After the hunt, Toale and Bryan had rejoined the march. They had continued without incident apart from many small groups splitting off from time to time.Despite the hard march under the unforgiving sun, the men of the Silver Moon were full of vitality. Their strong bodies not affected.

That evening after dinner, Toale took his leave and once again attempted to enter a trance, searching for his Dance. The image of the dying Lynx, of the smashed organs and the mournful cries haunted his consciousness, threatening to devour him. Shivering he broke out of it, cold sweat coursing down his body.

He remained there, the temperature falling as dusk encroached upon the horizon.

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Graveth looked over the mercenary camp with. A hard to describe, complex emotion danced across his features. Turning to Sheart, he steadfastly said, “Gather our men, we leave tonight. Bring Toale.”

Turning back to the camp, it seemed as if he was trying to memorize the features of each and every mercenary, the 400 men and women that relaxed around the camp fires, full of cheer and goodwill.

A hard glint in his eyes, he strode off.

He knew, he could never be forgiven.

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“Uncle Sheart.” Toale raised his head, breaking from his contemplation as he heard someone approach.

“Come with me.” Shearts voice was cold. No longer the same jovial priest that Toale remembered. Now he was strict and cold, his tone demanding obedience.

Confused, Toale still rose to follow him. The expression on Shearts face causing his heart to plummet.

Whats going on? Has a dangerous beast appeared?

Not receiving an explanation, Toale was led to through the maze of tents. It didn't take long for them to arrive at a clearing. Here stood 50. They stood straight and tall, their expressions fierce and domineering. Gone was the laidback laughter, the lazy lifestyle of mercenaries.

These 50 men were the original members of the Silver Moon, the backbone that had given birth to a force of over 400 fighters. 50 men whose strength had caused the Silver Moon to be regarded highly in Oslem. Now they carried not the ruthlessness of a vagabond but the dignity of a soldier.

“Hurry up. Your equipment is over there.” Shearts voice was harsh and grating. It was obvious that he didn't want to be questioned.

Faced with this, Toale had no option but to follow orders.

Damnit. Whats up with these guys? I feel like Uncle Shearts going to rip me a new one if I even open my mouth.

Quickly opening the bundle, Toale gasped in surprise. The items within, while simple in design almost caused his eyes to pop out. In the parcel there was a simple leather armour, composed of a breastplate, greaves, vambraces and gauntlets.

What the hell? Ersus Serpent skin? A single piece costs a fortune!

Ersus serpents were feared desolate beasts. They made their lairs deep within the wilderness and their skin was only obtainable from wandering nomads at an exorbitant price. Toale had seen a piece before, used as material for the sheath of a powerful runic warrior's sword. Its ability to freely conduct runic energies made it invaluable.

The armour was midnight black, dyed and treated. The grooves and patterns distinctive if the Ersus serpent seemed chaotic one moment and hypnotically beautiful the next. The breastplate was smooth and cool to the feel, the serpent's skin had been utilized skillfully and treated by a master tanner. This resulted in the armour retaining the natural stretchiness as when the serpent was alive. The gauntlets were comfortable when worn, the exposed fingers designed to give better traction when gripping. It was the vambraces that caught his attention the most. Along the side were serrated hooks, the barbs dangerously sharp and carrying a deep murderous air.

It was only after he had donned the armour that he noticed the item underneath. The darkness, partially illuminated by torches, had hidden the slender object. The sheath was made of a dark, smooth wood. The colour seemingly drinking in light. Toale hurriedly drew the blade, gripping the simple bone hilt. The beautiful blade made him involuntarily gasp.

As the metre long blade reflected the dancing flames, it too seemed to mirror their movements, becoming fire itself. The blade was a product of expert smithing, a falchion produced by a master. As he held the weapon, gazing at the designs he inadvertently slashed through the air. The ease and the balance of the sword making him even more excited. The balance of the blade was so exquisite, it felt like an extension of his arms.

“Do you like it?”

Toale started, he had been so engrossed in admiring the weapon that he didn't notice Graveths arrival.

“This…” Toale was hesitant. He may be young but he knew the value of the items he held. Though they were not runic artifacts, there were many mercenaries from Oslem who would risk life and limb for them.

“Consider them a congratulatory gift for your awakening.” Seeing Toales expression, he explained.

Looking at the items, Toales heart was full of gratitude as he looked at his uncle.