"Meltan! Meltan dear, come here at once!" The screechy, somewhat nasal
voice echoed around the small cottage as a large woman called out of the
window. A tiny boy emerged from the back of the house, running his hand
along the whitewashed walls as he made his way to the door, visibly
stalling. He sighed, and opened the wooden door, asking softly, "Yes,
mother?"

"Dear, I want you to get the broom from the shed. There's sweeping that
has to be done, that yard is looking like a pigs' sty. Well, what are
you waiting for? Hop to it!" The woman dusted her floury hands off on
her apron and waved the boy back out the door. Again, the boy sighed,
and bent over to begin his work.

It was a different scene that greeted the boy when he arrived back at
the cottage after a days walk in the forest. A black, acrid smoke hung
in the air. The boy fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands,
and cried. His tiny frame was racked by sobs, his tears making tiny
valleys through the cheeks coated in dust. He sat there for Lord knows
how long wit his tears before his jaw was set and the salt-water brushed
away. It was not his place to be held in desperation. His mother's
killer would pay, of that he was sure.

And thus it came to pass that Meltan Sixanit, a boy of only 10 summers,
came to lodge at my inn. Here he has worked for 7 long years. 7 golden
summers spent toiling in my fields, 7 lonely winters spent huddled under
my stable roof, and all for the sake of one spring day when his life
fell all to pieces.

I had to pity the poor boy sometimes. He was 17 summers, and yet he had
ne'er felt the touch of a woman nor the taste of ale upon his tongue. In
all honesty, it was my decision that he be sent away. It broke my heart
to do it, but it had to be done. I got these letters, y'see, from him
when he was learning at the great halls.

'Deer paw [Meltan wasn't always the best speller] Today we lernt about
the big war. I am glad I am here, paw. The preest told us about the
exud... exodus. You had to leeve lik me? I am sorrie. Much lov, Malten.'

One day I just couldn't stand it anymore. I got on my horse, kissed my
wife good bye, hugged the children, and made for the great city of
Antioch, where Meltan was studying with the Clerics. It had been a good
5 years since I'd seen the boy, but I wasn't expecting what I found. It
was like a miracle, a divine blessing where before the boy had none. He
lay there on the funeral pyre, his arms crossed over his chest, and the
flames engulfed him. He had gone the way of his mother, and I think for
that he was grateful. Still, I did not know how he had come to be as
such. I sought out one of the Clerics he had been studying with, and
asked of Meltan's last days.

"Ahh, that boy. He was a great learner, was he not? It seemed as if
every day he came to us with a new snippet of history he had discovered,
reading through the books in our library. He would have been a great
man, indeed. A great man. However," and here the man sighed, "Such a
pity... Yes. Well, the boy was on a journey to the surrounding villages
to furnish them with supplies. He passed by a cottage on his way to one
of the smaller farms, and according to residents spent a great many days
there. It was said that there was a man watching him the whole time he
was there. The man was clad all in black, a great longsword about his
waist and his hood masking his identity.

I believe Malten knew the man was there. Certainly, he did not seem
quite at ease in the cottage. It was a burnt out wreck, apparently. I do
not know why he chose to rest there. Perhaps it was somewhere of
significance to him?" To this I nodded, explaining Malten's
circumstances. "Ahh, I see. That opens up a whole new line of thought,
it does."

The Cleric proceeded to tell me the rest of the story as we walked down
the halls of their library. I am ashamed to say it, but I was not
listening with my full attention. It was fascinating to be among so much
wealth, when I was but a humble inn-keeper. Meltan had, I was told, been
assaulted and robbed by this black-clothed man upon his departure from
the cottage. He had later died under the care of women from the small
village he had been travelling to fit out. Unfortunately there was not a
healer among them, and his wounds were so great that they could do
nothing for him. He was sent back to Antioch on the back of a mule, in
much the same way as he had come, and I think that was fitting.

I thanked the Cleric for his reassurance that Meltan's life had not been
in vain, and took his blessing upon my brow. I departed Antioch thanking
the Gods that Meltan had enjoyed the time he had spent in that city,
with a lonely feeling in the pit of my stomach. I missed my family,
indeed. I was but a humble innkeeper, and this was all too much for my
soul to bear.

A tiny speck at the end of the road, wavering in the summer heat, caught
and held the attention of a man halfway into slumber, his wide black hat
covering his features. He did not look of the type to sit under trees
and watch passersby without speaking his mind, with either his tongue or
the glistening longsword that currently lay by his side in its scabbard.
He was not a thief as such, nor a warrior. He was, however, known about
the countryside as one who could not be fully trusted even if you were
his own mother.

Sighing deeply to himself, the man in black rose to his feet as a fat
man on a donkey rode past. "Excuse me, sir!" He called out. "May I
perhaps have a word with you, while you are passing by?" The mounted man
nodded, stepping down off his mule and walking over to where the man in
black stood. "How may I help you, good sir?" The fat man asked, mopping
his glistening forehead with the back of his sleeve. The man in black
visibly winced, mildly disgusted by the stink of sweat and animal that
the fat man carried. "Why yes. I was wondering if you were able to aid
me. You see, I have a horse that I think has picked up a stone. You look
like a good sort of fellow, capable in these things. Perhaps you could
take a look at him?"

Taking the fat man by the arm and giving him a gentle but firm tug, the
man in black led the fat man to the ruins of a small building, where he
said he had lodged his mount. Upon reaching the walls of the house, the
man in black directed the fat man to the door.

"Hey, there ain't no horse in here! Sir, sir, has your horse run away or
something?"
"Indeed my friend, perhaps he has. Please, come out here a moment?" As
the fat man emerged from the door, a shining sword was instantly at his
throat, and a burning ball of magical fire at his temple. "Erk, sir,
please don't hurt me. Take the mule, take my gold, please! I have to see
my family, oh, please, no..."


The man's pleading was cut off by the unmistakeable sound of metal on
bone as the sword sliced through his windpipe and cut deep into his
spine. "Family, pa? What family did you ever give me?" Meltan tipped his
hat and spat at the corpse of the fat man who had loved him like a son
and treated him like a dog, and started on his long trek back to the
Stavenn he knew and loved. No longer burdened by fealty to the innkeeper
or the soul-rending enmity he felt for his hideous Cleric brother, a new
spring was in his step.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Naturalis, in the year 421 AD.