[Stug3]

HISTORY:
Balthazar Woll or Bobby to his friends and family was raised in Leilon by his parents Hildegard and Gunter Woll. Balthazar's life growing up was far from poverty stricken but he was not raised high on the hog either. As respectable merchants his parents worked hard to provide the necessities of raising a strong and respectable son. They worked hard not to spoil or coddle their son, growing up under his parents roof Balthazar learned the importance of self-respect and the honesty of a hard days work. Gunter, his father was not a strict disciplinarian but he did not allow Balthazar to get away with inappropriate behavior either. Balthazar learned the bounds of his father's tolerance for as his father put it Tomfoolery. Balthazar was raised to be respectful and well mannered. Able to read and write he could hold his own in conversation on many subjects including politics, commerce and religion. Gunter did much to prepare his son to one-day take over the family business with its many compromises and challenges. Balthazar's mother Hildegard however had little illusion her son would one day take over the business; she could see the restlessness and knew that the life of a merchant was not in the cards for Balthazar. As a young boy Balthazar was held spellbound by the stories of the scarred and boisterous men who were employed to protect the shipments. They lived life as they found fit, surviving on their wit and skills as swordsmen and the stories they told Balthazar stirred his young imagination so that he could not sleep for hours afterwards. Balthazar often daydreamed about his life as a free blade in the service of this king or that, employed to get crucial supplies through enemy siege lines or defending his home from marauding villains. As with most daydreams the horror and brutality of war were absent in the fanciful imagination of a child mind.


Times have changed drastically, Blood's army advances and few places are safe any longer. Stories of Bone Dragons and formidable creatures wandering the land are all abuzz in the taverns and watering holes. It seems not a day goes by that travelers here or there do not recount strange happenings across the land of Mistone. Calls to arms go out to defend this town or that; war effort collections, enlistments and formations of militia are not uncommon these days. Even Balthazar's parents contribute to the war effort, coin and weapons are needed in awe-inspiring numbers and the Wolls give liberally to the cause. As lands fall the shipment destinations become less and less and those that are still open need the supplies desperately. All of this was not lost on Balthazar. At the request of his father Balthazar was to accompany a trade wagon to Port Hampshire for overseas shipment of its contents. Old enough to accompany the wagons without his father Balthazar was excited by the prospect of being on his own for a bit. Besides the trip was far from perilous, he had traveled with the Port Hampshire caravan a few times before and the caravan always employed several free blades to handle any threat that may present itself.
Two weeks later Balthazar returned to Leilon a ragged and bloodied mess. Covered in road grime, dried blood and dressed in rags of what were his clothes, he collapsed in exhaustion at the gate. His parents were summoned and he was taken to their home for care. His back was covered in deep claw like wounds and bite marks covered a great portion of his chest, a broken right arm, three broken ribs, two missing teeth, an arrowhead lodged in his right shoulder and a vicious slash from skull to chin had destroyed his left eye, Healers arrived to tend his wounds. He was cleaned, the broken bones were set, slashes were stitched, and the arrowhead removed.
In the following days Balthazar's mother left his bedside little and his father desperately tried to find out what had happened to the caravan; when had they been attacked, where, by whom or what and what of the guards and wagon masters? Goods could be replaced but lives had been lost and men were missing.
For days Balthazar lay in his bed sleeping fitfully a cry or muffled shout would escape on occasion to startle his ever-watchful mother. It took a week for Balthazar to wake up but he was not the same Bobby whom three weeks earlier had set off for Port Hampshire with a smile and a wave to his mother, Balthazar would never be the same again.
Questions, questions and more questions were asked but precious few answers surfaced. No answers about who had attacked them or where, no answer about the other men in the caravan, no answers.
Hildegard was worried about her son; her once happy boy became quiet and withdrawn. He rarely ate and she often heard him thrashing around in bed or crying warnings in his sleep, exhaustion showed on his face and in his one good eye a strange look flickered. His mother asked Gunter if he had noticed, he assured her he had. She likened it to the way a starving man might eye sweet bread. Balthazar spent much of his time alone and often returned home with cuts and bruises or bloodied clothes, when his mother or father inquired to his whereabouts practicing was the only reply, day after day for months this played out. Worry grew in the heart of Hildegard, as her son changed into what he was becoming, what it was she did not know, or was she sure she was going to like it.
One afternoon when Balthazar passed his mother she grabbed him, took Balthazar's face in her hand and with tears streaming down her cheeks asked, Where is Bobby?
He's dead Balthazar replied coldly.
Hildegard was confused, dead Balthazar is standing right before me, living, breathing. Slowly Balthazar removed his mother's hands and led her to the table where he pulled out a chair for her to sit on. The voice Balthazar used to tell his mother the story of what happened was as terrifying and heartbreaking as the story its self. The ambush, the fight, the slaughter and his escape all flowed from the mouth of her son as if it were an order taken for a merchant, no emotion and no inflection simply recounting facts. Facts so horrific Hildegard felt physically sick. The ambush had been sprung with such terrifying speed five men were dead before they even knew they were under attack, arrows from the under brush thudded in to their unprotected flesh, a half dozen apiece. Those unlucky enough to be spared instant death had to fight for their end at the hands of the awfulness that erupted from the roadside brush. Creatures that defy the minds eye poured from the forest to commit heinous acts against the men of the caravan. Huge hulking beasts thickly muscled with squashed faces and tusks, hairless misshapen heads and all wielding clubs and axes. They fell on the men with abandon and murderous strength, hacking with axe and slinging men off their feet with great blows from the clubs. Heads crushed and bones broke on every swing of the weapons regardless to the armor worn. Men lifted off their feet to have their necks and backs broken, others swung into trees by their feet others had their heads twisted completely around, limbs were torn free from torso. Still in to this bloodbath arrows streaked, impacting the hulks as well but with little effect. One with six or seven arrows in it continued to beat the wagon master with his club even though his head was turned into pulp and he was obviously dead. Men and horses alike were full of arrows, some to wounded to stand others still fighting in a vain attempt to survive. As if the slaughter was not yet enough, small yapping creatures that had been the source of the arrows also boiled from the forest to join the butchery. Small but very fast they swarmed any still fighting and with their short bladed swords piled on to the men driving them from their feet and making quick work of the overwhelmed men. Wounded men trying to defend themselves from attack, men missing limbs, men with arrows protruding from their backs and chests, men split open holding their insides in with one hand and trying to block the killing blow with the other. Even the horses did not escape the butchering they were set upon just like the men beaten, stabbed and hacked to death. It was no fight it was extermination. The sound of metal on metal, blade on shield, ax into flesh, grunts, squeals, screams and the pleading of the wounded filled Hildegard's head as Balthazar recounted his tale. It was no fight it was extermination.
Balthazar continued on to confess he had been hiding in the middle most wagon for a large amount of the assault until it was clear that it was nearly over and no one of the caravan was going to escape alive. As the hulks and barking creatures finished off anyone still alive including the wounded, Balthazar made his move to escape. As he lifted the tarp covering the wagon one of the hulking creatures yanked the cover free and swung his ax down to cleave Balthazar's skull. In a moment of nothing but luck Balthazar stepped on to a few spear shafts in the wagon and slipped backward out of the arc of the falling ax. Still doing extreme but not fatal damage the ax became imbedded in the wagon. Balthazar continued over backwards and out of the wagon breaking his arm when he landed on the bent shield of a caravan guard. Getting to his feet with one good eye, a throbbing arm and standing in the gore that surrounded the wagon Balthazar began to run down the line of wagons. Cradling his useless arm, trying to see through the blood that filled his good eye, slipping and sliding in the blood and filth that covered the ground he was determined to get away. As he ran an arrow stung in to his shoulder spinning him sideways and slamming him into the last wagon in line causing him to break three ribs. Momentarily stunned and stationary a sling bullet hit him in the mouth blowing out two of his teeth and laying open his lip. Crawling under the wagon to escape any more arrows or stones he continued to crawl to the back of the wagon towards the empty road behind the caravan. As he emerged one of the yipping creatures pounced from the wagon to his back and began to claw and bite at him breaking off the arrow shaft but leaving the head buried deep in the shoulder. Wounded badly barely able to see or breathe Balthazar figured this was how he would die, killed by some stinking biting yelping thing he had no strength to remove from his back. An arrow meant to end his escape struck the creature passed clean through and almost removed his ear as it hissed by. His fear fueled flight continued for how long he could not say but it seemed like hours of running, stumbling and gasping. Out of fear Balthazar foolishly stayed off the roads, he may have been found sooner if he had remained on the roads but his pain-wracked brain could think of only one thing HOME. When Balthazar woke and found himself home and alive a deep feeling of shame and guilt over took him. He had survived by hiding and the running when many good men had died horribly while fighting. He would never be vulnerable or defenseless again and would never feel ashamed because he had to run away and leave others to die. Balthazar stood up from the table and walked off.
Hildegard cried for hours after Balthazar had finished his horrific recounting of the attack and his remarkable escape. Re-telling the story to Gunter on his return home. Now aware of the ghastly events endured by their son Gunter and Hildegard understood the changes that Balthazar had undergone. Although deeply concerned for Balthazar neither was surprised when he announced he was leaving Leilon for parts unknown.


Balthazar spent his last night with Gunter and Hildegard trying to dissuade their fears and explain his decision to leave the city, his family and the family business behind him for an unknown future on the road. With no real plans Balthazar had quite a time convincing them he knew what he was doing, if in fact he had persuaded them at all. Parents know when the chick must leave the nest and Balthazar had grown his flight feathers. If he would fly or not only the future can say...