| Prelude: |
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This story must begin with a small note of the previous history, and a telling of the land of which it began. War had long precided among the continent of Brad’mir. That’s what the land was called by men. Kora’din by the dwarves, Belethorid by the elves, Thuguld by the ogre’s and mad creatures of the dark. Many names the land held, for in the world of Veneri, the continent was the most massive, spanning nearly a tenth of the world’s total surface area. Within the bounds of the land there lie a great many species, a small few which have already been named. Goblins, bugbears, gibberlings, gnolls, Minotaur, centaur, and the beloved gnomes are among other common peoples. Coupled with the variance of species, the diverse landscapes offer the recipe for a great number of adventures and happenings. And as the realm’s history allowed, legends and myth’s rarely needed to be told twice. At every gathering there was a time for storytelling, and every once in a while, towns would be graced with a bard, or gleeman, who would add to the myriad of stories. This is a story that takes place in the country of Ansalmore, the most north western of the lands among the continent. It is of a legend in the making; the story of Raistas, son of Richard Dagmar, the hammer of the Knighthood of Sonoria. It was a crisp autumn morning in Kladimor, the capital of Ansalmore, when the shrill cry pored from the confines of the Dagmar household. And that one exclamation wrung loud enough to alert the man behind the building. He immediately paused his swinging of that great hammer, dropping it to the ground quickly so that he might rush from the heat of his forge into the home. The cry sounded again, and he was quick to dart up that winding staircase to the upper floor. He pushed open the door, to find his wife, Theressa, in bed, surrounded by a small gathering of people, and the doctor. His son lay quiet within her arms, bundled up in a frenzy of soft fabrics. Theressa was pale, but within the depths of her eyes a small light burned. For a long time she had desired to be a mother, and finally her wishes had been granted. She cuddled the bundle near her breast, looking up to her husband with a weak, but soft smile. An aura burnt within the insides of Richard’s own eyes, though not of the same sort. His was one of pride, and of joy. He finally had a son. Raistas was the name offered by an uncle. It was immediately accepted. As once proclaimed, Richard reluctantly approached the Captain Commander, offering up both his armor and cherished weapon. His veteran ship amongst the legion was to be given up once a son was born him. He would move to another city, the city of his own birth, where he would raise his son or daughter. Away from the great city, where one must live in fear, when outside their own home, and caution when within. He would not subjugate his son to such an environment. It was his record, however, that allowed him to keep both his breastplate and sword. He had grown in fame in the many battles he had fought. His marriage to the second daughter of a greater Lord brought him titles and finances, as well as a reputation. His decision saddened a great many, and few had even attempted to dissuade him. Others still struck at his wife, especially her family. But loyal was she to her husband, and she would not counter his wishes. The departing was grievous, and more then one wife shed tears. Knights lined the road, each with his knuckle pressed to his brow in salute. The convoy consisted of two great wagons, each brimming with items. Driving the second was a trusted servant, Ladir; a protector of the home while Richard was away. He did not feel right leaving the couple he had served for so long a time. Along the way, halfway to the township of Clamoria, the band was waylaid by bandits. They attacked from the rear, the most obvious place to strike. But they did not expect the riders to be patrons of war. They got away with their lives, and some with less then that, but during the fray a foe was struck, and the blood had arched across the air, striking both Theressa and Raistas. The liquid darted across his forehead—it was some omen to come. For before too long, the blood would flow. |
