Autumn 10, 1064, Sibir Tavern
It is a cold-freezing night in Sibir, one of the coldest I can remember. I begin pondering to myself, in a string of uncoordinated thoughts. 'Petty crime and misfortune have led you here' - says a cold voice.
The voice grows louder, projecting hostility and malcontent; 'Hahaha, Fool! Look at you! Look at what you've become, Daughter of 'Arnulf'... 'Queen'... You are nothing-of-the-sort!' I try to ignore his words yet I have heard the voice before. It is not physical, rather it comes from a different place entirely. A cynical ambience reverberates throughout my skull. I begin to see an image of my father before me, with a spear and a Carian bird on his shoulder.
'Focus on the present' I say to myself, as I quickly snap out of the trance. On one side of the room, voices are drowned out by Flutes and Violas. People from all cultures, and walks of life have gathered here, to drink their sorrows away, on this freezing, night.
The place looks crowded. Whoers, bandits and commoners frolic about. I see two Vlandian Merchants, drinking and gambling in the centre of the room. How do they live so freely? They carry on as if there is not a worry in the world. To the simple traveller, it would seem tonight marks the Dawn of a New Era. The people seem merry; celebrating adventures that lie ahead. The armies of the realms once again muster, as The 'Zeonica Pact' of 996 draws near it's end.' There is even talk of a new High King, one that calls himself 'Alsandair de Troid'.
The folk are becoming rowdy. Settlers from a distant land can be seen congregating along several wooden tables, gambling, drinking and molesting whoers. Were they from some sort of army? They wield mysterious weapons and dress in unknown uniforms. 'They sh-seem (hiccups) s-sh-st-trange.' I say aloud in a drunken slur. All of a sudden, I feel a slap across my face. 'Oi! Luca! Whad'dya, drank to much, egh?'.
A man with red hair I barely knew is sitting right in front of me, his head blurring into several layers. I was a mess, a drunken vagrant of some kind barely hanging onto my coins. 'How did it come to this?' I think to myself. I had once led a band of brothers whom I called my kin. They were all gone now, though, having faded away into some distant land. For I had let them down.
I still recall their faces; Vitus, Bravehide Chancellor. A humble man, and friend. I will remember him through his ability to show compassion and wisdom, no matter the opposition he faced.
Sef Sarranid, champion of Aserai, the renowned warrior and true Emir to the throne of Aserai. Recent rumours say he has gone into exile, with a cult worshipping his legacy 'The Cult of Sarranid' forming in the southlands.
Aldhari, a battanian man, who through valour and bravery became my right hand man.
And Dutch, a knight fit for the throne of any kingdom. Dutch, owned a unique ability to lead the men through inspiration and honour. If fate prevails, we may meet again, some day...
'So whaddya say, egh?!' The old man at my table startles me, bringing me out of my drunken daydreams. 'You said you'd take this stupid thing!' The strange old man now stares me down with strange eyes, hue of grey yellow. I slam my cup of ale onto the wooden table. 'I-I-I-I, c-c-caan, sp-s-s-sp' Suddenly, I fall off my chair. I hit the ground hard, and break into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. The man starts cursing in a Khergit tongue. He mutters something as he takes my purse and leaves. I do not care for it. I do not care, for much, these days.
I lay on the ground in a heap of ale and depression. I can see the foreigners in their strange hats turning and laughing at me. 'How did it come to this?' I mumbled out loud, for the second time. 'Rise, Luca' - says the mysterious voice again. I lift my head and see a dark silhouette, pressed against the back room wall. His skin is pale white like a ravaged ghoul.. 'Hmm. A thought for the kind, yes?' - The voice presses in my head, arrogant and instigating. Then I recognize the voice. It was him, the village seer. He is here, to take me back. 'It is time, Bravehide'.
It is a cold-freezing night in Sibir, one of the coldest I can remember. I begin pondering to myself, in a string of uncoordinated thoughts. 'Petty crime and misfortune have led you here' - says a cold voice.
The voice grows louder, projecting hostility and malcontent; 'Hahaha, Fool! Look at you! Look at what you've become, Daughter of 'Arnulf'... 'Queen'... You are nothing-of-the-sort!' I try to ignore his words yet I have heard the voice before. It is not physical, rather it comes from a different place entirely. A cynical ambience reverberates throughout my skull. I begin to see an image of my father before me, with a spear and a Carian bird on his shoulder.
'Focus on the present' I say to myself, as I quickly snap out of the trance. On one side of the room, voices are drowned out by Flutes and Violas. People from all cultures, and walks of life have gathered here, to drink their sorrows away, on this freezing, night.
The place looks crowded. Whoers, bandits and commoners frolic about. I see two Vlandian Merchants, drinking and gambling in the centre of the room. How do they live so freely? They carry on as if there is not a worry in the world. To the simple traveller, it would seem tonight marks the Dawn of a New Era. The people seem merry; celebrating adventures that lie ahead. The armies of the realms once again muster, as The 'Zeonica Pact' of 996 draws near it's end.' There is even talk of a new High King, one that calls himself 'Alsandair de Troid'.
The folk are becoming rowdy. Settlers from a distant land can be seen congregating along several wooden tables, gambling, drinking and molesting whoers. Were they from some sort of army? They wield mysterious weapons and dress in unknown uniforms. 'They sh-seem (hiccups) s-sh-st-trange.' I say aloud in a drunken slur. All of a sudden, I feel a slap across my face. 'Oi! Luca! Whad'dya, drank to much, egh?'.
A man with red hair I barely knew is sitting right in front of me, his head blurring into several layers. I was a mess, a drunken vagrant of some kind barely hanging onto my coins. 'How did it come to this?' I think to myself. I had once led a band of brothers whom I called my kin. They were all gone now, though, having faded away into some distant land. For I had let them down.
I still recall their faces; Vitus, Bravehide Chancellor. A humble man, and friend. I will remember him through his ability to show compassion and wisdom, no matter the opposition he faced.
Sef Sarranid, champion of Aserai, the renowned warrior and true Emir to the throne of Aserai. Recent rumours say he has gone into exile, with a cult worshipping his legacy 'The Cult of Sarranid' forming in the southlands.
Aldhari, a battanian man, who through valour and bravery became my right hand man.
And Dutch, a knight fit for the throne of any kingdom. Dutch, owned a unique ability to lead the men through inspiration and honour. If fate prevails, we may meet again, some day...
'So whaddya say, egh?!' The old man at my table startles me, bringing me out of my drunken daydreams. 'You said you'd take this stupid thing!' The strange old man now stares me down with strange eyes, hue of grey yellow. I slam my cup of ale onto the wooden table. 'I-I-I-I, c-c-caan, sp-s-s-sp' Suddenly, I fall off my chair. I hit the ground hard, and break into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. The man starts cursing in a Khergit tongue. He mutters something as he takes my purse and leaves. I do not care for it. I do not care, for much, these days.
I lay on the ground in a heap of ale and depression. I can see the foreigners in their strange hats turning and laughing at me. 'How did it come to this?' I mumbled out loud, for the second time. 'Rise, Luca' - says the mysterious voice again. I lift my head and see a dark silhouette, pressed against the back room wall. His skin is pale white like a ravaged ghoul.. 'Hmm. A thought for the kind, yes?' - The voice presses in my head, arrogant and instigating. Then I recognize the voice. It was him, the village seer. He is here, to take me back. 'It is time, Bravehide'.
