[center][h3]THE MAD KNIGHT[/h3]
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[i]"The great scholar Em'kel, despairing at the folly of the great lords, was said to have wandered alone into the heart of the Great White Erg, and there, hidden by the ever-shifting sands and surrounded by monsters, he fashioned a great tomb for himself using the magic of the Old Ones...burying his great and terrible knowledge where none could find it." - from the journals of the wizard Umver[/i]
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"I shall lay my head down, strike it off he that can," the knight offered, removing her great helm, and solemnly bowing her head.

"Are you mad?" the guardsman asked, forcing a fearful laugh from his throat as he cast his eyes desperately towards his companions who appeared much too amused to bother moving from their comfortable and very safe spot in the shade of the Great Northern Gate. A crowd of passerby had gathered, mostly street urchins and cutthroat merchants plying their wares nearby, a mixture of curiosity and impatience, of youth and greed, awaiting what promised to be a bloody but entertaining spectacle, exactly the sort of thing that was held in great esteem in Zar Vorgul.

"Where is your courage? You challenged me, you called me a coward, you threatened to kill me, and worst of all, you suggested that I was some sort of assassin sent to murder your king," Meg said, bristling with anger, "I will permit you to strike me once and then I will return the blow."

"His lordship doesn't take kindly to armed strangers wandering unquestioned through his gates," the guardsman said, taking a step closer, resting a hand demonstratively on the hilt of his sword. "Not when the Salished are massing on our borders and especially not when those uninvited guests decide to mouth back, there's seven of us and one of you, do you really want to continue making trouble?"

"Not one of you can match me, not even in great numbers, but draw that ugly blade if you have the courage."

"Meg! Old friend! What business have you with the most honorable men of the city guard?" Came the desperate greeting, the half-shouted words of a robed craftsman, full of panic and possessing a face and skin marked by fire, edging his way through the gathered crowd. "I sent my apprentice to find you, but it seems he was too slow..." 

"Do you know this woman, artificer?"

"Of course, good sir, she is-" 

"Do not interrupt, Samald."

"Wait! Just wait, Meg! This man made a mistake, he is young, surely it would be a great wrong to slay a man that has through no fault of his own made a mistake?"

Meg sighed.

"Perhaps, we could resolve this matter with words rather than swords," Samald said, approaching the guardsman with a bag of coin held out in his hand. "My friend is weary from her travels and it is clear to me that you did not mean to offend her. In fact, I will be sure to tell your commander what a fine job it is you are doing here."

Smiling, the guardsman nodded, clearly having finally arrived at familiar territory, pocketing the small coin purse with a well-practice motion. "Sorry for the trouble, miss, now move along before I change my mind."

"You are children with swords, not warriors," Meg said to the guardsman, making no effort to hide the heavy disappointment in her voice as she allowed the scared artificer to shepherd her away, ignoring the ignoble jeers they shouted after her.

"Did you find it?" Samald asked once they out of earshot of the guardsman, casting a careful eye to make sure they had not been followed, hope and impatience for once taking hold of his placid voice.

"By the grace of the Old Ones, I have retrieved the lost tome of Em'kel."