Anduin the Profaned

[Present; Ruins of Grimrock]

The history books would not remember this place.

Its once powerful walls now grew yellow moss, the heavy stones strewn across the grey landscape.

No human eyes would ever again see the charred stone foundations of buildings that once held families. Fathers. Mothers. Children.

A mouse crept under a long yellowing bone, making its way into the haven of its home.

The inn was the only building whose wood frame had not decayed nor been destroyed. It creaked as a cold breeze whistled through its ruined planks.

Five pairs of rotting leather shoes adorned the doormat, a reminder of the specters that haunted this long-dead tomb. In the time before, all manner of people had joined here in song and celebration.

Cooks. Stewards. Farmers. Wanderers. Drunks.

Now, all that was left of them were five pairs of rotting shoes.

[Four Years Ago; Grimrock; The Upheaval;]

They came in the night.

In a comfortable two-story home, a family of three sat around a table, a gentle fire flickering in the living room.

They were quiet save for the sounds of eating. The last few days had been some of the scariest in their lives. The Kings and Queens were dying left and right.

Emperor Sazal IX of Krodia five days ago. Queen Fengshen of Qutary three days ago. Sultan Zareb Asmar the same day. King Darius III of Vrea yesterday.

A young man around the age of 12 sat at his father's right hand.

"Father, will everything be alright? The Grimrock Guard has been placed on triple watch, and they've even sent me home indefinitely."

A large man at the head of the table put another forkful of meat in his mouth. "Yes, of course, my son. Even if all else fails, I will protect you. I'm not a knight for nothing," He said and glanced at his wife across the table, at the other head.

"My dear, there is nothing to fear. The reports of mercenaries and banditry are exaggerated, and Lord Grimm has requested aid from Lord Drenton," She said, rubbing her son's hair.

Suddenly, a heavy knock on the door.

The large man got up from his chair and walked briskly to the door.

"What could the news be at this hour?!" He asked gruffly, opening the door.

A yellow-clad Guard waited outside. "My apologies, my Lord, but Lord Grimm has summoned you to his service. Lord Denton approaches."

"Why does he need me?"

"He has called upon all the knights, my Lord. Please, hastily make your way to him."

The knight nodded and looked back at his family. "I will be back. Try to leave some food for me, boy!" He said with a smile.

His son smiled mischievously. "I will, father!"

The knight laughed and closed the door as he left.

Before long, the little boy was in bed, oblivious to the world around him.

Oblivious to the low drone outside the stone walls of his home.

Oblivious to the faint clanging of metal.

He woke to his mother throwing his door open.

"Get up! We are leaving!"

He sat up groggily. "What..?"

He rubbed his eyes and looked at his mother, who was holding a dim candle. His eyes became focused, and he saw tears streaking down her face. The low droning was getting louder now, his window brighter than it should've been.

"Mom?! What's going on?!"

She tugged him out of bed and ran to the door with him firmly in tow. "I don't know! Your father is here, and he says we must leave now!"

They got to the living room. The little boy caught a few glances out the window, but all he could see was an orange glow towards the city gates.

They rushed to the door, and he saw his father. The knight was holding a bloody sword, his face and body drenched in blood. His clothes were ragged, and the blood was his own. He had been injured at least five times, maybe more.

"Father!" He cried.

His father knelt and embraced him. "Silence, my son. We must escape," He whispered, preserving his strength.

"Father, where is your armor?! Were you surprised?!"

"Where it always is, boy. In the keep. We were attacked at the gates by who I do not know." He said as he quickly escorted his family into the city streets.

It was as if Grimrock was deserted, without a soul in sight.

The boy could hear the clanging of metal now, the screams. The orange glow grew closer.

They rushed towards the outskirts of town, away from the glow.

"We must reach the walls! I know of a safe place for you to hide, but we must move quickly!" His father said with belabored breaths.

But the knight could only move so fast.

The glow grew closer.

The knight sucked in heavy breaths, trying to wrap his wounds with extra clothing his wife had retrieved for him. They became soaked quickly.

The screams grew louder.

The little boy could feel hot tears falling down his cheeks, and he saw how his father's face twisted in pain with every step.

The war cries were so close now.

Finally, the walls were just ahead. They only had to cross one more street. They reached a dark alleyway, so close to their goal.

The little boy realized what the orange glow was. It was their torches. He could see them now, rushing up the deserted street and into the closest house, breaking thatched windows and doors.

He could see the faces of his enemy, their giddy smiles.

He could see the way their hands shook from excitement.

He could see the blood on their swords, on their clothing.

His mother was shaking uncontrollably, looking at her husband for answers.

The knight smiled and sighed, shaking his head.

"And I had wanted to give you my sword..." He whispered, looking at his son.

"I'm sorry, my son. One day, you will forgive me for this. I love you."

And with that, he rushed into the street, his fatigue gone. Blue energy coiled off his body, as sharp as the sword he carried.

"No!" The little boy cried, reaching out to his father as he watched his back. There were so many of them, too many to count. In his eyes, his father was the greatest warrior in history, but one man couldn't destroy an army.

Tears rolled down his mother's cheeks, but she grabbed ahold of him and rushed across the street.

The knight sighed in relief as he saw his family get to safety.

He looked at the invaders, those who would dare to take his family from him. Those who would see his wife, his son harmed were it not for his blade, and his blade alone.

His heart bled for those less fortunate than he.

They approached him quickly. He could tell they had seen his wife and child.

Blue mana burned in his eyes as his aura grew.

'Run, my son. Run with all you have. Avenge me.'

Outside the walls, a little boy and his mother fled. They had nothing but the clothes on their back and their own two hands.

And so began the Legend of Anduin the Profaned.