The wicked King Morbain has driven peace from the land, murdered Merlin and changed the Kingdom of Koran forever.
Meanwhile Morgan, young adventurer, sets out into the world to follow his fate



Morgan strolled through the village. As he passed the inn, a strong smell of cooking meat wafted toward him. His stomach lurched and grumbled, reminding him that the last time he had eaten had been before dawn when Lohan and Morgan had sent him off to the village since the yearly traders had come to town and were holding an auction in the village.  Morgan stopped in the snow and peered up at the sun.  His stomach gave another load groan and in response, Morgan spun around and headed back for the inn. The auction would not be starting till noon. Morgan pushed open the door and a waft of hot air hit him like a solid wall.

”Ah Morgan “ roared the innkeeper, good naturedly. Morgan smiled and worked his way through the crowd to be enveloped in the huge and hairy bear hug of the infamous innkeeper, Mr Morvan, it was good to be back. He turned his attention to the boar that was slowly turning on the spit, short of drooling, he stood mesmerised. Mr Morvan slapped him roughly on the back and steered him onwards to the kitchen “That’s for tonight, my lad, but I am sure the missus can find you something”.

Morgan stepped into the inns’ busy, bustling kitchen. Mrs Morvan, the innkeepers’ wife, stood in the midst of the bustle, shouting orders, and brandishing her wooden spoon amongst many and various pots and cauldrons bubbling and boiling. Hares were being jugged and pheasants larded. Morgen weaved his way over to her. “Good morning young Morgan! I suppose you’ll be wanting sommat  ter eat?” Before he knew it, he was seated at the rough back bench amongst potato peels and sudsy buckets, munching his way through a hearty meal of bacon buttie and ale pie. A perfect stopover for a hungry, strapping lad, and no better way to fortify the young man. Having given Mrs Morvan all the news from home he wended his now contented way out of the inn and onwards towards the auction arena.

The hustle and bustle of the horse auction was as loud as a sea storm, the wave of noise, as the auctioneer rattled the prices off at the top of his voice, crashed through the stalls and almost knocked Morgen over.

Morgan surveyed the main auction ring with ease. Today was going to be fun, what with no Luthan or Fin to bother him. This was going to be great.   “Number 28”, came the auctioneers’ rattling voice, as a pretty filly came prancing in. Morgan smiled to himself and raised his hand as the auctioneer started the bidding and a couple of seconds later the loud shout of “ sold “with the shot bang of the auctioneers’ hammer.

As Morgan wondered through the pens a loud squeal came from the far side of the field. Morgan made his way over. There stood a short lady with a face that looked like a horse had kicked her in the face or that she was sucking a lemon. She stood with a stock in her hand and the most beautiful horse you have ever seen was standing, quivering in the corner of the coral. Morgan, accustomed to sneaking around, crept up to the beautiful, tri-coloured gelding, flinched to the side as the screwie faced woman brandished the whip. She flung back her arm and was about to strap the whip on the horses rump when Morgan, still unnoticed, jumped forward and grasped the whip and wrenched it from her hand. The woman stopped and stared at Morgan, in horror. Who was this young man that dared to intervene in her training?   Morgan stood stock still, as if he were hoping not to be noticed,  his thoughts raced wildly..’Why the hell did I do that?’ he wondered. ‘Now what?

Morgan dropped the whip and ran ...."Where aar y'er goin?Y'er good fer nothin oaf" ,yelled the woman coming after him. Morgan sped round the stalls and into the wood behind the village.

"Oh no what in Eldars name am I going to do now?" panted Morgan as he leant against an old tree ...and suddenly it dawned upon him ,what he had to , he had to save that horse .

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