Noble Houses

If you would care to see your family and heraldry properly illustrated and recorded here, seek out Sir Rassilon Shiroken. He has taken the time to record and illustrate the heraldry on this scroll.

Family Trees

A Listing of Families

Herein is a list of those noble families who have lent their sons and daughters to serve in the Knighthood.

Arminus

Mladen

Breingiton

Aengus

Averill

Baldwin

Giffin

Guilliame

Kerowyn

Jerrand

Llewellyn

Ohlivia

Pythia

Seal

Calvert

Lyneth

Marlene

Corwen

Caenarfon

Cymruspheran

Krysten

Pell

Piergeron

d'Aggravaine

Aedon

Gwaine

Mathise

Muse

Datai

Etain

dePayens

Aearin

Aenarion

Daenarion

Honoria

Presten

Vanuarl

Elsdragon

Aynran

Evora

LaFortinas

Alandraya

Alistain

Bataille

Caelana

Ilusen

Jhervais

Osmond

Suradis

Llangedai

Aelynn

Athyra

MacLeod

Bolter

Cairhien

Madaur

Garldaron

Ghiselin

Hirken

Hyran

Ihsan

Kuldan

Maukiel

Paleceron

Rheivan

Toryn

Xybian

Malory

Etho

Kader

Kristine

Maelweys

Taegan

Zanco

Mamoritai

Aerahan

Mercerion

Pferdritter

Hengst

Siegfrieda

Varner

Rathe

Endrin

Kaitlenn

Lacey

Renetar

Acthus

Anysse

Arelius

Snowdragon

Branzol

Taevan

Snowmantle

Alastair

Bleys

Darmenian

Evony

Malinco

Thorne

Rithor

Rylie

Echill

The Dragon and the Rose:

The Story of Illustin the Traitor Red and the Lah'ter Name

This story has a great importance to me, as it tells the tale of my ancestors. I have written another story at length, and the two may be seen as a partial history, tho' this, the second work, is the latter of the two.

I would like such a story to be true as it is a good and noble tale. However, as a Historian, my training is better than most in fine art of cynicism and even I must admit I have only the words of my father to verify the validity.

In the very least, this tale is a myth, or legend perhaps. Who can say?

The truth, dear reader, is not as important - it is merely a tale, enjoy it as such.

Naemor Lah'ter

Knight of the Shield

Poet of the Romantics

Historian of the Lost

I: Long ago...

"He does not care, Hogwart. Bring Him the profit.” The deep voice reverberated within the stone "prison." It was not a prison however, merely a cave, but it was a jail enough for the half-ogre who found himself unlucky enough to inhabit it. Hogwart stood tall, as was common for his people. His forehead and teeth, however, had just enough taint of ogre-blood to ostracize him from the humans whom he hated. A lifetime of discrimination tends to do that.

"B-but Master! I humbly inform you again that the shipment was attacked! Those brigands of the forest again are at fault!" Hogwart stammered, his voice hurried and rushed. Tho' mildly intelligent, Hogwart was by no means a genius, but what he lacked in genius, he masked with cleverness, "All we were able to defend from those - brigands - were two slave-carts and the carriage." The half-ogre motioned towards the two slave carts in the corner of the lair. The wood and steel cages were badly burned, but still intact and the carriage, perhaps one of the minor nobility by its less-than-perfect attempt at opulence, appeared intact.

"Very well. Take the gold there and summon with you a band to defeat these brigands. The brigands displease Him. If any more shipments are lost He shall be angered further." A huge clawed hand reached out of the shadows of the cave, where the light of the lava on the other end of the cavern failed to reach, and pushed a pile of gold towards Hogwart.

The half-ogre's eyes seemed to glow in the light of the luminescent lava. The sight of a pile of gold that was perhaps more three months of his usual pay. He had served the great Red for the past five years as a middleman and merchant, and had made a fair living for himself, but this... this was unexpected. His plans had gone perfectly.

"Yes, Master! It shall be done! At once and with most excellence, Master! We know just where they hide! All of them!" Hogwart hurriedly collected as much of the gold as he could into the various pockets of his robes. Coins poured from coin-swollen clothes as he hurried out of the cave, leaving a trail of coins that reflected the molten earth around him. As he hurried up the sloping passage to the surface of the mountain he could hear the slow grating sound of the boulder being pushed back into place, covering the entrance to the Great Red's Lair.

II

Thistletwip awoke slowly. He slowly rose to his knees. His was head still pounding within his ears from the beating that had left him bruised. A small hand reached up quietly towards his topknot, feeling the bump on his skull. There was no blood at least, and he appeared in good health otherwise, only a small bruise on his back where the first club hit him. With a slight depressed sigh, the kender looked around his newfound home. He had been in the cage on the back of the cart for some time, since the slaver, Hogwart, captured him. At least they fed him, he was glad for that, even if it wasn't very good food.

Thistletwip sat quietly in a steel cage, a thick padlock on the gate. The cage to the left of him was empty and shattered spots of dried blood coating the iron bars in the soft red glow. The goblin Ngilimin, who also had been captured, had befriended the kender, appeared to have met his demise.

It was warm in here, wherever here was, at least and his slight attire did not seem to bother him. He shook his head again, rubbing the sleep and pain from his eyes. He nearly went into shock and his heart nearly exploded as he glanced to the glitter around him.

"I must be in Heaven!" The kender stood up quickly in his cage as he pushed himself against the steel bars. Beyond the cage seemed what was like a sea of glitter. Gold and silver coins covered the stone ground, littered along with half-opened chests and various arcane artifacts. The kender frowned sadly as he tried to push on the bars, but the steel held fast against his desperate attempts to free himself and explore.

"Drats." The kender let out a sad sigh as he slumped back down against the chairs, resting his saddened visage within his palms. Small tears welled in the kender's eyes as he realized he was trapped within the cage, and one look to his left, he realized what sort of odd fate awaited for him. He kicked the steel bar with a sniffle, causing the lock to jingle slightly. A sharp pain rose into his foot as the cobbling nail almost pierced the flesh of his heel

"The Shoe!" The kender's eyes lit up as he hurried to remove his shoe, the cobbling nail had been bothering him for a few days, and it was perhaps just what he needed to pick the lock. After a few minutes of prying the nail came free easily. He quickly stood, easily reaching the lock through the bars. Silly Brigands, he thought, leaving a kender alone with a lock! Ha! They'll see why that's not smart!

The lock came free easily, and with a gentle push the Kender was free. With a giggle the kender took off into the gold, sliding headfirst among the pile of coins as he tossed it into the air as if he was bathing. His heart raced furiously as he almost was paralyzed, he didn't know what to play with first, and there were so many choices!

It was then that he noticed the dragon.

With a grin that only a kender can create, he went around quickly, gathering for himself various crowns and scepters and other badges of royalty, quickly gathering them about his person until he looked more like an emperor than a kender. He had to constantly stifle his giggles as he crept up quietly with jeweled scepter in hand towards the slumbering red dragon.

"Greetings!" The kender let out a large shout as he slammed his golden scepter onto the stone floor, dislodging an emerald and sending it skittering across the stone floor. The dragon's breathing halted abruptly as its massive eyes opened focusing swiftly upon the kender.

"You awaken Him?” The dragon spoke slowly, still groggy from its sleep. The heat from the dragon's breath almost caused the kender to look away, but it soon faded.

"I, Emperor Thistletwip!" The kender stood proudly with his filched royal crown upon his head. The Dragon slowly raised its massive head, turning it slightly, lizard like to regard the Kender. With a slow languid motion its neck slowly turned, giving the wyrm a view of the picked lock and the now-empty cage.

"You seek to steal from Him, softling?" The Dragon let out a low growl as its claws gripped into the stone of the floor, the razor nails cutting into the solid stone. "He does not tolerate thieves, and He is hungry again." The kender had little time to see it coming; it was only a blur of motion behind him. The tail of the Dragon sent the light kender hurtling against the cavern wall, adjacent to the cage. The Kender, blessed with agility that even a cat would be envious of, managed to twist his body yet still was not able to soften the impact upon the cavern wall. A wet thump accompanied the fall of the Kender as his golden crown and scepter landed with a rattle somewhere within the various piles of gold.

"Wait...." The kender cried softly as small sobs began to fill its throat a he held out a small hand futily, "I...can..help." The dragon's hoarse chuckle filled the room.

"The slaver... Hogwart.." The kender sniffled between his breaths as his breathing was shallow.

"Yes? What of him?" The dragon's eyes lit up in curiosity, as his anger diverted instead to curiosity

"He...steals...from...you." The kender coughed loudly as he struggled to regain his footing.

"WHAT!?" The dragon's roar shook the very mountain, almost sending Thistletwip off his feet. Dust fell from the ceiling all around and for a moment it appeared as if the cave was to collapse. The Dragon reached out with a claw and plucked the kender up, placing him before the wyrm.

"What do you mean, steal!" The dragon glared at the kender.

"The...items..you...give...for..him..to..sell...he...keeps..and....blames...brigands...there...are..no...brigands!" The kender looked up to the dragon pleadingly, tears welling in his eyes. "I.. saw him!" Thistletwip, aware of the dragon's interest became more confident, "He and his fellows burnt the carts, and laughed, saying that they would fool you again! He lies to you!"

The dragon growled lowly as it clenched the stone ground again, breaking off chunks of stone with ease in its anger. Its entire body seemed to be taut with anger and rage as it contemplated the scheming of the half-ogre.

"Go back to your cage. He shall summon Hogwart, if what you say is true..." The dragon motioned to the kender, who speedily hurried back to his cage, closing the gate just enough to give the illusion of security.

III

"Yes Master?" Hogwart looked around curiously as he stepped through the entrance of the lair. This summoning was unexpected, but of course not out of the ordinary. The Wyrm often changed his mind upon what he wanted sold, or for how much. "I am at your service Master."

"He has considered these brigands..." The dragon spoke softly, continuing its guise of complacency. "He thinks it best that He deal with them. He shall act."

The half-ogre's eyes opened widely for a moment at this odd statement. The dragon never left his lair, at least for as long as anyone could remember. For him to leave over this, seemed odd.

"Master, I assure you, it is almost done, the brigands are almost defeated." The half-ogre smiled softly as he looked to the dragon, a smug smirk on his face.

"He wishes to kill the brigands and retrieve His gold. The Softling knows where they are, yes?"

"Uh... Well...no. We haven't yet -" The sentence of the half-ogre was cut off by the furious roar of the dragon as he reached out with a claw, clenching the half-ogre in his iron grip, the edges of his claws digging into the sides of the traitor.

"You lie to Him!" The dragon growled as he clenched. The half-ogre tried to scream but he could not fill his lungs with air as the iron grip of the dragon closed. The sound of the ribs and spine of the half-ogre snapping was audible throughout the lair, the echo's pervading the ears of the kender. With a grunt the dragon threw the half-ogre into the pit of lava across the room.

It was not long until the half-ogre Hogwart was no more.

The sated gaze of the giant wyrm turned to the Kender, considering the small creature quietly. "He grants you one item from His horde. He decides to spare you." The dragon let out a low growl, still angry at the now deceased Hogwart.

"Thanks!" Thistletwip bounded out of the cage running over the various piles of golden coins looking for a possible trophy to return home to tell his great adventure to his friends! He had been kidnapped, and almost eaten by a dragon! What a great tale this would make! He'd be famous!

"I want this!" The kender reached down into the gold, plucking out his desired trophy.

"Bring it to Him. He wishes to inspect the softlings choice." The dragon turned its head over towards the kender who quickly approached, holding aloft for the dragon to see a small crystal rose. The rose was carved delicately from some unknown crystal. A soft glow came from the crystal, and the dragon let out a soft chuckle.

"The Rose of Taliena. He thinks its fitting." The dragon nodded quietly as he motioned with a claw to the entrance of the lair. Thistletwip, who would forever onward be immortalized as "The Great Finder" by his fellows in Balifore, did not linger any longer for an opportunity to leave. With his new rose in hand, the kender never looked back as he ran to freedom.

IV

"I'll do it." The young knight spoke up quietly as he glanced to his elders. The three assembled Knights, dressed all in once-polished armor stared at the younger member for a moment in disbelief.

"You wish to lead the frontal assault?" The eldest spoke, looking with surprised and apprehension to his fellow. "Are you ready for such battle?"

"Yes, M'lord." The younger knight stated confidently, taking upon a stern visage as he clenched the lance at his side while steadying the reigns of his charger. "It is easy to lead a straight charge, sirs. I have the least experience, allow me to do it. Your wisdom is needed on the more important areas."

"You realize the risk, Young Ranilian?" The eldest again spoke looking at the newly knighted youth with a discerning eye.

"Yes, M'lord. There shall be casualties, but there shall be casualties anywhere we battle." The younger man spoke, hiding his slight hurt at the various questioning of his abilities. The three knights nodded in unison and another spoke up.

"No one doubts your abilities, Gregory. I am sure you shall do fine." He smiled softly as he looked to Gregory. The young knight merely nodded to the others and turned his charger around, trotting back towards the front lines.

"Nacarmos!" The young knight called out as he rode his steed along the lines of tents that made up the encampment. The head of a well-dressed man turned from his duties to look to Gregory.

"Yes M'lord?" The page replied, while saluting his officer.

"Prepare my armor and lance, and yours as well. We shall be leading a unit tomorrow." The knight smiled slightly at his own words, only now understanding the honor and responsibility of them.

"Really, Milord? You are to lead?" The page's eyes were surprised a bit and a look of obvious question was on his face. "The Militia? Reserves?"

Gregory merely shook his head with a disdainful smirk as his own page doubted him as well.

"We.." The knight motioned to Nacarmos and then to his lance. The page, quick to oblige, gathered up the weapon and offered it to the knight, who took it gently, "... are to be the point of the attack. The front line. We... shall lead the attack."

Nacarmos went silent for a moment as he considered the deadly mission as he quickly tried to hide his own fear and worry.

“.... Congratulations... sir..." Nacarmos's stunned voice trailed off as Gregory kicked his mount into motion again, wishing to return to his tent to rest and pray for the following day.

There would be a battle soon, and he would lead it.

V

The entire camp spread before him. He could see easily the large mess-tent in the southwest corner of the field, as well as the larger tents of the Generals and the Lord Knights. How stupid these Knights of Serpantol were. He had passed by half a dozen sleeping "guards" on his way through the outer-picket lines. Pathetic. It would be an easy battle.

And he would make it even easier.

With a small smirk, the man crept down the tall hill that guarded the west side of the encampment, his eyes locked for a moment upon the green and white tent that told of the tent of the General of the Crown. All that stood between him and his target where four guardsmen. Two of them patrolled the area around the tent and two more guarded the entrance. The rest of the camp was safe asleep, assured that the outer guards would defend them well. That was there folly.

He had prepared enough for six guards, but four only made it easier as he reached to the hidden sheath on his forearm for the first of the poisoned shurikens. He had specially prepared the poison from a recipe learned from Dragoth himself.

He crept quickly into the camp, his legs moving swiftly and silently as he approached the tent from the rear. The first of the patrolling guards came into view and was met swiftly with a toss of the shuriken that swam true through the air, digging its six-starred blade into the neck of the guard.

"Assa..." The guards voice trailed off as his eyes locked for one last moment upon the crouched form of the dark-robed assassin before falling over to the dirt as the poison kicked in.

"Damn!" The assassin muttered under his breath, as he heard the call of the other patrol guard. Abandoning his first plan, the assassin moved instead to the next, withdrawing from his sheath his razor-sharp short-sword, cursing that he would have to use a more risky method.

Lining quietly up against the fabric of the tent he waited until the second patrol guard rounded the corner to answer the half-cry of his fallen comrade. This time, he made no mistake. In one swift motion the slick blade of the gladius severed the throat and larynx of the hapless Knight. In a moment the Knight was dead...soundlessly.

That left the two Guards at the entrance.

He was out of time and options however. Dawn had come, and he could hear the rousing of the men. He could not risk confrontation with the two guardsmen, should others aid him and he fail in his task. He would have to sacrifice himself, not that he minded. Dragoth would reward him for his service.

Still it bothered him. He preferred perfection and this certainly was far from it. With a single swift slice he cut through the tent where he approximated the bedchamber of the Lord Knight to be. The slice made an audible ripping sound, which would surely awaken any who slept inside so he moved quickly, sword drawn, looking for the for of the Lord.

It did not take long to find him, yet he was already awaken, the white-bearded paladin staring at the clothed assassin with a calm look, almost as if he was not afraid.

"Guards!" The man let out a shout as he turned to his armor-stand beside his cot where his sword rested. It would not save him, not now. The assassin was too quick. Too perfect.

A shuriken founds its way to the naked back of the Lord Knight, sending him to the same fate as the guard outside.

With a malicious smirk the assassin dropped his short sword, turning to see the approach of the two guardsmen, and bothering not to move out of the way of their halberds as they dug into his flesh. His mission was completed.

Trenith the Half-Elven had his revenge.

VI

He was awoken by the sounds of men outside his tent. It was night still, and Gregory slowly got to his feet. He let out a slight curse as he stood from his cot, luckily the air was still warm as fall had not yet come, but why his men were awake at such an odd hour when they were to fight the next day petered him. They should be sleeping, and gaining strength.

With a grunt he stepped outside, enjoying the sensation of the soft grass upon his bare feet. He noticed a man that he knew ahead of him walking towards what seemed to be a congregation.

"Layithix!" The young knight growled, perhaps a bit too angrily than he would have liked, but he was still half-asleep he reasoned.

"Y-Yes M'lord?" The squire stopped in his tracks and saluted the knight.

"What is the meaning of this?" He waved a hand towards the group of men gathered around a still glowing bon-fire.

"They pray M'lord." The squire stated rather matter-of-factly, as if it was obvious.

"So they do. But why at such an hour? Did we not have mass at noon?" The knight grumbled again as he looked for an explanation.

"M'lord..." The squire started, his face showing a bit of surprise at the knight's ignorance, "...have you seen the moons?"

"No.. I..." Gregory frowned for a moment as he looked to the section of the sky where the White Moon of Kantilles should be. He stood, horror struck for a moment as he saw the eclipse. A small ring of white and red just hinting at the two moons shadowed by the Black Moon of Drakkara.

An Eclipse....

VII

There were excuses. The General was assassinated, they were out numbered. They held the high ground.

These did not satisfy Gregory Ranilian. They were losing the battle badly, doubly so his contingent. His Knights had charged valiantly, but the resistance was too much. A front line of Ogres was merely too much to try to smash through, much less hold at bay whilst the others attempted to flank.

His lance had cut down many an evil Knight this day; he had even landed a killing blow upon Ysiril, the famed Druid of Drakkara. He would surely be awarded a medal for such an accolade kill, tho' it mattered not to Gregory.

What mattered was that they were losing.

"Sir!" The shrill voice called out behind him as Gregory turned for a moment from the battle to see the messenger with the coat of arms of the General of the Lance.

"What is it, page?" The knight looked back to the battle quickly assuring himself that the line would hold - for now.

"Orders from General Erlistam. Order your men to retreat and return to protect the keep and receive healing! You are to join the General on the flank for more instruction!" The messenger spit out his words swiftly, wishing to be away from the dangerous position of being the front line of the army.

"Noted, page! Tell the General I do so at once!" The knight grumbled inwardly at his failed attempt, but satisfied himself that there was little he, or anyone could have done against such odds.

"Nacarmos!" The knight called to his bardic page. "Sound the Song of Retreat!" The bard merely nodded somberly, as he too, saw the desperation of the battle, swiftly bringing to his pipes to his mouth, playing the tune that no soldier wishes to hear. At once the men disengaged from their battles, turning and kicking their horses into a gallop while a few of the brave men continued to battle four ogres at a time, to cover their retreat.

They would fall, but Gregory would personally see to their posthumous decoration for Valor.

With a sigh he turned his horse and raced down the line to the flank. The battle wound its way like a serpent over the plain, adjacent to which rested the high ground and the mountains. It was to the mountains' edge where the General sought to flank.

He did not see it come, but perhaps that aided him.

He only felt the heavy pound of a log smash against his forehead and himself falling off his horse, landing in the muddy ground below. His helmet was knocked from his head as he slipped into unconsciousness; he only saw the two giant legs of the minotaur standing over him.

"Wake up Lesser!" The minotaur growled as he lifted the unconscious knight to his feet. The bull-faced warrior growled as he looked to the unconscious man. There was no honor in defeating an already near-dead knight! Raije would not be pleased with such cowardice!

"Ughh..." The knight's head rose quietly as he looked up to see the rage-filled eyes of the minotaur before him. In one hand he held the massive war-hammer that had knocked him from his horse.

"Bah! You are still half-asleep!" The minotaur growled and with a grunt hurled the semi-unconscious knight across the battle-field where he again impacted the ground. The minotaur hefted his war-hammer with a grunt and hurried off to find another more fitting subject to face in combat.

The knight slowly got to his feet as the minotaur left. Ahead of him he could see the advancing throng of ogres and goblins and dark knights. He saw nothing around him save dead bodies. Either his fellows had been killed or they had retreated. Gregory was alone. With a sigh he closed his eyes, uttering a spell that he had learned some time ago, but never had used. It was a dangerous spell to use, doubly so one in his condition.

And then one moment he was in the center of the battlefield, in the next he had teleported.

VIII

When he opened his eyes he found himself high above the plain where he had been before. Below him, as if chess pieces rested the whole battlefield! He could see the entire formation of the Eclipse and their allies, as well as the units of Knights who were now in retreat to Gareth.

It was certainly due to the Rose.

The Knight let out a small sigh as he reached into his chest-plate, drawing out the small crystal rose that his Grandfather, Fflam had given him. It was most magnificent, and was said to bring with it the luck of a Kender. There was no doubt in his mind now that the rumor was true.

His brief reverie was interrupted for a moment by the grunts of goblins further down the slope. The Knight murmured quietly as he saw the forms of four bald goblins climbing up the ground towards him. It did not appear that they had yet seen him, but apparently the Eclipsians, too had realized what a strategic advantage could be gained from this height.

The Knight clutched the crystal with a prayer as his eyes looked over the mountain for somewhere to hide.

There!

The knight almost let out a laugh as he kissed the rose. Just behind where he stood the Knight saw the entrance to a small cave. Various boulders crowded its entrance, but it was an ideal hiding place, the goblins would never see him in there.

IX

The path into the mountain was long and steep and sweat began to dampen the knight. His curiosity had gotten the best of him as he traveled down what seemed to be a well-carved tunnel. Ahead of him the air grew warm, heated probably by some geothermal force. He glanced back quickly to the small cropping of rocks, he could hear the rough sounds of the goblin-tongue and he resigned to continue down the passage.

“By Nadrik ....” The knight's hands trembled as he placed his mailed hands upon the crumbled pieces of what was once a mighty boulder. Ahead of the small section of the rubble, which seemed to mark the end of the tunnel, was the unmistakable shine of treasure. His footsteps quickened as he hurried to push aside the last of the rubble until he was able to enter the cavern.

The cavern was immense; most castles, save the great Keep of Serpantol could fit inside the mammoth structure. Lava Pools swirled chaotically in some corners, reminding the Knight that danger still lurked. These were enough, however, to illuminate most of the cavern, and as far as the eye could see were there gems, mystic artifacts and other items of lore.

"This would buy the whole of the Empire.." The confused knight knelt quietly to the ground beneath him, digging up a handful of the coins and watching as they flowed from his grasp, as if they were liquid, settling back into the pile below. The coins seem to coat the entire cavern, as if it were a sea of monies. It was if he were in a dream.

His brief reverie was interrupted quickly as the coins below him began to shake and churn; if the coins were a sea than it looked as if a tempest had stirred the silver waters. Gregory was tossed to his feet as the coins beneath and before him were raised. And then he saw it..

A Dragon.

Its form rose quickly from the quagmire of treasure, the coins that had buried its giant red scales falling off to the ground below. It was huge, larger than any dragon he had ever seen. The Knights of Serpantol had fought many dragons, as Eclipse was often to have the chromatics accompany them. But never.. had he seen one like this.

Long red horns ran from atop the ridge of its brow, forming a sort of headpiece that was both beautiful as well as functional. Its narrow jaws ended with vicious fangs each, easily the size of a scimitar and just as wickedly curved. Some coins were even molten, having been smelted by the immense heat of the beast, indeed, liquid gold ran from his jaws as if it were saliva.

It inclined its head slowly towards the Knight, who stood paralyzed with fear, his limbs unable to move and his mind unable to comprehend the sight before him.

"You dare interrupt His sleep, softling? The Great Sleep of Illustinalinanul dra Draminslicaoe?" The great wyrm shifted its massive bulk as it turned its gaze upon the immobile form of Gregory Ranilian. The knight attempted to speak but words would not form from his lips, and even if they had, it would have been babble.

"A knight!" The beast growled lowly as it noticed the insignia upon the breast of Gregory's armor as its eyes slitted in reptilian vengeance. With one swipe of its razor claws he sent the already wounded knight skidding across the pile of gold coins until an unlucky chest halted his travel. His armor was little protection against the razor claws of the wyrm, as the armor was rended with a screeching sound, but it prevented an instantaneous death.

"The softling lives?" If a dragon is able to frown, the wyrm certainly did. He doubted his own senses for a moment (just, a moment), as he heard the shallow breathing of the knight. The Dragon thought for a moment that perhaps the armor the knight was wearing was magic, yet, he sensed no aura. Perhaps it was he then? Had he slept too long? Of course not. Sleep was what made dragons strong, and by now he was surely one of the strongest. Curiosity mixed with bitterness filled the dragon's breast as he sought an explanation for the still breathing knight.

A single talon extended, the dragon nudged the knight. And there, tucked inside his armguard, rested the answer.

"The Rose!" The dragon growled in ecstasy! He had lost it for so many years lost to that... Kender! And now it was returned to him by this.. this... Knight! The dragon clutched the rose delicately between two talons as his eyes were absorbed into the crystalline pattern. It was a gift of the goddess Taliena, and perhaps it was she who changed the Dragon's heart, for when he looked upon the wounded and dying Knight he felt pity. Perhaps it was the first pity he had ever felt.

"Arise, knight." The dragon spoke the words softly, as if he were afraid of them, afraid that he was weak in saving the knight from death. He did not know why he did what he did, only that he knew for some reason he must.

Gregory Ranilian, lost from this world twice in as many hours, slowly stirred to vigor once again. The wounds that had covered his abdomen were healed by the mighty magics of the great wyrm.

"I..." The knight tried to stand, a hand clutching towards his sword-hilt, but his legs, weak from the blood loss, failed him and he tumbled into the pile of coins with a clamor.

"Rest knight. Safety has this Rose bought you. For He who once owned it, now does so again. The wounds of the Knight has He healed, and shall He now grant you one favor. You return the Rose to Him. And shall he now pay his debt." The dragon spoke softly, a certain kindness in his voice, a kindness that confused the knight, yet he was still in a daze. The odd logic, in his state, did not seem odd. It was one of those times when even the absurd makes sense.

"The... Battle." The knight's chest heaved as the life that once flowed within it slowly returned, "We... lose the battle... the favor I ask of you...." Gregory doubled over, his cough wet with blood as the dragon stood raptured, his head inclined towards the recovering knight.

"Win the Battle, Wyrm..."

X

"There he is! Dranim, look!" The dirty youth grabbed the other by the scruff of his woolen tabard, half-dragging his companion to the balcony. The two youths, clamored to the top of the stone balcony that over-looked the parade below. Both were dressed alike, dirty woolen peasant clothes covered by a set of miniature capes, fashioned with poor embroidery to be replicas of those of the Knighthood. At the side of each rested a wooden sword, an instrument that routinely spelled death for any number of imaginary dragons or brigands.

"He's smaller than I thought!" The red haired youth looked to his companion, as if a bit disappointed.

"Yeah, uncle said he was a giant!" The elder of the brothers shrugged as he looked down to the knight who passed beneath them. The tales of Knight Gregory Ranilian's exploits were the stuff of legend. He had led the combined armies of Serpantol to a victory over the Eclipsians at the northern frontier, as well as squelching an inner-rebellion by Eclipsian sympathizers.

"Father said he fought with him once, before he retired." The younger spoke quietly, as if in reverence, or as if one were talking of a saint or martyr.

"He did?" The elder scratched his head as he turned to look at his brother quizzically.

"Yeah. Remember? He beat the Bad Dragon and rode him against the Bad Knights!" The younger looked to his brother with annoyance. Hadn't he listened to all the bedtime tales too?

"Oh yeah.. I forgot. He didn't really do that... did he?" The elder snorted a bit, displaying the common cynicism of prepubescent youth.

"Father says he saw it."

"Yeah. I guess so."

XI

"Approach his Highness, Knight Gregory of Ranilian." The magistrate motioned with a silver-capped cane, towards the throne before taking a single step back. The accompanying rapping of the cane echoed throughout the royal chambers.

"I have heard much of your exploits young knight." The Emperor nodded quietly to the magistrate and turned to look to the mailed knight before him. "My old ears still do not believe the reports that I have received. They say you came riding a red dragon." A coarse chuckle escaped the wizened face of the Emperor. He looked rather stately on his throne, tho' one could tell that age had caught up to him. He looked thin and pale, more like a withered farmer than a once-proud Emperor.

"I can say I can scarcely imagine such a sight. However, my men inform me that it is true. You not only saved a battle, knight, but through means which I do not think anyone shall ever know, you saved an empire." The ancient Emperor nodded to he magistrate and motioned with a hand to his servants. One of them produced a small box, raising it carefully before the Emperor.

"Your family has long has a tradition of dedicated service to the offices of the crown, and those who wear it. Your grandfather served me well in my youth. And you, young Ranilian, serve me well in my twilight. Thus, do I grant you and your family this boon."

"Kneel Sir Ranilian." The Emperor rose slowly from the throne, his muscles quivering with the effort as he descended the steps, one hand holding the polished rosewood box, the other steadying himself against the armrest. The young knight did as commanded, the ringing of his mail filling the quiet stone hall as he bent himself in respect.

"Ranilian is a honorable name, but a common one. Thus, now, shall I dub you, and your descendants forever the 'Lah'ter.' In the tongue of the ancients it means simply 'First Guard.'" The quivering hands of the old man reached into the box, drawing out a small pendant, draping the gold crest about the neck of the kneeling knight.

The gold crest, was a simple, yet elegant affair. A simple plain field in the center of which, rested a lance crossed by a sword, and to each side of this, a red dragon.

The heraldry of the Lah'ter.