Dreisterne

PROLOGUE

The village of Windhill was in chaos. Shouts of alarm echoed through the night as villagers scrambled to defend their homes from a sudden raid. A band of ruthless thieves had descended upon the village, pillaging and burning everything in their path, thickening the air with the acrid scent of smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

"Mr. Eriksson! What do we do!?" a villager cried.

"What we do best, Walt: hold the line!" an old man shouted, his voice hoarse from the strain. "We can't let these scum take our homes!"

Mr. Eriksson, the village head, stood at the forefront of the defense, with a weathered yet well-maintained sword clutched in his hand. Beside him were a handful of brave villagers, hastily armed with whatever they could find-pitchforks, axes, even kitchen knives. They fought valiantly, desperately trying to repel the invaders, but they were outnumbered and outmatched, and the chaos only grew with every passing second as the terrified cries of villagers continued to resound in the night.

The screams of terror further intensified as the thieves started burning one of the homes, and Mr. Eriksson gazed at it in fear, as he knew the inhabitants well. The particular house belonged to the Festivus family, and a gaggle of the raiders whooped and cheered at how quickly the fire they've started devoured the structure. Kneeling, forlorn, before the burning house was the Festivus family; father, mother, and their young son Nathan gazing in despair at their former home. They were paralyzed by shock, unable to comprehend the horror unfolding before them. The boy, only five years old, clung to his mother for support, his wide eyes reflecting the raging inferno before him.

"Poppa, what's happening? Why did they burn our house?" the boy's voice trembled with fear.

His father, Mr. Festivus, looked down at his son, his heart breaking. He could only place an assuring hand on the boy's cheek.

A towering figure emerged from the shadows, his cruel eyes gleaming in the firelight as they were fixed upon the family. He was the leader of the raid, a man whose very presence exuded malice. He drew his sword, its blade catching the flickering light as he approached the helpless family.

"Well, I suppose this was touching, and all..." the raid leader sneered, raising his sword. "The snivelling brat goes first."

Nathan's mother screamed, pulling her son closer. "No! Please, not my boy!"

But before the leader could bring his sword down, Mr. Festivus surged forward, his paternal instinct overriding his fear. "No!" he cried out, throwing himself in front of his family. The sword cut a deep gash down Mr. Festivus' back, and the force of the blow sent him to the ground with a loud thud.

"Poppa!" the boy screamed, his small voice piercing the night.

Even with her heart shattered from her husband's cruel death, the woman tried to shield Nathan with her body. But the raid leader's cruel blade found her as well. She fell beside her husband summoning the last of her energies to caress her son's terrified face. "Be strong, Nathan..." was the last thing she said as she breathed her last.

The boy, Nathan, stood frozen in shock as his mind struggled to process what just happened to his parents. The world around him blurred, the flames and screams merging into a nightmare he couldn't escape. The raid leader raised his blade once more, smiling with demonic glee at the prospect of seeing what the boy's made of inside once he was dissected.

Just then, a group of warriors burst onto the scene, their arrival heralded by the flash of steel and the fierce battle cries. They were adventurers who happened to pass by, and they acted as soon as they saw trouble afoot in Windhill. Among them was an old swordsman, his blue gambeson billowing in the wind as he moved with a speed and precision that belied his age. His sword, worn but keen, cut through the raiders with ruthless efficiency. The raid leader snarled and raised his sword to strike down the interloper for spoiling his sport. But the old swordsman was quicker on the draw and beheaded him, and his body crumpled on the ground as his sword clattered beside him.