War of Thrones - Father's Past

It’s been seven days since the last warrior entered our village. At first they were scrambling around, stretching these ‘War of Thrones’ banners across their shields with a few strands of forest vine. The straps kept breaking off and eventually the banners were torn by the monsoon rains. Now the war is starting and our village on the outskirts of Waymarsh is needing a fresh wave of recruits.



Imagine what its like standing behind our doors watching two players cross blades. One of them a tall figure riding on an Aged Tortise holds his pole-arm at his waist and stretches out the blade towards his opponent. The words he spoke are still in my memory “You really want to take on the Western Kingdom?”. I know they don’t seem like much but the tone of these words would thicken your blood. The warrior facing him spoke just as calmly as he unstrapped two massive twin blades from his back. The blades curved upwards and glowed with a faint flicker of red light.



Once long ago I remember seeing my father carrying around a similar sword, at the time he didn’t want to talk about how he got it but a friend of his once brought up the story over dinner.



The men were flanked on all sides by demonic Rabbits. The rabbits were massive creatures with rock sharpened claws and foaming mouths. Their bodies quivered with the anticipation of eating the villagers outside the cave. My father stood in front of them with nothing but an old sword and a wooden shield.



As a young adventurer he had apprenticed under the Support Skills Instructor and so learned the art of Defense and Poison. He coated his blade with a rancid smelling paste and let the rabbits edge closer into his range. The first rabbit snorted and charged, his tongue lapping out saliva with every bounce. When the rabbit rushed my father he toppled him over.  Father slid his blade along the rabbits side and opened up a path for the poison to find the demon’s heart.



Back then my dad stopped his friend from continuing the story, but he did tell us that if we ever sought an Epic weapon like the one he stows in the corner of the kitchen we need to speak with the Chief Magistrate.