Sandra's Story- Chapter 1
Sandra walked down a path bathed in moonlight, not entirely sure where she was headed or what she was going to do, but she walked on regardless. She let out a sigh, while listening to the night wolves howl their mournful cry at the moon above, and she felt a strange sense of calm about the situation she was mixed into. As Sandra pondered deeper, she realized that it wasn't quite calm that she felt, but a surreal detachment. She sighed again and referred to a map received not too long ago. When Sandra finally pulled it out of her pack, she stared at it with a dumbfounded look. The Valley of Harkenwold lay sprawled out in front of her, represented in finely inked lines. It finally occurred to Sandra that she was free. Free to go wherever she wanted for once in her 20 and 4 years life, and was completely frozen with indecision. Sandra shook herself out of her stupor and looked at the map with a new resolve.
'I can go anywhere' Sandra thought to herself 'But I know where I have to go' With this thought in mind, she placed the map back in her pack and set out on the worn path once again with the town of Albridge set firmly in her mind's eye. 'Yes' Sandra thought again 'I have to make things right'
As she walked, Sandra reflected on the circumstances that brought her to where she stood now. With her mind turned towards the past, Sandra walked, breathing in her freedom, mind wrapped up in things lost.
Nearly 20 years earlier, in the sleepy farming village of Rentervale, the sun began to sink, lighting up the sky in a brilliant red hue, characteristic of the autumn season. The farmers of the collective farms placed their tools back in barns and sheds, and proceeded to the only tavern for miles around to share stories and relax after the backbreaking work of honest farmers.
At one table in particular, three villagers had gathered and spoke of tales from beyond the Silver-rush river, the border of the Rentervale hamlets. A craftsman sat down carrying with him 4 tankards of the Tavern's finest.
One of the villagers, with a nod and a grin that could barely be perceived under his massive moustache, takes a long drink. He continued speaking after that swig of ale. "Now, I tell ya', the villages to the south aren't farin' much better than us. Hodgins' boy came back from Scarlet Grove two days south of here with news that their farms were late along in development as well."
"Bad news all around, I'm afraid. But you mustn't worry, Jones. We are good men of Pelor, hard working men of Pelor, and he'll see us through this time, as he always has." Claimed the older gentlemen after listening to Jones' tale and taking a swallow of ale.
The third villager was the one to speak next, as he brushed back his long dark hair away from his face. "There you go again, Alain. I'm telling you, the Gods have no interest in the common folk. It's the clerics and the paladins who received the God's 'holy love'." He emphasized the holy love comment with a grand sweep of the hand. "And they have no interest in the working man."
Alain looked as though he was about to argue this point when the final villager, with red hair tied back in a workman's knot spoke up "Alain, and Jenkins, quit your bickering. We don't want to spend all of our tavern time on pointless debate, now do we? It doesn't matter how we will get through this winter, but rest assured we will, as we always have. It's the Rentervale way." Alain nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and the redheaded villager continued. "Now, I have some news that is a bit more unsettling than seasonal difficulties. The settlement of the Granite Way has completely ceased communication."
The villager named Jones let out short bark of a laugh, his moustache twitching as he did so. "The Granite boys were fools to even set up that far north, and in the Obsidian Scar Mountains to boot. I never expected them to last, the damn fools. And who really did, eh Mackal?" He laughed once more, expecting the group to join in, but he found both Alain and Jenkins looking into their drink with a serious expression plastered on their face. His laughter cut out immediately.
The redhead named Mackal looked Jones directly in the eye and spoke in a sombre tone, "You know as well as I that they made it through a winter and would never just cut out like that. There would be refugees, a message, something. As it stands, this is news for serious consideration, eh Jones?" He uttered that last question with a sort of dark humour. Jones looked very focused on the tankard in front of him. The night continued after they finished their alcohol, and entered a more jovial mood, but the dark cloud yet hung over the crowd, like a thunderhead just waiting for the right moment to storm.
Mackal stepped into the entryway to his house before sighing and hanging his cloak up on the hook behind him. The talk throughout the night was wearing on him, and the looming threats of famine, and something worse from the northern mountains pressed heavily on his back. He stepped out of his boots and into the main room of his residence and glanced around. The fireplace in the back of the room burned dimly, more ember than flame at this point, and the place was quiet, save for the occasional pop emanating from the fire. He stepped quietly now, opening the door to his daughter's room and staring at the sleeping form with a sort of depressed pride. His four year old girl was growing up so fast. She was already speaking fluently, as much as any hyper curious 4 year old would. Leaning on the doorway, he wondered about how the coming months would affect her innocent mind and if he would ever be able to protect her from it all. He closed the door as quietly as it was opened and moved over to his own room where his wife slept silently.
Slipping into bed, Mackal's wife stirred and asked "Did you have a good time at the pub?"
Mackal sighed before responding. "I suppose so. Times are looking tough lately, though. I'm not sure what we are to do..." He trailed off.
Mackal's wife, Sarah, sat up, and looked him in the eye. "You will always get us through this, Mac." She smiled slightly and said. "You always do."
Mackal looked at his love, marvelling at the ability her simple smile had in calming his emotions and reassuring him during the darkest of times. Pulling her close to him, he said, with a content smile. "We will get through this." With that, the couple drifted into a deep slumber.
The next morning was cold and misty, the seasonal frost hadn't struck yet, but you could feel winter waiting, like a cobra poised to strike. Mackal woke with a shiver as he stepped out of the bed. Something felt off about the morning. Birds weren't sounding their calls out in the treetops, and the wind hardly whispered. The air felt heavy and stagnant and carried the sharp bite of the nearing frost. Mackal shook his dark feelings off and grabbed his heavy cloak from the chest. Today was going to be a cold one. He stepped out of his bedroom and opened the door to his daughter's room.
"Sandra?" he spoke softly into the room "Would you like to go collect some wood with Daddy?"
The little girl threw back her covers and squealed in delight. "Yes! Can we go to Eladrin Woods, Daddy?"
Chuckling slightly to himself, Mackal replied "Of course, sweetie. We will go the long way if you wish."
Sandra gave a eager nod and rushed off to put her boots on and grab her little walking stick, just like Daddy's. Mackal smiled and followed his hyper child. The growing unease he felt in the air and in the pit of his chest didn't seem to affect the innocent girl. Mackal thanked the Gods for that mercy. It was only right that she is able to be a child for now.
The pair left the house after saying farewell to Sarah and promising to be back home before midday. Once they left the path, and began cutting directly through the woods, Mackay began pointing out things in the forest to his young daughter. The plants that would hurt her, and sting her, and the plants that would make the pain go away.
"You see this one, dear?" Mackay said, stopping and picking up a vine "This is Oniblossom. The seeds will help soothe any aches or cuts you may have, if you crush them. In fact, this is the first ingredient most alchemists put in healing potions."
"This helps owies?" Sandra asked, her eyes wide.
"Yes, this will help your owies." Mackal responded, ruffling Sandra's red hair.
Sandra grabbed her tiny knife for cutting cords and vines, one that Mackal had given her when she turned four, and cut the vine off, handing it to her father. "There!" she stated proudly "Now if Mommy has an owie, we can use this!"
Mackal smiled and took the vine from his daughter. "But you see, girl, the vine hasn't grown its seeds yet. You need to be patient until it blooms. Then you can use it to help owies."
Sandra furrowed her brow, thinking about what she was just told. "But now what do we do when we have an owie?"
Mackal kneeled in front of his child, while reaching into one of the many pockets of his cloak. "That is why, my dear..." ,he pulled out a vial filled with dark red seeds, "...you always have to be prepared."
"Yay! Daddy's smart! Now we can always help owies!" Sandra exclaimed, dancing around gleefully.
They resumed their trek walking through the mists, which seemed to be clearing as the day drew on. Mackal guessed it to be around 10 o' clock, by woodsman reckoning. As Sandra weaved back and forth along the rarely used hunter's trail, Mackal noticed she wasn't wearing her cloak.
"Sandra!" Mackal scolded. "What did I tell you about leaving the house without your jacket?"
"But I don't feel cold, Daddy!" Sandra protested, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a particular way that only a pouting 4 year old can manage.
Mackal sighed, and had to admit that she was right. In Sandra's short life, she has never seemed to get cold. It was last winter when the two of them were walking through a flash blizzard while trying to get back home, when Mackal noticed that Sandra, despite all the freezing rain pelting her face and clothes, was warm to the touch. Fearing a fever, the plague, or worse, they hurried home, only to find that her excess body heat had dissipated the minute they entered their home. Mackal admitted defeat, and huffed, feigning a harsh tone. "Fine, girl, but if you catch a cold, don't be expecting me to cook you up chicken soup!"
Sandra giggled and said. "You are so silly, Daddy!"
Mackal chuckled a bit to himself as well. For a four year old girl, Sandra picked up well on the nuances of human behaviour. 'That girl is going to do well in life' Mackal thought to himself, and with a new sense of resolve he added. 'And dammit, I'm going to make sure she gets a good life, no matter what horror stories I hear.'
The father and daughter collected the wood from the Eladrin Woods and began to head home. Sandra had named the forest that Mackal had been retrieving wood from, and called it the Eladrin Woods because she was fascinated with the other races, especially the mystical and elusive Eladrin. A mindset like this was rare coming out of a human dominated small farming town, but Sandra was odd in so many ways. Mackal enjoyed being surprised by his daughter, and she always was finding new ways to surprise him. He was immensely proud of his little girl, and it would take one of the Gods themselves to take her away from him.
They returned to the house midday, as promised, with enough wood to warm the house for days. Days that were looking to be cold ones indeed. After eating lunch as a family, Mackal and Sarah decided that they would take a trip down to the village to see the bard that was rumoured to have stopped in town. This time, Sarah made sure that her daughter was wearing her cloak, because enchanted or no, she was still a mother and will thus worry like one. So the cloak went on. After that little disagreement was solved with the 'Mother's stare', the trio headed down the gently declining road that lead to the village. As they neared the collection of worksman shops and inns that marked the center of Rentervale, the feeling in Mackal's gut resurfaced. The quiet of the morning thus far was broken by a cry and a clash of steel. The village was under attack!
Mackal's heart was beating faster than it ever had before as he rushed into a nearby alley, the gap between the hunter shop and the leatherworkers, pushing his wife and child ahead of him. Once they found a alcove not visible from the street, he guided the two most important women in his life into it and looked back towards the road, a worried look in his eye.
"You two need to stay here. Sarah, stay safe and protect Sandra. You two are all I have." Mackal said, with a hurried tone as he gave each a kiss on the forehead.
Sarah protested. "But what about you? What are you going to do?"
"I can find out what is going on. Diffuse the situation. All those years at the Kings side will not be for nothing, and I'm going to do everything I can to protect you two."
Sandra looked around, confused. She looked up to her father, her eyes wide with fear. "Don't go for long, Daddy!"
Mackal knelt in front of his daughter and gave her a smile "I won't, girl. Now you be strong for Daddy, okay child? And here..." Mackal rifled around in his pockets "...take this. For any owies you or Mommy may have." He handed her a vial full of Oniblossom seeds.
"But what about your seeds, Daddy!" Sandra protested. "How are you gonna fix your owies?"
Mackal patted his cloak twice and simply said. "I'm always prepared. Remember child?" He gave Sandra one last kiss on her forehead, and kissed Sarah again before turning back towards the street. As Sandra watched her Father go, she was filled with a great sadness, but before it gripped her completely she whispered quietly to herself.
"I will be strong for Daddy..."
Mackal stepped out onto the street and immediately began walking towards the sounds, which had long since stopped being sounds of battle. Now they were simply moans, of sadness and pain. Mackal was unsure as to whether this was good or bad news. Mackal quickened his pace, and as he rounded the bend, the full scene came into view.
The villagers who lived in the main town center and the immediate outlying houses were gathered here, nearly 40 people, women and children too. They were gathered in front of several armed men, each had a dark steel ring insignia emblazoned on the front of their breastplates, and on their right shoulder pads. They stood in a semi circle, dividing the crowd from a single speaker, his malicious voice carried over the whimpers from the crowd.
"I will ask you again. Present any of your children that display abnormal abilities and we will be on our way. None of you will have to die." The man looked out at the crowd, his black eyes studying the masses with dark intent. The crowd remained silent, even the pained cries cut out for a moment. Just then, a man burst from the crowd screaming.
"YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY BETHANY!" He shouted, swinging his butchers knife haphazardly.
An armoured man drew a wicked black scimitar, and in a single, blurred flourish, severed the man's head from his body. The crowd recoiled, screaming at the loss of their countryman. The people clamoured, retreating to the perceived safety of the forest, when more steel clad men stepped out of the trees, wielding their dark scimitars menacingly. The screaming people stopped running and were herded back into the town center by the deadly looking mercenaries. Mackal looked on in horror at the scene that was unfolding in front of him, when suddenly, he was struck by a blow to the back of the head. Disoriented, with his head pounding, Mackal rose shakily and turned to look at his assailant. Two of the mercenaries stood behind him, the closest one holding a large axe and the one next to him brandishing a dark scimitar. The axe mercenary shoved Mackal towards the crowd, his only communication a wordless grunt. Mackal rubbed the back of his head, the aching headache not fading, and walked to the back of the crowd.
The leader of the mercenaries kicked the headless body with a boot, and said "You see now that we are not fooling around. You pathetic peasants will do as we ask, and we will move on from your village." The man studied the crowd more closely now. "I will ask the aforementioned 'Bethany' to step forward. Now."
A young, 13 year old looking girl, stepped out of the crowd, looking numb, tears reflecting off of her cheeks. She shook uncontrollably, as one of the mercenaries pulled her in front of the leader none too softly. Bethany looked up at the villainous man fearfully.
"Are you afraid of me, girl? You are right to do so. I am Nazin Redthorn, your master. I will soon control everything on this continent, and you are going to help me." He looked at the mercenary holding her in place. "Take her to the caravan, where the others are. I still have some more to do here." He finished, and looked over the crowd once more. "As you can see, I will not harm your child. They are vital to my cause. However I will not be afraid to harm you if you do not listen to what I ask."
Mackal avoided his sweeping gaze when a familiar cry broke the tense silence. A mercenary wearing a full plate helm dragged Sarah and Sandra up to Nazin.
"I found these two hiding in the alleys. And this one..." He shook Sandra, emphasizing his words. "May just be what we are looking for. She gave me a right burn, she did!"
Mackal gaped at his helpless wife and daughter. He controlled the urge to shout out, or rush forward and deck the man handling them, but only just managed to restrain himself. Nazin looked at Sandra, who was staring defiantly back.
"You, my girl, are special. I can feel it in the air around you. You will be very useful to me. Take her to the caravan!" Nazin whispered to the bold girl, shouting the last few words to the mercenary who brought the two in.
Mackal could restrain himself no longer and bolted out of the crowd, striking the man in the plate helmet in the slight chink in his neck armour. The man choked and was knocked to the ground, gasping for air, air that would not travel through his wounded neck. Mackal didn't go any further. A dark energy gripped his limbs, holding him in place and slowly constricting the air out of his lungs. Nazin walked up to Mackal, holding out a hand that glowed with the same dark energy.
"You are a strong man, peasant. Rare for such a backwards village." Nazin stared intently into Mackal's eyes, looking past the physical, seemingly reaching into the past with his gaze. "You were important once. But you gave that all up. For them, I suppose." He gestured at the women and child who looked on helplessly. "I despise those who give up power. But no matter. Death will not hurt you. The death of someone close to you, however, will."
Nazin smiled a horrible smile and drew a sickly black dagger, the perverse magic emanating from its dark metals. "Your daughter, perhaps..." He held the knife to Sandra's throat, who started to whimper, staring at her father with frightened eyes. Nazin whispered the next few words to Mackal alone. "She is simply a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. Do not fool yourself into thinking I will not kill her because I need her. Now, I will let you go. If you don't kill any more of my men, I will let you live. Because I am so generous... and because you amuse me."
The dark bindings holding Mackal in place released him, and he fell to the ground coughing. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he tried figured out a way out of this. All of his knowledge and experience could find none. He attempted to grasp the unimaginable horror of losing his daughter, but he knew that if she was alive, even in servitude, it would be better than her death. She deserved life. What she really deserved was a true childhood, but that reality was quickly slipping away. Mackal thought a moment longer. If she was taken by this Nazin, she would be kept alive, giving Mackal enough time to rally a rescue for Sandra and for all the children he took. Mackal stood up, grabbed his wife's hand and looked Nazin in the eye, with steely determination in his gaze.
"Fine, you bastard, but if you hurt her, I will personally make you experience the pain tenfold." Mackal growled at the man. Turning to his daughter, he then whispered. "Goodbye honey, your mother and I love you, and we will see each other again. Be strong for Daddy."
Sandra looked at her father with big fearful eyes. "I don't want to go with that man, Daddy!"
Mackal sighed, a sigh that held all the pain that has been heaped on him the past hour. "I'm so sorry, my child. You have to go with him, but it will be alright. Here, take this..." Mackal slid an chain off of his neck. At the end of it dangled a platinum ring. "It's the ring I received after I helped the king. Keep it and remember that we love you. Always remember this."
Mackal placed the chain over Sandra's neck. Sandra looked as though she was about to say something when Nazin walked over with a sneer plastered on his face.
"I hate to interrupt your tender moment, but my men and I are leaving your pitiful village." He grabbed Sandra's arm and pulled her along as he and his underlings began to file away from the village center. "I'll be taking your daughter. Do not worry, she will have a better life than whatever pathetic future she would have experienced in this backwater place."
As Sandra was being pulled away, she glanced back at her mother and father. She couldn't put together any words, and before she knew it, she rounded the bend and lost sight of them. Sandra looked down, tears starting to collect in her eyes, but she remembered what her father said 'Be strong Sandra. Remember we love you'. She blinked away the tears and looked at her captor, Nazin Redthorn. He did not glance down at her, and wore dark red robes covered with patches of plate armour. As the group of mercenaries herded her along, Sandra began to wonder if she would ever see her parents again. She realized that thinking of this made the tears return anew and she shoved the thought into the back of her mind, closing her eyes shut tight. She kept them shut until she was picked up and placed in the back of a heavy wooden caravan. A few other children sat in the wagon, some looking down, others sniffling to themselves. Sandra didn't look at them long. She didn't know it at that time, but the coming years would be the most difficult she ever had faced, and would become a scar on her history that remained with her forever. Her training had just begun.