Here goes; this be my equivalent to what would lead up to my character ending up in Dun Morogh with naught but his clothes and gun. Suffice to say, it don't end well. Rest of it comes up in a bit.
Please Comment! I needs the feedback if I'm ever gonna get this glubberthunker published.
Asaoirc: The Rancher
Mine was a simple life, straying little from the family property. Carefree, my days work light. I still remember that night. The night it all ended.
The darkness.
The flames.
The smile.
That was the night Asaoirc the Rancher died.
It was during the early winter, just after the harvest. I was approaching the Age of Turning, when a boy becomes a man. Traditionally, my family would send their unproven boys on a solo hunt, to bring back a prize worthy of the honor of the clan, or not at all. My father had killed a massive patriarch bear during his solo hunt. The pelt now adorned the floor of our home. Many of my relatives, names lost to memory, would joke that it would be a feat for me to surpass my father’s hunting prowess.
The day proceeded like any other, with the men all leaving in the morning to begin the stockpiling for winter, whilst the women and children performed household duties. Belonging to neither of these groups, I was left with the task of preparing myself for the hunt.
There were two methods to preparing for the hunt, supposed to be practiced in moderation; Prayer to the Deity of the Hunt for guidance and ability, and martial training with the weapon of choice: the rifle. My cousin Baldan had neglected his training with rifles in favor of praying, hoping that his god would stay nature’s wrath. He had yet to return from the forest. I had never put much stock in the immaterial gods; Baldan’s fate merely served to further my belief that you couldn’t rely on anything but yourself and your equipment. I had been spending all of my allotted reflection time in the range, learning the slopes and curves of the rifle, Shaving seconds off my reload times, and firing round after round, much to the chagrin of my father, who had to pay for the ammunition. I quickly became the best shot in the clan.
Later that day, I was helping one of the females prepare a cooking fire when suddenly; there was an outcry from the forest. The hunting party had returned! I ran down the hill to the tree line to join my father, who shouted a hearty welcome on seeing me. “How fared the hunt?” I asked. “It went well enough,” He said. “Led us on a merry chase, that one. But we got him!” He gestured toward a group of hunters carrying the body of an elder stag up the hill, followed by a small procession of babbling little ones. “Will we be having a celebratory feast?” I asked. “Aye, for the Deity!” he answered. I quickly mumbled out the customary response. “Any news from the others of the valley?” Often while hunting, the hunters would bring items to trade with the other clans in our valley, and swap news. My father’s face fell as I said this. “Well, it be bad news… there are raiders in the valley again.” I quickly sobered up. Oftentimes we had troubles with raiders. We always routed them eventually, but at a great cost to the valley. “How much?” I asked coldly. He bowed his head slightly in respect. “The Curnns. Five of their herd. One of their blood.” I almost staggered back in shock. A first attack by raiders, and they were taking lives? This must be a very different group. Most did not rack up a body count until they were being removed by one of our hunting parties.
Thu Feb 04, 2010 10:52 am by betapally
