As my father would have wished
Posted: Tue Apr 10, 2007 7:19 pm
His large frame was wracked by the sobs he could not stop. He looked again into the flames that marked the funeral pyre his father's body was placed lovingly in. The orange glow reflected and danced in his bright blue eyes as the tears freely flowed down his dirt smeared cheeks. His dark hair in disarray hung about the tops of his shoulders and gently swayed in the steady breeze that blew along the valley this dusky evening. That same breeze blew the smoke from the pyre into the skies and met within the larger smoke bellowing from his home for the last twenty years. He glanced past his fathers remains to see his farm house ablaze as well. The thought of it all too much, as fresh tears were brought forth anew.
He stood up then, the image if it all killing a part of him, adding to his rage and fueling a fire of its own deep within. Standing easily half a foot over six feet, his deep voice rumbling with an oath to the gods.
"I'll kill them all.......I swear it! Never will their kind be safe while I walk this realm!" He bellowed to the smoke and fire. His gaze reaching up to the first stars to peek out of the darkness.
"Do you hear me! I swear to the Gods!" His hands raised along his sides as he stared into the heavens. A part of him wondering what gods could have ever let this happen. If they even heard his pleas.
That thought turned his eyes back to the present. He lowered his arms with a quick movement to find the blade at his side. It's tip buried in the dirt next to him. He took the blade and smacked the flat of it onto the side of his boot, dislodging the small tuff of grass stuck to it. He sheathed his father’s sword in one quick motion and began to look about for anything worth salvaging. The movement jarring his wounded arm, but the pain he felt was not the gash along his muscular bicep. There was no bandage to subside the true agony he felt.
He found first the bow given to him by his brave father. Its length cracked and splintered. He held the weapon before him and took notice of its uselessness. At least he was able to lay low the Orc with it, before it was destroyed. That same orc, dead, was not a pace away. Its skull cracked and disfigured by the mighty blow he dealt it. He had killed two of its companions, both with well placed arrows, before this one had charged him. If he had been a true warrior, one of the warriors from his fathers stories, he might have been quick enough to draw his dagger before it made it too him. But alas, he was not that skilled and had to settle with defending himself by wielding it like a club. His aim had been true and dropped the orc at his feet. Unfortunately its companion was right in line behind it.
His stature was often deceiving, for he displayed a remarkable grace when the need arises. That same agility saved him at that moment, for he had been able to side step the felling blow, brought forth from the second charging tusker. The creatures axe had whistled by him, but not without gouging a long line along his arm. The momentum of the overbalanced swing sent the attacking beast into the young man and both had tumbled to the ground in a heap.
Unfortunately the orc was able to stay on top of the pile. Its large axe useless in such a position, it had discarded it, quickly groping about along the humans throat and had found a firm grip there. The orc had relished in its victory then. Laughing gleefully as it squeezed tightly, watching the panic in its victims eyes.
The young man saw his end then, saw it in those bloodshot eyes and smelly breath that escaped from between those upward pointing canines. But this boy was made of more stuff than his attacker new. His mother had been an Illuskan. Not just any though, but of the tribes of the north. Uthgardts lineage was rooted in his veins and he would fail to yield. He had found an inner strength at that moment.
He was able to grasp the dagger sheathed on his belt, and with that, able to jab into the stomach of this large behemoth. It had yelped in surprise. Jumping up and to the side to get away from the sting of that blade. As the weight came off of him slightly he had acted quickly. His first thought was to roll away, but some instinct within him urged the lad to turn with his attacker. He rolled with the orc brandishing and adding weight to his initial blow. The sharpened knife slide along the abdomen of his assailant. Opening itself up further in its struggle to get away.
With the orc down and away he scrambled to his feet and looked about for further attacks. He scanned the area from side to side and found nothing but the ransacked and burnt out building before him. Running towards this with his fathers name on lips, parched from fright. The poor fellow stumbled on something soft and almost lost his footing. There in the dirt lay what was left of his brave father. He had died defending his home till the last. Sword still in hand.
It was a death any Dalesman, such as his father was, could have been proud of. Defending the home and family he had forged for himself in the Marches. In his travels during an unbridled youth, he had made his way here. Had fallen in love with a local woman and stayed to create a home cherished and loved.
He had taken to the land so much that even after his wife’s death some fifteen years ago, still chose to stay and raise his only son there. He brought the boy up on the outskirts of civilization. Taught him how to hunt and how to survive on the land. He spoke to him in his mother language. To honor her memory and her gift of life.
He passed all his knowledge to his son through a firm guiding hand and stories of old. He told him all the tales he could remember of his homeland. Of the Dales, and great Elvin forests there. Of the fantastic warriors and wise old sages of this place. The boy had always listened to them with rapt attention. Especially the tales that spoke of the greatest of the Elvin realms, and those knights that are still there, defending its ruins.
It was these memories that boy, grown to manhood, remembered now. He could hear those guiding tales in the voice of his father as he gathered what he could salvage. As he skinned and prepared the dear he had brought back from his hunting trip. The same trip that had taken him away from his home when those wretched orcs had arrived. He had returned from it carrying this dear to find a small group of orcs still picking it's way through the remnants of all he and his father had owned.
It had been the brave instinct that guided his hand then. Dropping that doe from his shoulders and quickly drawing the well crafted bow to take aim on the first orc he saw. It was that same instinct, now, that allowed him to stumble through his home, picking up and gathering what he could.
The boy filled his pack with as much meat from the deer possible, along with a portion of its skin. He would have to treat it on the road as he could for there was always a need for more leather along long journeys.
After the pyre burnt itself out, he thought to himself on where he would go and what to do. He gathered what he could of his father’s ashes and twas then he could hear again his father’s words about the Dales. He pulled the pouch taught when it was full and stood to look one last time about. He looked pointedly around noting all he saw. For he would always remember the image before him. He would carry it along the road that was decided he would take.
"Father.....I will bring you back to your beloved home. I will travel to the south and see you safely at rest there. I will see that you give back to the land, that your ashes will be buried among the fields of your homeland, so that they might give your strength to the people there." He called out tears flowing again, but this time with a look of determination clenched within his jaw.
"I am Belnor...named for my father the Tallstag." He cried out to the woods, not knowing who might hear, and not caring. "I will do as my father would have wished...and bring him home! And woe to those that might stand before me, be they orc or man alike!"
With that last cry he took his first step to the south. The echoes of his heart spoken oath still ringing through the spring time valley.
To be continued......
OPT
He stood up then, the image if it all killing a part of him, adding to his rage and fueling a fire of its own deep within. Standing easily half a foot over six feet, his deep voice rumbling with an oath to the gods.
"I'll kill them all.......I swear it! Never will their kind be safe while I walk this realm!" He bellowed to the smoke and fire. His gaze reaching up to the first stars to peek out of the darkness.
"Do you hear me! I swear to the Gods!" His hands raised along his sides as he stared into the heavens. A part of him wondering what gods could have ever let this happen. If they even heard his pleas.
That thought turned his eyes back to the present. He lowered his arms with a quick movement to find the blade at his side. It's tip buried in the dirt next to him. He took the blade and smacked the flat of it onto the side of his boot, dislodging the small tuff of grass stuck to it. He sheathed his father’s sword in one quick motion and began to look about for anything worth salvaging. The movement jarring his wounded arm, but the pain he felt was not the gash along his muscular bicep. There was no bandage to subside the true agony he felt.
He found first the bow given to him by his brave father. Its length cracked and splintered. He held the weapon before him and took notice of its uselessness. At least he was able to lay low the Orc with it, before it was destroyed. That same orc, dead, was not a pace away. Its skull cracked and disfigured by the mighty blow he dealt it. He had killed two of its companions, both with well placed arrows, before this one had charged him. If he had been a true warrior, one of the warriors from his fathers stories, he might have been quick enough to draw his dagger before it made it too him. But alas, he was not that skilled and had to settle with defending himself by wielding it like a club. His aim had been true and dropped the orc at his feet. Unfortunately its companion was right in line behind it.
His stature was often deceiving, for he displayed a remarkable grace when the need arises. That same agility saved him at that moment, for he had been able to side step the felling blow, brought forth from the second charging tusker. The creatures axe had whistled by him, but not without gouging a long line along his arm. The momentum of the overbalanced swing sent the attacking beast into the young man and both had tumbled to the ground in a heap.
Unfortunately the orc was able to stay on top of the pile. Its large axe useless in such a position, it had discarded it, quickly groping about along the humans throat and had found a firm grip there. The orc had relished in its victory then. Laughing gleefully as it squeezed tightly, watching the panic in its victims eyes.
The young man saw his end then, saw it in those bloodshot eyes and smelly breath that escaped from between those upward pointing canines. But this boy was made of more stuff than his attacker new. His mother had been an Illuskan. Not just any though, but of the tribes of the north. Uthgardts lineage was rooted in his veins and he would fail to yield. He had found an inner strength at that moment.
He was able to grasp the dagger sheathed on his belt, and with that, able to jab into the stomach of this large behemoth. It had yelped in surprise. Jumping up and to the side to get away from the sting of that blade. As the weight came off of him slightly he had acted quickly. His first thought was to roll away, but some instinct within him urged the lad to turn with his attacker. He rolled with the orc brandishing and adding weight to his initial blow. The sharpened knife slide along the abdomen of his assailant. Opening itself up further in its struggle to get away.
With the orc down and away he scrambled to his feet and looked about for further attacks. He scanned the area from side to side and found nothing but the ransacked and burnt out building before him. Running towards this with his fathers name on lips, parched from fright. The poor fellow stumbled on something soft and almost lost his footing. There in the dirt lay what was left of his brave father. He had died defending his home till the last. Sword still in hand.
It was a death any Dalesman, such as his father was, could have been proud of. Defending the home and family he had forged for himself in the Marches. In his travels during an unbridled youth, he had made his way here. Had fallen in love with a local woman and stayed to create a home cherished and loved.
He had taken to the land so much that even after his wife’s death some fifteen years ago, still chose to stay and raise his only son there. He brought the boy up on the outskirts of civilization. Taught him how to hunt and how to survive on the land. He spoke to him in his mother language. To honor her memory and her gift of life.
He passed all his knowledge to his son through a firm guiding hand and stories of old. He told him all the tales he could remember of his homeland. Of the Dales, and great Elvin forests there. Of the fantastic warriors and wise old sages of this place. The boy had always listened to them with rapt attention. Especially the tales that spoke of the greatest of the Elvin realms, and those knights that are still there, defending its ruins.
It was these memories that boy, grown to manhood, remembered now. He could hear those guiding tales in the voice of his father as he gathered what he could salvage. As he skinned and prepared the dear he had brought back from his hunting trip. The same trip that had taken him away from his home when those wretched orcs had arrived. He had returned from it carrying this dear to find a small group of orcs still picking it's way through the remnants of all he and his father had owned.
It had been the brave instinct that guided his hand then. Dropping that doe from his shoulders and quickly drawing the well crafted bow to take aim on the first orc he saw. It was that same instinct, now, that allowed him to stumble through his home, picking up and gathering what he could.
The boy filled his pack with as much meat from the deer possible, along with a portion of its skin. He would have to treat it on the road as he could for there was always a need for more leather along long journeys.
After the pyre burnt itself out, he thought to himself on where he would go and what to do. He gathered what he could of his father’s ashes and twas then he could hear again his father’s words about the Dales. He pulled the pouch taught when it was full and stood to look one last time about. He looked pointedly around noting all he saw. For he would always remember the image before him. He would carry it along the road that was decided he would take.
"Father.....I will bring you back to your beloved home. I will travel to the south and see you safely at rest there. I will see that you give back to the land, that your ashes will be buried among the fields of your homeland, so that they might give your strength to the people there." He called out tears flowing again, but this time with a look of determination clenched within his jaw.
"I am Belnor...named for my father the Tallstag." He cried out to the woods, not knowing who might hear, and not caring. "I will do as my father would have wished...and bring him home! And woe to those that might stand before me, be they orc or man alike!"
With that last cry he took his first step to the south. The echoes of his heart spoken oath still ringing through the spring time valley.
To be continued......
OPT