One mans fight against persecution set in a mythical land. Ragnar must fight to clear his name after being accused of murder.
Ragnar knew he was being hunted. He had heard the rumors of men searching for a murderer in various taverns along his route. For so long he had kept himself hidden from danger and now he had been trapped. He looked around at the caves that had become his home for so long and reflected on his life. His mother had been a high priestess, serving a rich and powerful warlord. Her prophecies had made the land prosperous beyond measure and yet for one little mistake she had been disembowelled and her head placed on a pike warning others of her mistake. Ragnar had been young when his mother died and had been forced to watch. His father had been powerless to save her yet young Ragnar had felt hate and loathing towards him. How could he have let her die? Did he not love her? For years after Ragnar had planned to run from his fathers home and exact revenge upon the warlord who had killed his mother. Yet, inside, he had known he could never do it. He did not have the same power as his mother. As a young man, he had left the home stead and travelled the land in search of peace. He had encountered beasts that seemed to come from dark nightmares, never seeing the light of day. Ragnar had been scared when he saw the beasts but also curious. Where had they come from? What were they? Stories he had heard along the way had described an ancient evil that had been stirred from its slumber, bringing death and pestilence to everything and everyone it encountered. The stories also told of people disappearing in the night only to be found wandering the land, blank eyed and devoid of all emotion. Some said they were no longer human but vessels of demons come to ravage and kill. Others thought they were wandering souls looking for a way home. Either way it seemed to Ragnar that something was wrong. He could not put an explanation to it but deep down in his gut he knew.
Months had passed by before he had come across a small village nestling in the shade of a gigantic mountain. Fields of golden corn had surrounded the homes and people bustled around busy with everyday chores. Happiness seemed to exude from everyone he had met. Here was a place that he could call his new home. He had settled into his new life with comparative ease, never complaining about the back breaking work that came with farming. Life seemed perfect and within time he had taken a wife, Gisene, the daughter of a land owner. The village had celebrated for days that seemed to never end. His new father had bestowed upon them land to call their own and a home to live in. Everything seemed to be going so well for Ragnar that he soon forgot about his natural father and became a man respected in many circles. Gisene had borne him a son, Algamar. A child of fair hair that people said must have been woven in gold by the gods because no-one could have produced such perfection. When Algamar had been born, Ragnar's heart had swelled with pride. A son to carry on his name and take on the land when he was old enough.