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A silent protector. His strength unseen, his eyes ever watchful-his hands ever ready to catch you if you fall, hold you when you hurt or kill if you're in danger. A true knight who long ago learned that you need not accept every challenge or kill every foe.

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His parents met at court. His father the crowned prince's most trusted companion, his mother a noble lady of the court who produced Mortuck- a month early. The wet nurse said he wouldn't last the night, but with his mother's nourishment he grew bigger, and his parents love he grew strong and secure in himself and their love, and eight years later he was still striving to be a knight for his king. Now the eldest of four, Mortuck loved his two little sisters and his baby brother.

His father paid special attention to Mortuck, being the oldest it would one day be his responsibility to care for the family and the estate, along with all the land and wealth that goes with it.

In his tenth year his father took Mortuck out and taught him how to use a bow and daggers to kill the meat that would later be skinned and eaten. His father noticed how quickly Mortuck picked up on these two skills and how he eagerly awaited the time he could test himself and his new skills against some live game.

On his twelfth spring, his father had decided to make a trip to see his oldest and dearest friend, who was once a prince, but now the king, whom he hadn't seen since Mortuck was just a wee pup. Mortuck begged his father to be taken with him and finally, after days of begging, his father agreed.

The king, years ago, had taken a wife, and she too had produced a son, the heir to the thrown, he was just a few months younger then Mortuck. When the two met, they were instantly friends, bonding as only younger children can.

Mortuck and his father left, promising to return soon. A month passed before they were able to return. Mortuck eagerly anticipated seeing his friend again.

Mortuck raced thru the castle looking for his friend, but was told he was out practicing with the knights. Mortuck walked around the practice grounds half-heartedly looking for his friend. He was completely enthralled with the knights practicing their swordsmanship. Spotting his friend fighting Mortuck sat down to watch. A knight came up to him and asked if he'd like to learn. Mortuck eagerly jumped to his feet to accept the sword and instructions being offered him. He was a quickly study, seeming to absorb the stances being shown and flowing quickly from stance to stance.

The prince, having stopped practicing to watch his friend, offered to give him a go in the practice ring. Mortuck, feeling very confident agreed and stepped into the ring. The two circled each other, Mortuck having only learned defensive moves waited for the Prince to strike. And strike he did. With three quick flicks of the sword, Mortuck found himself disarmed on the ground with a sword to his chest. a slightly stunned Mortuck looked up at his friend, his smile no longer on his face. He accepted the prince's hand up, retrieved his sword and stood ready. This time the prince moved a little slower, striking in a predictable pattern. Mortuck deflected and defended again and again till soon it was the prince who was defending and Mortuck who was attacking. Having quickly outgrown the few simple stances he had been taught he improvised. His delighted smile came back, but this time he had determination and concentration flooding his eyes.

For hours this continued till both boys finally collapsed from exhaustion. It was then that the King spoke, commenting on Mortuck's impressive fighting ability. He light heartedly accused Mortuck's father of training his son in the ways of a knight. His father, beaming with pride, denied that he had ever even seen a sword in his son's hand before today.

That was the last time Mortuck saw his friend for several years, for winter was just about on them and the snow-covered roads were impassable. In the middle of winter, Mortuck's father grew gravely ill. As spring ended and summer neared, his father only grew worse. No longer able to get out of bed or feed himself, his family feared the worst.

Not having anyone else to turn to, Mortuck took their fastest horse and, against his mother’s wishes, headed out at dusk to the castle. Riding hard, tears blinding his eyes, he was unable to see the hole. His horse stumbled, throwing him from it's back. Stunned, he just sat on the ground, fighting back the tears and fears that threatened to overwhelm. Carefully getting up, he went to check the horse. Ok, but unrideable, Mortuck slapped the horse on this hind quarters, and continued towards the castle on foot, knowing the horse could find his own way home.

Stumbling up to the castle just before dawn, Mortuck banged on the fence barring his way, yelling to be admitted in. The gate guard, recognizing him, quickly opened the gate. He rans to the servants’ entrance and stumbled into the kitchen. People scurried about their business barely acknowledging the intruder in their midst. Mortuck reached out and grabbed a servant demanding to see the king. The servant quickly handed him over to the head maid who made him rest and eat. Informing him that the king would not be up for several hours and he was to wait here for him.

The king, awakened earlier then normal, something weighting on his mind, something he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but decided to grab a piece of bread before the first meal of the day was served. Throwing on a robe he walked to the kitchen, when he entered, he noticed a sulking dirty boy sitting in the corner.

Mortuck looked up and saw the king starting at him. Curiosity followed by recognition followed by dread flitted across the King’s features. In two large steps he was across the room, grabbing Mortuck by his shoulders and demanding to know what was wrong. Mortuck, no longer able to hold back his tears, told the king how sick his father is, through sobs and hiccups the king eventually found out that his father was very ill and needed a medical attention immediately. The king sent servants scurrying to have his fastest horses saddles and ready and his personal physician awakened and brought to him. The King flew back upstairs to change into a riding outfit- leaving Mortuck in the kitchen feeling almost...giddy with relief. The king was helping, a doctor was coming, everything would be all right.

Less than half an hour had passed before they were off-Mortuck racing ahead in the lead. Nearing the last ridge that would put them in sight of the hours, Mortuck pulled up short, a sudden feeling of dread creeping over him. Walking his horse to the top of the ridge he looked down to see his home engulfed in flames. Heeling his horse he raced down the hill and leaped off the horse frantically searching for any signs of life.

Not seeing any, he ran into the house thru the open door and stopped short. His siblings were scattered across the floor, a black bladed sword thru each of their chests. Barely able to accept what his eyes were showing him he stumbled towards the kitchen and then on to his parents’ bedroom. His mom he found next to his father's bed, a black blade through her heart. His father, face frozen in a horrified mask, arms stretched before him, hands that tried desperately to save his beloved wife- burned alive.

Mortuck collapsed, his grief overcoming his will to live. The inhuman howl that ripped from his throat filled with more pain and sorrow than words could express filled the air.

Mortuck, so deep inside himself, didn't feel the hands that grabbed him and dragged him outside, he also didn't feel the water he was submerged in to put out the fire that was clinging to his clothes.

Three weeks had gone by and he had not spoken to another living soul. The king had put Mortuck back on his horse and led him back to the castle. He gave Mortuck a room and assigned a servant to watch over him. Not having eaten or had much to drink over the last three weeks had weakened his body. The servant could bath him and change him, but he refused to eat or drink more then a sip at a time.

He had just given up, the scene of his family burned into his mind, the look of pain on his father's face an accusation that he had failed him. If only he had listened to his mother. If only he hadn't left to go get help, maybe this would have all turned out differently, maybe he could have stopped the attack and saved his family....maybe....maybe.

Awakened from a deep sleep, Mortuck listened carefully to the night around him, knowing instinctively that something was wrong, he got up and walked to the door. Almost without thinking about it, he grabed his sword and steped out into the hall. Honing his senses, he searched for a clue as to where the danger was. Hearing a soft whimper, Mortuck headed toward the king's chamber. Making a mental note that no one else seemed to have heard the cry, he readied himself to face the danger alone.

Pushing the door open silently with his foot, he peeks inside. A man had a sword to the Queen's throat and the king was holding a bloody rag to his head. Mortuck eased down to release his dagger from its place on his ankle, quickly he stands, surveying the situation once more. He aims and throws the dagger.

Catching the man off guard, the dagger stuck in the man's wrist, causing him to drop his sword and allowing Mortuck to enter the room and place his sword at the man's throat.

The King just looked at Mortuck, almost as if he had come back from the dead, his catatonic expression gone, replaced with a deadly fire of anger.

The King stood up slowly, walking toward Mortuck, a look of half admiration; half fear in his eyes, he coaxed Mortuck to lower his sword.

Blinking back a sudden moistness in his eyes, Mortuck left abruptly, calling out that he as going to get some help and a doctor.

After finding the doctor and a couple of guards, Mortuck left the King's chamber in favor of his own. Sinking onto his knees almost as soon as the door was shut and estranged cry ripped from his throat, a river of tears that could not be dammed quickly followed the cry. All of the hurt and pain he'd tried so hard to burry and shut out, now flooded to the surface and threatened to pull him down. The images of his family, all dead, with those black bladed...NO! Jumping to his feet he paced the room.

...Black bladed swords...Black bladed swords...they had been killed with black bladed swords....NO! The only people in the entire kingdom who owned black bladed swords were....

He couldn’t believe it, couldn't make his mind accept the facts before him. They had been friends for years, and neighbors for generations. Why would they kill his family?

Lost in his own thoughts he never heard the Prince slip into the room or noticed him take a seat on the rooms only chair. Stopping mid-stride with a jolt, he slid unconsciously into a defensive position, raising his sword, only then noticing the prince sitting before him. A look of sheer delight shadowed by worry for his friend, the prince just sat there, waiting for Mortuck to speak first. Several minutes passed and the prince opened his mouth to speak. Shutting it quickly when the door flew open, leaving both boys on their feet, swords drawn and ready to fight.

The guard standing in the open doorway barely managed to keep from laughing at the two boys before barking at Mortuck to follow him, the king wished to speak with him. Not waiting for a reply, and expecting to be obeyed the guard turned on his heel and left. The two boys looked at each other and ran out the door to catch up to the quickly departing guard.

The king paced the cold stone floor in his thrown room, his feet bear, his robe untied and forgotten bellowed out behind him like a cape.

Lost in his thoughts, his guard down, he looked a haggard old man, his leathery face worn with the age of responsibility. His thoughts rambled on.

His father would disapprove, he had sworn off knighthood and had never taught his only son how to wield a sword, much less confess that he, himself having been knighted by saving the prince's life. He was alive because of Mortuck's father.

Mentally pulling himself together, he drew up to his full height of 6'5". Straightened his crown and was looking every inch of the all-powerful king when the door opened to admit Mortuck and his own son.

Still confused as to why the king would like to see him, Mortuck entered the room looking a bit nervous. Seeing only the king before him, he let a small smile stretch across his face.

Bowing respectfully, Mortuck walked towards the dais and the King. Hearing doors open, Mortuck looked back over his shoulder, fifty armed knights entered the large room, followed by the queen and a priest. Feeling a little less sure of himself, Mortuck turned back to the king, and continued walking towards him.

Stopping at the foot of the dais, Mortuck had to clear his throat twice before he was able to address the King. "You summoned me?"

The king smiled at the forgotten respect and quickly noticed how anxious Mortuck looked. Behind him, the knights formed a large semi circle around Mortuck, the Queen, priest and young Prince took their places on the dais, along side the King. For the first time in his life, Mortuck felt completely alone.

"You have saved my life Mortuck, but more importantly, the life of my queen. Only once have I ever seen someone willing to die to save another's life.

Because of this selfless act, this courageous deed, you have proven yourself cunning and brave, you use your head when most men would lose it. You hold all the qualities that a knight would posses...."

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Stopping at the top of the rise, he reined in his horse, and looked down at the still charred ground he used to call home. Mortuck could almost hear his siblings laughing and his mother calling his father in for supper.

Eight years later this place still held it's feeling of love. But Mortuck no longer understood that emotion. Knighted by the King and trained as a warrior, he had rarely had any time to himself these last few years. Learning all he could from any knight who would teach him, Mortuck had soon mastered combat fighting. He was trained and deadly with most every weapon known to man, including his bare hands.

A hardened warrior, a master Knight, a sad lonely boy, he stood on the ridge of his homeland for one last time. A tear slid down his cheek as he unsheathed his dagger. Running it along his hand, deep enough to draw blood he vowed to avenge his family's death. May the God's favor his sword.

Those responsible for his family's death had long since fled the land. Stalking them as a hawk stalks it's prey he sought them out, one by one to kill of the entire family line. Extinguishing their family name for the rest of time.

One brother remained. Mortuck took his time killing this last one, letting his enemy feel a fraction of the pain Mortuck had gone through upon seeing his family slain. Silent as a hawk upon the winds and as deadly as a wolf on the prowl, he came upon his last adversary.

Knowing Mortuck stalked him to take his life, he'd fled to the mountains. Mortuck hunted him down, taking his time, the fear the other lived in being part of his punishment for his sins. Coming upon him while he bathed in a pond, Mortuck instructed him to dress and don a sword. Not being a person who could kill in cold blood, he offered his opponent a fighting chance. The Battle ensued, one a battle for life, the other a battle of revenge.

On and on they fought, criss-crossing the terrain. His opponent not used to long battles quickly tired.

At last the battle ended, disarmed and on his knees begging his life be spared, Mortuck sheathed his sword. A sudden spark of hope flared in the eyes of a boy who was once Mortuck's closest friend.

Circling around, Mortuck bid him rise. Leaning closer, as if to speak, Mortuck palmed a dagger and slide it smoothly into his greatest enemy's chest, bringing the blade up swiftly and twisting it sharply, he watched him die in his arms. Tears of pain and relief flooded his eyes, falling over with the dead weight in his arms, he wept.

Kneeling by a small pond, cleaning off his dagger as well as himself, he stops to stare at his reflection. When had he become so hard? So cold?

The blowing wind spread the washed off blood across his reflection. Memories danced across the ripples as the blood floated downstream. His parents watching him as he held his baby sister, his siblings paying in the fields. Riding his horse to town. What had happened to his happy childhood? His perfect family, his family's home?

Years he'd spent planning, training and waiting to get his revenge. Everything was to avenge his family, to murder in cold blood those who had slain his family and wronged him. He'd spent so much time waiting for the day that the last of them would be dead that he felt lost. What would he do now? All that he had worked for was now complete, his whole reason for living ceased to exist. All he was left with was the pain. His revenge was complete, his family avenged, why did it still hurt? What was there to live for now? Did it even matter? He was, once again, all alone in the world. Getting back on his horse, he heads west with the setting sun, knowing not where the road would take him.

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