It was the fall of the year of 2091 N.A. but only educated people knew this, and those were scarce. There was peace on the Duke Harnslow's land. The harvest was plentiful and every man, woman and child had work to do. Duke's land was placed in the lower valley of Froas, not too far from the Sea, and seasons were pleasant here. Verdant green plains, bristling with greenery, and old forests, heavy with old leaves, covered the land. Wide blue waters of Froas flowed and bubbled to the west, while snow covered peaks of the Thunder Mountain rose in the east. The entire valley of mighty Froas was beset with many prosperous villages, and many new castles have been built in the previous years. The valley had peace, and it was a long one too, and only the old men could now remember the dark times, when orc raids were all too frequent, and brigands burned and ruled. For many summers now nothing was heard from the frozen wastes in the north, beyond the Misty Mountains, where evil dwelled, and no bandit chief dared take residence while strong lords held sway. All was well, and the weather was fair.

Duke Harnslow was an old noble, whose line went back for three hundred years, when his ancestor was a captain in the army that defeated an orc invasion, and was thus awarded by people and appointed their lord protector. Since then, his line had ruled over and protected that piece of land between strong river of Froas and low hills, containing several villages and a small trading town. Duke's family castle was built on a small hill near the edge of the northern forest, and it was connected with good roads to every community in his territory. Duke was a good and kind ruler, and people liked him. Foodstuffs were plentiful in the duchy, and trade over the river and with the dwarven mines in the east brought prosperity to his land. The castle was inhabited by Duke's men-at-arms, and also by many servants that helped with the chores. Duke employed many craftsmen and artisans as well, and his castle was always lively and full of song. Duke's right hand was Eyral, an old sage that was also advisor to the Duke's esteemed father, and had been in the castle longer then anyone could remember. Duke had one son, Tertan, already of age, an heir to the family fortune and its lands.

The life at the Duke's castle was simple but happy. Duke ruled his land with a strong but just hand, a hand that the orcs and bandits feared much more that his title. The population count in Duke's land went to no less than fourteen thousand souls. His nearest neighbour was Baron Harkon on the other side of the river Froas flowing on his western border. The forest to the northern border was under protection of the old ranger, Master Manetor, who lived in its southeastern part, called Olmwood. Manetor was a close friend of Eyral's, and Eyral visited him frequently in the warmer part of the year. People of the duchy were hardy, but simple. They were not educated, but their folklore and songs were rich and many, and stories were passed from one generation to the next by talented bards who sung of heroes and villains, maidens and monsters.

Year began in the middle of the winter, when the sun was lowest in the sky, and the day was shortest. A great fire would be lit at that day, and at dawn, a ceremony celebrating Hare, the goddess of plants and animals, would be performed. As the weather got warmer, and grass started to grow green again, crops would be sowed into the ground, and the cattle would get its first fresh feed since winter started. The life would start to awaken again, and on the day when day and night are of equal length, the victory of Hare over Kerteh, god of death, cold, and darkness, would be celebrated with a great feast, during which only food harvested or caught since the beginning of the year could be used. Then the warm season would begin. Work would be hard in the fields during these few months, for crops and livestock needed to be guarded against different troubles of the world to succeed and be able to feed the people. On the day of midsummer's eve, a great fire would be made in honor of Hare, and then the harvest would begin. Taxes were collected right after harvest, and early fall was the time to go on trading trips, and renew the supplies of cloth, candles, fix metal tools, repair anything else that needed repairing. As the months dragged into winter, activity would slowly move to indoor spaces, and late fall, with all its rains, and cold, brisk mornings, was the time to enjoy the traveling companies of entertainers. Two moons before winter solstice there was another important holiday to be celebrated - the Day of the Dead. On this day people would go to graveyards and pay their respect to the dead, as well as honor Kerteh. His official rule would begin at the end of the day, at sunset, when a symbolical torch would be put out, and the dead branch would be set into the ground. From then on to the winter solstice, all activity would stop and villages would seem to die out, as the winter's storms pummeled on the locked doors and barred windows. Finally, shortest day of the year would come again, and the cycle would begin anew.

Earlier that late summer, Tertan had gone on a successful trading expedition with the dwarven kingdom in the east. A young squire named Alfred, Eyralús foster child, accompanied him on this journey. He was an orphan, for his parents were killed in an bandit attack, and when the Duke's men passed by the burned village, the old sage, Duke's advisor, Eyral, felt sorry for the baby crying in the ruins and took it with him. He took the baby with him and raised him as his own son. After that, Alfred grew as his son in everything if not in blood. From his childhood he learned swordplay, arts of war, but also, under the Eyral's careful guidance, legends and magical lore, for Eyral was a sage and a scholar. As springs passed, one by one, Alfred grew more and more. He learned diligently, and spent long times studying old tomes, and helping Eyral mix strange and magical ingredients. Alfred's mind accepted legends, stories, magical symbols, difficult runes and strange rituals with equal ease with which it accepted physical skills, or the need to eat, sleep, or work. His body matched his mind. He was always good in running, jumping, tracking, and other skills that required dexterity and strength. From his youth he visited the forests around his home often, for they offered his peace and solitude that he needed at times. He learned all he could about the forest and made friends with almost every creature there. His lore was getting to be very deep and knowledgeable, and Eyral was sure that one day this boy would follow his steps, and become a sage and a wizard. He was growing up to become a fine young man, mayhap the future captain of the guard, or maybe even Duke's Chamberlain.

Alfred's education was very thorough, because Eyral noticed the boy's brightness and his desire to know everything. That is how Alfred learned how to read and write letters, and read some histories and learned ballads. However, not all of this education was knowledge without use, for the old sage knew some magic too, and it is in this subject that the young student showed most interest. Eyral taught him how to concentrate his magical energies to detect magic, and some simple defense spells. Alfred had had much fun with the spell that clouded the opponentús mind, the beffudle spell; he used it when sparing with other squires much to their discomfort. He was not bad with the sword, but preferred not to use the shield. This came from the teachings of an old captain of the guard, who saw many things, but only in Alfred did he see the willingness to learn the hard skill of attacking and defending without a shield. By age of seventeen, Alfred had mastered swordplay so much that he frequently sparred even with Duke himself, who was a great swordsman.

Things being as such, no one was particularly surprised when, in the late summer, Alfred was appointed as a squire to accompany Tertan into the dwarven mines. This was Alfred's first excursion into the world, and was still entranced by the wonders he saw, great dwarven city underground, elven patrols in the forest and the sea, blue and deep at the same time. The excursions led him a few days of riding time east into a great dwarven city in their kingdom of Akkliseoth, called Akkramseth, where his company exchanged their goods, and haggled over the price of fabled dwarven weapons and metal tools. After a day's trading, they would go off into taverns, and there Alfred soaked life, first-hand, from people who went out and experienced it. They stayed in Akkliseoth for a week, and achieved a good price for their foodstuffs and cloth. Laden with dwarven metal, Tertan decided to make a small detour and stop at an elven trading place south of Akkliseoth to buy some fine cloth for his father, and some books and scrolls for Eyral. Elves had a trading space in a clearing outside their woods, and at a place such as that merchants from afar would come together and attempt to sell off their wares. Usually even the most unusual of items would find their buyer here, and for this reason many of the things on sale were very strange, magical, or from lands far off. Alfred was amazed at the beauty of elven cloths, and the strange faces of elves, and spent some time inside a tent with books and scrolls. There he met the old storekeeper, who helped him pick books for his master, Eyral. Both he and Tertan were very satisfied with the outcome of the trading, and their voyage home was swift and easy. They rode back on their horses, and their bags were filled with different things they bought on this journey. Alfred did a lot of thinking. His life so far has been good, but now that he saw a little of the world, he wished to see more. Adventure, new people, new lands, and perhaps great riches awaited him beyond the borders of his homeland. He decided to talk with Eyral about leaving for apprenticeship in some wizard's guild in one of the bigger cities in the fabled East as soon as he came home.

When Alfred and Tertan arrived at the castle, it was just afore noon, and since Alfred was famished, he went into the hall to eat. There he had a warm welcome from Eyral, as Tertan was welcomed by his father. Two young men then brought the presents they purchased for their elders, and both the Duke the Eyral were pleased with their gifts. As Tertan related the account of their successful trading trip to Duke, Alfred filled his stomach with various delicacies, and felt good about himself. He had already forgotten about wanting to talk to Eyral about his adventure in the world. When he finished his meal, he went to his room to arrange the things he bought on the trip. Once he was finished, he decided to seek a little solace in the nearby woods, as he usually did when he was excited. Early afternoon, and Alfred went out of the Duke's castle to check the traps he had set in the nearby woods before his trading trip. When he came out, the gate closed behind him and so did the easy life of the past.

After Alfred left the hall to go to his room, a tired messenger on a steamy gelding rode in into the castle. Partly because the man was tired, and partly because most of the servants were busy serving the noon-meal, the message did not reach the Duke till after he had eaten. After he read it, his face got a worried look, and he called for his manservant. He then instructed him to invite Eyral and the captain of the guard into his study for a conference. Servant hurried to his errand, while Duke kept going over the message, reading it over and over. When Eyral and the captain arrived, Duke closed the door behind them. Duke showed them the letter sent out from Count Jertron, whose land lay higher in the valley of Froas, about forty leagues north from here. Letter was a plea for help - Jertron's castle was besieged by an army of orcs, and he was begging anyone to come out and help him, for he couldn't hold out for long. He also mentioned the size of the orcish army - their number was about four thousand, or more. Duke worriedly turned to his advisors, and said:

-The messenger left Count Jertron's castle two days ago. I fear it is too late to send any help. We should prepare our own defenses. I am afraid that our own castle cannot stand an attack from such an army. What should we do, besides the obvious?

Captain of the guard answered quickly:

-We should prepare the castle, my lord. All capable men should be armed as soon as possible, and supplies readied for a siege. We should also send out messengers to our villages and to town to prepare all able-bodied to come to castle, to help us out. I tell you, my liege, no orc army will dare attack us in full strength once we are ready and behind these walls!

Eyral looked worriedly through the window, and slowly said:

-I am afraid we are too late to summon your men, my lord. Look! The smoke comes from the north. Villages are burning, and orcs are already on their way. I dare say they will be here ere nightfall.

Duke jumped to the window and saw for himself.

-Aye, Eyral, you are right. We have but one choice. Go, now, and prepare the men for the siege. Open the armory and arm everybody to the best of your ability! Raise the gate, and fill the moat. Send out messengers to dwarves in the east and Baron Harkon across the river. I will prepare myself for battle.

Captain of the guard bowed, and hurried out to prepare the castle for defense. Eyral stayed for another moment, looking through the window, and then left for his study, to prepare magical gears and spells to aid in the defense of the castle.

Duke summoned his son, and then they both put on their battle armor, and readied their weapons. Outside, captain organized the men-at-arms, while the servants armed themselves. Big cauldrons of boiling oil were readied and elevated to the battlements to help in the defense, as were great stones, piled up in the corners of the courtyard. Every man and woman took up a weapon of some sort, and all supplies and valuables were put together and locked up in the dungeons. As the sun slowly sank towards the western horizon, a huge cloud of darkness began to appear coming out of the bend of the river. As the cloud approached, castle guards started recognizing figures, moving quickly over the plain, holding torches, burning and destroying everything in their path.

Small and gnarled, but wide and strong, they moved with an awkard gait that neverthenless proved very fast in the open terrain around the castle. Wearing scraps of armor pillaged from their victims, wielding wicked axes and scimitars, and holding sharp spears, their eyes gleamed with a fell light as they approached the castle. Orcs were upon them, and dark fear clutched the hearts of everyone within the walls. As the first lines of orcs approached, a shower of arrows fell upon them. Many fell, never to rise again. But more came in their place. Soon they were on the other side of the moat, throwing rocks and spears at the defenders. Their engineers set up ladders, and portable bridges, and orcs used them to get across. Defenders now released the rocks, and boiling oil, and set many ladders and bridges aflame. But even as orcs caught in the firestorm screamed and died their fiery ends, new ones took their place, and scaled the walls. Line upon line of fell creatures pushed from below, attempting to climb the smooth outer wall, getting higher and higher with each attempt. The defenders fought valiantly, throwing orcs over the wall, hacking and slashing, and selling their lives very dearly, but the orcs kept coming. Eyral pummeled one fireball after another into the orcs from the high tower, but it was all in vain. Slowly defenders gave in to the enemy, and dark shapes wielding torches poured into the courtyard of the castle over the breached walls. Here they opened the main gate, and lowered the drawbridge, allowing more of their number to come in. The remaining men took their last stand in the northeast corner, and fought like heroes. Duke himself, and Tertan his son, proved their worthiness as warriors, and hacked orcs on no end. But alas, battle was but lost. Slowly warriors were hacked down, one by one, anthe Duke was the last one to go, bleeding from many wounds, with several arrow-shafts down his lungs. Even so, he still had the strength to hack his foeús head off. He then fell, and the orcs screamed their victory. Then they proceeded to plunder the castle, while Eyral, unnoticed by anyone, watched from the high tower, as they set the castle aflame. His heart was breaking at the sight, but soon he could no longer stand at the top of the tower, for fire had already taken the wall, and he had to come down, lest he burn in the fire himself. The orcs were already retreating, having plundered the dead, and most of their number had left the burning castle, when one traitorous arrow flew in from the wall, and struck Eyral in the chest. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. One orc that was standing high at the opposite wall, put down his bow. The foe that shot that arrow laughed at his shot, and then, thinking his enemy dead, turned his back on Eyral. Eyral slowly regained his control, and turned, seeing the orc turn his back on him. With the last of his strength, he threw his dagger, and aided it with his magic, right to the orc. As the blade bit into orc's back, and as the creature fell to ground with a high-pitched scream, consciousness left Eyral's body and he collapsed to the ground.

Alfred had walked out for almost four hours. The catch was good, and he already had a dozen rabbits to bring to castle for storing in the larder, and he was already thinking about returning, when he heard the horn sounding alarm. He hurried back with dread in his heart, but he was now far in the woods, and the way back was long and laborious. When Alfred arrived back, the castle was naught but a bonfire almost out. His heart was full of wrath, and he could only see the dead bodies of the only people he knew as family. He hurried through the ruins, and in the corner of northeastern tower, he found the dying sage, who cared for him as a father would, and raised Alfred since he was a child.

-Is that you, Alfred?

Alfred only nodded and tried to move Eyral to a more comfortable position. Pale and coughing, Eyral said:

- Do not bother with this old bag of bones, I am already halfway to the underworld. But listen: your destiny is greater than squiring for Duke's son. Now all that is gone, gone with the evil fate that brought the Duke's end. You must journey Alfred, journey to the Ebening.

-Ebening, master? But that is the valley of Froas' origin.

-Yes, yes, so it is. Go to my workroom in the dungeons now. Take this key - and with those words Eyral gave Alfred a small red key - and open the oaken chest in the left cupboard. There you will find my spellbook and a medallion. Take both and come back to me, but hurry!

Another coughing spell ran on the old sage, but he only motioned Alfred to the dungeons. Alfred reluctantly went toward the dungeons' entrance. It was partly buried in ruin, but he managed to pass through. It was dark there, but Alfred knew his way. In the small workroom he lit a candle in the candlestand and opened the left cupboard. There stood a small oaken chest whose lock perfectly fitted the small red key. Alfred opened the chest, and lo!, inside lay his master's spellbook, and a small medallion, wrought in mithril, with a strange glowing ruby in it's center. He took both. He felt a strange tingling sensation when he touched the medallion, but he shrugged it off. He went back as fast as he could, and it was no more than a quarter of an hour since he left his master when he came back. Eyral looked much paler, but motioned Alfred to come closer.

-Master, I am back. Now, maybe I can help you with some healing spells from your spellbook.

-No, Alfred, there is no time for that. I feel I am too far gone to be brought back. But listen. You must take the medallion to Ebening and there hand it to Kras, a friend of mine. He is a sage also, and will know what to do with it. Take my spellbook also, it is now rightfully yours. With this you become the master. Use it wisely. Now be off and may the luck be with you!

With this old sage grew silent. Alfred was already in despair, when his master suddenly opened his eyes and said, in a hoarse voice:

-Your destiny lies ahead lad. Don't disappoint me and my teachings!

And he closed his eyes for the last time. For some time the only sound that was heard was Alfred's cry, small and weak in harsh wilderness that surrounded him now. He knew that with the Duke killed and the castle burned down, the villages for several dozen leagues around had no defense from the orcs and even while he stands here, orcs are raiding them, killing men, women and children, and burning homes. The death of Eyral broke something in him, for he was like a father to this young squire, gentle and kind. He was lost in thought, seeing only his sorrow and loss. He knew that from here to the river there wouldn't be a village left, untouched by the orcs, so he didn't hope of finding a home to stay in for tonight, or for any night several weeks from now. Things were grim indeed, and everything that was good and just was destroyed within a few short hours. Alfred pondered the destiny that left him alive while everyone else had died. Then he rose, and swore on the still smoking remains of the castle he called home:

-I shall not rest until I find the orcs that did this, and from this moment on I am in a perpetual blood feud with their kind! Let their blood run dry and let they choke on their cruelty and evil!

In a strange, distanced mood, he buried his old master and marked his grave with a small cairn of stones. The corpses of others were hacked and mutilated, and Alfred didn't know what to do with them. Finally, he piled them together in the corner where they fell, and built a stone cairn over their remains. After that, he went to the fallen orcs and carefully searched their bodies for clan marks. Such marks are known to represent the tribe or orcish clan the wearers belong to, and indeed, Alfred found the marks on many pieces of their gear. There were several clan totems, such as wolves, axes, bears, but every orc also bore something marked with another, strange sigil: a black, withered hand. Considering, Alred decided that the hand was probably a mark of their chieftain. Then once again he returned to the dungeons, this time for a longer period. He carefully put on a spare chain mail armor of the dead captain of the guard, collected valuable magical ingredients from his master's workshop, took some foodstuffs not found by the orcs, and stored them in his backpack. He then went to the armory under the castle and found an undamaged bow and some arrows, which he also took for himself. He also kept the rabbits he caught that night, and his usual tinderbox and tools for setting traps. He set the medallion around his neck, and stored the spellbook in his backpack. Then he exited the dungeons, and stood in front of the remains of the castle, silently mourning in the pale moonlight. When the moon touched the trees in the west, and the last fires in the castle went out, he silently walked out of the path and into the forest to the north.