Interlude: The Archer

It was like hell on earth. Flames everywhere, people screaming as limbs stretched from the fire to drag them back to their demise, the smoldering corpses of so many of his schoolmates littering the roads, but that was all secondary to the humanoid figure cackling as he danced, his arms moving like he was the conductor of some sort of infernal orchestra.

William weaved between the flaming limbs that stretched for him, the heat searing against his skin as he ran frantically for the docks to make his escape to the mainland.

Arriving at the boat, he looked back upon the mainland expecting his father to be right behind him, but what he saw was far worse. He saw as his father lunged toward the dancing figure with his spear in hand, teeth grit tightly and clothes tattered. The figure stopped his dancing as the spear dug into his shoulder, and with all the seriousness of a man squishing a fly he plunged his arm up to the shoulder into Orrian's stomach, the flames dancing along his arm cauterizing the wound as the limb removed itself.

Looking on with horror, William Felethlal screamed and cried, begging for it all to be a bad dream. It was not. This was cold hard reality and he knew it. He denied it all, said it was just a bad dream brought on by a fever, but by the time they arrived at the mainland he had given up all hope in denying it. Orrian was dead. His home was gone. His life was meaningless now. As he was herded off of the boat among the other refugees, he saw something familiar. The large armored man helping the elderly off of the boats with the snowflake upon his chest-plate had been at his home a few months back, speaking with his father about something. Their conversation had been hushed and hurried, the urgency of it obvious to any who had seen it. Moving shakily, his wiry limbs aching from the burns and cuts he had received escaping the village, he walked towards the man.

Taking notice of his approach, the man raised a bushy eyebrow inquisitively at the youth before his eyes widened with recognition.

"You," William said, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and sorrow. "You knew my father. You knew this was going to happen." He fell to his knees, eyes trying to cry but finding no tears.

The large man picked him up in his arms, and carried him off to the village inn, whispering to him promises of explanation upon arrival.

Interlude: The Archer, end