Sir Griswold sat in his usual chair, a hulking throne impressive only due to its size. The once polished gleam had long since given way to dried and splintered timbers. The fine wood was no match for the daily saturation, then drying it was subjected to in the sweltering jungle heat. Though uncomfortable, the old knight found it fitting. An old relic, decaying from neglect. He felt a certain kinship with the seat and it complimented his maudlin outlook almost as well as the harsh wine he pensively sipped from a tarnished silver goblet.

As a general rule, nothing reflective in the tower at the edge of the world was ever polished. The servants knew how even a glimpse of the knight's greying hair, sunken eyes, or weather-worn face could send him into a deadly rage. The beatings they regularly received for shoddy service was a far superior outcome in their eyes, and so the tower was seemingly always without competent help.

In fact, considering Sir Griswold's predilection for disparaging the quality of the locals, He would often be put in a, if not happy, at least vindicated mood every time he had the opportunity to compare their deficiencies to his, admittedly former, glory. Sometimes it even let him forget his internal exile for a time. At times like those, he could bear taking to his large, uncomfortable seat for a time and at least pretend to watch the border.

As a knight of the Empire assigned to a tower at the world's edge, it was his duty to stand vigil and watch for any incursions into the Holy lands. Not for the first time, he thought how he was forced to protect those who pushed him out of the battlefields just when he was beginning to distinguish himself. The face of a particularly cowardly snake, his former captain, rose to the forefront of his mind and an involuntary tremor in his hand crushed his goblet.

Wine splashed over the already stained armrest and the knight looked at his hand and scowled at his lack of self-control. He stood and walked to the very edge of his tower before casually tossing the cup over the side. Better to lose some silver than to expose any weakness to the servants. There was no telling how many of them were spies. As loathsome as his current position was, there are still many who would covet it, and scheme to cast him down in order to take his place.

He watched as the cup fell. It tumbled through the air gracefully for the entire six stories of the smooth sided tower, and then it fell some more. Sir Griswold watched it tumble down past the few scraggly trees that managed to find some crevice in the sheer escarpment. He watched until it glimmered one last time in the light of the dawning sun and fell into the golden fogbank hundreds of feet below. It would either land in the lake or smash itself into unrecognizable bits on the rocks. Either way, the evidence was taken care of.

He turned back to his chair and noticed the glow in his farmlands for the first time. Old instincts thought long dead snapped back into action. He bellowed for the guards stationed on the floor below. When he heard scrambling but no guards appeared he wrenched open the trapdoor and let them have it. He really loved venting on his subordinates. It was the last little bit of power he enjoyed and he wielded it freely.

The guards hastened their preparations and ascent but the knight wasn't known for his patience. He jumped down to the floor below, ignoring the ladder and the pair of guards climbing it. It was a full ten feet between levels on the tower but the Knight landed as easily as if he just stepped down from the curb. The ease of the action was completely at odds with the Boom that shook the room, briefly setting everything in the room rattling. That included the nerves of its occupants.

"Get my armor and horse prepared! We are under attack!" As he spoke he deftly pulled a massive greatsword from its mounting on the wall. It was nearly as long as the knight was tall but he waved it around as easily as if it was a dagger. He gave a practice swing and shattered the thick table still covered in the guards' unfinished breakfast. The guardsmen froze at the sudden proclamation and the following explosion of wood, crockery, and pottage. They had never seen their lord so roused.

No one had attacked their village in living memory. More than one of the lazy guards were now wishing they had taken their training more seriously. Who the hell would attack the Empire? More to the point, how could a handful of third-string spearmen, not even good enough to make it into support regiments face a determined foe? Besides that, who could their foe be? There was nothing but unclaimed wilds beyond the escarpment. Sir Griswold was not to be defied however and his heavy-handed leadership style paid off. At least as far as getting the men moving towards danger was concerned. How they would fare once they reached the danger, was another matter altogether.

One serving boy ran from the room with the Knights message. Sir Griswold didn't miss the chance to point out that children took direction better than his guards, putting a sneer on his face that could have curdled milk. The guards took a moment to be properly horrified before redoubling their efforts. They pulled on sweatstained gambesons and boots still damp from patrol the night before. One clumsy guard knocked down a few spears while trying to pull one from its rack.

Sir Griswold backhanded the clumsy man on his way out of the room. The casual slap actually lifted the guard off his feet and sent him rolling across the room when he landed. Another guard who was struggling with the straps on a shield quickly jumped out of the way, letting his fellow slam into the far wall.

"You can stay behind and guard the farmers." Sir Griswold commanded the prone guard dismissively. His secondary duty was to try and keep some of the useless rabble alive during incursions but he was certainly not going to be taking charge of such an unworthy task. The clumsy guard would be more of a liability when fighting broke out anyways. It would be better to leave him where he can't disgrace his tenant lord.

He was met by his castellan on the third floor of the tower. The officious man was wearing his pristine black robe chased with silver as always. His raven black hair was greased and pulled back over his scalp, pronouncing his already hawkish features. His hands were clasped behind his back, as always, and his long sleeves completed the avian image as they looked very much like furled wings. The astute man fell into step beside Sir Griswold after seeing his fell visage and massive weapon.

"Your orders Sir?"

"Open the refuge. Offer sanctuary to the wretches. Get Junior to round up his men, I want him to scour the village for infiltrators. His priority is information gathering. Let him know how very displeased I will be if another spy dies before we can extract any information."

The Castellan hardly betrayed any response but Griswold could recognize the eagerness hiding behind his eyes.

"At once, my lord" He pulled a wooden token from his sleeve and snapped it in half. Mere seconds later a bell was pealing over the village, warning of an attack and calling the people to the refuge of the monolithic tower. The man turned into a room on the second floor and began rattling off instructions to the on-duty scribe and runner.

On the first floor, a small squad of armorers were pulling shining steel plates from a great war chest. When they spotted their lord, they swarmed him, strapping the complex layers of cloth, leather, and steel into place so their protector would, in turn, be protected from head to toe.

By the time Griswold made it out of the tower, villagers were already swarming in through the gatehouse. The wall encompassing a small courtyard and its single wooden hall looked squat next to the tower but it was a sturdy enough for the defenseless to find comfort behind.

The wretches were practically rioting in their hurry to get to safety. The knight spotted his charger being led out of the stable and took the reins from the wide-eyed stableboy. The knight looked his beast in the eye and smiled.

"War isn't done with us yet old friend." He said as he patted his beast's well-groomed and well-muscled neck.

For his part, his mount tossed it's head and snorted. By this point, Griswold was gaining the attention of the fleeing villagers. He swung into the saddle to the cheers of all those in the courtyard. He scowled at them. The useless parasites, only appreciating his presence now that there was an attack. Only good for complaining about their station, their empty bellies, their cruel lord. Unexpectedly, the fierce expression was met with even more approval from the crowd and the surging peasants actually stopped and parted, allowing him to pass through the gates.

His town guards spilled out of the tower and struggled to pass through the gate before the gap in the peasants closed in behind their lord. Some of them were still carrying bits of their armor instead of wearing it. Griswold preened at the lofty image he knew he was setting, especially when he was set next to the inept guard. Drunks and loafers all, they were not well loved by the folk who worked for a living. If they weren't the only folk for a hundred miles in any direction, Griswold wouldn't have cared for their notice but years of ignominy had lowered his standards for a parade considerably.

Griswold sat up straighter in his saddle and made sure to impress upon every peasant he passed just how lucky they were to have a battle-hardened knight in their backwater town. Perhaps he could leverage this appearance into an increase in taxes or duties owed to the lord of the tower.

Despite his eagerness to enter battle again, Griswold couldn't help but notice an unsettling feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. As he passed out of the jumbled mess of hovels that were clustered around the tower he got his first clear line of sight at the invaders since he left the tower's roof. The people assembling in an open field didn't look like much but long experience taught the knight to be wary of those who hide their strength.

With the constant flashes of light emitting from the group and the little fact that they completely bypassed his tower and the escarpment it was perched on top of, He was reasonably confident that he was facing a large group of magic users. The best way to handle them was to get in close so they can't use their dangerous area of effect spells. Then you just have to give them one good tap with a sword. He turned to his men.

"we will proceed at a brisk pace. Not a charge, we will approach like a delegation. If they make hostile action, then we charge, if not, we will stroll right up to their leader and take his head before starting our assault."

His men balked. They had not seen the invaders until this point and they had the same superstitions about magic that every rube seemed to share. It didn't help that the eleven guards were facing a force of hundreds without any combat experience to speak of. The ample experience they had with their commander, on the other hand, made it clear that cowardice in the face of the enemy would have much worse results than mere death on the battlefield. Sir Griswold urged his mount forward and his guards followed, prayers to the Emperor on their lips.

The flashes of light revealed themselves to be some sort of teleportation spell. Every flash produced another invader but the flashes were coming much less frequently than they had when he saw them from the roof. Either the invader's mages were tiring, or they were running out of soldiers to send.

As it turned out, the war party's approach was not challenged. They were not even noticed. The invaders were clumped up in one large group, something at its center commanding their attention. As they drew near, The dread feeling in Griswold's stomach grew more pronounced. The implication that he had grown cowardly in his exile galled him and caused him to break into a gallop, approaching the danger to prove the feeling was false. His guards could only start running after him but they were no match for the seasoned horse and rider.

Griswold was especially confused by this seed of cowardice in light of the old thrill building in his chest. He couldn't have asked for more glorious odds. A surprise attack, with his defences bypassed, hopelessly outnumbered, and an enemy who clearly employs magic! but as he drew closer, he noticed that these invaders were even more frail and anemic looking than the muddy wretches who fled the battle in favor of refuge under his tower. They wore no armor, only white tunics, and sandals. The clothing was oddly pristine however and the strangest part of their appearance was their skin. They all had skin as white as milk and there wasn't a hair on them. It was nothing short of eerie. A few had noticed him at this point and they gazed at him with childlike, round, chubby faces. Their reactions ranged from mild interest to awe but they made no move to stop him. In fact, they gave him a wide berth as he rode up to the crowd.

They also seemed confused, not at all organized or arrayed for battle. Still, as he slowed to the stately and measured pace of a diplomat, and was enveloped by the crowd, the fear continued building. Griswold began to suspect a fear spell in effect when he saw it. A splash of red in a clearing at the center of the invaders. All his eagerness drained away and the fear gripped him even more strongly. This wasn't any fear spell, this was the legendary dread aura of the Demons. All thoughts of glory fled from his mind. He was only conflicted for a moment before he assured himself by gripping the hilt of his greatsword. His duty was clear. He proceeded towards the demon but noticed for the first time, the man with golden highlights on his tunic, waving his hands in the air while addressing the rest of these sickly looking invaders. He looked back to the demon. It was kneeling and making no attempt to rise, or start a general slaughter. He looked back to the wildly gesticulating man and resumed his original plan.

Griswold couldn't hear the man's words over his own armor but he wheeled his mount in the direction of the apparent leader. He nearly let his fierce mask slip when the leader turned at his approach, smiled and waved. It was as if he was welcoming an old friend to enjoy some tea.

"Greetings goodman, Can I make the assumption that you are the lord of these lands?" The invader clearly had no knowledge of proper etiquette but his warning to his son rang through his ears before he glanced back at the demon to check that it hadn't moved. He should gather what information he could from this man before slaying him. Griswold straightened in his saddle and in his most authoritative tone, began to boast.

"You have the temerity to invade the lands I safeguard for none other than the Emperor of the known world and then ask who I am?" He bristled authoritatively.

"This is no invasion guardsman, we are simply-"

"Call me guardsman again and I will take your head for a decoration" Griswold interrupted "Lie to me again and I will throw you and your, army, from the edge of the world and back into whatever corner of the wilds you crawled out of" Griswold employed his favorite condescending sneer to express just what he thought about the army milling around him.

The bald, robed man gulped. "Pray tell, what title is appropriate for such an esteemed personage such as yourself?"

"As I am ennobled in the service of the Emperor, my proper title is Knight of the realm, however to you, I am 'the enemy'" Griswold was ready for fighting to begin after his bold statement but rather than rallying to their leader's aid, the strangers shied away from the Knights naked aggression.

"Truly, it is a pleasure to meet the authority in these lands so soon after our arrival. We are a-"

"What did I tell you about lying?" Griswold growled as he reached down and lifted the man by his throat as easily as a child picks up a stuffed bear. The leader gasped for breath and his legs kicked but his army only looked on in shock so Griswold continued to lecture him. "I don't like snakes like you. I don't like the way your forked tongue waggles, looking for any advantage, any weak point where you can ply your poison. I will give you one more chance to tell the truth. I couldn't care less about what you intend to do with this pitiful army. I'm concerned with what you intend to do with that." Griswold turned the leader so he was looking back at the demon before throwing him to the ground like a ragdoll.

The pale mass of bodies surged forward and Griswold half drew his sword before he realized they were rushing to aid their leader and not to attack him. They came near but then stopped, like they were afraid of touching their master, even if only to help him up. Their leader brought a hand up to his bruised throat and both were surrounded by a golden glow. Griswold's eyes narrowed. A leader using healing magic? No wonder his followers are all weak and cowardly. It irked him to see such weak leadership but he still needed information. Even if the army was laughably equipped and completely untrained. They had sent a demon into the holy lands of the Empire and Griswold needed to discover if the feat could be repeated.

"Speak" He commanded and was gratified when the leader began speaking with none of the gravitas or self-importance from before.

"We are exiles. We aren't invaders. Our god cast us out because that one blasphemed so egregiously." He indicated the Demon with his thumb.

"You expect me to believe that you all were sent here because of a Demon's blasphemy?" The greatsword made a dull scraping as Griswold freed it from its scabbard. The leader's eyes went wide.

"Oh no, Sir Knight. We were all of one tribe. This demon was human until very recently. His current form is a punishment from our God, a curse of sorts. The rest of us were exiled along with him as a matter of course. The directives are quite clear on such matters after all. It is better to remove a diseased colony root and stem rather than risking the spread of corruption." The arbiter's last pronouncement had the air of a well worn theological argument about it.

"And so your God deems it necessary to transfer your corruption into the holy land? So you openly admit to your complicity in an attack."

"As I keep saying, this is no attack. We are not here by choice. Our god tasked us with containing this evil until such time as we are freed from this purgatory."

Griswold Bristled at the insinuation that the holy land was anything less than perfection.

"I have warned you twice about lies and now you dare to insult the Holy Land, created for us by the Emperor himself, in the presence of one of his sworn men. I will remove the stain of corruption from these lands, remove your head from your shoulders, round up your army and sell them as slaves to the highest bidder as is my right in defense."

Without any further warning. There was a humming in the air, a flash, and a gout of blood erupted from the once ruler of a pitiful army. A scream rose around him but it wasn't a scream of rage or fear, but of sheer disbelief and shock. He used the distraction to rear his horse, it's hooves coming down to crush a nearby invader before charging towards the demon. The rest of the army fled from in front of him, allowing him to manage the three second activation time of his [charge] skill.

The world blurred as his mount leaped forward, clods of dirt exploding out behind him. One more swing and the demon who had nearly managed to regain its feet in a useless attempt to flee was now two bloody chunks. One spinning through the air, another tumbling across the dirt. Black blood splashed across the unplanted field in a wide fan-like spray.

With foes this weak, even my inept guards will be able to easily subdue the entire force on their own. Griswold allowed himself to bask in the glory for a moment. It wasn't a very pitched battle but with a little coin and a few bards he could spread the tale of his gallant charge against an invading magical army and their demon pet. He smiled to himself and muttered "Demon slayer Griswold" under his breath.

A flash behind him drew his attention. There hadn't been any more teleportation spells for some time and Griswold turned to see how many more slaves would be sent to him. He froze when he saw the leader he had just decapitated standing there, glaring at him like a nun catching a naughty boy stealing biscuits. Griswold spun to look at where he had slain the leader moments ago but the patch of blood-drenched earth was free of headless bodies.

Griswold was about to raise his greatsword again and kill this lookalike, spell-double, or whatever this apparition was when another flash drew his attention. A tunic wearing soldier collapsed to the ground screaming and trying to ward off an attack which wasn't coming. Griswolds confusion lasted just long enough for a sphere of darkness to appear a few feet away. The sphere disgorged another demon, no, it was the same demon.

"If you are done with your introductions it is time I properly introduce myself." The leader had taken on a tone which brooked no argument. This was a man who was more practiced at proclamation than conversation. "I am the Arbiter of colony XH-573. My people have been exiled to your land. It is our task to contain this evil. No one here can be permanently dispatched by any skill you possess and unless you intend to stand out in this field killing us until you die of old age, I suggest we find a more diplomatic solution to this conflict."

Griswold was dumbfounded. Killing was his favorite solution to problems. It almost always worked. He yelled out in rage and crushed the demon with the flat of his blade, bending it in the process. Seconds later, the demon paste evaporated from the surrounding ground and people and a new demon fell out of another sphere of darkness. This one sported a slightly dazed expression but was otherwise uninjured. That didn't stop it from scrambling away from the mounted knight. The horde of pale immortals did stop him, however, lending credence to their story of containment.

Griswold glared at the Arbiter. Despite his desires, the Arbiter remained resolutely real. The Arbiters smile stretched when Griswold didn't continue pulverizing anyone within reach.

"Now that that, unpleasantness, is out of the way, we can get down to business." The Arbiter said. With a needless flourish he opened his hand revealing a fat gold coin on his palm, another flourish and there were five such coins nearly spilling onto the ground. A commotion broke out somewhere behind Griswold. The Arbiter made a final flourish and they all disappeared.

"That is, of course, on the condition that you stop your men from slaughtering my people."

Just after the Arbiter delivered his condition, panicked, tunic-wearing invaders began appearing all around him in more flashes of golden light.

It was at that point that Griswold remembered the armored guard he had left behind in his haste to reach battle. The thought soured him. There would be no glory today, only scandal and disgrace. He turned that anger on his men. berating them for their slowness and for arriving at the battle tired from running in full armor like the useless fools they are. The outlet for his anger calmed the old Knight. Without the tantalizing prospect of battle, he began thinking along other lines.

"There is more to power than brute force" Belladonna's voice echoed in Sir Griswold's memory. The rudiments of a plan began to take shape in his head. He turned back to the Arbiter and made a choice. He swung out of his saddle, looked the irritant in the eyes and activated [infectious laugh] for the first time in years. His booming guffaws blasted out, covering the entire crowd in its magical effect. They weren't put at ease, not yet, but his laugh took the sharp edges off of their anxiety after his brutal display.

"It seems your god is powerful indeed if he can bind your souls to return here even after death. As defending the Holy Lands is my primary duty, it falls upon me to assist you in your task in any way I can."

The Knight and the Arbiter exchanged fake smiles and the Demon quietly despaired.