Rain cascaded down in sheets over the small Cormandarin town as a loose shutter banged in the wind, there gilded paint flaked off the town's main inn. The cacophony of the storm only added to the sense of neglect and the feeling of indifference that permeated the town. It was as if a pall had fallen over the world, and this was the core of its exsistance. A torch sputtered and went out, which plunged the alleyway into deep shadow. Just like my life, thought Bransyn sourly. He shifted from his previous position against the alley wall, trying to get comfortable (as if one can be comfortable when soaked to the bone, homeless, and assailed by a wind that rivaled bite of a knife). Pulling his cloak tighter around him to ward off the wind, Bransyn reflected on his past and the road that had brought him here to this light forsaken land.
It had been a long time since his parents had died. Not that he remembered much; just a few vague images. The furthest back he could recall was a night many years ago when he was about five. A glimmer of happiness trimmed most of his childhood past, but as time slipped away, the details slipped from memory and the images blurred. He remembers one time when his father gave him a silver medallion with the family's crest and a few runes in the old tongue. He had good reason to believe he was Aramaellen considering the medallion was like that of Aramaelle's work. The next several hours after this happy memory had passes in a blur; there was an alarm, fire, people, and death. Someone had pushed him from behind into a river which swallowed him into darkness....
When Bransyn regained conscience, he found himself in the company of a certain merchant, Harkan Cornath, with whom he would spend the rest of his childhood. This however turned out to be less than pleasant. Harkan, in short, was not a kind master. He was often given to fits of rage and enjoyed beating children; Bransyn was no exception. As Bransyn's childhood Years passed he gradually adjusted to this new mode of "life," learning to work hard and avoid injury whenever possible. However, Shortly after his fifteenth birthday the direction of his dismal life would change. At the time, Harkan and Bransyn were residing at an inn called, "The bounty Of Mercy." In retrospect, the irony was sickening, for mercy was certainly not something dealt that day. Harkan had accused the young Bransyn of stealing some valuable merchandise, when he didn't own up to the supposed theft, he was whipped, beaten, battered, and bruised until Harkan got bored and sent for the guards. Bransyn, with nothing left to lose, ran for his life. After that day, Harkan was never seen again.....at least by Bransyn.
After his narrow escape, Bransyn traveled across the land for a little over a year, working odd jobs that barely paid enough to get by. Eventually he reached the city of Dorelle Caromon. There he enlisted in the Eharon army because he decided it was high time he made something of his life and find out who he really was. Besides, he needed the money. The rigors of military life over time honed Bransyn's body into that of a fine young man. Mercurial blue-grey eyes set in a serious face lent a sense of gravity, wisdom beyond physical years. Lithe and slender, he had short raven hair and pale skin. Possessed of an uncanny agility and dexterity, in a short amount of time he made great strides in skill with both sword and bow, earning him quick, fast promotions. By the time he had reached his 25th year, Bransyn was a well known and respected sword-Lieutenant in the third banner of the royal army, stationed in Londaren Cor. Things were finally going in the right direction and he was able to relax and do nothing for the first time in his life. Then, wouldn't you know it,a war broke out with the neighboring country of Essenia. The fighting was brutal and atrocities were committed by both sides, leaving the land disolate. The hate that had spawned the conflict reached a climax at the battle of Dalsande. by sheer will power and a bit of luck, the Eharonans triumphed, taking, lands, goods, and prisoners, including a number of children. All the children were to be put to the sword by decree of the commanding Eharonan noble......
As the execution drew close, the Blood of thousands seeped slowly into the crimson soaked earth. The day was already hot and the sun was not even halfway to its zenith. Bransyn was lounging indolently with his company, relaxing after the long battle. "You were always a quiet one Bran," laughed Paeron. "Here, have a drink." Silently Bransyn slowly tipped the bottle of brandy to his lips and took a slow swallow. The unseemly sight which had taken place that morning disturbed him, though he could not say why. Its not as if they were human, and they would eventually die anyways. Why did it matter if he took part in the killing? As the whisky worked its way around the gathering men, a man on horseback disturbed the jovial mood. "Lieutenant," said the messanger to Bransyn. "Your presence has been requested by Lord Gregorian of house Lodar." Bransyn was quickly herded to where the remaining Essenian prisoners were being held. Glancing at Bran, the lord spoke, "ah...welcome do you know why i summoned you here? No, nevermind that. don't answer, of course you don't." Dark suspicious eyes, peered out from beneath bushy brows as the lord continued. "I summoned you here to execute some vile Essenian pigs." He gestured at a cluster of young children and said in a dispassionate voice. "Kill them." It was obvious that Gregorian had gotten wind of the rumor: Bransyn was a spy. Albeit it was not true, but nothing else seemed to exlain is lack of zeal on the field. This single act could clear him of the rumor, restoring Bransyn to his place of honor. The choice was clear, all he had to do was make it.Bransyn looked at the ground then at the lord. "NO." Laughing, Gregorian drew his sword and roared, "well if you aren't manly enough to do it, then I'll just have to do it myself!" Gregorian swung his sword in a metal arc over the head of a shrieking child, it sliced through the air only to be met with jarring impact by Bransyn's cuved blade. Gregorian snarled, "traitor!, men! seize him!" Half a dozen guards charged toward Bransyn with weapons drawn. Disengaging Gregorian, Bransyn pivoted severing the sword arm of the nearest assailant. He kicked the next in the face and decapitated the third. However there were too many. A sharp pain from behind sent Bransyn into an all to familiar downward spiral of pain and agony into darkness......He awoke bound to the sight of children being executed in everyone of a myriad of ways. Many things ceased to matter on that day, Honor, love, happiness......
Laughing without mirth Bransyn's thoughts
came back to the present. Two long years after Dalsande, Bransyn
wondered why he was still alive. Why not end it all? There was nothing
left to live for. Everything gone or smashed. Yes he had escaped
Dalsande but to what purpose? He had lost one thing he treasured most.
Trust. Trust in others and faith in the world. His thoughts often
turned to suicide but always there in the silent recesses of his mind,
Bransyn remembered.....the children. It was a searing pain. The memory
of guilt would not let him go...if only he had tried harder. He was
running....always running, or perhaps searching. But for what? Perhaps
the answer would come...north....