Prelude
It was his 19th birthday and he was finally old enough; by the Flomen family tradition, to start his own house of Flomen in another town. However, Rodor being the youngest of five, and because of all of his father's brothers and sisters, and all of the family before them, almost all of the large cities were taken. The best that was left for Rodor was a small town named Solace, named for it's peaceful nature.
On the seventy-sixth day of the year, his family bid him farewell and He left with a caravan in tow, with builders to build his home, guards to guard him on the way there and when the house was established, servants to clean his home, and his share of the Flomen family treasure.
The trip from his home of Nethercarisa to Solace would be long and perilous. Armed with his great sword, and wearing armor of leather studded with iron. This was all strictly for show Rodor had almost no knowledge at all how to use a weapon.
It was a month into Rodor's journey; there was only one week of travel left. Jozam was a lean muscular man with scars decorating his body; he armored himself with a shirt of chain mail under a dark cloak. The bandit lord was aging; his once youthful appearance was gone, and had long left him now that he was nearing the age of 56. Jozan had been the head of countless raids on small villages and traveling caravans. This would be his greatest feat. Was in control of 80 bandits, the Flomen's men outnumbered him by twenty, but he hoped the battle would be in his favor. This would be his last great raid, the greatest one in all history. He had set up traps for every member of the Flomen family, he planned to kill and loot every single one. The plan had been in motion for years, and now it was to come. On the fifth hour of the ninty-eighth day of the year, bandits placed all over the realm would slay and sac every living Flomen. He did not expect to get away with this feat, and he did not expect to live to see any of the recovered booty. He knew it was luck that kept him alive for so many years, and now he would go out in such a fashion that he would never be forgotten. In exactly twenty minutes the entire Flomen family empire would be destroyed.
The day was drawing to a close, and in a short time they would stop and set up camp for the night. Rodor was idly toying a large crossbow when Rorge, the head of his guard stepped up. Smiling and saying "So you want to learn to use weapons after all." Rodor grinned and replied "I'm sure you are the man to teach me" Still smiling, Rorge began to explain how to load, cock, and fire a crossbow. "You see, first you fit the bolt in there, yeah, like that, now, pull that lever and-" Rorge stopped mid-sentence, gasped, dropping to his knees.
The camp was suddenly alive with the sounds of battle, arrows came sailing from the forest, slaying masses of people at a time. Rodor dove into a wagon and cocked the crossbow.
Sticking his head out Rodor looked down to the life-less corpse of Rorge, an arrow sticking out of his back. Rodor then looked to the woods that surrounded them and saw men clad in black rushing out from the trees, the sun glinting off of their naked steel.
Aiming carefully Rodor planted a bolt into the eye of one of the bandits, but more were coming. Arrows sailed through the air like rain, killing dozens by the second. What was left of his guard had formed a circle around Rodor's wagon defending it from the rushing bandits.
Rodor hastily reloaded and got another shot off, this time hitting in the leg, and one of his guard finished him off. Bandits now surrounded them, pushing. Some were already looting corpses of the dead. The bandits close to the guards started to parry, instead of attack, and the ones further away pulled out longbows and shot the guards.
There was no way the guards could defend against this, and after the first round of arrows half were dead. Cornered, and with no other choice one of the guards raised his sword and rushed at the enemy at an alarming rate, the others followed. Joined by their cry, Rodor unsheathed his great sword and left the wagon and joined the fight.
Seconds seemed like hours, Rodor fought, badly. He came to match blades with an old man whose face was scared badly. He swung his great sword wildly, trying to hit him. As the battle raged on he saw that his side was losing.
In the brief moment he took to survey the field the old man disarmed him, and knocked him down. Unarmed, Rodor saw a knife in the hand of a nearby corpse, he grabed it and trust it into the old man who was not expecting him to have a weapon again so quickly.
Rodor grabbed his crossbow and dove behind a turned-over wagon as he began to reload. He loaded the bolt, fitted it, and cocked it. He looked around the side of the cabin and saw that two bandits were left. They saw him and came rushing at him. Rodor fired, hitting one in the neck.
Havig no weapon, and no time to reload, he looked ahead and saw his greatsword in the dirt where it had landed when Rodor was disarmed. He made a wild dash for it was the bandit closed in. He slid in the dirt and grabbed it, the bandit was so close he didn't have time to stand up, on his knees and having a three foot longer reach than the bandit, he drew his greatsword and plunged it into the enemies gut.
Rodor was the only one left. There were a few badly wounded servants, builders, guards, and bandits who Rodor was forced to end their pain. He had a large cut in his side that he couldn't recall getting. Slowly, bloodstained and his great sword on his back, Rodor, the last surviving member of the Flomen family, slowly made his way to the town of Solace.
It was his 19th birthday and he was finally old enough; by the Flomen family tradition, to start his own house of Flomen in another town. However, Rodor being the youngest of five, and because of all of his father's brothers and sisters, and all of the family before them, almost all of the large cities were taken. The best that was left for Rodor was a small town named Solace, named for it's peaceful nature.
On the seventy-sixth day of the year, his family bid him farewell and He left with a caravan in tow, with builders to build his home, guards to guard him on the way there and when the house was established, servants to clean his home, and his share of the Flomen family treasure.
The trip from his home of Nethercarisa to Solace would be long and perilous. Armed with his great sword, and wearing armor of leather studded with iron. This was all strictly for show Rodor had almost no knowledge at all how to use a weapon.
It was a month into Rodor's journey; there was only one week of travel left. Jozam was a lean muscular man with scars decorating his body; he armored himself with a shirt of chain mail under a dark cloak. The bandit lord was aging; his once youthful appearance was gone, and had long left him now that he was nearing the age of 56. Jozan had been the head of countless raids on small villages and traveling caravans. This would be his greatest feat. Was in control of 80 bandits, the Flomen's men outnumbered him by twenty, but he hoped the battle would be in his favor. This would be his last great raid, the greatest one in all history. He had set up traps for every member of the Flomen family, he planned to kill and loot every single one. The plan had been in motion for years, and now it was to come. On the fifth hour of the ninty-eighth day of the year, bandits placed all over the realm would slay and sac every living Flomen. He did not expect to get away with this feat, and he did not expect to live to see any of the recovered booty. He knew it was luck that kept him alive for so many years, and now he would go out in such a fashion that he would never be forgotten. In exactly twenty minutes the entire Flomen family empire would be destroyed.
The day was drawing to a close, and in a short time they would stop and set up camp for the night. Rodor was idly toying a large crossbow when Rorge, the head of his guard stepped up. Smiling and saying "So you want to learn to use weapons after all." Rodor grinned and replied "I'm sure you are the man to teach me" Still smiling, Rorge began to explain how to load, cock, and fire a crossbow. "You see, first you fit the bolt in there, yeah, like that, now, pull that lever and-" Rorge stopped mid-sentence, gasped, dropping to his knees.
The camp was suddenly alive with the sounds of battle, arrows came sailing from the forest, slaying masses of people at a time. Rodor dove into a wagon and cocked the crossbow.
Sticking his head out Rodor looked down to the life-less corpse of Rorge, an arrow sticking out of his back. Rodor then looked to the woods that surrounded them and saw men clad in black rushing out from the trees, the sun glinting off of their naked steel.
Aiming carefully Rodor planted a bolt into the eye of one of the bandits, but more were coming. Arrows sailed through the air like rain, killing dozens by the second. What was left of his guard had formed a circle around Rodor's wagon defending it from the rushing bandits.
Rodor hastily reloaded and got another shot off, this time hitting in the leg, and one of his guard finished him off. Bandits now surrounded them, pushing. Some were already looting corpses of the dead. The bandits close to the guards started to parry, instead of attack, and the ones further away pulled out longbows and shot the guards.
There was no way the guards could defend against this, and after the first round of arrows half were dead. Cornered, and with no other choice one of the guards raised his sword and rushed at the enemy at an alarming rate, the others followed. Joined by their cry, Rodor unsheathed his great sword and left the wagon and joined the fight.
Seconds seemed like hours, Rodor fought, badly. He came to match blades with an old man whose face was scared badly. He swung his great sword wildly, trying to hit him. As the battle raged on he saw that his side was losing.
In the brief moment he took to survey the field the old man disarmed him, and knocked him down. Unarmed, Rodor saw a knife in the hand of a nearby corpse, he grabed it and trust it into the old man who was not expecting him to have a weapon again so quickly.
Rodor grabbed his crossbow and dove behind a turned-over wagon as he began to reload. He loaded the bolt, fitted it, and cocked it. He looked around the side of the cabin and saw that two bandits were left. They saw him and came rushing at him. Rodor fired, hitting one in the neck.
Havig no weapon, and no time to reload, he looked ahead and saw his greatsword in the dirt where it had landed when Rodor was disarmed. He made a wild dash for it was the bandit closed in. He slid in the dirt and grabbed it, the bandit was so close he didn't have time to stand up, on his knees and having a three foot longer reach than the bandit, he drew his greatsword and plunged it into the enemies gut.
Rodor was the only one left. There were a few badly wounded servants, builders, guards, and bandits who Rodor was forced to end their pain. He had a large cut in his side that he couldn't recall getting. Slowly, bloodstained and his great sword on his back, Rodor, the last surviving member of the Flomen family, slowly made his way to the town of Solace.