NBBN: 16661-01000
Balandar's liquor soddened mind twirled. After the last few drinks, he had begun to swoon, for some reason that he had forgotten, he was raising his glass. He endeavored to stand but was unsuccessful. His chin smacked the table in front of him. His mind no longer twirled, it was still.. as still as a dream.
The tiny child, Balandar, cowered behind the butter churn. His eyes were wide with fear as the heavy wooden bar that held the door disintegrated into a mass of splintered pieces. A trio of hulking figures barged through the now open passage, their eyes burned with a fire that seized the child's soul, filling him with both disgust and awe.
The first hulk thudded the child's mother aside, throwing her from the posture she had taken in an attempt to protect her children. The sad weapon that she had held, a cast iron skillet, flew with a clang to the ground in front of the hearth. Her head whipped back as she took a second blow from the assailant. The hearthstone sounded with a crack when her head smacked into it. She let out a groan as the rich ruddy tones of her lifeblood began spilling from her wound, running in thick rivulets down her powder white visage. From somewhere unknown she pulled on a strength that had not yet slipped from her body, rising to her feet and stumbling past her aggressors who strode steadily toward the double cradle that sat in the far corner of the room. In the cradle were two twin girls, their eyes widened with fear. Even as she coughed up a mouthful of blood, the mother snatched Balandar's sisters to her bosom where she held them in an attempt shield them from these monsters. She hastily mouthed a prayer to the Gods as she set for the men's attack.
Still hiding behind the churn, Balandar could not truly see but hear one of the men draw his sword. The benevolent churn marred the fragile child's view of the swing but sadly he knew what the sudden silence meant. He soon realized that he would also find himself silent.
The already small child attempted to shrink himself further by shifting himself into the indention his sister had scratched out earlier. He had ignored her before when she had showed him where she had hid her childish treasures but now he found that the niche was worth more than any simple toy. His mind reeled with wishes that just maybe she had dug it out enough to break through to the other side. He pushed himself as deep as possible in a final attempt to disappear from sight before he disappeared from the world.
The thatched roof had caught on fire and the figures knew they had little time to find the boy. They overturned tables and chairs but in their apparent haste to find him they did not move the churn. Balandar had been saved for the moment by his sister's childishness. The lead man told the others that Balandar, like his sister before him , must have ran.
A million thoughts ran through his jilted mind as he waited for the men to vacate his home. Why had he been such a coward? How could the son of a great paladin have been so weak. Why did he not fight? Why couldn't he save his family?
Balandar's small fingers trembled as he struggled to open the latch that held the shutters in place. While he continued to struggle he wondered if he might die there after all, his body burning and then finally mingling in the ashes of his family. He wondered if that would be so bad after what he had failed to do. Would that be an honorable ending to an unhonorable act. Finally his instinct to survive pushed him to escape. He heaved with all of his strength, his fingers bleeding at the strain.
Without warning, the latch gave free. The window was open and Balandar tripingly swung himself over the sill. He landed in the garden that sat just outside the window, the herbs softening his fall. After a few moments of lying in the garden he was sure that none of the brigands had noticed his escape. He gathered himself together and looked out across what used to be a beautiful clearing. What filled his wide eyes now was not what he was used to seeing there, it was a vision of what Balandar thought to be one of the lowest levels of the abyss.
A gang of raiders swept across his vision cutting the men and women of his village down in their wake. The terrible death cries of the villagers rang out in dissonance with the terrifying calls of the men on horseback and the hollow clangs of those men's swords as they cut into flesh. The village burned before him yet he could do nothing to stop it. Balandar was crushed by his fear just as his friends were being crushed by these monsters of men.
A nearby home suddenly crashed to the ground sending firefly embers into the atmosphere giving light to even more horrors, showing Balandar the bloodied bodies of his neighbors. He could see their faces but could recognize none. He knew all of the villagers but these marred faces and blood matted bodies were somehow not the people he knew, somehow different.
He was awakened from his thoughts as a familiar voice range out across the fires. A feeling of relief swept over his body and only a note of disbelief anchored his mind. Could it be? Had his father, the most noble of all the Knights and most courageous warrior in all Britannia, finally returned to him? In a flash Balandar's fears seemed to melt from his body, his heart filling with a certain pride that at last gave meaning to the long hours he spent tending his father's horse while the other children had spent their time with their fathers.
Balandar felt cowardice no longer. He jumped from the garden to glide across the clearing to his father. He was sure that he would soon be astride his father's horse safe from harm, watching his father take out the invaders one by one and tormenting them as they went.
He did not get far before he realized that he had made a mistake. That voice was not his father's, but his older brother, Xiam. Xiam fought in his father's place, as he should have done. He was only thirteen but he had the strength to raise a sword to these men. His voice an echo of his father's rang out in the traditional calls to the Gods.
Balandar could see that his brother was no real match for these men, that he was yet unskilled in his youth. Although he was managing to fend two of the men away with his fervent swings, he was unable to cause them any real damage. As Balandar watched he was surprised to see that a third man had already fallen to his unskilled brother.
Now dislodged from his hiding place he was forced to try to take cover in his neighbor's summer garden. He kept his eye on his brother as he made his way across the yard. He was nearly to the garden when he noticed that Xiam had slipped up. He saw his brother fall and saw that the men decided that he would never stand again. Bile rose in his throat as he witnessed his brother's body being impaled and then brought back up from the ground when the raider tried to reclaim his sword.
Fear gripped Balandar's innermost being. He was paralyzed at the sight of brave Xiam's motionless body, a horrid wound still spilling the scarlet water that once filled his veins. The child was being tormented by the deaths of each of his family members and the absence of his father and hero.
Suddenly he was moving again. His legs swung repeatedly beneath him carrying towards the forest, searching for a place to hide. Without warning he began to think again. He now comprehended that the men would surely find him there, no mater how well he hid. Slowly an idea began to form in his racing mind. "Fool them", he thought..
Balandar clutched tightly to the nearest tree and while his arms held fast he felt his mind slipping away. All of the death that he had witnessed finally sunk in. He saw the marred faces of his mother, sisters and brother. Balandar wept.
As swiftly as he had sunk into dream, Balandar's eyes flew open and he was awake. The nightmare was gone from his conscious thoughts, buried again.
Balandar watched the grisly scene. The demon tore into the kobold's body, gutting it, pulling out the entrails and shoving the bloody bits into it's impossibly large mouth. He watched as the demon gorged itself, quivering in ecstasy, blood pouring out of its jaw. Balandar smiled, enjoying every second of the show. Borg approached the Demon from behind, moving swiftly despite wearing full epic plate. With his magnificent sword in hand, he took the head from the demon in a single swipe. The demons thick acidic blood squirted from its neck, the body slowly toppling over while the head bounced and rolled to Balandar's feet. Balandar looked at the Demon's head, a small piece of kobold still in its maw, and frowned, "I was enjoying that immensely, Borg". "It's a demon, a creature of pure evil, it should be sent back to whatever hole it crawled out of..", said Borg, slightly confused and a bit angry, while cleaning the blood off his sword before it destroyed the metal. "I did not say it should be kept alive…. but it appeared to be quite happy eating the kobold", Balandar grinned wickedly. "Something is amiss with you friend", Borg said disgustedly. Balandar laughed, "Why kill your foe when it's eating other enemies?" "What?", Borg asked, but believed he knew where the mage was going with this conversation. "It's simple really, the enemy of my enemy is my friend… you could have waited a little longer before decapitating it," Balandar explained. "It's a demon," Borg bluntly stated. "Yes, and a hungry one. I wouldn't mind having one as a pet..," Balandar mused, more to himself than to Borg. Borg shook his head and chuckled, "You are crazy." Balandar just grinned, thinking of the possibilities of having a demon to do his bidding, and wondering if they could be controlled... ----------------------------------------- @Borg Edit: This story occurs later in Balandar's life in Novia. Date is unknown.
The Rise Dungeon
To Charil - Mining Leumvard - Do Not Go In! Ioma Shlighe - Maze Room Note: spellings are probably completely inaccurate and are from memory.
