It is with a great weight on my heart that I record recent events. Upon being gifted the noble Rodrick’s Hope Knife, which I have dubbed Incisor, I’d begun to think once again that, perhaps, some great destiny awaited me. If the fair lady Brynya saw something inside of me worthy of such a weapon, I must certainly have something bright on my horizon. Now, however…
As soon as the first boulders struck the city, my companions and I were on our feet, asking Kurst where we were needed. With his father gone out to recall patrols, we knew that our place was in rising to the occasion to defend the city. Thus it was that we were dispatched to ignite the city beacons that would recall reinforcements into the city.
Upon reaching the first beacon, however, we found it surrounded by townsfolk fanned to the brink of violence. Worse, they had seized Rodrick’s betrothed, Brynya. I know not what Bazel, the rabblerouser of the group, intended for the woman, but I felt great pride as those beside me stepped up to protest this injustice. Zekant, Torsten, Fijit, and myself began to implore Bazel and the crowd disperse, as the wily and elusive Leetsa began to sneak around to assist Brynya directly. After much tension and shouting, we were able to appeal to the crowd’s sense of pragmatism, pointing out that fighting amongst ourselves would only weaken us to our attackers.
The crowd dispersed (I know not what became of Bazel), we lit the beacon and flanked Brynya on all sides. It was then that Halgra, the city’s protector, arrived, commending us for our efforts and informing us of the existence of a traitor, one who had allowed our enemies into the city. Before departing, she ushered us off to the next beacon, sending Brynya off to protect the children in her home.
As we arrived at the next beacon, we found it broken by a falling boulder behind a barricade and a cluster of clerics. Before we could begin to assess the situation, another boulder crashed into a nearby building. Screams sounded from within the home.
My heart gripped with terror, I raced with my companions toward the building, ducking through the broken, burning doorway alongside the brave Torsten. Among the conflagration, we found Sara, the blacksmith, and Agrit, attempting to lift a beam from the other woman’s body. Feeling as though my arms would break, I managed to help Torsten heave the beam aside, attempting to cover the two women out the door.
It was then that the foul orcs fell upon us. One fell to Incisor’s touch, but Torsten was dropped within seconds. I fought as long as I could remain on my feet after a grave injury, dropping another of the beasts with Zekant’s help, but soon I, too, was unconscious. If not for the heroics of Fijit, Leetsa and Zekant, I’ve not doubt that Torsten and myself would have died on that very spot, a broken house for our funeral pyre. However, Fijit was able to revive me, and I the fallen Torsten, who dealt a death blow to the last remaining orc.
Coughing and bleeding, we retreated from the building and back behind the barricade for healing. Even as my flesh was mended, however, I heard frantic footsteps, turning to see a sprinting, shouting Leetsa. She and the boy, Zekant, had diverted course to determine where our enemies had gained entry into the city.
And, in the process, Zekant had fallen to an orc blade.
I cried out in anguish at the news. This boy, who had just gallantly saved my life, whose family we had promised we would do our best to protect and guide him, was dead. I’d not been strong or fast enough to prevent the tragedy, and now those beasts had claimed the life of one whose story had only just begun.
Dread seeming to close around me, I sprinted back toward the site of the event alongside my comrades, not even granted the chance to offer my respects to the lad’s still, bloodied form before movement caught my eyes through the buildings ahead.
Moreena, a woman I had visited earlier in anticipation of her fast-approaching time of labor, was struck down with the butt of a spear as she raced forward to assist her husband, a man held in the grasp of two orcs. Even as I watched, a third stepped forward to slit the man’s throat.
Enraged at the sight and the loss of Zekant, I charged forward, screaming at the monsters and denouncing them as the cowards they are.
But…I grow tired of the memory. I’ll finish this entry at a later time.