“Young lad come here. Let your old grandfather tell you some stories. Some stories of heroes and villains, of weapons of great power and warning. Of times of darkness and death and those who would fight against it to whatever end, and of objects of great mystery and awe. Let me tell you the tales of the greatest heroes of our world. Tales of the great four.
Book One: Frost
The Tale of the Bastard
He thrust shoving his sword into the gut of the man in front of him, blood spilling and squirting out covering his armor and face. He pulled away the orange of his eyes mixed with the red blood covering his face. He dashed forward lunging with all the fury in his existence swinging the blade with all the might he could muster. The blade bit through the side of the warrior separating the shoulder and the chest. More blood, more death: that was all this orange eyed warrior ever knew. As his broken and sliced enemy hit the ground the rage within him subsided, those that sought his death were no more and he could wander once again. From the time of his birth he was a fighter one that was born out of misery, pain, and suffering, but would become one to rise above all to the greatest of the northern lands.
Years before his birth his birth father was known to all inhabitants of the north lands as the tyrant king. He lived in his great citadel ruling all those below him with a fist of iron, and an axe of steel. The tyrant king was as cruel as the taker god and as violent and ill-tempered as the most savage of thugs. All the other rulers and lords of the North tried to usurp his power, all failed against the might of the tyrant’s army for he commanded the great axe of the destroyer. A blessed weapon, so blessed by the gods to a better man in a much better time, it is said that whomever should ever wield this axe may never fall to men of lesser kin. Holding the weapon the tyrant took control of the frozen peaks of the northern mountain range and defended his lands with all the might of a great host of soldiers. He ruled for many years, his power untainted by other men. In celebration of one his most momentous victories on the battlefield he decided to host a great hunt within the forests of his kingdom. With him he took some one hundred good men on the hunt, that would last for sixteen days in hopes of catching some of the greatest and largest game in the land. For days the host trekked deeper and deeper into the forests. Until they noticed a band of orcs passing by. A small group from one of the nomad clans of the north, meaning no harm to the huntsman. However the huntsman felt threatened and slew all of the orc men and preceded to rape all of the orc women. The only survivor was the young women forced to lay with the tyrant king. In the night she fled her assailants clawing and scraping through the thick and dark forest. Running for days as the men gave chase after her. She reached the edge of the forest where her clan lay in wait for their kin, when she told her chieftain of what had happened the orcs went into the forest and slaughtered every man they saw including the tyrant king. As they moved onward the orc women gave birth to a child. Only this child was not a blessing as most children were. This child was a half breed, a monstrosity of nature. She left the baby in the forest to die of cruel touch of nature. The baby survived for three days in the wilderness through sheer stroke of luck it would seem, when an unsuspecting man, a mage of great wisdom happened to be walking by. He noticed the boy and took him back to his home deep into the frozen forests of the north. There the man raised the child and taught it how to survive, how to think, and how to fight. The young half breed grew up amongst the wilderness. The young boy knew of his dark and doomed heritage not only was he a half breed, a monster that should never be allowed to exist, he was born of the great tyrant that all feared. His mage father named him Bareial to remind him of that heritage. Upon the boys nineteenth name day the mage forged him a sword of great magical strength. The blade was forged from the nine shards of darkness and within it laid the jewel of argor, a powerful artifact that made it almost indestructible. The mage made the sword in the boys image: a bastard sword of a height below a broadsword and above a short sword. Bariel cared little about the irony or even the events of his life. He lived in the great forest feeding off of the provisions of the land and content to continue living. However some things would call the half breed to action against humans, against orcs, against any who would dare try to desecrate the sanctity of the lands of the far north. Tales of his feats became legendary: how he had slain one hundred men single handedly, how he had smote the evil spider priests, and killed the rampaging monster of the northern peaks. His contentment was rarely broken until something happened that no one could foretell.
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