Player Name: Nik Knight
Character Name: Connor Ashmane
Gender: Male
Preferred Pronouns: He/Him
Class: Mage
Age: 26
Race: Half-Human/ Half-Syndar (Syndar dominant)
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Occupation: Traveling magician who dabbles in alchemy.
Known Skills: Smart assery, magic, glaring, sleeping
Birthplace: Faedrun
Appearance: No notable features.
Notable Traits: Has the tendency to look down on others.
Relationships: In a group with Zenteagan Wincress, Aladrin Graywood, and Stanley Lorden
Rumors: Has a quick temper and even quicker hands.
BIO:
Connor started his life in a state of pseudo wealth. The son of a human merchant lord and a syndar, life would be expected to have its woes and racial discriminations from both sides. But Connor experienced none of these. Rather, from his father’s name, Ashmane, they flourished in Faedrun and received notable recognition within both the ranks of Humans and Syndar alike. His father’s business, while some might consider crass, sought only to make profit and fill his coffers. This was a way to provide for his family, while also ensuring that war efforts with the undead plaguing the land were fueled. Whether it was securing trade routes for armaments, production of shields through the land, or even just escorting survivors across the travel paths, Connor’s father saw a way to make silver. Everyone, in their time of need, learns that life is more valuable than coin.
—
On the inverse, Connor’s mother Eliana, was also affected by the rampaging undead throughout the land. As a mage, she studied carefully the arts of her people and used them to her best ability attempting to thwart the horde of undead. It was during this time that her academy, if one could call it that, was overrun, and she was forced to flee with the remaining students and faculty. As the monsters viciously attacked, being torn asunder by various spells and incantations, Connor’s mother ran frantically back and forth between the alchemists of her school, grabbing mana potions, and force feeding them to mages between spells. A never ending barrage of brilliant light and dancing magic, as undead poured into the main gates and beyond.
—
Connor’s father Thomas, had begun his most recent caravan escort with a fleet of wagons, horses, and armed guards, all at his beck and call. Standing atop his office’s looming balcony over the town square, he looked down at the preparations, figuring not only numbers in his head, but how long before the undead finished their incursion by attacking his town. It wasn’t a thought he enjoyed having, but any shrewd businessman thinks 20 steps in advance. It wouldn’t be much longer before someone took notice of the ongoing support of Faedrun’s armies and eventually piece together from where their support was coming. It placed his father in a permanent place of danger, hence the armed guards always following his steps.
—
“They’re through the main gate! Retreat to the Awning Library!” A voice shrieked out above the sound of channeling mana.
Eliana had just finished her own torrent of striking bolts, watching helplessly as they picked off one or two approaching undead, only to be replaced by more. Grabbing a few lingering potions from the stone floor, she yelled for the forward team of casters to retreat. While not the most high-standing of the positions at the academy, she still ranked among the greatest for her acumen with quick damage magic and protection incantations. As she tucked the mana potions into her satchel, she shouted for her two closest friends.
“Alynda! Naomi! We have to go! Follow me.”
Two heads turned from the front lines facing the undead horde. Beneath the giant, looming double doors that stood gaping open and barricaded with wire, fence posts, desks and benches, they could see the courtyard entrance and the gate entrance to the school. These two have been with her since childhood, since her parents were slaughtered by bandits, and before the world had begun to crumble. No sooner had she called, than the bowing metal frame of the giant gate burst forth, causing the great hinges to fly inward. Whether by reality or just imagination, the sound of the undead echoed even more feverishly than before, and chills ran down the spines of the mages and students.
Her friends hastily packed up their spell casting items, as two women ran up the staircase behind her, following in her wake. In that moment, however, undead burst through the barricade and the two giant doors surrounding the room. Panic filled the giant hall, as undead surrounded the students and mages alike. In a fit of both rage and horror, spells were cast in an insatiable need to survive. Hitting both undead and other mages, the spells sent bodies flying. The panicked casting dwindled numbers as steadily as the horrific creatures at whom they were aiming. The sound of blood and sinew, gushing and tearing, echoed across the stone and marble walls. Connor’s mother watched with broken spirit as her friends fell in a fit of flailing limbs and spells. They were no match, and their screams burned a hole in her heart. Grabbed from behind by the two women who had followed her up the grand staircase, she felt herself pulled to her feet and dragged kicking and screaming out of the hall.
Visions of undead and bright red anger clouded her mind, as she pulled and screamed at the two women hauling her to safety. Without even turning their heads, they continued to pull their co-faculty to safety, as tears fell down their own faces. All their friends. Massacred. How did they break through the gates? How did the doors to the great hall open? They had been locked from the outside, so not only did an unattentive student not open them, but they had the only key. These were undead they fought, not normal humans who could pick locks. Thoughts raced through their minds, as they burst through the small door at the rear of the academy garden. Huge fields spanned out before them, their friend now subdued and wailing silently at her fallen friends, they had to bring her to safety.
—
Connor’s father rode with the caravan northward. It had been a while since he joined his team on a trip, knowing the risks he was taking; and his own guard had repeatedly told him to stay behind. It wasn’t a long trip, just an excursion to an encampment of survivors, and he knew that spreading his name and his company was always the top priority these early years into the war. With the undead horde gaining steam and growing exponentially, it wouldn’t be long before his time in Faedrun ran out, and he, himself, would have to use his name and company to escape to somewhere safer. This brought forth lots of enemies from the other side, however. With the undead were the Penitent who sought nothing but chaos. On more than one occasion, his guards had arrested someone attempting his life. It wouldn’t be long before one succeeded.
—
“There, my dear! I knew I saw it!” one of the women had exclaimed. Connor’s mother and the other woman squinted into the distance. Scraps and bandages covering their many bruises and abrasions from their long journey. It had been several weeks since they fled the previously safe walls of the academy, and throughout the numerous rocky valleys and thick woods, they had succumbed to tree branches and rocks slashing at their exposed skin.
“I don’t see anything. I can’t see anything”, Connor’s mother signed. Her own eyes had become blurry with lack of sleep and dirt.
“Wait, I see it too!” The remaining woman exclaimed, jumping up and down with a renewed sense of excitement. Connor’s mother hastily stood to her wobbly feet and carefully traversed the rocky outcrops to her new friends. Wiping her eyes and shielding her face from the glare of the sun, she stood still for several seconds before feeling hope jump in her breast. There in the distance, she could scantily make the outline of wagons being drawn by horses.
–
“Stop there!” A guard yelled loudly, causing the wagons to come to an abrupt halt. Numerous soldiers and men carrying swords rushed forward to the commotion, only to be greeted by three stumbling and very battered women.
“Please”, one said with a raspy voice, barely standing. “We just need food and water”.
The guard looked at eachother. They were miles from any nearest structure, as they, themselves, had been traveling for days, not having seen any semblance of life. Nary even a bandit could be seen skulking about in the wayside.
Connor’s father looked up from his ledger, having just written up the expense report for this caravan’s northward journey. What could possibly be causing his wagons to stop? Looking at the map hanging on the wall of his wagon, he ventured a guess that they were still two days’ journey away from the nearest outpost. Folding his ledger, he tucked it safely back into the lockbox, turning the key, and returning it to the compartment under the seat. Ducking, and brushing off his tunic, he turned the handle to his wagon and felt his eyes water in the blinding sunlight.
“Sir, these women seek refuge in our caravan. Should we send them on their way or provide them with shelter? They haven’t any coin”
One of his guards stood over the three huddled women who feverishly devoured loaves of bread and fish. All three’s clothing was tattered and in shambles, one would have thought they had been to war themselves.
“No coin you say…”, a nearby soldier said with a lewd look in his eye, glaring at the women. As if by sensing his intentions, the three women looked up in fear and reached toward component pouches. Sensing the impending danger, the guard rushed forward and seized the hand of Connor’s mother, yanking her away from the other two.
“You will stay your hand, or I’ll have it removed!” Connor’s father yelled above the commotion. Standing in the doorway to his wagon, he loomed over the small group. The guard holding Connor’s mother released his arm, which she hurriedly pulled into her chest and nursed. Another bruise to add to her already mounting number. The man who yelled at the soldier was basking in sunlight, almost like a halo of authority. She didn’t know him, but she was grateful.
“Anything they need, give it to them. Silver or not, they are refugees of war”. Connor’s Father stated, looking down at the women. His men eyed each other. Who was this man? A man who cared for naught but coin would allow three women to stay and not pay their passage? Connor’s father stared keep into the eyes of the cowering woman with one in particular catching his attention. The Syndar woman holding her aching arm. Something about her filled him with a deep yearning, a feeling he hadn’t felt since he was young. Who was this woman?
—
A month had passed since Connor’s mother had been rescued. This man brought her into his caravan, fed her, protected her, nurtured her wounds, and asked nothing in return. Throughout her life, she had known nothing of a man’s touch beyond the occasional fling. Something about this man had spurned in her feelings she thought long impossible. They would often sit by the fire, late into the evening, talking about the war, magic, the future, lands beyond., and even in her time at the school, nothing brought her as much comfort. Visions of the undead still plagued her mind, but in the presence of this man, she felt safe.
They had arrived at a small town several weeks prior and begun to make preparations to travel northward. Should she travel with them? This town, while further from the undead scourge would eventually fall, but she could at least prepare herself before then. Thoughts filled her head as she continued to eat yet another lavish breakfast prepared for her by her gentleman savior. Just then, she heard a knock at the door.
“Umm… excuse me. Can I come in?” She heard from the other side of the wooden doors. The room much larger than her bedroom at the academy. With a giant, looming ceiling, it felt almost stately, but still had the air of a small town’s inn.
“Of course, please come in”. She replied, wiping her face and standing up. Hearing her rescuer’s voice, his heart fluttered a bit. Straightening her blouse and making sure to appear presentable, she felt like she was back at school awaiting the headmaster’s words.
The door cracked open, and a clean-shaven face appeared in the doorway.
“I hope I’m not intruding, you can finish your breakfast, and I can return, if you’d like”.
“Absolutely not, please come in.” She responded with a shy blush. How could she decline anything from his man? He had not only saved her life, but potentially from a horrid encounter with one of the guards. She later learned that the soldier had never been seen again, but the two women traveling with her had snuck rumors that Connor’s father had been seen walking toward the back of the caravan with a large axe in hand.
Connor’s father clumsily stepped through the doorway, almost as if attempting to make as minimal impact as possible. He straightened himself, after accidentally kicking a nearby tray from the previous night’s meal, sending it clattering and skating across the floor. Chastising himself and looking flushed, he tugged on his vest and faced the woman at the table.
“We are going to be leaving late this afternoon for the next town” He stated, almost not making eye contact with her.
“Oh… so soon?” She knew it had been a few weeks since they had arrived, and he had been bustling ever since. He did always manage to sneak through his work, however, seeing her either in the inn or lakeside to have quiet chats, away from the commotion of the town.
“Yes… err…and, I’d like…” He started, still barely making eye contact. Would he ask her to stay? Come with him? Her heart felt excited but also nervous. She could see herself in a new town, learning the trades, studying magic, training new people, but something about this town also held her fancy. Perhaps it was because this is where their friendship has blossomed, and the concept of leaving made her sad.
“Yes?” She asked, folding her hands in front of her. Connor’s father paused for several seconds, clearly building the strength to ask her something.
“I’d like you to marry me”.
—
Connor’s father sat in his carriage smiling across from him. There sat his wife. Looking out the window counting the clouds as they passed. It had been barely a year since he stood in her bedroom in the inn, since he mustered the courage to ask her. What had spurned him to make such a bold claim? As she stood there, mouth agape for what felt to be ages, he was sure he had ruined not only a chance at happiness, but their friendship as well. When she said “yes”, a weight had been lifted, and his heart felt light, all in the same moment. Now, as she sat across from him, basking in the warm sunlight coming in from the wagon windows, a gentle hand cradling the growing bump on her stomach, he felt content. No more chasing money, no more chasing fame. Just contentment.
–
“No, you can’t go play with your friends today. You need to finish your studies!” Connor’s father replied holding the latest scroll from the town crier. It had been like this along as he remembered. Connor’s mother, the incredible mage she was, passed on her knowledge to her half-Syndar son. His father, ever the attentive, caring, but stern caregiver, sought only for success and education for Connor. The combination yielded a sheltered life for the young boy but one full of learning. With his mother as his teacher, he learned the very basics of arcane spellcasting at an early age, excelling at striking bolts and even breaking the occasional shield. However, more often than not, his personal life paled under the light of his mother’s teaching and his father’s insistence on following in her footsteps.
Connor’s father still ran his business, providing refugee caravans for silver and armaments for the battlefield. The life of luxury was something to which the three had grown accustomed. Sitting in their estate that spanned many fields, herbs and reagents in countless supply, and plenty of practice space for Connor, his father ensured they would want for nothing, and often found himself working to the bone. In what used to be an endeavor to accumulate vast wealth for himself, had turned to providing that same life for his family. Connor sought only to spend time with friends and rid himself of the shackles being cooped up in his manor, but such a life was not in his father’s eyes.
“You’ll understand when you’re older, Connor.” his father stated holding a ringed finger to his son’s shoulder. “If I can save you the burden of a troubled life, of poverty, of pain, I will do everything in my power to do so.”
“Dear..” Connor’s mother added, addressing her husband. “Let the boy relax once a while. His studies are hard, and wouldn’t you like to see him happy?” His mother always looked out for him. It wasn’t often that he got to leave the manor in search of kinship and platonic relations.
“Wouldn’t you rather he know all there is about spellcasting and magic?” Connor’s father chided, rolling up and setting down his scroll.
“It took me years to master what I know. If you think Connor is going to get it in a few years, you better sit down and learn a few things, yourself”.
Connor’s father smiled and rubbed his face.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Standing, Connor’s father pushed his chair into the breakfast table and turned to walk out the door. Seconds later, he emerged with what appeared to be a long wooden stick, larger at one end, almost like a club. In the other hand, he held a round object, almost like a leather ball. With a beaming smile, he held them out and offered them to Connor who took them with a shocked look upon his face.
“Let’s go play a game from my childhood. You can study later, I won’t be around forever!”
–
The rain assaulted their skin in the early evening. Dozens upon dozens of strangers and official looking people he had never seen before stood around the long wooden box holding his father. Tears streamed down his and his mother’s faces, but no one would tell, as the salty tears were swept away by the harsh, summer rain. Connor held the ball his father had given him barely two years ago. It was his most prized possession. It was all he had left. His father was gone, snatched in the middle of the night by a strange man who slunk about their manor. All he can remember from that night was coming back from the larder with a glass of water and a hard biscuit, after waking from the clattering shutters of his room. Standing at the base of the stairs, he looked up and saw the dark figure of a man at the top of the staircase. With a slow movement, the man lifted a finger to his lips in a shushing manner, then disappeared without a trace. An hour later, he was woken by the horrified scream of his mother. His father had been slain in their own bed, blood soaking into the expensive sheets, and pooling beneath his pillow.
Leaving the funeral, he watched into the distance, as his father was lowered into the ground, rain still obscuring his vision, but no longer washing away his tears. Flowing freely, he sniffled in the back of the wagon, as his mother looked quietly out her window.
“What… What do we do now, Mommy?” He asked, wiping his face and squeezing his leather ball.
“I don’t know, sweetie.” He heard his mother reply softly.
“When will daddy come back?” He asked, not fully comprehending the gravity of his father’s untimely death.
“Oh baby…” His mother wept fresh tears and moved across the wagon to hold her son. Squeezing him tightly against her chest, she cried into his hair. Connor didn’t completely understand. He knew his father was gone, but to where, for how long, he couldn’t fathom. In the pit of his stomach, he feared he was never returning. Connor knew his father would regularly leave on business trips, but he always returned, bringing some sort of rare treat or item from his travels. This time, however, Connor seemed to at least glean, to the best of his abilities, that he would never be seeing his father again.
–
“Ashmane! Ashmane!” Connor’s mother yelled amidst the crowded wharf. Swarms of people clammored around them attempting to pile onto any ship possible. Connor wasn’t sure why his mother was shouting their last name, only that the man to whom his mother addressed hurriedly looked through his binder of paper, flipping and swearing to himself.
“I don’t see Ashmane, ma’am. You’ll have to wait at the ba…” He trailed off, as he continued shuffling through papers, getting more and more frustrated as the seconds wore on. He had other duties to do, more than listening to a woman yell some name at him.
“Look for Thomas. Thomas Ashmane, he is…was my husband. He died barely a year ago” It had been several months since Connor heard his father’s full name. In passing or in letters addressed to their manor, yet not realizing his father had passed. Each one frantically opened by his mother in attempts to learn the cause of the fate of her departed husband. For the last several months, his mother had been sending scouts and emmisaries across the countryside for any sort of information that might shed light on Connor’s father’s murderer. It wasn’t until about two months ago that he finally heard the phrase “Penitent Assassin”. What it meant, he wasn’t sure, but he felt it held some importance to his father’s assassination.
“Ah ok, yes here, it is. Thomas Ashmane”, the man finally stated with an air of relief. He had been rifling through papers for several minutes while this woman berated him and his intelligence. This wasn’t supposed to be his task for the day, he was merely conscripted to lift barrels and supplies aboard the ships. Reading had never been his strong suit, something “those stuffy rich folk and their wizards” he would say. He was able to make out the Ashmane name scrawled amongst the other important names upon which to be on the lookout. He was instructed to note anyone on the list that either wanted to come aboard or had business with the captain of the ship. “Alright, so where is Thomas?”
“He…he is already across the ocean on the other land.” Connor could see the pain in his mother’s face. This wasn’t the first time he heard his mother pretend that his father was still alive. He had heard it twice more on their journey, after the meager funds they were able to scavenge together from the bank had run out. With the undead scourge fast approaching their homeland, he had spent more than a few days packing and traveling to the bank to gather money for their trip. Each time, his mother would say something along the lines of “we will pay you back when we get to the new land”. And each time, Connor knew it wasn’t true.
“Well, how do I know tha..” The man started, and once again Connor’s mother cut off the guard. He could see his mother rummaging about in her bag, looking for something. Seconds later, she brings her hand out holding a colorful piece of fabric.
“Look, here is the Ashmane crest.” She exclaimed, as if it were a form of identification. Nestled within the folds of the fabric, Connor could see some wadded up silver. He had developed a quick eye for sleight of hand and magic tricks in his youth.
“Ah yes..” The man stated, unfolding the cloth and eyeballing the pieces of coin within. “This appears to be in order. Just don’t make any trouble on board, you hear?”
Connor’;s mother bowed and grabbed her son’s hand. She didn’t know what she was doing. Diplomacy was Thomas’s game. If it wasn’t spellcasting or alchemy, she didn’t have any part in his business dealings. All she knew was it pained her heart to lie on her husband’s good name. A man who had rescued her from certain death, provided her with a life full of love, riches, and honor, and only to have his snatched away in the middle of the night by some Penitent assassin. Sickened by the memory, she hastily pocketed the fabric and hauled Connor up the gangway onto the ship, looking about for anyone she knew. Sadly, with such a lavish, comfortable life, she had spent next to little time venturing out to get to know anyone else. With such contentment, why settle for anything less?
–
“Well… where is he?” The group of men snickered, leering at Connor’s mother.
“He’s umm… just around somewhere. He’ll be back, I swear”, his mother replied, slinking backward. Connor could barely make out the shadows of the men crowding around his mother in their little hut. Such a harsh departure from the life of immense wealth to which he was accustomed. Yet, despite this, he never complained. It had been a few years since his father passed, soon to be a young adult, he understood more about his family now than he ever had.
SMACK!
The sound of skin against skin colliding echoed in the little room, as his mother crumbled to the ground. No sooner had he heard the assault, Connor burst through the opening to his bedroom sword in hand.
“Get your hands off my mother, you filthy ingrate!” He shouted, taking the men by surprise. Seeing clearly the room now, he felt a pange of anxiety as the four men stood hulking in the center of the room. ONe holding a club, Connor was able to make out the silhouette of knives hidden beneath the folds of their tunics.
“And what have we here… another Ashmane piece of shit” The leader of the group snarled, leaning a foot onto the fingers of the fallen woman. Her cries of pain filled the room with a reverberating resonance.
GUSH!
Connor opened his eyes and saw only blood quickly running down his sword and onto his hands. Looking up, he could see the hilt of the blade buried deep into the stomach of the man leading the group.
“Con…Connor…” He could hear his mother say from the floor. His mind had blanked in a fit of anger. He didn’t even remember rushing forward and driving his sword into the man. The only emotion he felt was akin to never wanting to feel useless again. HIs father died in the middle of the night, because he did nothing when he saw the killer. He wouldn’t let that happen again, even if it meant losing his own life. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man on his right slowly raise his shirt to grab at the knife hidden near his gut. With barely a hesitation, Connor raised his hand and screamed. A flurry of blue sparks built around his fingers, as he felt the mana within him build. A jet of brilliant blue light exploded out of his palm and crashed into the man, sending him backward against the kitchen table, toppling to the floor. With barely a second to react, he pulled the sword out of the first man, swung it in a wide arc above his head and slashed relentlessly at the neck of the third man, side stepping around the now collapsing leader.
Blood soon pooled at his feet, as two men lay crumpled in a heap, The remaining two had fled after coming to their senses. Connor scarcely had time to make sense of what happened, when he felt a hand pull at his wrist.
“Connor… thank you” He heard his mother whisper. Looking down, he could see his mother pull herself to her feet, coughing several times. It was getting worse. It had been a year in this new land, and since the day they landed, she had developed some type of chest pain and infection.
“Mom, please just relax”, he stated, guiding her to an overturned chair. Righting it, it sat her down and poured her a glass of water. This was the second hut they had built since they landed here. Smaller than the last, and just as disgusting. “I won’t let anything happen to you”.
“Oh sweetie… I know.” His mother felt new tears fall down her face. Somewhere down the road, her son had turned into a young man. He remembered all his spells and practiced them daily, and yet also managed to learn how to use a sword. She had chastised him the first time he held a blade, telling him swords were for ruffians and brain dead soldiers. And it was in this moment, she realized that she was wrong.
“Come on.” Connor said, straightening up and grabbing his bag from across the room. “We have to get moving. Eventually they will catch up, and I don’t want them finding you”.
–
Connor stood over the fresh pile of flowers in the glaring sun.
“Hey mom. How are you doing? It’s a warm one, today”.
He came here often. More often than he should, he felt. The infection in her chest had finally taken her a few years prior. They had spent the last few remaining years of her life running and hiding. Slinking about in the shadows and keeping hidden from the various men who sought only to redeem a few silver his mother had promised them. How someone could be so relentless as to badger a sick woman and her son for only a few coin astounded him, and knowing it led to her early death, it made him livid. Shrugging off the anger, he could feel tears begin to fill his eyes.
“Sorry…heh” He chuckled, wiping away the first of the salty water droplets on his cheek. “Sorry about the rain.”
Every few months, he would return to her grave, placing new flowers on it. It had been a year since he dug a new one next to her for his father. While he didn’t have his father’s body, he knew that the sentiment of him resting next to his beloved wife would mean more to his mother than anything. Still, amidst all the traveling, hiding, and running, he was able to find the leather ball that his father had given him so many years ago. After digging the grave, he placed the ball within, surrounded by the Ashmane crest his mother carried with her. Feeling a pang in his stomach as he tossed the dirt onto the only remaining piece of his father he knew, somehow peace found itself once again in his heart.
“I know you want to know how I’m doing. I see you and dad are still good here. Life has been… interesting for me. Lots of moving about, learning, spellcasting, the usual. I met a couple guys in Raven’s Landing. Some bard guy and a cleric. They are waiting for me with the wagon, I told them I had to…” Connor could feel himself trail off, as more tears flooded his cheeks. No matter how much he focused on squinting his eyes, they wouldn’t stop.
“I… I miss you so much. I know I say I’m fine, but I’m so lost without you. Without father. I hate it here. I’ve thought about ending it all, but I know that would make you sad. What should I do? Where do I go?” He held his stomach as the pain grew. Falling to his knees, he played with the dirt at his feet. “I can’t do this without you. I have no one now. It’s just me, and I’m scared. Please… let me end it, or at least give me some kind of sign I should keep going”. He buried his face now as emotions flooded his senses.
—
The next few days felt eerily familiar, as the trio traveled along the dirt road in an old wagon, pulled by a farmer. This man and Zenteagan, the cleric he met, apparently knew each other, and conversed joyously the entire trip. Connor and Aladrin, his new bard friend, sat uncomfortably in the back making small talk.
“Well, what have we here…” Connor could hear Zen say from the front of the wagon. “It appears a tree has fallen in the road”. Looking up and past the farmer, it did seem that at some point a tree must have come down.
“That’s weird,” Connor piped up. “We haven’t had any thunderstorms or heavy winds at all.” Just then, Aladrin spotted some quick movement in the treeline.
“It’s a trap!” Aladrin exclaimed, drawing his bow off his back and knocking an arrow. Surely as he had spoken, a dozen bandits seized the opportunity and darted from the woods toward the wagon. Zenteagan and Connor both lifted their staffs and began to channel mana to cast a spell, while Aladrin dropped one of the bandits with an arrow. The bandits were closing in rapidly, and the horses begane to buck wildly, throwing the occupants around in the cart.
“Make for the trees!” Aladrin shouted, dropping another one with an arrow, before stowing his bow and pulling out his two long swords.
“Are you insane, that’s where they came from!” Replied Zen, hastily channeling more mana, while kicking down at a bandit attempting to swing at his legs.
“I know the woods like the back of my hand. We can take them out one by one, let’s go!” Aladrin shouted.
After a blinding ball of light, dazing the few bandits hovering around the wagon, the three jumped from the cart and made a mad dash for the closest gathering of trees. Aladrin knew he would be much more effective in combat when he could use his natural environment. Zen and Connor were not so sure, but having seen Aladrin drop three bandits before even pulling a sword, they had nothing to do but trust him.
The three ran into the woods, but stayed as close together as possible. The dense, thick woods offered little protection from natural, thorny shrubbery, but greater protection from arrows and heavy swings of a sword. Several bandits made a hasty pursuit, and found themselves chasing the three through a heavy brush of briarwood and bramble. Aladrin quickly darted from tree to tree, looking for the best one to scale. Spotting it, he quickly climbed his way up, and obscured his position from the pursuing bandits. Zen and Connor continued forward, aware of the plan to ambush the chasing bandits. Moments later, Aladrin saw the three following closely behind and jumped on top to take them by surprise. Knocking the one he landed on unconscious, he rolled aside and quickly slashed at the legs of the remaining two. Barely seconds passed that two more bandits quickly jumped out. However, this time, Zenteagan and Connor quickly dispatched them with prepared spells, as they revealed their position from behind nearby trees.
“Well, we’ll take care of them right quick, we will!” Yelled Connor, as he brushed off his wide brimmed hat. Moving away from the three, he reaffixed his hat, turning. “I think we make quite a tea….”
SNAP!
The feeling of air flew past their faces, as an immense net hoisted them far into the trees. Dangling helplessly, they heard the chuckles of some voices below.
“Looks like we managed to grab some live ones, boys”. One of the voices said. In the position they were in, it was difficult to establish which one was talking. The trees provide shelter from the sun during warm days, but as the night wore on, it also brought about darkness much faster. With the sun setting, it became painfully apparent that they would be dangling in the dark soon.
“Whatcha think, boss? Skin them and make some new clothes?”
“Nah, I want the pretty one’s face”.
Zen, leaned over to Aladrin and whispered “they’re talking about me. Hehe.”. Aladrin scowled at his friend’s light-hearted comment, as they were in serious danger. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a loud voice echoed in the trees.
“GENTLEMEN”
“What the hell?”
“Who was that?”
“Show yourself!”
“GLADLY!”
The next few seconds were filled with horrific screaming intertwined with the sound of metal tearing through flesh. No sooner had it started, then it was quiet. The giant net suddenly gave a lurch. Colliding with the soft forest ground, they rose, brushing themselves off and favoring a few limbs.
“GENTLEMEN! GREETINGS!” A voice rang out again, this time from behind them.
Turning, they could see a tall figure, clad in armor with an immense tower shield, holding a torch. Beside him lay the three bandits in a pile of bloody sinew and flesh, pinned to the ground by an impressively long sword.
“Uhh, hey there” Zenteagan spoke first, “Thanks for saving us. I’m Zenteagan Wincress, this is Aladrin Greywood, and Connor Ashmane.”
“HELLO! I am Stanley Lorden, the last of the Guardians of the Wall. At your service!”
“Guardians of the Wall, what’s that?” Aladrin asked.
“That’s… a story for another time” Zenteagan interjected, “right now, I’m sure we still have bandits following us still, and it’d be fantastic to actually get my ale for a change.”
“I will escort you to the next town” Stanley spoke, offering his hand. Connor accepted the handshake in turn and felt a bit of peace. Was this the sign for which he asked his mother. Was she still watching over him? He wasn’t sure, but he felt comfort knowing that there were good people left in the world, perhaps a world he didn’t have to leave so soon. Pledging himself to the service of Stanley Lorden, he vowed to use his life to aid in whatever way he could and use it to bring honor to his family.
