Hi guys! This story will be a kind of transposition from the game to a story. I will stay loyal to the geography of the game, and also the characters, but I will change some things such as the companions' background stories.
The battles of this story are kind of influenced by the battles of the French Revolution, like the tactics, strategies, and ranks in the army, but forgive me for inaccuracies!
Anyway, this is my first fanfic, so I apologize for any mistakes. Please enjoy!
Arthur grunted in exertion as he twisted the sword and rammed it into the shoulder of the dummy, widening the gap there and causing more cotton to spill out. He was in the small yard behind his house, doing his daily practice on the row of dummies his father had fashioned for him.
Quick as a flash, Arthur hurled his sword to the ground and whipped out a small dagger which he thrust into the dummy's face and tore downwards, opening a large gash. The cotton began to fall out in earnest.
It was uncommon for a village boy to learn swordsmanship. Melee and combat was reserved for the nobles and lords of Calradia, but Arthur's father was adamant that his only son learned some defence. It was his view that in such a conflicting realm of war and treachery, it never hurt to be able to defend oneself. His father himself was quite an accomplished swordsman, having once led a small ragtag team of the farmers of Tshibtin against a horde of bandits, and defeated them. He was a bit of a hero in the village, as well as the prime defender.
His legacy fell to Arthur.
"Arthur, darling," Arthur, sweat dripping onto his cotton shirt, turned around to see his mother approaching, a basket of bread and cheese slung over her shoulder. Arthur smiled and sheathed his dagger gratefully.
"Mother. Is it lunch already?" he sat down on the sparsely grown grass with her and plucked out a piece of bread, feeling the firmness and crispiness of the exterior. Kasi, his mother, smiled lovingly.
"It's your birthday today, dear," she said, watching her son munch into his lunch. "Go out and have a good time with your friends. Practice can be put off for one day." Arthur grimaced. His 'friends' consisted of two rival groups of boys aged sixteen to twenty. He was part of the smaller group of ten boys. The larger group of thirteen boys, led by Arthur's rival, Declan, were known to be bullies around Tshibtin. 'Having a good time' usually meant fighting in the fields outside the village. The one good thing that came of these fights, mused Arthur, was that they strengthened his muscles and provided some combat training.
"Sure," he replied, his voice muffled by the food inside his mouth.
"You're twenty today," Kasi reached out a hand and stroked her son's cheek. "You're a man now. Try not to fight too much with Declan and his friends." Arthur smiled.
"Sure, Mother," he stood up, brushing the dirt and grass off his trousers and shirt. "Where is Father today, anyway? I haven't seen him since morning." Kasi's face turned troubled.
"Nessi came back from picking apples in the outskirts of the village yesterday with reports that there were bandits in the vicinity," she said softly. "Your father is off patrolling." Arthur's spine stiffened.
"I should be with him then!" He made to grab his sword from the ground but Kasi shook her head.
"He wants you to have a good birthday, Arthur," she said imploringly. "Go be with your friends. Your father has everything under control." Arthur stared at her for a long time before nodding mutely.
"I'll be back before dinner, Mother." He bent down, pecked her on the cheek and walked away, to join his friends on the fields for another fight.
"Oh, it's birthday boy!" Arthur had just walked into the fields to see his group of friends on one side, facing Declan and his thugs. Declan, having seen him as soon as he appeared, was now jeering at him.
"How's it feel to a man now?" He laughed, and he was echoed by his minions. Arthur gritted his teeth.
"Up for another round?" he snarled as he took his place in front of his group, beside his best friend, Firentis.
"This isn't good," Firentis muttered under his breath. "We got two away helping with the harvest. We're sorely outnumbered, Arthur." Arthur shook his head.
"We have this," he replied.
It was a tradition for the two sides to have five minutes' of 'planning' before beginning to fight. Arthur was familiar with Declan's tactics: charge and fight for all you're worth. Personally, he thought it wasn't much of a tactic, and Declan, although older than Arthur by several months, did not seem to learn from his mistakes time and time again. Arthur was a bit more of a tactician, often splitting his team into two groups and leading one to one side to outflank Declan's thugs. Today, however, he wanted to teach Declan a lesson he would never forget.
"Numbers, Firentis?" he hissed as his group huddled around him. On the other side of the field, Declan and his thugs crouched on the ground, murmuring to each other.
"Eight," Firentis answered immediately. "Eleven on the other." Arthur nodded and looked at the familiar faces around him. These were boys he had grown up with, and they all knew each other as if they were family. In a way, Arthur reflected, the people of the small village of Tshibtin were family. They stood together in whatever crisis there was, and helped each other in this simple but hard life. If only the nobles and lords of Calradia worried less about themselves and looked more to the welfare of their people, life would be much easier. Arthur cursed them inwardly.
"Firentis, lead three and hold a line," Arthur pointed to the place where they were to hold the line. "The rest, with me. We'll strike up a defensive position behind them and when Declan comes, Firentis will open up a gap and we'll charge, then you'll close in on them. A wedge," he concluded satisfactorily. "We'll trap 'em like mice in a mousetrap. Don't hold yourselves back, lads. Give them a beating they'll remember." His friends nodded eagerly then dispersed to their positions. On the other side of the field, Declan and his croons were already waiting, spread out in a loose line.
"Ready, sissies?" called Declan. Arthur gave him the thumbs up, and with a roar, Declan charged forward, followed closely by his boys.
Firentis and his three comrades stood in a loose line, ready to split apart the moment their rivals were on them. Arthur and the rest were crouched behind them. Once the line in front split up to circle round the back, they'd charge at Declan and shatter his line.
It was a good strategy, thought Arthur. If only he could see real armies execute it.
With a yell, Declan fell onto Firentis and began to pummel him. Firentis punched him in the face, staggering him, and waved an arm to the side, shouting something indiscernible. Arthur leapt to his feet and surged forward, knocking one of Declan's thugs to the ground before tackling another to the ground and loosing as many punches to his jaw as he could. All around was confusion and chaos as yells and shouts echoed in the air and clouds of dust were kicked up, obscuring the view. Arthur was only aware of the adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he shoved someone's face into the dirt and hurled another into the ground, all the while taking in a few occasional punches and kicks.
Suddenly a shrill whistle pierced the air, freezing the group of boys. Arthur whipped his hair wildly around, and saw Nessi, his neighbour, standing at the edge of the field and glaring at them. She also looked fearful.
"You boys," she hissed venomously. "Do you not hear that?" She pointed towards the village centre and suddenly Arthur could hear it: the dull ringing of the village bell. A bell used in times of emergency.
"The bandits!" He jumped to his feet, the adrenaline from the fight draining from his body. He felt a cold terror steal over his limbs.
"Yes, the bandits," Nessi snapped. "Your father needs you, Arthur. Go! And all you capable fighters, defend your village!" Arthur was barely aware that for once, he and Declan's groups were united as they all ran towards the village centre, towards the supply shed where all the weapons were stored. Arthur still had his dagger on him, and he decided to head straight for his father. As he passed Nessi amidst the surge of nervous and excited boys, she gripped his arm.
"Your father is at the north entrance with a few other men, Arthur," she said urgently. "Go help them! The bandits are no more than twenty minutes away!" Arthur nodded and ran off.
Everywhere was confusion and fear. Villagers were running everywhere, the air was filled with the sounds of yells and screams, and Arthur's ears were deafened. He fought his way through a crowd in the village centre and ran towards the entrance to Tshibtin, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. He could fight with a dagger as well as he could with a sword, and besides, the supply shed was probably overflowing with his friends and other men filching weapons for themselves.
The path towards the north entrance of the village was relatively quieter, and Arthur made it to the gate in a few minutes. The rusty gates were closed, and he saw his father and a few other men, farmers and watchmen, standing in a line just outside the gate. His father was unarmed, his longsword sheathed, while the other men held chipped swords and a pitchfork in on case. The empty, afternoon fields ahead of Tshibtin lay silent; not a breath of wind stirred the scene. In the distance, on the horizon, a cloud of dust showed the location of the bandit horde.
"Father," Arthur gasped, skidding to a halt. Hexin, his father, smiled. His stance was relaxed, one hand on the hilt of his longsword. Arthur noted that the other men were nervous and jittery.
"How many are there?" Arthur squared his shoulders and tried to mimick his father's calm.
"About twenty," Hexin smiled tightly. "Chain mail, bows, axes, swords. Mounts. Carzis went scouting on our best horse and nearly lost his life. Luckily, he came back alive and was able to report that." Carzis, at the end of the line, turned and flashed a grim smile at Hexin.
"What are we going to do?" Arthur could now make out the individual horsemen as they galloped towards Tshibtin. "We can't repel cavalry." Hexin nodded.
"Yes. I have Nessi and your mother organising an evacuation back there. We're going to hold them off until everyone is safely gone, then we'll fall back."
Arthur frowned as he recalled the chaos in the village centre. "Evacuation? I only saw chaos." Hexin twisted around and stared at Arthur.
"I can count on your mother," he said flatly. Then his voice softened and he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll be fine." Arthur nodded, his mouth dry. Hexin's eyes flickered to his dagger. "You don't seem to have a sufficient weapon."
"Yes," Arthur said, a little ashamed. "I thought I'd come as quick as I could." Hexin laughed, but before he could say anything, there were footsteps behind them. They turned to see one of the young boys, panting, as he stopped in front of them. A runner.
"Sir! Sir…Kasi reports that there are a group of bandits attacking us from behind! From the south entrance! Infantry, sir! We're being surrounded on both sides!" His voice was shrill; hysterical. Hexin's face drained of all colour.
"No," he whispered. "Two groups of bandits at the same time? How is this…?" His face hardened as he turned to the boy. "Run back. Tell Kasi to speed up her evacuation. Tell her hurry to the hills. Tell her she has ten minutes, no more. Go!" The boy recoiled from his harsh tone and turned and scuttled away.
"Father…" Arthur felt fear flickering inside him. Two different groups of bandits attacking Tshibtin at the same time? That was not possible. It couldn't be mere coincidence.
"Arthur," Hexin interrupted him and looked intently at him. Sternly, even. "I will entrust you with the lives of our villagers. I want you to go back and help your mother. Defend them. Find Firentis and even Declan, they're good fighters. We need good men to help with the evacuation."
"No! You…you can't hold them off yourselves!" Arthur babbled wildly. He knew what that meant. His father was saving him. Hexin and the few farmers could not possibly hold off one, possibly two groups of well-armed, well armoured bandits.
"Go!" Hexin roared. Arthur flinched, and Hexin put his hands on Arthur's shoulders.
"Listen to me," he said rapidly. Arthur was dimly away of the sounds of commotion and yells emanating from the village centre, and ahead, the quickly approaching group of bandits. "Listen to me, my son." Arthur's eyes flickered back to his father's weary face. "You are my son. I trust you with my life. I trust you with all the villagers' lives. I need you to do as I say. Do not question me. Go back, and help your mother. We will see each other again." Hexin pulled his son into a hug, and Arthur felt the tears spill over because he knew those last words were a lie. If he left now, he would never see his father again.
"Take care of your mother, Arthur," his father whispered as he released Arthur. "Now go!" Arthur stared at him for one second, then turned and ran. He didn't look back.
Wagons of food and supplies were pushed slowly along the dirt road as the villagers of Tbishtin swarmed through. Arthur shoved his way through the shouting and crying people, until he spotted his mother and Nessi perched upon an upturned wagon, directing villagers.
"Mother!" Arthur clambered up beside her and cupped her jaw, turning her face left and right to check for any wounds. "Are you alright?" Kasi nodded. Her hair, usually wound up in a neat bun, was wild around her face and her cotton dress was stained with dirt and mud.
"Firentis and your friends are off defending the south entrance!" she had to shout over the tumult. "We're almost done here! I've sent a runner to tell them to slowly fall back!"
"Are the bandits here yet?" Arthur shouted back.
"Nearly! Probably! Go help your friends, Arthur!" Kasi bent down and picked up an idle sword lying on the edge of the wagon. She thrust the hilt towards Arthur and softened her voice. "My darling boy. Use all that your father has taught you and defend our home!" She touched a finger to his cheek. "Come back to me safe and sound." Arthur gripped the handle of the sword and jumped off the wagon, pushing his way through the throng and towards the second entrance to Tshibtin where Firentis and his friends were. As he neared, the sounds of the chaos of the villagers faded, to be replaced by the clanging of metal on metal and occasional grunts. The sounds of a battle. Arthur swallowed and increased his pace, running through side streets and leaping over fences until he skidded round the corner to see his friends, ten or so of them, locked in a desperate fight with a small group of heavily armed men.
With a roar, he hefted his sword above his head and charged into the fray. A cut to the side, slashing an enemy's face open; there was a squelching sound and the man collapsed with a grunt. Ramming into another with his shoulder, kicking a third's legs from under him, and suddenly someone grabbed his arm, and Arthur twisted round to see a large muscular man, his head encased in a huge leather cap. His eyes glared furiously.
"Your time to die, boy," he growled and Arthur looked down to see a huge war axe in the man's hands. Before he could react, the bandit grinned, raised his arm, then something slammed into Arthur's temple.
Everything went black.
Someone was beating a drum inside his head. Arthur blearily cracked an eye open and shut it straight away; the brilliant light against the darkness blinded him. Slowly, he opened one eye, then the other. Everything hurt, especially his head.
Sitting up, he brought a hand to his head and it came away bloodied. What had happened again? He closed his eyes and remembered running to help his friends, hacking at a few bandits, and suddenly there was that huge man, leering at him. Then nothing.
The villagers! Arthur stood up rapidly and swayed, bolts of pain shooting through his limbs. He groaned again and looked down, searching for a weapon. He recoiled.
All around him lay bodies. Bodies of the bandits, that was good, but also bodies of his friends. Friends he'd grown up with, now lying in pools of blood with horrific wounds.
"No." Was that his voice? It was all cracked and hoarse. Arthur staggered to the side. His eyes scanned the bodies, looking…looking…
There was no Firentis. Where was Firentis? Had he been taken prisoner? Arthur groggily shook his head, then his eyes cast onto a sword lying a few feet away. Lurching towards it, he picked it up and turned his attention towards the village centre.
Mother! Father! His eyes flew wide open and he was suddenly alert. A burning sensation made him look down and Arthur dimly realised that his palm had been sliced open. It had now begun to crust, but picking up the sword had split it open and the wound was now openly bleeding. Ignoring the pain, he gripped the hilt of the sword and began to run towards the road where the villagers had been evacuating.
The first body lay just in front of the bend in the road. Arthur slowed to a stop and stared at it. He was a man, definitely. But his face had been smashed in with a hammer over and over again, and was now undistinguishable. Arthur swallowed the disgust and fear and slowly turned the corner that led onto the wide road.
It had been a massacre. Bodies lay heaped up in piles, some flung to the side. Bodies burnt, bodies mangled, bodies cut. Such was the amount of blood that even now, they mixed and ran down the cracks of the road. A massacre.
Arthur turned his head slowly to the wagon that his mother had been standing on. Icy fear gripped his throat when he saw her body, flung against the side. Her legs were sprawled on the bloody road, and her head and arms rests on the side of the wagon. Blood trickled from her throat.
"Mother," groaned Arthur. He hurriedly picked his way through the bodies towards her, and collapsed onto his knees. Gingerly, he cradled Kasi's head in his arms. "Mother. Hear me! Listen to me!"
But she was dead.
With a howl, Arthur threw his head back and closed his eyes as the salty tears streamed rivulets down his face. He couldn't think. All that filled his head was the yawning chasm of his mother's loss. And his father's. He knew that his father could not have survived, particularly as he faced the first onslaught of hungry bandits. The tears intensified.
"Arthur? Arthur!" Arthur whipped his head around and saw a large man standing at the edge of the sea of bodies. A broadsword was slung over his back, and he was wearing a padded leather vest, tough looking breeches, and heavy leather boots. Arthur dimly gazed at the man's face, which would have looked fierce if it wasn't looking concerned and weary now.
"Un…Uncle Clifton?" The words came out empty, lifeless. Clifton, older brother of Kasi, nodded and extended a hand.
"Come here, my boy. I'm here to take you to safety," he called. "Come away from these bodies." Arthur shook his head, his tears still running freely.
"Mother. Father," he croaked. He bowed his head against her chest, and before long a hand fell on his shoulder.
"Arthur." Clifton's voice was stern. "Arthur, it pains me to see this too. But one must look forward. Come with me. I will shelter you. Don't you want to find the people who did this to your village? Don't you want to take revenge?" Arthur's sobbing gradually stilled. Yes, a voice inside his head whispered. Find the bandits. Find those responsible. Take revenge.
Arthur let his uncle gently pull him up. "Where did you come from, Uncle?" His voice was hoarse. "You're from Nomar. How did you know…?" Clifton lived in Nomar, a village close to Tshibtin, southeast of Uxkhal. Arthur stared up at his uncle's worried expression.
"Your father managed to get a message to me," Clifton said gently. "Probably sent a runner to the pigeon coop. Now come on. I have two horses ready. Come with me. We're going home."
"Home," Arthur mumbled, the exhaustion of the day's events finally crashing down around him. "Home."
One week later, Arthur was seated at the side of a long table, beside Clifton who sat at the head. They were in Nomar, Clifton's home village, and Clifton was the village elder. His house was furnished simply but showed subtle signs of his rank. They had just finished their morning meal and Arthur, for the first time since the bandits' attack, felt recovered enough to hold a conversation with his uncle about his future.
"Now then," Clifton pushed aside the platter of bread and cheese. "There are a few options for you, Arthur. One, you can choose to remain by my side and live here in Nomar for the rest of your life." Clifton laughed. "Though I doubt you will be satisfied by such a mundane life. Second," he continued. "You are trained in the art of swordsmanship, and I have seen you fight. Talent such as yours will be wasted if you choose option one. Therefore, you could join the army of a noble. You will start from the bottom of the ladder, but given your prowess, I wager you'll rise quite rapidly in rank. However," Clifton wagged a finger at Arthur. "Your fighting is talented, but raw. Mere strength does not win battles. If you wish to become a better warrior, then you will need to be further trained, and hone your skills. Option three. Not something I think you'd like, but you could always abandon life as a good citizen and join one of the many bandit camps around Calradia." He smiled widely to show his jest. Arthur smiled back.
"Uncle," he said. "You told me, a week ago, that I could find these bandits who had destroyed my home and family, and take revenge. That is the path I wish to take." Clifton's face hardened.
"I have received reports from a caravan that came two days earlier," he told Arthur, his face serious. "It seems after your bandits were done with Tshibtin, they moved on to your neighbour, Yalibre. Now, that seems highly coordinated to me. These bandits must have been working for a paid master. The reports from the caravan say that they were hired by the Kingdom of the Nords."
Arthur inhaled. "What? That's…no!" He felt shocked. He knew that the kingdom his village lay in, Swadia, was at war with the Nords. Often, villages like Tshibtin were involuntarily caught up in these wars when the enemies of their lieges raided or burned their homes. But he had never heard of a kingdom hiring a group – two groups – of bandits to raid a village. Usually, kingdoms themselves sought out bandits to eliminate them.
"Look." Clifton stood up and paced to a map of Calradia that covered the entire wall behind him. It was something distributed to every village elder, for economical purposes. The village elders were in charge of directing where stock went to be sold, and such a map could provide geographical information. Clifton rapped his knuckle against the spot indicating Tshibtin and Yalibre, then moved his finger up to the Nords' territories. "I've surmised, from studying this, the reason the bandits were hired. Tshibtin and Yalibre are at the very south of Swadia. The Nords are up north. For an army to penetrate this deeply into Swadia would be very dangerous. And of course, villages aren't that much of a priority when in war. Raiding them only serves as a provocation. So I would say they hired these bandits to raid along the south of Swadia, where the Nords can't get us."
Arthur lowered his fists below the table, out of sight, and clenched them so hard every drop of blood drained away. So the people of his village, his mother and father, his friends, had died as a mere provocation to his kingdom.
"The Nords will pay," he hissed through gritted teeth. Clifton turned and walked back to his seat, settling down with a weary sigh.
"My nephew," he said. "If you wish to take revenge against the Nords, then I will help you. But the only way to take revenge is to join an army, and rise up until you become a noble with your own army. That, or become a mercenary and gather your own army. Either way, you must have a force at your disposal and be adept at fighting yourself. You will need leadership and organisation skills, and also a group of trusted companions. You will need to make allies and connections with important men all around Calradia." Clifton levelled a stare at Arthur. "Are you willing to do this? If you are, then be aware that such a mission will surely take years, if not decades, of your life. And you will not be able to start this until you are fully trained as a swordsman, and while I will train you, such a task could take a few years. Are you ready to dedicate your life to this?"
Arthur was silent. His head flashed back to the scene when he'd stepped around the corner to the road. The bodies of people he'd known all his life, piled up, flung to the sides. Ghastly wounds inflicted on the most painful places. His mother, blood trickling out of her mouth. And his father, whose body he hadn't even been able to locate when he went back a few days ago.
Yes. Yes, he could dedicate his life to bringing vengeance upon the Nords. The massacre of his village had changed something in him. It had burned hatred into his heart.
Arthur looked up. "Yes, Uncle," he said emotionlessly. "I'm prepared." Clifton nodded and smiled.
"Then, Arthur, let your new life begin."
Hope you enjoyed that guys!