Vol. 1, Prologue
She was born in a small hamlet in East Emnet, near Emyn Muil, twenty-five summers ago. Her father, Vanaard, was their village’s blacksmith, and de facto mayor, as everyone respected his ideas and suggestions. Her mother, Amielth, took care of their home, and Vynaria’s brother and sisters; Tylein [brother], and the twins, Edowyn [sister] & Theowyn [brother]. Being the eldest, Tylein was his father’s apprentice, and spent most of his days learning & helping at the forge. Vynaria, the next eldest, helped her mother take care of the twins. With the exception of Tylein who had a head of golden curls like his mother, Vynaria and the twins were red-haired like their father. They were a happy little family, in a quiet village, but sadly, all things eventually come to an end.
Every third full moon a traveling caravan would come to their village to trade their wares. Their leader was a gray-faced old man that looked more like cracked, dried-out wood than a person. His servant was an impossibly large & obviously strong man, who always wore a mask over his face; apparently, a childhood accident horribly disfigured the man, and he wears the mask so as to not disgust anyone who looks upon his face. The caravan was a mixture of cart and wagons of differing sizes, but the one thing that identified all of them was the blood-red tarp that covered each one. Their visits in the past were mostly uneventful – occasionally someone from the caravan would stay or someone from the village would go, but they always seemed to have exactly what anyone was looking for; however, there as something different this time, something was amiss.
Vynaria had just put the twins down for a nap when the screaming started. She knew her mother had gone to the forge to bring lunch to her father and brother, which also happened to be the direction the screaming was coming from. Acting on instinct, she ran towards the screaming which was now accompanied by the clang of steel-on-steel. Moments later, when she arrived at the forge she was terrified by what she had found. Her mother was cradling a lifeless Tylein, trying to stop the terrible wound on the side of his head from bleeding, while weeping uncontrollably. Her father was fighting the caravan leader’s servant, who was no man at all, but rather a blood-crazed half-orc. A fire broke out in the smithy, as Vyn tried desperately to pull her mother to safety. She had to strike her mother across the face, hard, to bring her back t her senses before the two of them could get out of harm’s way, and the last thing Vyn saw as she and her mother fled was her father keeping the half-orc from escaping the flames. Falling embers from the fire had set several of the other buildings in the village ablaze, including Vyn’s home with the sleeping twins. While the villagers hurried to put the flames out, Vyn and her mother raced to save the twins, but when they arrived, they found the caravan leader waiting for them. Her mother’s face darkened, twisted into a fit of rage, and to Vyn’s astonishment, several daggers came flying out from her mother’s dress sleeves. Her mother called for her to save the twins, and then charged headlong at the caravan leader.
Vyn was able to save her baby brother and sister, thanks to her mother’s valiancy, but when she emerged from her burning home, most of the other villagers had either fled the inferno or were being hunted down by members of the caravan. She fled in the direction of Edoras, and got as far as the Entwash before trouble had found her again. The caravan leader, now missing an eye, walking with a pronounced limp and cradling his left arm to his chest, had found her before she could cross the river. Exhausted, terrified and panicking, Vyn hurriedly climbed down from the horse they were riding. Making sure that both Theowyn & Edowyn were secured in the saddle, she sent her brother and sister off continuing in the direction of Edoras. Expecting to die but determined to not let him harm her brother and sister, Vyn picked up a fist-sized rock & issued a defiant challenge to the caravan leader. When he grabbed her his grip was both ice-cold and burring hot. She tried in vain to strike his head with the rock she found, but he kept knocking her attempts away with his damaged arm. He was foaming at the mouth, face twisted in rage, and hissing “traitor’s bitch!” at her. He struck her with a force that knocked the wind from her, and began kicking her while she tried to scramble back to her feet. This broken, wounded, evil man towered over her; breathing in heavy rasps:
“You…never told you…did they?” he said.
“Tell me what? Why are you doing this?”Vyn replied.
“Because…I always…keep…my word” he replied with a sinister grin
As the bottom of the caravan leader’s boot filled Vynaria’s vision, her last thought before blacking out was whether or not Theowyn & Edowyn would reach safety.
