The year was 655, and the biting winter winds howled across the frozen tundras as Korga, chief of the Mountainborn tribe, ducked into the tent where his newborn son lay swaddled in furs. His friend, the elf Eira, stood beside the makeshift crib, her eyes closed in concentration. She had just finished using her spiritual magic to assess the child's condition.
As Korga approached, Eira opened her eyes, their piercing green gleaming with a mix of concern and admiration. "Your son, Korga, is a remarkable child," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He possesses an extraordinary amount of Prana. With proper training, he could become one of the strongest warriors your people have ever known."
Korga's rugged face lit up with pride, but Eira's expression turned somber. "However, there's a complication," she continued. "Your son has been born with Khthonia, a rare and insidious disease that afflicts few. Unless he can reach the sixth fang before his twentieth year, his body will be unable to handle the strain of his Prana, and he will not survive."
Korga's expression darkened, and his voice dripped with disdain. "I expect nothing from a cursed child who even killed his own mother while giving birth," he said, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "He's a liability, a burden to our tribe. I won't waste our resources on a child who may not even survive to adulthood."
Eira's eyes flashed with concern, but she knew better than to argue with him. Instead, she nodded solemnly. "I understand your concerns, Korga. But perhaps—"
Korga cut her off, his voice firm. "No, Eira. I've made up my mind. The child will be banished to the Dark Lands when he's old enough. It's the only way to ensure the tribe's safety and prosperity."
The Dark Lands, a place of darkness and shadow, where only the strongest and most resilient could survive. Eira knew that sending the child there would be tantamount to a death sentence. She hesitated, unsure of what to say, but Korga's mind was already made up.
As Eira journeyed back to the Elf village, the biting winter winds whipping her long hair into a frenzy, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered within her. She thought about the young child, born with the curse of Khthonia, and the cruel fate that had been bestowed upon him.
"What a shame it is that the child was born in a Barbarian tribe," she mused to herself. "Had he been born of noble blood, or even of Elven blood, he would have received the care and attention he deserves. The Elven healers would have worked tirelessly to find a cure for the curse, and the child would have been given every opportunity to thrive."
Eira's thoughts were filled with a sense of regret and helplessness. She knew that the child's fate was all but sealed, and that Korga's decision to banish him to the Dark Lands would likely be the child's death sentence. As she walked, Eira's hands clasped together in prayer. "May the gods watch over the child," she whispered. "May he find a way to survive in the Dark Lands, and may his fate be kinder than I fear it will be." She could only hope that somehow, someway, the child would defy the odds and emerge victorious.
In the tent*
Korga's gaze fell upon the baby, his expression a mixture of disdain and reluctant curiosity. "Your name shall be Thorne," he declared, his voice low and gravelly. "It evokes strength and resilience. Although I doubt you'll possess them due to your condition, it is a name your mother wanted you to have." The chief's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Thorne, a name that seemed to mock the child's fragile existence. Korga's eyes lingered on the baby, and for a moment, a flicker of memory danced across his face – a memory of Thorne's mother, her laughter, her smile, her tragic fate.
The chief's gaze hardened, and he turned away from the child. "Thorne it is, then." he muttered, his voice cold as ice. With that, Korga turned to leave, his footsteps echoing through the tent as he departed, leaving Thorne to the care of the tribe's women. The baby lay silently, unaware of the fate that awaited him, or the doubts that clouded his father's mind.
14 Years later.
The sun beat down on the rugged terrain, casting a warm glow over the group of children as they followed their instructors, eager to learn the skills that would one day make them formidable hunters. The four seasoned Barbarian warriors, led by the grizzled veteran Grimgold, stood tall and imposing, their weathered faces a testament to their years of experience in the mountains.
Grimgold, his thick beard streaked with threads of silver, stood at the front of the group, his eyes scanning the terrain as he taught the children how to track their prey. "Look for the signs, boys and girls," he instructed, his voice low and gravelly. "The bent twig, the disturbed leaf, the faint scent of fur. These are the clues that will lead you to your quarry."
The children listened intently, their eyes wide with excitement as they practiced their tracking skills. Thorne, despite his fragile health, proved to be a quick learner, his determination and will to survive driving him to excel in the training. He moved stealthily through the underbrush, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of movement.
As the day wore on, the children took a break, gathering around a small stream to drink and rest. The sound of laughter and shouts filled the air as they played and joked with one another. Thorne, however, sat apart from the others, his eyes fixed on the ground as he listened to their merriment. He longed to join in, to be accepted by his peers, but his cursed condition made him feel like an outcast.
Grimgold, noticing Thorne's isolation, approached him. "You're a natural with that sword, boy," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "But you need to learn to work with others if you want to survive in this world." Grimgold's eyes seemed to bore into Thorne's very soul, as if searching for something hidden deep within.
Thorne looked up, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and determination. "I'll survive just fine on my own," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. The words were a defiant declaration, a statement of intent that brooked no argument.
Grimgold's expression softened, and he nodded. "We'll see about that, Thorne. We'll see about that." The words were enigmatic, but Thorne sensed a hint of challenge in them, a challenge that he was eager to accept.
As the break drew to a close, Grimgold called out to the children, "Alright, let's get back to work! We've got a lot to cover before the day is out." The children groaned good-naturedly, but they knew better than to disobey their instructor. They reluctantly stood up, brushing off their clothes and gathering their gear.
Thorne stood up, his eyes locked on Grimgold's. For a moment, it seemed as though the two of them were the only ones in the world, their gazes locked in a silent understanding. Then, Thorne turned away, his face expressionless, and rejoined the group. The training would continue, and Thorne would learn to survive in this harsh world, no matter what it took.
Two hours later, Grimgold's keen eyes scanned the terrain, his gaze sweeping across the rocky outcroppings and scrubby bushes. Suddenly, he stiffened, his nostrils flaring as he caught a whiff of something unusual. He crouched down, his eyes narrowing as he examined the ground.
"Ah, by the gods," he muttered to himself, his voice low and serious.
The children and other instructors gathered around him, curious about what had caught his attention. Grimgold's face was set in a grim expression as he stood up, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"What's going on, Grimgold?" one of the other instructors asked, a burly man with a thick beard.
"We've got an armored wolf on our hands," Grimgold replied, his voice low and deadly serious. "And a big one, judging by the tracks."
The children's eyes widened in excitement, their faces set with anticipation. "What's so special about an armored wolf?" one of them asked.
Grimgold's expression turned grave. "Armored wolves are no ordinary creatures. They're beasts that only people who've reached the 3rd fang or above can handle. And I'm going to show you kids what that means today."
The children exchanged excited glances, their hearts racing with anticipation. Thorne, however, felt a shiver run down his spine. He'd heard stories about armored wolves, and he knew that they were not to be trifled with.
Grimgold's eyes locked onto the horizon, his gaze piercing. "Alright, let's move out. We'll track this beast and see what kind of fight it's got in it. Today, you'll get to see real battle experience. Stay sharp, kids. This isn't a game."
The group set off, their footsteps quiet as they followed Grimgold through the rocky terrain. Thorne felt his heart pounding in his chest, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his side. He knew that this was going to be a test like no other, and he was determined to prove himself. Thirty minutes later, the group reached the shores of a serene lake, its calm waters reflecting the rugged terrain like a mirror. Grimgold called a halt, his eyes scanning the surrounding area as he seemed to sniff the air.
"Alright, kids, let's take a break," he said, his voice a little more relaxed. "I need to get my bearings and figure out where that armored wolf is hiding."
The children sat down, their breathing a little heavy from the exertion. Thorne leaned against a nearby rock, his eyes fixed on Grimgold as the veteran warrior seemed to be deep in thought.
"After five minutes, we're heading back home," Grimgold announced, his eyes still scanning the horizon.
But just as the children were about to settle in for a short rest, Grimgold's instincts kicked in. He stiffened, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his side. "Get ready," he whispered to the other instructors, his voice low and urgent. "Something's not right."
The other instructors drew their swords, their faces set in serious expressions. "Get behind us, kids," one of them ordered, their eyes scanning the surrounding area.
The children scrambled to obey, their hearts racing with anticipation. Thorne's eyes were fixed on Grimgold, his own hand on the hilt of his sword.
As they waited, a sand deer emerged from the bushes, its large ears twitching as it sniffed the air. One of the instructors let out a sigh of relief. "False alarm," he said, his voice a little sheepish.
But Grimgold's instincts were still on high alert. He took a step forward, his eyes fixed on the bushes. "Wait," he said, his voice low and warning.
And then, in a flash of movement, an armored wolf lunged out of the bushes, its sharp fangs bared in a snarl. Grimgold reacted with lightning-fast reflexes, drawing a dagger from his belt and throwing it with deadly precision.
The dagger sliced through the air, striking the wolf's eyes with unerring accuracy. The wolf let out a pained yelp as it stumbled back, its eyes streaming with blood.
Grimgold drew his sword, his face set in a grim expression. "Let's see how this beast fares against us," he growled, his eyes locked on the wounded wolf. The armored wolf stumbled back, its eyes streaming with blood as it let out a pained yelp. But to Grimgold's surprise, the beast suddenly regained its footing and let out a loud, piercing howl. The sound echoed across the lake, sending shivers down the spines of the children.
Grimgold reacted swiftly, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he charged towards the wolf. With a swift and deadly strike, he cut off the wolf's head, silencing its howl. The body crumpled to the ground, its lifeless form a testament to Grimgold's skill.
But Grimgold's relief was short-lived. As the wolf's head hit the ground, other howls echoed through the terrain, the sound of multiple armored wolves responding to their pack member's call. Grimgold's face turned grim as he turned to the instructors.
"We've got a problem," he growled, his voice low and urgent. "It looks like a pack of armored wolves is heading our way, and they're coming fast. We need to be ready to defend the kids."
The instructors nodded, their faces set in serious expressions as they formed a protective circle around the children. Grimgold's eyes scanned the horizon, his gaze piercing as he searched for any sign of the approaching wolves.
"Get the kids ready to move," he ordered, his voice firm. "We'll need to be prepared to fight. These wolves won't hesitate to attack us, and we can't let them get close to the children."
The instructors nodded, their swords at the ready as they prepared to face the incoming pack. Thorne's heart was racing with excitement and fear, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.