A 99 word poem of a small town, and the demon who guards its chapel when the mists rise.
The town of Silverfox Mill was a quiet place for many years, but this peaceful town has begun to unravel. The arrival of the Usury Guild drained the populace of their livelihood, forcing many into poverty, alcoholism, and prostitution. Complicating this trying time the town has recently lost its most beloved citizen, the wizard Osric Skanderbag. With his absence it seems the long-dead witch Anna has been raised to murder and poison, but this may be a front for more contemporary threats.
The desert is like the sea, the sands shift ebb and flow and with them so does life. The tide is in ebb, and Xen'da'rik is dying.
"Avaricious is a special sort of hell; it's the hell we created ourselves. It is the hell we deserve." - Smythe Voss, crewman of Siren's Laugh
One thing you must realise is that there is no such thing as pure iron/steel these days. Iron/steel isn't nearly as strong now as it was in medieval times. However, with that said, iron in early medieval times was so soft you could hack right through a helm with a sword and leave a nice lil mark on the skull (depending on the grade of iron used on the sword and the helm, ofcaurse). After many hundreds of years of fine tuning, however, the only use the sword had was to puncture the plate. That was very difficult, however, since the grade of steel was so hard... only blunt instruments and weighted axes had any use against plate armor in later medieval times. Makes me wonder why rapiers were so popular then and why less people wore plate (Other than it's obsene costs... a nice suit of armor would cost as much as a nice lexus does now... and a kings suit would be as much as a rols royce).