Shadowflame, Pariah, Fell beast of the North Star; Sir Arthur Lyle was all of those names and more. He had killed many men, won many battles, slain many foes and mages and lords and kings and countries. Sir Arthur Lyle, the Greatest Warrior to ever grace Mahamaluk's cold northern realms, was retired.

He had grown weary of the constant cries to battle, the nagging of various lords, kings, ladies and princes that he join them in battle against such and such because they stole something from someone else, were idiots, or just were plain offended in some way. The matters of war were trivial, he knew, but it continued because no one would stop it.

Not that he cared anymore. He could care less if the current Age dwindled down into fiery embers of villages. His village would remain; his people would live; no one would dare attack him. People came and went from the town on weekly basis to seek counsel with him but he denied them all.

All of his love for battle had been lost with that last woman. She had been proclaimed a witch, and even though he knew by the end that she was falsely accused, he still had to have killed her. So he did; then he killed the one whom told him to kill her and retreated to the northern shadows of the deep forests.

His closest followers had fled with him to the North, most mainly to escape their deaths for simply being helpful to Arthur, but others simply followed after in an effort to begin anew with new people, a fresh kingdom, and all under a wise, fair, and competent ruler. Arthur knew them all by name, every last man, woman, and child in his small Kingdom, he knew them intimately; he made it his business to do so.

He was as a mentor to them all, but a mentor with large strings. He knew the life stories of every one of them, all but one. The man's name was Deephall, Justin Deephall; a refugee from the city he had fled all those years ago. Since Arthur pitched camp in the forest and built the village, Deephall had disappeared among the trees, only occasionally returning to collect things that he could not make himself without special tools.

Arthur believed him a hermit by choice, but still was curious to know why Justin was the way he was. Some of the people who had fled with Deephall would say little of him, but from what little he could find out from his people, Deephall had been connected somehow to a revolution going on in the Far South.

Concerned both for the man's safety and health, as well as being admittedly a little curious as to what part he was playing in the revolution, Arthur made the past of Justin Deephall his pet project.

On rainy days, Arthur would ascend to the top of the Tower of Books, the library of the kingdom, and read over the facts that he had received on Justin. He had spent many days and nights studying Deephall as well, trying to find rhyme and reason to the man's comings and goings.

On those days, the King would allow no one into the library except for his most trusted, royal servant, Dan Kolyle, a former keeper of the Maltu Vault before he was exiled under false charges of raping and killing innocent children repeatedly.

Arthur trusted Kolyle to keep track of all the notes he scribed about Justin and keep them in an orderly, calm fashion. So far, the king had not been disappointed in the least with the former vault guardian's talents.

Amongst the many notes Lyle had scribed, the comings and goings of Deephall during times of danger and severity were the most valued to him. When the shadow came to the keep to hide his body from the storm and live, he required all to secretly, and silently, submit to him one at a time what Justin had said to them; if anything at all.

From what Arthur had gathered during the storms, he had created a small index of notes on when it was likely for Deephall to come in from the forest if there was a threat to him: Justin came, usually, in the Winter for shelter from storms and, at times, came to the village to seek refuge in the castle's halls if a rainstorm grew too severe for him to stand.

But, even safe in the halls of the king, he spoke to no one; said little if anything at all. In fact, thunderstorms seemed to attract Justin even more than when hail beat down on the castle walls and rattled the front doors. It was starting to become common that on a thunderous night, even without rain, Justin would come from the shadows to live among the people for a short time.

Tonight was such a night. The thunder was louder than any weather anyone in the village had ever heard. It was as if the Gods were screaming at them for some foul deed of some sort. Some of the locals were discussing sacrificing a goat to appease the Gods when out came Justin from the underbrush; obviously disturbed by the intensity of the roaring thunder. They hushed as he drew near.

Silently, he took from a villager a small sip of his bucket of water and thanked him with a gravely voice. Some stood back at the mere sound of Deephall's voice; they had never even heard it before.

His raven black hair and piercing red eyes looked decayed and un-natural to many of the villagers and his mere appearance frightened some of the horses as he walked past the stables in silence. He banged twice on the door of the keep to seek entrance; to seek refuge from the booming thunderclaps above.

The solid doors creaked open and King Lyle was there to greet him. Hugging the shadow of the underbrush, Lyle furrowed his eyebrows in concern. The man's body was deathly cold and, despite the man's gravelly protest, Lyle ordered him a hot bath to soak his cold bones in and a bed made for him in the guest chambers.

He would've spoken with Deephall personally, in the bath, but was interrupted by the villagers who were earlier discussing the sacrifice. Of course, he forbade it, saying to them that if the gods wished a sacrifice they would ask for it clearly. The storm overhead was just a part of the world that passes once in a while, not an act of the Gods.

Deephall allowed himself to be taken up to his bath, to the relief of the chambermaid who escorted him. She was a bit nervous and jumped every time he decided to ask her something. She also felt intimidated and insignificant to be talking to a man who never had spoken to anyone before.

For some reason or another, Justin was in a talkative mood this night. Something in the winds had disturbed the chains around his throat and apparently had allowed him free speech for a time. She tried to commit everything he said to memory.

He talked of the forest's shrinking underfoot grass, the old trees dying, the war in south still raging, and that he wished he hadn't lost 'that item of choice,' whatever that was. He rambled on for a time in the bath, asking her small, little questions.

Until he asked her if she was married or had children. She didn't know quite how to reply to that; her husband had died two harvests ago and her two children were deathly ill. One was blind, the other dumb as dried wood. She fibbed to him that she had a husband and many children all was healthy and well.

He looked at her sharply and asked her kindly for the truth. Blushing, she told him her current situation. He sighed and nodded, asking her why she had lied in the first place to him.

She admitted to him that she felt that he would've been offended had she told him all in her life was going wrong when he suffered alone. At that, he smiled, and stated that her life was much worse than his; then thanked her for the kindness.

Blushing crimson, she remained silent until he had finished washing himself. She did sneak a peak a few times at his form and each time she felt something stir within her heart that she thought had died two harvests back. Soon she was left awash in a sea of want for another man in her life to tend to her children and assuage her deep wounds.

She was so awash in her feelings that she didn't even notice when his callused thumb pushed her head up to stare her in the eyes straight on. Without a word, he descended upon her and kissed her cheeks.

Pulling back, he smiled and told her that she would be fine and find both love and her children well by next harvest. A bit astounded by his gentle, but strong, words, she simply nodded and walked out the room to gather his clothes.

She had the foresight to wash his clothes and shine his boots before he had gotten too cold in his bath; Deephall was appreciative for the favor. When she asked him why he had chosen to talk to her at all, Deephall responded that he reminded her of that woman he had killed all those years ago. He complimented her by saying that it was delightful to speak to a woman's gentle mind once more in his life before he returned to the forest once more.

Retiring to his chambers, Justin watched the storm outside and waited for that feeling of sleepiness to overtake him. He thought of the past; before the times were he was a wanted man; before he had received the scars on his soul.

A knock on his door aroused him from his memory and he spun about to greet King Lyle as he entered the room and shut the door behind him. Not really wishing companionship at the moment, he told the king that the storm would be over soon and he would leave for the forests again.

King Lyle said nothing in reply, choosing instead to sit at the chair by the door. A bit concerned by the King's attempt to linger in his chambers, Justin turned his back to the storm outside and confronted the King face to face. The king asked him plainly why he was a hermit.

Sighing, Justin returned to the storm and replied that he had always been one to begin with; the only difference is that now he was being hunted for a thing that he was the keeper of. Before Lyle could ask what, Justin explained further that he could not tell him the name of the thing he was guarding either.

The one who had charged him with the stead of keeping the item safe until such time as its use had made him promise upon his life and honor that none would not even know the purpose of the item until necessary. He would also leave to the forest once more by dawn, and this time he might not return.

A bit taken aback by the admission, the King excused himself from the chambers of Deephall, and apologized for interrupting his thoughts. Deephall replied that Lyle needn't worry about his interruption for he had already been excused.

Dawn came swiftly. The maid who Justin had talked to the other day found two bottles on her doorstep, both filled with a strange liquid. A handwritten note also laid resting between the bottles, she assumed the handwriting was Justin's. The note read that she should feed both her children the potions for four days, and nothing but instead of bread, and they would be well by the next harvest; which was in a few days.

Justin was not seen again for months. However, word traveled quickly about the village that the maid's children suddenly recovered from an illness none other had survived. When asked what she thought the reason behind the act was by the King, she called it 'an act of the Gods.'

The next stormy night came and passed without sign of Justin. The King grew worried for the man's safety, but kept his search parties from going off in look for the man because he believed that unless Deephall wished to be found, he would remain obscure to them.

Two more winters passed, and the maid was wed to a charming young man that she hadn't believed herself capable of fetching. He took care of her and her two children, as Justin had promised. In her prayers each night she thanked Deephall for everything he had done for her.

As three more harvests passed, the town began to believe that Deephall had finally died, alone, in the forest. They held a small funeral for him and the maid staid faithful, not believing that such a man could die so easy in this world.

The next year, a raiding army of soldiers from the south invaded King Lyle's territory and smote the village. Only Lyle and his men escaped to the mountain Far East of the village. On a return visit to his town, Lyle took the town back from the soldiers and made his village strong. Though, oddly, he found all of the bodies of his women and men, except for two: the maid who had talked to Justin in the castle, and her husband.

He thought it odd that she would survive such a massacre when she had no formal training in weaponry, though her husband most assuredly knew how to fight, he had won the town’s championship, but without Justin being alive, he believed them dead.

Another harvest passed, and the maid returned, shaken from battle and blood, holding a small item wrapped in a cloth thing. She instructed the king to keep watch over it; Justin had fallen defending it and her.

In the end, he sent her off to return to the village with it, where he believed it would be safe from the forces of darkness. She saw no chance in his survival. An army of more than ten leagues had surrounded them and only Deephall and another man she had never caught the name of stood against.

Gravely, the King took the artifact and buried it in the deepest reaches of his coffers as he could, trying to keep it as inaccessible as possible until the artifact was 'needed.' Years passed with no sign of the men returning.

It was around forty years later, when the maid was dying, that she told her eldest son, Land, the tale of the man, Justin Deephall. He told her that one day he would find him and thank him for saving his grandmother.

Unfortunately for Land, the quest he had set upon was not an imaginary one. The man of legend, Justin Deephall, returned to the village some three years after hid grandmother's death and demanded to see one of her children.

The old king Lyle sent out his fastest scouts to find the now head guard, Land, and fetched the artifact from the coffers. They both awaited the boy's arrival, where a quest that only Land could fulfill awaited anxiously.