A night for draining a cask of ale, methinks, for slaking a mighty thirst and entertaining a lusty wench or two. Towards the end of the evening, before keeling over, there sometimes follows a time for reflection. Music - the loot and the harp - slows, adapts to the changing mood, becomes an arrangement of singular notes, like ice melting off the eaves. Couples cease dancing and slink away to the shadows. Around the campfire men and women share an unspoken secret. Firelight reveals solemn expressions on the ruddy features of those who know. Those who witnessed, participated in the terrible events of that night. Dare one ask? Dare one broach the subject? An old warrior, Crom, picks at his straggly beard and spits a glob of phlegm at the fire. In his lap is a great two-handed iron axe which he polishes tenderly with an oilcloth. He speaks, voice like a bear growl, and memories of death and battle are brought to the fore. A time when the cobblestones of Britain, Vesper, Trinsic - all Britannia’s fine cities - washed red and slippery with the blood of those who fell. Heaps of stripped corpses lay pale in the moonlight, men and women, horses, slain without mercy. My own recollections return, unwelcome, too personal to share with the gathering. Both a nightmare and a thing of wonder, if such can be possible. For it was the night I fell in love. My heart was taken by a maiden of indescribable beauty. She entered my life and departed just as quickly, fleeting, like a butterfly as the sun sets. I remember sitting upon my favourite horse, Hoof, outside the most westerly of Britain’s monetary establishments, when a good friend, Tipper, rode up. The bank was busy with merchants as always. “Hail Naiche,” Tipper said. “Have you nothing better to do with your time? Sitting here watching the world go by.” “Ah Tipper, if only that were true. I’m halfway through the tedious task of inscribing recalls for my vendor.” “Hah, you mages are such bores! Let’s go conquer Hythloth!”

Just then we heard the unmistakable clink of arms clashing, of sword on shield. The death screech of someone mortally wounded. I wouldn’t give it a second glance if this were Felucca. But here in Trammel? Everywhere people were curious as to what was happening. A guild war perhaps? Then the cry went out, “ORDER AND CHAOS ARE FIGHTING IN TRAMMEL!” It was true. All around the bank knights and mages of Order and Chaos were warring, running, killing, dying in shock and surprise. Newbies who had never been to Felucca, who joined because they fancied the shield, were cut down in seconds by more experienced combatants. A trader selling valuable silver weapons was slain and looted of his wares. Before I could blink I was being tickled with a warfork. I pulled away and froze my Chaos enemy. I expected Tipper to be at my side but he was gone. The wily fox was either utilising his hiding skill or he’d recalled to somewhere safer. Ah Tipper, my good friend. I cannot judge him too harshly because there is not a better man to have by your side in a Mongbat hunt. I was pressed back, alone. For the moment Chaos seemed to have gained control of the area. I cast Poison, Flamestrike, Energy Bolt and Mindblast. I killed the fencer but then the odds grew too great. It became necessary to send immediate word to my KC guildmates. I used Invisibility and relayed urgent messages. Baliac was first to arrive, cruel Baliac, GM smith, hacking and cleaving his way through the throng - temperament as hard and cold as the ingots he forged to craft the guild’s armour. Chaos knights reeled at his ice-cool ferocity. Then came Silk, the guild assassin, whose lethal touch was the kiss of the cobra. I heard the busy twang of bowstrings - the archers Ellen and Lockly were here. Ellen, laconic, fey, wanton, a woman who lets the barbed tips of her arrows do the talking. And Lockly, with his infamous battlecry, “EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” The reek of death attracted vultures, human carrion: Mother Christmas, Teatrix, and all the other shameless looters; maggots wriggling over corpses. The battle was hard and fast. Yet still Chaos held the upper hand. Until, that is, Kentilla galloped up. A warrior brave and true. He charged the enemy time and again. To him, retreat was the method of cowards. Once more the conflict evened out. Into the night we fought, storming the bank to re-equip with sharp weapons, stock up on regs and replenish lost stamina with food. We began to control the town and victory seemed ours. Then we witnessed a sight so terrible, so full of forlorn hope, that hairs rose on necks… and Tipper recalled again. A cohort of Felucca veterans pulled into view, laughing, taunting. Hardened player-killers. Pvp was their sport. We were driven back, across the bridge and out of town. We tried to regroup close to the farms on the Scara Brae road. Covered in his own blood, the magnificent Kentilla held the rear for us. But the situation was hopeless. Tir Hir fell, distinguishing himself, then Silk, then Baliac, taking five with him. Defeat was certain. The light was changing as we accepted our imminent death. Dawn approached. From above the mountain pass the sun rose, causing the enemy to squint and snarl. An eerie mist covered the frosty meadow grass. Horses stomped the hard ground and snorted irritably. “LOOK!” Ellen shouted. “Eeee, it cannot be!” Lockly said, awestruck. “Surely not?”

Along the mountain pass flashed a streak of precious metal. The glint of sunlight reflected off golden armour. It was Raul - the dark and brooding Moor. Raul had answered the call. Greatest of all warriors. Late but never more timely. His presence alone was enough to turn the enemy to flight. We rallied. The night was ours! As the Chaos horde fled in disarray, I noticed among them a creature so fair and lovely my heart jumped. Never had such beauty been seen in Britannia before, surely? “Wait!” I yelled. She turned. “Hey,” she said, and cast corp por at me.

I recoiled, injured. “Please wait,” I said. “I mean you no harm.” But she was gone, headed up the Yew road with the Chaos stragglers. At that point I was more determined than I’d ever been before in my life. I made to follow but then out from a bush leapt Tipper, fresh and unflustered. “Naiche,” he said, “where are you going?” “To follow my loved one,” I replied. “It is my destiny.”

“Don’t be a fool! The road is fraught with danger. There are Sewer Rats abroad right now, they say.” “I don’t care Tipper. I will follow her to the ends of the earth.” And off I galloped. For miles I stayed just behind her, calling. Yet, fearing a trap perhaps, she would not stop. It seemed I’d have to win her trust. One time she almost escaped me. At the Yew turnoff she swung right, heading for Vesper and Minoc. On and on we went. Hoof, my horse, began to get fatigued. I suddenly realised I had no food for either of us. I checked my reg pouch and saw to my horror that I was out of virtually everything. Just a few bunches of nightshade and a bulb or two of garlic remained. Alone in the wilderness, at the mercy of the gods. I followed her over a bridge which spanned a narrow, fast-flowing river, then into the woods that fringe the desert. She stopped next to a large marble house, finally realising the futility of trying to escape me. The wind picked up, blowing sand in swirling clouds. I cupped my hand across my eyes to shield them. I am not fond of the desert. There were scorpions and bands of orcs near. I could hear their evil grunts. The door to the house was open. I took hold of my love and led her inside. It was a splendid house with lots of exotic rares. I embraced her, kissed her, whispered in her ear. “I love you my darling.”

“Hey,” she said. “Hey, hey.”

“What was that, my sweet?” I said. “What are you trying to say?”

“Hey, hey…” Then she attacked, casting a combination of deadly spells. With no regs I was unable to heal, so I bolted for the door. Too late. I became engulfed in dreadful flame. Kal vas flam was my undoing. My world went black. My loved one slew me without mercy. Fortunately a passing necromancer witnessed the scene and was able to rez me immediately. “They can be quite nasty those Gazers,” he said. “Don’t call her that!” I said passionately. “She is my betrothed.”

He looked at me as if I were a madman. He began to laugh but then realised the seriousness of my mood. I stared at him. “Just because she’s a Gazer doesn’t mean she can’t know love. She will be mine one day, you’ll see!” His expression of mirth was replaced with one of respect. “I understand,” he said. “I had a similar experience a long time ago. I once fell in love with a Headless One. As you can imagine, intimate relations were difficult when only one of us had a head.” “Maybe we should start a guild for confused souls such as ourselves,” I suggested.

He nodded, and began to tell me about his own bitter experience. But that, of course, is another story…