Frustrated Father
First Post
Comments welcome and appreciated!
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The realms were ruled by the great houses and constantly there was strife and unrest as one house sought to unseat another until House Jor'dian was able to unite the lands under a strong rule. Through the centuries House Jor'dian had been instrumental in directing the realms though not without making enemies, powerful enemies and it was seventy three years ago when the great house was thrown down and the descendants of Jor'dian had been slaughtered almost to the last. Some few survived in hiding.
The Order of the Watchful Hand had been set to watch the direct descendants from the blood line of their founder, as an elite group of house soldiers that were still loyal to their cause and ideas and it was with their help that those that did survive were able to make new lives for themselves. Still, a great bounty had been set upon the heads of all descents of that once great House and although diligent and faithful, those that had survived had been hunted down through the decades, their guardians slain before they too were tortured and murdered. Now, only one of the House of Jor'dian survived, a young boy named Uriel.
The Order is only a shadow of what it once was, but all their hopes and loyalties were now with the boy and those that remained, some thirty of the faithful, saw to the boys education and upbringing.
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He cocked his head as he turned into the wind, listening. Something was out there, or someone. Yes, there it was again, the sound of a footstep and the sound of cloth rubbing.. Pulling his sword, Sir Malcolm, an Order Guardian, took up his shield and moved quietly across the broken cobblestones that made up the courtyard of this old manor, his red cloak blowing out behind him and leaves tumbling by from the trees ready to slumber with the coming of winter. Again he heard it and with hurried steps he moved along the wall beside the brown and dead garden and paused at the corner before quickly looking.
Three men dressed in the garb of thieves and assassins were climbing the wall to the third story of the manor house, where the boy was being looked after by the others. Watching their progress he allowed them climb another ten feet up before rounding the corner and bellowing an alarm. Surprised one of the men fell from the wall, his head bursting like a melon on the jagged cobblestone. The other two began to scramble towards a window which promptly opened as they got close and a sword took one of the men in the throat as one of his Brothers responded to the alarm, the man dropping quickly to the ground beside the other.
"Come on down and tell us who sent you," Malcolm calls from below, his sword out, "and on my honor you shall have a quick death." He watched the man cling to the wall in indecision for a few moments before continuing, "The alternative is much more painful I assure you."
With wide fear filled eyes, the would be assassin began his descent ...
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The realms were ruled by the great houses and constantly there was strife and unrest as one house sought to unseat another until House Jor'dian was able to unite the lands under a strong rule. Through the centuries House Jor'dian had been instrumental in directing the realms though not without making enemies, powerful enemies and it was seventy three years ago when the great house was thrown down and the descendants of Jor'dian had been slaughtered almost to the last. Some few survived in hiding.
The Order of the Watchful Hand had been set to watch the direct descendants from the blood line of their founder, as an elite group of house soldiers that were still loyal to their cause and ideas and it was with their help that those that did survive were able to make new lives for themselves. Still, a great bounty had been set upon the heads of all descents of that once great House and although diligent and faithful, those that had survived had been hunted down through the decades, their guardians slain before they too were tortured and murdered. Now, only one of the House of Jor'dian survived, a young boy named Uriel.
The Order is only a shadow of what it once was, but all their hopes and loyalties were now with the boy and those that remained, some thirty of the faithful, saw to the boys education and upbringing.
____
He cocked his head as he turned into the wind, listening. Something was out there, or someone. Yes, there it was again, the sound of a footstep and the sound of cloth rubbing.. Pulling his sword, Sir Malcolm, an Order Guardian, took up his shield and moved quietly across the broken cobblestones that made up the courtyard of this old manor, his red cloak blowing out behind him and leaves tumbling by from the trees ready to slumber with the coming of winter. Again he heard it and with hurried steps he moved along the wall beside the brown and dead garden and paused at the corner before quickly looking.
Three men dressed in the garb of thieves and assassins were climbing the wall to the third story of the manor house, where the boy was being looked after by the others. Watching their progress he allowed them climb another ten feet up before rounding the corner and bellowing an alarm. Surprised one of the men fell from the wall, his head bursting like a melon on the jagged cobblestone. The other two began to scramble towards a window which promptly opened as they got close and a sword took one of the men in the throat as one of his Brothers responded to the alarm, the man dropping quickly to the ground beside the other.
"Come on down and tell us who sent you," Malcolm calls from below, his sword out, "and on my honor you shall have a quick death." He watched the man cling to the wall in indecision for a few moments before continuing, "The alternative is much more painful I assure you."
With wide fear filled eyes, the would be assassin began his descent ...
