Ilyarden

Many a folk have done great deeds, completed tasks which seemed impossible. Undaunted by their foes, these famous few rose from the ranks of their comrades and became heroes to the people. This is the story of three such people who accomplished tasks which saved us from a malevolent wrath.
At the time, the king was Longo the Mighty. He was known widely across the land as a great ring-giver. In times of war, there was no army which could stand up to our King's. Soon though, things would change. An evil unlike any other, led by a fiend born in hell-fire.
His name was Fenrir, a snow-wolf beautiful to the eye with a tainted heart untouched by God. He led legions of the dead against us, soul-less flesh raised from the earth against Heaven's will. It was a perfect army, nearly no weakness, no need to rest. Untiring, they swept through the lands destroying villages. It is said that the only way to kill the dead is to cut off the head. The brain is where the evil magic fosters and links to the rest of the body. Break that link, and the magic will falter. Yet in the face of a vast army, our pitiful few soldiers could do nothing but slay a few.
It seemed we were doomed, our lives forfeit to the will of Lucifer. The tortured earth reflected this, the landscape bleak, the skies perpetually cloudy, and the night as black as Fenrir's heart. Then one day, we awoke to find the sun shining as bright as it used to in better times. Along the path rode three figures people, two men and a woman. They came to the village where our king resided, strode into his imposing hall and announced themselves.
Sigurd, the largest of the three, carried the Great Axe Irik.
Haldis, the female of the group, carried the Broadsword named Twili.
Ranulf, a ranger, carried the Great Bow known as Makar.
These weapons were the three ancient Weapons of Power. Long ago, they were forged to seal away a demon, then the weapons were locked in the Temple of Paladiyr. These heroes had been deemed worthy by God, and retrieved the Weapons of Power from the temple. It is said that those with evil intentions cannot lay hands upon the Weapons of Power, which is a testament to the purity of the three travellers, soon to be heroes. They pledged to destroy the plague-beasts, rid the evil from the land. There was much celebration that night in Longo's mighty hall. These celebrations drew the attention of Fenrir. The worthless simians should have no reason to celebrate, his power was uncontested, he was the strongest and most relentless. And so it was that the celebrations drew Fenrir to the hall of merry-making.
The attack on the hall was swift, merciless, and just as quickly repulsed by a certain three heroes. The ranks of the dead were cut down and sword and axe, and a arrow to the brain proved to be just as useful as the lopping of a head. The three brave heroes alone drove back the dead. A task which had proved impossible for the King's entire army. The power of the Heavens flowed through the weapons held by the heroes, allowing them to put many corpses back to rest. In an instant, Fenrir was upon the band. His fury was terrible to behold. All hope seemed to be lost. Then, through the combined efforts of those wielding sword and axe and bow, the mighty beast was slowly driven back. Nimbly leaping from pile of rubble to pile of rubble, Ranulf never lost the opportunity to send an arrow flying in the direction of the snow-wolf. Sigurd raged forward, his temper matching Fenrir's. His muscles rippled as he swung the mighty Irik.
Twili, too, left many a jagged wound on Fenrir's body, Haldis wielding it with skill and dexterity. Blood spilled from the wounds of the snow-wolf, stains left on the floor of the hall which could never truly be cleaned. In a weakened state, Fenrir was soon overwhelmed by the three courageous heroes. With one last swing of Irik, Sigurd chopped off the beast's head. At that moment, the beast's dark magic no longer had any hold on the dead. Cadavers littered the village, yet, it was worth it. The darkness had been ended, and we were delivered to a period of light thanks to the three heroes chosen by Our Lord. Then there were even greater celebrations, and our great ring-giver handed out much treasure. Gifts were heaped at the feet of the heroes. Sturdy mail shirts, able to withstand the worst of blows, mighty helmets with the likeness of the falcon. And after all the gifts were given, the mighty warriors slept, and left that great hall. And so their song is sung, and will continue to be sung. A song of mighty heroes and an impossible task, which they conquered with the grace of God.