Prologue - A Hero's Journey

Dren looked into the rising embers of the campfire. In the rising flames he felt as if he could see the road laid out before him. Each glowing orange mote a face he once knew so dearly: His mother with her needlework, his sisters playing with their dolls, his father returning home from work in the fields. Dren remembered the neighbor's oldest daughter who had been sweet on him, the way she blushed when she looked his way, or the first time they sat up watching the stars together and whispering alone into the night. He remembered the sound of marching boots and crass calls as the Dread Lord's army rolled over the farmlands he grew up in. The impression of hundreds of footprints in the muddy road. The bodies piled high and lit aflame. The screams. God the terrible screams as he hid in a pile of hay with his newborn brother praying to the heavens that the baby would keep quiet. Dren remembered the next few days… how hard it was to find food. Walking for miles, days, months… only ever coming across burned village after burned village. There was a darkness in Dren's eyes as he remembered finding a dread soldier, separated and wounded. Remembering what he did to that thing. What he wished he could still do. The road before him started in that haystack… but he didn't start walking it until he made that first cut in that monster's flesh.

Before Dren could walk these memories further a young woman sat down next to him, she wore thick robes of black and white and the thinnest strands of gold embroidery. Her delicate frame and pretty features made it easy to assume her a lady of Faith, but Dren knew her to be one of blood and silence. She smiled at him and reached over to place her hand gently on his knee, out of habit Dren glanced closely for a needle coated in poison or something but her thin fingers concealed nothing.

"This is it… the last push." she said with a tinge of hope to her soft voice.

"I hope so." Dren replied. He was lying. He didn't want this to be the last. He wanted to fight these monsters forever for what they had done.

"If we can win tomorrow- When we win tomorrow, do you think… about what I said before." the young woman hesitated while she asked.

Dren knew what she wanted to say, she had brought it up a few weeks back when she'd thought they were both going to die. That she wished she could return home just once to see her family. A good man at her side. Something about proving that she didn't need their arranged marriages and fancy parties. Dren had listened when she spoke because he also thought it was going to be the end of them. He'd even said he wished he could have gone with her. He didn't, but he wanted to give her that last bit of peace. Now it was biting him in the ass because she'd been trying to bring it up at least once every two days since.

"I don't know. I can't think about that now. I have to focus on this. This fight." Dren said sternly, dodging the question once again.

"Of course. You're right. We might not even survive, but if we do. Well… we will have time to talk about it after." She said, smiling again with a lingering hope.

"Yeah, after." Dren replied, still staring into the flames.

The woman pulled her hand away and then carefully removed a wrapped cloth from her pouch. In little time and with practiced movements she rolled it out before her and began placing weapon after weapon onto the fabric. Each tool was a unique weapon, most of them types of daggers, and many with hidden functions for the application of poison. Those deadly blades were the reason Dren was so weary of this girl… the assassin Loksa. However no matter her methods she was an ally and ruthlessly efficient when it came to killing Dread soldiers. It was the reason Dren had sought her out. Loksa seemed like she wanted to say more but before she could another person joined them at the fire. Dren didn't bother looking up as there was really only one person who would join them, since most of the army they'd gathered kept a respectful distance before a battle. It was Berg, the first friend Dren had ever made when he began this quest and possibly the only person who really understood what this war meant for him.

Berg sat with his legs spread wide and looked at Loksa like a lovesick puppy before turning his eyes back to Dren. "How do the troops look?" he asked casually.

Dren looked at the sheathed sword beside him and ran his thumb over the grip. Knowledge slowly poured into his mind as he became vaguely aware of the number of soldiers loyal to him and the general mood of the army. Dren pulled his hand back before the knowledge could give him a headache, the sword Kalaed was a powerful tool but it wasn't meant for mortal minds. It took years of training to focus and pull only what he needed when the sword connected him to the army.

"They're good. Eager. Strong." Dren replied.

"HA! They better be! This will be the last push. Either we win this or roll over and die!" Berg said jovially.

He was always upbeat about how dire the situation was. Dren didn't know why but it always put his nerves at ease knowing that even in the worst circumstance he could count on Berg to make light of it. "Have you seen anything with your magics?" Dren asked, knowing it was a wasted question.

"Pfft. Not a thing. Once we entered the Blackwoods I lost all my visions." Berg complained while waving his hand in front of his odd colored eyes.

On a good day, Berg could tell you the upcoming weather, how many birds were likely to sit on your house, if you'd had better luck at one bar or another, and a multitude of other interesting but usually useless things. Part of his odd fortune spellwork that he claimed was more a side effect than the goal. It was what had saved him when the Dread army marched on the town he lived in. Berg had seen the weather and noted odd clouds in the near future. It put him on edge and he made efforts to avoid it. The clouds had been smoke from burning buildings and corpses. Since joining Dren, Berg's odd little foresight had come in handy more times than he could count though almost never in a direct manner. Sometimes knowing that a large flock of birds were likely to be overhead soon warned them of an ambush that would leave many bodies on the ground. Other times Berg had managed to guide them to a contact seemingly by chance as he picked one brothel over another. Berg might not have been the deadly force that Lilana was in a fight but he was a powerful ally all the same.

"It's fine." Dren assured him.

The three sat in silence for a time until a young boy and an old grizzled knight walked up. Neither sat down but instead stood at attention until Dren acknowledged them. He looked to the knight first and nodded, at which the older man stepped forward and saluted by holding his hand to his left shoulder with poise.

"Sir. The men are prepared and we've carried out your orders. We are in the best condition we can be for tomorrow's battle." he said with a somber expression.

Dren simply nodded and glanced at the small yellow flower at the Knight's hip, tied with a vibrant green vine. A sun lily from the elves' royal gardens, capable of covering up the scent of the soldiers and allowing them to march closer than ever before to the Dread Lord's keep. They all carried one on them, Loksa kept hers in her hair while Berg used his as a bookmark in his spelltome. Dren looked to the young boy next who seemed to be dressed more in leaves and leather than armor. The bright-eye'd boy moved closer to the light of the campfire, throwing his features into light. He had a handsome face for a boy with clever eyes, a small chin, and long pointed ears typical of the elves. Though a child, the boy was actually a few years older than Dren.

The young elf spoke in an almost sing-song soprano. "The Dread one's forces haven't seen us yet. Their satyrs are sleepy, their goblins eat and drink without a care, and their orcs are oinking like happy piggies."

"Good. Thank you for the hard work." Dren said.

He probably hated the little elf the most. Dren didn't trust Loksa, he tired of old Knight Pram's posturing, figuring out Berg's visions was usually more a trial of tedious guesswork, but the way Orvaele treated this all like something he was expected to survive without so much as getting his leafy green boots dirty simply pissed Dren off.

Especially because so far the boy was right. Orvaele was an archer with a connection to the spirits of nature, as one would expect from Elven royalty, and as such seemed to be either far away from danger with his bow or simply aware of threats as they stomped over grass to try and reach him. Dren wouldn't mind seeing how the boy would fare in a city on cobblestone roads but they had long since left civilization by the time the elf had joined them. Dren grit his teeth but did his best to remain cordial.

"Are you feeling alright, sir?" Pram asked.

"Fine. Just focused on the battle tomorrow." Dren replied sharply.

Orvaele smiled as if he knew some secret that wasn't worth sharing. Which he probably did. By this time Loksa had finished her preparations and put all her pointy murder toys away before rolling up her fabric and stashing it with her things. Dren looked at each of them in turn… The knight Pram. The elven archer Orvaele. The maiden assassin Loksa. The fortune mage Berg- Dren's attention focused on Berg as he saw his friend's eyes glint with an odd sheen. As if a bit of oil was catching light from his iris. Loksa saw Dren's attention shift suddenly and her body tensed as if expecting an attack before she too was watching Berg. It took Pram and Orvaele a bit longer to notice but soon the entire group was watching Berg, who seemed to just be staring off into the distance and a bit to the left.

Soon Berg's gaze moved far to the east, toward the Dread Lord's keep, and then back over the heroes gathered around the campfire. His eyebrows knit together and the light from his eyes seemed to wane and vanish.

"What did you see?" Dren asked gravely.

"I think we need to change our strategy for tomorrow's battle." Berg said.