The Shaper Chronicles: Winds of Change
Introduction: A Tale Begins
The soft night breeze blew through the forested hills of Fallwood. Rocky hilltops were outlined against the starry night sky. Wisps of cirrus clouds mixed with the myriad pinpoints of light. There was a taste of the faraway snowy peaks on the wind, but the land still felt the residual heat of the first real day of spring. This land was a strange contrast for those who knew and loved it; one could feel the enduring strength and age of the hills and massive trees, but at the same time the whole country felt fresh and full of possibilities.
Nestled in the northeast corner of the Mesiconian Empire, the province of Fallwood shared a border with the now defeated independent nation of Luthandia. After the war between the two nations, the Empire had annexed Luthandia, keeping the ruling body in power with Imperial oversight. This war was one of aggression. The current Emperor, Kriwaris Mesiconia, had started it twenty years ago in order to secure port access for the landlocked Empire. Battles had ravaged the land for five years during the conflict, but with fifteen years of an uneasy peace came much-needed healing for both the land and the citizens.
The people had repaired the war-torn land. They had also erected some modest monuments to fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, sons and daughters lost on both sides. It allowed them to move on, to make good livings for their families. The years following saw the crops well nurtured by the fallen of both sides, and the Empire was more prosperous for it. Even most Luthandians who had fought and still remembered the horrors of war could also recall the hard times the independent nation had before Imperial rule.
There was a bright moon this night. The clear rays of light shining from the orb in the sky flooded the woods, unimpeded by thin cloud cover. The small sounds of night filled the air, small wildlife moving in the brush, a faint breeze rustling along the forest floor. It was as if the land was breathing deeply, muttering and fussing its way to a comfortable sleep.
A small campfire burned shedding light a few feet into the night. Next to the fire, nestled between fallen logs and some pulled-together brush, sat two men. They sat in silence, grease of a duck still on their fingers, peering into the steady dance of the firelight. Sitting in their camp, they faced each other. Cid of Skyhorn, his light brown hair was tangled, strands of it brushing across his face. A thick scar touched his mouth, raising its right side in a mocking smile at all times. Deceptively muscled, he carried his small frame as though he were a larger man. His dark eyes flashed with a sharp intelligence and also a hint of something more, like a joke that only he could hear, or a memory that haunted him. Alongside him sat Bjorn of Rockstead, a true behemoth of a man, standing well over seven feet tall. His close-cropped hair and chiseled face gave the impression that he was a brute. Part of this demeanor was in fact an act, for his heart was kind and gentle, but his ferocity in combat was truly a force of nature.
Both were natives of the Empire and had grown up in the neighboring provinces scattered around Fallwood like cones on a pine. Each province held a city that shared its name. Smaller towns and villages dotted the landscape of the Imperial provinces. Each was ruled by the Lords and Ladies of the Empire and they were entrusted with safeguarding the thousands of imperial subjects that claimed these areas as their homes.
Leadership for these cities was hereditary; the founding of a new city had allowed for new nobles to join. There were now twelve provinces within the Empire; Fallwood, Riverside, Rockstead, Skyhorn, Avenglade, Briarglade, Duskdale, Northhaven, Southhaven, Emberbright, Luthandia and the capital province of Mesiconia. Even after 100 years since the founding of the Empire, the families of each of the provinces still held power.
These two had ventured into Fallwood looking for work. The job they were on had them camped off the main road between Fallwood and Rockstead. The evening would have been called peaceful, if not for the threat of danger approaching the pair.
Cid had taken up a flute and was playing a simple melody that drifted on the breeze. A melody that reached the camp of bandits who had taken up an ambush spot not far from the two men’s camp.
As the flute’s tune carried, Cid played with one eye open, sitting on a fallen log. Bjorn sat cross-legged close to the fire. It was Cid who noticed the figures in the woods shifting around their camp. He saw the telltale glint of steel reflecting the firelight, the slight disruption of shadows in the night that revealed men who thought they were stealthy. He winked at his friend and continued to play while he stood up, allowing for a quick draw of his rapier should the need arise.
Accustomed to the strange man's antics, Bjorn recognized the preparation for danger. Bjorn began to stand up as well, easing a large greatsword free from the sheath on his back. Thinking they had ambushed the two travelers, the five bandits burst forth from the tree line and attacked.
Two of the men came charging at Cid, one with a wood axe and the other with a large, unwieldy sledgehammer. The other three peeled off toward Bjorn, all with smaller axes in both hands. Cid braced his feet, raised his sword and laughed maniacally as one of the brutes swung down heavily with his axe. Sidestepping to the left, with a quick thrust, he slipped his slender sword into the man’s throat. He flicked it to the side and tore a large gash in the neck. Cid felt the blade feast on his opponent’s lifeblood, urging him to continue his dance of death.
A genderless voice only Cid could hear said, “Another one dead. How many have we killed?”
The mortally wounded bandit immediately clutched his throat, trying desperately to cover the grisly wound. Cid pirouetted around his collapsing foe as the second enemy attempted to knock his head off with a wild horizontal swing of his crude hammer. Avoiding the hit, he brought his sword up and around the wild swing, guiding the blow into the already-collapsing bandit, knocking the poor fellow to his knees as the last gasp of air escaped him. Cid chuckled. The dance was dangerous but exhilarating.
He replied to the empty night, “One more, certainly.”
Swinging back to square with his remaining opponent, Cid feinted low, forcing the man to off-balance himself with a wild block. Then with a strong thrust, Cid ran the blade through the bandit’s heart. Retracting the blade swiftly, he stepped gracefully out of the way of the dying man’s futile swings.
Bjorn had chosen to charge at the three heading his way. Meeting the one farthest to the right, he halted abruptly and swung his sword in an upward arc with both hands on the handle as his opponent flailed with an undisciplined strike at the giant man. As the sword lifted up, catching the axe and bringing it high, Bjorn reversed the momentum of the blade, interposing it between him and the other two as he shoulder-checked the man in front of him with his heavily armored body. Stunning the man and knocking him over, he continued to step forward, driving his left heel into the fallen man’s face as he pushed off. With the crunch of the skull cracking, he propelled himself forward, thrusting his blade past the second opponent’s futile guard and driving his sword through his midsection. He quickly retracted the blade and brought the weapon to bear on his final opponent.
Stunned by the impressive display of speed for such a large man, the remaining bandit turned on his heels and tried to escape. With a roar, Bjorn dropped his weight and leapt forward with a powerful lunge. His blade burst through the man’s chest and the monster of a warrior ripped it horizontally, cleaving the retreating bandit almost in half.
As the blaze of their campfire moved in the wind, Cid searched the vicinity of the campsite for any more of the brigands. Finishing his scan of the immediate surroundings, all he saw was his traveling companion, wielding his weapon as swiftly as Cid swung his smaller sword.
Hefting the blade over his shoulder, with three foes strewn about him, Bjorn whipped his head around and growled at Cid.
“You half-mad little bastard! I actually thought you intended to relax with a bit of music! There’s been talk of bandits, and you knew it! You think it funny to play your little trick on a friend who looks out for you, even when you don’t return the favor. Your particular fascination for the prank goes too far…”
Cid interrupted, chuckling, a bit of his madness slipping into his voice.
“I sure did, Mr. Bjorn. It was a good time though, yeah? Stabbing and slashing about, joyous fun! They sure wouldn’t have come out if I didn’t. We wanted to speed up the process. I warned you with the look and all, if you remember. Hells, man, you fight better with your blood up. You might have thought to capture them elsewise, and then we’d be babysitting nasties all the way back.”
Bjorn angrily roared a reply.
“Is there even a job in Fallwood? Or must I now question whether you found out us employment at every turn?”
Cid began to laugh, clutching his sides as he fell back on the log he had been using as a bench.
“Oh, aye, you great grumpy bear! And we’ve begun it. With a tune and a dance…”
Bjorn sat as well, breathing slowly and deeply, knowing the sly, roguish man had played him for a fool again. The voices in Cid’s head had decided to draw the bandits to them rather than hunt them down. A solid plan, he admitted—it was just infuriating to not be included. He brought his sword across his lap and began to clean it with great care, wiping the gore with a piece of cloth cut from one of the slain men. Cid giggled and muttered as he flicked the blood from his sword and began to go through the bandits’ pockets.
The two had grown close over the past year, Cid getting people to hire the pair for work, while Bjorn looked the part of hired muscle. Frankly, Bjorn just didn’t want to talk to people. Negotiating prices and haggling over contract obligations was a bother. No, he would rather do a job that Cid told him about and then lay his head down after drinking a tavern dry.
Cid finally controlled himself and stood up, wiping tears from his eyes and addressing his large friend again.
“Sorry, Bjorn. I just have been getting bored lately. Sometimes the voices call out to me and make me a bit antsy. They enjoy the dance of death. Couldn’t help but play a joke on you and still get paid.” Cid paused as he sorted the various coins he had collected. “We were hired to track down bandits, and after killing these five, I think we know they are definitely moving about out here. I can’t imagine that there’s too many more around though. So, I suppose we can move camps and stay quiet for the rest of the evening. There ought to be a decent back trail we can follow in the light. Tomorrow, we hunt.”
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