《Chronicles of Salvation: Prologue to War》 Prologue Prologue A black figure hid in the shadows watching his prey. Two hulking Giantfolk and three humans, the small band had made a simple but deadly mistake, capturing the daughter of a high lord in the kingdom of Amal. They had asked a ransom from the lord for the safe return of his child. This aristocrat was a corrupt man, but he paid the high price that came with hiring a Deathcaster all the same. The black figure scoffed as he watched the paltry fortifications the bandits had hastily thrown together. They were preparing for a battalion to attack, not a lone wizard. This would be an easy bounty. The warrior stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the torches surrounding the camp, his black armor in sharp contrast to the bright yellowish light on the log walls. ¡°I highly recommend you do not make any sudden moves. After all there is a chance you survive this encounter.¡± The group of men quickly jerked their heads around to stare at the intimidating figure. Eyes growing wide at the terrifying sight of his full armament in the light. He could see each one glance over him. Eyeing the vicious spear he leaned on casually, the blade was longer than most to allow slashes as well as thrusts, more a swordspear than anything. The haft made of a red wood only found in the deepest depth of the no mans land. He saw their faces sour as they looked upon the Dire Bear cloak cascading from his neck and pauldrons, as fitting cloak for his helmet, which formed into the shape of a bear head, mouth gaping and teeth sharp as a dagger. Following the cloak down until their eyes settled on the ornate black handguard of his rapier. Finally, he watched them shift nervously in their seats as they laid eyes on the black, studded leather armor which bore depictions of the reaper and the wild hunt encircled by symmetrical looping knots. An armor to allow the most mobility and still provide moderate protection. Though his body was not large like the giantfolk oaf, he didn¡¯t need to be. Speed and precision has always been more deadly than brute force on the battlefield. ¡°Well, I see you¡¯ve had enough time to take in my appearance. Perhaps this will persuade you to listen to reason.'''' The man in black paused with a slight smirk on his face, as the torch light danced across his helmet and face it seemed more ominous than friendly. ¡°Give me the girl, and you all live. It¡¯s that simple.¡± One of the giantfolk snickered, ¡°why should we? You are outnumbered five to one! Unless you¡¯re ferrying an army up that arrogant arse of yours, we will take our chances in a fight.¡± his voice was low, and had a rumble to it. He stood and readied himself, drawing a dull butchers cleaver and shortsword, well short for his stature. The lone warrior noted this bandit stood 7 foot tall if not more. ¡°Aye. we will take our chances.¡± one of the humans chimed in in a high pitch, hyena like voice. He as well drew his weapons. This time two hatchets. ¡°Suit yourself gentleman, but may I just ask you to cover the girls eyes first? I would hate for her to witness the barbarism about to unfold here. If there¡¯s one thing I hate, it''s kidnappers, people who would use children to extort others.¡± the girl was whimpering in the corner of the shabbily made camp, tied to a stake. Her dress was torn in multiple places and covered in mud, though he didn¡¯t see any blood which was a boon. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. One of the other humans lunged from his flank, a poor attempt at a surprise attack. He had noted each enemy''s movements from the start. A spear to his left, longsword to his right which was currently charging towards him, and finally an archer making his way up the scaffolding twenty five yards to his rear. ¡°So you choose death.¡± his face turned grim, it was a statement not a question. As quick as a polecat he launched his spear into the longsword wielder, spun around while dropping to a knee, sending a small pebble which was instantly surrounded by fire rocketing towards the archer who was just drawing his bow, and puncturing through instantly killing the man. With one final swift motion he drew the slim rapier, sidestepped the paltry thrust of a spear and plunged it deep into his prey. ¡°And now I am only outnumbered two to one.¡± a scowl grew upon his brow as he stalked toward the last two bandits. Unlike the others these two seemed fairly competent with arms, the giantfolk struck first. Cleaver and shortsword slicing through the air in unison. The man in black parrying the mighty attack, sidestepped and with a quick riposte buried his rapier into his foes thick, muscular neck. A precision strike, severing artery and windpipe. This would typically be enough to take down a man, however the giantfolk tended to be more resilient than a normal man. He was certain the brute would die, however currently it only provoked him. The counterattack was swift and carried power behind each swing, the weapons creating a sort of scissor while they swung through the air, then a spin, both weapons having a different window for impact to throw the defender off on his block. Never a smart move to turn your back to an enemy, the thug''s extended reach gave him an advantage not easily circumnavigated. All the wild, yet calculated swings were met with a block or a dodge. And all were meant to be a distraction so the shrill human man could slink in. as if on queue two hatchets entered the fray, cutting at the newcomers legs and torso. Carefully the warrior backed up, sidestepping and dodging, causing each swing to miss. Trying to trick his enemy into a false sense of security. One attacker with two weapons was simple enough to handle with his rapier but two¡­ not so much. He guided them back towards where the first attacker fell, spear impaled in his torso. Lunging backwards, he ripped the spear from the fallen giantfolks chest cavity. Now he could take the offensive. He swung the spear around in a flurry slashes all met with the loud clang of metal striking metal. He followed up with a quick succession of thrusts, two of them finding purchase in the shrill man. And finally, a haft strike upward into the jaw of the remaining giantfolk, knocking him off balance, another thrust driving home into his chest as his legs were sweeped out with a kick and he landed hard spear tip impaled into the ground. It was over in only a matter of seconds. ¡°You should have listened, fools.¡± He said walking casually towards the shrill man who now crawled in the dirt to get away. A futile attempt as moments later the rapier pierced his neck, and lay on the ground dead. ¡°Lady Shaya. I am Sir Tristran, brigadier general of the Deathcasters, your father hired me to rescue you.¡± his voice had changed from apathetic and intimidating to a soft polite tone. ¡°My sincere apologies for the horrors you just witnessed.¡± Tristan walked towards the girl, his black, leather armor making him a shadow in the torchlight and reached out his hand to help the girl to her feet. Chapter 1: the Adulling ¡°Dad? Do you think I¡¯ll be a hunter?¡± A thin child asked. Though he had the frame of a prepubescent ten year old he was actually 14. A wonder filled his eyes. Wonder for the possibilities, a merriment brought only by the fanciful musings of a young child with their whole life ahead of them. Today fate would guide him into his profession. A tall burly man laughed deep and loud. ¡°I don¡¯t know, son. I suppose the options are wide open.¡± ¡°What about..... a guard? Oh oh! Or even a warrior?¡± A frail looking boy grabs his hoe and swings it like a sword. ¡°Well son, let¡¯s look at your talents. You¡¯re quick, clever and small framed. Oh I know! You¡¯re going to be a law man!¡± The man said, straining to pull his hoe through the earth. ¡°Ugh, Dad, I don''t want to be a law man. I want to be a fighter like you and Grandpa were!¡± His father scuffled the young man¡¯s hair. ¡°I believe you can be whatever you want Tor. But it¡¯s up to the God¡¯s, they choose our path. They alone know what¡¯s in store for us. Have faith and they will deliver you into the role you were meant to fill.¡± He smiled a sincere, fatherly smiley. A full length beard hung below his shoulders, braided with bone, gold and silver beads. His hair was long and pulled back so it didn¡¯t fall into his face from the long days of working the land. Scars lay bare on his muscular chest and arms, memories of a time when war was the norm for his tribe. A fate he did not wish upon his son, yet as all boys his son saw the fanciful side of battle and did not know the horrors that came with a feat such as reaping a soul from this world. He remembered being such a youngling, and now being a man he knew every young man felt an almost primal pull towards violence. Towards the glory it could bring. ¡°Boys! Lunch is ready!¡± a red haired woman in a green dress called out, she was paler than the boy and his father and was readily viewed as the fairest woman in the tribe. She was once the princess of an enemy tribe, but when the fighting stopped she found love. Her belly was swollen with Tor¡¯s soon to be brother or sister. Tor and his father gathered their tools and left the field, just a small boy trying to keep pace with his hulking veteran father. ¡ª---------------- It was early afternoon, and the small family made their way to the tribe¡¯s annual festival, celebrated when the sun was at it¡¯s highest point in the sky. The festival was to celebrate all the boys and girls of the tribe coming of age and receiving a blessing from the chieftain and a boon from the gods, that would help them as they apprenticed and specialized in a trade or profession. Some would become warriors or smiths or tanners. Some unfortunate lot, as the boy saw it, would become farmers and cooks. He prayed to all the god¡¯s to become a warrior but he knew his chances were slim. He had a small wiry frame more suited for farming, or gods forbid, law keeping. As the family entered the large village they were greeted with cheers and dancing and loud music with a fast rhythmic beat. The scent of tarts and warm hard cider filled the air enough to make father slink off to a nearby stand for a couple ciders. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Now dear, remember what happens when you drink too much¡± Mother scolded in a loving manner, a slight smirk creeping across her pristine face. Her hair was bright in the sun. Curly red locks made even more bright by her fair complexion. ¡°I know dearest, I know. I promise I won''t let things get out of hand.¡± He held her hips, a sincere love in his eyes, and a smoldering smirk on his lips. ¡°Come mother, let Tor play and revel with the other children.¡± With that Tor¡¯s mother and father left, bidding a sweet promise of safety and loving as they disappeared into the crowd. The boy looked around. Astounded by all the people and scents. Mesmerized by the sounds. Tonight he would become a man, accepted by the entire tribe, and with it he would know his fate. A jolt of excitement and fear sent a shiver down him as he made his way towards the tart stand. The small boy stood in line with the others. His face soured as he realized only a few other children were smaller than him. Before the group stood a tall portly man in flowing green robes, his head adorned by a goat horn headpiece. He spoke the old tongue, though Tor didn¡¯t understand every word, he knew enough to understand the chieftain was blessing the festival and prayed the children would perform well and receive a boon blessed by the gods. He droned on about peace and prosperity until finally he spoke in the common tongue. A thick burly accent resounded in the courtyard. ¡°Today we are in the presence of the future of this tribe. Long will they stand while our bodies fertilize the soil. Long may they reign and prosper in whatever trade the gods wish! Arnet, please step forward and place your hands on the altar.¡± A tall strong jawed girl stepped forward following the chief''s instruction, before her appeared a long thin blade. The blade of the kings guard! She had been chosen to protect the chief. The chief continued to call names, and the children continued to receive boons. Some received the axe of the berserker, some the branch of an ash tree, the symbol of a healer. And some unfortunate few received a scythe for farming or a chef''s knife. But now it was his turn. His heart pounded. He stepped forward, each step seemed to bring him further from the alter. All eyes on him. The chieftain smiled as Tor¡¯s hands stretched towards the altar. this was it, no turning back now, what he received would write his entire future. Blood splattered on his face as he looked in a stupor at the chieftain, a viciously tipped spear protruding from his chest, gurgling blood as he coughed and waived at the crowd to run. ¡°Protect yourselves! Protect the children!¡± He coughed again, falling to a knee grasping at the spear. The chieftain, seeing Tor and the look of utter terror in his eyes, stood entering a rage and turned to face the attackers. A strong man, a brave man. A warrior chief. The bloody green robes cascading to the ground, his arms and chest bulging, the chief pulled the spear from his torso knowing he would die either way and mounted a defense with one arm, pushing the boy back. A last, desperate attempt to protect his people. His life blood poured from the cavity left by the spear yet he fought on. It was said a tribesman in the berserk state could fight even after death. Still dazed, Tor started running. It seemed as though the world came to a stop, everything seemed slow, he could see the silver studs on one of the invaders glove just before blood scattered when his left hand, wielding a curved sword, fell on a guard. He could see the droplets wobble in the air, as they fell from the spear of a rider on a black horse. He could see the steam from the horse''s nostrils. He could see his father raging, lacerations and arrows covering his body. He saw the animalistic look in his eyes as he roared at a robed man who snapped his fingers, engulfing Tor¡¯s father in blue flames. He heard a blood curdling scream close by. Wait, it was him. He felt the thrum of a horse galloping close by as he spun and saw the spear wielding warrior drawing near, no he was on top of him already. And before he could blink he was swept up by the man. Carried away, watching in horror as he saw the carnage behind him. His tribe was being slaughtered and he couldn¡¯t do anything to stop it. He hadn¡¯t even tried.