The Tale of Rolf Wyndstrom Rolf is a man of tragic destiny. Thought by the populace to be the son of a Viking and a Jarin woman, and therefore, a miserable bastard, he grew up in an orphanage in Asax, in Viking dominated Orbaal. While yet a lad, an old stranger took him on a long journey. The stranger brought him to the doors of a castle on the borders of Rethem and Kanday; Caer Menekod it was, the headquarters of the Order of the Chequered Shield, where an old knight, Sir Symon of Tolfane, fostered him. A little girl from the orphanage came with him to Caer Menekod. Her name was Molinda. Rolf had always hid the fact that she was a girl, and always called her Mo for short. As a boy, she could perhaps thrive and become strong. Besides, if she were known to be a girl, she would be separated from him, for he knew that no girls were allowed in the halls of the Knights of the Chequered Shield. He always said, as a lad, that he would protect the honor of the girl child. Molinda and he grew up together with their childhood friends, Selena of Menekod, and Abacus of Dinord. Selena was a runty little tomboy from the village, who used to play tricks on him. Despite their differences, they shared a common love of Sir Symon, and an old Hermit who lived down the way named Brythanor. Abacus was an odd fanciful lad who shared Rolf's propensity to dreaming. In their childhood, the threesome played around old Brythanor's cottage. From there, they would venture into caves, overthrow old buildings, and generally dream about what they would do when they grew up. They would fancy that when they grew old, they would overthrow Rethem, and slay fanciful beasts. In growing up, Rolf learned the crafts that would start him in life. In the castle, he learned the craft of horsemanship, fighting, and the knightly arts. Despite his apparent low heritage, he was granted the honor of being a squire for the grace of Sir Symon, his foster-father. (Sir Symon was the Chabla or Grand Master of the Order, so, although there was resentment, none of the other knights would gainsay him. For the favor of Sir Symon, Rolf was even allowed to join the Banner's of Honour, a fellowship of young knights who would surely settle, in their time, the score with Rethem, and especially the hated Agrekian Order, the Knights of the Copper Hook.) At Brythanor's cottage, on the other hand, Rolf showed potential as a weaponsmith. Long hours Brythanor would instruct him, as Brythanor pounded out one armor after another. Between castle life, and running water for the old hermit, Rolf's life became pretty busy as he grew into his own. Yet, he and his fellow companions would continue to meet, and adventure. Their ventures became, little by little, more serious. After all, they all knew that one day, and a day soon, they would meet their destiny! When his destiny arrived one day, in the guise of a Black Knight, Lord Morrell, the young man's poise was shaken and his hope shattered. Brythanor, the boy's mentor, and Sir Symon, the boy's foster father, soon departed his life. Morrell murdered Brythanor in the most terrible way imaginable, his beard being plucked out, and blood was splattered all about him. Sir Symon too, in time, encountered the dread lord. In a battle with the hosts of Rethem, impetuous knights of his order, in an attempt to impugn the old knight's courage, demanded a fools charge meant to overtake the retreating hosts of the Copper Hook. Not willing to be dishonored in the eyes of his Order, yet uneasy about the potential results, Sir Symon agreed. Sir Symon's fears proved well founded as the Agrekian retreat turned out a battlefield ploy. In that fateful ambush, Sir Symon, was to lose all but his life in personal combat with the dark knight. Nearly killed, Sir Symon would lay in a coma for a month. And when he regained consciousness (only after treatment by the best healers on Harn) it was clear that his fighting days were over. The once proud warrior was now reduced to an invalid in a convalescent home. After several inquiries by the young man Rolf, finally, Sir Symon called for him. The memory of what was to follow would rake Rolf's soul ever after. .

"I am surely departing soon. Swear you will abide by my last three wishes, Rolf, and carry out my last desires," said Sir Symon to the young man. "I surely swear it, my Lord. But you will not die, you will live," Rolf replied. "The time is short, and my strength is taken," continued Sir Symon. "See today, I make you a knight. Will you accept this high honor bestowed, and continue in the high calling of the Great Lady, and honor the traditions of this brethren?" "Surely I will," replied the disconcerted Rolf. At that, Sir Symon called Sir Robert, the lieutenant of the Castle. (Sir Robert had always been in disagreement with Sir Symon over the matter of Rolf.) "In your presence, I make this man, Sir Rolf. He has deserved it!" And then continuing, "By Larani, Mendiz, and St. Ambrithas, I make you a knight. Arise Sir Rolf." Sir Symon smiled wearily as the young man slowly got up. "Thank you, my Lord," said Sir Rolf. Uneasiness was about him on the very day he had worked for all his life. He had always dreamed of this day. Now bitterness was feeding on his stomach, and there was a bad taste on his tongue. After the departure of Sir Robert, Sir Symon continued. "Promise me you will bear this sword in my stead." "Surely I will, if you so will it," cried Rolf. Sir Rolf looked at the finely crafted sword as it glittered in the torchlight. "But you shall not die, you shall get better!" There was a long and dreadful pause. Finally Sir Symon spoke, "Promise me, Sir Rolf," said he in labored breath, "that you will . . ." another dreadful pause, "slay me this very hour. My time has come. It is meant to be this way." "Surely NO!" cried the dismayed Rolf. "I will not do such a thing!" "Yet you have sworn on the Great Lady's Name, and are now bound by honor!" demanded the crippled old knight, laboring in his waning health to find the strength to contend. "Place the pillow upon my head, and I shall pass on to the next reality. You must do what I ask! Do it for me." After much contention, Sir Rolf found he had no choice. He had sworn. What could he do? He took the last dreadful step into the doom appointed for him, a step from which there was no return. And indeed, his doom was sealed in that hour. For from then on, how could his doom be anything but sorrow? For with this act, in keeping faith with his liege, he would forever lose it for himself. Sir Symon's last words, "Rolf, I have ever loved you as a son," would haunt him until his wretched end. He had obeyed his father -- the only father he had ever known -- and killed him. O what a sorry lot! And for sorrow, that act was only the beginning . . .

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