Role

Chapter 2

A blood red flash lit up the night sky, casting everything in crimson hues.
Thraldrin burst from his home, armor half strapped on, warhammer in hand. All
around the village people streamed from their homes, cries of alarm rising
into the cold mountain air.

In the village center floated a pulsating rift, tendrils of energy snaking out
from it. The obelisk had been placed there for study. But now? Now it was
surrounded by figures in dark robes, faces obscured by deep cowls. They
chanted in a guttural language as the rift grew larger, its unnatural light
bathing them.

With a thunderous snap the rift exploded outward, knocking everyone nearby to
the ground. When Thraldrin looked up, terror gripped his heart.

Stepping through the rift were creatures out of nightmare - dark beings
wrapped forged of shadow, darkness oozing from their empty eye sockets. They
raised clawed hands, appearing to drink in the light around them.

The robed figures cried out in malicious joy. "Praise the Eternal Night! Let
none survive!"

The attack was brutal and swift. The nightwalker horrors fell upon the
confused villagers, blades scything through flesh and bone. Cries of panic
turned to screams of pain. Blood slicked the ground.

Thraldrin rushed forward, joining the other warriors in vainly trying to
protect their families. His hammer crashed down again and again, shattering
bones. But the nightwalkers kept coming.

Then he saw them. Faldur and Bron, back to back, axes flashing as they
defended a group of children. Pride swelled in Thraldrin's heart at the
courage of his sons.

That pride turned to ash as a nightwalker's blade sank deep into Faldur's
back. He fell without a sound. Bron cried out in rage and anguish, only to
have his own head parted cleanly from his shoulders seconds later.

"Noooooo!" Thraldrin's vision went red with fury. He threw himself at the
nightwalkers who had killed his sons, his hammer moving in a relentless blur.
When he came back to his senses, six nightwalkers lay broken around him.

But it was too late. The village was lost. Those villagers still living fled
into the mountains, hunted by the remorseless nightwalkers. Of Thraldrin's
family, only he remained. The Scions had taken everything from him.

In that moment, surrounded by the bodies of his sons, Thraldrin swore an oath.
He would see the Scions destroyed and their foul magic wiped from the earth.
He would have his vengeance.