Chapter 1

An Old Friend

            The rain drizzled lightly on the roof of the small hut that was my only form of protection from the rain that had been falling for the last few weeks.  It was as if the Gods were tormenting, taunting, and rubbing it in my face if you will.  It had been near five years since the Gods had cursed me with a drought that had driven all others from this place.  The drought was what had ultimately led to where I was today.

            Tarius was a small village founded by my father only six years ago.  A small group in Greece had followed him out to explore the neighboring Italy.  They settled on a fertile land in the northeastern part of the country and started up Tarius in hopes to start a new life.  The settlement was named after my father as a way to always remember who had led them away from tyranny.  Martius Tarius was his name and he had been a revolutionary for his followers.  He offered no new religious beliefs, or riches beyond imagination, only the promise of a chance for a new life in a different land.

            Taking his family and all who would follow, he set out when I was just a young lad.  I had to leave everything I knew behind and start off another life.  There were no other males my age on the trip to this new settlement and I fell into despair many nights at the loss of all my little friends.  A few of the other families had daughters approximately my age, but none had really left an impression save one.  She had been the nicest girl I’d know in the village, and looking now is still the nicest I have ever known in my lonely life.

            After a prosperous first season of crops, the Gods stuck down our happy civilization by cursing us.  We took little or no religion with us, and the Gods were apparently disappointed.  Gaia punished us with three years of drought and starvation.  Many died, but most took up and left, moving farther west and south into Italy.  With them went my only friend and companion I had known in this sad life.  My father and mother stayed along with my little brother and me.  He was not about to leave a land he worked so hard to get in the first place.  Eventually it would come that my little brother and mother would pass away due to disease and the lack of necessary medicine for them to survive.  This left me as a scared thirteen year old in the wild with only his father as a companion.

            Tending to the dwindling fire brought back memories of the last two years of my father’s life.  At the passing away of the two other family members he took a surprisingly short grieving time.  I remember I was still in shock when he decided that he should start teaching me how to survive in this hostile environment.

            He taught me to hunt and I still had my first bow sitting on a shelf above the door to the small shelter.  Throughout the two years of teaching and training I had gone from scaring deer that were two hundred yards off, to playing games with small animals such as rabbits in a competition to see if I could touch them before they noticed my presence.  I allowed a small grin across my weathered face at the memory, but a large grimace soon followed though at the remembrance of his death and the harsh training I had endured to become a superb fighter.

            Small bandit camps had started to attack us regularly and stole what they could get before we drove them off again and again.  After the first attack my father taught me where to aim on a human just like he had done with the wild game.  Then came the sword.  I am of a smaller stature than most and my father knew I would never become a brute and hard-hitting soldier.  With that he introduced me to a short sword he said came from southern Italy from a growing city know as Rome.

            I took to the sword rather quickly and soon enough had the essential skills for survival and defense.  I was by no means a warrior and killed probably more bandits by mistake at first than on purpose.  A small giggle escaped my lips at the thought, but I was quickly brought back to what was now a harsh and lonely reality.  That seemed to be my life now: small moments of wavering happiness followed by the heavy hammer that was the grief and misery of my life.

            I paced the small shack in a rhythm and sought out a new way to pass the time.  Many nights were as lonely or more than this and as of right now there seemed no change to that in the near future.  I could leave here any day and was actually supplied and prepared to go, but every time it came to it I couldn’t leave.

            Stopping and stretching my arms high above my head my eyes caught the gimps of a small set of horns sitting in a corner.  The sight made me shudder at the tragic memory that was tied to them.  It was the previous owner of these horns that had taken the life of the father I had looked up to so much.

            It was late afternoon on a late summer day, and the bandits had decided it was time for another raid.  Always being prepared my father and I had bow and sword waiting.  Taking out four or five of them from a distance we spread out in a well-practiced battle formation.  I don’t know if it was so much a formation but two different dots on a field.  Unless of course you call two people a formation…but I suppose that is irrelevant.  Things were going well, it was a smaller group that left us matched against three men each.  My father downed his easily and came over and polished off the remainder of mine.  After doing so our eyes met consciously for the last time, when a single horn protruded through my fathers chest.

            Startled by what had happened I tripped backwards and lay as I watch a huge creature hoist my father into the air and toss him nearly twenty feet away.  This beast, I would later learn is called a Minotaur, then pursued it’s apparently lifeless prey and launched itself into the air.  Seeing his opportunity my father pulled his sword up and had the beast landing right on it’s tip and driving it through his chest to give it a wound to match his own.

            Regrouping the Minotaur charged again and just overpowered my injured father.  Ramming him into and pinning him up against a tree my father in one last act plunged a dagger into the head of the beast and in it’s fury took it’s axe and beheaded my father on the spot.

            Starring in horror at the events unfolding I watched as the Minotaur stumbled around the lifeless carcass that he would as soon leave as carrion for the birds.  The beast let out one final shout and as he took a step towards me fell flat on his face, dead.

            The rest of that day is all a blur to me now and I only wish the whole thing was.  Those events had been played over in my dreams more times than I’d care to count.  It might not be that many, but I tend to get bored after counting to about twenty or so.

            Stepping up to the fire again I placed a hand forward where it came to rest upon mantle to support my weight.  Moving a strand of my long and dark black hair behind my ear I ran my hand down my chin.  The light traces of a beard there reminded me that it was time to clean myself up again before headed into town for the few supplies I…um…borrowed…from there.  For all they know I leave with what I come with so I think I am still on good terms with most of them.

            The rain outside had let up to a light mist that I found to be very refreshing as I stepped out of the door.  The moisture in the air quickly accumulated and created an illusion of sweat from a hard days work.  I looked down the small hill the shack was set upon down across the small land I called my own.  There was a small lake where fish could be caught on occasion, but it was mostly used as a reservoir for the small stream that filled it.  The stream was fed by a spring about half of a mile north of the lake that fed water that was well…water.  I hadn’t died yet so I trusted it.

            My little hut sat on the western side of the lake, opposite on the east and overflowing into a small section of the southern part was a small forest that held many animals I had dined on over the years.  The other part of the lake that shared the direction of the south also held the small cemetery we established back when the settlement had a few people in it.  Sitting at the edge of the forest there were exactly forty-six makeshift headstones.  Most sites consisted of only a raised mound with a small stick that had engraved the name of the resident.  Thick grass and weeds had covered most, but there were still the three of my family that had been made in the last few years.  They too were covered in small patches but it was decipherable which were theirs in comparison to others.

            I kept my lone horse, Isofir, in a small wooded fence connected to the east side of the hut.  No matter what mood I was in he was always there to give my ear a nibble or some other playful gesture to cheer me up.  Most of the time he was free to run wherever, but at nights I usually preferred him safe where he had access to his lean-to. Grabbing my cloak, I started off with getting him a small scoop of feed and refilling his water bucket.  He gave me a small nibble in thanks and went off to his meal.

            Staring to the east there was still no sign of light through the trees so I knew I was awake early on this day.  I had no clue what time it truly was, but knowing the day had barely started I decided it best to stay near for now.  On my way down to where the cemetery lay the rain started to fall heavier again and I stopped retie the poorly done knot on the cloak and cursed lightly to myself for not having done a better job earlier.

            In the middle of struggling with the leather covering I felt something grasp my shoulder and try to wheel me about.  Out of instinct I pulled my dagger and had it to the creatures neck in a second, but the next moment had me being disarmed hurled onto the ground laying face first in the mud.  That was no bandit, I thought to myself as I tried to breathe through the muck that had caked onto my face.

            Pressing my hands into the soft ground in an effort to lift myself up, the stranger grabbed me under the arms to help me.  After bringing me to eye level I finally got my first look at him.  He was wearing a long cloak, similar to my own.  It was a dark color I could not decipher at the time.  It was soaked through and held a lot of mud upon the material that only added to the look of that it being many years old, it had seen many journeys just like this one.  The hood that covered his face left just a dark space between it and the only thing I could depict was the hair that hung out of the edges slightly.

            After a few moments of uneasiness the stranger extended his hand, the dagger held loosely implying that it was mine to take back.  Taking it by the handle I sheathed it in the small leather scabbard it called home halfway down my right leg.

            The silence continued on during this time and not until I threw my hood back did anything new happen.  In an attempt to wash out my hair with the rain, which now had sporadic lightning to accompany the soft rolling thunder, my hood fell down and at the sight of my face a small grin grew across his face.  A flash of lightning illuminated part of the face revealing a strangely familiar scar.  Extending my hand he answered with his own by putting the back of his against mine and then proceeding to finish with a few motions that had accompanied it from when I was a boy.  Before the ritual had been completed I lurched forward and gave the now friendly face a tight embrace, which would be appropriate to that of old friends.

            “It can’t really be you can it?” I implied with a look of astonishment still lingering on my face.

            “I would hope it’s me, because if it’s not that would mean some demon has possessed me, and God dammit I like this body,” the now recognizable man said jokingly as was always his fashion.  His face was hard, but still held a lightheartedness that when mirthful was nearly a relaxing sight.  At the same time it could be laughable because of the crazy antics I remember him for.

            The now ragged looking man and myself just looked back and forth for what seemed like forever but was really only about a second before we both realized how creepy that was.  Shaking off the daze I started, “Hey, um…so what are you doing around here?”

            “It’s a long story,” he said in weary tone, “one that has very few…good memories.”  The sad look was evident on his face.

            “I’m sorry if I brought back bad memories Hecto…”

            “It’s Anduin now,” he interrupted, “my name is Anduin Lothar.  As for this name, Hector Iscarious, that was of the Gods and damn the Gods and everything with them.  No, that name belongs to them not me.”  His words felt weighted with pain and suffering of the past.  I had apparently hit some topic that had plagued him in his past.  It seems I wasn’t the only one who had a tough time since we’d be separated from each other and the city.

            “Well…Anduin…at least come inside and tell me what there is to tell,” I stated with a tone of sympathy and comfort.

            With a slight nod I led him up the muddy path that went up the hill and ended at my front door.  Carefully opening the old slab of wood that acted as a makeshift door I showed him inside and to the most comfortable chair I had.  That’s not saying much, but it was still true due to the fact I had only three.

            Seeing to it that my guest was settled I put on a pot of water so as to give him something to warm himself, cause I know I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.  I stepped out into the now torrential downpour or rain to get firewood from under a canvass that kept it dry no matter what the weather.  Picking out a few logs I returned to find Anduin walking about the little hut examining everything he possibly could, but then again that would be the same old friend I had been separated from so long ago.

            Adding a few of the logs to the small glow that was my “fire,” I turned to sit in another makeshift chair I had in the small hut.  More silence followed as he paced about the one room cabin, leaving the soft tap of his boots on the wood lingering in the air.  Many times I brought myself to try and speak, but each time found the words fumbling before they made it out of my mouth.  It had been so long since I’d seen him I really didn’t know what to say.  He may as well be a totally different person.

            Seemingly getting bored with walking around he took back his seat as I handed him a small cup of tea to warm himself.  Taking my own I sat back and forced myself to start this conversation.  Nothing was getting done just sitting here and the story would be told sooner or later.  “So what exactly happened after I left?” I asked.

            The look that I received told a story in itself.  His eyes were filled with happiness, but at the same time sadness.  Anger, but at the same time love.  Many contradictories were there and I knew that I was in for a story I would not soon forget.