Please, never in all of my works have I ever received a comment, good or bad, so I ask that you do help me out...

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Chapter I
Touch of Wind


Without a moment of hesitation, Paruk sprang to his feet, wiping away the tears from his face. Just what had made the noise that he had heard? It sounded as if someone was singing out of key. Actually, more of a scream. One that made Paruk shudder. There was more screaming, then an eerie silence. It made him uncomfortable.
So it was, that he would sprint back to his home, and pick up the dagger that lay above the fireplace. He left home, dagger in hand, moving slowly and cautiously in the direction of the sound.
His home was further from the town than from the graveyard, so Paruk reached it by the setting of the sun. There was a thick fog covering the landscape, preventing any scouring eyes from looking within. It was magical in origin, though Paruk did not know that, having had no experience with spell-users.
“Any one there,” shouted Paruk into the fog, which was slowly fading away, as if dispelled by his voice. When no answer was found, he took a step-forward, squinting his eyes to peer into the distance. A horse-drawn wagon was moving ever so slowly away from him. And there, his moment, a struggle ensued.
Paruk ran through the dissipating mist, ready to fight.



The slave fought her abductor, wanting nothing less than to return to her home. She threw a left jab and a right hook, leaping to the side to escape the slaver’s whip. The heads wrapped around her leg, shards of glass, sharp pieces of metal tore at her flesh as the slaver tugged the cruel weapon, pulling her toward them. Then there was nothing but pain.



Paruk leaped form the brush, dagger in hand, and tacked the slaver. With great precision and speed, he thrust the dagger into the slaver’s neck.
“Hello there pretty lass, my name is Artemis Paruk and I will be your savior this eve,” said Paruk, sheathing his blade and bowing low.
“If you planned on assisting every one else, you are a bit late,” said the slave. “They’re already gone off.”
“Ah, but that is the thrill of the chase, is it not, love,” Paruk said, grabbing her forearm and pulling her to her feet. “besides, I never intended to save the others quite yet. There are horses in the stables, and just as soon as you and I are ready, we’ll be off.”



“We are going to need pointy objects, my dear. Come with me,” Paruk said, pulling her along, and walking to the small building that lay on the border of the graveyard.
“Barundar! Hey, you old dwarf! You still there,” Paruk shouted at the door. After a few moments, the door violently swung open, and in the doorway, stood a broad-shouldered dwarf, gray hair and braided beard both extending passed his waist. Over his shirt and trousers, he wore an apron. In his large hands was a smithy’s hammer, ready to come down on intruders. His face was covered with a black soot, limiting his vision.
“Who be there,” the old dwarf said, coughing as blackened smoke rose from inside his forge. He did not look healthy.
“Artemis Paruk,” Paruk said.
“Amalia of Rivershaer, former resident of Renfell,” the slave said.
“Another girlfriend? Where do they keep coming from,” said Barundar sarcastically. He wiped the ash and sweat from his hands, then rubbed his eyes to clear some of the soot away. “but that isn’t why you’ve come, is it? No, I suppose not. You want a sword. A sword of mystical power that can kill the mightiest of wyrms with but a single blow. You seek the blade called Angelfire, do you not?”
“Tell me about the blade,” Paruk said.
“Not here. Not with everyone listening,” the dwarf looked at Amalia, then back to Paruk. “She cannot know! The woman will have to wait outside.”
“You don’t think that she can be trusted,” said Paruk.
“I know that she is the property of Baron Rosslond! She might dispense the information to her master,” Barundar said without missing a beat. He was angry and somewhat frightened.
“You’ll have to wait out here, love,” said Paruk hesitantly, stepping through the threshold into the smoke filled room, the door slamming shut and locked.
The old dwarf stuck his fingers under the rug, pulling it off of a concealed feature.
A door.
“Make your way down the stairs to the table and be comfortable. I’ll be down shortly,” the dwarf said.


Paruk tapped his foot on the stone floor, growing impatient. He had been left to wait for nearly an hour when the old dwarf approached the table holding a lighted candle, which he set in the middle of the table. He took a seat, setting piles upon piles of books onto the table.
“Sorry for the wait, but I had to gather the texts that I had written for its previous wielder,” said Barundar with a smile. “One phrase is constantly mentioned: The wielder must have no fear, or the very essence of the blade will consume them, control their very lives.
“The blade was forged for the first king, Eldritch Vhan. He conquered the blade, and fell in love soon after. That very development, that sign of weakness is what had led to his downfall,” the old dwarf sighed.
“Where is the sword,” said Paruk.
“Buried in Vhan’s tomb. Left to rest until when next it is needed,” Barundar said.
“Is this all that you can tell me,” said Paruk.
“Unless you care to know the intricacies of the blade, then I’m afraid so m’lad,” the dwarf said.
“Not at this moment, sorry dear friend. I need to start off,” said Paruk, getting out of the seat and making for the stairs.
“I forgot to mention something to you,” the dwarf said. “Look for the Shadow! He knows where and how one might procure that blade!”
Paruk nodded.
“Oh, and, uh, don’t tell the woman!”
“You’ve my word as a gentleman,” said Paruk, leaving the dwarf alone in the room.
“Bah! Ye ain’t no gentleman,” Barundar grumbled, and he kept on grumbling throughout the day.



“So what did you learn,” said Amalia, running to catch up to Paruk’s walking pace.
“I learned about many things,” said Paruk.
“You didn’t answer my question,”
Paruk merely laughed, and walked faster toward the stables, which were growing nearer and nearer. Soon enough, the two were walking the horses away from the town of Oakcrest.
It was then, just before they reached the out-cropping, that Amalia, along with her horse, simply vanished. Paruk knew not of magic, so he could not find an explanation when Barundar ran towards him.
“My friend, I have spent years crafting you a blade, and it is finally complete,” the dwarf looked around. “You’re missing two heads. Where are they?”
Paruk shrugged, a smile on his face.


“Ooh! Ooh! Get me the bearded fellow too!” Baron Rosslond exclaimed, pointing at the dwarf with quite a bit of enthusiasm. Too much enthusiasm for the wizard, who growled and stormed off. “What? What did I do?”
“Looks like you sent the thirteenth wizard away frustrated milord,” the steward said sadly. He loathed working under the Baron, and wanted nothing less that to be the one that sticks the knife into the Baron’s neck once and for all.
He just needed to be patient a little while longer.


“I cannot, and I will not, allow you to accompany me in this endeavor,” said Paruk, leading his horse back to the stables.
“Why not,” said Barundar.
“You are, shall we say, growing old my friend,” said Paruk, his violet eyes darkening as he spoke. This day, he was particularly annoyed. “I believe that I shall walk.”
“Walk! Have you not heard of the Suphur Forest,” said the dwarf in dismay.
“Yes, and I understand what might happen should I slip,” said Paruk stubbornly.
“Well, if I cannot go, then at least take the sword with you,” said Barundar, extending the longsword to the much taller half-elf, hilt-first. “It’s too dangerous to go alone with just a dagger.”
Paruk drew the longsword so quickly that the movement was little more than a blur.
The hilt was made from gold, though the blade was silver. Feeling up the blade, his finger was covered with cuts. He then found elven runes scribed across it. They were unknown to Paruk.
“It means, the wrath of the Heavens,” the dwarf said before Paruk had a chance to ask. “I beg of you, please do not go.”
When Paruk turned to look the dwarf in the eye, his heart almost fell apart. Tears were rolling down the dwarf’s face, though he did his best to hide it.
Paruk got down to one knee and wrapped his arms tightly around the dwarf.
“I will be gone for only a week, my friend. I will return,” said Paruk as he rose. He attached the hand-carved ebony wood sheath to his belt, the hood of his cloak low over his face as he strode further and further from the upset dwarf.
His mind was set, his task was clear. He would free Amalia and find the Shadow. But first, he had to get out of the forest! Perhaps if he could find a wayward wizard…
In answer to his thoughts, a tower appeared in the distance, its shadow looming over him. All around, creatures surrounded him. Were-creatures.
A bolt of lightning struck the closest, then another, until they were all down.
“Come to my residence, traveler,” came a voice with an elven accent from the tower.
In the position that he was in, Paruk had nary a choice. He sprinted the rest of the distance to the tower, now seeming so much taller, and felt along the wall for some kind of door.
“Silly creature,” came the voice. “Wizards do not use doors!”
“Then help me, you dolt!” shouted Paruk. For a ingle moment, nothing happened. Then he was suddenly in a large, decorated room.
“Welcome to my tower, Mr. Paruk. May it serve as a place of comfort for the rest of your stay,” the wizard, who was human, said excitedly. “My name is Tristan Angalstrand, if you wanted to know.”
“My apologies Tristan, but I cannot be staying for long,” said Paruk. “I am searching for the Shadow.”
“The Shadow is everywhere, yet is no where. Seen but not seen. Heard, yet unheard. You will not find him without my eyes, Mr. Paruk,” said Tristan with a shrug.
“I am prepared for that,” said Paruk.
“I dare say that you are not, Mr. Paruk,” the wizard said with a smirk.
“What do you mean,” said Paruk.
“My, shall we say, servants, yes that’s it, servants have seen your belongings to your room,” said Tristan. “Perhaps I should explain. How about over tea?”
Paruk nodded and followed the wizard to the newly summoned door. It was clearly for him, for the wizard simply walked through the walls. Inside was an equally decorated room than the last, though this one had a fireplace, but it created no heat.
“Come, come, sit beside me, Mr. Paruk,” the wizard said, sounding almost anxious to speak with the half-elf.
When Paruk was seated, the wizard began to explain how time consuming both a scrying and locating spells were for him. It would take him six hours to cast just one of those two, then adding two hours of rest, and then another six hours to cast the other spell. They were difficult for him, obviously.
“I once again recommend you to rest until you are summoned,” the wizard said.
“Fine then,” said Paruk. “Have your ‘servants’ take me there.”
Tristan snapped his fingers, and a skeleton wearing very elegant clothes stepped through the door, its eyes glowing turquoise in colour.
“Do I even want to ask,” said Paruk, shaking his head in frustration.
“Probably not,” the wizard said with a chuckle as he waved.


The quarters that Paruk was given was no less furnished than the other rooms of the tower, if not more. The bed’s frame was made from gold, and the mattress of straw, though it was much more comfortable than most things made from straw. It was all comfortable, so much so that when he was summoned, Tristan had to drag Paruk out.
“Everything is ready for your departure, Mr. Paruk,” the wizard said, hoisting a backpack into the air. Unsteady, Tristan fell forward.
Paruk caught the pack as it fell, slung it over his right shoulder and ran through the portal.
The last thing he felt before he was in another town was the touch of wind.