"Faith" - Fantasy Story

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Author's notes: First fantasy work on these forums. Please try to keep the flaming to constructive criticism, as I am not Shura. This story details the lives of those who had faith.

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"We must leave this place, as I fear for our safety. And most importantly, the boy’s life may be at stake." The young man said with an urgent tone to his deep voice, while keeping a firm grip on his still-scabbarded sword. He carried a young boy in his right arm, one born two summers ago to the warrior-priest Simon and the devout cleric Juda. Elena and T'mor were the godparents of the young soul. After the orcish scourge had ravaged the boy's true parents and left them dying at the Temple of Mishkel, the boy had been delivered into their hands. They were both Chosen of Mishkel and true in heart. Elena was a Daughter of Mishkel, and adept at the arts of care, love and healing. T'mor was a barbarian from the Western tribes, but one that had opened his heart to the Divine Healer. He was one of Mishkel's Swords, a group of paladins that roamed the countryside trying to convert non-believers and open their heart to Mishkel's guidance.

They had spent the last year and a half caring for the boy, but now Elena and T'mor feared that their efforts might be in vain. An assassin group had followed them from the city called Mishkel's Home to this tavern at the edge of Cormyr, the latest in a series of attempts to end the twos’ adventures. "I agree," Elena said, quickly grasping her holy symbol and walking to the bar to speak with the owner of the establishment. Throwing a few silvers and coppers on the table, she bid the man farewell. She didn't notice the cruel smile that the bartender wore, or the seven or so men that got up from the nearest table.

However, T'mor did, and quickly passed the sleeping child. "Leave this place, now!" he whispered to Elena. "I will deal with these ones!" Grasping the nature of the situation, Elena slipped out the back door of the tavern. Three of the brutes followed her out.

"I've faced worse," T'mor muttered to himself while sizing up the four thugs that were left and drawing his sword. They were already beginning to circle and flank the paladin, a clear sign of military training and tactics. "Mishkel take you!" T'mor snarled while charging forward and slashing at the lead man, who adeptly parried and countered with dual short swords slicing through air. T'mor stumbled back; yet quickly regained battle composure. Chants of war might echoed throughout the tavern, as the mighty two-handed sword ‘Deliverance’ sliced straight through bandit armor and cut deep into flesh. T’mor had harnessed the one thing that distinguished him from the rest of Mishkel’s Swords – a fierce and powerful rage, one that would come forth to purge T’mor’s enemies in battle. An assassin danced forward and made a dagger thrust, only to have his sword arm sliced in two by the singing sword they called Deliverance. The last chanted the arcane syllables that marked magic, but his spell had no effect on the enraged warrior, who made a downward thrust and ripped open the wizard’s innards.

As the magic-user lay dying and slumped against the tavern table, T’mor now knew that his threat was gone. But what of the boy’s? What of the child he had sworn to protect? Hastily, he rushed out the tavern door to find his beloved and aid her.

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[This message has been edited by Black Rose (edited November 11, 2001).]

 

"Deliverance", that's a cool name for a sword. Keep up the story.

 

Indeed, this is a good one! Do continue, will you?

 

Great! We want more!