“Masterful Ares, god of war you place me in this dread place far from my home, no friends or family, and only you to talk to. Still even you seem never to answer. I have served you many a century and still you wont answer my prayer, well this last prayer I will send with all the blood of the men of this world if you will send me home.” Paladrim, his final prayer to Ares
All that was left on the battlefield that day was a worn rusty sword, with BELIGITOR etched in the Blade.
The demon stood before him laughing, “That puny sword can’t touch me.”
Without a word the man turned the blade so that the edge faced the demon, he ran ducked under the demons fist and slashed through the stomach of the foul creature. “How?”Â The demon asked.
“You have been found guilty!” Spoke Nemisis*
*before the Battle of Fate
Medieval Britons didn't write contracts. Instead, men making agreements would clap their knives onto an altar and recite the agreement three times to seal a deal. Even after the Normans introduced written contracts, British nobles would wrap the parchment around a knife to authenticate it.