Hokron stood unwavering before his army of little more than 8,000. These were all the men and women courageous enough to answer his call. The cambians too foreign a threat to motivate those who dwelled in the eastern cities to join the conflict. He could not force his people to fight. In these Godless times there was nothing left for him to use to motivate his people. Food was no longer needed, land no longer a necessity, money no more than a worthless hunk of metal, even the fear of death was soon lost.

He could only be anxious of their odds. With an army of lesser size then the one that stood atop the western gate he needed to bring an end to Undvik’s rampage. With only these men and women, some of which had never even seen combat, he would need to halt an unstoppable foe. Lato’s constant complaining did not help with morale. He constantly went on and on about the injustice of the situation.

“The people who we once protected, now when given the chance to give back, slammed the door in our face.” he said “Without the Gods Utradem soon became a cesspool of vice and villainy. With no consequences to their actions our people began to indulge in all their vicious impulses.”

“We need a way to keep the people in line. If we were able to harness a weapon similar to the life stealer we could once again force virtue on our people.” Lato kept prodding his father and Virgil hoping they would send him to rip the weapon from Undvik’s grasp. Neither gave in, both knowing that assaulting Undvik was no better then signing one’s own death warrant.

Still, they were running out of time. Every second Hokron waited more of his people fell into Undvik’s grasp. He could only hope that these 8,000 would be enough.

***

As I made my way up the marble stairs, I was greeted by a cloth bundle. When opened the bundle revealed a set of wool clothing, a cloak, a pair of worn boots and a belt with a sheathe that perfectly fit the bone dagger. I quickly dressed myself before moving forward.

I walked into the dark forest and looked up into the starless sky. There was nothing to light the path. Thankfully, I could see a hint of orange peering through the trees. I slowly made my way through the brush my cloak snagging on different branches as I went. I couldn’t help but observe the foliage as i made my trek. There was not a speck of green in the entire woods. No leaves, grass, or vine interrupted the monotony of the dead black trees. Occasionally the wind sounded like a deep dark groan of pain as it passed through the shaking branches.

Soon I was greeted by the familiar scent of smoke and the heat of flame. I stepped out of the woods into a circular clearing of lifeless dirt. In the center of the clearing sat a man wearing a cloak over a set of rusty dented iron armor. A knight’s helm covered his face dotted by the occasional spot of rust and one large gash down the eye. A bland saber that seemed the definition of function over form leaned up against the log on which he sat. He sat there tending the campfire not even acknowledging my presence.

“Um, hello my name is-“ I was soon interrupted by the wave of a hand and a smooth baritone voice.

“Little is more sacred then one’s name in these lands. You would be wise to not give yours so easily.”

After an awkward pause I responded.

“What should I call you then?” I replied hoping to keep the conversation going. The man spoke easily without making eye contact “It is easiest to name oneself by their occupation, as such I am called the fair poet.”

“A poet?” I did a quick double take of the man. In no way did the heavily armored man give off the impression of someone who spent all their time writing. The poet raised his head from the campfire quickly sizing me up.

“I see you have found the garments and dagger I left you. I hope they have found themselves in worthy hands.”

“You gave me the dagger?!” I nearly yelled the words out in surprise. Why does a poet have a magic life stealing dagger? More importantly why would he give it to me?

“The dagger was a gift left to me by a friend long forgotten. I was granted it to use as I see fit. Ever since the Prince began his campaign against the vicious, I have been giving the dagger to those who where wiling to take up the banner of change.” He paused for a moment, let out a tired sigh and then continued. “I gift them the opportunity to take back what Lato stole. When the prince learned of my actions, he created the Path as a means for the vicious to prove themselves. Those who can successfully overcome the trials of the Path shall be rewarded in a way Lato deems fitting.”

“Just like how he decides what punishment is fitting?” I asked.

“The very same.” He nodded.

“So, what now? I just follow this Path overcome the trials and then I get the pleasure of meeting the very same asshole that forced me to walk it?”

“You need not walk the Path alone. I shall act as your guide. Although I may not take part in the trials, I can prepare you for them.” The Poet motioned for me to sit on the log opposite of him. There was a moment of silence before he raised his head once more. “Ask what questions plague your mind.”

My first question came without much thought. “What is the Path?”

“The Path is a collection of four trials that one must claim victory over. As one follows the path they will travel across the outer kingdoms. We now reside near the trial of fortitude. Next, we shall move to the eastern Tolside peaks. There you shall undertake the trial of temperance. If you succeed in the trial, we will climb across the giant Geymd and make our way to the city of Halaun that resides in his palm. There you will face the third trial, that of prudence. Finally, we will make our way to the depraved city of Wrence, Facing the greatest trial, that of justice.” The poet took in a large breath before continuing once more. “Overcome these trials and I shall take you to the capital of the inner kingdom, Min Lochter. In which you will once again confront Lato.”

“And if I choose to not take the Path? If I just go straight to “min Locker” or whatever to slit Lato’s throat.” I asked growing more and more frustrated as I heard more about the Path.

“You have not the strength to go against the prince. He has remained undefeated in strength for longer than one can imagine. No matter the circumstance you will never be able to even lay a scratch upon his figure. If you leave the Path you will be forced to suffer in the outer kingdoms. You will never be granted the peace of your homeland nor the comfort of the inner kingdom.”

“What about the dagger? How does it work?” I asked half curious half trying to distract myself from the trials.

“The dagger is made of the flesh and bone of the exalted lord empowered by the remnants of divinity granted to him. It was forged to combat the life stealing sword once wielded by the cambian champion Undvik the defiler.”

“What is a cambian? I assume the life stealing sword was what Lato used to drain me.” The Poet gave an affirmative nod before allowing me to go on. “What happened to this Undvik?”

“The cambians are a race bred for war. The perfect breed between giant and man. They were created by the God of chaos before the Gods abandoned Utradem. Undvik was defeated in battle some hundred solstice ago.”

“And a solstice is?”

“See how the sky in the west is eternally dark? Day is currently everpresent in the east. When the night of the west forfeits to the day of the east it is called a solstice. Before our abandonment one might only live to see one or two solstices. Now they are no more rare then the dirt we tread upon.”

I sat there asking more questions trying to learn all that I could. I struggled to learn anything else of value from the poeet and he was especially tight lipped about the contents of the trials and the compulsions. After a while I gave in to my frustration and decided to move on.

“When do we leave for the next trial?” I asked not hiding my frustration.

“As soon as you are ready.” He replied as deadpan as ever.

“No time like the present.” I said as I rose to my feet. Not having anything to do or pack up, I let out a long sigh before giving my body a fair stretch. With a few kicks of dirt, the Poet put an end to the campfire and slung his sword to his side. When he saw I was ready to follow he stepped into the dark wood without hesitation.

After a moment of contemplation I steeled my nerves and I followed.