Souldrinker

@~Some people were disappointed at the ending of Tower Productions'
@~Souldrinker. Here is a more complete ending ....

             Written by The Rochdale Balrog

....with the sword clutched tightly to your chest, you spin on
your heels and stagger blindly through the tunnels of the 'Cave of
Hell', twisting this way and that until you emerge into the
dazzling sunlight of the outside world. Oblivious to all, bar the
feel of the sword in your grasp, you stride relentlessly onwards
intent on slaying the vile creature that cut short the life of
your beloved. For many hours you struggle over hill and dale,
climbing fences and crashing through briar hedges, until you come
to the farm of Allric Heronbrie. Once a great warrior but now just
a simple farmer, Allric listens intently as you relate your tale
and then quickly puts together some supplies for your journey,
before wishing you "God speed!" and thrusting the reins of his
trusty mare into your hands. You quickly mount and then, with just
a cursory glance over your shoulder, you bid farewell to Allric
and set off in pursuit of Boris.

Now and then you reach down and grab the pommel of the sword as
though in need of re-assurance and each time a small 'throbbing'
seems to emanate from the sword as though your touch had brought
it to life for a second. Surely this would be the weapon with
which to slay Boris ... with this in his hand no man could be
defeated.

The days are long and the nights are cold but still you travel
onwards in search of the vile 'slayer-of-women'. It has been many
moons now since you left the safety and tranquillity of Allric's
farm and both time and distance are beginning to take their toll
of your trusty steed. Her mane and tail are both in dire need of
attention and she has developed a limp in her right-rear leg, but
her heart is strong and she carries you well. "One day, old girl,"
you say, patting her neck, "one day this will all be over and then
it is fresh oats and sweet-smelling straw for you." You draw your
cloak tighter and urge her onwards.

At every tavern and alehouse along your path you stop and engage
the locals in idle chatter, in the hope that one day somebody will
be able to tell you the whereabouts of Boris and his evil band but
nobody ever seems to know of him. Reluctantly you leave and head
for the next village, but the events are always the same. Then one
day a wizened little creature sidles up to you and tugs on the edge
of your cloak. "I know what you seek" hisses the creature and
smiles a crooked grin in your direction. With that the creature
darts between two tables and vanishes down a dark corridor. You
hasten after it, bumping into two swarthy locals and for a moment
it looks as if you might just have to test the sword's mettle
after all, but they just mumble something about "travellers" and
return to their tankards. In the darkness of the corridor you can
just make out the gleam of the creature's teeth as it spits out
the words "Boris is three leagues hence" before holding out its
hand in expectation. "Tell me more!" you snap, "unless you wish to
be parted from that hand," and with that the creature snarls "He
is camped on Droag Vale." There is a strange smell of death as the
creature brushes past you and somehow the word "Thanks!" seems to
stick in your throat, but you force it out and the creature nods
in acceptance.

Pushing people out of your way you hurry out of the tavern and
ride off in the direction of Droag Vale with a red haze forming in
front of your eyes and a great hatred welling up inside you. Some
time later you rein in your faithful horse and dismount quietly
and then, with the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears,
creep slowly forward in the direction of Boris's encampment.

Brushing aside the branches of a small rowan tree, you peer into
the clearing and there in all his glory sits Boris, though there
are no signs of his companions. Your hand sneaks down to the sword
hanging by your side and as you grasp the pommel a warm sensation
fills your hand and once more the sword begins to throb. Easing it
out of its restraints you bring it around to the front of you and
begin to advance upon the unsuspecting Boris. With no more than
three strides between you and him there is a loud crack as a twig
snaps beneath your foot and spinning around Boris grins and says
"So you have finally come, have you? I have been expecting you for
some time and was beginning to tire of waiting." So saying, he
whips his blade from its scabbard and lunges at you, his eyes
afire with malevolence. To your amazement the sword you are
holding seems to anticipate his move and you find yourself
blocking his thrust with consumate ease. An evil grin lights up
his dark visage and Boris growls "So you have found 'SOULDRINKER',
have you? Well even that is not going to prevent me killing you
as quickly as the rest of your family!"

For one irrational second you let your hatred of the vile being
in front of you over-rule your judgement and almost pay for this
foolishness with your life as Boris lunges forward and pierces
your cloak, narrowly missing your body. Then it is as if the sword
senses the reason for its being and though you maintain your grip
on it, it seems to control your every move. This way and that
Boris dances trying to create the opening that would signal the
end but at every move his way is blocked by the sword, whilst you
in the meantime just tighten your grip on the throbbing pommel.
Suddenly an opening presents itself and with a great downward
movement the sword cleaves Boris asunder ... at that precise
instant you could swear that the sword begins to glow with an
iridescent shade of blue but you blink your eyes and the glow is
gone.

They say 'Vengeance is sweet' and so it was for just a fleeting
moment in time, but as you look down on the slain body of Boris
you cannot help but reflect upon your love for the Lady Ella and
how 'sweet' that had been and of the promise that it held. Not
even the destruction of the evil being that had slain her would
ever bring that back and as you wipe a tear from your eye you
sense a longing for things past and never to be.

Turning away from the prostrate body at your feet you suddenly
notice the 'emptiness' in your hand and glancing down see that you
are no longer holding the sword. At the very instant it had torn
the life out of Boris's body it had ceased to be needed any longer
and returned to whence it had come .... to await the arrival of
the next person to seek its powers.