The party formed a loose semicircle as the knight emerged fully from the crevice.
His battered plate armor gleamed dully under the sun, while the ominous red glow of his sword matched the crimson burn in the slit of his visor.
The long blade was dragged behind him, carving a shallow furrow in the earth.
The battle erupted swiftly.
The knight moved with blinding speed despite his size, clashing with Gorzod in a brief moment that sent sparks flying as their weapons met.
For a moment the foe's strength matched the barbarian's raw power, then he overpowered him with a brutal shove that sent Gorzod stumbling back several paces, grunting in surprise.
Liora's arrows whistled through the air, striking true against his armor, but the knight twisted his body at the last instant, changing hit angles so the shafts glanced off with minimal damage.
The dwarf shouted his clan battlecry and charged, swinging his warhammer.
Erian began chanting a spell, his hands glowing with arcane energy.
The knight surged forward, pushing Thrain aside with a sweeping backhand that knocked the dwarf's shield wide and sent him rolling.
Then he turned toward Gorzod again and slammed into him with a shoulder charge that cracked ribs.
He swiftly avoided Faná's strike, and lunged for Erian, blade descending like judgment toward the young mage.
At the last moment Liora darted in, crossing both daggers to block the strike.
The force hurled her backward into a tree, where she crumpled.
Erian stepped back a few paces, raising his staff to protect himself, his concentration broken and his spell fizzled.
But Saintess was first to strike at the knight.
She met him head-on, her maul clashing against his sword in a shower of sparks and holy light.
But the blade resisted her usual strikes, not disintegrating into golden motes but merely scoring with shallow burns that hissed and reformed.
The dwarf and the barbarian got up and, shouting, attacked the knight along with Faná from three directions.
But the strikes hit empty air, as the knight's silhouette dimmed and disappeared into thin air.
He reappeared a few feet from the group.
It was enough, as Erian recovered and finished casting his spell, summoning ice spikes that erupted from the earth beneath the knight.
The knight leaped aside deftly, the evasion propelling him higher into the air, using the rising spikes as footholds.
He crashed down like a meteor, slamming his sword into the ground and generating a shockwave that bowled the party back, sending dust and debris flying as they scrambled to regain footing.
Faná stood, but the sheer force pushed her away a bit.
She knelt, channeling her power, "O Goddess of Unyielding Light and Piercing Darkness, let Your spears descend from the heavens and rend the wicked where they stand!".
Radiant javelins formed in her hands as if torn from the air itself.
She hurled them, one by one, at the knight.
He avoided them with precise, minimal last-moment movements.
The holy projectiles demolished trees and gouged craters in the earth.
Faná blinked.
"Your sins must run very deep if the Goddess requires this many javelins," she muttered as the knight avoided yet another spear of light.
The knight did not answer.
Thrain rose to his feet and crashed into the knight with his shield. A powerful warhammer swing struck true.
But the knight barely recoiled from the hit - his armor cracked on the first hit, but the second strike was parried with great skill.
Fanatica clicked her tongue in displeasure as the knight positioned himself so that Thrain was in the line of fire.
The knight struck with his two-handed sword, swinging straight down, and the dwarf cursed and tried to block the blow with his shield, but the attacker changed the direction of the blade at the last moment.
The shield flew off, accompanied by the sound of breaking bones.
Thrain grimaced in pain.
Just as the knight was preparing to deliver the final blow to Thrain, Gorzod shouted something in a guttural voice in his native Sher'wak tongue.
Their opponent hesitated for a split second.
Then the barbarian hurled one of his axes at him; it sank deep into the knight's back with a sickening thud, causing black blood to spill out.
The knight turned, his eyes flashing even brighter as he croaked, "What… are…", but then a radiant spear struck him.
It was immediately followed by a second and third spear, piercing his armor and sending him flying through the air.
Faná panted, her hands were bloodied from the strain of reckless channeling, her own blood was dripping down in a small pool.
Her halo burned at full power, illuminating the battlefield like midday sun.
When the dust settled, the knight was still standing, black blood dripping from his body; he had been pierced by radiant spears; part of his helmet had crumbled, revealing grayish skin, stubble, dark circles beneath his glowing red eyes, and old scars marring his face.
He muttered: "At last… worthy foes."
He raised his sword and dragged himself forward - now much more slowly, leaving an ever-growing trail of blood behind him.
Gorzod, who was standing closest, moved forward with the remaining axe.
"Rest now, warrior," he whispered.
As the knight raised his blade with a trembling hand, Gorzod slashed in a clean arc.
The headless corpse collapsed to the ground.
The party gathered, staring at the defeated foe in grim silence.
Liora was holding her side.
Thrain muttered something like: "Good fight."
Erian was grasping his staff so strongly that his knuckles whitened.
Faná stood there, tired but smiling.
She ran her hand across her face, leaving a trail of blood. "The Goddess's justice has triumphed..."
But the barbarian just stood there, staring at the headless corpse and the blade, whose red glow was slowly fading.
---
Later that night at camp, Gorzod sat brooding by the fire, sharpening his axes with slow, rhythmic strokes, his gaze distant.
The knight's blade lay wrapped in linen next to his leg.
Erian sat next to him,
"May I?"
The barbarian nodded.
The mage hesitated.
The barbarian sent him a sharp gaze, and returned to sharpening his axes. "You want to ask what I said to him?"
Erian nodded.
Liora's ears twitched in the distance, Thrain started to polish his helmet, and even Faná - praying to the Goddess - lowered the volume a bit.
They certainly were a bit... eager to hear it.
Gorzod sighed.
"They were old words, an old challenge.
They are meant to be directed at the owner of the hungry blade to request a duel."
He stopped and frowned.
"Do you lot even know what a hungry blade is?"
"Aye," said Thrain, "We call them demonic armaments."
"Weapons bearing ancient curses," muttered Erian, his eyes brightening with realization.
Gorzod nodded, "Yeah, the armaments that were forged to fight in the ancient war.
Which can turn even a modest warrior into a true literal god of war."
He shrugged, "And a great warrior into something... else..."
"At the cost of sanity." Erian followed.
Thrain asked, curiously, "But how did you know the man would respond to that... challenge?"
Gorzod smiled cunningly. "He didn't. But the blade did."
The entire party's eyes - except Faná's, who was still praying - turned toward the blade.
After a moment of silence, the barbarian turned to the young mage.
"Do you know why Nortons don't like my clansmen, the Sher'wak?" he asked.
The mage thought for a moment, and replied "Because you don't believe in the Goddess?"
The Saintess almost missed the word in her daily prayer.
Rugged barbarian started to laugh so loudly that people in nearby hamlets probably thought a storm was coming.
When he finally stopped, he ruffled the young mage's hair.
"No lad, that too, but... Nortons tried time and time again to conquer our land.
And one of the reasons why, is because my people are absolutely and utterly obsessed with hungry blades."
His voice turned grim.
"Where other nations grow crops, raise herds and do trade, my people spend all their energy bashing each other's skulls.
Just to get their hands on a cursed weapon, and leave behind a saga - a tale spread by skalds."
He spat in the fire.
"Tribes wage wars to steal the mighty weapons, and as the weapons inevitably drain the sanity of those who wield them...
sooner or later a new warrior rises, strong or cunning enough to slay the wielder and claim the hungry blade for himself.
And the cycle continues."
The mage asked, "If you're constantly fighting, why didn't we-", he blushed, being of Norton ancestry himself, "-didn't Nortons conquer your lands?"
Gorzod smiled. And it was a really nasty smile.
"Because when Nortons come invading, that's the only time the tribes unite.
And imagine fighting against a bunch of bloodthirsty, battle-crazed monsters in human skin, wielding weapons powerful enough to be of use against ancient foes.
Followed by thousands of ordinary battle-crazy, fearless men."
Thrain grunted, "But we vanquished him."
The barbarian nodded: "Yeah, we did. But he was weak... a Karsovian knight. He was just a puppet," his gaze darkened,
"you didn't see what real monsters can do with such blade."
The sword lay next to the fire, calmly. There was no ominous aura, nor vile decorations on it.
Just a simple longsword.
But somehow, the party couldn't shake off the feeling that they were looking at something ancient and evil.