The Guardian Warriors had been besieged by the Kraal in their mountain fortress that was their place of training and above all else, home. The Kraal had hit them hard and had reduced their number until but 20 remained. The High Guardian had decided their only chance was to escape the fortress and split apart far and wide so the Kraal would have to hunt down each and every one of them. The High Guardian died while protecting the fortress. His last act was to hide the fortress from existence so that all the secrets of the Guardian Warriors would be protected from the forces that sought to destroy them. Marcus remembered looking back at the fortress from a distant peak to see no trace of the fortress, only an empty space stood where it once was. He sensed magic in what he saw, but his incomplete training did not allow him to sense exactly what had transpired. That was when he was but twenty years old. Now he was sixty and still not a fully trained Guardian. He’d learned much from his sacred Manual, a tome that all Guardian Warriors read and learned from. But in some things a warrior needed to be guided by a teacher. Marcus thought on this often. Since that day he’d seen only five of his brethren as they moved about the world in an attempt to flee the Kraal hunter that chased them. For some reason Marcus had not been hunted by a Kraal until a year ago, the year he turned 60. It was obvious that the Kraal had waited before hunting him, but why? He was no different to the other Guardians in the fortress. Why now? Was it simply that he was now an easier target? Marcus was bought out of his thoughts by a deathly cold blast of wind from the approaching storm. He hurried on up the trail, thankfully he could smell woodsmoke.

Gelar dashed about his bar. A knot of people had just entered his inn and were demanding beer. How such vermin had come by gold, he really didn’t want to know. As long as they paid and left him alone he’d be contented. Nurren was now beginning to fill with less desirable types due to the approaching white season and the departure of the emperors presence. What a fool he was! Thought Gelar. The emperor was creating a haven for thieves by withdrawing his presence from the town. Things might get nasty if the proper factions showed up. Gelar chose not to think about it and hurried a tray of drinks over to the new arrivals.

It was just approaching dusk and the ‘Dusty Miner’ Inn was filling rapidly. Nurren only had one Inn due to its usually small size. But the inn was capable enough and Gelar kept it well to keep attracting customers. A group clustered by the fireplace roared in laughter at some lurid joke that had been told, and the men stole glances at Gelar’s daughter Airen who sometimes helped her father at the inn when things got busy. Airen had just turned twenty years of age and Gelar was fiercely protective of her, being his only daughter. Gelar spoke to her as he went past with a tray full of ale for the men. “Best be careful of those men eh?” he warned her. “I see them father,” she replied “they seem more full of hot air than anything else.” Gelar smirked at the unconcerned attitude of his daughter. She’d been helping him in the inn for a number of years now and had grown used to the leering looks of dirty men. “Even so daughter.” He said in low tones. “I still don’t like the look of them.” “You worry too much!” replied Airen in her silken voice. “You know what dirty miners are like when they’re full of drink! Away with you now!” Gelar nodded and walked onwards towards the men with his tray of drinks.

“Ahhhhh Barkeep, what kept you!” one of them yelled as Gelar approached with the tray. “Slow service is very rude,” another said in a mockingly concerned voice. “My apologies gentlemen,” said Gelar in his confident barman’s voice. “The inn is a little full tonight.” “Full is it?” said the first man. “Well, perhaps we’ll order some more drinks now then.” The man pulled out a shining gold vim and placed it on Gelars tray. “Will that be enough do you think?” the man said with a sneer. A vim was a vast amount of money for anyone to be in possession of. It was far more money than the men could ever hope to spend in one night. Gelar was used to the sight of gold. Miners often paid him in gold nuggets unearthed from their mineshafts in the surrounding countryside. But usually men were not so free with their hard-earned wealth. “Sir,” replied Gelar, again in his confident barman’s voice. “I cannot change a golden vim, you pay me too much.” “Too much eh?” the man laughed. “Tell you what, you send over that pretty barmaid with our drinks and we’ll call it even.” The man glared at Gelar in such a way as to communicate that no other option was available. It sent shivers down Gelars spine. This was not a man to be trifled with, Gelar knew there and then. After years of speaking with every kind of stranger, he knew how to size people up. Gelar had no option but to back down, else there’d be trouble. Airen could handle the men, and he had his trusty sword under the bar if all else failed. But it had been a while since he’d practiced with the sword. “As you wish,” was all Gelar could come up with and returned to the bar.

Airen drew the ales from the large wooden kegs that sat behind the bar and set them on a serving tray. Gelar gently took her shoulder. “Any trouble, and you yell out,” he said looking her straight in the eye. “Yes Father,” Airen replied with just a hint of irritation. “But I’ll be able to handle their dirty remarks. I’m twenty now, remember?” Gelar remembered. He remembered all too well. He had watched his daughter grow in to an enchantingly beautiful woman in the last few years. And so had other men. Airen turned to deliver the drinks with a swish of her long light brown hair that cascaded half way down her back like the sweetest of waterfalls. There she was, Gelars only daughter, serving ale to thieves. It made him shiver.

Gelar watched as Airen approached the men with the drinks. They whooped with excitement as she arrived. The tray was taken from her. One of the men grabbed her. Gelar could not believe he had let this happen. He knew it would happen, but somehow he hoped that everything might be ok. Airen was now being held by three of the men who were beginning to finger her skirts. Gelar reached for his sword under the bar, but knew all at once he could not best the men if they were as skilled as most thieves were. Airen gave a squeal of fright as one man began lifting her skits as the others held her. Gelar was frozen with indecision and fright for his daughter. Others in the inn turned to look at the spectacle as a point of interest and laughed at the plight of the slender barmaid as she tried to fend the men away. Gelar jumped over the bar with his rusting sword and stopped dead as he noticed the silhouette of a man standing in the entryway of the inn, the fading sunset framing the figure in a rainbow of light.

Snow swirled though the strangers’ feet as he stood there surveying the interior of the inn and all that was happening. The figure moved into the lit interior of the room and Gelar could see the man was freshly covered in snow and tired looking. But his brown eyes had an age of wisdom that emanated from them in a most peculiar way. Gelar began to beg the stranger for assistance, but the strange man held up his hand quickly silencing him. The stranger shrugged off his long coat, causing a downpour of collected snow to fall to the floor. The man approached Gelar and gave him his coat. “Your daughter should be more careful,” he said simply. “Please-“ pleaded Gelar again before the man again held up his hand for silence. The man then gave Gelar a reassuring smile and walked purposefully towards the knot of men crowded around the fireplace.

Marcus drew his sword. He felt like it. There was once a day when Guardian warriors kept the peace throughout the land. So long as he didn’t use the swords more potent magic, the Kraal hunters would never be able to pick up the use of it’s magic. The metallic ring as the sword left it’s protective scabbard was deafening, and sent vibrations through every object in the room. The black metal from which the blade was made was a secret only the Guardian Warriors knew. With the last Guardian would die the secret of the black metal. Inscribed down the long, slightly curved blade was a series of slightly indented red coloured runes. These were placed on the blade during the magical forging of the blade that was the final act in the training of a Guardian Warrior. In this way, Guardians made a weapon that coexisted perfectly with their own magical talents, sometimes magnifying the latent magical power instilled in a persons soul as they grew and lived. The power of the sword depended on the skill of the warrior at the time of the forging. Marcus’ sword was a rushed job, forged as the Kraal beat at the walls of the Guardian Fortress High in the Telengar Mountains. The High Guardian had come to Marcus when the outcome of the siege by the Kraal was inevitable. The sword had been forged in haste and with incomplete skills, and that limited it’s power very much. At odd times, the sword even seemed like someone else’s. But the sword was functional enough, and had protected him these forty years since he left the Guardian Fortress that fateful day.

The runes down the length of the blade glowed an angry red as Marcus bought the blade’s tip within a hairs breadth of the man that was in the process of removing Airen’s skirts. The entire Inn was deathly quiet. Nothing moved. It was generally considered a very bad idea to anger a Guardian Warrior. Everybody in the Inn instantly recognised the sword of a Guardian Warrior and their glowing runes of powerful magic.

“I suggest you review your tactics with women my good man,” said Marcus in an even tone that commanded no argument. “I generally find that they like to be treated as equals and have cups of wine bought for them. Your method of ripping their clothes off without consent is a little too primitive for modern women, I’ll think you’ll find.” The man was quite rumpled and heading towards intoxication. He stared unbelievingly at Marcus too stunned to move. “You might begin to make amends by removing your hands from her and apologising.” Marcus suggested in an offhanded manner. The man, unshaven and sweating from excess drink, quickly let go of Airen’s skirts.
“Ahhhhh I was just about to ask the lady for a jig, Sir Guardian,” the man stammered. “Everything is f-fine, y-you can put your sword away now.”
“Were you about to go dancing naked with this man?” Marcus asked of Airen with a quizzical raised eyebrow, all the time keeping the sword rock steady at the mans throat.
“N-no sir Guardian.” She replied staring in wonder at the glowing runes. “They started having their way with me when I bought their drinks over.”
Marcus turned back to the other man. “It seems she wasn’t in the mood for a jig with an unruly miner.”
“W-well I’ve had rejection before,” The man quickly improvised. “The lady can find someone else if I’m not her type.”

With a swift movement of blurs, Marcus sheathed the black steel blade. This man was no threat to him. “Some advice my good man,” he said in a friendly manner. “If you want to dance with a beautiful woman, keep your clothes on and beg for the privilege.”

A man standing on the bar began to bellow in laughter, his friends to either side began chuckling uncontrollably as well. A well-proportioned woman sitting at the table adjacent to the kitchen door took up the fray. The laughter spread like flame fuelled by cinc tree oil around the room until almost everybody had a smile. Marcus clapped the man on the back and sent another round of beer mugs to the table, which were greeted by hoots of appreciation and toasts to the like of “UP THE GUARDIANS!”

As Marcus walked back to the bar a huge bear of a man with a golden beard and pot belly came and clapped him on the back with fits of laughter rolling off his cheeks and tears streaming down his face from the effort of laughing. Marcus sat at the bar and was immediately attended by an extremely relieved Gelar and a somewhat flushed Airen. “Sir Guardian!” Said Gelar with an outrushing of breath. “I praise you for your timely intervention! Who knows what might have happened if my crazy daughter had not had your help.”
“Father-.” Airen Began.
“I told you they were trouble!” Gelar cut in before his daughter could finish.
“I was going to kick his manhood!” Airen protested. “Like mother used to.”
“Ohhhhhh what a fine mess we’d have had then dear daughter!” Gelar vented as he threw his hands in the air. “I just knew you’d never be a good barmaid.”
“HMPH!” Airen said as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I suppose you were going to cleave him in two with your rusty gardening knife,” she said pointing to the rusty sword Gelar still held in his hand.Gelar hastily bent down and put the sword under the bar.
“Well at least I could have chopped-.”
“Ahhhh may I interrupt your family chat and ask about the meal you have over the fire tonight?” Marcus asked before Gelar finished the more grisly part of his sentence.
“ Dear gods,” Gelar said as if noticing Marcus for the first time. “Please forgive our manners Sir Guardian. It’s just that after my wife was killed years ago I’ve become overly protective of my hapless Daughter.”
“What? Hapless?” Began Airen.
“Would you like a meal Sir Guardian?” Asked Gelar before Airen could voice protest. “We have a spiced bullock stew and a pot of rae brewing in a fire out the back.”
“The stew sounds good,” Replied Marcus, his stomach beginning to growl.
“Excellent!” Said Gelar. “I’ll have it to you in short order with a steaming mug of rae to keep the chill from your bones.