***writers notes: this is a revised version of what is one of my frequently asked stories. Some things have been changed from the original so even early fans and new readers can enjoy it. I simply am posting the first Chapter to get feed back since the main site refused to publish my stories for some reason it been a whole week since I first hit the publish button I’m hoping the forum can send some feed back. That being said the story is long and I understand if you can’t read that long of a story so I recommend you get a warm drink relax in your most comfortable position and be tranposted to a world of fantasy. Please enjoy the read.***



Chapter One
The first steps.

On a lonely road leading into the busy trade village of Knotsvill was a lone tall man wearing a fine heavy river rat coat. The man had his hood up around his head to block the cold breeze that blew up to his left. The stranger walked down the road past the mostly vacant fields where most of the crops have already been harvested. Memories of his own childhood helping his elder sister and father harvest and clean the crops weeks before the first frost came to mind as he passed the fields. That should be around this time as being on the North Island the first snow fall regularly starts in about two weeks after the arrival of the eleventh new moon.

The village of Knostvill is in the eastern part of the North Island under the rule of King Bach and his well funded knights of the fifth dragon white Godling. They are the main force that King Bach uses to hold his iron grip around the North Island that has been used to civil wars all over control of the rivers that cut through the North Island for trade that is the back bone of the economy of the North Island. The civil wars have been long over and the North Island has prospered under the guidance of King Bach even if his rule as King of the North Island has been struck with outside influence.

Walking down towards the huge wooden gate the stranger can see the hill on the other side of the village that has the oldest tree in the Knotsvill through the gate entrance. Memories of late summer picnics with his father, mother, and sister after a hard days work come to mind as he steps through the gate. Evenings topped off with a sweet candied fruit as payment for working so hard with father out in the fields given to his elder sister and him by his mother. Most autumn days would end like that after working before Sun up till Sun down there would be a sweet as a reward a highlight of the day sometimes when the crops didn’t grow as good as last year his sister would give him half of her sweet to end his hunger pains.

Once in the village he looked around it’s much more different then what he remembers from his childhood. The once small but wealthy village was often left undefended, but now there is a watchman tower near the gate even if the guard lays in it snoozing it’s a huge improvement. The buildings mostly new looking were not made of wood, but now are made of solid brick and stones nothing like how most of the buildings used to be back in his younger years. These new buildings made Knotsvill much more cramp as the buildings left very little space in between each other. One of the new buildings the stranger noticed is a large pub that has it’s lights on and seemed to have most of the people that live in or around Knotsvill inside the pub.

Trying not to stick out as much the stranger headed towards the pub hoping to rest his feet and catch up on a late dinner. Outside of the pub are five old men passing around a water skin filled with the smelliest ale the stranger has ever smelled in his life. As the stranger passed by these men an old man wearing decent clothing with bushy white eyebrows and a neat short beard finished his swig of the water skin and exhaled once he saw the stranger pass in front of him.

“Hey! Yeah you with the coat. I know you don’t I?” the old drunk says while he swayed back and forth as he spoke. “Ya’ daft son? I’m speaking to ya’ I is.”

The stranger stopped walking and turned to face the drunk. The drunk smelled just as bad as his dank water skin filled with ale and a hint of dried piss. “What in the nine trials do you want old timer.” The stranger says to the old man trying his best to withstand the old man’s odor.

“Hey watch your tongue young one. I’m a respected merchant in this village.” The old man spoke as the rest of the drunks laughed at his exaggerated sense of grandeur. “Hey. I know you don’t I young one?”

The stranger grew tired of this drunks failing memory. “No you drunk I don’t associate myself with drunks or merchants so I really doubt you know me at all drunk.”

“Of course I do. Your the old Talvers boy aren’t you?” The drunk old man spoke with a bit more sense of clarity almost as if he sobered up for a split second. “Your mother owned what is now my shop your father land was the richest soil of the old Knostvill before the rebuilding, before the death and killings.”

Talvers there’s a name the stranger hasn’t heard spoken in half a life time. “I’m not. Your memory is failing you drunk.” The stranger spoke as he pushed past the old drunk and went into the pub.

“Must’ve. The Talvers boy wasn’t such a sour mannered child!” The old drunk says furling his brow and taking another swig of the ale filled water skin as the others protest him taking an extra swig.

Once in the pub the stranger saw a lively scene of men drinking and eating at tables while bar maidens move through out the pub with trays full of mugs of ale and beers. Some men played a dice game called Havoc next to a bard who tried to sing of a story of the Crimson Streak while playing his string instrument over the cries of bar maidens fighting off the occasional advance of drunken men. The stranger saw a lone seat near the bar where he can order a beer to wash out the dust from his travels out of his throat. While walking up to the bar he noticed a few non humans sitting near the back some looked like slave elves while one stuck out as a dwarf sharing her pitcher of beer with the slaves.

Many of the humans seemed ok with the non humans sitting in the same pub drinking with them. Very progressive thinking the stranger thought to himself as most human in the North Island are in fact racist towards non humans making them live in separate often walled off ghettos. As the stranger sat on the bar stool he noticed it was wobbly and warm also taking note that the bartender is walking up to him. “You would do best to take your beer and find somewhere else to drink son.” The bar tender says as he puts his hands on the bar top.

The bartender has a bald head shiny from sweat with a long handle bar mustache above his lips he is in good shape for a man of his age then again he must be to be able to toss broke drunks who can’t pay their tabs out of the pub. “That seat is reserved and trust me you don’t want to piss that guy off. He likes to start fights and make trouble. Its not worth the seat trust me there is always more seats in the back with the non humans.” The bartender says to the stranger as he puts a glass of beer in front of him.

“Thanks for the warning old man, but I can take care of myself besides I’m not making any plans to stay long.” The stranger takes the mug of beer in his gloved hand and drinks all of it in one big gulp washing down the dust from his long walk to Knotsvill from Drowton a harbor village even further north near the coast.

“The names Gordon where you from stranger?” The bartender asked him as he refilled his mug. “You don’t have the look of a traveling merchant or a tradesman from a guild.” Gordon stares at the man in front of him. He wore a fine river rat coat and what seemed to be a dark blue shirt and noticed his pants were dusty more than likely from a long walk earlier in the day when the wind was much stronger.

“I’m not a traveling merchant or a tradesman. Just a traveler looking for someone.” The stranger said as he pulled his hood off revealing his scared up face. The scar that stuck out the most was a fresh one that went from the top of his skull down past his left eye, but besides that scar the strangers face is covered in small scars some old and faded while some still have a slight redness to them revealing how fresh they are.

“Bounty Hunter are you?” The bartender says as he looks around for any known criminals or wanderers with bounties on their heads. “Just do me a favor take the fighting outside I’d rather not clean up any more blood then I already have to.”

The stranger was about to say something when he noticed the pub gone silent.