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.
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