Sitting around the campfire with the giant leatherleaf tents in a full circle to help block unwanted wind, Olin sat cross-legged on the ground with Dusaak’s head across his lap, his quarterstaff to his left laying in the dirt.

  The amphobos captain was beside him as one of her men served up a thick stew of sorts in a wooden bowl with a deep wooden spoon. Olin happily received it with a grin while Atzler and Lylen sat across from them grimacing at the unsettling food after catching a glimpse of bugs and grubs in the steaming fluid.

  The amphobos man offered them each a bowl as well while Gunnolf was delirious of both pain and emptying his gourd of liquor and receiving more from those in camp as he lay still on a stretched out mat of wooden slats strung together. He occasionally thrashed.

  “He will be alright?” Lylen asked.

  Olin gave a nod as he replied casually. “I’m sure it’s not his first time of having this issue.”

  “You mentioned something about this being a cursed sword?” Val-Xan said inquisitively.

  Olin set down the bowl and leaned in toward them, his eyes flickered with flames of the campfire. “Listen carefully for what I’m about to tell you. We of the Sun Temple study historical events and it is our responsibility to know of artifacts infused with great power. The Kazesuki-zhuken is a blade infected with great evil, passed down from blade master to blade master for centuries, it is protected and guarded to prevent the resurrection of a greater evil from arising once more. But it wasn’t always like this. It was once a sacred blade.” He took in spoonful of the stew while the pair of elves exchanged incredulous glances.

  “So Gunnolf’s combat prowess is mostly thanks to the Kazesuki-zhuken?” Lylen asked.

  Olin shook his head, “No, he really is an exceptional man with the sword. His master taught him to be one with the blade and how he wields it, I see that training in effect. I had my suspicions when I met you all back in Kyros Forest but tonight confirms it, your friend there is the successor to Irina Dyraisma, the Mistblade.”

  Everyone had eyes on Gunnolf as he lay on his bedroll still battling the agony in his hand.

  Val-Xan nodded, “I’ve heard of her. A mercenary twenty years ago, fought on the side of the Illiseans. My uncle who preceded me as a Captain of Lilthiken spoke of her out of respect. She was a fierce woman on the battlefield, but she made it a point to not kill civilians and her main objective was always an undead creature of sorts often disguised as a living person. She died in a village on the Field of Khadrak if I’m not mistaken, some say her own pupil killed her, driven mad. Others say she was killed by her last hunt.”

  Lylen’s eyes went wide with horror as her and Atzler’s gaze went to Gunnolf who finally seemed to be asleep peacefully. “Gunnolf may have killed his own master?” Atzler muttered nervously.

  “What is this evil you spoke of human? We can purge it, perhaps?” Val-Xan asked.

  “According to some legends in the Sun Temple, it is connected to an ancient entity from the time the world was created. You all know about the Legend of the Elemental Dragon Gods do you not?”

  Atzler nodded first, “Yeah, I grew up hearing about the five Dragon Gods. Yadra created the land, grew the trees, the plants, and formed stone. Ocea flooded the crevices pf the land with water, eventually creating the seas, rivers, and lakes. Harth with his heat and fire underground caused the mountains and volcanoes to form while Serix breathed air and wind into the world.”

  “And Nidhogg, introduced light and darkness to the world with the creation of the sun and the twin moons,” Lylen added.

  Olin nodded along. “Quite right, sometime after the Dragon Gods created the world, lesser gods were made and after that, the high demi-gods were born around the time the people of our world came into being.”

  Val-Xan crossed her arms, “Could you get to the point? I am not here for creation-theory.”

  “My point is Gunnolf’s sword has a connection to one of the demi-gods if I had to make a guess. An evil one but there are many demi-gods and figuring out which one may be difficult to pin down. As far as purging the evil from it, if the Sun Temple knew which demi-god afflicted it, we may be able to figure out a way to cleanse it once more.”

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  “Why don’t we ask Gunnolf himself?” Lylen suggested.

  “Do you think he will openly tell you even if he knew?” Olin scoffed.

  Lylen let out a sigh, “You’re right, he is very secretive about himself, and hates letting others get close to him.”

  “You can say that again,” Atzler added contemptuously.

  “He is a wanderer,” Olin said dryly. “He’s been alone for a long time, twenty years if I had to put a finger on it if he truly is the former pupil to the Mistblade. Therefore, he only relies on himself. He wants no companions due to the fact he may kill them due to his cursed tachi.”

  “You also said it was once sacred, what does that mean?” Val-Xan asked.

  Olin finished another bite of the amphobos cuisine, “It was once the Sacred Blade of the Moon. A weapon imbued with power to destroy the undead. Whether or not it can still slay the undead is another matter, Irina was the last known person to be able to destroy undead entities with it.”

  “Why doesn’t he abandon or destroy the blade?” Atzler asked.

  “If it were that simple, don’t you think he would’ve done it by now?” Olin countered. “As I said, it’s a cursed weapon. Should he leave it somewhere, whatever power affects it surely may reclaim it and create an even larger problem. Irina carried the sword for three decades.”

  “How do you─” Lylen attempted to ask.

  “The war of twenty years ago,” Olin cut her off. “As you can tell, I’m no spring cockatrice. I’m fifty-two this year so I remember the war very well. The Low Lands clashing blades with the Illisean Army. It was a bloody war that lasted one full year. Irina was a renown and respected Ronin under contract of Illisea Kingdom.”

  “Enough!” Gunnolf yelled as he sat up from his mat, fur obscuring his eyes, but his tone was wreathed in pure fury. “You talk too much monk! You know more than you should. Who are you really, and what is your aim?!” He got to his feet and picked up the tachi that laid next to him.

  Olin took in another spoonful of food. “Such an exquisite taste. It took me months to adjust to amphobos cuisine but now, it is so unique and I kind of like it,” he said, beaming a grin of gratitude.

  “Answer me, bastard!” Gunnolf roared, hand touching the hilt.

  Dusaak rose up hissing fiercely at the black furred man.

  “Calm down Gunnolf!” Lylen pleaded. “Olin here aided us when we needed it most.”

  Val-Xan readied her flail. “Stand down, Ronin. I will not have bloodshed in my camp!”

  Gunnolf stared at the frogwoman, his teeth bared. “If I desired it, everyone in this camp would already be dead. I want an answer from the monk.”

  Olin swallowed his food and glanced up at the kobold. “I spoke the truth when we first met the other day. I am a traveling monk from the Sun Temple in the Magress Mountains. As I said, my name is Olin Traza. I suppose I should divulge a little more though, I am a Seeker of the Chosen. Have any of you heard of the Prophecy of the Chosen?”

  Everyone stayed silent as they waited for him to continue. “The Prophecy handed down in the Sun Temple describes: When death sweeps across Ellodysia, a Chosen will rise, wielding the power of the Moons and the Sun to send the rotting death to slumber once more. They will shatter the bloodshed and unite nine others with them as they free the cursed land.

  From the scriptures of the Ilix Empire, Burazma, Prophet and Soothsayer of 255 A.E.”

  Atzler gazed on in amazement, “You either showed some dedication to memorize that, or you made it up.”

  Olin gave a wry smile with one eye open, “You think I’d go through so much trouble to make that up? Something from seven hundred and twenty seven years ago?”

  Gunnolf stared, folding his arms. “A Seeker of the Chosen…” he muttered.

  “It’s been no mystery and no doubt. The Great Bog of Loss has been spreading for years. Eating away at the rich and fertile land that is here in the Low Lands, even some of the Cloud Reach Spires out that way have seen parts of their foothills get overwhelmed in decay where parts of the mountains have been eroded away,” detailed Olin.

  “Isn’t that simply, nature at work?” Lylen asked. “All things change with time.”

  Olin cut in sharply, “The Great Bog of Loss has expanded more than ten miles in the last five years. That isn’t natural under any study ever conducted. Reports have also come in, about the undead being seen.”

  Gunnolf was quiet but his interest was piqued.

  Val-Xan nodded, “Agreed. However, nothing we of the Low Lands have ever done has ever stopped or reversed its gradual takeover either. You think if you find this Chosen, they will be able to easily drive it back?”

  Olin gave a shrug, “Who knows? I am out here trying to see if the Prophecy can be fulfilled.” He let Dusaak finish his bowl of stew. The jormagand greedily licked the bowl clean before Olin returned it to the amphobos soldier who served it.

  “So, what do we do now?” Atzler asked.

  Gunnolf leaned in, his face looking at Val-Xan, “I think payment for our aid is due, Captain. We will continue with our journey east since we have delivered the artifact to the Dual Elders of Lilthiken.”

  Val-Xan nodded as she handed over a large burlap sack with coins rattling inside. “Your aid was invaluable. You have thanks on behalf of myself and my soldiers.”

  Gunnolf weighed the sack by lifting it; it felt correct, fifteen pounds if he had to guess. “You have my thanks for proper payment.”

  “You may rest here this night, we will go back to Lilthiken tomorrow and I shall report to the Dual Elders, Dar-gith should have one of his men here by then,” Val-Xan said as she stood before giving a slight bow and excused herself for the night.