Of Cannons and Spells!

Prologue

It was a cold night, the wind blew with all its might and made travel to the top of Mount Heur much harder than usual, and yet a fire burned, with vigour and ferocity at the base of the great mountain, small as it was. Three travellers drew close to the fire to keep their bodies from succumbing to the chilling wind. The land around them was barren without respite as far as the eye could see; the ground was hard and infertile. Great evil had polluted this once renowned land, robbing it of its bountiful riches.

The faces of the travellers were tense, for they were no mere wanderers. They were adventurers sent forth by the Kelpean isle to banish the evil that loomed near its borders. Many miles they had travelled, and many battles they had fought before this moment.

The party was of two men and one woman. The woman had a long wooden staff by her side; one of the men carried a quiver with a bow in hand while the other kept his sword sheathed in his scabbard. They were a warrior and an archer no doubt.

The warrior was a youth. He showed the markings of an agile and strong man. His chestplate shimmered, absorbing the light from the fire. He seemed deep in thought. The woman was old; her figure bent close to the fire; she had seen much the other two hadn't, therefore the grave danger at hand cast a burden on her the other two couldn't fathom, the burden of responsibility.

The archer chattered in the cold while the others stayed still. He seemed to be of the same age and build as the warrior but lacked the confidence the warrior exuded. He was silent and had a worried look upon his face.

"Jeziah," said the woman breaking the silence, "I sense fear in you, be resplendent in courage at once or else the Witch will cast your heart into stone and your soul into oblivion!".

The very mention of the Witch seemed to send the surroundings into a disquiet and didn't serve to alleviate Jeziah's worry. "You speak of courage Vazanna, but if it weren't for this desolate landscape and grim mission I would sing from joy!".

"Then leave us," said the warrior in barely a whisper and yet his words threatened fury. Jeziah was at a loss for words and seemed to think it best to not speak of the matter further. "I am sorry I said anything at all Aramos. I only hope you do not think ill of me," he said earnestly.

The smallest of smiles seemed to flicker at Aramos' lips before he said, "It does not do well to dwell on such matters of unease, we must steel ourselves in courage unfound if only for the fate of the Isle".

Vazanna and Jeziah, if only for a moment seemed to make peace at this point of mutual contention. "We have no steeds, to take us to the peak of this wretched mountain. We must leave at the crack of dawn if we hope to make good distance." Aramos continued. "We have come so far, and been through much together. Let us not fall apart at the hour we are required the most!".

Guilt ate at Jeziah as he raised his goblet filled with the precious wine that they had brought from so far away, so long ago, to a toast with the others. He must steel himself if only for his father.

Their victory was at hand.