Sour Grunt Productions

PROLOGUE
Arealis is a land replete with magic, weapons, and wars.
Every person in the land has some form of magical ability thanks to the mysterious "God Stones" that are mined by the dwarves. These stones can be found everywhere and when a baby is born, they are left to sleep on the stone for about twelve hours. Whatever power they get is totally random, and sometimes people get more magic than others. Only once in a year does someone get a blank magic, a magic that can be whatever they want it to be and can choose that power as soon as they want.
Weapons manufacturing is one of the biggest industries in the land, and while guns are being pumped out of factories regularly (only for the use of armies, not for the peasants) swords and arrows are pumped out so fast there is usually an overabundance of them.
The people of the land have always been divided into sects. When they started controlling bigger kingdoms, of course war came about.
There was a general time of peace, but that was interrupted when a new king took over the Guptas, and that kind would proceed to wreak havoc on a world at it's greatest height.

BOOK 1: MOUNTAIN TOWN

He entered the small mountain town on horseback. It was a simple town, one road that led from the entrance, straight to the town hall, elevated somewhat thanks to the rugged mountain terrain the town was built on. Houses were either in the attics of the ramshackle buildings (All of which were some kind of store) to either side of the street, or people paid the ridiculous sum to get the building material up the mountain and build it themselves. Some people did enjoy a life in the mountains, in a small, tight-knit community, and the man on horseback would have enjoyed a life in a small town like this if not for all the people chasing him, bent on ripping him to pieces and feasting on his flesh.

His horse trod slowly past the people, doing their late afternoon chores, all taking a moment to look up at the stranger in his odd clothes and carrying on his hip a pistol, a weapon rarely seen outside the warring states. He also had a sword on the opposite hip, a fairly long one that had a light blue hilt that looked almost like ice.

The horse continued forward, it's head bent to the ground, breathing a bit heavily. The man on the horse patted the side of his steed and whispered to it, “Good girl, we're almost there, then you can rest for a day or two.”

Three minutes later the rider dismounted and tied his horse to a stake in the ground in front of a wooden feeder filled with water. The horse lapped at the water vigorously and the rider patted her again. The brilliant black creature nudged the shoulder of her master and then went back to her water.

The rider stood in front of a large, wooden building, louder then any other building in town. Music could be heard coming from a piano, the pleasant talking of the locals, smoke wafted over the batwing door entrance.

The rider pushed the doors open and entered into a large room, bar along the left side, and poker and roulette dotted about the right side. Both sides were pretty crowded, and most people turned to see who had entered their domain.

As were most people living in a small town, these people were defensive of their territory. New folks, especially ones that looked as strange as the rider, were people to be wary of, they were the trouble makers.

The rider nodded his head at no one in particular, perhaps just acknowledging all the peoples stares. He walked to the bar and sat on one of the homemade wooden stools, a pillow stuffed with hay sitting atop the wooden surface. It felt good after riding the rough back of his steed for so long.

The bartender was a younger kid, hair in a mop, face pimply. He was shining a glass with his spit and a rag when the stranger sat down. The kid was apprehensive.

“A beer.” The stranger said, noticing the kids hesitation.

The kid broke into a bit of a sweat, but nodded and took the glass he held and put it under a spigot attached to a large barrel. Probably contained five hundred pounds of beer, getting people to heft the thing behind the bar had to be a huge task.

“Where do you get the beer?” The stranger asked.

The kid turned around with the frothing glass of amber liquid, and spoke quickly.

“We get it from Drowsdon, down the mountain. They have a huge group of horses pull one of these barrels up the mountain to us. It takes two and a half weeks to get rid of all this beer.”

“Five hundred pounds in two and a half weeks?” The stranger took a sip.

“What else do we have to do? Most of these people come in everyday instead of getting a job. They steal money from their sons, daughters, hell, even some own prostitutes. Some of those prostitutes are their own wives and daughters!”

“Sounds like good people.” The stranger whispered.

“Well, living in a small town there are not many ways to make money. The mayor is actually a rich man from the city, used to be a noble but gave up that life in order to build a small town in the mountain to live in. He apparently hated city life, and thought it would be better to raise his child in the mountains and with a tight knit community instead of a community where the people are rebelling against the nobles. His child has grown up and become, well...me.”

The stranger laughed. “I had a feeling you were someone important.”

“How's that?”

“Well, being the bartender I figured you were someone close to the mayor at least. You probably make the most money in the town, and you probably give half or three-quarters of it to the mayor to redistribute, since what do you need money for? You can drink all you want and eat all you want. Everyone in this community has touched every bill that is circulated. It's actually a decent system. Open a bar, open a gambling den, and of course with nothing else to do around here this would be the center of activity. Put your son as boss, and you get all your money back. I'm assuming the mayor pays most people for being town guards, perhaps people who go back and forth between here and Drowsdon to get goods, so they get their money they spent at the bar, then spend it here again, then get it back. It's a continuous cycle. Your dad's a smart man.”

The kid smiled and his smile diminished when he noticed three burly, disgusting people walking towards the stranger.

“Sir...”

“I know. Their footsteps are louder then a usual persons. They are probably drunk. I won't beat them too bad, just til they are quiet and can't assault me anymore.”

The stranger just sat, staring at his glass of beer when the three men grabbed him and started hissing in his ear.

“Lookie at the mysterious stranger!”

“Walk into our bar.”

“We should beat you to a pulp!”

The stranger whispered, “Don't try, you won't enjoy the outcome.”

“What was that?” One of the men, the one over the stranger's right shoulder, threw a punch.

The stranger ducked and grabbed his assailants arm, pushing it a way it wasn't supposed to go. Skin ripped and blood sputtered out. The man's arm hang limply at his side, twisted into a nasty heap. He was screaming.

His buddies did not learn from his mistake and came together at the stranger.

The stranger kicked the feet out from under one of the wobbly men and then blocked a rather weak punch from the other man. The stranger punched the man who was standing hard enough to knock him to the ground, hard enough you could hear a crunch as his nose was smashed to pieces. The man who had been kicked to the ground hurriedly scurried away, falling on his face a couple times as he made his way to the batwing doors.

“Hope the town's doctor is decent.” The stranger muttered. He sat back on the stool and sipped his beer. The kid behind the bar was staring in shock and awe.

“Who-Who the hell are you?” The kid managed to get out.

The stranger, a man with a rugged face and cold, blue eyes looked up at the kid and flashed a bright smile. The stranger's face was covered in scars, though the kid could understand why the prostitutes hiding the corner had been eying him over the past six minutes.

“Do you mountain folks know much about the Warring States?” The stranger asked.

“Other then the fact that they don't effect us and probably never will? It doesn't matter to us, it has nothing to do with the mountain lands. These are accorded neutral grounds, that is just part of the Law of Wars. If war is taking place, the mountains are a place that civilians can escape from the horrors. Is that what you're doing?”

The stranger laughed, his hand reached for his sword's hilt. He pulled it from the scabbard and let it gleam in front of the whole bar. It was the bluish-white of ice.

“This is my sword Icecrusher. It was given to me as a Knight of the Holy King. Only five people can hold one of these swords. You probably didn't know that, but there are only five of these swords, each representing different elements, in the world. I have ice. My gun is also specially designed to shoot freezing bullets. Hell, when I touched the magic embedded in this sword, all the magic in my body was directed toward freezing and cold magics. I can't do a heat spell or a fire spell anymore.”

The kid stared at the sword, perplexed. “So you must be someone special. Perhaps sent to make sure the neutral ground stays neutral?”

The stranger sheathed his sword and laughed. “No way. I'm here to get away.”

“From what? The war? You're a knight though!”

“Used to be. I quit.”

“Why?”

The stranger drank the rest of his beer and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Because, I killed one of the other Holy Knights.”

The kid didn't exactly understand the big deal. But an old man sat down next to the stranger, and looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Are you drunk? Where the hell'd you get that sword? Nobody ever killed a Holy Knight, not even another Holy Knight. It's impossible!”

The stranger shifted in his seat. “I did. We fought for thirty straight minutes until I backed away from a downward swipe, climbed his sword when it was wedged a bit in the ground, and lopped off his head.”

“What knight was this?”


“The knight of earth. His powers were not enough to scare me.”

“Why would you do this?” The old man asked.

“Why? Because I saw the governments corruption and wanted out. I was locked in a room with these people, could not escape, if I tried I'd be shot down or ganged up on by the rest of the knights. So I decided to kill the corrupt bastard in the courtyard during one of the King's banquets. The palace was less guarded, and I had a simple time getting out and away. Elven snipers are following me, and I'm sure the knights are as well, but hopefully I can rest a bit here before they show up.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing, shocked, scared, confused.

“Why would you put us in danger, fugitive, by doing this?”

The stranger smiled. “Because, I can protect you from these people if you help me, give me lodging and some time for me and my horse to rest, and I'll leave, bring those bastards with me. If not, I can't say the town will be safe.”

“BLACKMAIL!?” Screamed one of the people at a roulette table.

“Basically, yes.” The stranger smirked.

“The mayor is going to boot you. He has a police force and a couple guards, they will escort you out permanently!” The old man sitting next to the stranger said.

“Notice the poor fellow on the ground, the one who's broken and bleeding everywhere. What makes you think I won't do the same to a bunch of measly policemen and guards? I have a gun. I have an elemental sword. No regular human can stop me. The only people I'm scared of are the Holy Knights. The elven snipers are nothing but fools, their brigade has been after me eight months and can never actually get a shot off at me, because I disappear as quickly as I appear. That being said, I'm going to be staying in one of the rooms upstairs, keep my horse safe and fed. Even look at her funny, I'll murder you. Try to kill me in my sleep, can't say how many parts you'll be cut into.”

The stranger threw tons of gold coins onto the counter and headed towards a set of rickety wooden stairs.

“Who the hell are you?” Asked the old man.

“Call me Gare. Good night.”

2.

Gare slept for an hour and a half before he heard a creak from the wooden floorboard he had pulled up before he retired. He could hear a muttered curse from whoever was at the door, and smiled to himself. It couldn't be one of the Holy Knights or Elven assassins, that was too unprofessional of them. It had to be one of the towns people, maybe it was a friend of the drunks.

The door was unlocked, Gare thought it would be pointless for the mayor's son to pay for a broken door if someone were to break in.

The door opened, light from the hanging lanterns on the ceiling of the hall splayed a shadow, a large one at that. The man who walked through the door was tall, muscular, and his fists were clenched. He didn't look like a happy person.

He got to the edge of the bed. Gare pretended to sleep, waiting to hear a whoosh of air or any other sound that could announce the coming attack.

The sound he heard was a hissing, like a snake. He instantly recognized the brief hiss as that which comes from unsheathing a knife. Gare rolled out of the bed and grabbed his sword from the corner of the room, drawing his weapon from the leather scabbard and twirling it threateningly.

“Stranger, you better let me kill you painlessly. You don't want to mess with me or my brothers.” Gare noticed a strange tattoo, almost imperceptible in the dim light. It was like a curled up dragon, protecting it's babies.

“What clan are you from?” Asked Gare. “You must be part of the rogue guild of these mountains. Were you hired by the king? The neutral grounds are losing their neutrality, aren't they?”

The rogue smirked. “As far as I care, we are a branch of the rogue guild hired to either kill you and take your body to Drowsdon, or try to keep you stuck in this town until the Holy Knight's show up.”

“So the Holy Knight's are coming.” Gare muttered.

“DIE!” The rogue ran at Gare, knife prepared to plunge into his head.

Gare sidestepped and brought his sword around. Icecrusher bounced off of the rogue's skin.

“Iron skin?” Gare asked politely. “Very rare magical ability.”

“That's why I'm the head of the neutral ground division of my clan!”

Gare rolled to the side as the rogue tried to stab him again. Gare had no way to take this guy out, and he knew it.

“Dammit.” Gare muttered as he ran into the hallway and saw two other rogue's standing at opposite ends of the hall.

The big man walked out of Gare's bedroom and laughed. “There is no way to stop us. Elven snipers are posted and watching this building, the building is full of rogues wanting to kill you. You're screwed Gare Vledshif.”

“Not quite.” Gare wore no shirt, but did wear his black leather pants. He knew he had very little defenses, but thankfully, he always thought ahead.

Gare stomped on the large wooden floorboard that he had pried out as a defense. The wood snapped into pieces. Gare then scrambled to find his gun underneath the broken floorboard. He found the pistol's familiar grip, aimed at the man with the iron skin, and shot.

The bullet pierced his chest and went out through his back. The man died instantly, the shot going straight through his heart.

“Iron skin can stop a sword, but it is too weak to stop a bullet. Learned that from my old master. Gun's trump iron skin.” He laughed. “Magic school was long and boring, but paid off.” He looked at the two rogue's, mouths agape in shock.

“You two ready to die, or will you leave and tell the snipers to get out of here or I'll kill them too.”

The two rogues shook their heads and drew scimitars. They came at Gare.

“Idiots.” Gare put his gun in the back of his pants, he wouldn't need it. He grabbed some of the splintered wood from the ground and threw it into one of the men's eyes.

The man screamed in agony as Gare parried a strike from rogue number two. Rogue number two tried to kick Gare in the groin, but instantly regretted it. Gare slid his sword downward from the parry and sliced the man's leg off. Rogue two screamed and dropped his sword as his foot thumped to the ground and blood quickly drizzled out of his stump.

Rogue number one still couldn't see. Gare quickly decapitated him and left the bedrooms. People from the other rooms had been staring at him with shock, awe, disgust, and over everything, fright.

Gare did not care though. He made his way down to the bar and found fifteen men all waiting for him, swords drawn. Gare raised his hand in surrender. He then slowly inched towards large barrel of beer behind the bar.

“Quit moving and let us chop you up!” Said on of the rogues.

Gare stood three feet from the barrel. Good enough. He struck the barrel with his sword, creating a large crack in it. Beer spilled onto the floor, spreading quickly. The men all came at Gare. Gare parried some blows and waited another fifteen seconds for the beer to spread more. He then pointed with one hand parried with the other and screamed “Congelo!”

The beer automatically froze, freezing the feet of everyone in the large pool of the liquid into place. They tried to move but could not escape. Twelve of the fifteen rogues stood stuck in the ice.

“FUE-” One of the rogue's, one adept at fire magic Gare thought, was decapitated before he could finish the spell to conjure flames.
The three mobile rogues were easily dispatched with the swift movements of IceCrusher. The other rogues were then quickly killed, leaving body parts and blood scattered all over the floor.

Gare left the bar quickly. He knew the elven snipers would get a bead on him in a hairsbreadth of a second. He ran as fast as he could to his horse and then heard shots ring off of her. Gare quickly unzipped his mare's black skin from the side. Her metal skeleton was in great shape. He checked all the main life support systems, found they were fine, and then made sure the brain canister of the creature was in perfect shape. It was. A real horses brain had to be used to produce such a realistic creature.
After checking, he found the weapons rack he had built in her. One rack carried a machine gun, a new invention from the gun industry, and a high powered sniper rifle with a state-of-the-art scope. He heard more shots resound of of the bullet proof metal of the left side of his horse. The right side was opened up more for access to her innards.

These kind of horses were specially designed for Knights of the Cross. The brains of these horses were the brains that came from the original five Knight's horses. These machines were so expensive, the kingdom had to raise taxes almost fifty percent for three months just to pay the money back for the things.

More shots clanged against the horses bulletproof side. Gare zipped her skin back up after collecting his sniper rifle, then quietly muttered, “Down.” The horse dropped to the ground and acted as a barrier between man and snipers.

Gare used his horses back to steady his shots as he aimed into the mountains. Three elven snipers were clustered together next to a rocky outcropping. Easy pickins'. Must be the new guys, usually elves are well dispersed and hide behind something, like I'm doing, thought Gare.

Gare picked one off simply. The blood that flew through the air as the sniper's head jerked back from the impact of the bullet was beautiful. Just how Gare liked his kills. Clean and pretty.

The other two quickly rolled behind the outcropping. Gare stopped shooting and heard galloping from behind him. The CLOP's were not those of a regular horse, they were those of...

“A Knight of the Holy Cross graces me with his presence.” Gare turned, still crouched behind his horse. A knight in black armor jumped off his horse as it continued galloping, and rolled into a crouch ten feet from Gare.

“The knight of Maryk, knight of darkness, knight of light. His armor shimmers white when good deed be done, but black it turns if evil's on the run.” Gare laughed.

Davere, great to see you again old buddy. How are the other knights doing? They behind you, or are they bigger cowards then I remember and are hiding in their rooms in the king's castle?”

The dark knight laughed in an evil tone of voice. This man wasn't human at all. “They know I will kill you without remorse. A good deed is to be done. When I kill you my armor will return to white, like it was when we battled the Krail, the cat-people. Remember that?”

“How can I forget the time you killed their politician who came with scrolls declaring that they wanted peace and would hand over all their land to us as long as we left their villages alone?”

“A minor miscalculation.”

Gare snicked. “Who the hell miscalculates a sword thrust two feet from the face of a diplomat?”

The dark knight drew a six foot sword from a sheath across his horses flank. His horse was black as well, except it had an exoskeleton that made it look almost like a demon/dragon hybrid. It's eyes glowed red.

“Prepare to die former knight of Sarot, knight of winter, knight of ice. A knight from hell, death won't suffice. He has forever been buried in his power of ice.” The dark knight laughed and shifted his hold on his weapon. “You are the dead man walking, soon to be just the dead man.”

The two snipers behind Gare started shooting again.

“Not good.” He muttered.


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Added a prologue that will explain the magic power thing a bit more to the first post. Please, someone comment and tell me if it's any good!