A cool sensation dripped slowly down Tim’s cheek. The half-elf cracked his eyes open, half hoping to be waking up in his warm bed, ready for the start of a new day. Immediately a drop splashed into his eye, burning terribly. Tim screeched and pushed himself up, only to impale his other hand on a rock. He yanked his hand away and resettled himself, rubbing his eye furiously. As he looked over the tall grasses surrounding him, Tim was thrown even more off balance. Where was his village? Why was everything on fire? Is that… is that a person? Why are they not moving? Maybe he’s just sleeping. Still clinging to that fading hope, Tim rose fully to his feet and staggered towards the ruins. Faster and faster he ran until he was leaping over still-smoking wooden beams, ignoring the pain is his feet.
The closer Tim got to the town square, the worse the view got. The pungent smoke swirled around his body, filling his nostrils with the stench of still-smoldering flesh. Tim ran on as if in a dream, until he tripped onto something rubbery. Tim looked down, and immediately regretted it. He had stepped on Maria. Large chunks of her flesh were missing. He could see her bloodstained teeth through the gash in her face. Her golden hair was flecked in ash, and her torso may as well have been hamburger. Doubling over to relieve the contents of his stomach, Tim came to be bitter realization that he might be the only survivor. A feeling of emptiness swiftly replaced the lost contents of his stomach as Tim's eyes wandered over to where his house was. Or, where it should have been. Instead, it was only a mess of wooden beams, strewn and broken as if a child had taken out a temper tantrum onto a stack of toothpicks. Scraps of cloth, so very familiar to to colors his mother had always been so fond of wearing were tossed around haphazardly between the charred timbers. Only, as Tim looked closer, even the cloth was no longer the same. Where it had once been vibrant and full of blues to fill the eyes, now the bits were crusted over with dull reds. A tiny voice in his head, the pessimistic one, whispered quietly in the background of facts he knew to be true, but did not want to believe. And in the face of it all, Tim stood, near the body of Maria, staring vacantly at what had been so vibrant just a day ago.
The sun was setting when Tim finally stirred. He just couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that had spread from his gut all throughout his body, from head to toe. A cold North wind blew through his torn shirt, and he wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing ash all over it. Nothing like this was supposed to happen since the demon lord was killed and all the dangerous monsters had been pushed back to the wilderness.
“But... what now?,” Tim said to himself vacantly.
Then Tim thought about that statement. No one could have survived this hell. By the look of the churned earth there had been lots of giants and other monsters involved in this attack, so only someone like him, forgotten on the outskirts of the town, would have had even a chance at surviving. His chances of getting revenge himself were nonexistent, a suicidal attempt. The only people who could go toe-to-toe with giants and demons would be the heroes, or at least the royal army.
I’ve got to rouse the capital. he thought. These monsters need to die for what they’ve done.
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With his mind made up, Tim gathered what supplies he could from the ruins of his house, finding a few silver coins and a backpack that was only partially burnt, and then set off in the direction of the capital, Drassington.
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Dirty, smelly, unclean Tim trudged past the grand, stone and marble gates of Drassington, his fading shadow stretching long before him. He was passed by a distraught shepherd-boy leading a small flock into the walls. As he walked up the slippery cobblestones between glowing taverns and bars, he made eye contact with one of the beggars shaking his cup at passers-by. The elderly, crippled, emaciated old man gave Tim a look of kinship, and shook his head sadly at his youth.
Seeing a passing guardsman heading towards the city gates, Tim shouted hoarsely, “Hey, where do I need to go to report a monster attack?” The startled, annoyed guardsman gave him a dirty look.
“Easy lad, no need to shout. Just go to the local barracks, about a 5-minute walk up main street. You can’t miss it.” The guardsman watched Tim as he walked away.
“What a madman. Stuff like this is why I drink.” The guardsman shook his head and wandered away.
With that sorted out, the tired half-elf moved on through the main street, keeping a sharp eye out for anything that would obviously be the barracks. And, as the annoyed guardsman had told him, he really couldn’t miss the barracks. Painted in the loud colors of neon orange and green, the building was truly a sight to behold, though most people would likely want to forget such an offense to the eyes soon after seeing it. Wincing at the scene, Tim gathered his resolve and pushed through the wooden doors, hoping that the people inside would be more serious than the building would suggest.
“Oi! What the fuck you do want!?”
A sweaty, scruffy soldier, decked out in full plate armor shouted at Tim.
“You kids should all know by now that the next time you lie for a joke we’re gonna hang you from the ramparts!”
Feeling a bit dazed from the sudden shouting, if took a few seconds for Tim to process the entire scene. Looking around, what he saw was less a barracks and more a sleazy bar.
“Spit it out, kid. We haven’t got all day,” Another man growled, half at Tim and half to his whiskey.
“Yes sir! Sorry sir! I wish to report a monster attack!” Tim squawked, almost reflexively coming to attention in the face of all the rough-looking men.
“Right then lad, spit out the details.” The first soldier said, face slightly softening.
“Last night, my village was mercilessly attacked. I was the only survivor.” Tim recalled, shivering for a second at the memory.
“I mainly saw giants, but I do remember that there was what appeared to be a gray-skinned demon ordering them around.”
As soon as Tim uttered that last detail, a mail-covered fist came crashing into his face.
“Boy! I thought I told you lot the next time you try pranking us, you’d wish you were DEAD!” the plate-armored soldier screamed. “There ain’t no demon-kind around no more! and if I catch you stirring up panic I’m BRANDING YOU IN THE ASS!”
Two red-faced soldiers, blood vessels bulging out of their faces, grabbed Tim and launched him out of the building with a force that would put a catapult to shame. With a loud crash, Tim’s flying body once more opened the wooden doors of the building. As he face-planted in the mud, Tim’s only thoughts were “Well those men aren’t very nice,” followed by “Oh shit, they’re running towards me.” With that particularly energizing thought, Tim shot to his feet and bolted towards the nearest ally.
“THAT’S RIGHT! DON’T YOU EVER COME BACK, YOU PIECE OF SHIT HOBO! WE KNOW YOUR FACE! NEXT TIME IT’LL BE THE GALLOWS FOR YOU, FOR DARING TO LIE TO THE ARMY!” The guards yelled at his retreating back, glaring into the shadows long after Tim was gone.