee. Hak roared and stumbled back. Nichtmar grabbed the club with both hands and crushed his face. Hak dropped to a knee.

“Ha ha haa,” A dark bloody laugh came from Haktor.

“Got heart, but now I finish.”

Nichtmar swung again. Haktor rose and grinned and took the blow to his chest. He grabbed Nichtmar by the throat and lifted him in the air. Feet kicking and the air leaving him he dropped the club. His eyes began to roll back and he passes out. Haktor tosses him to the ground.

“Hak strongest!”

All the ogres roared with celebration. A couple ogres grabbed Nichtmar by his hands and feet and tossed him into the nearby river. Haktor grabbed Nichtmar’s sword and stabbed it into the top of his stone throne. He turned and raised his arms as the tribe cheered.

Torranmar sits about a day’s canoe ride from the southeast coast of the Land Between. The ocean roars and lighting cracks across the sky. A rip of red light opens out of nowhere along the beach. A goblin dressed in a blue and white tabard, red belt and black armor steps through. After him a grizzly hobbit with a black tabard and lorica armor follows. Then the demon Cathan comes through.

“Well there you go boys.” Says Cathan as he is about to go back through the gate. The hobbit known as Rune grabs him by the belt and pulls him back.

“Nope, you’re stayin’. We may need a quick exit and you’re it pal.”

Cathan hesitantly agrees and follows them in to the thick jungle.

Later…

The trio sneaks up to the Tor Camp. Gron notices Nichtmar’s sword and points silently letting the other two know. Concern comes over their faces as they huddle under cover.

Elsewhere…

Nichtmar’s eyes flutter as he stretches and wakes. He’s in a hut and his wounds have been tended to. He suddenly realizes what happened and that he should be dead. He rushes outside. The sun was bright to his eyes.

“Calm, boy,” said an older voice in the Ogre tongue.

Nichtmar turned to the voice. He stared for a moment at the elder in his robes.

“I know you. You’re an elder of the Mar tribe.”

“Hmph, was. I Kalimar. Alone here in the old wood I am. Easy to get lost. Tor not seem to like scary dark jungle.” He smiles. “Why you dress like man, Nichtmar?”

“You know me?”

“Knew father for long time, too bad man kill him. Now you look like them. Hmmph!”

“They aren’t all evil. Some saved me.”

“Maybe, but never to be trusted young one. You will see…”

“You have problem Nichtmar, you must go reclaim tribe. Save Mar. Only way, kill Haktor.”

“He defeated me already. I cannot win.”

“Stop fighting like man. Fight like ogre. Remember the land is your weapon. Here take my club”

He hands him an old hardened bamboo club. The divots and blood stains show the many battles it had seen.

“Now go, be ogre!”

“That’s it?! You don’t have something else for me?”

“Hmmph, too long you been with human. Become strong like the land! Go, go, go!” He nudged him along.

Nichtmar paused for a moment looking at the club.

PUNCH!!!

Kalimar hit Nichtmar sending him on his butt. Blood trickled from his nose.

Nichtmar got up growling in the elders face. “Why’d you do that?!”

He grabs Nichtmar by the shoulders, “Stop thinking, boy! Human teach you think too much. Act! Do what must be done, no hesitate! Follow this…” He points to his heart. “…and this!” He points to his gut.

Later…

Nichtmar marched for the Tor camp. On the way he ran into Rune, Gron and Cathan.

“What are you doing here?” asks Nichtmar.

Cathan, “It’s been two weeks now…you said…”

“Oh yeah…well I have to go kill an ogre.”

Gron, “We should get out of here. There’s a ton of ‘em over there.”

“That’s we’re I’m headed. You guys should go home though.”

Rune, “Yeah right, we’re coming with you.”

“We are?” asked Cathan.

“Yeah.”

“Well come on. Keep the rest busy while I take care of the big one.”

The Ogre, the hobbit, the demon and the goblin dove into battle with the ogres. The ground shook with their giant weapons hitting mostly dirt and tree. Some ogres switched allegiance. Those who were Mar and Ran fought against the Tor. From the trees came more ogres and the battle became confusing. A blood bath ensued. When ogres raged, they became blinded with fury and attacked anything. Nichtmar fought his way to Haktor. They fought like animals. Both spilled each other’s blood with club, rock and fist. No words were heard just the impact of meat being pounded and bodies slammed. Nichtmar wasn’t recognizable as a knight. There was no code or no vow to the light. It was pure instinct and rage that empowered him. This was when he was most dangerous and unpredictable. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He may be a knight, but he is also an ogre. He can’t hide from it anymore.

He hurled Haktor through the thrown and Sir Richter’s old sword sprung loose and it fell into the hands of Sir Nichtmar, the Ogre. Haktor began to rise and as he did Nichtmar gripped the sword with two hands and beheaded the chieftain. His head spun and plopped onto the ground. The Tor immediately surrendered and bowed to Nichtmar. Nichtmar lifted the head.

“Nichtmar is the strongest!”

The culture of the Tor was that the strongest led and they would obey him to their deaths or until someone challenged and killed him. He looked over all the ogres standing there waiting for him to command.

He had them build funeral pyres for all of the fallen ogres from all of the tribes. The fires burned all night as all the ogres chanted their song of mourning. The three from Mittelmarch waited for Nichtmar to tell them what to do.

“Rune, you and Gron will go back to Mittelmarch and see that the soldiers are properly trained and that Mittelmarch is well protected.”

“What about you?” Rune asked.

“I will stay until the tribes can come to a truce.”

And so Cathan took them home and Nichtmar remained to create a council between the tribes and would help them find a way to work together in peace.

[Sir Nichtmar]

The Day Telemachus Died

I write this today because I feel part of me is slipping away.

When I was young and dumb I left Torranmar to find my parent’s killer. When I came to the mainland I found something else. I was jumped by orcs and left for dead. With the stab wound to my chest I surely would have died, but a dark wizard came and saved my life. What I didn’t know at the time was that he shared part of his essence with me.

I lived. I went to Mittelmarch and joined the guard. Eventually the dark wizard entered my life again as an enemy. Telemachus was his name and he used our bond to turn me against my friends. He was stopped. Then years later he re-surfaced and melded with a demon. He was destroyed by Lady Elestirne, Banith, and the sacrifice of Tatsumura.

That day he died, I felt it. It was like being stripped of your blankets on a cold night. My care for things changed. Hesitation to kill an enemy no longer exists. History and information is bleeding from my brain. Memories once etched in stone are now filled with nothing. I am Dragoon, I am Knight, I am Ogre, I am Nichtmar, this I know.