Role

Chapter 2

When Aelarion stirred back to awareness, Sylvindor lay desolated in smoldering
ruins. The aftermath was a scene out of nightmares.. littered with scattered
debris, twisted remnants of what once stood as homes, and the occasional piece
of mangled flesh of his friends and family. Amid the devastation, animal-like
tracks moved eastward-the footprints of his village's annihilators.

Fuelled by an unyielding blend of vengeful fervor and an overwhelming sense of
responsibility to protect neighboring villages from sharing Sylvindor's fate,
Aelarion hastily gathered meager provisions scanned the area for a weapon.
Reflecting the dawn's early light was a colossal claymore, tip in the ground
and standing as tall as himself. With weapon in hand, he set out on a lone
quest to find the creatures that had destroyed his home, and see that no one
else ever suffered the same fate.

Yet, his spirit was stronger than his still un-healed body allowed. Before
mid-day, his strides faltered and weakened as his injuries and battle
weariness all took their toll.

He pressed on, stumbling down the roadside for hours, legs moving through pure
willpower alone. As the evening approached, a trade envoy appeared in the
distance. As he staggered down the road, carrying an immense weapon and
covered in blood and grime, no one would have faulted the traders for fleeing
at first sight of him.

But to their credit and to Aelarion's salvation, they did not run.

They approached with trepidation, fear etched upon their faces. In that
moment, Aelarion wished for them to pass him by, yearning to follow the
sinister tracks and avenge his brethren. He snarled as they approached, too
weak to form words and tell them to leave. At that moment, his strength
betrayed him under their scrutiny. Weakened and stumbling, he collapsed at
their feet, too fatigued to carry on.

Through his clouded consciousness, Aelarion could barely comprehend the
compassion they sowed as they loaded him onto a wagon, leaving their own trade
goods behind. They risked their own safety and their prosperity for his life.
They showed mercy when none was deserved. They saved his life, Aelarion knew,
though at the cost of his own hunt.
.
Transported in a haze of exhaustion and fleeting consciousness, Aelarion's
journey wavered in and out of awareness. When clarity dawned upon him, he
found himself at the outskirts of Darsylon, a beacon of lost hope but an
unwelcome one. The trail he'd followed had long disappeared into the horizon,
his revenge with it, leaving him with a hollow sense of loss.

That vengeance lost to him, his only hope now was to find an adventurer, a
hero who could hunt down the horde even now. A Paladin, perhaps, would do what
he knew he could not.