The harsh ringing of metal echoed through the dark, narrow halls, accompanied by the screams that are identified with violent death, and by the yells and cries of fierce warfare. Greasy smoking torches gave poor illumination to the battle confusion, casting shadows that less experienced fighters found startling and often attacked. But this small band of warriors, though not quite fighting well together, were seasoned enough to ignore the illusions of shadows and concentrate on their Orcish opponents. They would on occasion trip over one another, or miss each other in the wake of powerful misses, but their strengths and hardness soon pressed the enemy host to a severe disadvantage. Before long, the Ores lay dead in a mass at the feet of the veteran fighters, not one of the foul race left alive. The next few moments were spent in breathless recovery and taking stock on the damage embodied.

A Cleric attended the wounds of their only Dwarven comrade while several large men kicked at the corpses around them. They scorned the poor steel and armor of the Ores and laughed a trifle too loudly at the female Magic User who took a few moments to more closely examine some of the bodies for some worthy spoils. She silently chuckles as she pockets a peculiarly shaped gemstone. An Elf near her takes note of her find for possible future needs of his own, and, more discreetly, he also searches for some spoils. The largest of the man-fighters cleans his sword on the tunic of one of the fallen Ores, and seeing the Cleric at his task decides to comment.

 "Well, Priest, how fares our stunted friend?" This man is massive, a young, hulking figure whose muscles threaten the stability of his armor and whose sword is as bulky as the Dwarf he is worried about.

 "T'would take more than the likes of these to fell Brandaur," answers the Dwarf gruffly. "I think, friend Ash, we should worry more about the object of this quest than these surface lesions." This Dwarf is a rough figure, not handsome even for his own kind. He has fought for almost a year with these men and has come to like this one for his bravado and prowess. It is not often that he enjoys Human company.

The Cleric finishes his task and moves on to the other Human fighter who is called Darth. Brandaur walks over to one of the Ore bodies and struggles with his broadsword that is embedded in the ribs. After a few minutes of resistance, the sword suddenly pulls free landing him on his arse with a grunt. Everyone tries to stifle their chuckling, though few succeed, even Darth manages to laugh as his leg is being bandaged. Tim, the Cleric, does not even smile for he sees less advantage in their current position.

 "We should not be long for these parts," Tim said. "This watch will surely be missed in a matter of hours, and we have much more than these foul carrion to encounter."

 "Perhaps we shall," answered Magda the Magic User. "Yes, we must hurry off to our dooms."

If the map they had been given was accurate, then this door was the one they sought. Inside would be found the jailing and torturing chamber of Ragnar Erebain, and most surely Ash the Cleaver's recent bride. The serpent Ragnar wanted Ash, he wanted him badly, though few knew why. It was enough for most of them that the evil Wizard wanted him badly enough to find and kidnap his young bride, it was certainly a move that motivated them to venture far beyond Ragnar's shallower defenses.

Eylandir, the Elf, managed on the first attempt to open the door, and returned to the end of the group rather quickly. Ash, Darth, and Brandaur burst the door open and ‘rushed in swinging in a triangular formation, with their swords swishing (as they soon discovered) at the empty air. Though the chamber was large enough for a jail, it was totally empty. Ash strode on into the room swinging his mighty blade at the emptiness, his cautious defense replaced by his ever-present swagger of confidence. They could see that he was worried and confused, but all of them understood his facade of powerful assurance.

 "Well, if she is here then she is well hidden," Darth muttered.

 "If she be here then it is too late for US to help her," answered Brandaur.

 "We are not looking for ghosts."

 "You are correct about one thing, maggot-spawn. It is too late to help her."

The words were spoken as a large section of the right hand wall slid away to reveal the true torture chamber, and Ragnar directly in the center. He was leering at them with his arms outstretched and an aura of power surrounding him. When he saw Ash, he smiled and in his hands appeared a red hot poker.

 "I have a surprise for you, man-mountain. Your wife awaits you." He stepped aside drawing in his arms and the folds of his robe to reveal Belinda nailed to two wooden beams that crossed in an X. She was hung upside down so that blood from wounds in her throat and on her chest flowed into her mouth making her every breath a coughing hell. Ragnar had tortured her with rats and whips and she was only moments from her death. Her eyes were pinned open and Fiagnar placed the poker end only fractions of an inch from her face. They could all hear her scream and the sizzle from the heat. Her agony was intense, her every breath its own torture, but the pain ceased for her as an arrow from Eylandir found its mark in her throat.

 "Very good," cackled Ragnar. "You are even braver than I would have guessed. But your foolish interruptions of my works will now cease forever. You shall all join her in the hereafter."

As he spoke more arrows from the Elf's bow flew toward him, but they were stopped in mid-flight by some unseen force. Ragnar spoke a command and Ash was jerked about by peculiar missiles. Most of the group backed into the hall, but Brandaur had taken advantage of his size to rush behind an iron maiden device. He could see that Ash was okay, and that several members of the party were loosing arrows at Ragnar as time and opportunity would permit. He heard the scream of a successful strike against Ragnar and used that moment to loose his own hand axe at the Wizard. Only one was a hit against him. The next moment Eylandir had cried as his hand was burned severely, but the distraction enabled someone, Ash, Brandaur could see, to loose a spear. While the spear was in flight the Dwarf took that moment to seize the device that covered him in his oversized hands, and throw it in the direction of his prey.

The spear missed the Wizard but the clatter of the torture device attracted his attention to the Dwarf who was rushing him much faster than his short legs should have been able. The Wizard had no time to get off a spell and thus Brandaur struck him in the thigh with the cutting edge of his broadsword. His momentum carried him a little past Ragnar, but he was able to turn and leap at him. He swung off-stride, narrowly missing, and stumbled. With his legs back-peddling he could see that the Wizard was preparing a spell. He turned to run for some cover and tripped over the defiled body of Belinda and his legs entangled in the cross and the corpse. Brandaur fell with a grunt, pulling the body over him. The last thing he saw were the young girl's eyes, locked in a dead stare with his own.

Ash could feel the heat of the fireball, and the awful stench of the burning bodies of his wife and his faithful fighting companion was more oppressive than the flame. He rushed at Ragnar in anger, giving the wizard no time to recover for another spell. He swung his awesome sword as if it were made of straw, hitting the invisible barrier that the wizard had to protect him. He continued his relentless attack and backed the wizard towards the cells, dimly aware that he was joined by his friend Darth in the battle. Ragnar was an extremely agile man and was able to dodge and to manipulate the barrier and thus sustained no damage from this attack. But he could not reel off a spell and the huge barbarian did not seem to tire. Ash swung another mighty blow as the wizard backed against a peculiar cell. The swing missed Ragnar, but Ash's follow through carried all of his might against the darkened glass of the cell.

The glass broke and released a greenish gas into the air. A very old man crawled out of the cell, muttering under this breath and choking at the fresh air. The veterans continued to press the magician, unable to hit at him but unwilling to cease. Ragnar, however, was very obviously concerned about the old man, and he nearly ran from his assailants while he reached into a pocket in his cloak. He seemed about to speak the necessary words when the Elf threw a dagger at him from behind. Ragnar screamed a vile curse but he still was able to run for a wall that was opening at his approach. He was almost within safety when a great swirl of air caught him and turned him around. He stood facing in the direction of the old man who now stood very tall as he spoke.

 "Still you do not repent of the evil you have wreaked upon this world, Ragnar!" The old man seemed no longer feeble as he spoke. His voice captured the attention not only of Ragnar but also of the fighters who stood around the room. "Do you begin to feel the heat of your God's own Miasmic Breath?" As he spoke flames began to lick at the hem of Ragnar's robe. "Do you feel the touch of his accursed fingers as he even grasps greedily for your soul?" They could all see and even begin to smell the pestilence that was forming great boils on the Wizard's skin. "Now is the time, Ragnar. In mere moments you shall meet the foul Despiser that is your God. It will not go well with you, who has furthered the ways of Chaos."

Ragnar screamed in pain as the curse consumed his body. The old man looked for the first time at the warriors around him and saw Ash who stood only feet away.

 "My friend," he said to Ash, "You must do that which I may not. Rid the world of this vulture, now."

Thus encouraged, the one they called the Cleaver, with one swing of his sword, severed the head of Ragnar. The body slumped to the floor as the head flew to within inches of the charred remains of Brandaur and Belinda. The ordeal was over at last, but the price had been high. There was no rejoicing forthcoming, as they all relaxed their muscles and their guard.

Only Magda felt able to question the old man who seemed to slump into himself after the battle of power. Magda was very young for a Magic User and still felt powerless to help in dire emergencies that this group often encountered. But they protected her and brought her along because they respected her instincts in such times. Though the others were tired and angry, Magda knew that this man represented some danger to them. As she approached him, the old man looked at her directly as if seeing into her soul.

 "No Magda, I am not much danger to you. I am Aaron, called God-Tongue. I am one of those who have been called hermits, mad men, seers, soothsayers. I serve God, the one, for I am his prophet."

He turned to the remainder of the warriors and spoke to them. "My God sent me here to the home of Ragnar to stop him. I sought his repentance and would have granted him the favor of my God, but I knew that such was not the way of this man. He served the forces of Chaos, and thus it was granted to him to imprison me and to torture me, for God new the greater plan. I could not have killed him for I may not take a life, but here was I, in readiness for this very party who would be the evil one's downfall." He walked back to the cell that had held him and picked up two broken pieces of a once sturdy staff. He turned to them and exhibited the pieces, crying, "Oh, Ragnar, you fool. Never will I replace this wood, for I am far from the lands of Godly forests. Someday we shall rid the earth of such men, someday the works of power shall be released, and the true plans of the Holy One unite all men."

As the old man broke into harsh judgements and doomsaying on the ilk of Ragnar, Tim the Cleric began to perform the familiar rites of passage for the two fallen and beloved friends. The tears in his eyes did not interrupt him from this important task, and the mingled blood, sweat, and ashes covered his knees as he knelt. Aaron had come over and knelt beside the Cleric, joining him in the rites that commended their brave and beloved to the after life. All came by and paid their respect to Brandaur with tears and short prayers, and the lovely Belinda was not forgotten by them. Even Eylandir, who often loathed the gruff and homely Dwarf, had passed by and cried as he kicked the hideous head of Ragnar away into a far corner. When the rites were over, the Cleric helped the old man to his feet, and he searched the face of the aged prophet for some sign.

 "You are a great man of God, Aaron. Can you not return these that we have loved to us?"

 "Nay, little brother. It is my mission to bring the word of the One to the living. There is no wisdom in asking one such as I to bring the dead to life, for God is the only true conqueror of Death. This one has faithfully served the One, which is most unusual for his kind, but this day he was welcomed with the open arms of God himself, and this night shall he be the guest at a great feast in the Heavens. I am enjoined by the One to preach of the end of Chaos, to prepare men for a new age that He shall soon bring about. The dead are in the care of their deities, but the living must care for themselves. Serving the false Gods of Chaos and his minions is the curse of a world out of control."

Darth had listened long enough to the ranting of this one, and he informed the others that their task was finished and the time was long past ripe to be rid of this place. They all agreed and prepared to go back to the village. Ash had to be prodded to leave behind the remains of two so dear to him, and they shed some tears at the permanent loss that they must endure. They began to leave when they noticed the hermit had not prepared to accompany them. Magda and Eylandir gathered the few possessions he had that Ragnar had not destroyed and they helped him to walk at the quick pace that Darth had set.

He gained strength as the several day journey to Briol passed. He told them the story of his life. He was the son of a great clergyman, following in the path worn in his father's great stride. But the temple could not hold him, he sought Yahweh in the beauty and comfort of his forests, alone save for his God. His true hermitage ended when an itinerant stumbled into his humble home, and preached to him the path of the future. He saw that day the boundless love of the One for His children, His finest creation. And he learned the ways of the Chosen Ones, the holy men who heard His voice and knew His mind, and he knew the boundless power of serving Him in this way, of being a vessel.

He learned the truths of the lesser deities and the false gods. They were not the creators, nor were they sustainers, they were falsehoods that led men on the false path towards destruction.

And he worked for many years, helping brave men of God to erase the evils in the world. Many men of power were fought and many died or even repented. And Aaron grew in stature and grew as a receptacle of power. Of the One's power. Such as he were called mad, and they were reviled and hated, but the work of the One continued. Already their numbers had dwindled, until Aaron confided that he knew not of any other in this work. But he would not cease until he died, or until God unveiled His new plan, the Final Plan.

So it was that Aaron God-Tongue come into Briol that day and his ministry to this new land was begun. They had left him in the village square preaching to the masses that gathered. They were not surprised the next day to hear the news of his enforced departure from town. But they were surprised at the note that awaited them.

Seek me my friends in these woods east of the village. I am far from home and these seem a goodly place. Yet as long as I am able, I shall continue in the work of preaching and fighting against evil. you have served well in this manner, and I am ever willing to join with you on these endeavors, for the power of the One is considerable and He has led me to you to be His hands. I am sorry if I have embarrassed you with my actions in the village, but such is my madness. Seek me in the wilds and I shall find you.