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[Charger]

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Trying to sit up as he awoke Charger looked to each of his sides. A woman on each side of him, curled in by his muscled arms. He laid on his back, looking up at his ceiling he let out a quiet laugh. Never in his life did he think he'd be where he is now. He closed his eyes slightly, thinking of the old days. The days before all this...

Charles Cradiash was a kind and truthful boy. He lived on the outskirts of Vesper with his mother and father. His mother a mage, always up to something. She was a stubborn beautiful young mother, with powers he could never quite understand. His father had always told him he was a sailor. Fighting with the sea monsters is what gave him his scars. His dear sister, older than him by many years, left just before his birth. He never really knew who she really was, or what she ever did with her life. His parents spoke of her rarely.

Unlike his mother and father, Charles wasn't an adventurous man. He was always working with things, building things. He soon became a blacksmith; his adventures were mining in the mountains. Traveling out to the mountains, a packhorse at his side, he could chisel away for hours. He was always too lazy to walk all about the land with his packhorse, so his mother taught him some basic magery. This allowed him to open portals to his destinations, allowing him to mine all over the place.

He was often found in the back of the house, around the forge. The sound of metal on metal rang from the back room. It was from there that Charles often found his father in the back yard, speaking with different people in private. They were often whispering, passing deeds and large sacks back and forth. They tried to keep it quiet, but he never really knew what they were up to. Perhaps ship pay, or things for shipment while his father sailed.

One evening Charles sat beside the forge, he laid his head back on the top of the chair. Breathing in heavily, he wasn't sound asleep, just merely taking a break. His eyes snapped open and his head jerked up suddenly. He had heard a noise, the sound of a breeze. This wasn't usually something to be alarm over, but he had heard it from his kitchen. He stood up from the chair and grabbed his smithing hammer in his hand. He slowly and quietly crept up into the kitchen. Peeking around the corner he saw a black cloak swoop around the other corner, heading towards his parents bedroom. His father was away this evening, said he was leaving to do a quick shipment. He began to follow the black figure, around the other corner and up the hall. He saw the bottom of the cloak just as it entered the bedroom. Tip toeing up, he stood beside the door, tilting his head slightly he peered around the corner.

His mother lay on the bed, she looked peaceful, he hers cross over her stomach. Than he looked beside the bed, the black figure hung over his mother. A shimmer of light caught his eye, the candlelight reflected off of the dagger that was in his hands. The figure lifted the dagger high into the high, preparing to thrust it forward. Charles hollered as loudly as possible, charging in, hammer lifted in the air. The man spun on a dime, his eyes met the blunt end of his hammer. The hammer sunk deep into his skull, killing him instantly. Blood poring from his face on to the ground, the hammer lay stuck in his head.

Charles mother shot up, sitting straight up she looked at her sons face. A horror struck looked was upon his eyes; he glared down at the dead corpse. What had he done? He thought to himself, he had just clubbed a man, finishing his life. His mother leaned over the edge of her bed, glancing to the corpse.

"About time." she spoke quietly. Charles turned to look at his mother. Nodding approvingly she slipped out of bed and took him to the kitchen. She explained to him about the assassin, she had been fighting a quiet war against chaos. She was apart of a small strike squad that often did small raids to keep the enemies on their toes. Only this time they had sent an assassin to take care of some of the members, she was one of the few that lived.

(To Be Continued...)

[Charger]

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His father returned a few days after the assassination attempt. Charles didn't think much of it, just a fool trying to slip past his eyes. His mother was somewhat worried when she found out a few of her other associates had been killed. His father's anger fumed, someone tried to slip into his room and kill his wife? It was all but luck that Charles had woken in time to see the man turn the corner. It was a miracle that he was able to charge up at him and kill him before the assassin finished his life too. Both parents were very grateful, and proud of their son. They knew it was time to push him in a new direction in his life.

A few weeks later Jerilom -his father- threw a sword towards Charles, reacting quickly he caught it in his right hand and quickly spun it once around. Looking shocked he glanced at the sword and back up to his father.

"Your mother has taught you how to cast spells, I will teach you how to fight hand to hand." Jerilom spoke, feeling confident his son would fall into place.

"I don't wish to fight father." Charles spoke in a hesitant voice.

"Do it for me my son, there will be time when you need your weapon. I want you to be ready for anything."

Nodding silently Charles observed the weapon. It felt balanced in his hands, it felt as though he was meant to use a weapon. The metal shimmered in the sunlight, perfectly crafted, no scratches. It wasn't crafted by him, but by a much better smith. It was light and sharp, he held it straight out in front of him. Not wobbling or shaking, it was sturdy.

Jerilom started the training, taking him through step-by-step procedures. The handling of the sword came to him easily, but the footwork did not. Nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to side step Jerilom's swings. He was able to move quickly when he didn't trip over himself. Quick jabs forwards, heavy swings high to low. Charles repeated this practice over and over, bettering himself at this attack.

Hours turned to days, and days turned to weeks. Gradually Charles grew better with the sword. His father threw lessons at him at all times, leaving no time for smithing. He slowly left his mining and smithy ways behind, focusing more on swordplay and the arcane arts. He had just begun to learn how to handle a sword and cast spells at the same time, when it happened, the night that would change the rest of his life.

The homes around there’s were being lit on fire, flames flickered high in the sky. People ran down the streets and into the forest screaming in fear. The screams stopped abruptly as they hit the forest, they were cut down quickly. Orcs streamed in from the forest, and from the other side down the streets, throwing torches and lighting barns on fire, slaughtering all those who moved near them. The Cradiash family was soon out in the streets fighting. Jerilom's sword held high, slicing down on the orcs, cutting through their live flesh. Marcie's spells blowing through the torsos of the other orcs. Charles watched his parents in amazement they fought in unity.

Charles charged in, as he always did when fighting, and attacked the closest group of orcs. The tip of a kryss runs along the edge of his leather armor as he jumped back. Thrusting forward he embedded his sword through the orcs throat. More of the villagers ran outside, weapons in hands, defending their land. A group of orcs surrounded Marcie, to busy in the fight Jerilom and Charles didn't have time to notice.

The noise of thunder rumbled the ground, hooves dug up the dirt. A group of riders rode in, spells blazing from their hands and staffs. A scream of agony came from his right, snapping his head around he watched an orc slide his blade from his mother’s stomach. Fuming in anger Charles charged in, beheading the orc, he spun around and sent an energy bolt through the chest of another. His mother had slaughtered the other orcs.

Shaking hands with the group of riders Jerilom turned back to his wife and son. The orcs were soon all dead, or running in fear. Charles and Jeriom ran to Marcie's side, she bled eternally on the ground. A teardrop landed on her cheek, her sons head hung over hers. Taking her last breaths she spoke quietly.

"You’re my Charger, never let anything stand in your way, fight who you must, for what you must. Accomplish your goals in life," coughing up blood she struggled to speak. "Make me proud my son." Smiling slightly she raised her hand to brush her husbands cheek, and than her sons. Taking her last living breath, "Charger..." and than there was silence.

(To Be Continued..again..)

[Charger]

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The sound of weapons clashing together echoed in the house. Fighting in the house was only one of the many ways the father and son trained. Practicing hand-to-hand combat in close quarters is what they were doing. Stomping through the kitchen, Charger sidestepped the kryss that was closing in on him. Reacting quickly he pressed forward, swinging down with his war fork. The war fork was his weapon of choice, unlike his father’s kryss. The two swung and dodged, feet moving with grace and agility, heads thinking quickly.

This went on for weeks, constantly training and practicing swordplay. Charger had to take time away from using his blade to practice his magic, the magic his mother taught him. It was only a year ago that his mother was killed in the raid from the orcs. It was only a year ago that he had a reason to live; now he lived to kill.

It was late at night; most of the surrounding homes had blown out their candles and gone to sleep. Not Charger and Jerilom though, sleep was for the weak his father had always told him. Sleep was over rated; there was time for it when you died, until than spend every hour you can awake. Charger stepped forward than backwards, side to side. Slowly at first and gradually gaining speed, always working on his footwork. The way your feet moved was an important part of fighting, to kill an enemy quick you had to be quick on your feet. He sprinted quickly around the obstacles set up in their yard, running at one and jumping over it he tucked into a roll. Setting himself back up on his feet he continued. It was only a few minutes after he started that he heard the thud on his front door.

Making his way in the house he went through where his old smithing area had been. The room that use to be filled with ore and forges was now filled from floor to ceiling with weapons and armour. He continued making his way through the house; reaching the kitchen he heard voices. Slipping around the doorway he slowly made his way down the hall. Leaning against the wall around the corner from his front door he listened silently. His father was speaking with someone more than one person, the voices seemed familiar. Peeking around the corner he saw several men standing in his doorway, they were the same men who aided in the fight against the orcs.

Jerilom spun around and saw his son peeking around the corner. He turned back to the men and nodded slightly, continuing with the conversation. He shook hands with each of them and spoke quietly.

"I will meet you at the shack in a short time."

Making his way to the kitchen he contemplated what he would tell his son. He reached the kitchen and looked Charger in the eyes.

"Its about time I tell you everything." He began to speak hesitantly. "For your entire life I have lied to you, I am not a sailor, I am a mercenary. I fight, guard, and whatever else it is for gold. Your mother and I didn't want to tell you until it was necessary."

"So this is why you have been training me? To be a mercenary such as yourself?"

"No, you can be whatever you choose, I have no doubt in that. I trained you to merely defend yourself; smithing wasn't the way you were going to live. You can feel it, you were bred to fight, and your mother too was a mercenary."

Charger slightly nodded. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath Jerilom continued. "Before you and your sister were born, we had another child. A boy, named Keyes, we gave him to a nice couple at birth. Your mother wasn't ready for a child just yet, and the family was more than willing to take him. He bares the same birth mark on his neck that you do, only my sons were born with that."

"You didn't bother telling me I had a brother?"

"It wasn't that we didn't want to. We were waiting for the right time, I'm sorry Charles."

"Don't call me that, my name is Charger now. Is there anyway I can find...Keyes?"

"I'm not sure, we haven’t heard from him or the family he grew up with. I don't know what has happened. I have told you all this because I am leaving. A council in another land is hiring us to guard their city that is under attack. I don't think I'll be returning this time, and wanted you to know the truth." He walked over and leaned down; pulling open a door he pushed back the floor of it. From underneath he pulled up a deed and several sacks of gold. Handing the deed and sacks to gold to Charger he explained what they were. "This is a deed to a very large plot of land, do with it what you wish. This gold was being saved for you when you moved out, but now is the best time to give it to you I think."

Jerilom left the room to go pack his things. Charger nodded to himself slightly, he placed the sacks in his backpack and heaved it on his back. Walking out of the front door of his house, he didn't say good-bye. He left his life behind; he left the pain and loses of all his family behind.
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Fight for pride, fight for honor, fight to kill, but most of all fight for gold!