The goodbyes with his wife had been short as he donned his armor and gathered his sword, Titan. Titan was not a normal sword; in fact, it was one of a kind. It was a falchion great sword, one of a handful made centuries ago, the only surviving one. Falchion swords are typically short, one-hand, one-edged swords with slightly curved blades. They combined the versatility of a sword with the power of an axe. Great swords were much different. They had a long two-edged blade, and were normally held with two hands. Titan was longer than normal falchion swords, but it retained the slight curve. Both of its edges were equally sharp though the outside edge of the curve was the edge used the most. Chiseled neatly along the inside edge of the blade was ‘TITAN’ just above the cross guard that curved upwards on one side and downwards on the other. A long, black leather wrapped handle stretched down from the silver cross guard to the end of its hilt that wrapped tightly around a large, smooth, oval shaped sapphire. Frederik had received Titan from his father, who had received it from his father, and someday it was supposed to end up in Frederick’s son’s hands, but right now Frederik needed it.
It had been an uneventful five day journey to the foot of Mt. Belmont. He hunted and trapped for food and slept by a small fire at night to keep animals away. He made camp for the night at the base of the mountain and woke early to gather his gear and begin the climb. Titan had a special sheath compared to the normal swords used by knights. Rather than being sheathed on a strap around his waist it was sheathed diagonally across his back. His armor had been specially modified for this feature, allowing him to easily access his back. He hadn’t taken the time to put on all of his armor when he had left and he wasn’t about to do it now. It would only weigh him down and make the climb harder. Instead he gathered it into a bag with a rope tied around it. The other end of the rope was tied around his waist. The climb would take half the day and the first hundred feet was almost sheer cliff face. Making a quick estimate he ensured that the rope was long enough to keep his armor on the ground rather than dragging him back down the cliff. Looking up at the peak he took a deep breath and started to climb.
Years of erosion hadn’t been kind to the cliff. The cold stone was spider-webbed with cracks and many of Frederik’s hand- and foot-holds would crumble to dust under his touch, causing him to scramble for another hold before he fell. He wasn’t sure if the fall would kill him, but he didn’t want to risk it. At last, his arm hooked over the edge of the cliff, allowing him to pull himself up onto a soft patch of grass. Breathing heavily, he pulled on the rope that was tied around his waist to retrieve the bag that held his armor. It bounced off the stone cliff the whole way up with a series of clinks as metal bumped against metal. Then he lay back on the cool grass. He found a comfortable position with Titan still sheathed across his back, closing his eyes to relax, but instead fell asleep.