Chapter I: The Discredited Descendant

Week 1, Day 1, Deep Dusk

-BASTARDS...BLACKENED, BILGERAT BASTARDS-

"...By Tog."

The billowing flames crackled under a pale moonlight, impartial to my suffering, as I gazed upon my father's estate, being reduced to ashes before my very eyes. What a horrid joke.

-FLAY THEM, COOK THEM ALIVE AND DINE ON THEIR FLESH-

I hadn't nearly a clue to my faintest thought of what may have caused this situation to deteriorate with such ferocity. A snowball effect, chain reactions, the whole ensemble. There were more than a thousand reasons that could hardly communicate the terrible spiral into death and destruction that occurred on this day.

-STRING THEM UP, STARVE THEM, DISEMBOWEL THEM-

I could hardly breathe. The pungent smoke was billowing into my face, even from the distance that I was at, upwind on a large hill resting over the small region. I had always warned my father of the tactical advantage that enemies would have up here, and yet ironically, in this moment, the beasts inside had no need for ground advantage.

-DOMESTICATE THEM, INBREED THEM, PARADE THEIR MENTALLY RETARDED OFFSPRING AROUND-

And all the while, wrathful thoughts filled my head, of what I would do to these beasts for this unspeakable offense.

It began to sicken my stomach to think that everyone I knew was burning in that raging inferno. It was almost unreal, as if this were happening to someone else that wasn't I. Surely, this was a bizarre and lucid dream, and any moment now I would wake up on the fine linen of my bed-

Fwoosh!

The collapse of one of the burning structures within the estate ripped me back to reality. This really was happening. And I was now without a hearth.

From below, within the fumes that festered within the hamlet, I could just barely make out the haphazard outlines of menacing figures, surely there to wreak more havoc than was already wrought upon the now-leveled grounds.

I deliberated quickly, my fears beginning to run high as I witnessed the silhouettes turn their ghastly, glowing, blood-red eyes in my general direction. With not a further incentive, I fled from the hamlet, turning my sights to the inviting green land yonder.

Week 1, Day 1, Night

After only the second hour past sunset did I finally slow my absconding to a crawl, huffing with fatigue.

"This body is surely not ready for such physical ardor." I mumbled to myself in betwixt heavy breaths. After only a few moments, my stamina recovered, if only half of what it was before, and I began viewing my surroundings with a wary caution.

At first glance, the woodland I found myself in seemed rather tame, tranquil even. It gave me no relief, however, to inadvertently notice the dreadful air the forest carried after only a few moments of idling.

This is no haven for rest, I thought to myself. I must keep moving.

And yet, the very prospect of traveling any longer was a loathsome one to my already-weary feet.

Hiss.

I perked up in alarm, my ears perceiving the sound of a lurking terror. 'Twas not even a moment that passed by when the lone warning was followed by a cacophony of terrifying noises, which erupted from my surroundings, indecipherable yet clear in intent. At sudden, I no longer felt the aching in my legs as my veins coursed with adrenaline befitting that of a terrified hare. Without further hesitation, I bolted, my mind focused purely on eluding the grasp of whatever monsters were lurking in that deceptive facade of greenery.

There seemed to be no rest for the wicked, or so I had assumed at this point in my time, my legs groaning with the cries of aching bones and flesh, their lower extremities feeling numb. In great pain, I came to a halt, lowering myself slowly to the grass beneath my feet. Yet I was proven to have no more control over my joints as my knees suddenly buckled forward, sending me awkwardly spinning to the ground.

"Oomph!"

Tis a fortunate break, however, as though I was surely vulnerable and weak, I had found myself at a dirt road, a crooked wooden sign directly across from me.

Greylin Trail

"Finally, civilization…" I mumbled, relieved to have rid myself of the wild landscape from before. As I laid there, my body aching in pain, I casually swept my eyes up and down the road. My eyes felt glued to the path leading to my left…something had caught my focus-

"Gah!"

I felt a sudden premonition encapsulate my mind, sending forth hazy images.

Further down the road-

Bandits, demanding- money?

I speak, hear no words-

A searing burn in my stomach- Stabbed?!

Lying on the ground, dying-

What is this madness?! I thought, utterly disturbed by these grotesque pictures.

Then, as abruptly as it had arrived, the revelations disappeared from my head, though not from my memory.

"What in the devil was that?!" I muttered to myself, trying to make sense of those dashes of foreboding instances…

Lifting my face up from my hands, I craned my head upwards, directing my eyes down the road once more. Upon further inspection, there was a noticeable bend after a considerable walk, the rest of the trail blocked off from my vision.

"The deviants must be lying in wait for a passerby…"

Though the premonition was vague and fragmented, I found there to be little reason for such a disclosure of the mind to be of false pretense.

I should find an alternate proceeding, I thought to myself. Or should I?

After all, it was common knowledge that brigands usually took up stay beside the roads that led to and from towns and municipalities rather than simple villages, as there was often more reward to plunder from the average traveler.

"Maybe I could navigate around the bend…"

That would be difficult, especially since I had no possible sense as to where the bandits were laying in wait. However, it briefly occurred to me how likely it was that something unpleasant would occur the longer I stood there contemplating what plan to enact.

"The time is nigh, it seems."

Trekking across the path, I invited myself into the dense shrubbery covering the road, thus sealing my mysterious fate.

"Am I wading through a jungle?" I muttered to myself, feeling utterly loathsome in having to trouble someone of my status with such clumsy traveling. Of course, I was fully aware of my haughty nature, almost inevitable after being raised in nobility. In all honesty, I was looking for the opportunity to immerse myself in the practice and quotidian customs of the common folk. Nonetheless, I would be deceiving myself if I did not confess that I was rather indignant at the origin of this supposed 'training'.

Aside from that, I was almost dissuaded by how invariably fatigued and weak my body became over such a short amount of time. Not ten minutes into the traveling and already I was covered in slight lacerations, bruising on the soles of the feet, and other small wounds that made my every step just a bit more of a hellish venture.

Notwithstanding this egregious trip, it finally seemed that I had evaded the dreadful encounter, as I could clearly view fragmented bits of the dirt road despite the dense forestry-

Crack.

I froze, my nerves immediately put on edge. I slowly shifted my gaze downwards towards the culprit of the sound. Judging from the bits of jagged, splintered wood, it seemed that I had stepped on a stick.

"Of all the things…"

Of every occurrence to ever slight my fortune, this was the ultimate irony that stood out like a sore thumb.

"Oy, whu've we goht 'ere?"

Oh, hell. I thought to myself in dread.

"If you wanna keep yah stahf, we sah-gest you turn yer arse 'terds us."

I opted to oblige his request, seeing as I valued my life, as it was. Gradually, I turned myself to the left, coming face to face with a pair of ragged-looking brigands, wearing the stereotypical garments of an individual that would rob wayfarers on the side of a trail. Dark-skinned to a certain extent, as was common among the populace in this particular region, though it was more so a tint of the flesh than a full drop in color.

The bandit to my right raised the knife in his hands, which appeared to be in subpar condition. The knife was somewhat jagged and somehow dull at the same time, there appeared to be no handguard, and the blade looked more than just a little rusty. Truth be told, it looked like this brute had little interest in maintenance of his weaponry, a clear sign of low intellect, irresponsibility, naïveté, or an awful combination of the three.

"Roight, so listen ahp, ya fancy grennah. Ahm gunna be filchin' ya stuff, so go 'ead and hand it ova' whoile ya still 'ave ya 'ands."

Listening to this wretched lout speak with such abhorrent diction was almost insufferable, yet my desire to not die in a pathetic manner was more impressionable on the mind.

"Very well." I seethed, the only words I could manage without sounding condescending. I meticulously reached into my pocket and pulled out the bag of gold that was my wallet and was about to hand it over when a revelation passed my mind.

From what my premonition at the road had revealed, it was somewhat apparent that this encounter could definitely turn for the worse. I had no wish to end up with a knife in my gut, and it was probable that this mugging would end just like that. After all, what reason did these bandits have not to slay me where I stand? I could very well report them to-

"Oy! We 'aven't got all fuckin' day 'eah! 'And it ovah already!"

Silence, you ignoble degenerate! I so desperately wanted to bark, but I held my tongue, as that would surely lead to my demise.

Blast it all, I thought. Better to try my luck against these barbarians than to give up this opportunity…

As I pulled out the bag of coin and began presenting it by stretching my hand outwards, I feigned clumsiness and dropped the bag.

"Ah, damn it all. My folly, sirs."

I was quite impressed with the outcome of my theatrical capability, judging by the way the bandit holding the blade to my face shook his head, chuckling.

"Fuckin' A. Ya got buttah fingahs or sum'in, ya git?"

I once more suppressed my wrath at that ignorant statement, seething under the surface.

Just you wait, you grungy basterd.

The brigand sheathed his knife, leaning over to grab the bag off of the ground.

In a sudden moment, I swiftly moved my right hand behind me, into my coat, and grabbed the handle of the knife from the scabbard tucked into my belt.

The hiss of metal against metal rang out, and the bandit jerked his head up. I seized the opportunity, flipping the knife and thrusting it upwards. The sound of ripping flesh resounded through the woods as the blade of my knife tore through the underside of his jaw.

The bandit's eyes widened in shock, gurgling. I could see the blade of the knife protrude from inside of his mouth.

I was immediately horrified by what I had just done, the fantasy of it's supposed badassery no longer holding its semblance in my mind. I tried to pull the knife out, but it was rigidly stuck in his flesh. His friend stood there in shock, watching me jerk the knife around, causing the poor bastard on the end of my blade to shake around, his legs quivering as strength began to leave his body.

After only a moment, his face contorted in rage, and he screamed, unsheathing his own knife and charging at me with panicked ire. I myself panicked and let go of the knife in my hand, shoving the stabbed bandit backwards, leaving him to claw at the handle of the blade protruding out from under his chin as he fell backwards, jerking around on the ground.

Meanwhile, the ruffian that had charged began to swing wildly at me, his blade making several cuts along my arms as I raised them in defense. I yelled in pain as the cuts stung me, and tripped over my own feet as my heel had gotten caught on a rock embedded in the ground.

I impacted into the dirt below, my arms still raised above me. The bandit sprang on top of me, thrusting the knife downwards towards the center of my chest. I felt his weight bear down upon me quickly as my arms locked with his. After having briefly closed my eyes in panic, they opened to reveal the point of the blade slowly edging towards my chest as the bandit put on pressure, using his two hands to push down on the pommel.

"Ya gonna pay fah that, ya piece of shite!"

"Nay, fiend! Nay!"

I cried in desperation and anger, outraged by this clash, which I was seeming to lose at quick pace as I watched helplessly as the knife inched closer and closer to my sternum.

I gazed up at the bandit's eyes, which glared at me in feral rage, his desire to kill me fueled by his adrenaline. I closed my eyes in terror, not wanting to see the knife pierce my skin, the blood pour out of my chest, the terrible expression of the ruffian looming over me, reminiscent of the Reaper himself.

Is this it? Does my story end here?!