From across a hard-packed lane in the hamlet of Rolene, two gnomish men watched their family’s home collapse into fiery rubble.
“NO!” Baratheon’s voice was hoarse, smoke and cinders burned his lungs. He collapsed to his knees in the dirt, clutching his young son Renault to his chest.
They had arrived too late. Around them, the entire town was ablaze, the air black with soot. Barbarian raiders stormed the streets slaughtering everyone they found. Some villagers fought back. Few survived.
Samas gripped his shoulder, “We’ve lost them, brother. If we’re to escape, we must reach the West Gate! Come, I need your prowess.”
“Juliarra…” Baratheon whispered. Grief flooded his veins, fueling a rage such as he had never felt before. He was swallowed whole.
The men fled reluctantly, dodging down smoke-darkened streets. The flames cast macabre shadows everywhere. Baratheon hardly knew where he was. Coughing, wheezing, they paused under the overhang of a burning two-story structure. The West Gate loomed ahead of them and Baratheon’s hope surged. He could save his son!
From around a corner three massive dwarven raiders pounced upon the men, howling through blood-drenched beards.
Baratheon shoved Renault desperately into the arms of his brother.
“Stay behind me!” He turned, beating a short booming tempo across the war drum at his hip. He heaved his great-club around for a looping strike at the charging dwarves. A thunderous roar erupted from his throat. The magic of his calling gave his rage sudden focus. The great-club became as light as a twig within his grasp. The first raider was hammered into the ground, his head caved like a shattered melon.
As the two remaining invaders spread out to fill the narrow lane, a series of loud cracks resounded above the combatants. All looked up as the fire-ruined overhang began to collapse. The dwarves retreated a step instinctually. Then a shove from behind Baratheon sent him sprawling forward towards them. He staggered, and snapped a glance backwards. He watched as Samas fled from beneath the overhang, a tortured look in his eyes. Heavy timbers and burning debris fell all about. Cold panic washed away Baratheon’s rage momentarily.
“Samas what have you done!?” bellowed Baratheon. He half-turned towards his brother with an arm outstretched. But a raider struck him a blow across his shoulder with a massive morning star, and Baratheon fell to one knee. “Samas!”
“Good bye brother,” Samas spoke loudly as he backed towards the far West Gate. He looked broken. “You have taken so much from me over the years.” His voice shook with grief and guilt, “Perhaps this is fitting…” He whispered. Then he squared his shoulders and clung to Renault defiantly, “Yes! Do not fear, Bara. I’ll raise Renault as my own. In some small way…” His voice broke once more against the torment in his breast, “In some way, perhaps, I can reclaim a bit of what you have taken.”
Samas fled.
The marauders swarmed.
Baratheon collapsed into the ashes.
