Berwin’s life had been eventful and well lived, not that she was particularly aware of many of its intricacies, nor many of its reasons for that matter. She was the youngest daughter of a prominent Redwing Empire trader and was as such respected by the rabble...
Berwin now lay exhausted considering her life and her responsibilities; her two tiny twin daughters stretched asleep at the foot of the bed fidgeting occasionally with whatever dreams or desires their young minds considered. She had never forgotten the day that Rafale had left the family home. He had said that he was off on a short trip regarding matters of business and would return shortly. As he had kissed her cheek goodbye he whispered something in her ear. She was not sure what he had said, in her hope it had been ‘I love you’ but she wondered if it had been wishful hindsight that made her translate the words so. She had waited for many days for his return, spending hours peering up and down the trade road outside so that she may catch a glimpse of him returning. Her mother had eventually taken pity on the pain that her daughter was suffering and had told her that he was never to return lest he bring more shame to her. The truth of this had shocked Berwin, sending her into a piteous rage that, for the lack of an appropriate target propelled her toward frustrated despair. But the shock was nothing compared to that which she felt a few months later when she found that Rafale had left a legacy more tangible than any emotion. The twins had grown within her week by week and month by month, their destiny lain, never to know of their father. In that time Berwin grew herself, developing an understanding of her situation that any person does when forced into circumstances that they never thought nor ever even wished in their life. When her parents attempted to contact Rafale they met upon obstacle after obstacle. They had thought that they had known him well; known his friends and merchant allies and yet everywhere they attempted their enquiries they were met with statements of refusal or misidentification. They surmised that Rafale was trying to avoid them, to avoid their wrath at the fault of his indiscretion. Berwin’s parents eventually gave up, the search fruitless in the face of its opposition, their daughter’s shame would not be allowed to carry on beyond the few that currently knew of her situation.
There was still one thing that they could hide forever, that they had hidden from their daughter and that would prove invaluable in the hiding of her child in turn. Berwin was a foundling, discovered many years before by her adoptive father. While on his travels he had been called off the roadside by the desperate cries of a newborn child. Finding her dirty form, malnourished and wrapped in a cloak bearing a strange motif he had returned to the clan lodge with her. At a loss for what to do and unaware of what the allegiance the motif signified the two decided to raise her themselves, after all, any healthy if rather undernourished child was a gift too good to be rejected and allowed to perish amongst the wilds of Fortitude.
Berwin’s destiny was changing even as she lamented all that had already befallen her. Staring from the windows of one of the upper floors of the clan lodge she wondered what life had in store for her beyond her motherhood. She would shortly find the answer. Forms amassed at the periphery, the fate of her and her twin daughters was being discussed in places she could never possibly even imagine. Some tangible part of the future was to be influenced by her and her brief dalliance with the person she thought she had loved.
Stripping the now dead guards, several of the outlaws’ number infiltrated the locked gates. They had been planning this raid now for many weeks and knew everything of the routine that kept the watchful eyes of the guards open. Inside they continued their silent killing. Eliminating those that stood beyond the entry gates they set the machinery in motion that would allow access to the rest of the outlaws that remained outside. Forming at the mouth of the entry passage each raider knew the task that was required of them, each heart set on their murderous errand. With a call from the front these silent, patient shadows became fast, aggressive attackers. With murderous exactness the aggressors surged through the dimness of the outlying buildings and courtyard, the torches catching the polished edges of their armour and weaponry.
After but moments a guard, unnoticed by the throng of Whiteshadows, managed to raise the alarm. Sounding the bell the clan-guards that had lain asleep awoke, groggy from their dreams. Nudged with worried hands the dull realisation that warnings were being called moved them to gather their weapons and defend the clan lodge from its foe. In panicked excitement they moved to meet the raiders but in their tiredness were not fully prepared to meet the full momentum of the Whiteshadow attack.
Among the clash of arms and armour a small group of the Dragonblood split off using the confusion to mask their movements. Breaking for the main lodge they managed to avoid members of both the clan guards and their raider compatriots, their greed willed them to be the first to lay hands on the loot kept secure inside.
The three entered the main lodge; the surprise of the attack had left the defensive precautions of the clan-lodge somewhat lax and the doors lay unbarred. They began to search the building for any easily cartable or concealable goods. They moved quickly, their skills at ransacking outweighing their lack of discipline in combat, they knew that their compatriots would soon be on the scene.
With a scream Berwin was yanked by her hair from the bush, her hands and arms barely able to keep grasp of the twins. Wrenched to the floor she lay there beneath the moonlight and the cold cruel eyes of the outlaws. She nestled the two to her breast, tears of fear and rage rolling down her cheeks. The Dragonblood who possessed the ready bow grabbed at the twin bundles, wrenching them from her now weak grasp, the only action she could muster was a terrible, angered scream, prolonged and desperate. The Dragonblood laughed as they toyed with the human female, her impotent rage and desperation but a mere joke. As the bow carrying Dragonblood unwrapped the strangely soft bundles his laugh turned to an enraged howl, the waste of the pursuit now evident to him and his allies. While the others were now probably ransacking the lodge for all that lay there, the three had pursued the woman blind with avarice of things that did not even exist. Placing the two children on the floor the Dragonblood raider re-drew his bow and aimed it at Berwin. Grunting orders to the other two they lifted her by each arm in front of him. With his bow pointing toward her and standing over the two children, he lifted a foot over one of the tiny bundles as if ready to stamp down upon its tiny form. In this he watched with a vengeful glee at the expression on Berwin’s face. Berwin screamed with every last energy in her body, she screamed for mercy, for the mercy to spare both her and her two infant children’s lives. With a grunt of satisfaction the Dragonblood placed his foot calmly down on the ground and let loose the arrow. Thudding into her chest Berwin doubled over, one final sob of resignation uttering from her mouth. With a shove, the two that had held her tossed her over the bank of the stream into the cold moonlit rippling waters.
Amon, compensated somewhat by his actions, moved toward the two bundles, ‘my kill, my prize, my ransom!’ Incensed by his compatriot’s greed and angered by the practically useless chase of the woman Brode dove at him trying to wrestle him to the floor, away from the infants. With his knife drawn Brode attempted to swipe him to the floor and finish him quickly but was instead upended when Amon sidestepped and brought a knee into his chest. Amon dropped his bow and drew his sword, pointing it toward his former ally. Quickly handling his knife into position and rolling over to face his adversary Brode quickly threw it at his belly but his position was awkward and it missed, thudding into the abdomen of Cabe who had crept behind Amon intent on breaking the two apart. Grasping the handle and wrenching it from his now bleeding gut he jumped at the back of Amon, now aiming to pull the bloodied knife across his neck. In this action Amon stumbled, struggling with Cabe, and fell toward Brode. Collapsing upon him with his sword already pointing towards his chest his falling weight propelled it into Brode’s side tearing flesh and bone. Now prone and losing blood rapidly Cabe managed a quick swipe across Amon with the sharpened blade slicing his throat apart. Climbing from Amon he cleaned the blade on the back of his tunic and pulled him from Brode. The expression of pain had frozen on Brode’s face, the sword of his former ally had penetrated the side of his stomach leaving him with a mortal wound that would take maybe hours to kill him. Pitied by his friend’s terrible injury as well as the considerable pain from his own wound Cabe decided to relieve his friend from his misery. Holding the knife to his throat he ripped the blade across with a single motion. Through the action’s immediacy he heard a cluttering of shouts emerging from the tunnel entrance the three had arrived from. In such a compromising position he knew the other Dragonblood would not take kindly to the undisciplined murder of both his cohorts, however they had come about. Seeing an opportunity for at least a little wealth from this tragic diversion Cabe gathered up one of the children and ran. Perhaps something may come in ransoming the child back to its family. He had his contacts; money should be able to come from somewhere.