Chapter 1 - Abelard – Pre-Story 1 First Steps

Abelard Agnarrson's 'average' youth came to an abrupt end at the hands of a Night Raid that killed everyone in his small village of Trollansby outside Fjordheim, and left him the sole survivor. Mother Sharlee, Sister Sara, Jorunn, his warrior woman first love, all lost to him on one quick and bloody night.

Abelard never knew his father. Only that he was an elf, was with the village for a short time, and had taken the name the other Trollasnby warriors had given him, Agnarr, 'Sword of Terror', as his own. For reasons of his own that were never shared, Agnarr left, abruptly, shortly before Abelard was born, and his mother, Sharlee, never spoke his name aloud again. If ever the name was mentioned, she would simply gaze, silently, into the ever-present gray on the horizon. Truly, his only experiences of his father were other village warrior's side comments of “Well he sure isn't going to be another Agnarr!” as he screwed up one practice maneuver after another.

Absent father or not, Abelard's youth was a happy one. While he might not excel at combat, or , really, at anything, he failed to do so surrounded by love. A wonderful mother that the entire town loved, an annoying older sister, but one he loved with all his little heart, and, of course Jorunn. Jorunn was the sun around which young Abelard revolved. When he did wrong, it was Jorunn who helped him right it. And when, seemingly against all odds, he actually did right.... Jorunn's smile was better reward than all the money in the bank!

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For years to come, Abelard would not know who was behind the terribly night of slaughter, nor What, (or Who), they were searching for. But he has devoted his life to finding the answers, and paying them back with vengeance in full!

Woken from his sleep to a night filled with fire and screams, Abelard stumbled out of his bedcovers, bleary eyed, just in time to see the last of his family being cut down where they stood or cowered. His sister lay, dead, in her bed, his mother in the doorway, sword fallen at her side. Dead.

Before he could even make sense of what he was seeing, Abelard felt cold steel pierce his back and fell to the ground. Again, a stab of cold steel as he was struck a second time, laying on the ground. As he lay bleeding to death, Abelard was able to hear a deep gruff voice from outside, a gravelly, resounding, voice that could hardly come from the throat of a human, say "No witnesses! Make sure they are all dead." It is to that voice that Abelard has pinned his vengeance. To that voice that he would extract blood debt for an entire village lost!

Abelard lay, unable to move, as the man that had struck him down re-entered the hut. Human. Ragtag 'outsider' armor. Not a warrior from a local village. Abelard's mind filed away what little detail he could as his life ebbed, coldly, away. Tossing a torch against the thatch wall that quickly sprang into flame, the man began systematically stabbing each and every one of Abelard's family as he made his way to the back bedroom where Abelard lay, helplessly, on the cold ground. Abelard prayed, to anything and everything that might listen to save him. As the man's systematic slaying reached him, there was, what Abelard could only describe as 'a Flash of Dark', as senseless as the description seemed, and a weightless blade appeared in his hand. An axe, but feather light, and near invisible in the darkness.

The man above him, sword raised, paused in confusion as to what he was seeing, as the shadows themselves seemed to coalesce in young Abelard's hand, taking the form of a slender bladed axe, and Abelard swung upward with all his not so impressive might. A black axeblade of hazy shadow cleaved into the side of the warrior, seeming to pierce armor as if it were fresh butter and, with a coughing grunt, he fell atop Abelard. As the life fled from the man, it almost seemed to invigorate Abelard, allowing him to roll the now chilling corpse off of him and drag himself to his feet, scoop up his tunic, and weakly weaving his way to the kitchen door.

Abelard's first thought, upon escaping the crackling silence of his burning home, was to get to Jorunn... To his Warrior Woman. To safety. IF he could just make it to Jorunn, she would know what to do! He raced along in the darkness, the shadows always seeming to stretch just far enough to hide him, and arrived at Jorunn's hut just in time to see her savagely cut down from behind. A large man stood over her body, already lifeless before him, and stabbed down repeatedly into the corpse of his love.

Mindless with grief, and not looking back, afraid of what he would see, Abelard swallowed his cries & ran for the deeper darkness of the woods, hearing the pained cries fall silent and the crackle of flames grow louder behind him, and has been running ever since. Whether it is his imagination or real, Abelard has never shaken the feeling of being pursued ever since. As if Whoever, or Whatever, had ordered the destruction of Trollansby and death of everyone Abelard had ever known was still seeking to finish the job.

Abelard returned to Trollansby, only briefly, in the predawn darkness of the next morning, only managing as far as the outskirts of the village. All was silence, smoke, and death. Unable to muster the courage to face his fears and loss, he instead turned back and ran for Fjordheim, and began what was to become a half decade of Running, hiding, and running again. Only much later, after the pain of his losses had numbed, did Abelard discover what the powerful force was that had heeded his call for help. And, to this day, he is still learning what the extend, and Cost, of Her help might be.

Now, with 5 years of running, of hiding, of study, and a stronger grasp of his newfound abilities, Abelard searches for the strength to return home and make his vengeance known.

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