The Life of Yarin: The Debt Unfulfilled
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The squat figures lay in wait under the cover of twilight in the lee of a pile of fallen rocks, one of them - a robed and black bearded Duergar raised a hand behind him his eyes scanning along the line of the score of silent unmoving kin beside him. The grim faced figure raised his crossbow, and focussed his piercing eyes toward the lone spearman lounging on the simple farmstead gate of the 10 buildings of the small hamlet before him.
The unsuspecting guard did not even hear the sound of the deep throated Duergar tearing through the undergrowth toward the farmstead as the crossbow bolt buried itself in his spine, pinning him to the gate he was leaning upon.
Neither did the guard hear the screams of the villagers as the line of brigands stepped from the hedged roadside and volleyed arrows high up in the air to fall upon the villagers who were now running around in panic seeing the Duergar charging across the plowed fields toward them
The human brigand's arrows found their mark in animal, child, man and woman alike.. smith, carpenter farmer… all felt the sharp pain and then nothing at all.
The duergar hit the farmstead like a battering ram, not bothering to use the dark wooded crossbows at their belt and throwing aside their shields their axes gripped with two hands to splinter the fence and hew anyone who was too bewildered, injured or cowering in fear to fight back. They were heading for the centre of the village, and before the birds fluttering into the sky disappeared from view all was silent except for the heavy breathing of the Durgar the fifty or so villagers lying where an axe found them a moment before.
The dark robed duergar approached a barn door, and motioning his guard to splinter the door stepped over the body of a woman still holding the hammer of a smith in the arm that lay a few feet from her still body.
Walking slowly, without haste across the floor of the straw and sand covered floor of the workig smithy, the forge still hot the bellows lying idle in the red glow of the fires, the Duergar leader spies his objective.
Stepping forward to the large casting bench, the leader buries his gloved hand into the steaming sand and pulls out a rough-formed ingot, and another beside it the strange metal still glowed but the Duergar seemed impervious to the heat of the ingot, his eyes glinting with glee as his toothy grin spread across his face.." COME we GO.he barked at his warriors in a strange tongue We have what we came for."
Neither did the unsuspecting guard hear the cry of his child as neither did the Duergar as the child lay warm at the back of the smithy behind a screen... strangely silent, pale grey eyes open barely an expression on the still breathing child who was no more than 3 months old.
The wind whistled through the open door of the smithy the Duergar left open then the child heard shouts, different ones the child had heard a moment ago, but not of fear... perhaps fear, though the child knew not what fear was.. the child heard shouts of anger... the wind whistled again and with each whistling of the wind another shout, the child closed its eyes.
The child didn't see the carnage at the gate of the farmstead the exquisitely crafted arrows filling the sky and passing through the bodies of the dark dwarves as if an inconvenience for them to interrupt their graceful arc. Neither did the child see the almond eyed wood-elf bend over his simple wooden cradle.
The wood elf spoke in soothing tones to the boy child.."sleep now.. sleep, close your eyes to this picture the dark ones have painted. There will be a time to open your eyes, you will learn in time. You -will- see.... you -will- see...."
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The boy must have been no more than sixteen seasons as he stood in the circle of pale wooded trees that gave the woodland the name "The Grey Forest". The boy looked up, for he was on his back his lip cracked a moment after the lightning fast elven swordsman drove the wooden shield up under his guard into his ribs.
A deep elven voice sounded from above him, with a sound like a whispering song, the boy looked up and blinking in the glare of the sun at the centre of the circle he pushed himself up from the carpet of leaves and stood. "Yarin…" called the voice.. "Stand.. -BEGIN!-"
Yarin gripped his twin short elven blades with a light grip, watching the statuesque figure of the elf swordsman resplendent in inscribed runed leather now holding the same weapons he did, a stark contrast to Yarin's simple tunic. As he had been trained he watched for the approaching thrust, twisting a blade lightly in his grip to draw the attacking blade down and to his left, before flicking the blade back out of danger. Yarins attack was parried with a blinding blow from the swordsman that threatened to knock his right hand blade from his grasp.
The blades rang out for a few moments as each went on the offence, the swordsman clearly holding something back as he parried Yarins' thrusts and cuts. Yarin looked at the swordsmans eyes and there was no malice there, just simple concentration, then something told Yarin there was a moment. Yarin saw the swordsmans eyes flicker to the right a moment, in the classic feint. Yarin followed with his eyes allowing the swordsman the belief that he had succeeded in his trick. Then, seeing the swordsmans guard changing to the offence after the feint Yarin beat one of his opponents weapons away before striking at the tip and the base of the swordsmans weapon with both of his sending the blade stabbing toward the ground out of his grasp.
Yarin stepped back as the swordsman dis-engaged, looking with not a glimmer of pride at the sword now standing up in the leaves between them. He looked up at his adopted fathers' eyes once more and in reply there was but a simple nod from the elf. The elf then spoke in a calm caring voice..
" Yarin, It is done, you may go-now. As agreed, and so must it be you have tasted of the long draught of our kin, now you will go to yours. You know where you must go.. as we spoke before. To the temple, do -what- you can -when- you can, for -all- you can."
