Its hard to describe the feeling of being completely alone but I know it well. When you your entire family is whipped off the face of the planet, what do you do? You don't know? Neither did I when I was 10 years old and alone. Wandering around the scorched and decimated country side, hiding from bandits and murderers, scavenging, hunting, wandering what to do with myself. It was at the age of 16 when I got a break. An old, gray haired traveler by the name of Argo Donvie found me, starving and half dead.
He loaded my limp body onto his horse and payed our passage to a new life upon a small supply boat. We sailed for Avengar. Once off the boat we traveled miles and miles twords the large city of Raingaurd where Argo and I built a small shack amd lived for a few years. Until the war that is.
I was 19 years old. A respectable child of the land, I had a job with Argo at the local tavern. That morning we awoke to the sounds of screaming and steel clashing together. The towns gaurd did not stand a chance against the masses and the viciousness of the Tarvon army. Argo would not let me fight. He would not let me defend him. He forced me into the small, two foot cellar and made me stay there. When I resurfaced, the town was destroyed. Argo, decapitated in the center of the room, which was burning, so was the rest of the town. I sat on the bear skin rug, Argo's body draped over my lap, I swore that day, I would have my revenge.
I watched the shack crumble from just past the treeline. I kneeled, sword blade piercing the ground and bowed my head to my fallen brothers and mentor. The next few years would change me, turn me into a man, an outlaw, a warrior.
