After getting to the Practice Grounds, he quickly noticed many of the soldiers and gladiators crowding around in a large circle. Eman forced his way to the front to see what the occasion was. The occasion was quite simple: two of the most powerful men in the Fort were sparring. Eman recognized them almost immediately: Kaid, master thief of the Fort, was squaring off against Queto, undisputed warrior extreme.

Kaid slowly drew his dagger, a shinning blade that almost blinded the eye, and Queto grimly withdrew a extremely large sword, wielding it easily with one hand where most of the most powerful warriors of the land would use two. The two combatants circled each other carefully, eyeing each other with caution. Kaid struck first, using his magically enhanced dagger and shroud to make him almost impossible to follow. Queto grunted and took the blow easily, adding his own gigantic counter to the attack, which was immediately ducked by the nimble thief.

Eman watched, mesmerized as these two heroes of the Fort underwent their daily practice. They used skills that literally astounded him, boggling his mind with the complexity at which they performed their attacks and defenses. As usual, the match came out at a draw, the small thief unable to get close enough to the large warrior to use his blinding dagger, and Queto being too slow to catch Kaid off guard. After the fight, the on-lookers gradually dispersed to their own practices, and things began to settle back down in the Fort.

Spending very little time practicing, Eman wasted no time in getting his meal and headed for his cot. On the way to his bed he saw Kalata, the leader of the Fort, walking with many of his generals. To Eman it appeared that most had thoughtful and worried expressions upon their faces. Shrugging it off as problems of leadership, Eman hurried on toward his sleep.

Screams and shouts from the lower levels awoke the young warrior from a dead sleep. Belting on his armor and sword, he quickly ran outside to see that dark shadows were moving in and out of the candlelight. A man dressed in black came screaming out of one of the shadows, holding his sword high and preparing to strike Eman down where he stood. Deftly side-stepping the other's downward slash, Eman whipped his sword from its sheath and cut the man down. Just as he turned around, another screaming warrior ran at him, just as intent on ending his life then and there. Kicking the man full in the face, the young warrior of the Fort ran his sword through the other reeling warrior. Through the course of the battle Eman killed many, using all the skills he had learned from the battlefield and practices to easily defeat most opponents he went against. Soon however, a large squadron of enemy soldiers engulfed him, and smartly rapped him on the top of his helmet, sending him down in an unconscious heap.

When he awoke he found himself surrounded by impossibly large men, almost as large as the infamous Queto. One man in particular struck dread into his very heart. Clothed all in black and eyes as red as the blood moon, Rashkal slowly advanced upon the quivering Eman.

"You are skilled, young warrior" he said in a quiet, dreadful voice. "I have a use for you, and you will serve me to the end of your days." Those were the last words that the human heard before his skin started to burn and his limbs began to grow. Terrified, Eman looked down at his body and watched as his skin turned to stone and he became larger than even the great warrior Queto. Eman raised his face toward the stone ceiling and gave a great cry of immortal longing and pain, wondering what he had done to the gods to make him deserve such a fate. That was the last thought the now-golem had before a force so great that it staggered even the imagination overtook his mind. "You are mine, you are mine, you are mine," a voice whispered over and over in his head. The awesome stone figure turned his head slowly, listening as the stone of his body ground together and moved. On the left of him sat a huge man covered in gleaming armor, and on his right a man with a bright white shroud that seemed to dissapear even as he looked at it. Then the giant looked before him, over the head of Rashkal, to see a bloodied and torn figure huddled on the ground, staring around with baleful eyes filled with hate. Brief compassion and pity ran through the now miniscule mind of the brute, but it was quickly over-run by the darkness invading its thoughts.

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