In the deep north, wedged between the two warring countries of Skem Thar and Brenia, lies the oft forgotten village of Lystal. Untouched by either side, it sits peacefully, in the eye of the hurricane caused by the war. Both sides are wary of it, for if the village's treasure were to fall into the other's hands, it might end the war. The treasure of Lystal is called The Grand Armory, implying that it is full of wonderous and unique weapons, but only the Village Chief knows what lies within the vault. The legends claim that each weapon in The Grand Armory has the power to level a nation, but this has never been proven. Here, in this small, wintery village, we begin with a young lad named Ozren Bakalski. A seemingly unimportant individual that has a small build, hair the color of bark, and eyes the color of mud. Alas, looks matter not, for someone unordinary can do extraordinary things.
Boom-Boom-Boom. The loud knocks on the door startled Ozren to the point where he fell out of his cot. A gruff voiced called out from the other side of his door, "Ozren, did you think that since you were born 18 years ago you could sleep in?" Today was Ozren Bakalski's eighteenth birthday, a day more important for him than most others. It is the day that every descendant of Iskren Bakalski receives their mission in order to become Village Chief. "Sorry Pa, I was out at the tavern with Jovana and Davor celebrating most of the night." He replied while putting on his adventuring gear, he had it specially made by the Dragi, the village blacksmith. Light yet warm to keep out the cold and dyed black to soak up the sun's rays. "Where did it go?" He muttered to himself as he started looking around his room, until he saw a glint of iron. His short sword was propped up in the far corner of his room, leaning on the wall inside of its battered sheath. Unwilling to leave his trusty albeit slightly rusty sword behind. Remembering he is on a small time limit because of his father, he scrambled for the door. He opened the door to find his father already looking exasperated with him. His father, Volen Bakalski, was a tall and muscular middle aged man, who with a singular look one could tell he spent his whole life working. "You won't be needing that Oz." Volen said this while staring at the short sword. "But Pa, she's been with me through thick n' thin." Ozren retorted to Volen's statement. "You know the rules Oz, only weapons from The Armory are allowed to enter it." Ozren reluctantly set his sword back inside of his room next to the door. They silently walked the halls of their home, a smaller two-story building, until they went downstair and to the basement door. Unlike the other doors, this was a heavy steel door with chains running across at various angles. Each chain had a small padlock, preventing the door from being opened without finding every last one of them. As Volen started finding and unlocking the padlocks, he was talking to Ozren. 'Now Oz, remember the ritual. If you mess up the ritual even I do not know what will happen. The amount of soul fragments will make it hard to concentrate so find the spot and meditate. You will be down there fo-" Ozren curtly interjected with "Yes Pa, I know how to do everything, so quit repeating it to me every day." Volen stopped unlocking the door to stare at him for about five seconds before resuming. 'I'm just worried about you Oz. Even though I did it at your age doesn't mean I am not worried something will go wrong this time." The last lock for the chains hit the floor with a loud thunk, as Volen pulled a necklace off with the key to the door. "Good luck, Oz." Volen said as he opened the door.
The air in the basement was so full of soul particles that it was hard to see. Magic is powered by the soul of the user, causing particles of their soul to leave and act as a catalyst for their spell. For the air to be full of them means there is something of great magical power in here, thought Ozren. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Ozren saw the lamps that light up The Grand Armory. As he walked towards it, the saw all of the different weapons contained within. There were hundreds of weapons of every kind on the walls, ranging from your standard array of swords. axes, pikes, and other polearms there were exotic weapons from every corner of the world. Remembering the ritual, he sat in the middle of the armory, with his legs crossed and hands together. Part of meditation was clearing ones mind, but that was difficult for him right now. With so many questions and no answers his mind raced in order to hopefully uncover the answers. What did this ritual actually do? What weapon would he receive? Why were there so many soul particles down here? Would Jovana and Davor join him on the quest? All of these questions clouded his mind in a deep fog. Then a faint humming could be heard from within the fog in his mind. The humming grew louder and louder as it seemed to get closer, then the humming turned into a lullaby. One so calm and peaceful yet so loud and powerful that all of his questions and thoughts were silenced as this lullaby dominated his mind. It sung of peace, clarity, and friendship. Then, very quietly other voices joined in. Each sung their own different and unique song, but each complimented the others. Some sung of happiness, others of sadness, some sung of anger and hate, while some sung of peace and love. Some of the voices were masculine, others feminine, but none sounded quite the same as another. Slowly, they all joined together until it hit a crescendo, and silence fell over Ozren's mind. Then, they all returned, but not singing this time. Now they were greeting him. "Hey there kid." "Hello!" Greetings." "Nice to meet'cha." "You're the next one, eh?" "Welcome." Next, the voices started talking with each other. Curious and confused, Ozren spoke, "Who are you?" A feminine voice responded "That doesn't matter kid, just find whichever one of us sounds the loudest to you." They then returned to their conversations, "I still don't understand why they don't tell them about us." "Does it really matter? They come down here and learn about us anyway." "That was just the way the first decided on it, and we can't argue with a dead man." Out of the blizzard of noise, one voice stood out to him. This one was not talking like the others, it was singing a song about loneliness and loss. Twas a very sad song, but one Ozren felt deeply connected with. He barely knew his mother, because she died while he was still very young. He pushed through the fog until it sounded like he was right next to the voice, in which he separated the fog like a curtain using his hands. Sitting on a rock was a young girl, about Ozren's age. She had shoulder-length hair the color of ravens, eyes that looked like the color of embers, and skin that was the same color as Ozren's morning coffee. She had a surprised look on her face as he stepped through the fog. "I- I never thought that I would be chosen." Is what she muttered to herself as he approached. "Well stranger, I am Kisha. I think we should talk some first."
Ozren thought about sitting down and realized that there was nothing to sit on. Suddenly a stool from the tavern appeared in front of him. Momentarily startled, he took a step back. "Ah, stranger. You are a quick learner. Here in your mind if you think about an object it can appear." Ozren sat on the stool and faced Kisha, "So what is it we are going to talk about then?" Kisha shrugged, replying with "I have some questions, you have some questions. Let us answer them. Also, I do know what you are thinking, so no hiding answers from me. I would prefer to actually talk, so I shall go first." She adjusted herself on the rock and looked into Ozren's eyes. "What is your name? Before you ask, yes I know the answer but I would prefer it if you tell me." "My name is Ozren, son of Volen." Her eyes lit up like life being breathed into a dying fire. "Son of Volen you say? I remember when he came down here. Big, strong, and a bit bull-headed, but everyone liked him. Unfortunately I wasn't a good match for him." "My turn for a question, what made you a good match for me?" She broke eye contact and just stared at the ground. 'I'm not sure, none of us are. We just accept who chooses us. Turnabout is fair play, so what makes you think you are worthy of me?' Ozren thought for a little bit, then replied, "Nothing, I have no special qualities or traits. The only reason I'm down here is because I am a descendant of Iskren." "You are wrong, you are worthy, for one reason or another, because you got far enough to have this conversation. Now, enough idle chit-chat, if you want to leave here, take my hand." Kisha held out her hand for Ozren to grab, and which he carefully took. Suddenly Kisha, the fog, and the voices all vanished. Ozren felt deep within himself a great pain, it felt like his soul was being torn to shreds over and over again. He screamed once before his vision went black and he passed out on the hard floor of The Armory.
Ozren woke up in a chair inside of the living room, with Volen was sitting across from him. "Guess you finally woke up then. Don't worry, the same thing happened to me, even that." Volen pointed at Ozren's chest, where he tightly held a dagger. It looked like a normal iron dagger, except for a warm jewel imbedded into the hilt, that was the color of embers. "Is she in here?" Ozren inquired, to be answered by a swift nod from his father. "That's right Oz, but don't mention it to anyone. It's one of the secrets to these weapons." Ozren held the dagger close to his ear, and from the gem he could hear a faint humming from it. "Now come on Oz, it's almost time for the send-off." Every time a Bakalski turns 18, a great send-off party is thrown, and all the young men and women who wish to join the Bakalski on their adventure leave with them in the morning. It is a grand celebration in which the whole village participates in. Volen and Ozren walk outside, to find Ozren's friends and adventuring companions, Jovana and Davor, waiting outside. Jovana is tall and thin, with braided hair the color of ravens and eyes that reflect he great northern lights. Davor is large and muscular, with short-cropped hair the color of wheat and eyes the color of a mid-summer sky. Jovana immediately hugged Ozren, saying "I thought you might not wake, you were asleep for hours." "Hey now Jovana, Oz can handle himself." Responded Davor. "I'm fine guys, it was just a small side effect. Enough about this, let us go celebrate." Jovana and Ozren walked towards a table with fresh lamb, while Volen and Davor stopped to talk with some older men who told tales of their adventures. Soon, the musicians started playing their tunes, and the square was flooded with dancers as day slowly turned into night. Jovana was grinning from ear to ear as she slowly danced with Ozren, who appeared to be flustered. Everything was normal and happy until twin horns sounded from the East and the West.
The men immediately spung into action, many of them had heard those horns before, and knew they were war horns. All of the men grabbed their weapons as they ushered the women and children into the safest location, the Chief's house. To the East were the battle standards of Skem Thar, to the West were the battle standards of Brenia, and from both came a hail of burning arrows so thick, almost nothing was safe. Ozren was pulling Jovana towards the house, as she pleaded with him, "Let me go Oz! I can fight, I can help you, just don't leave me with everyone else!" He looked at her with a sorrowful gaze, and replied "What kind of man would I be if I let you fight and you got injured, I could only hold myself accountable and I don't want to lose you." Tears slowly dropped from her eyes as she stopped resisting and let him take her to the Chief's house. By the time they got there, soldiers from both armies had broken through the weak defenses put up by the unprepared villagers and were fighting those who stood their ground. Ozren threw Jovana inside before closing the door and turning around. Volen and Davor were both there, fighting soldiers from Skem Thar, while the other villagers were getting cut down by the more experienced soldiers. Davor blocked a lethal overhead swing with his shield and retaliated with his sword, but the soldier's comrades used their spears and polearms to turn him into a pincushion. Seeing that there was some tough resistance, the Skem Thar General sent some archers to subdue the threat. Volen was holding the enemy soldiers at bay using his battle axe with precision and speed, but the incoming hail of arrows was too much even for him. Brought down to his knees, Volen stared and Ozren and said "Protect all of th-" before a Skem Thar axe man removed his head from his shoulders. Hearing screams from inside, Ozren turned to see the fire had spread to the house, and that Brenian soldiers had entered through another door and were slaughtering all of the women and children. A pit grew in his stomach, because he knew he had sent Jovana in there only to die. Turning to face the soldiers, and refusing to die a coward, he unsheathed his dagger. Preparing for the moment they got within striking range, he didn't notice the spearman lunge for him. Before he could react the door behind him opened and he was flung backwards, as Jovana traded places with him. She screamed at the spear now in her gut, as the axe man swung and buried his axe in her chest. As he roughly yanked it to dislodge it from her, he grinned and spoke "Nice job lass, but a pity it was for such a worthless reason. Better luck next time." As it finally came loose, she fell to the floor, her eyes were glassy and lifeless. Tears poured from Ozren's eyes, but he was unable to move, rooted in place by fear. He was unable to do anything as the slaughter continued, and the house could not stay standing any longer and collapsed, rendering him unconscious.