Many Meetings

"You look like you could use some lizard on a stick, I happen to have some extra here!"

It must have been the blood loss, but this statement didn't seem in any way odd to me. The stranger sat down beside me, and we ate together. The arrow was removed from my shoulder and with the help of the roasted lizard I was offered, surprisingly, it wasn't long before I felt better.

"Thanks for the help, I got in a little over my head there. What's your name?"

"Piratejim Redham, from Monkfield," he said smiling, gnawing on his meat. He must have seen the perplexed expression on my face, because before I could say anything he went on. "At least, that's what I call myself. I know, the name seems peculiar, but I hope to have a ship of my own one day and live out at sea. It's hard going, many want the same thing, but are willing to do more..unsavory things to achieve it faster."

Was he refering to the murderers I had heard of before? Redham helped me to my feet as I thanked him. "My name is Signus, I'm a new charge in Sandbrook. Thanks for the food, but I need to get back to killing goblins. It's why I'm here after all."

"Goblins? I know something better to hunt than that, and mayhaps we'll get some good treasure too." By now I was half convinced he was crazy, living some pirate fantasy with booty and scallywags and plank walking. "You don't look like a bad fighter, Signus, just a foolish one. But you'll learn. Follow me, to Buckleburry Ferry!"

A strange strange man. But still, I followed him.





Buckleburry wasn't marked anywhere on the map, nor indeed was that it's proper name, but that's how I've came to call it ever since. We ran north a ways along the coast, crossed the river via the ferry, and came to a hidden beach.






All scattered along the shore were hordes of the reanimated dead. The sight of those decaying soldiers froze my blood. I had never seen their like before. But thankfully, Redham led me on past them. We sneaked through the wood and came upon a camp of men. There was a sign nearby reading "Beware", in what looked like blood.

"Who are these folk?" I asked my guide, as we spied on a group of rough looking humans sitting about a campfire.

"Outlaws, murderers." Came a whispered reply as Redham pulled out a bow and began to knock an arrow. I had no reason to distrust this new friend, but I had no reason to trust him either; his sanity was still in question. Attacking a random group of men by surprise didn't feel right. My inhibitions disappeared when I heard a shout and great mocking laughter. The camp had found us out!

An arrow flew by me, as Redham desperately fired, trying to kill some of the outlaws before they could gather their weapons. I gripped my sword and charged out of the brush, only to be knocked back by a man in full metal armor. It was then that my greed for that bright armor overcame my cowardice. I closed in, and to my surprise the warrior fell quickly beneath my swings. The hunters and other outlaws however, proved to be more of a problem. They broke and ran in every direction, firing from hidden vantage points. We struggled on for hours, tracking them all down, and by the end of it, we both came away sore, wounded, but far wealthier than we had been.



As we rested, Redham said, "I think it's time we returned to Sandbrook, friend. This loot will make us savory targets to stronger warriors, and that is not a small number of people! We are not so high on the food chain, and not all murderers show themselves as openly as these did."

With that we took off back towards the ferry, once again crossing that dreaded beach of zombies. Only... now there weren't any zombies about. In our first passing we had seen new adventurers much like ourselves fighting them and stealing up the rusted pieces of armor. Now however we were greeted by a very different sight. The adventurers were fleeing, screaming in some cases, as a warband of men on horses and drakes tore down the beach, slicing apart anyone they could reach.

I watched in fascinated horror as the victims banded together and tried to resist the war machine that was plowing towards them. A few volleys of arrows and a short skirmish later, and they were fleeing again, but the adventurers had dropped one of their tormentors. Wounded and moaning, he clutched at the arrow in his chest while his wicked allies continued to harry the helpless adventurers.

With a fury I leaped from my hiding place and ran to the wounded murderer. I heard Redham hiss as he came up behind me. "He's an Alfar! An evil race bred beneath the earth! See you the blue color of his skin? Dispatch him quickly, before his friends return!" Agreeing, and remembering those other poor men, I stabbed my blade into his heart. His horrible scream echoed down the beach, and some of the marauders turned back to see me and Redham stripping their fallen man of his loot. Arrows and fireballs flew in our direction, as the other Alfar turned towards us, anger and vengeance shining in their eyes, and not the least, some humiliation too.

We fled.




Sprinting as much as I could laden with my treasures, we made it through the woods towards the ferry, but still our enemies pursued us. I took a fireball to the back, and Redham was ignoring an arrow that had hammered into his armor. Soon it became apparent that we'd have to get creative, or our adventures would be at an end. We turned from the ferry and dove into the river, swimming towards the bottom. Some arrows harmlessly slipped into the water around us, as we swam with the stream back towards Sandbrook. I held by breath as long as I dared, and when we surfaced again, the Alfar were gone.


Safe at last, we waded towards Sandbrook's shore and examined our riches. And though we'd seen some terrible things, we couldn't help but laugh at all that had passed.

Birth of a Warrior

All my life I had dreamed of adventure.

In my homeland I was deemed too young to wield a weapon. It was a peaceful place; fantasies of heroics and adventures were for fools. If there was fighting that needed to be done, the older men would do it. I was expected to remain sedentary do what I was told. Well, it was a good life. I loved my home, and the people around me, but I prepared for more. I trained with one of the old veterans, and he taught me enough about blades to keep me from stabbing myself. I appreciated him humoring me, and I listened to the great stories he'd tell me from his days out campaigning.

As time passed, I began to settle in and dreams of adventure were pushed aside for much more real concerns, like making sure the crops grow in properly, or settling down with someone in the village. I still trained, but not with much enthusiasm. I hadn't totally given up, but there really were just no adventures to be had. I'd looked.

But then the strangers came to town. They were seeking strong young fighters to defend Mercia, in a land called Agon. I was dimly aware of the place. It was across the sea and many people from our land had gone there ages ago to colonize it. I felt the hunger for adventure come to life inside me, as if it had never waned. Without much thought at all I agreed to travel with them. I said goodbye to my loved ones and joined the caravan of fellow adventurers. Eventually we took to the docks, and set sail for Agon.





My orders were to report to a town called Sandbrook. It was one of the many innocent towns under threat from a global goblin rebellion. Apparently the goblins were tired of being pushed around by the Orks and had seized control of their own lives. I can't say that I'm against that, but they weren't just harming Orks, but humans too. The veterans made them sound so simple and cowardly on the raft ride into Sandbrook that my nerves began to drift into the distance, like my lifelong home.

We anchored down next to an incomplete siege tower, oddly placed, and a quaint watermill. The place reminded me of my village. For a brief moment I felt homesick, but I had a job to do now, I'd finally get the adventure I craved.




With the standard issue blade I charged into the wild. Some of the men around town had told me to watch out for murderers, but I assumed at the time that they meant the goblins. I had a rough map of the area, and I knew where one of the lairs was supposed to be. I crept up quietly, not so overconfident as to forget my training. Soon, the vile critters came into sight. Fear begin to creep into my mind as I eyed their sharp blades.




I slipped inside their camp and found one of the goblins wandering off on his own, bow in one hand, scratching himself with the other. The whole camp had the musty stench of filth and decaying hide. Who had allowed them to set up like this?

I got fairly close to the lone goblin, but stopped. Did I really want to strike from the shadows like this? The stories I heard never spoke of heroes creeping through long grass, especially not for mere goblins. But before I could even stand up, the goblin spun and loosed and arrow right at me.

I jumped to my feet and charged at him, "For Mercia!" The goblin grunted, pulled out a sword and took a few steps back. My swing was weak, but on target, I cut into his chest. Immediately the goblin fled. Laughing I chased him, making swipes at his back. It was then that I felt the sharp stab of an arrow punching through my shoulder. I fell back and saw two more goblins firing at me, and a third circling around behind me, armed with a shield and dagger. I had allowed myself to be trapped. But I knew my story wouldn't end here.



I fled, feet faster than ever before. I had gone into this fight all wrong. The goblins gave chase; more arrows whistled over my head. But soon the commotion stopped. I turned back to see other new recruits charging into the camp, eager to fight. Not me, I kept running until blood loss made me weary. It was there, sitting outside the hastily erected walls of Sandbrook, that I met the mad pirate Redham.