Fires In Frozen Forests

Author's Note: This story uses the score system to track the state of the characters relationships and other variables, so make sure to press 'Start Game'. For example, the first decision at the bottom of the intro decides whether the protagonist has a normal relationship with his sister, or has a more... special relationship. Enjoy and feel free to leave a feedback comment!

It is morning, and her hard fingers awaken Domic in his bed, in the small town of Pael, deep in the great and terrible forests of the northlands. Nestled in between jagged mountains and the dark sea, Pael has long been an isolated and lonely outpost of human 'civilization' amongst greenskin tribes, forgotten barrows, and slavering monsters that would like nothing more than to devour squishy humans. One road comes north from the free city of Wassten, one ill-kept dirt track heads east to the even more miserable port of Gold Harbor (recently Fael,) and a crumbling road north leads to...somewhere. Now, as an adult citizen of 18 years, Domic has the honor of being inducted into the town's guard, and has been given a sword, a musket (with powder and shot,) and three days training. This, along with a generous helping of élan, is deemed sufficient by the town council to protect the town's people, and much more importantly, the trade caravans heading south to richer lands.

"Domic! Wake up and come downstairs, I have breakfast ready for you!" a voice yells from below. He rolls out of bed and pulls on some pants and a light tunic. It is fall, when Lord Winter and Lady Summer jostle for influence, and today it seems that Lady Summer has won, at least somewhat. Groggy, he rubs his eyes awake and sits on the edge of his bed, looking around his smallish and sparsely furnished room. A stone washbasin with a small mirror sits in one corner: a young man with a round face, dark hair, blue eyes and a short, full beard looks back at him in the mirror. Next to the washbasin are several chests that contain most of his clothing and other sundries. Leaned against a wall are two muskets: one, a long gun, crafted with care and precision by the dwarves of Kzrhrzc and bought by his father many years ago for hunting; the other, a short soldier's gun, was churned out by some massive southern armory, stored for two years, then deemed 'obviously obsolete' and sold as surplus to Pael. Hooked next to the closed door is a sheathed, long, bastard sword; above it hangs the painted icon of a smiling goddess. Domic yawns, splashes some cold water on his face from the basin, then grabs the short musket and sword, and shuffles through the small hallway and downstairs to the kitchen. Rummaging through some cabinets is a tall woman with tied back hair, long and wavy brown, wearing a pale cream dress.

"Good morning, Izabel," he mumbles, sitting down at a pine table. A large hearth with a dancing fire sits in the corner of the room, while shelves and pantries stocked with cutlery and foodstuffs surround the walls.

"Good morning little brother," the woman says as she turns and smiles warmly. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Uggh, terrible."

"Are you nervous about your first day?" Izabel says, placing a steaming hot bowl of porridge in front of him. Domic smiles gratefully and begins to eat.

"A little. I'm more annoyed than anything. A week in the forest hunting and trapping would bring in more money than a month of guard pay," he scowls between bites.

"I know, but we all have to go through our term of service. 'For the pride of Pael.' Do they still use that stupid cry?" she says.

"Mmm, they do, although we only said it with gusto when there was a councilor watching us."

"Hmhmhm. Well, if it's anything like what I had to do, I'm sure it'll be quite boring. You'll just be walking the walls all day or breaking up drunks fighting in the taverns."

"That's alright I suppose."

"It is, and I hope it stays that way. I'd rather not-" she stops.

"You'd rather not what?"

"I'd rather not have you go through what I went through, another **** on the town," she says. Five years ago the council at the time had the bright idea to hire a large band of southern mercenaries to wipe out some of the surrounding orc and goblin tribes. Unfortunately, the mercenaries had gotten a taste of how dark and forbidding the forest was marching up, and had evidently decided that Pael itself was a richer and easier target. All night the bells had rung, calling all guards and militia to arms, including Izabel, only two weeks into her term of service. Izabel had never fully told Domic what happened that night as he hid, cowering in their food cellar. She came home the next morning, covered in blood and muck. She collapsed, weeping, into her bed as Domic tried to comfort her and as the townsfolk mourned their loses and released their wrath on the surviving councilors. "But that won't happen again, Domic," she says, smiling weakly. A bell starts to toll in the distance, somewhere from the center of town.

"Mmm, it's time for me to go, Izabel," he says, getting up, and wiping his mouth of the porridge on a cloth napkin. "Thank you for breakfast. You'll be home later tonight?"

"Yes, unless Herut closes the apothecary early. There aren't as many customers this late in the season," she says.

"Alright," he says as he turns to leave.

"Oh, Domic wait!" Izabel calls. "I almost forgot, I have something for you," she says as she looks around in the pockets of her apron. "Here it is," she produces a small hexagonal golden ring, sparkling in the light. "Mother told me I should give this to you, when you started your term of service in the guard. She said it was lucky." She grasps his hand and puts it on.

"Thank you," Domic says.

"Mother and father would be very proud of you, were they here," she says, smiling and looking deeply at him.

"I think they would be more proud of you, Izabel, for taking care of me," he says, as he moves in to embrace her in a tight hug.