Author Topic: Askeir Aylomeiger  (Read 3048 times)

(tm)Zuk

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Askeir Aylomeiger
« on: August 19, 2009, 10:36:03 AM »
”No no no”!

Master Rignan, rumoured to be the best swordsman in the city of Marsember, in the realm of Cormyr, shook his head!

”Remember your stance, boy! The shield is heavy. Clumsy. Don't try to wave it around. Point in the ground, and then you move behind the shield. Thrust. You have a point on your sword. Use it. Don't swat flies!” The voice was harsh, as the criticism hailed down over the boy, and yet Rignan spend more time training Askeir, than he did the other recruits, recognising something, a talent that might bloom to become true ability in time. Again and again the drills was repeated, the hilt becoming as familiar in the boys hand as any of his body parts... Askeir was training to become a soldier, but Rignan would have him a master of the blade as well......

.............................................

The caravan had been attacked several times already, during the long trip from the Stormhorns to Suzail. After the orcs had overrun Arabel, the capital of Cormyr, the Forest Kingdom had become a perilous place to travel, with orcs running rampant, and bands of brigands being formed by desperate refugees.

These were hard times, and there was plenty of work for a young man as Askeir Aylomeiger. A soldier in the Steel Regents army, he'd been detached with his company to guard this caravan, carrying supplies to Suzail.

The gangs of orcs had hit them hard, but they had managed to keep the caravan intact, and fend of the attackers. The brigands had been worse.... they were human. Cormyrians. Refugees, desperate with hunger, ready to kill for a sack of grain. After they had defeated them, the captain had looked in the direction they came from, his expression grim, his mouth a drawn line.....

...........................................

They had found the remaining brigands early morning, and had hit them before they were proper awake. It had been slaughter, not battle. Neither women nor children had been spared. The corpses was being piled up for a pyre. Askeir had helped dragging corpses, his hands still red from the slaughter, his mind detached from his body, as if he was watching himself, and had played no part in what had happened. The old woman had been sitting crouching, rocking back and forth, when suddenly she raised her head, and pointed a skinny finger on Askeir: ”Never shall you know peace again, boy. You shall forever wander, always restless. Your bones shall rest far from your homeland, your name shall be forgotten and no children shall spring from your seed to take your name. You shall be dead and gone.. fore... ” Another soldier had impaled the crone on his sword, before she could finish the curse, but Askeir had felt it strike home already.....

..........................................

They were approaching the gates of Suzail, the Royal City lying in all it's splendour, roofs shining in the morning sun, even as the thick mist rolled in from the river, obscuring the view.....