The bearer

The years had lost meaning, merely grains of sand in an hourglass now. Many a man had fallen prey to dark powers that they feared, being worn away by decades of fighting a foe that, despite all efforts would not die. Many a man had never seen this opponent and oppressor, yet always heard its howl in the form of battle; Bloody, cold, merciless battle. He was known as the bearer of malice, or any number of short and rather blunt words used by the soldiers who fought his minions on earth. He was said by some, to be not a god, but a beast of hellish fire, incinerating farms and minds alike in the searing roar of his decaying jaws, said to be the soul of a long dead champion from the dunes of the Hashidic Empire, cheated in life and so forever seeking revenge. Though hundreds of rumors and legends were spread through lands of this demon, Uther, leader of the Hurrilite clan fought as the bulwark between humanity and The Bearer. Uther was a man of great knowledge and determination. A man only barely taller than the other leaders, his clean shaven scalp bore markings from the hurrilite clan’s shamanistic elders. Uther was no different than any other man, aside from one thing, he had fought at the battle of the Lacoshian plains. A battle known to all who live, the last imprisonment of the bearer. Uther, with a handful of others survived. Those plains are still so tainted that to gaze upon them will bring great pain to your mind.

This particular day however was destined to take Uther and his clan in a whole new direction. The tremors had increased in occurrence and strength. As Uther prepared a war party to ride into the Amperian Mountains, he watched the sky to the north as a solid wall of dark, thick clouds rolled over the landscape; the bearer was on the move. He climbed up onto his horse; it was pure black and had seen almost has much bloodshed as Uther had. They rode off into the barren tundra, lost in the dust storm that was signaling the soon to be released Bearer of Malice. The riders looked more like Hashidic rangers than northmen, clothe wrapped around their faces revealing only two weary eyes, the heavy silk they wore around them like a vest, all with the exception of Uther. He wore his chain mail suit and his full covering helmet, it was old and made of the strongest iron, downward pointing slits for eyes and small holes peppered the jaw, giving him a look of fierceness as the cold air blew out. His most prized piece of clothing was his bear cape, a large cape that dragged by his ankles, a memory of his ascension into manhood. Many of the clansmen thought he was insane for wearing his full armor on an ordinary ride, never speaking out against him however for his eyes were cold, all brightness had left them long ago. In truth he was the smartest of them all for that very reason, for he knew that the bearer’s forces could strike at anytime and any place they wished, and he was a prime target.

It was nightfall by the time they had reached the entrance to the mountains, the dust storm even heavier. Uther, knowing the dangers that lurked within the shadowy mountains ordered a camp be constructed in the small hollow of the mountainside. As the men began the task of setting up the hovel made of animal hides, Uther ordered the youngest, Danforth, to scout for wood further up the trail. With the bounce of a puppy Danforth struggled onto his horse before galloping up the winding trail. Uther sat and gazed at the fire they had started with spare wood, watching the fire dance with an all too familiar style. He looked up over the horizon to see the dust storm building into a solid wall, ripping through the villages in the valley, sending hovels tumbling into pieces