Welcome to Cove

The two boys rolled around, knocking chairs over and shaking the torches on the walls. The largest one regained his footing and tackled the other into a nearby table. Across the room in the shade of the corner, an older man sat alone, reading. He glanced up and shook his head slightly, he reached over and grabbed handle of his cane. He found a seat by the fire, and swatted the two boys as they neared.

“Sit down! It’s time I told you two a story of two brothers. Perhaps than you’ll gain some respect for each other!” the elder man growled.

The two boys dragged their feet around in a sombre manor and found a couple of chairs. They sat by the fire, and prepared themselves for a story. The old man, adjusted his pair of glasses and rested his cane on the ground beside his seat. He looked deep into the fire and spoke calmly.

Dormacks child hood is very shaded, very complicated, and yet so fulfilling.

The town of Prontale wasn’t always the ideal place to grow up. There was constant militia activity between training and the battles that often occurred just outside the cities walls. It may have been hard, but it was bearable, because Dormack seemed to be pulled through just fine.

Janean and Derek Shander had two very gifted children, Dormack and Gerosh. The two were pulled from the womb only moments apart from each other. They were identical twins; the only difference was the color in their eyes. Dormack had his mothers, an open-minded intelligent woman, while Gerosh had his fathers, a rough tough militia fighter.

The two twins often argued over small ordeals over the first few years of their existence: who got to play with the cup and ball, who got to play with the dice, who got to try and swing fathers sword. But with hands down, the two brothers had a stronger bound than a blood oath taken by bandits. Whenever another lad would insult one of the two brothers, the next was surely there to back him up.

Derek Shander, their father, taught Dormack and Gerosh how to handle a sword at a young age. It started with simple thrusts and body movements using daggers and skinning knives, because at the age of eight they weren’t quite strong enough to wield a full blade. The brothers practiced day and night, not only with themselves but other militia fighters who had taken a liking to the descendants of their captain.

By the age of roughly sixteen, Dormack and Gerosh was master swordsman. Trained by the best warriors in Prontale, the brothers couldn’t be matched in a battle by people in their age category. The brothers agreed on everything, except for one thing, the arcane magic’s.

Like his father, Gerosh despised wizards and witches; they thought they were too powerful for their own good. Some wizards would spend their entire lives trying to learn simple spells, while some would master the art in a merely short time. Along with practically the entire militia, they thought they’d grow to power hungry. This caused the few mages of Prontale to live secretly, and band together in a secret society. This alone was the only way they could go about living.

Dormack, aside from everyone else, was open-minded. He admired the fact that only the most intellectual of people could master the arcane arts. He never told anyone else that, but he always tried to explain the only wizards without morals, and with cold hearts would be power hungry. He believed that there were wizards that had hearts like theirs, and thought just like them. They only wanted to protect Prontale, and did so in secrecy. His father and brother just shrugged off Dormack’s attempts to make the wizards look like normal people.

The day of the annual fair was quickly approaching. Dormack and Gerosh had been training for this day for years, they had to be sixteen to enter in the two against two-sword fight, and now their time finally came. Little to there knowledge, they weren’t the only ones preparing for the day. Far to the east the militia of Crookedcreek were preparing for a well-devised ambush on the entire city of Prontale.

The day of the fair arrived and the two had fought together all day long. They had won all of their fights, which brought them to the final duel. Dormack wielded a broadsword along with a wooden shield, and Gerosh held his executioners axe tightly in his grasp. The two other fighters were mace fighters, and seemed a bit jumpy after watching the brother’s tactics. The referee raised a ribbon in the air.

“When I drop my arms the fight begins.” He said.

The crowd roared in cheers, clapping and all sorts of noises. Three loud cracks were louder than the crowd though, and the cheers and clapping came to an abrupt halt. Three arrows had been shot right into the referee’s spine, the cracks being the spine snapping. The ref dropped his arms, along with his body as it crumpled to a heap on the ground.

People started screaming as warriors from the Crookedcreek militia flooded in through the front gates. Archers started appearing from the shadows, carefully picking off targets. Citizens were dropping like flies as the militia started slaughtering. Prontales militia was quick to be on scene though, full force retaliation. Dormack looked around confused, he quickly spun on his heel and deflected an arrow with his shield. Again, he looked around confused; his eyes darted around trying to find someone. He looked up into the bleachers, a group of men in dark coal robes stood tall. He hadn’t noticed them before, but he couldn’t understand how they just appeared. He saw the quick movements of their hands, their mouths moved even quicker. Fields of glowing energy began to appear trapping a large number of Crookedcreek militia fighters into a tight square. Balls of fire, and bolts of energy slithered from the fingers of the robed men.

Dormack watched in amazement at the ability of the robed fighters. People quickly fell to all sorts of colorful blasts. His eyes widened as he came to realize whom these men truly were. They were apart of the Secret Organization of the Magi. Gerosh rushed by grabbing Dormack by the arm; together they charged four heavily armored men. Gerosh heaved his axe, the blade cut easily through the plate helm of one of the soldiers. Dormack ran to the left, and quickly darted to the right, slashing across two of the men and blocked the third’s blow so his brother could retrieve his axe. The two erupted from behind the shield and overwhelmed the third soldier, slashing him down. Dormack threw his shield back up and a quick defense to block a blow. The brothers made quick work of the last two opposing soldiers.

The battle only lasted about twenty minutes, a surprising slaughter of the Crookedcreek militia. The tall robed men had seemed to disappear in all the confusion after they eradicated a large number of the opposing force. Dormack was left wondering where they went he was left in admiration.

From that day on, he read alone at night the secrets of the Magi. He read what only a few people had been able to find out about the secret organization and their magic’s. It started as nightly reading, and slowly grew into full day explorations. Months after the fair, Dormack’s father along with Gerosh and the rest of the militia had found out about Dormack’s secret research.

It had all happened so quickly, the fight between Gerosh and Dormack, the banishment from his home, and two militia fighters dead. Dormack had left his home, after being banished and pursued in a search for the Magi. The two brothers, bounded by birth and blood, we sworn enemies. Gerosh made a pact with himself that day that he’d hunt every wizard and witch down that he possible could, and Dormack made a pact with –himself- that he would rid the world of close-minded witch hunters.

The old man leaned back in his chair, sighing slightly. He reached down and took hold of his cane. The two boys looked up quickly.

“Where are you going?!” they asked impatiently.

“That’s enough for this evening. I hope I’ve talked a little sense into the two of you. The bound between brothers can be broken to easily, and it’s not worth a life of hatred over. You two have to learn to get along. Maybe than, I’ll tell you of the tales of the twins lives from that time on.” At that, the grandfather stood up and stocked off into his room.

Hmmm, I think the this phrase comes into mind,

'We didn't want to know your life story'

*cackles*

[OOC: Very creative :D]