BrigandRansom/RheinhardtSol
Rheinhardt Sol wiped the sweat from his brow and looked to the Sun. It was low in the sky, the day's toil was nearing it's end. The other farmers in this small community began gathering their tools and heading home for dinner, just as he was. Sol however was also preparing this evening's sermon. He wasn't truly a holy man, he had spent much of his youth and teenage years as a soldier, then a mercenary. He no longer thought about the painful experiences that had led him to lay down his sword and take up the tools of a farmer. He book that he had found that carried it's ancient religion was what had given him solace from that pain, and now he shared it with his fellow villagers. He knew it was heresy, but that was one of the reasons that this village was so far removed from the well-traveled routes to the west. Not even the guild bothered them, save once a year for the regular trade.
Sol's smile broadened as he approached his house and saw his wife and daughter.
---
Sol read through the ancient book as he ate dinner with his family. He asked how their day was, played with his daughter, and smiled at his own good fortune. He had only recently become this happy, it had taken him years to stop looking over his shoulder; waiting for war or the Hunt to come again. After 5 turns of the seasons he finally felt at ease. The laughter of his daughter and the smile of his wife elevated his spirit, and the comraderie of the other villagers had finally allowed him peace.
There was a bloodcurdling scream.
Sol shot up from the table, the chair sliding backwards. and clattering over. The smell of burning thatch hit his nose, and now he could hear more sounds. The clatter of cheap farmer's steel against jade.
"Girls, get into the root cellar."
They quickly obeyed, the little girl asking her mother what was going on. The little girl was shushed as the mother carried her down the stairs. Sol heard the bolt lock into place before he grabbed the only weapon that was near. A simple scythe, chipped from years of use and reuse. But it would do, it was sharp enough to cut. Rheinhardt Sol charged out of the front door and towards the sounds of screaming
---
He made it to the hilltop just as the sun was beginning to set. Normally he would be just leaving his house to begin the dusk sermon, but the Wood and Thatch meeting house was ablaze. Many of the villagers had already gathered there before the building began to burn, and a pair of dragon blooded stood at the door. They slew anyone who tried to leave the burning building. A third watched the scene, and a fourth read an Imperial Decree. Sol didn't bother to listen to it, he had heard it before. He had helped in the burning of villages that had been found to be practicing the heretical relgion before.
Sol charged the pair of Dragon Bloods that blocked the escape of his friends. They should have taken him more seriously; though he was mortal he was also an experienced fighter. He knew their strengths and weaknesses, and slew one and crippled the other before they realized that they were outclassed in pure martial skill. The blood splattered across Sol's face, and his world began to blur. It was the same as it had always been, he was still a warrior though he tried to deny his place in the world. He finished the crippled Dragon Blood then charged the one reading the decree in a single fluid motion.
The Dragon Blood had already dropped his scroll and drawn a sword, and the one watching from the hilltop drew a bow. There was no element of surprise this time, Sol was sliced across the stomach and feathered with half a dozen arrows before he could take 3 steps. He fell to the ground, shock setting in. The world around him was still a broken haze.
---
Within minutes, the 2 Dragons had finished off the remainder of the villagers. Sol lay there, not sure if he was still alive or dead. The fire in the main hall burned, and Sol could no longer hear screaming. The familiar battlefield scent of burning human flesh filled his nose and pulled hiim from his daze. He sat up and groaned, holding his intestines in place. "Losing blood..." he thought to himself. "...have to get home... make sure they're allright..." Sol lifted himself up on the staff of the scythe and began limping up the hill, his blood trailing behind him.
As he topped the hill, the site that he met nearly laid him low once again. His own house was burning, the dry thatch already gone and the walls nearly so. The timbers that supported the roof had burned through, and the house now resembled a massive bonfire instead of where he had raised his daughter.
Sol dropped to his knees and wept, the blood pooling beneath him and soaking the grass. A raiton landed a few feet away and kakawed. He cursed the Blooded that slew his family and friends, cursed the unconquered sun for not protecting them, cursed his own stupidity at believing that they were safe.
"You wish revenge?" asked the Raiton.
Sol turned his head at the bird that was near. It had hopped closer and stood in a rivulet of blood that ran down the hill. With the tears in his eyes and the lost blood, he could almost swear that the bird wore a fine mask of Ivory. He blinked, but could not clear his eyes.
"Yes!" he wailed at the ground. He no longer cared whether or not he was hallucinating, he would be dead within moments.
"If I grant you your vengance, will you serve me?" asked the strange hallucinatory raiton with an ivory mask.
The sun's last ray began to disappear over the mountains.
"...anything..." whispered Rheinhardt Sol. His last thought was of his wife and daughter.
---
As the last ray of light left the burned village, there was an explosion of Gold from the hilltop. The three remaining Dragon Blooded of this Wyld Hunt turned and looked, and a feeling of dread overcame them. Apparently there was an anathema in this village as well. They turned and started back, hoping that they would not join their two fallen comrades.
---
Rheinhardt Sol stood above the last three Dragon Bloods and watched as their blood flowed out from them. His anima still flashed as a Giant Python, though the fight was over. Once again he dropped to his knees and wailed, his mind now clear to remember the events of the last few minutes. Thought the Wyld Hunt was dead, his family was still gone.
"And now, our Bargain."
Sol looked up to find a man standing before him in the Dusk. He was tall and dressed in fine robes of Silk and metal, a metal that he did not recognise. Instead of a face however, the man had an Ornate Mask of Ivory.
Sol stood and removed the ring from his finger. it was a simple thing, just a hoop of Orichalc. His wife wore one exactly like it, and they represented their promises to each other. Her promise was to love him and comfort him in his painful memories, and his was to love her and never take up a sword again, lest it was for the protection of another.
If he was to be a warrior again, he had no right to wear it. He flung the ring as hard as he could at the smoldering ashes of the home he had lived in for the past 5 turns.
"I shall serve to the best of my abilities, My Master." Sol kneeled before the Mask of Winters, holding his simple steel scythe upright.
"Very well. I shall take you to meet Our Benefactors." said the lipless ivory visage. The blood-muddied hillside became like a marsh, and Sol felt himself being pulled under. He no longer cared, he only hoped that servitude to this new master would help him forget.
