Rarely does the human eye witness nature's manifestations of a power that could raze a whole town in just one night. Tidal waves, earthquakes and whirling winds can bring both fear and amazement to the masses taking part in the demonstrations of nature's might. These powers many times have plagued mankind, leaving mayhem and despair wherever they went. What can find its birth in the hearts of those who stand face to face with a force ready to take their lives in its never-ending crave for fresh blood? The last hope of escape? Can one really fool himself to believe that there's always a possibility to elude the devastating strikes of enraged elements? Or is it just a blind need to prolong the existence of one's miserable life? No matter what may be held by their flimsy minds, it all comes down to a single, dispiriting thought - beings limited by their flesh stand absolutely no chance against the godlike materialisations of rage and destruction.

In truth, what can they do, when the heavens themselves fall onto their feeble heads, instantly decimating children and elders alike? Only in such moments people truly realise just how pathetically weak they are. No longer do they feel like the invincible swayers of the world. They begin to seek for the much desired salvation in the arms of their all-mighty gods. Who knows? Maybe with enough prayers, the divine beings would let them keep their worthless lives and save them from the dreaded pits of hell... However, every rule meets its exception. Strange as it seems, citizens of Grindberg showed completely different behaviour. But what could be expected when they had the dubious pleasure of experiencing such manifestations many times a year?

Without a word, Winand stared at a raging thunderstorm extending its realm of pandemonium not too far away above the vast sea. Every few seconds mighty lightning bolts pierced through the disturbed air, annihilating the pitch blackness of the night and sending a dreadful peal throughout the atmosphere, as if a shock-wave of countless souls filled with agony ran right above the tract of water and towards the shore. Heavy hail kept thrusting into the sea, with each blow sending eerie ammounts of liquid into the air, as if trying to dig right to the very ground. Nothing quite like it ever appeared before his eyes, Winand was filled with awe and dismay caused by the impression that compared to such fearsome force, he was just about nothing. Still, in some way the whole situation was causing a tingling sensation. His skin felt as if the electricity was running through his whole body, pulsing together with the rapid pounding of his heart. He could smell it in the air... an odd tint of sulphur was floating all around, somehow inflaming his soul and bringing passion to his bright grey eyes. To him, it was more than obvious - it couldn't be a normal thunderstorm. Some fearsome force had to be responsible for all that he could witness in that very moment. Just for a while Winand turned away from the awe-inspiring vision and took a look around.

Many of the Grindberg's citizens were already standing on the shore, gazing into the play of the raging force of nature. None of them seemed to be surprised though, with ease on their faces they fed their eyes with the normally uncommon event. From what Winand heard, people of Grindberg were used to seeing such manifestations up to five times a year. He still did not understand how they could get familiar with them, completely throwing away any signs of fear. Is a possibility of death any less dreadful if it happens on a regular basis? He glanced down to Garnil, his old companion whom he went through many tough and often macabre fights with. Unlike most of the Empire's citizens, Garnil wasn't a Teuton. He belonged to a race of Ambrones - short, yet sturdy men. Dwarves, as many called them. At that moment he was standing by Winand's side, calm like all the others. Whether that was caused by his frequent visits in this city, or the dwarf's fearless attitude still remained unknown to him. It was truly strange to see such peace in the city, whilst the sea showed its lust for chaos and mayhem, sending blackened waves towards the crowded shore.

Winand snapped out of the reverie as the thunderstorm projected a mighty lightning bolt, thus creating an outstanding peal that pierced through his heart, instantly triggering all of his nerves. A shock replaced the passion in his eyes and his heart started pounding even faster than before. With fear clutching his chest, he could hardly catch a breath. Winand clenched his fists in an attempt to regain his calmness.

"Great might in the Donar's rite. Becursed citizens must have somehow offended the god." Still struggling with fear, he tried to make his voice as calm as possible and yet loud enough to pierce through the noise filling the shore, so that his friend would hear his words. It appeared quite obvious to him that the lightning must have been a form of manifestation chosen by the god of thunder himself to send a message to the unwary citizens. How else could have he done it? There were no temples devoted to him in the city, let alone priests who could pass on Donar's will.

"You speak of deities?" Garnil looked up to him and slightly shook his head. "It is not gods that hold blame for what we can witness here." He frowned and went on, raising his voice. "The fault lies in the actions of careless humans, who think of nothing but themselves." The dwarf was going to end his answer on these words, yet seeing the surprise on Winand's face, he decided to carry on. "You see, large ports are not the only cause that brings fame and renown to this strange city... This place is a home for the biggest batch of witches ever to be witnessed by the land. Yes, definietely. Witches of Grindberg know a lot about their foul art." Garnil turned around to face the city, with his eyes seemingly searching for something in the blackness of the night. "But the careless magicians hold no regards for the safety of the common folk. Their dark rituals bring pain and despair to the lives of people inhabiting this city... They disgust me." He concluded his answer by spitting on the ground.

"Witches? But the emperor Frieder has a complete control over them. There's no way they could do something against his will!" During his stay in the capital's garrison, Winand heard quite a bit about the Empire's politics. The witches brought much controversy, especially in the last years, but it always seemed as if the emperor controlled them, with his well known iron fist.

"And what is his will?! All he strives for is to get more and more money... Lad, do you truly believe Frieder would care about anyone but himself? His greed is nearly legendary, not only among your people." Many memories ran through Garnil's mind. Memories of hypocrisy and traitory, which all too many times described the emperor's deeds. Despise all this, as foul creature as he seemed to be, many decided to follow him, adding to the dwarf's anger and desperation. "Do you remember the military campaign launched against the western tribes of orcs?"

"Good grief, Garnil! Of course I do," Winand answered with a reproach in his voice. "It found its end no more than three years ago, during my service as the Sudenheim's city guard. How could I forget about something like that?"

"That really doesn't matter." The dwarf shook his head. "Have you ever thought about why it was cancelled in the first place?"

"Thought about?" The warrior narrowed his eyes. "What's there to set your mind on? All of the Empire's troops were well informed about the decree long before it came to life. The emperor himself passed on to us the information why he made the decission. We didn't even need to think about it."

"You're living in a dream world, Winand," the dwarf continued. "He only told you what he wanted you to hear."

"He wanted us to hear the truth." A frown appeared on Winand's face. "The army would crumble if it was fed with nothing but lies."

"History proves otherwise," grumbled Garnil. "What exactly did that foul creature tell you?"

"The emperor," Winand emphasized the title in opposition to the dwarf's remark. "He told us the orc tribes could no longer defend from our progressing army. Their chieftains agreed to ally with the Empire and assist it in the defense from the northern invaders. The capital even discusses possibility of assimilating their lands to the Empire. Emissaries were already sent to plant a seed of civilization on the barbarian grounds."

"The main purpose of the campaign was to vanquish the hordes of chaos. Why would the Empire ally with them now, when it is so close to victory?"

"The agression in the north rises," answered Winand. "If the hordes decide to attack the southern grounds, our armies may become overwhelmed by their force. We cannot allow that, the alliance may protect us from the reign of chaos."

"Just as it protected the southern land?" The dwarf swinged his hand in the direction of the sea. "They allied with the chaos to elude the certain death. What did they achieve with the alliance? They are slaves now and the reign of chaos goes as far as to the southern borders of the Empire."

"But they are alive!" shouted Winand.

"Yes, they live," answered Garnil. "They carry on the life of servants. Slaves that survive in their dark world or pass away in the most horrible death, according as the chaos smiles or betrays."

"Then what would you want us to do? Continue the war, when with each fighting day, our chances of survival decrease? We need allies, not dead corpses." The warrior turned back to the sea, gazing far away from the shore, as if searching for something.

"The Ambronian army would assist the Teutonic forces, just as it did in the past. We have a common enemy..." Garnil paused for a moment. "Or had. It is not so certain anymore now, when you ally with them. But Frieder knows it. The reason why he signed the alliance is completely different than that which he made official."

"Why do you think he signed the alliance then?" Winand turned back to the dwarf.

"The rumours of forthcoming rebellion spread all across the Teutonic Empire. People want to overthrow the tyrant." Garnil took a deep breath. "He cannot allow that. The war already weakened his army and he cannot afford losing any more of it. He needs protection, a force that will serve him and won't doubt any of his decissions. That's why he allies with orcs and not with the Ambrones."

"Rebellion?" Winand's eyes widened. "But that would leave the Empire defenseless against the northern hordes!"

"The future of the Empire doesn't appear to be as bright as we'd wish it to be. And there's only one man to be blamed for that."

Sadness covered Winand's face. A seed of doubt planted in his mind long time ago kept progressing as he witnessed the hardships many citizens of Teutonic Empire had to go through. The information of the possible rebellion was simply too much. He had always followed law and took pride out of the service for the emperor. However, if the emperor indeed was an unjust man, then where's the honor? Where's the pride?

It was all gone now though. Many years passed since Garnil took him away from the city life and brought to the way of an adventurer. Although they did not find the promissed riches and great fame yet, this life was far more exciting and rewarding than that of a city guard. The large risk of losing his life didn't seem to be too appealing as well. Over the years Winand learned that more blood spilled is just that and nothing more. No sorrow over the killed ones, just moving forward. He could die as well - that's true, but so what? Did he have anything to live for? Or anyone? Quite contrary. His blood spilled in a battle could give him a pass to the realm of the chief god Woden. What could be more rewarding than meeting the ancient brothers in arms, with whom he could then fulfill the will of his lord?

"Ah, it is ending now," Garnil was gazing into the thunderstorm, which seemed to be sending the last of its lightning bolts. "Maybe we should head back to the tavern. We have much work to do tomorrow."

"Aye, maybe we should." Winand answered silently and once again glanced towards the sea. Strange thoughts were gathering in his mind. The thunderstorm showed an immense power, but it was fading away now. He on the other hand remained so little, unnoticed, and yet his life force gave him the possibility to carry on his existance. So what was the superior force? Winand was given a chance to live on, maybe for many years to come, whilst the horrid manifestation was about to cease its existance. Could it be that he, such a tiny soul, might hold the superiority over such a fearsome power? Winand shook his head shrugging away all of the thoughts and whispered: "Let's go." As he turned his head towards the city.

It was quite late, the time seemed to be reaching midnight. The streets were void from any signs of life. Most of the people who remained awake, were either gathered on the shore or enjoying their careless moments in the taverns. The air was somewhat heavy, bringing both Winand and Garnil a feeling of tiredness and melancholy. It seemed like the best possible decission would be to get some sleep and let the day fade in the past. However, many dull days were already creating the shadows of agone, what was to say that tomorrow wouldn't be as disappointing as today? In fact chances for that were pretty trivial, their souls seemed to fully awake only by the touch of the thrill of a battle. Life in a city obviously wasn't what they ever desired.

After few minutes of a slow stroll they reached the Golden Buckler tavern. With a jingle of a bell Winand opened the door and soon both of them immersed themselves in the loud racket of the tavern patrons.

Passing by the cheering drunkards, they finally found a free table. There was some ale spilled all over it, but that detail didn't seem to be too important for the tired adventurers. Winand quickly sat on a chair, leaning backwards and sighing loudly.

"I don't suppose either of us is in a partying mood right now," Garnil chuckled. "But a pint of ale shan't do any harm. Wait here while I go to get us some." The dwarf didn't wait for Winand's answer and quickly walked towards the bar, soon disappearing behind the conversing bar flies.

But Winand wasn't going to answer anyway. He closed his eyes, drifting away to the realm of his deep considerations, where various thoughts nonstop stormed his mind. Some time passed since he joined the last adventure. Together with Garnil and a few others, he was supposed to venture into some godforsaken cave to retrieve an ancient statuette said to symbolise an old idol. There were no statuettes though... lots of goblins instead. Who would expect those creatures so deep in the Empire? They usually didn't go far beyond the northern fortresses - too risky for them to encounter the Empire's army. But either way, the statuette was lost and the quest turned out to be a complete failure. Pity, but that's just how it is.

Twenty or so moons passed since then. He and Garnil were supposed to meet in Grindberg to hire themselves as guards for some merchants' caravan. The spring was reaching its end and the season for certain wares, in this case silk clothes, was about to start. Such journeys were usually pretty dull, but hey, the merchants paid pretty well. Still, the caravan wasn't supposed to start until the next week, Winand didn't expect to see his dwarven friend in the city just yet.

It turned out that he was doing a favour for a friend of his, who seemingly couldn't come to the city himself. Some old man living in a village several miles away, Winand didn't really know much about him.

The warrior took a look around the tavern. Judging by the behavior of the tavern patrons, it would be hard to figure out that the people there belonged to the center of the civilization of the whole known world. The men partied as if there would be never tomorrow. Mugs filled with cold beer jangled in the air while the drunkards sang obscene songs. Many talked and laughed, from time to time making a pass at the waitresses. The seemingly disgusted women didn't show much objection though, in that tavern it was part of their job to entertain the customers. The late hours were always somewhat dangerous for them, but finding another job was nearly impossible. It was still better than living in the slum. Winand would gladly lock all of those people in prison, or at least avoid the tavern. However, Garnil enjoyed the drinks and company in this establishment. He didn't understand Winand's disgust for the dominating behaviour.

Suddenly a mug of ale thumbed on the table in front of the warrior. Garnil was already back and the liquid in his beard showed that he already started drinking the alcoholic beverage. It seemed quite possible that he already empied another mug before the one he was holding in his hand. Winand slowly reached for his ale and casually took a draught of it. Winand didn't say anything, at that moment he didn't feel like talking.

They sat there for a while, enjoying their drinks. Anyone who would look at them, might think that they were about to join some kind of a warpath. Winand wore his chainmail, at some parts additionally covered with bits of plate. A pair of leather gauntlets was pinned to his belt, along with a silver-decorated sheath, in which he kept his trusted sword. Winand had no head protection. He usually avoided wearing helmets, which reduced his perception. There were a few scars on his face, but that didn't really bother him in any way, he rather took pride from it. His wavy brown hair were set loose, easily reaching his shoulders.

Garnil on the other hand wore only leather armour. His face was covered with tattoos, nature of which was well known by any adult dwarf. Ones who had such signs decorating their face, were known as the lost slayers. It was a sign that this dwarf was ready to fight anywhere and at any time. Fight to regain his lost honor and to battle with no regards for own safety. His hazel eyes showed a bit of insanity and traces of alcohol could be noticed on his brown beard. Not exactly someone to pick a fight with. All in all, Garnil was ready to make use of his large battle axe for any, even the smallest insult pointed at his person.

Garnil glanced into his already empty mug. "It always ends before it starts for good..." He mumbled to himself. "Well we should get some sleep," He nodded to his companion "Are you coming?"

Winand who until now was observing the tavern patrons, turned back to his dwarven friend. The tavern was quite silent already. Some drunkards, who seemingly couldn't take their alcohol were lying next to the still filled mugs. Winand took the last gulp of his pint and answered: "Yes, let's go."

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