Finding Peace

Chapter 1

I'll never forget the night I lost my family. They were brutally murdered in the dead of night. I remember it was very late and extremely quiet. There was a slight breeze rustling the leaves of the trees that surrounded our little cottage. I remember my mother used to worry about our safety. Father would reassure her that we were deep enough in the forest that the Swampies would never find us. He always assumed the Swampies were not quite dumb enough to venture into Pack territory.

My father was a war hero. When the orcs and the goblins formed their secret alliance, they began attacking the elves and humans. In response to the treachery the elves and humans began working side by side to end the slaughter of their people. My father led the human ranks for years. The Pack, as we call ourselves, kept them at bay. But now the world is at war. Both sides forever fighting to destroy the other in a quest for power.

Our home was safe. It was hidden. Nothing could find Mother, Father, or myself. Well, so we thought. I was barely ten years old the night I became the last of my bloodline to still breathe. I had gone to bed earlier that night, leaving my parents to sit by the fireplace in the living room just like any other ordinary night. There were no warning signs. I woke when the glass of a window had been broken. I lay there just listening to the scuffling of my parents running around the house. That's when the sound of about twenty thundering horse hooves came galloping towards my home. I felt their movements in my chest. The ground shook with it.

That is when I heard my mother scream. It pierced through my ears. It is a sound that haunts me to this day. My father shouted to me, "Tallie, I need you to help me win the war!" I knew what that meant. We had played this game since I could walk. I jumped out of bed and ran to my closet as silently as possible. In the corner was a hidden door. It was impossible to see if you did not already know it was there. I climbed into the small crawl space, closing the door without a sound.

I could not see a thing. My heart was pounding in time with the sound of the horses galloping. My entire body was shaking. I knew not to move a muscle. I heard noises and tried to work out what was happening. The only thing I knew for sure was that it was not a game I played with my father all these years-it was preparation. The Swampies were in my house. Images of foul looking orcs and terrible smelling dwarves touching my things. I could hear sounds that made me see them in my mind's eye, breaking our furniture with their axes.

I am not sure how long I hide there. After the struggles, the shouts, swords swinging, metal striking metal, and blades slicing flesh, came an eerie silence. I held my breath and waited. Any moment now my father would call, "Victory for the Pack!"

Minutes passed. Silence.

Hours passed. Silence.

I finally decided to crack open the door. It was against my better judgment but my gut told me that the danger was no longer in this place. I knew hours had passed by the amount of sunlight that filled the room. It hurt my eyes as it took a moment to readjust. It had to be around noon, maybe an hour later. I left my little den and moved to my room. It was chaos. My bed had been turned the wrong way, the mattress had been ripped into. My dresser was on its side with clothes thrown about. My things were scattered everywhere. I kept thinking, "this is going to take hours to clean."

I made my way downstairs. The scene I was about to walk into, is not something anybody should ever have to see. No child should have to see their parents' lifeless bodies. But what I walked into wasn't just seeing my dead parents. It was a massacre. I instantly became numb on the inside as the stench of blood and orc hit my nose. I knew it was going to be bad. There was blood on every imaginable surface. Furniture was broken. And my parents corpses in the center of the room.

By the look of it, my father had been protecting his wife. The Swampies had mutilated their bodies. I could only hope it was after their spirits had been released from human forms. My mother's beautiful face had multiple stab wounds. My father had a deep gash from an axe and his head had been pummeled. I didn't cry yet. I had to be strong. My father had raised a warrior. There was only one thing to do.

I went to my room, changed into fresh clothes and hiking boots, and packed my backpack. A few clothes, a stuffed dragon toy I called, Blaze, and the photo of my family in its frame that was surprisingly still perfect. I went to the kitchen and packed what little food I could find. I walked to the shed behind the cottage and picked up the bow my father had taught me to hunt with and as many arrows that would fit in the quiver. I set my supplies next to the tree nearest my home.

Back in the living room, I went to my mother's body. I took off the necklace she wore. It was a very dainty silver chain with a beautiful set of silver wings protecting a sapphire blue gem - a gift from the Elf king for their wedding. I put the necklace on so I would always remember the beauty, grace, and determination my mother had. From my father, I took the small dagger his grandfather had created for him. I looked at the blade for a moment. With a sigh, I returned it to its sheath and strapped it to my right thigh. This would help me remember my father's bravery, empathy, and skills.

I had to show the dead the most respect possible. I had to make sure nothing would ever disturb this place again. I walked out and grabbed my things. I slung my backpack on my shoulders, grabbed the quiver and placed it over the backpack, and held my bow. I stared at what had once been my safe haven. Without thinking about it, I did what was required: I set the cottage on fire.

I stood there watching the flames engulf my childhood home. The evidence of us ever being there would be gone forever. My parents would be able to rest now. It was an Elf practice. I am not sure how long I watched the house burn. I glanced to my left and saw a path had been drug over. I knew it was Swampies having drug their dead out of the house. I felt a sense of pride that my father and mother had taken out at least some of them.

I finally turned my back on the inferno and began walking in a random direction. I was heading away from those memories and away from where the Swampies had run off to. I never looked back. I just knew one thing for sure: I was going to destroy as many of those filthy Swampies as I possibly could...