---Verad Ocean, Orik---
The sun begins to slowly set on the undisturbed seas, seas that in fact are irregularly calm. The Lost Ring, a gathering place for friends and strangers, has an almost party-like atmosphere. The tavern hosts no one out of the ordinary, often experiencing a large assortment of people, from honorable knights to lowly thieves, but does however host two unlikely heroes. Amongst the crowded tavern, sitting at a table off to one side so as to avoid the loud din of would-be adventurers retelling lame stories, is one oddly dressed warrior and a clerical man dressed in black, as though he were mourning. The warrior is wearing a long brimmed hat, worn by people common to the eastern continent of Rokua. A poncho covers most of his upper body, with small slits in the side allowing his heavily tattooed muscular arms to be seen, along with a small glimpse of armor. The man across from him is shrouded in his cloak, but visibly shorter than the other. Holy symbols adorn his obsidian armor, inlayed with silver that could be mistaken as platinum. He wears no helmet, instead wearing his black hair nearly straight up forming a set of spike looking pillars. The warrior removes his hat, allowing his braided hair to fall down his shoulders.

"Been a long time, my friend."

"Indeed it has Korban. Too long," replies the cleric as he shifts his position.

Now, to avoid confusion, these two men trace into each other's past since they where both at squiring age. Korban, the warrior, made the choice to pursue a future in the mystical lands of Rokua. The reason for this is that he saw an adventurer when outside exploring one day. The man single-handedly defeated a group of human assassins without even being hit once. Although the man used a long-bladed sword later known to him as a No-dachi, Korban had an adamant love of the scythe. After some searching, he found a school that taught the use of such "peasant tools" as weapons and spent most of his time trying to master the weapon. After some time, they released him from his training, claiming he was one of the best the master had ever seen. Korban then proceeded to find a drunken master, whom severely beat a group of thieves who had tried to steal something from Korban. Seeing this as an opportunity to learn more, Korban schooled under the man named Mahashimaru.

The cleric, named Zane, yearned for more than just simple martial and weapon skills. Magic, the most devastating force on the world of Rehta, was exactly what he was looking for. Although he wanted and loved the idea of casting spells, he also disliked the idea of using little weapons and almost no armor. He then chose a more divine approach to things, picking a deity and joining the ranks of clerics. After causing damage to the temple and defeating almost everyone else in his class in one temple tournament, he decided to leave and become more skillful with his sword. After being found by a group, he was trained by them. He latter found out they were the Templars.

It would seem fate enjoys playing with the lives of mortals however, for someway or somehow it has brought them back together again. The two sit pondering the reasons why while getting caught up with each other and downing numerous drinks. After a few bar fights, resulting from the spilling of Korban's brew and the unrespectful response that followed, they came to a decision. Both of them had received identical letters, and also received them very discretely. This was finally decided down into two different things- either a trap, or something so severe that they couldn't understand it.

"This is strange Zane. Very strange...We haven't seen or heard about each other for several years. All of a sudden, both of us are summoned to this little port town."

"True, but it doesn't really matter," Zane pauses as he finishes another drink, "Come on, don't look at me like that! If something is dumb enough to try and set a trap for us, we'll just have to show them how to disembowel themselves."

"I think you are overlooking the point Zane! I can tell you are stronger than last we met, but should we encounter an army of enemies we could easily be defeated. Hell, I've heard stories of enraged dragons obliterating entire regions, let alone armies!"

"Yeah, but why would a dragon be saying 'oh my! Those two men are so manly! I should kill them both!" Zane emphasizes the last part by making various ridiculous gestures.

"Haha, you have a point there,"short pause as he refills his drink, "I just don't understand any of this. Guess we just have to follow the orders and see what happens. Right now, however, I need to make some money. Mine is nearly gone from all that repairing and training I did."

"Got that right Korban!"

---Srift Forest, 3 miles north of Orik---
A band of goblins sit around a fire in the middle of their little encampment. For the past few hours, the leader has been attempting to count the spoils of their latest attack on a nearby village while the others argue over who gets the most. Familiar shapes of the woods surround them, for they have run to this hidden spot numerous times. The sun has finally set, making it a chill night, but unfortunately for the goblins, one thing about this night is out of the ordinary.


In a tree on the very edge of the encampment, a shadow leaps from one tree to the next. As swift as the wind and silent as the shadows surrounding it, the figure bounds from limb to limb, tree to tree. A short distance away, just out of earshot should one of the goblins be trying to hear, the figure drops with the grace of a cat to the forest floor without a noise. Unnoticed, it continues a few yards more and stops in a slight clearing. It turns towards a nearby boulder.


"Twelve, and two are wounded." The sound comes like a breeze of wind.


The boulder shifts slightly and a slit of light appears as a dark lamp opens to allow the candle inside to shine forth its light. The boulder's shape becomes slowly evident as the lantern opens, revealing instead a man of massive build, resembling something more like what one would expect to see in a nightmare. A cloak of fur drapes down behind him, attached to his shoulders by two huge skulls resembling that of young dragons. The man bears a X on his forehead and wears no helmet, instead allowing his hair, blue and dreaded, to hang down around his battle hardened face. He leans slightly on a massive axe, looking more like a tree than a tool of war, that bears the barbarian clan marking of the Gado.


The other figure is almost the complete opposite of the brutish figure that stands in front of him. Also now revealed as a man, he is of slender build and his ears come to slight points, showing that he has somewhere within him the blood of an elf. His blue eyes sweep the surrounding forest, and his blonde hair is cut at the shoulders. He reaches into his vest pocket underneath the green hunter's cloak he wears, retrieving a piece of parchment. In amazing detail, the parchment proves to be a map of the goblin encampment.


"Being half-elven has its advantages. As far as I could see, there wasn't anyone else. Or at least no one else in the range of my low light vision. They are alone."


The big man shifts.


"Do you have a plan?"


"Don't be so impatient," The elven man is silent for a while. "Alright, this is what we'll do."

---Srift Forest, the goblin encampment---
The goblins finely start to argue with over who gets the most plunderings. Each has their own opinion, and none has the manners to speak after the others. Speaking in goblin, the argument begins to get heated...


<"I killed more humans than you!">

<"Oh yeah? Well you tries taking armor of the still alive human!">


<"I'm leader. I should get the bigger share, I made plan!">


One of the goblins stands, thinking he heard something tasty in a nearby bush. Dreaming up such delicacies such as squirrels and rabbits, the goblin continues towards the noisy bush. With only a few small steps left, the sound stops. The goblin stands still, wondering if the tasty little snack heard him. Just when he decides he should pounce on the bush and make sure that the savory animal didn't just go to sleep, a large hand thrusts out from the bush and latches onto the goblins head. Unable to scream because the thing attached to its face, the goblin tries to kick and claw at the monster trying to nest on its head as it is pulled into the bush. Looking through a crack between fingers, the goblin surprisingly sees a face staring back. Wondering why a face would be floating behind a head-squishing monster, the goblin finally understands what is happening just as the eyes squint in a menacing manner. The goblin feels a sharp pain as the hand twists, then everything goes black as the bones in the creatures neck are separated. The hand throws the body aside, then reaches behind to pick up a large axe off the ground...


---Meanwhile---
The Goblins have proceeded to breakdown almost into fistfights over the spoils. The bickering has become as hot as the breath of a red dragon, and none of the goblins seems to want to stop until all the treasure is theirs. Amongst the chaos, one goblin stands atop an upturned box used as a makeshift podium. The goblin, proclaimed the leader of the group, starts to speak...


<"Men! Stop this! If you don't, I'll take it all and then we will call it good. I came up with the plan, and I--">


The goblins fall silent. Is this some sort of miracle? Why did he stop the lecture? Did he change his mind? All the goblins stare silently as their leader suddenly pitches forward, a small wooden shaft sticking out of the back of his head like some kind of flag. What in the name of plundering is that thing? Suddenly it strikes them just as a figure falls from a tree and releases another of the wooden-shafted objects. Another goblin falls, struck between the eyes by the speeding arrow. The goblins, now over the shock of the events that just happened, grab for their weapons and shields. Some of them start making a run for the other side of the forest, seeking safety from this wood flinging evil creature.


"Gryzz, now!" The figure shouts, dropping the bow and pulling forth two swords form under the green cloak it is wearing.


The forest on the other end of the encampment seems to explode, a massive shape appearing from beyond the line of anyone's sight. The goblins that were running away are now trying to stop and turn away from the grizzly horror that burst forth from the forest. The nearest goblin, who was just feet away from the encampment's edge, is caught full force by the hulking axe of Gryzz, cleaving the goblin neatly in two and disassembling some of the goblins limbs all at once. The next in line dives to the side, seeing what happened to its fellow companion, but the blue haired barbarian merely changes with it, keeping his current momentum but shifting instead so to step on it's head rather than the floor. Under such immense weight, the goblin's head is crushed like a watermelon. The goblins farther back see the sight, and decide the scrawny bad guy would be easier to kill. One charges headlong at him, thinking it will catch him by surprise. The elf sidesteps nimbly, and with lightning reflexes, brings his swords about in a practiced flurry of movements. The goblin falls to the ground and lay bleeding from many different places. Another runs at him, this one a little more cautious than the last. It feints a lunge, seeking to gain an advantage, but to no avail. Instead, the elf counters by bring in his foot to kick the goblin in the face. The goblin's nose shatters, sending a spray of warm red liquid down its face. It reels back in pain, giving the elf enough time and space to slide around the back of it and slit its throat. It falls to the ground, unable to do anything besides drown in its own blood.


The goblins finally muster enough logic to prepare to defend themselves. Out of the six non-wounded goblins remaining, two pull out crossbows, preparing to support the others as they tackle the enemies. Two charge towards the barbarian, being careful not to get in reach of his axe. One ducks in, stabbing with its shortsword at the barbarians leg. Bad move. Gryzz lifts his foot and steps down on the sword, sending its point into the ground. The goblin tries to pull it free, just to unwillingly bring the foot of the towering human back with it. The force of the blow sends the goblin flipping over its comrade to land on the ground near the fire that they were previously sitting around. One of the goblins that armed its crossbow prepares to shoot its bolt at the barbarian. It looses the bolt after a moment of aiming, and just barely misses hitting the huge man in the arm. Now alerted to the archer's presence, Gryzz becomes enraged that it would fight as lowly as to cower behind its own companions who are bravely (stupidly) giving their lives. He becomes so enraged by this one goblin that he ignores the nearby attacker and instead stretches back and touches the tip of his axe on the ground behind him. The sinews and muscles in his arm, chest, back, and most of his body tense for a brief moment as he heaves the huge axe at the assailant hiding behind his bow. The goblin can't even move, struck so dumb by the fear of what just happened and the horror of what is happening next that it becomes completely numb. It drops its crossbow and has just enough time to utter a gurgled scream before the axe crashes into the defenseless monster and sends its entrails billowing out into the surrounding forest. The one remaining attacker cease slashing at the barbarian, all hate and jabbering insults fall silent to the overwhelming nausea of impending doom. It turns to run, but falters as its knees give out to the nausea. When it gets up to continue to run, it finds itself looking at the blue haired death. With one savage movement, the right arm thrusts out and punches a hole through the goblin's chest, and the hand reappearing through the back. The goblin, eyes still wide and mouth agape, slides off Gryzz's arm and crumples to the ground in a bloody heap.