Sins of the Present

Chapter 1 - A Lord's Hindsight

A storm brews over Meredonia. The Grand City of Baranea, the pride of the Eastern side of the isle, finds themselves the bastion of hope for mankind. The dark forces of Asrania, invading from the northern isle under the banner of the House of Teague, have torn through the land in the north, leading thousands of stranded villager's dead or running across the plains. However, the advance of the Asranian horde has been stopped, if only for the moment. A victory in the fields surrounding the city, though costly to the standing army of the city, have given them a moment to breathe and setup defences against the oncoming storm that is the invaders from the north.

As Byron Therwind looked out over the blood-soaked fields of his great city, all his thoughts could muster was failure. Whilst his people tended to their wounds within the stone walls that surrounded the bastion of mankind that was Baranea, his mind only saw the battle that had taken place. He had watched from the battlements as his army marched beyond the walls and met the force of Asrania head on. He had seen the fierceness in his enemies' eyes, their tenacity, their cruelty. He had watched one particular warrior fight his way into a group of his men, slaying each in turn until the numbers grew too strong for even him to surmount.

Thousands died. Some mothers lost their husbands, some fathers lost their wives, most children lost both. Now only a good hundred men remained, just enough to fortify the walls in case a second attack should come. And it will, Byron thought to himself, turning his back to the window with his cape billowing around him. Their numbers are endless. They will overwhelm us, all they need do is blow and this castle will fall like straw. His mind wandered back to the battle as he glanced back out the window, seeing the red grass blowing gently in the morning breeze. I should have led them, his thoughts continued. I should have been on that field, fighting side by side with my men, not leading from the walls like a coward.

As he shook his head, trying to rid his mind of that dark thought, his attention was grabbed by the sound of knuckles rattling against the wood and metal of the door of his quarters.
"Enter," he spoke with a low, hoarse voice, one that managed to convey all that he had seen and done in his life with nary a spoken word. As he walked toward the table which he spent most of his days spent behind toiling on letters of allegiances and intrigue between him and the Grand Cities of Runar, the door slowly slid open and a small, half-crooked man walked in. His back was hunched, face contorted in some hideous way, with skin folded up around his cheeks and jaw like an accordion.