Razen
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Prelude
The snow fields surrounding Bask were bitter. A blizzard swept across the landscape as the bloodwolves scattered. A lone man adorned in a sallet, breastplate, and chainmail trudged through the heavy snow. It must have reached up to the middle of his thighs. A teal cloak trailed his weighty actions, and a teal hood covered his helmet. With him, he had a bardiche, a polearm with a cleaver-like blade and two sockets that connected to the pole(one at the base of the blade and another at the top of the pole), and a kite shield. His assigned horse was long dead; its carcass buried deep under the snow.
A small village with an inn was nearby, perhaps five-hundred feet away. It was the village of Skalgrass and it would give the retired knight some assistance that he could not decline. The numerous wooden houses provided what they could for the survivor of the disaster, the destruction of Bask. Bask had been ruined for some weeks, but the people of Skalgrass still wanted to help the ex-knight, Sir Kresmir. Kresmir was one of the only survivors from the devastation, and the state of the city, his city, continued to haunt him.
Kresmir finally made his way into the village. The howling of bloodwolves still reverberating within his head. He thought to himself, What brought all of these bloodwolves to Bask? Was it the Bargeist or Bask's royal dogs? He gave up on the thought as he headed towards the lodging house with his sacks of spoils from his hunt. He finally met civilization since he had seen the fall of Bask.
The image sprung back to life within his mind. The Guardian Tower had been crumbled and scattered about the ground. One of the gigantic statues of the royal dog had been demolished, and holes made their way into nearly every rooftop. Debris littered nearly every set of stairs, and the area was now more of an obstacle course than a city. The arches of the city were sliced in half. Many of the streets abruptly came to a halt as the stone gave way, and there were corpses where the streets weren't turned into deathtraps. It seemed that the frightened citizens of Bask hid inside the city for protection, and that was their demise.
The thought could never escape Kresmir. For those of Skalgrass who asked, he would recant the imagery, but he would not do so in the jubilant tone of a mystified bard. No, Kresmir sounded like a man, nay a soldier, who was frightened for his life by the visions set before him. After he finished the first time, no one else had ever asked him again because no one wanted to hear the grim tale over again.
It remained that way for quite some time. Kresmir was the tired, worn tramp of the town that was given food anonymously. No one wanted to see a good man die needlessly, but he did not seem interested in moving on. He lived a life of regret, and its signs were blatant. He was turned distant, reserved, and cold, but he had once been an optimistic knight serving under the king of Bask. His distance was intentional, and many of the villagers of Skalgrass did not know that Kresmir initially found their assistance to be torture as it allowed for his mental anguish to persist.
As the years passed by, Kresmir eased up on himself. Some of the villagers of Skalgrass actually began to talk with him. Kresmir had come to find that Skalgrass was one of the few communities in which the humans held no hostility to the snow elves of the Northlands. Kresmir had his own reservations about that, but he came to let them subside as he partook in the community. Kresmir even came to find out that Skalgrass was a trade center between the Ice Elves' cities and Bask due to its acceptance. His activity led him to become friends with a number of the citizens, snow elves and humans alike.
It had been at least seven years since Kresmir had first been to Skalgrass by the time of his return from a particular hunt. He had seen darkness sweep over the lands and the rise of Wargoth in this time as had the rest of Skalgrass. Kresmir was in his early thirties now. The ruins of Bask remained within his mind, but he had found new meaning in life: atonement. He could only forgive his failure if he redeemed himself, and that idea motivated him to do as much for Skalgrass as he could.
He returned from a hunt. One of the villagers come up to him. It was a snow elf, Vilden, who had become good friends with Kresmir after some time. He was a good fellow, and he meant well. Vilden actually had been the first to suggest to Kresmir himself that he simply try to atone for his failure. Kresmir hadn't seen too many snow elves in Bask, but he could recall a few that he met who were there on business. Vilden asked, "How did the hunt go, Kresmir?"
"Oh, I got a few arctic wolves for meat and a frost mushroom for spice," Kresmir answered, "I would say that it was decently successful. Anything new happen in town while I was out?"
"There's been news of a new power in the region," Vilden stated, "I've heard that they are called the Rose. All that I know about them is that they're against magic and are quite brutal to mages. There's also been some rumors that they enslave and exterminate magical creatures. I would take the rumors with a grain of salt personally. I've never put much weight into gossip." Vilden wasn't the most sensitive on the matter. He was a craftsman like his father before him; Kresmir had heard that his family had been artisans even before they moved to Skalgrass.
"The Rose, you say?" Kresmir replied.
"Indeed," Vilden answered, "I've also heard about some resistances against the Rose by wind elves. I'm not too sure of what to make of that. I mean, personally, I've always considered wind elves to be closer to fairies than my kin. There might be some other resistances as well, but I've only heard about the wind elves who call themselves the Vind."
Kresmir pondered this; he did not recall ever seeing a wind elf nor had he ever heard of the Rose. He wasn't really sure what to expect out of either of them, but he had known that their eye and wing color were representative of their character and personality. Aside from that, he had heard that the Rose had the support of Alteon the Just who he had previously known to be well-liked even in Bask, so Kresmir felt that he would lean towards them. He figured that if Alteon believed in them, then they must be the better choice. Why would a just and benevolent ruler choose anything but the best choice?
Apparently whatever source Vilden had heard from was correct as soldiers of the Rose began to move into Skalgrass. One of the men was fully armored in platemail like Kresmir himself. "What is a fellow knight doing out here in a village like this?" He inquired more with a tone of surprise than derision. He then looked at the color of his cloak and hood. "Wait, you're from Bask?" He asked now with curiosity consuming him.
"I am indeed," Kresmir answered reluctantly, "Don't ask me about it. I don't want to relive it ever again."
The knight responded, "It's funny that you say that because I actually am here to help prevent any tragedies like that from ever occurring again." Kresmir looked up as though the Lords had saved him themselves. He had found meaning; he had found purpose.
< Message edited by Razen -- 4/29/2014 19:57:16 >
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