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The open hall echoed with the sounds of turning paper. The walls and open corridors catching every hint of sound from the smallest creak of the chair Kier Calhen sat at as he shifted, to the soft scratch of the quill against paper and amplified it ten-fold.
The hour was late, he knew. But it didn’t matter. He had gone days without sleep before while questing for knowledge. Some reference or note of the place called Ethra. Today was little different. He had sat at this table pouring over many ancient books and records in the cavernous study hall library. The scholars of the city of Ravenholm had allowed him access to their most secret records after he had defended the city against an attack from a local menace. A three headed dog and his pack.
Calhen had dispatched of them quickly, and earned some gold in the process. It was always the same; slay a monster, get some gold, gain the towns people’s trust, gain access to their records and histories. He had done this many times before and usually was met with little resistance after taking care of whatever troubled the city.
Now here he sat, in the school’s library, a vast wealth of knowledge of the ages. But not vast enough. There didn’t seem to be anything that mentioned that fabled city. And after so many years of looking, for the first time he thought of giving up.
He shook that thought from his head quickly , though and leaned back on his chair, giving a loud creak. He rotated his stiff right arm to get the kinks out then rubbed the sleep from his amethyst eyes, ruffled his dark brown hair and bent over the table once more with a heavy sigh, scratching more notes onto the paper. This was how it had been for a decade, and he would do it for centuries more if he had to.
Hours passed and the twin moons of Eiure dropped low in the sky. The candle, which was his light flickered and fizzled out, having been burnt to its last spark. Finally Calhen decided it was time for bed.
With a loud thump he closed the ancient leather bound tome before him, gathered his notes and stood, the chair again groaning as he moved it, the chair built for a gnome, but sat on by an Elf. He stretched his tired muscles and walked form the building, ducking his nearly six foot tall frame to get through the library’s doorway.
They build this place so cavernous, so large with high ceilings, but the door is not fit for a human, let alone an elf. He mused, with a half smirk. But I cannot fault them. What does a city of mostly gnomes and halflings need with a full sized door?
It was a crisp night out, the spring was coming quickly and the snow had all but melted from the world. The cool night breeze blew through Calhen’s brown hair and he smiled. He loved the spring. The scents, the colours, flowers blooming and grass becoming green again. It was the season of life. It comforted him to know that in a world of so much death, there could still be something beautiful that represented life.

He walked slowly back to the inn where he had made his home for the last three weeks, while studying every tome in the library he could read. Many were in a gnomish script he did not recognize, and neither did most of the residents of the city as it was a dead version of their tongue. There were but a few familiar with it and most were too old or senile to assist Calhen.
Most, but one. While most of the population, though Calhen had helped them greatly over the past few weeks, still looked at him with a measure of distrust, one Calhen had gone so far as to call friend. His name was Seele Carale and he was the local blacksmith. Despite his age Calhen knew he could put most people in their place.
He had met this man his first day in town and he was the only one who seemed to welcome Calhen without so much as a sideways look. He was the one who had asked for his help in disposing of the Cerberus and its ilk and he was the one who had told Calhen of the library.
He had also provided him with several rough translations of texts that were written in ‘the old tongue’ according to Carale. Most of which were not helpful to Calhen, but several were in fact useful to the old gnome, describing many ways to alloy metals for strength and weight. Ways that were lost through the ages. Because of the find on Calhen’s part Carale had made him two magnificent scabbards of leather and silver for his sister-swords Nova and Eclipse.
He now tapped the swords that hung at his hips. They were both single edged straight blades with a rapier-style handle. The one on his left had the hilt of blue-white in the shape of a pair of angelic wings. One wing swept downwards and guarded the hand while the other pointed outward to form a guard. The sword on his right was the polar opposite with a hilt of leathery draconic wings of black and red in the same fashion as the other.
The hilts, while beautiful, were not the most amazing thing on these swords however. The blades themselves had been a common interest of scholar and blacksmith alike because they were not made from metal, but from crystal. A crystal no one knew. The dark blade, Eclipse, had a blade of a deep, almost black purple while Nova had a blade of a bright sapphire colour. No one knew how these blades had been forged with such perfect balance, nor how the blades themselves could have been made. They appeared as if a normal steel bade, with no faces or etches. They were smooth and the edges razor sharp.
These were Kier Calhen’s only companions on his long journey.
He reached the inn without even realizing it, having been lost in thought, where he slowly climbed the steps. He did not even bother unfastening his black traveling cloak nor remove his leather armor or other clothing. Even his knee length leather boots remained on his feet. He was too exhausted, mentally, to bother.
He drifted off to sleep, his legs hanging over the edge of the gnome-sized bed, with the thought in his head that tomorrow…
Tomorrow, I will find it.

Tomorrow came, and the sunlight shining through an open crack in the window shades in his room warmed his face. Slowly Calhen’s Amethyst eyes flicked open to find a short man with a big nose, thinning white hair and gold framed glasses staring at him.
Calhen rose and felt as though he had been punched by an ogre. His head ached, not having nearly enough sleep.
“Seele” He said groggily in his gravely voice “What is it?”
The gnome shook his head, his whispy hair’s comb-over flicking back and forth as he did. “It’s time to go lad” he said. Calhen could hear the gravity of his words. He knew that there was little love for him within these city walls. The little-people of Ravenholm were very xenophobic. They let travelers within the walls for a few nights, but Calhen had overstayed that welcome by weeks, and he knew.
He sighed and nodded, rising from the bed and hitting his head on the ceiling with a thump. It was far too early and he had far too little sleep for this.
“I understand my friend. I thank you for your kindness but I know the others do not wish me here long.” He said while gathering his pack and making sure his blades were tight around his waist. He didn’t think he’d need them, but he could hear a commotion outside. He looked toward the window and poked an eye out the opening in the shades. Outside nearly the entire population of Ravenholm was gathered.
“They sent me in to make sure ye were gone when ye woke. They’ve provided ya this as their final thank you” Seele said holding up a small bag of provisions. Some water, some bread and dried meat. It would last him a few days at best and he did not know where he could go from here.
Seeing the thought in his eyes, the knowing gnome answered for him. “To the west there be a city of humans. A scholarly place with wizards and teachers. They may have what you’re lookin fer even though you couldn’t find it here. It’s about five days by foot and you’ll have to cross a river before then. Just go due west from the city gate, follow the dirt road and you’ll come to a bridge. It’s the only way to cross the river unless ye be going days out of yer way.
Calhen nodded his silent thanks, and clasped the old gnome’s shoulder with warmth. “Thank you my friend. You’ve done many things for me in the last few weeks, you’ve helped me greatly and you’ve shown me a rare kindness I rarely see for someone like me. You’re a true friend Seele Carale.”
With that, Calhen spun on his heel and ducked through the low door. He stumbled down the steps still in a post-sleep stupor and dropped a few gold on the counter of the inn, nodding his thanks to the innkeeper, who stood agape at the money. The price of a room was well under this, but Calhen was greatful that he had received any room at all in this place.
He stepped out into the light of day and winced as the sunlight burnt his eyes. When he emerged from the inn the shouts started.
“Get ye out!” “Yer done here!” and so on.
Calhen simply sighed and shook his head, held up his hands in a sign of peace and began walking toward the town’s gate. As he neared he looked back over his shoulder to see Seele standing at the front of the crowd. He rose his hand in a wave, a final sign of friendship as the town’s gates shut Calhen out with a slam.
He threw a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun and looked toward the west, easily spotting the well worn dirt road the old man had spoken of, and he started off, dragging his heels and kicking up dust before him.
One more town, one more departure, one friend and little to show for it.
He rested his hands on his hilts, tilted his head back toward the blue sky and smirked.
Maybe not today…

Calhen could hear the clash of steel on steel some distance away. He was in no hurry to run into more trouble, and thought of giving the battle a wide berth. This, however, would take him days away from his destination as he would have to find a shallow spot to cross the river that lay just ahead. The only bridge that crossed it for miles lay in the direction of the commotion.
With a heavy sigh he adjusted the pack sling over his shoulder and continued head on, shaking his head as he walked. He knew not why his luck was so terrible these past weeks but it mattered little to him at that moment. He just wanted to walk on. Maybe he could slip by unnoticed.
He soon came upon the carnage. Corpses littered the vale across the river. The source; a single maid clad in Valkyrie plate, swinning a massive warhammer to-and-fro, crushing the skulls of the unlucky band of thieves and bandits that happened to be in its path.
Calhen could only stand agape at the scene, but he couldn’t help but notice the young woman looked a little lost. Crazed; blood thirsty, but lost and confused. This didn’t stop her from hammering away at the poor brittle bones of those who stood against her with sword and leather.
He thought of coming to the defense, but he did not know which was the aggressor in this instance, whether the woman was the cause of it or she was the one being robbed. He thought in his head it would not be a sad day in the world to be rid of a few more bandits, but he learned long ago to not stick his nose where it did not belong.
Sadly that lesson did not stick very long.
From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of light. A sunshaft catching the tip of an arrow but it was too late. The arrow flew straight for the woman’s neck. But by some stroke of luck she moved at the last instant. Had she heard it? Sensed it? It did not matter.
Even though the arrow missed she fell to a knee and clutched her chest.
That was enough for Calhen.
He dropped his pack and drew a throwing knife from inside his cloak. In a flash it was at the bandit archer’s throat and he drew no more breath.
Before the knife had even reached its target his blades were already in his hands, the twinblades of light and dark, Nova and Eclipse. With them in hand he was on the offensive, moving through the bodies of the fallen, adding more to the pile, cutting a swath toward the white-and-pink-haired maiden in the center of the fray.
It seemed like an eternity to him. He didn’t know why he cared for this woman’s well-being. For all he knew she was the one who started this all. All he knew is he had to reach her. All he knew is she was on the ground and was not moving, other than to deflect the blows from the dozen around her with a massive shield above her head.
“Where did that come from?!” He said aloud, but to himself. He knew she was not carrying it while wielding that massive warhammer. That lay a few feet away from her but she did not reach for it. Her left hand still clutched her chest.
Then they noticed his presence. A few broke off the assault of the woman and met him head on. They did not last long. They were untrained, unorganized and undisciplined. No match for someone who lived by the blade. Or died by it.

One fell when Nova slipped underneath his ribs and punctured his lungs and heart. His death was nearly immediate. The other was not so lucky, receiving a quick slash to the throat. He gasped for breath and fell to his knees, warm blood flowing from the wound and from his mouth.
Two more fell to Calhen’s blade and he was now within distance to reach the girl. The remaining bandits who attacked her turned to defend against Calhen’s assault, but now the Valkyrie was up.
She flattened one with her shield, crushing his skull with it, and then the shield itself folded into the armor on her wrist, and became the guard on her forearm. Calhen looked with utter amazement and nearly faltered with his footing, causing him to lose a bit of balance and almost become impaled on one of the bandit’s copper blades. He quickly turned himself sideways to avoid it but not escaping it completely. He gained a scrape on his arm, but the bandit received far worse, with a sword sticking out of his eye socket.
Then she had her hammer again. Swinging away at the last few who stood in eye shot.
Calhen finished off the three that stood against him quite easily by twisting around their swords and finding a weak point. Which was not hard with this bad of rogues.
When it was over and the bodies were piled high, they breathed heavily in unison. They surveyed the scene. Two dozen or more dead at a quick count.
After what seemed an eternity they turned toward one another. Then their eyes met. Calhen’s amethyst to her… Well. They were interesting, Calhen mused in his mind. From iris outward they coloured a deep rose hue to green to a bright blue. He’d never seen anything like it in all his years of traveling and he could not explain their odd colouring. Nor her hair’s pink and white.
But she was quite beautiful, he noticed. Her skin was a dark olive colour and she stood at a height nearing his, though just a bit taller it seemed. She carried herself with a strength he hadn’t seen in many. Though she breathed heavily and was obviously a little exhausted she did not slouch. He knew this one was proud.
He smirked at her and was considering saying something witty, but the words stuck in his throat.
Mostly because he had a giant hammer flying sideways at his head before he could.
Calhen darted backwards as quickly as his legs would take him. The mighty warhammer flew just in front of his face. He felt the wind from it and knew he did not wish to be hit by this. Its head was half flat and half spiked. He did not know which side was more deadly, figuring getting hit by either would end him in a single stroke.
She did not relent. The hammer swung back and forth, overhead and under and Calhen could do nothing to gain any ground and could only dodge each attack. He knew it was useless to try to turn the hammer away with his blades. This thing was heavy and the shock from blocking it would likely break his arms. He needed to get it away from her if he stood any chance.
She swung for what seemed like an eternity, never faltering, never tiring. He on the other hand was quickly growing weary. He didn’t know how long he could keep up this game of dodging backwards, nearly tripping over the bodies of the fallen Rogues.
With each dodge his eyes darted from side to side trying to find some solution. Some way to put some distance between them but he could not see anything. He needed an edge.
Slowly, it seemed, he worked his way out of the bodies of the fallen and into open ground, but this only gave her more zeal. She swing furiously. He could see the anger, the rage, but still that hint of fear and confusion in her eyes. But he shook the through from his head and concentrated on Surviving.

“Why are you doing this?! I helped you!” He shouted, in spite of his attempted survival. Knowing full well his claims would fall on deaf ears.
“I asked for no help!” She shreaked at him in return, still swining away.
But then something happened. Calhen’s keen eyes noted a drop of sweat slide down her hand and inside her clenched fist; onto the handle of the hammer. Then there was a small slip in her swing. A hesitation, and he took the advantage. With the slip of the hammer there was no strength behind the swing. Kier brought Nova in a sideways arc and slapped her hand that was assaulted by the sweat beead with the flat of his blade, causing a sting to shoot up her arm. With the other blade he hooked the head of the hammer and used her own momentum against her, flinging it sideways away from her. It planted itself in the ground some twenty feet away.
She looked, stunned at the fact that she no longer had her weapon and screamed with primal rage.
The moment of respite didn’t last long for Calhen, for she was on him in an instant. He barely had time to put away his swords before her fist met his jaw and flung him sideways.
He felt as though he had just been kicked by a mule, and his vision blurred slightly. A moment later he was back on his feet and, this time, dodging punches.
But she was faster than he realized without that hammer. Almost too fast. She connected twice more, this time on his chest. He felt a rib crack beneath his leather tunic and let out a little yelp of pain. Before she could do any more damage he grabbed her wrists and turned them aside, sending her in to a spin away from him. He tried to put some distance between them, but there was no distance to be had. As quickly as he turned her away she was back around and on his heels. She connected once more with his shoulder.
With the next punch he was ready though. She through her arm forward and Calhen grabbed it. Then, again, using her own momentum he fell backward to the ground and threw her from him with his legs. And fly she did, about thirty feet, landing on her side and rolling another five in the dirt.
He had his chance now to rid himself of that cursed weapon of hers that could likely crush stone as easy as it did bone.
He ran toward the silver hammer and reached out a hand to pick it up, fully intending to grab it while running, and to keep running to the river to dispose of it at its deepest point. This, however did not happen.
He grabbed the hammer, but the hammer halted his forward motion and nearly dislocated his shoulder. This thing was heavy. He stood with eyes wide, wondering just how this woman was able to wield this thing so mercilessly. He could not lift it and his strength was not easily surpassed.
He stopped and quickly looked up, noting she was just picking herself up on the ground. He didn’t have much time.
Again he attempted to pick up the hammer, but could barely move it from the ground. He was able to get it up about a foot, but no further.
Thinking quickly he grabbed the hammer by its pommel and lifted with all his might. HE could feel the muscles ripple beneath his tunic and nearly rip with the strain, but he had no choice. This thing was too dangerous to be in her reach. He lifted and struggled and got it off the ground a bit, and then he twirled.
He did three complete circles, gaining speed each time, the hammer gaining height, spinning on his heels keeping himself steady with one foot. Then he let go. He didn’t care where the thing went at that point.
He stopped, slightly dizzy, and watched its path toward thelittle grove of trees a few hundred feet away. The speed he had built up had carried the heavy weapon far.
Then, a loud CRACK, as it hit the trunk of one of the trees on the edge of the grove, and snapped the tree in two.
He smirked, smugly and looked toward the Valkyrie who was giving him so much troubles. He could see the rage boiling within her, but there was something else. Amazement, he thought. She, too, had watched the path of the hammer.
And all that rage that built up within her came pouring out. On him, of course.
She rushed at him once more with another primal scream filled with rage. But she was finally faltering. She let her rage get the better of her. Calhen easily turned her own weight against her, using his speed. He flung her wrists one way and spiraled around her back the other. With a quick kick to the back of the knees she was on the ground. But before she was, Calhen had his swords in his hands. When she hit the ground, the twins hit her shoulders, crossed in front of her breast.
They both breathed heavily and stood in silence For what seemed an age and a half.
She spoke first “Kill me then.”
Calhen smirked again, but she could not see this. He responded in a flat tone. “Do you yield?”
He was met with silence. This did not work for him, so he slightly tighetened the scissor cross of his swords, drawing a hint of blood from her slender neck.
He could almost hear the cat like growl in her throat. “…………I yield.”
He grinned, sheathed his blades, and sat beside her. He tossed her a sideways glance and grinned again, warmth in his eyes. “Thanks for the workout. It was fun.”
She looked at him with a measure of wonder, in a long moment of silence, then muttered under her breath, with a menacing smile that only spelled danger “Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat”
Kier cocked an eyebrow, not understanding the words she spoke, but he knew fully well the intent behind them.