Ulrich Blackhand began his day in the Germanian village of Dolpheim like any other. An act of deceit and dishonesty from another would put his life in jeopardy and he would be forced to flee all that he has known. In his flight he discovers a threat to his people, their lives and freedom were in peril. Hanoot Knutson loved to drink and to fight. He was truly happy when his tongue was wet with mead and his sword was wet with blood. He was sure of only two things. The foreigners would suffer for invading his homeland and he would earn a place in Woutan's great hall Walhalla. As the morning grew brighter, it became apparent that Hanoot had not dragged the two Gauls very far at all. The colour of life had drained from their faces and their lips were a dull grey, lifeless eyes stared at the lightening sky. "I would like to know what the story is with these two?" pondered Hanoot as he cocked his head to the right. No sounds of anyone approaching were heard by either man and it was bright enough that anyone advancing on them would be seen as well. Hanoot continued, "They were already wounded when I killed them. Why would a wounded Gaul head north into Germania?"