My Name Is . . .

Start?

Chapter 1 - Start?

         Right after my life ended – again – I was walking as fast as I could away from the few memories that I had remaining. I was so focused on escaping that I hardly noticed the late summer heat or the waist-high grass that spread for miles without change or landmark. I do remember seeing that the sky was clear and that the afternoon was growing late. I also remember glancing frequently at the sun to check that I was still going north.

         The monotonous view of grass was suddenly broken by three wagons heading west a few miles from me. A quick study of our speeds told me that we would meet if I didn’t make an effort to avoid it. The next hour of walking was filled with uncertain debate. I knew that I would have to interact with others someday, if only for supplies, but I also knew that I didn’t want anyone else to die because of my involvement. Eventually, I came close enough that they could have seen me if they had known what to look for. I concealed myself in the tall grass and examined the caravan as I continued trying to decide my next action.

         The front wagon was obviously designed to attract attention. The front seat was carved and painted so randomly that I couldn’t be certain if it was supposed to be smoke, water, or fire. A line of lamps, each one unique in form and size, swung around the top rim. Each wheel seemed to be made of a different material, and each set of spokes modeled either cloth, pendant chains, or were shaped like miniature weapons. From the ridiculous fashion, as well as the armored escorts and the two smaller, plain wagons following – I decided that this was a merchant caravan. Because I neither needed supplies nor wanted the company, I waited for them to pass; but just before they did, a small band of bandits approached them from the east. The leader seemed to be the solitary dragonborn striding to position himself in the middle of the road. Behind him, two humans and two elves brandished their weapons.

         “Halt, and pay the toll,” cried the dragonborn, “These are the lands of Sssarkhan’s Marauders.” In response, one of the more impressive guards rode slightly ahead of the stopped caravan. He was a large man, but his size spoke of strength, not of too much food. He was clothed fully in armor and held a lance in his right hand. His shield was pure white and was large enough to hide me completely if I crouched behind it. His horse also looked ready for battle. It wore no protection, but its eyes were focused on the band before it, and its taut legs showed that it was poised for the knight’s command.

         Moving to join the knight was the shortest creature I had ever seen. I found out later that this was the caravan leader, Alvin. He almost looked like an elf, but if he had walked under the knight’s horse with his hands above his head, I doubt that the horse would have even felt a breeze. As they both began to argue with the bandit leader about the toll, I turned my attention to the rest of the caravan.

         I first noticed the floating construct that must have been behind the largest wagon when I looked earlier. Its size and midnight aura were intimidating – but the material! Gar’tung has told me nightmare tales of metal men and animated bones. The worst story was about a cursed construct made from the intact remains of a battlefield, but this was new.

         <Why would anyone use pink crystal to make a golem> I thought. <It’s useless as a guard and it would look terrible as an ornament>

         <Don’t ask me> Gar’tung thought back, as amazed as I was. Since our continued scrutiny failed to inform us further, we turned our attention to the other guards. The first was almost as strange as the pink rock. Its skin was the color of a stagnant swamp and had thick strands of tentacle-like flesh hanging from its chin. The red band covering its eyes made me wonder if it was a prisoner, not a guard, but its hands were free. Looking past the wagons, I saw that the last guard – another, smaller knight – had been stationed as a perimeter guard. He was edging his horse closer to the group, but was circling toward the bandits as if he expected a fight.

         The argument broke my concentration on the guards as it suddenly grew more heated. I drew my bow, agreeing with the small knight that trouble was coming. I still wasn’t sure that I wanted to let them know that I was here, but I wanted to avoid as much senseless slaughter as possible. I missed most of the last shouted line, but the front knight’s actions and Alvin’s fist made it quite clear that the currency to be used for the toll was blood.

         The elves responded first, forcing the merchants to hide from the rain of arrows. I jumped as a cacophony of howls sounded from my right. Four werewolves had been hiding in the grass where the small knight was circling; three had moved to surround him. This knight’s horse was clearly not trained for battle. Its eyes whitened in fear as it reared, throwing its rider into the pack. By some twist of fate, the knight landed on one of the wolves and his already drawn sword pierced it, killing it instantly. The other wolves, for whatever wolfish reason, turned on the horse instead of the downed rider. The knight jumped up and used the distraction to retaliate, almost at the same time that the last wolf reached the blindfolded guard.

         I tensed, ready to help, but he acted as confidently as if he could see. He blocked the wolf and began to taunt it. I stared as his words flowed visibly from his mouth, streamed toward his attacker, and lifted it off the ground by its throat. Amazed, I turned back to see if the front knight needed any assistance.

         I first noticed that his diminutive friend didn’t seem willing to do more than yell at the bandits. While the midget hid under the wagons, the knight charged ahead of the caravan and now faced both the humans and the dragonborn. The dragonborn – or Sssarkhan if he had referred to himself in his opening challenge – attacked with no apparent concern for his companions; filling the air with his fiery breath.

         He jerked as a shout echoed from an unseen presence in the plain opposite me. As a result, his breath barely singed the knight, but torched the humans. Behind him, the elves suddenly staggered and one collapsed. The knight used the distraction to complete the charge. He ran the dragon through with his lance, and knocked both humans out of the warhorse’s path. I risked a shot, trying to hobble them before they could flank the knight, but their efforts to extinguish the flames also avoided my arrows.

         The golem’s controller seemed to have had the same idea as I and sent it toward the humans. I settled back, letting the caravan fight its own battle again and checking to see if anyone had notice my failed assistance. The knight by the wolves remained focused on finishing the last one, but the blindfolded guard proved his unusual skills yet again. He was standing tall and alert, seeming to search in spite of all my knowledge about blindfolds. Too soon, he “looked” right where I was hiding. He smiled and turned away to the wagon.

         <pain – fear – GET OUT! – HELP! – NOOO!> My already tense nerves almost snapped as I felt a burst of mental energy rip a hole in the head of a human bandit. I whirled to see his corpse drop away from the golem. The golem then moved toward the other human and another mental agony bloomed in my head. Almost weeping from the pain, I realized that some power was forcing me to relive my forgotten torture.

         This golem was not a construct.

         It was another evil psion.

Chapter 2: "Mission - Chapter In Progress"