A village was burning, a few injured were still wailing, but otherwise, there was only one left standing: Tjorbennan; and he was running from a huge imposing man. The man had struck down or ordered others to strike down all of his village. A scar in his face and greying hair spoke of the man as an experienced hero of his faith. He was wielding sword and shield, clad in finely engraved armour and was supported by several archers and spearmen. Now he was coming for Tjorbennan.

The veteran raised his sword and let his battle cry boom across the burning village square. Tjorbennan was at the end of his rope when he remembered the words the village elder had once taught him, in and old language he had never learned.

“ASHKANAI PRATEZZUN!”

A blue flame sprung from his hand and formed a fiery sword. The blade caught the armoured veteran's sword with a searing song of metal and flame. The hatred in the veteran’s eyes only deepened. Arrows flew at Tjorbennan, but the blade swatted them from the air with ease. With the sword as his guide, Tjorbennan duelled the veteran, he stood his ground as the swords sang their duet, he drove the intruder back. His friends tried to help the veteran, but he yelled a command to them and they stood down. This was between the two of them.

No, more importantly, this was between the two god’s that guided their blades. The foreigner with his god of death and brutality, and Tjorbennan with the ancient that blessed and delivered the entirety of Stakkarun.

The fight dragged on and Tjorbennan became more and more sure that he could beat the intruder. His god was weak and his will faltered. Then, when Tjorbennan was already sure he could win, the veteran retreated behind his shield and unleashed a mighty blow that struck Tjorbennan to the ground.

“CANDESCE!” the veteran yelled and a silvery flame enveloped his sword; in its light, the veteran’s armour and weapon was gilded. In a brightly shining arc, he brought his silver down onto the fiery blue emanating from Tjorbennan's arm and tore through it, severing Tjorbennan’s arm at the elbow.

Victory stood in the man’s face as he dealt the final blow with cheerful hate.