Kildon rattled the bars of his cell, "Let me out, I'm innocent, I'm innocent I tell you!" He sat back in despair looking around at the cold, black chamber. The small, open windows blew in cold, fierce air.

"How could she betray me, I was faithful. I was her one and only..." he bemoaned. Forgotten and forsaken, he was framed and left to rot. Once a proud knight, this sad figure sat quietly in his cell, pondering his fate.

"Hearten, friend. I've a lot to offer, if you only hear it," someone called to Kildon's right. It was a small man of slight build, wearing plain clothes, with short black hair, and an unctuous smile.

Kildon frowned, "Be gone, devil. I will not accept your lies. I should have killed you the first time we met," he said catching glimpse of the cloaked figure.

"Lies?" the man smiled, holding up a bloody set of keys, jingling them, "You only have to sign this," he said, a contract materializing out of thin air, "you will be gone from here, just sign."

"Fiend, I will not listen to this! Leave, go to those you can fool, take my wife. Take my lord."

Kildon turned his head away, as the Lodenist chuckled to himself, "Oh, oh, oh. Maybe you'll find this more appealing..." he muttered softly, and Kildon saw a beautiful woman hop down from the window, a nymph. It walked over to him, touching him, yet he was unaffected.

"You were never one to succumb to temptation," the nymph spoke in the voice of the man, and flashed back to the ledge, back to his original form. "I have what you want. I know what you want. Revenge, sweet revenge, to get back what you once had, yet was cruelly stolen from you. Where is your God now?"

This perked Kildon's interest, "What do you know of my fate. What of my gear, my horse, my family's sword?"

"Your horse would follow no other, but the hooves made a fine glue. Your armor was smelted, made into the iron gratings for your lord. Your sword is still intact, though, it lies in the armory, collecting dust."

"I must get that back, if that action will be my last!"

The man smirked, "How do you propose to do that, beggar knight? You sit in a stone cage, like a sick thrush," he replied calmly, a small bird flying out of his hands, and into freedom, just to show his point. "Loden has more to offer, while your God has none, with their strict rules, or hypocritical dogmas. I have better things to do... last chance," he thrust out the pen, which Kildon grabbed with wild eyes, and scratched "Kildon Faremon" messily, with contract, feather, and man vanishing.

From behind him, he heard a sound of metal scratching upon metal, and he spun around to see the man holding open the bars calmly. Kildon walked out slowly, and stopped when he saw the guard, throat scratched out. He shook his head, considered his new life, and ignored it. He strolled forward, until he heard a cry from behind him.

"Wait, I almost forgot," the man says, pulling a large sword out of no-where. "A present from Loden, a blade known as Denforicon." He tossed the blade over; Kildon caught it easily and tested it, perfect.

"Thank you... Mance."