Cove at Dawn

As the first hint of light broke on the horizon, the heavy sea-mist that lay over the village of Cove thickened, coating the buildings with a layer of moisture. Joe, the town drunk, pulled his thin cloak tighter about him as he sat huddled against the wall of the inn that had just closed its doors on him. He nursed the bruises that Alexander, the Marshal of Cove, had inflicted on him the day before, and drunkenly plotted revenge against the innkeeper, the Marshal and anybody else that his befuddled mind could think of.

As Joe lay shivering against the cold stones of the inn, he heard the clink of metal and the sound of iron-shod hooves carrying towards him through the thick mist. The only horses that had iron shoes were the warhorses of the knights of Solamnia, and rumours said that it was better not to be found by these knights unless you were the purest of the pure, and even then not always.

Before the horses could get closer, Joe darted down a back alley that lay behind the inn, moving as quietly as his drunken state would let him, occasionally throwing a worried look back over his shoulder for signs of pursuit. The wickedness of the knights was legendary, and somebody weak and helpless like him was the perfect prey for the knights and their lackeys. The last thing Joe wanted was to become another notch etched into some knight's sword...

"I heard something from over there, Commander," said the white-haired slender elf in his melodic voice. The elf wore the cloak of a ranger of Ithilien, and served as the scout and thief of this warband. "I heard it too," piped the squeaky voice of the dimpled willowy hobbit sitting on the pony behind the elf, his puppy dog amethyst eyes twinkling in the pre-dawn light. Nervously the hobbit twirled his battleaxe as he fidgeted with his iron cuirass.

"Forget it - we have bigger fish to fry," replied the taller of the two knights sitting astride his warhorse. The huge carthorse lifted its head in acknowledgment and snorted a plume of steam into the cold air. The impassive swarthy knight was immaculately dressed in a set of Solamnic fullplate, an heirloom passed down from a time when the knighthood was renowned throughout the Realms for their adherence to their Code. At his side hung a powerful sword, an emerald twinkling in its pommel, a "donation" from an unfortunate soldier that the warband had managed to corner on the ship that had brought them to Cove.

The shorter knight, wearing only a coat of light chainmail, nodded in agreement, his triple chin wobbling precariously over his large gut. The warband had a specific purpose in Cove - to liberate the magical weapons and armour of the Marshal of Cove, the local peacekeeper. "After all", the light-skinned light-haired knight ponderously thought to himself, "what need did the Marshal have of his legendary equipment in a backwater like this?"

In the spacious office, the village marshal sat at his desk filling out the seemingly endless piles of paperwork. Interrogations of the local criminals were complete for the night and Malanze, his sergeant, had gone home to bed leaving Alexander to finish up. The marshal shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat, his green steel armour clanking loudly. He looked out the window towards the east where the sun was just clearing the cliffs, shedding a pale luminescence on Cove as it struggled to burn off the sea-mist. Another day was dawning, with all of the troubles and bothers of a village to tend to.

Alexander pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up, stretching his legs. He walked over to the weapon rack that lent against the wall, and picked up his prize possessions, a vicious midnight-black peace maker and a green steel longsword. He absentmindedly polished the peace maker, then thrust it into the small scabbard on his belt. The village marshal then caressed the blade of his sword, muttering quietly to himself "Green steel is some of the finest in the land."

The marshal was torn from his reverie by a sound from the hallway outside. There were shouts, a clash of steel and a high-pitched scream, and then the door to his office was thrown open. Standing in the doorway was a group of people that would have seemed comical, if not for their grim looks and drawn weapons. The intruders were two knights, a hobbit gladiator and an elven ranger. Behind the intruders in the hall outside, Alexander could make out the body of the young guard who served as his receptionist, his body slashed by swords and an axe.

Alexander growled menacingly, and drew his sword and dagger, brandishing them before the motley coterie. "Know this, fools... you deal with Alexander, Marshal of Cove's Elite Guard! I bear the deadly peace maker, and I shall use it to cut you all to pieces!"

"We know who you are, Alexander. Our names are unimportant, and we mean you no harm. We have come for your magical armour and weapons, for use in a higher cause. Surrender them to us, and we will leave you in peace," said the impassive knight, his swarthy features unmoving. "Yes, and if you do not surrender, we will take your equipment anyway, after we have dealt with you," uttered the second knight, his huge belly rumbling as he laughed evilly.

"I am the captain of the village guard, and it is my job to keep the peace around here. You have already killed one of my guards, and you will hang from the gallows in the village square for your crimes! You will never take my equipment, you murdering scum!" replied Alexander, backing away to a corner to prevent his opponents circling around behind his flank.

The intruders entered the office, spreading out. The hobbit began to chew on the hilt of his axe, his face distorting as he started to slaver at the mouth, building up courage for the attack. The taller knight drew his sabre, the legendary sabre of Kitiara, the emerald in the pommel glittering evilly in the dim light. The elf drew a huge draconian claymore and moved to the side, while the light-haired knight took up position in front of the door, determined to prevent the marshal escaping.

The village captain looked around at his opponents spread out before him, the odds seemingly hopeless. "A fair fight indeed - four against one. No doubt you 'knights' will consider this a great victory," snarled the marshal, spitting on the ground in disgust. "So... are any of you brave enough to attack, or are you waiting for reinforcements, you cowardly dogs?"

At that moment, a green-eyed barrel-chested elf tapped the light-haired knight on the shoulder from behind. The knight jumped, startled, until he saw who it was. He stepped aside as the elf slipped into the room, and then took up his place again in front of the exit. As if on signal, the hobbit uttered a berserk war-cry and charged into the marshal, the sound of the impact sharp in the still air.

The new elf waved his excellent halberd in a complicated pattern in the air, mesmerising the marshal with its movements, and then reversed the halberd, jamming the end of the weapon hard into the captain's solar plexus, stunning him momentarily. The marshal's eyes crinkled up in pain, as he furiously defended, too stunned to press forward on attack. The ranger and the tall knight both engaged the marshal now that he was temporarily helpless, their fearsome weapons glittering as they swung through the air. The ring of steel on steel shattered the false peacefulness of the dawn, the grunts of exertion and pain as blows connected transforming the office into a cacophony of sounds more befitting one of the nine hells.

The marshal shook his head to clear it, and then suddenly backhanded the monk viciously, slamming him into the wall with the force of the impact. Ignoring his other opponents, the marshal followed up his attack quickly, slashing with his vicious peace maker, finally thrusting his green steel longsword through the elf's chest. The elf's eyes clouded over and then fell empty, as his body slowly slid off the longsword. The marshal laughed bitterly in contempt, and snarled "One less of you to hang, I suppose."

"Get his weapons, quickly," cried the swarthy human, his formerly impassive face now creased with anguish at the death of the monk. The surviving elf nodded sorrowfully, and reached into a pouch at this belt, pulling out a handful of dust which he threw in the marshal's face. The marshal threw his hands up as the swirling dust filled his vision, and in the confusion the elf hit his wrist hard with the flat of his claymore. The marshal lost his grip on his weapon, and the vicious peace maker clattered to the floor. The elf back heeled the weapon to the fat knight by the door, who picked it up and thrust it through his weapons belt.

With the marshal temporarily blinded, the tall knight pressed forward the attack once more, while the hobbit hewed away at the marshal with his glittering axe. Pressed against the wall by the force of the attack, the marshal desperately clawed at his eyes with his free hand trying to rid them of the infernal dust, parrying blindly with his longsword. Blood was seeping from a dozen wounds, and a vicious slash from the gladiator's axe had opened up a gaping hole in the marshal's leg.

Uttering a cry of panic the marshal broke free from his attackers and ran for the door, but the light-skinned knight blocked his exit quickly, keeping him in the room. The elf swept his legs out from under him, leaving the marshal sprawled on the ground. "Be careful - don't kill him," warned the tall knight. "I'll handle this," he said, raising his sabre and bringing the flat of it down across the back of Alexander's head. His head snapped forward striking the ground, and he ceased struggling, lying knocked out on the floor.

With the marshal unconscious, the intruders wasted no time stripping his valuable armour from him, prising the longsword from his grip. The fat knight removed his light chainmail and buckled on the suit of green steel platemail and sheathed the longsword in his formerly empty scabbard. Looking around to see if they had missed anything, the intruders left, dragging the body of their dead comrade with them.

From his hiding place in the alley, Joe heard the intruders ride past. He had nearly been caught when the lone rider rode by in pursuit of the four riders he had first heard, so he was very cautious now as he peered around the corner. Once more there were four riders, with the corpse of a fifth person tied to a pony. Joe's bleary eyes picked out the glint of the green armour normally worn by the village marshal, and his eyes narrowed as an evil thought passed through his addled brain.

Once the riders were safely out of earshot, Joe slunk through the alleys of Cove until he reached the office of the village guard. Sure enough, the riders had been there already, as evidenced by the corpse of a guard lying in the hallway. Joe checked the corpse and relieved it of a wicked knife and a few coins, and then Joe peered through the doorway into Alexander's office.

Alexander lay there almost naked on the floor, obviously unconscious. Blood was seeping from his body in numerous places, although it looked like the intruders had bandaged the worst of his wounds so that he would not die from their efforts... almost as if this was their way of showing mercy. Joe laughed evilly, and swaggered up to the body. He launched a vicious kick, and heard one of Alexander's ribs snapping. "You've beaten me for the last time," cried Joe as he unleashed a flurry of kicks and punches to the unmoving body. Tiring of this sport, Joe knelt down and pulled the marshal's head back, exposing his throat. Drawing the knife he had taken from the corpse outside, Joe sliced the village captain's throat open, and Alexander's body convulsed as the last of his life blood slowly spread out on the floor, like an upturned mug of cheap wine.

Having read the ancient scroll, you can look around the library and ask for another manuscript to read, or you can consult your map of the strong hold to take you to some other area of the guild.