Updated on Wednesdays
Valoran fields are often the best place for a crow to fill its belly. Demacian guard are well known for their resolve, as well as their fierce leader, Garen. The last thing many intruders see is his seven-foot blade moving toward them, and then, darkness. Even still, armies have come from time to time in attempts to sack the city and take their fill of its treasures and secrets.
The Barbarians of Lockfar were one such people; driven by greed and a hunger to conquer foreign lands and expand there domain. Their longboats broke shore off the northern coast of Valoran thirty years ago. This is their tale...
As the boats pressed onto the land, a single barbarian moved from the deck; leaping into the air and landing hard on his heels. The impact from his jump left him kneeling in the smoldering sand. He stood slowly, taking time to stretch his massive eight-foot frame and brush the sand from his scruffy blond beard. He turned to the sea and drew a deep breath of the salty, crisp air.
Olgar was a conqueror. He feared no man nor beast, but many feared him. The city of Demancia would be his by spring festival. There was no other outcome. His coming here ensured one of two things: victory or death. And for Olgar, death was as far from him as water to a desert.
“Make camp men! Bring the boats ashore and hide them in the rocks!”
At his command, the four vessels that had arrived busied with movement as barbarian tribesmen took places around the ship. Several of Olgar's men took hold of the sturdy steel handles that were built into the hull of the boat. With ten men on each side, the boats were moved with ease, hidden in the rocks of the shoreline, and covered in brush near the beaches edge.
With all boats secured and concealed, the men moved inland to the forest. They had landed in this area for good reason: the trees would provide shelter and hide them until the time came to strike. Olgar was proud of his men, these men who had stood against thousands and always walked away unscathed and victorious. He was only unsure of one man, one who was more of a boy than a man. “Olaf!” Olgar screamed.
The reply came from behind Olgar; he turned to see his son standing with a bundle of freshly chopped firewood in his arms. Olaf stood six feet and four inches tall. Although he was a giant to some, he still seemed very small compared to his father. Nonetheless, he had the same blond hair and chiseled chin as the man who stood beckoned. Olaf had just reached the age of trial, around fourteen, and was now ready to take his first life. Olaf was eager to become a man.
Suddenly, Olgar's upper torso became a blur, and his arms came swinging down, knocking the wood out of his son’s arms in an instant, “We’re in hiding boy, and fire makes smoke. Smoke draws attention! Do you want all these men to die for your stupidity?”
Olaf lowered his head staring at the ground “No father I’m sorry. I-”
“Silence child!” Olgar said in a gruff whisper, his eyes quickly scanning left and right, glaring into the surrounding woods as if to issue a threat to all. Something seemed out of place to the huge barbarian. He’d had this feeling before, like someone was watching him. It was a feeling he had learned to trust well.
Olgar saw it then. Behind a group of bushes in the distance, there was the silhouette of a man crouched low to the ground, doing his best to conceal his location. To the average eye, this man would have been invisible. But to Olgar, having been the target of many unsuccessful assassination attempts, the man might as well had been flailing his arms about in a clearing.
Olgar took his axes from his back and handed them to his son. “It’s time for you to become a man, boy.”
Olaf stared at the blood stained weapons, then looked up at his father with a wide smile. “It is time, indeed.”
Olaf moved into the woods, shifting behind trees and watching his foot-falls so as to avoid any noise. This first kill was too important to risk alerting his prey. He made it to a clearing with the bush only six long strides from him. He chucked to himself, pushing his back against a tree. This will be swift, merciless... a first kill to be envied. Father will be proud.
He turned and advanced, roaring and using forward momentum to propel himself through the bush. Olaf crashed through the other side of the brush ready for the kill. He found only emptiness.
It was then he noticed a small cube-like box with a wooden crank on it’s left side. The box lever slowly turned, and then abruptly stopped.
Olaf took a step forward.
With perfect timing, the box lid blew open and a giggling toy jester sprung out from inside. Olaf fell back, but it was too late. The clown's mouth opened and a poison dart shot out, striking Olaf in the neck. He stumbled backwards and tripped, falling hard on his back.
The forest around him started to blur, and he was able to focus only for a moment; just long enough to see his attacker, a skinny man dressed as a jester, sitting on his chest.
“I see you, Ha Ha.”
And then Olaf saw only darkness…
Written by Verolian Edited by Nadante
The Jester leaned forward and leered over the fallen boy. Such a young age to meet death... Shaco thought to himself as he reach for his twin daggers, one strapped to each thigh. He casually grasped the handles as he began the same routine he had done a thousand times before. He slid the blades out of their sheaths and spun them on about on the palm of his hand before bringing them against the boy's neck.
The slightest pressure drew a thin line of blood from Olaf's neck. Shaco, an expert with his blades, pondered if they were so sharp that even he could not prevent them from cutting, or whether he did it purposefully. He smiled all the wider when he realized it didn't matter. He would still draw the blood anyway. The crimson fluid had always brought him such joy. Joy, and…
A much deeper voice pulled Shaco from his reverie. The voice sounded a battle cry from the other side of the foliage.
The jester was a blur of motion. He sprung backwards from the young barbarian's body, narrowly avoiding the large axe that exploded from the bushes. The axe struck a tree behind the clown with such force that the bark on the opposite end of the impact splintered off. Shaco blinked and sneered. He remembered counting sixty men landing ashore, but he needed a closer look at their leader; a man who Shaco was sure would burst through the bushes at any moment. It was worth the risk for the amount of gold he could gain from this information.
Olgar crushed the small shrub beneath him as he dashed. His son’s limp body came into view, knocking the wind out of Olgar worse than any opponent could. Not having time to discern the severity of the gash on his son's neck, Olgar took a giant stride before falling into a sudden roll. He slid past his son’s body, grabbing one of the hand axes he had just given the child not so long ago. As he came to the end of his roll, Olgar used his momentum to spin around, regaining his footing. He turned ready for what stood before him, but there was nothing.
“Show yourself, Assassin!”
A second later, a smiling jester seemed to appear from nothing, standing just beside the now completely destroyed shrub. “You’ll be worth your weight in gold silly giant.” The clown said, licking his lips at Olgar.
Olgar smiled back, his muscles taut, ready for the battle to come. He burst into movement, leaping over the body of his fallen son with his axe raised to bear down upon the jester. He put his full body weight into the strike with such a force that no man nor beast could survive. As his blade met the jesters flesh, the clown faded to nothing but smoke and ash. Olgar was furious he had been tricked, as letting the jester escape to warn others may cost the lives of many of his men.
Olgar knew the clown was on his way to claim his prize, for the location of raiders would fetch a fair price indeed to the right people. Olgar reached down and grabbed his sons arm, relieved to feel the warmth still in his body but upset that he had fallen so easily. He pulled his son in with one swift motion, as if lifting a feather, and placed him on his shoulder. The battle would come much sooner than expected, and he needed to get Olaf to safety. His son clearly wasn’t ready for this.
* * * * *
On the outskirts of the forest, a clown sang a happy tune as he danced along the road, skipping his way to Demancia.
“Barbarians are here to die"
"I wonder if the guard will buy"
"Such wonderful news to me, at least"
"from TWO gold sources I’m going to feast!!"
"Eh ha ha!"
Written by Verolian Edited by Nadante
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