To walk in this part of the realm aroused grievous
memories in the warrior's mind and he knew it was
no coincidence. To the north lied the vestiges of
an ancient province of Syrakia called Kol, that
had been reduced to the size of a vulgar town
after its numerous assaults against the
motherland. This town, that was split by an abyss
of discord, appeared through the centuries being
the home of corruption and deceit. It was under
the domination of two notorious crooks that ruled
over the two halves of the village. If the antique
province had been a plague for his ancestors, the
village was a torture for Arbo and the prospect of
returning there seemed an agony. Something
terrible had occured in this very town, something
that had killed a part of him. Yes, the warrior
had a bone to pick with someone there and his
fists clenched as he divined the nature of his
final task. In the distance, the sinister village
was appearing in all its hideousness. Nothing had
really changed since the last time in this place
where ignominy had its own odor. Just breathing
this air seemed the most reprehensible sin.
Instructions were futile, thought the elder, but
all the same he gave a last word of warning to
which the warrior seemed deaf before vanishing
into the night.

Arbo watched the old man slowly fade away, wearing
a worried face as darkness stole the day. His
heart pounding, he entered the decadent place,
making himself ready to be put to the test.

As he trod these streets of ill fame, the stare
full of suspicion, then came back into his head
the old man's admonition.

Dark hand, hand of greed. Hand that gives, hand
that steals. Bright hand, hand of truth. Hand that
bleeds, hand that cures.

Don't ever trust in the hand of greed. Whatever
she gives, twice she steals. Always trust in the
hand of truth. The pain she gives, she always
cures.

Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/IGdWalking for a while, Arbo landed up in a deserted
street. This place was evil, all his senses were
on the qui vive. Then arised from nowhere, a short
man chubby and balding. He slowly came up to Arbo
and then said unto him:

"Descendant of Syrakia, thou art said to be brave
and strong. Slay my foe, the mage Zorka, and I
shall give thee all thou want."

"I am surely as brave as you are greedy and liar
and what I want is surely beyond your skills by
far."

"I will give thee gold, more gold than thou shalt
ever need. Show me what thou art made of coward,
kill my ennemy."

"Gold's not despicable, but I think your gold
surely is. Now get out of my way, you wimp, before
you make me ill."

Leaving Urmeech, Arbo hurried to the northern part
of the village. There he would have to eschew the
lure of the old mage. Suddenly, in a flash of
fire, Zorka appeared. Lust glinted into his eyes
as he said unto him:

"Descendant of Syrakia, I can give thee power and
glory. Bring me the head of Urmeech, and then by
all thou shalt be feared."

"A king must not be feared by his people, but by
his ennemies. When I reign over my kingdom, I'll
show you what a true king is."

"I heard that recently thy beloved Nadya met her
fate. Shouldest thou kill Urmeech, I shall rise
her from the dead."

"There is but one justice in life and this is the
justice of death. It is not given to man to
question the quirks of fate."

Then Zorka leaveth him, and, behold, angels came
and ministered unto him.