Sins of the Father

[Peridan]

A dark cloud loomed over the horizon as Rolan peered into the oncoming night. The small cottage that was his home stood behind him, an ominous presence that seemed to watch him from the corner of his eye. He rubbed his neck, a scowl on his face.

She lay dead inside, a piece of meat. Took her own life, tired of this world. She had given up before Rolan was born, and she never gave him any sign that she had rallied.

He turned, looking back once more at the silent tomb. He knew she was in there, silent as she had been his entire life. A still presence, finally faded back to the earth.

She had given birth to him, raised him without much of a care. She sat by the window while he learned to read and write with a visiting priest. She just stared, her eyes a window into the inky depths of what remained of her soul.

He fingered the worn axe by his side. The hilt was well used, the blade notched and chipped. But it was a weapon, a means to find the man who had abandoned him before he had even made his way into the world. A name, a description. That's all he needed.

She had finally given up. Tyr or not, she was done. She bid the world a farewell, and taken the poisonous herb that extinguished her life. She felt a flicker of satisfaction before she left, knowing that she had left by her own choice. Her own. Not his.

Rolan struck a match, the scent of kerosene plugging up his nostrils. He tossed it towards the cottage, watching for the rest of the night as flames ate up what was left of his origins.

She was glad. Glad.

His footsteps faded away as the forest ate up its new traveler, and the rain began to fall.

[Peridan]

A frozen breath curling up into the night air. Rolan lay flat on his stomach in his half suit of armor, watching. The bushes covered most of him, while the plant colored paste he'd purchased covered the armor he wore. A mixture of greens and browns, he tried his best to remain still.

To remain quiet.

His quarry lay against a massive log, its ears flickering around in search of sounds while it scratched a huge muzzle with its paw. Its axe lay next to it. Just within reach.

Rolan took a quiet breath. Then another. Wait. Patience. He was physically weaker than the Gnoll Chieftain. Needed surpise as his single weapon. Patience.

The Gnoll Chieftain rolled over, his back facing Rolan's hiding place. Now.

Rolan burst out of the undergrowth, swinging his axe at the gnoll. A single yellow eye rolled over to appraise the man with an axe raised, about ten yards out. And a toothy smile grew on its muzzle.

Oh, fuck.

Three other gnolls burst out from the surrounding forest as well, axes and spears gleaming. Fucking dog had set a trap. Rolan ground to a halt, silently cursing his luck, and ineptitude. They had known he was here, despite his poor attempts at stealth. So now he had to kill these three bastards while keeping an eye on the big one. Shit.

Guess you have to be realistic about these things.

Taking a deeper stance, Rolan clutched his axe in his hand, shield in the other tightly. Ready. Wait for it. The three were only ten feet away. Five. Three. Perfect.

Rolan released the energy and tension that had been building in his arm, whirling his axe around himself in a bloody dance of death, a veritable gift to the Underworld. The three went down in a spray of red, grunts, and howls. Bastards can't get on up on ol' Rolan, that's for....

A speeding battering ram smashed Rolan in the side, flinging him across the clearing.

Head swimming, Rolan barely had time to pick up his shield and block the huge axe coming at him before he felt it thunk against the piece of wood so heavily he could feel it in his bones. His hand tightened around the hilt of his axe, and with a roar he swung it at the gnoll, only to have it blocked by blurring speed as the gnoll moved.

Back and forth they went, axe to shield, axe to air, and back again. Rolan found a rhythm in it, a painful song. Just have to wait for a chance, wait for an opening....There! The gnolls foot slipped slightly in the mud. Rolans axe came down in a silver arc, leaving a massive gash open along the tendon.

The Chieftain cried out in a howl of pain, dropping to its knee. Its yellow eyes looked up to Rolan, a silent plea of mercy.

Say one thing for Rolan, say that he's merciless.

Rolan's axe was already coming back through, and embedded itself in the gnolls skull, splitting it wide open. He stood there for a moment, panting, just breathing. He looked up at the sky and let loose a half strangled cry of joy, weariness, and rage. Gods. It was good to be alive.

He looked down at the gnoll, and the axe that it had wielded. He picked it up, testing its weight. It'll do.

A bloody grin crossed his face as he took his gory prize from the battlefield.