3rd June, 1329.

Ferniegair, South-East of Glasgow.

Scotland.

Earth.

There seemed to be only ten of the massive green skins, but flanking them were nearly four times that number of goblins.

A larger creature emerged from a hovel, dragging a chain. With a jerk on the heavy metal links, it hauled a diminutive young woman from within. She lost her balance and sprawled in the dirt of the Hamlet on her knees before it.

She wore tattered rags, which barely covered her body. Seeing the party of armed and armoured humans, her bruised, bloody face lit up in hope. Bursting into tears, she tried to run forward, but her captor pulled back and the chain went taut, sending her tumbling to the cold, muddy ground.

She didn’t have time to scream as a massive black axe-blade cleaved through her skull, neck and thorax, jamming itself into the bone of her pelvis.

Blood fountained out of her corpse as she flopped lifelessly to the ground. The monster picked her up by a leg. Ignoring the spattering gore dripping from her corpse, it threw her body out onto the road in challenge.

Behind him, Liam could hear the Princess retching at the sight. He couldn’t blame her. If he hadn’t seen and experienced violence before, the sight would have disgusted him far more than it did now. He still had to force back his rising gorge.

The fiend glared at the knights and gestured that they should approach, clearly challenging them to battle.

Lord James scowled at the vicious murder and the cowardly act. The green skins formed up within the barricade, far enough back that the riders would need to dismount if they sought to engage.

Seeing this, the Lord frowned. The tactical advantage of the confrontation lay with the enemy, but his men, freshly levelled, were now far more powerful than they had been. With the Princess' guard, the Lord felt confident that his nineteen remaining Men at Arms, as well as the seven King’s men, could emerge victorious.

It was better to be safe than confident.

“Dismount men!” James ordered. “If this beast thinks he can defeat the godly men of Scotland, we shall confound it! Archers will form up behind the line and fire from the barricade!”

Only three of the remaining men were proficient with the bow. He’d left with five. Now two lay dead. His remaining complement of archers had remained in Douglas Keep under the command of Sir Keith. More than enough to deal with any trouble the town may face.

Lady Tatania rode to him. “Go with my blessing, husband, and bring me its head!” She said. She had a steely glint in her eyes, angered by the bloody scenes around her.

He nodded, ordering the Squire and the Pages to guard his wife.

Liam watched as the force of Men at Arms dismounted. The Squire and Pages being ordered to remain guarding the Lady, so the full complement of surviving armsmen could fight.

Twenty-six had survived the skirmish in the field, not including Iain and his fellows. Their boosted attributes were about to be tested.

The men crossed the barricade cautiously, forming up on the other side. The Scots moved in a formation two deep; they huddled close, eleven men across and the Lord in the middle. The front line held their shields at eye level and crouched slightly as they advanced, never allowing their feet to cross. The second rank held polearms in high two handed grips, ready to strike over the men in front.

Lady Tatania had moved her horse closer to the barricade, which only rose to shoulder height on a tall man. On horseback, the mounted party’s view of the standoff was unobstructed.

One goblin, unable to restrain its battle lust, charged forward, breaking rank with his fellows. An axe blow from one man in the front rank smashed it into the ground, a piece of its skull flying off into a refuse pile beside a hovel. The sight caused mean spirited laughter to rise from the larger of the green-skinned beasts. The goblins, however, muttered amongst themselves, edging back on each flank of the formation.

Lord Douglas and his men approached slowly, finally coming to the disembowelled body of the young woman. As they stepped over her, carefully avoiding treading on her remains, the Orc line lunged forward.

The impact of their charge was phenomenal. Leading its formation at a sprint, the largest green skin slammed into the centre of the Scots line, its shoulder rammed into Lord Douglas, hurling him across the square.

The brief charge completely demolished the formation of the Scots, as fighting devolved to a brawl. One beast grabbed a man-at-arms by his shield and crumpled the wood as though it were parchment with one hand. The monstrous orc raised his other arm and smashed its heavy wooden club repeatedly into the man’s shoulder, smashing the collar bone and with subsequent blows, it destroyed the ribs beneath. Blood fountained out of the defenceless man’s mouth as the enemy creature kicked the body away with disdain.

That monster fell to an axe blow that tore out its throat. Another of the beasts had flowed through the shattered ranks of Scots with a grace that belied its size. Two short swords looked like knives in its meaty hands as it dodged into the broken human formation. Each swing slashing and bruising flesh through the men’s chainmail as it sought any gap in their defence.

Another two men fell bleeding as vital points became targets of the agile beast. Liam saw the Squire Glengarry dispatch that orc. His sword punctured its skull as it turned from murdering one of his fellows.

The Scots reformed their line, and soon three more beasts fell in quick succession as the Men at Arms recovered. In seconds, the momentum of the fight turned against them as the goblins pushed forward to exploit the breach. The Scottish force had already lost six men. Nine of the larger Orcs remained, and it appeared the goblins may overwhelm the human force.

Arrows flew from the Archers on the barricade, allowing the Scots to stabilise their position. The heavy darts punched into the goblins and orcs. Under cover from their fire, the men of Douglas struck back, spears and axes darting forward in controlled cuts and thrusts, hewing foe-flesh. Men in the front ranks held shields forward, cutting desperately at green hands which desperately battled to thrust the protective layer of wood and hide aside.

Working together, the Douglas armsmen and King's soldiers took down several goblins and orcs who cowered from the arrows.

Two-thirds of the enemy force yet remained and the weight of their numbers began forcing the Scots’ line back.

The impact of the green skin charge had stunned Lord James for a moment. He lay a few yards behind his troops, watching as the enemy leader decapitated one of his men.

The beast turned towards the Lord.

Lady Tatania’s face went white as she saw her husband still lying prone. Every moment he didn’t rise, she gripped the reins of her mount tighter.

Finally, he stood, only to be forced to a knee again by a downward blow of the massive green skin. While the Lord deflected the blow with his shield, it fell with so much force that the shield splintered in half.

Lord Douglas used his position to lunge forward, sinking his blade deep into the monster's side. Howling, it battered at him with an over-muscled arm. But the agile noble dodged below it, twisting the blade to open the wound and forcing it up towards where the heart would be.

A massive hand reached down, gripping the nobleman's wrist. The monster let out a grunt of pained effort and lifted. Spasming as the bones in his arm fractured and broke, Lord James released the sword and let out a terrible scream. His bones grated against each-other and out through his skin. Somehow still able to fight, the Scotsman kicked with all his might at the hilt embedded in the monster and drove it in deeper.

The roar of rage and pain that followed stunned the battlefield into stillness for a moment, and the great beast dropped the Lord of Douglas to the ground.

Liam saw a notification pop up. It counted down.

A Hellspawn Ability has stunned you.

Your mortal body will remain frozen for:

3 Seconds.

2 Seconds.

1 Second.

“We must help him!” He said as soon as the effect wore off.

Iain shook his head, never taking his eyes off the desperate fight. “We cannae. If we dismount and cross the barricade, the Princess and Lady will be unguarded. We have our duty and dinnae ken if more lie close by!”

Liam sat open-mouthed. But the lord will die! There must be something I can…

Seized with sudden inspiration, Liam hefted his spear like a javelin, and with his system enhanced strength hurled it towards the massive green skin.

He had been hoping to hit it in the throat or some other vital area, but his lack of skill and practice with his newfound strength meant he had misjudged the distance.

Still, the sharpened goblin spearhead slammed into the fiend’s leg just above the knee. The blackened metal cut through orc flesh like butter, slamming into the Chief’s thigh. With a roar of pain, furious eyes stared over the barricade, searching out its assailant. It grunted dismissively, as it seemed to mark Liam and the others as mere nuisances.

It pulled at the spear with its free hand, but it stuck fast in the muscle, the spear's barbs causing it to cling to the flesh. Instead, the Orc merely broke off the shaft as if snapping a twig. Despite its indifference to the wound, Liam could see a large volume of green-black blood pouring from the wound as it turned back to their Lord, limping now.

The other boys followed Liam’s example, throwing anything they could at the creature. Belt-knives, camp-gear and even a flask of water bounced off or cut at the monster, but it stolidly ignored them, focusing on Lord James.

The Lord had regained his feet now, dazed and half blinded by his helm, the visor hanging askew. He still held his sword and shield despite the tremendous impact. Reaching up to the side of his face, he scrabbled with his mail mitten’d sword hand until he found the pin that held the visor in place. Wrenching it free, his vision cleared.

Spotting the orc before him, James Douglas held the blade’s point toward the beast, attempting to fend it off with the threat of impalement as he cradled his broken arm to his chest. All could see things looked grim for the Lord.

The Lady and her escort could see that the orc's arms were as long as Lord Douglas was tall. With the great axe it held, it would have no problem striking Lord Douglas with its greater reach.

Lady Tatania spoke to Iain, ordering him forward. The squire dismounted, but Liam knew he would be too late. Lady Tatania’s eyes never left her husband's form, and as the monster drew closer, she cried out in horror as it raised its axe. Iain, still climbing the barricade, screamed in impotent rage as he urged himself onward.

Liam, however, had seen enough. He had to act! Until now, he’d seen this all as some grand adventure, an opportunity for him to advance himself beyond his lowly station and become a knight. But now, the dire reality of his station struck him. Without the Lord, without his friends, he was nothing but the same carpenter's apprentice he had been not one week before.

The words of Sir Keith came back to him, and time seemed to freeze.

His intent.

At that moment, Liam knew a knight was not a mere soldier. A Knight was a harbinger. A tool forged for one singular purpose. To manifest their intent into a message, they delivered to enemies and friends alike. A deliverer when all seemed lost.

Knights were not proud fools who lorded wealth or fame so they could boast and prance about in shining mail, gold-leaf and great pomp or ceremony. They did not stay abed in comfortable keeps, surrounded by fine things and good food. They were not there to impress the peasantry with displays of useless power and wealth.

In a singular moment of clarity, the pieces of the puzzle slammed into place. From the moment Christ had sacrificed his life on the cross, the world of nobility had changed. From that point onwards, knights and nobles had but one mission.

It was a singular act which they repeated over and over throughout their life. An act Liam would need to repeat here.

He recalled his first meeting with Lord Douglas. Remembering the moment his Lord had asked Liam why he had helped.

Liam had thought about it in the saddle for long hours.

The conclusion he came to then was that the intent of a knight is to intercede on behalf of those who cannot stand for themselves. Now he saw that was wrong. Christ had interceded for all, and knights were not there simply to solve the world’s ills.

And who was Liam to think he could even try? He was just a boy, not a knight!

Tears misted his eyes as he recalled another boy who had once been from a carpentry. A boy, born to parents who lacked wealth and means. That boy had become a man who stepped forward to give the world hope at the cost of his own life.

That boy was his saviour, Jesus Christ. He had been no one and had been greater. He had accepted his station and saw each obstacle was not something to be avoided but was instead the path he must take. A path Liam would also take.

The obstacle is the way.

His intent formed. A surge of power filled Liam’s limbs, causing his horse to whicker. The other pages looked at him, startled, as Liam moved.

A knight’s intent was to intercede on behalf of those without hope. When all hope seemed lost, it was the purpose of a knight to create it anew through action and deliver it where it was needed. To forge a path through any obstacle and create a way for others to follow.

They were the harbingers of hope, made manifest through their intent. A knight’s intent was beyond steel. It was immutable. They brought was the light of Hope in an apocalyptic world.

Liam would be that light of Hope.

And one day he would shine it upon the entire world. For now, he would start with a single man.

His Lord.

With a yell, Liam spurred his horse forward at the barricade that lay only a few yards away, causing a startled Iain to spin around wide-eyed at the sound of approaching hoof-beats.

As his horse drew near the barricade, it balked.

Liam had expected this, however, and leaped from the stirrup to gain height as the momentum of the horse sent him flying over the wall of piled furniture and wood.

He tucked into the fall and rolled to a halt, crouching between his Lord and the monster. As he stood to face the beast, drew his sword.

Beyond the barricade, the other Pages looked on as Liam stood between their Lord and the monster. In their eyes, Liam was no longer a Page boy, but a warrior.

Liam set his brow in determination, his eyes glowing with purpose. Aidan gave a cheer, which was taken up by the other pages. The archers on the barricade, who had been sending arrows into the Orc, redoubled their efforts, as hope rekindled.

The monster, startled by the intervention, paused, blinking its surprise. Its gargantuan axe raised high above its head, about to strike down at Lord James. Liam’s timely intervention had granted a small reprieve as the beast let loose an evil chuckle. Its red eyes glinted with mirth as its tusk-like teeth clattered as it laughed.

Liam stood calmly. As he’d trained, he held an arming sword in one hand and his unadorned kite shield in the other. Liam was only as tall as the monster’s muscled abdomen, but the lad held his ground unflinchingly. Behind him, Lord James got unsteadily to his feet, pulling his dirk from his belt as he circled to the right, the pain from his broken arm dulling as adrenaline surged. He kept out of easy reach of the beast, ready to dodge away.

The beast ignored the wounded lord, having found a new threat to eviscerate. It jabbed its axe out in a tentative strike. Liam made what he considered a perfect block, deflecting the axe to his side. The impact was far more forceful than any he’d encountered before, and with the massive weight behind his opponent's strike, he still stumbled back.

Or he would have if the axe had not dragged back quickly, hooking his shield upon his spike and dragging him forward.

Surprised by the move, Liam held onto the shield and overbalanced, his shoulder slamming into the beast's hip. The beast recovered its axe, tearing the shield free of Liam’s hand and sending it flying back towards the still fighting Men at Arms. It had let go of the axe with one hand and slammed it down.

Liam was about to be crushed by the green skinned Orc’s hammer-fisted blow, but Lord James dashed forward. Now recovered from the initial assault, he swung his blade, slicing it through the monster's left ankle and cutting the tendons.

No longer able to support itself on that foot, the massive Orc sank to its knee.

With the giant green skin now distracted, Liam had a moment to act. Seeing his newly looted spear embedded in the leg closest to him, he kicked it deeper, the wide leaf-blade cutting through the huge muscle with ease. The orc toppled, catching itself with one hand as it fell. Liam lunged forward as it came within his range, sinking his blade to the hilt into the Orc’s barrel chest. The blade penetrated deep, sprouting on the opposite side from where the Lord’s blow struck. Sure of his enemy’s demise, Liam grinned in victory.

The monster bellowed again and once more; Liam saw a message flash before his eyes.

A Hellspawn Ability has stunned you.

Your mortal body will remain frozen for:

3 Seconds.

2 Seconds.

1 Second.

Before he could comprehend why his body was failing to respond, a backhanded blow threw Liam back into the barricade. The Orc chief was far from done. He reached to his belt and withdrew a red crystal flask. Raising it to its lips, it devoured the contents in a single gulp.

Lord James saw Liam hurled back by a mighty blow. Angered at the sight, the Lord of Douglas advanced once more on the monster, which was now getting back to its feet.

Liam couldn’t breathe. The impact of the blow had knocked all the wind out of him, and his fall into the barricade had resulted in several large wooden splinters slamming into the muscles of his back. They penetrated through his chainmail and gambeson but stopped short of his organs.

Fortunately for Liam, his head hit a sack of millet stacked upon the barricade. Shaking his head in a daze, he realized his helmet and the bag of grain had cushioned the impact of his body enough for him to remain conscious. Despite his fortune, he saw the red bar that showed his health drop to just over half. Then came the pain. The shards of wood protruding from his back, grinding upon his ribs when he tried to stand. He’d felt pain like this before and knew he could act through it.

Liam winced, struggling to stand.

What will it take to kill this demon? He thought.

As tried to suck air into his lungs, he saw Squire Iain join the fray, his shield slammed ineffectually into the monster’s now uninjured leg as he swung his sword to cut at its arm. Lord James slashed at it from behind, carving deep lines in its flanks and arms as he dodged counterblows. The squire and Lord worked together to distract the beast as they cut at it. Black blood flew, but the beast seemed to have an endless supply of vitality.

Goblins began streaming past them and over the barricade. They avoided the combatants as they ran, but Liam could hear the yells of his friends and Lady Tatania as the enemies forced his friends to defend themselves. Liam immediately worried for the Princess, but then heard her yell in anger, too.

Liam hoped they would be all right.

Liam finally drew a breath. Refocusing, he glared at the beast, trying to identify it.

Raider Chief Gurzaltuc

Level 15

Half-Orc, Half-Jotun

Health: 302/1650

Its health was massive. Liam saw that his own was barely one fifteenth of that. The massive blow he’d taken had wiped out over 70 health, but he knew that it would have killed most men outright.

Liam had suspected that his sword blow bisected the Orc’s heart. If that were so, it should have killed the beast, instead it had only reduced its health by a vast amount. Looking at his own health bar, Liam could only guess that whatever the Horns had changed, health was now the primary factor in how much damage a person could take without dying.

Summoning his intent, Liam levered himself up, ignoring the grating pain from his back.

Standing once more on shaking legs, Liam searched about. Picking up his sword from the snow-encrusted ground, he cautiously returned to the fray. As he limped forward, he watched carefully for opportunities to strike. The giant half-orc, however, was far more cautious now.

As Liam watched, Lord James slipped as he dodged. A moment later, he flew through a wall, as the Orc’s kick connected with his chest. The blow sent him tumbling through the wattle-and-daub wall of a hovel. Simultaneously, the half-orc slipped his axe-haft forward and tripped Iain.

In a moment, the Orc reversed the weapon, and the axe descended and slammed down. The wide, curved edge bit straight through Iain’s shield, taking off his arm below the elbow. It continued through and slammed into his stomach, finally stopped by the mail of Iain’s hauberk.

Iain did not cry out, but merely lay there, his face sheet white as he gasped for air. The Orc watched his face in bemusement.

An arrow slammed into its neck and the monster let loose an ear-shattering roar of rage.

Iain finally answered it with his own cry of pain and fear as the Orc pressed him on the ground with a foot. Liam sprinted forward, knowing he’d be too late. The Orc stepped back and using the spiked blade on the back of its axe, bringing it down in a two handed grip with all the massive force its muscled frame could muster.

The spike slammed through Iain’s mail, parting it like paper. Its spike continued through Iain’s stomach and into the snowy ground, pinning the squire, whose shriek of agony echoed around the battlefield.

The Half-Jotun/Orc left the screaming squire writhing in his own blood and the thawing mud of the winter street. It turned once more on Liam. For the third time, Liam heard a monster speak.

“I will savour your pain too, ‘Page’,” it mocked, “my great-sire may have served your God, but I have found a greater Master. He unshackled me from the cares of mortality. He allowed me to forge my path and taught me the song of blood and flame! Hear it now, from my great-sire’s harp!”

The Orc stretched out a hand, and within it, a small harp appeared. It rapidly grew in size until the Orc’s meaty fingers could play it with ease. With a malicious smile, the Orc strummed it while singing in a harsh roar that pained Liam to hear.

Around him, the world erupted in motes of fire, withering the last of the freezing grass and setting a flame in the barricade and thatch of the hovels nearby.

The discordant notes of the harp grated harshly to Liam’s ears as the Orc advanced. In a moment, the sword in his hand burned as hot as a poker left too long in the brazier. The pain forced Liam to drop it into the steaming roadway. His gambeson had smoked too, and the fringe of his mail burnt his face where it dropped past his smouldering padded coif.

Witchcraft! Liam thought. How in heaven will I defeat it now?

Liam saw his spear in the Orc’s leg, and he made a grab for it, only to feel himself kicked to the ground by a booted foot.

Liam focused on the beast again.

Raider Chief Gurzaltuc

Level 15

Half-Orc, Half-Jotun

Health: 373/1650

The Orc was still somehow healing itself.

Lying on the mud of the road, Liam scrambled back from the huge green skinned beast, finding only a stone within his grasp. Clutching it desperately, he found himself lifted off his feet by the fiend. Its fingers sizzled from the heat of Liam’s armour as it gripped his throat. Fortunately, the Orc had stopped playing the infernal music, but Liam knew he was now in far more danger.

He tried to pummel the rock into the Orc’s wrist, vainly attempting to loosen its grip. It laughed in spite. “Why don’t you give up, human? Accept your fate! To me, you humans are nothing but experience!”

The Half Orc opened its cavernous mouth, sharp tusks jutted from its lower jaw and Liam shuddered, knowing it was likely to be the last sight he ever saw. Liam’s health dropped rapidly as the Orc constricted his neck with its massive, thickly muscled hand. He was now below forty health, and it was dropping fast. The edges of his vision blackened.

Liam felt more than saw an impact that reverberated up the Orc’s arm. Through the haze of semi-consciousness, he saw the Orc chief turn his head, its eyes burning with rage at the interruption of its meal. A goblin's short sword appeared in the beast's shoulder, then Lord James used the freshly looted blade as a handhold to climb the beast's back. His arm having somehow healed, he swarmed up the giant.

He must have gained a level!

As it turned its head, Liam remembered a tale from a sermon long ago. He may have lacked a sling, but this was Liam’s Goliath. Seizing his opportunity, he slammed the stone he still clutched in his hand against the side of the behemoth’s head.

Liam noticed an immediate effect as the Orc’s body spasmed slightly while desperately reaching over its shoulder to grab the Lord.

Shocked by the desperate assault from the seemingly helpless young page, the monster stumbled, and Liam smashed the rock a second time, then a third, finally hearing the monster’s skull crack. Dazed eyes turned once more to him, and Liam swung once more, now with all the energy he had left in his body. The skull deformed around the impact as the stone drove into the brain pan with a wet thump. Slowly, the Orc toppled over, crashing to the ground.

Liam picked himself up from atop the corpse. He hurt all over and the vice-like grip on his neck had meant he hadn’t been able to breathe. Sucking in the much-needed oxygen, he doubled over and threw up.

Lord Douglas dragged the goblin short sword from the neck of the Orc Chief who still thrashed as its nervous system caught up to the reality of brain death. The Scottish Noble turned to scan the battlefield where the remaining Men at Arms were finishing the last of the larger green skins.

They had gone into a frenzy once their chief fell, making them easy targets for the men with pole-arms to take down.

Turning back to Liam, the Lord yelled a warning, just as a goblin tackled Liam from behind.

Liam had no energy left and crumpled in a heap below the smaller creature. Fatigue wracked him so that he couldn’t lift his arm to defend himself. His stamina bar was barely showing in his vision.

Closing his eyes, Liam sent a last prayer to God.

Lord, I commend my soul to you in my last moments. May you guide my friends’ safely from this life to your halls! Amen.

A thump followed by a flash of white was all Liam could see as Lady Tatania was standing over him, screaming as she smashed the massive Orc Chief’s axe into the writhing goblin that had borne Liam to the ground. The Princess stood behind her, helping her wield the gargantuan blade.

A golden glow suffused Liam as the Orc Chief finally succumbed to its inevitable death. He saw Squire Iain nearby, the stump of his arm healing over, and the wound in his gut healed. The rent in his mail from where the axe pinned him to the earth now only showed smooth skin.

Liam looked on in awe as the freshly healed Squire displayed immense fortitude, standing as though nothing had happened. He gestured with his ruined arm, rallying the young pages and leading them against the last of the green skins.

Lord Douglas saw that the balance of the fight was now firmly in the favour of the Scots. Tiredly, he sat atop the still-warm corpse of the Orc chief as he watched his men work together to end the fight. He smiled in relief as Andrew brutally hacked apart the last goblin.

As silence descended on the hamlet, although the pages tried unsuccessfully to raise a cheer, soon falling into a more embarrassed silence.

Liam extricated himself from beneath the body of the goblin Lady Tatania had slain, suddenly feeling much better. He looked at his stamina and health. Both were showing as full, and he felt that the splinters that cut through his armour from the impact with the barricade were no longer there.

Drained, he sat beside his lord, staring into the mud.

They had won.