Chapter II: Lester Winterbourne.
Lester was large of muscle and broad of face with pale skin and long white hair pouring down his face. He replaced his usual attire (boiled leather and hauberk) with; all in clad-black armour, silent leather boots, cloak, gauntlets with hidden blades, which he looted from an assassin the day before. A month before that, he was fighting alongside the Northern Nomads, a mercenary group which consists of elves, men even giants and skinchangers of nordling descent, until their few members of twelve horse and fifteen foot was massacred by some southern soldiers holding the banner of Gavrilyuk, an ancient House from the South. Many of the Northern Nomads fled and out of the 20 giants, thirteen ran though the soldiers, killing almost fifty of their two thousand foot, and twenty-five of their horse. It was a suicide mission but although seven survived and must have gathered with the other seven who fled.
Those southern bastards. If we had our usual members we could have smashed their army
Thought Lester angrily.
Lester walked along the broken road clutching his injured hand, and approached a sign declaring 'Giant's Fist' which was hanging from the wooden beam of the Inn. Inside the Inn, there was bottles of mulled wine and mead underneath the counter on the right side of the door. Lester was about to sit near fire when an old man appeared from nowhere "Would ye be a Northerner or a Southerner" Lester noticed the way the grey haired man with velvet robes, twisted his mouth at the word 'southerner'.
"I am, or was a sellsword who...", "Which side were you fighting?" interrupted the old man.
"T-the true nordling King, Waldemar Greycloak!" The old man was laughing then he smashed his cane down on the stone floor "Some would call that treason as the rightful king is Jon Blackwood" Why is he smirking? Is this a trap? "But I am only loyal to the Blackwoods as you're to coin, sellsword. But if you agree to my terms, I can get you some permanent work.
"What sort of terms do you suggest?"
"Absolute loyalty and I will protect your daughter and her secret"
"How do you know about my daughter!? And what secret?"
"I've been watching you for a while and I have tried protecting you and the secret that your daughter is a bastard but I care not for mediocre stuff like that or does the gods"
"Who are you to say what the gods want, old man?"
"I am Asmund, one of many Nephilim, godly children, and I could be considered a bastard, now come we have much to discuss"
He waved a finger at Lester and walked past the counter and revealed a hidden door behind the counter. As Lester followed behind, he felt as if he could trust this northerner which felt strange to him.
He was led into the secret room where a painted man holding Ice, Fire, Earth, Lightning, Earth and Blood graced the wooden walls and white polished stone floor.
"What is this?" questioned Lester suspiciously
"The elements of the gods scattered among the worlds" replied Asmund
"Even Blood? What do you mean worlds?" Lester thought he was being mocked
"This a jest, old man?"
"I jest not. You think this is the only realm? There are many created and ruled by gods but they gradually grew bored easily. So the only ones who care about the fates of these worlds are the bastards of gods, the Nephilim. Irony at its highest peak, mhm? And to answer your question, blood is an element where mortals can use the gift of Cryomancy, Pyromancer, Sorcerers and talents that can heal or harm such as the power to break bones (good for assassins). What do you desire?
"My wife, my daughter, the power to stop them from being in harms way"
"An honest sellsword, mhm? That is indeed strange. Well, I'll grant your wish but you'll have to absorb the six elements but the hard bit is yet to come"
"Anything for my family!"
The only person Bjorn of the Northern Nomads, who was most likely dead, but that was before his wife Lyra, was sent to some witches to be cured of some blood disease that manipulates the body into a frenzy of violence until the body dies. He sent his daughter Astrid off to live with Lyra's family, a knight's house, the Klausens. I don't know the fate of sweet Lyra or how tall Astrid has gotten. Asmund may be the person to protect my family, but trust is a hard thing to give a stranger.