Author's Note: I realize that you may not understand what some of these things are, and probably will not understand the way I have totally reconstructed the medieval hierarchy system, so look at the tables I have compiled for you on the last chapter (Warning: contains spoilers, which are clearly labeled, read at your own risk)

Thunder and Lightning crashed and shook the planes as if descending upon them to wreak utter havoc; raindrops the size of crab apples plummeted from the heavens; making it a hazardous journey for an intrepid adventurer staggering through the muddy clumps of sod... trying to pry loose a wooden door concealed below a large section of grass near the edge of the commons.

The precipitation rolled off the shoulder plates, around the gauntlets, over the brogues the thick metal greaves that protected them; water not touching the inside of the armor, the well fitting tigulated chain mail; his gigantic sword only once grazed the edge of the doorway as he descended down, closing the opening behind him... he landed with a THUD in a huge, open catacomb, well lit by oil lanterns hanging all about iron rings suspended on the wall.

And that was it: he was no longer pursued by the commoners who so zealously protected the castle alongside the guards. Those bastards. So, perhaps it was here that the fabled relic had been hidden? He would see.

The great warrior looked like a metallic golem as he lumbered through the dark, dank halls; among his most notable equipment was an adamantine neck- guard, which slid over the inch-thick steel-plated helm; under his gauntlets were cestus which fit comfortably upon his hands; and a large bejeweled scabbard, with small platinum rings every few inches or so.

He drew his sword; it had a sturdy steel hilt, ensconced in thick onyx spirals, with an obsidian hand guard, which seemed to get thicker as it went out, in a concave shape. The blade itself was just 8 inches shy of six feet, crafted from a strange metal; it was chrome, but glowed with a red aura. Down the side were eight large, well-defined glyphs crafted from elven and dwarven dialects, as if each letter was in a different language.

Author's Note: What do the glyphs read, you ask? Maybe I'll tell you... maybe I won't... I guess you'll just have to read on

His face was very well hidden by his headgear; He heard a muffled sneeze, and sweat plunged from the flattened cleft in his chin, as he turned his head to look; as he walked quickly, but cautiously he could feel the taste of mandarin oranges, fried potatoes, red grapes, rotisserie fowl, and honeycomb return to his mouth from dinner.

In the shadows, somebody hurled a dagger, sending it spinning across the floor, about a foot above ground level; the intrepid adventurer arched his body in a grand fashion going into a back flip; the dagger went by his neckpiece while he was upside down, and he drew his sword, it hummed with a red aura, as if thirsty for blood, and hungry for battle.

The frightened assailant drew his scimitar and thrust it toward the warrior; just as he did, the adventurer positioned the tip off-center of the assailant, the hilt by his face, and as the scimitar drew closer, he thrust his sword foreword, all at once deflecting the blow, and driving the wicked looking blade deep into the cloaked figure's neckline. The blood seemed to seep into the sword, and the man huddled into a fetal position, and began to wither in silence.

The adventurer looked at his foe's corpse and spat in disgust at how pathetic a combatant he was. He saw a portal open on the wall; he had no idea who it could be... he saw a key on the corpse, grabbed it, and made a break down a corridor, but he stopped abruptly as he smashed into a door.

The door blew apart the hinges, and he went careening in; he saw a chest sitting in the corner; and knowing his time was running out, he used the key, which was now in his possession to release the chest he could now barely see, only it's silhouette was visible; inside, on a layer of velvet was the relic he sought...

The adventurer picked up his booty; it was a crystalline orb that was perfect in every way; aquamarine on the outside, and fading to blue, purple, and then black in the core... it was the oracle; a rune crystal that is said to give the powers of prediction; he heard knights footsteps, and stowed the oracle in his breastplate.

Two footmen and an elderly man, maybe in his mid 70's, with long, teal robes, a stringy black-and-gray beard, and a sullen face

"Duke Lotus" he addressed the adventurer "Your father is waning, and requests your presence; I have already rallied your brothers"

"Very well," Duke Lotus bowed slightly "Show me the way, Sir Gikrinch"

The royal archmage shook his head "Honestly! Out playing warrior on a night like this!" and lead them through the portal.

The Duke, Stanley Lotus, paused only briefly to peek in his breastplate at the oracle before crossing the threshold.