The Progenitors

Chapter 1

The sky was on fire again.

Whenever the forests outside caught on fire, the sky would light up as a reflection of the destruction. A dark crimson tide spreading out in each direction as far as the eye could see. A raiding party had most likely started the fire - they were all too common recently.

With the summer thaw, the raiders had once again come to the coasts of Rhal. If you were smart, you hid in your house or in any shelter you could find. If you lacked the common sense to hide, you fought them and died. Whenever they were done taking all that you owned, they would burn what was left to the ground, leaving nothing remaining to suggest their presence other than the scarred and scorched earth where your house and fields used to be.

In such times, farming was a dangerous profession. Well worth the risks, however, for the intrepid farmers who could find ways to grow their crops away from prying eyes and stealing hands. Hallen Forist looked back into the small cave he lived in. It wasn't nearly as fancy or comfortable as a log-cabin, but it wasn't much of a target either. It also didn't burn, which made it far superior to the house that belonged to whichever peasant that had just been raided. Stone - the safest of all natural building materials.

He looked at the sky a bit more, then crawled farther back into the cave. The ground provided a little bit of insulation further in; with decent furs and pelts you could have all the warmth of a fire with none of the smoke and light - a trick Hallen had learned long ago. It paid to know how to remain unseen in a world with no rules.

Rules - if only the world had rules! Hallen had heard that there were once great empires that spanned continents, and the only thing that had set them apart from their neighbors were their laws! It was hard to imagine a world where people were bound by a universal code of conduct, where few people lived in fear, but according to myths and legends a place like that had existed once. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would live long enough to see a return to law and justice.

Not that Hallen was old by any means - at 18 years old he still had a long life ahead of him. In a world like this, however, physical health had very little bearing on how long you survived. Instead, luck, stealth, and cunning were required - the healthiest man would die faster than anyone else if he lacked the brains to avoid danger. Those who were found lacking were executed by the various raiders, bandits, and armies that roved the land. Just what they deserved too,

He looked back lovingly on his small mushroom farm, located in the multitude of crevices in the back of the cave. Mushroom's grew well in the dark and damp environment Hallen lived in, and they sold for decent coin, too. Using just his extensive network of small mushroom patches was enough to keep him well supplied all-year round. The neat little plants even grew in the winter, driving their price up as other sources of food disappeared.

Hallen checked that all was ready for tomorrow's trip - market day in the nearby town of Willhelm. Market day was arguably the most dangerous day of the month; it was the only day where many individuals carrying valuable resources all gathered in one place. It was a hotbed for thieves and robbers, con-artists and highwaymen, and any other types of rabble who would love to get their hands on anything that they could sell for a quick coin. Common sense and a sword were all that stood between you and financial ruin - for many, these tools weren't sufficient.

He settled down into the small bed of pine-needles in the back of the cave he had made for himself. It was generally easy to pick out the idiots in the crowd, he thought to himself. Generally, the idiots were the dead ones lining the road.