The Fallen Maiden, a dirty, unkempt hovel of a tavern in the independent trader district. A young man sits there nursing a tankard of the inn’s cheapest ale, a warm, pungent brew that has more in common with puddle water than ale. As he sits there, at a dirty, pock-marked corner table, he watches the unsavoury lowlifes around him, going about their drunken rituals. As he watches, his mind begins to wander. How had life let him down so badly that he ended up here…
Rufus’ earliest memories were of the small working hamlet, where he grew up, on the edge of a large country estate. His parents were part of a community of workers that lived on the estate and employed by Lord Vortesen, the Lord of the Manor. They were employed to tend to and maintain his surrounding lands. It was a simple, honest life but Rufus always felt out of place, shunned by his peers and frowned at by his elders. Being blessed with a short temper didn’t help the situation. He would often be riled by other boys and provoked into starting fights he couldn’t win. But fight he would, never backing down, until eventually they would be pulled apart and given a dressing down from one of the elders.
His father was the Lord’s Huntsman, a respected position, with principal responsibility for keeping the forest safe and stocked with game to hunt. As Rufus began to grow older, he started to learn his father’s trade. Most children would do likewise but this was also an easier way to separate him from the other boys in the village. He would accompany his father when he rode the forest paths, learning the skills to ride, to track and to hunt. He also learnt to use a crossbow, with unbelievable accuracy for one so young. Rufus enjoyed the solitude of the ride, but even more so, he loved the thrill of the hunt - to chase a wolf down and to kill it.
It was on one such trip, whilst they prepared to make camp for the night that Rufus could tell his father was distracted.
“What is bothering you tonight father?” Rufus enquired
“Son” his father started
“there is something your mother and I have waited too long to tell you and now, the timing, it makes it all the more difficult.”
Rufus stared at his father, the emotional burden suddenly showing on the old man’s face.
“We are not your real parents. We are only your Guardians, entrusted with the responsibility of your upbringing. Please let me explain fully before you do anything rash…”
Rufus couldn’t do anything rash even if he wanted to. The revelation had his head swimming with thoughts, confused thoughts, and he felt as though all his muscles had seized. He had all but enough left within him to whisper
“I won’t do anything. Please explain….father…”
His father cleared his throat and continued.
“It was nearly 14 years ago, the War of Cleansing had been over for many years but pockets of resistance still held and underground cells of worship to the Dark Gods still existed. It was late one night when Lord Vortesen rode up and banged on our door. In his arms was a child of about 2 years. He gave me the child with no more instruction than to look after it for a few days.”
“I’m guessing that that child was me?” Rufus interjected.
“Yes. Lord Vortesen came back a few days later as promised and sat me down to explain. You had been rescued after a raid on an underground religious cult, a small, growing cell that had formed after the War. The proclamation at the time was that all Cultists were to be killed with exception being taken to children under the age of 2. Any child rescued would belong to the state. They would be placed with loyal families’ that could bear no children of their own, for them to nurture and bring the child up. On the celebration day of their 16th year, they would be returned to the state, at which time they would take up jobs appropriate to their upbringing and skills.”
A tear began to well in the corner of the old man’s eye.
“We never knew your real birthday and have always celebrated it as the day Lord Vortesen left you with us. We were notified last week that your time has come. The state representatives will come next week to take you. You are to be enlisted in the Army.”
“ENLISTED?” Rufus spat
“ENSLAVED more like…”
That had been 4 years ago.
His daydream had been interrupted as a small scuffle broke out between a man, a woman and a whore. He waited for the fracas to die down before going up to the bar for a refill. After parting with a few coins from his ever diminishing supply, he began to let his thoughts drift again.
It was his 17th birthday. Some birthday it turned out to be. He had just completed his first year of basic training with the State Army. All the new recruits had undergone hard training to teach them how to fight with simple weapons whilst wearing basic armour. Rufus had done well, showing a natural aptitude in fighting with a variety of weapons, but it was at range, with his trusted crossbow with which he still excelled. However he wasn’t as enthusiastic as his fellow recruits. They had all chosen to be there, taken the Kings Gold and signed up willingly, unlike him. This had proved to be a problem. Rufus had built up a reputation of being difficult. He had no respect for his tutors, and hated discipline in every form. Therefore, when he was summoned to his Commanding Officers rooms he didn’t need to be shown the way.
“Sit down recruit.” The Officer barked, before continuing on in a more measured tone.
“I know you’re a difficult case, I know the history and background to your being here and it is against my recommendation that the Army has decided to put you forward for a specialism”
“Specialism Sir?” Rufus replied in autopilot whilst his mind raced to think of what he could mean.
“Yes recruit. You have shown great promise in your skills at range and I would naturally have put you forward for reconnaissance and scouting duties. However, the powers that be have other plans. You are to leave base immediately and report to Commander Albrecht of the 51st. Your future in the army will be explained when you get there.”
“Yes Sir!” Rufus barked back automatically and turned to leave.
He didn’t need to wait to be told his destiny. Commander Albrecht and the 51st were renowned, they were War Mages. The army didn’t accept naturally gifted magic users as they were often highly unpredictable and not reliable enough in the face of the enemy. War Mages had no natural affinity to magic; instead they spent years having the spells they needed drummed into them. Over and over they would practice, so that the spells would become second nature and the full repertoire would be there, with instant recall, when needed. Rufus also knew that only a very few recruits were ever chosen to become War Mages and it meant years of hard discipline and intensive one to one training before fully graduating and Commander Albrecht was the type to use a stick instead of a carrot.
“Come on son, its kicking out time. Sup up and sod off…”
The innkeeper roused the young man from his daydream, so he supped the last of his brew and wandered off outside. Without a final destination or any where to stay the night, he began to wander the streets and his mind slowly focusing back on his past…
It was the day of the final test. This point in his life had been 3 years in the making, 3 long, hard years of training. The final test is a ritual that pitted student versus master. Each would accompany a battalion out into the field and would use their tactical knowledge, leadership and battle magic to try and defeat their opponent. Powerful magical wards covered the whole battle field and prevented life threatening damage, spells and sword blows would deal non lethal damage instead, but it still hurt and it was as real as it could get. Up until now, Rufus had performed well in all the magical ability tests, but his discipline was not to the high standard that Albrecht set. His disregard for authority had ended with numerous beatings being dished out, every time there would be the same sadistic grin on the Commanders face. For this final test, Rufus knew what Commander Albrecht had in store;
“A strict lesson in humility and defeat.”
The Commanders words still rung in his ears.
The two forces squared off against each other, a large valley separating them. Tradition dictated that the student would be allowed to strike the first blow, and as the horn sounded to start the battle Rufus wasted no time. A Hail of Stone rained down across the valley, doing very little damage but serving to leave a cloud of dust, blocking sight and spreading confusion amongst his opponent’s forces. At the same time Rufus commanded his light forces to begin a flanking manoeuvre. Albrecht returned with a series of forceful Magic Missile, whilst ordering his troops to remain steadfast. It was as Rufus expected; he was concentrating on taking out as many of Rufus’s forces as early as possible before rushing his troops in to deal a final blow with strength in numbers. His commanders missiles kept coming - hitting at even intervals aiming to disrupt the line and divide his forces. The trade off continued, with Rufus suffering more casualties than his master, but the Hail of Stones that he persisted with was beginning to work. The constant barrage had started to weaken the flank of his opponents forces. There was also a sizeable 'wall' of stone creating uneven and broken ground in between the two battalions. The final advantage was that the spell was throwing up more and more dust into the air, adding to the confusion and starting to block line of sight. Rufus knew he had to seize his moment. In a flurry of activity he waved the signal for his light forces to begin attacking from the flank. He cast Accuracy and True Strike upon himself and took aim at Commander Albrecht with his trusted crossbow. The bolt flew true and struck the Commanders horse through the eye. It reared and threw its mount, leaving Albrecht breathless on the floor. At the same moment as the bolt hit, Rufus let fly a final Hail of Stone, and gave the decisive order for the whole battalion to close the gap, and the archers to fire at will when in range. From the other side of the valley the dust masked his plan from the view of Commander Albrecht, who was still on the floor, furiously shouting curses and commands, whilst looking for a new horse. Rufus’ own troops laughed and jeered as they closed the gap - the student looked as though he had one up on the master. As the two forces closed, confusion reined all around. Without a word of warning, Rufus kicked his spurs into the flanks of his horse, yanked hard on the reins, and with a final look over his shoulder, made a break for freedom. All he wanted was a small head start…
The mock battle raged on and it had taken Commander Albrecht a full hour to realise what had happened and a search party had been close behind him ever since. Rufus rode for three days solid before finally allowing his horse a rest. He pressed on, stopping no more than a few minutes at a time to water his horse and get his bearings. After a full weeks chase he hit the edge of a forest he knew well, he was back on Lord Vortesen’s estate. It was the perfect place to lose his pursuers; he knew every trail in the forest better than any of them. His survival instincts took over; he rode deep into the forest and slit the horses’ throat. The meat lasted a precious few days before spoiling, all the while Rufus ate it raw, not wanting to risk starting a fire, but those few days provided enough time for him to lie low and avoid detection. Not wanting to go back to his former village, even though it was so close, he made his way to the nearest City. A large, uninterested population would provide him with his best chance to blend in and avoid being found.
That had been a year, several names, hundreds of miles and four different cities ago...
The bump and jostle of the streets brought the young man back to his senses. He had spent enough time in near poverty. He was fed up of running. He was fed up of hiding. He was angry with the world. He no longer wanted to be a hunted man.
All the torment and misery that he had suffered would have broken a lesser man. Not him, he just wanted to get even. The world owed him his share and he was prepared to take it, by force. Tomorrow would be a new start; a new name, a new beginning and this time, on his own terms…
03-28-2012, 02:15 PM
