AoD fanfic: The Bandit Backstory

Before getting out of bed on Saturday morning, I came up with a fully fledged intro to a quest which needed writing down. Unfortunately, it can't take place in 1923 Massachusetts, so I wrote it for the world of Age of Decadence. It's done as a couple of monologues for ease of reading, but hopefully several possible outcomes and surprises will suggest themselves to the reader by the end.
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**Setting: a small stone temple with a recently burned out farm behind. A bearded pastor and his wife are in residence.

You there, rough character. I am Pastor Rorn, this is my wife. Sit down and have a meal with us. I have a story to tell you. You have eyes in your head so I don’t need to say our farm was lit up like a torch, just three days gone.

This was not just a farm, but a temple of Themis, and we were burned out not by chance but by the bandit Harkune, the filthy Ordu swine. This is not just a terrible crime, but an affront to the goddess. I do not wish to trouble your sensibilities, but there’s more. In addition to the sacred temple, we used to care for over thirty young girls here, orphans by way of war, disease and other misfortune. Their dormitory was one of the buildings in back. For a few there is work to be had on neighbouring farms, but penniless as we are, the rest we had to send away to the city, to make do as best they can.

You are thinking, perhaps, that I want revenge against these bandits. That is not precisely so. Their chief I want killed, yes, but for Themis's sake, not mine. The goddess's temple has been defiled by their barbarity, and if their leader is not punished, she will visit her wrath on the people of the city.

I see your hand itches for your weapon, so I will finish quickly. The guards have made their noises about ferreting out this Harkune, but since I have no money for bribes they will do nothing. I am not unreasonable, however. I don’t expect one man to wipe out a whole troop of brigands. This is what I– what Themis requires: find their bolt hole, it cannot be more than a dozen miles from here, and kill the leader for me. He carried a great curved sword of the east, and the pommel was set with an obscenely large gem, an emerald I think it was. Bring the sword to me to show he is dead, then keep it for yourself. It is a great reward. Then, too, my wife is a talented healer and if in future you should need a roof or her caring hands, you are welcome to stay here anytime. And there is one thing more…

He pauses, as if weighing your worth against what he is about to reveal. Coming to a decision, he nods his head once and declares, The greatest boon of all will be the favour of Themis which shall repay your efforts an hundredfold.

**Rorn has a minor artifact as backup enticement if the player doesn’t go for the free healing
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**As the player exits the ruined farm, a badly beaten teenaged girl emerges from hiding and stops him.

Hold a moment, stranger. Did the pastor tell you the tale of the bandits burning the farm? You would be wise to listen to what I have to say as well, for I lived on that farm my whole life until the night it was destroyed.

The pastor and his wife took in orphaned girls, that much is true, but we were treated no better than slaves. All the long days were filled with toil, digging and planting, mending clothes, making preserves and taking crops to market. The wife was the worst, always riding my back with her Lazy Asha, sleepy Asha, haul that water, Asha. I did not intend to waste my life away working, and I explained my reasons plainly enough even for that thick-headed old sow: since I was a foundling, it was likely my true family were nobility of some kind, and when I left the farm I was destined to return to my deserved status. This would explain my unsuitability for manual work.

The pastor arranged all our marriages as soon as we were old enough to bleed, but because he paid no dowry, the husbands were all common labourers and farmers, not even tradesmen! (Asha spits in disgust) A woman with calluses on her hands ends up with but one kind of man.

The bandits came to our dormitory and roused us from our cots in the dark of night. Four rough men, stinking of skullduggery –and horse– herded us into the farmhouse. It would have been like sneaking up on a stone: we were all exhausted from working the harvest. Stetla was carried from her bed and didn’t wake until we were all settled inside with Rorn and his wife.

The bandit leader and the rest of his group were already there by the fire, making free of the larder and the pastor’s generous store of young wine. What a sight three dozen sleepy, bedraggled and terrified girls must have made, marching into that room. The chief rose and bowed to us, just like a gentleman, and said, “Ladies, I am Harkune, bandit king. A woman has nothing to fear from me, lest she draw first.” His men laughed, and I stifled a giggle as well. This was the most exciting thing to happen on the farm in… ever.

“I hope you will forgive us for dropping in so late, princess.” He talked directly to me, as if I were the lady of the house. “My men were thirsty, but we are no longer welcome at the tavern in town. There was a dispute there last month you see. One of my men carelessly dropped a dagger on the floor and a guardsman tripped and fell on it.”

Having had his joke, he left his lieutenant to setting the girls serving out cheese, dried meat, vegetables, whatever was to be had.

Harkune was handsome, foreign but exotic, and he wasn’t marked up like his fellows. They had many scars, a few of which were repeated from man to man, like the brand on the cheek and the missing finger on the left hand. These were deliberate mutilations, doled out by the city to common thieves. Harkune plainly had never been caught.

There was something special I recognized in this outlaw right away. I had never seen a man up close who had it, but nonetheless it was impossible to witness and not know: power. It washed off him like the shimmer of summer heat on a stone building. He never admonished his men, or even directed them, yet they each did as he wished. None of them abused the girls, who were too young in any case, and I felt this was his doing as well.

Right away, a plan began to form in my head. I made myself the bandit king’s servant. I stayed close by him and kept his cup full. When the small barrel had run dry, he squeezed my rump as I hurried to tap another and I felt as if my feet would never touch the earth again. I was the eldest girl because I had resisted marriage so long, and I had sensed it would not be long until the old man sloughed me off on some elderly farm drudge.

As the hour passed, songs were sung and wine spilled. Several of the girls were unashamedly happy, for the men shared out everything that came to the table. We never ate so well, except during the Feast of Themis. Rorn gnawed his lip, counting up everything in his head like an innkeeper.

After all were sated, Harkune belched, a long, drawn out rippling sound. Instantly, all were as silent as if he had shouted an order.

“You are a generous host, pastor. Most generous.” There was a general rumble of agreement from the others. “Now, alas, it is time for us to ride. I would love to stay but we have other obligations.” Rorn was perfectly silent, but in a way that spoke most eloquently of his longing for them to be gone. Harkune made his way to the door, and raised one hand in farewell. “No, I will not hear of it. Perhaps another time.” Again, he hesitated. “Very well, my friend, there is one thing you can do for me… I do so hate to impose, but I wonder if you could make me a small loan.”

The pastor had to repeat his response, for it was too soft for any to hear the first time: “We have no money here, sir. I regret to say it, but we are poor farmers, and all the poorer for having so many youngsters to feed. And girls, no less, sir. A worthless commodity, as you know.”

Anyone could have seen what would happen next. Although Harkune was standing in the doorway, none of his men had so much as shifted their weight. Now the two closest to Rorn seized him and commenced to give him a beating. It wasn’t so much, I’ve had worse from the old woman, but in a little while he gave in and went to the hiding place beneath the brick in the kitchen hearth. He returned with the small leather pouch which was carried to market. His shoulders sagged as if he were hauling a fortune in bullion.

Harkune weighed the purse in his hand, then poured out a small quantity of silver. His expression of comical disappointment would have made a mummer proud. “Are you quite certain, my friend, that this is all you are able to lend me? You make me feel very small having to ask a second time.”

The pastor shook his head vigorously and his wife fell to begging their mercy. The bandit chief was tiring of the show, and it seemed they would really leave. I didn’t know whether it would stay in my head or come out loud until I said it: “There is a strongbox.”

“She lies!” Rorn’s wife said it too quickly, before I had even finished speaking. Everything that happened after can be laid to her quick tongue.

Harkune’s eyes slid over to me and I smiled, just slightly, coyly, although his attention made me burn inside. I told him I had discovered it once by chance, but was found out before I could overcome the lock. It had been moved since and I had long given up on finding it again. The pastor denied it up and down, but then he had lied about having any coin at all. Naturally, they tortured him.

I thought he would never talk! Harkune took his seat again and sipped wine as if he would wait till the end of days while his men worked on the pastor, but the old man knew the bandits must ride no later than dawn. A single ridge separates us from the city and there are busy farms all around.

But Harkune was smarter. After an hour of listening to the pastor’s panting and moaning, he titled his head slightly, no more, and they dropped Rorn like a sack of rotten grain and turned to his fat, wailing wife. What they would do to her—well, we never found out. He gave up the strongbox. Harkune did not mince about with the lock. One of his men had already fetched our woodcutting axe and after four of five swings, both were smashed beyond repair. The heap of coins within glittered happily for a moment, before vanishing into the fists of half a dozen thieves.

With a grin fit to split his head in two, Harkune bowed to the girls a second time, and bid us goodnight. I chased him and his men outside, bringing a fresh skin bulging with wine. For the first time that night, he gave an order: “Burn it”. And they did, the farmhouse, the dormitory, the barn, everything but the temple, the stone of which would not catch. Now the pastor, his wife, and the girls too were truly ruined.

Harkune mounted his animal and watched his men work with a placid smile. I shuffled nervously between the horses and the house. I wanted to warn him that the fires would attract attention, but I bit down on my tongue; my advice was the last thing a man like him would need. Not all the lessons of a good wife had been wasted on me.

All my former family stood in a black line before the flames, as if to pay their respects to their departing guests. I could feel the pastor’s eyes on me like coals from the fires of his burning farm. The bandits also appraised me openly while readying their animals, but I was not worried about them. Harkune controls them utterly. Finally, when all were in their saddles, Harkune gave one short whistle and they stepped out into the road, I still clinging to his stirrup. I asked him to lift me up, I said I don’t weigh much, perhaps one of his men could carry some gear in my place. I was jogging already to keep up with his horse.

Harkune looked down as if he had forgotten I was there. “Too skinny,” was all he said. He gave me a vicious kick, and the world and the fires mixed together, spinning around me. My ears overflowed with his wild laughter, and that of his men, and the rolling thunder of hooves as they galloped off beneath the stars.

And before I had even finished rolling in the dirt they were upon me. They beat me with their fists and they kicked me with their feet, and in time someone came with a length of stout wood. I couldn’t see her for the blood running in my eyes, but I knew it for Rorn’s wife, her name is Mercy. I do not know how long that beating went on, but when I woke the day had passed and it was night again. I had been dragged to the road outside the gate.

Maybe I never would have gotten myself a nobleman, but I could at least have been a tradesman’s wife, or a whore. But look at me now. They have beaten both my face and body into a new shape and it is not an improved one.

You have guessed by now what I want. All that is left to me in this life is hard work. I must to it, and complaining about it won’t fill my belly, but I cannot leave this gate until I know those two inside are dead. You are young and strong and you don’t have to be fancy about it. I don’t care if they know I hired you, or if they suffer before they die. Just kill them.

What can I give you, that is what you want to know. That’s all right, we speak the same language. You must have noticed that Rorn is all but deaf and shouts like an idiot to compensate? Well, I was listening. There is one small detail he kept from you: there is a reward in town for the person who locates the bandit’s refuge. The pastor had to know about it for he’s already been to report the attack to the guard. No doubt he has some scheme to get it himself, perhaps the sword too, if it comes to that.

Here is what I am offering: I know where the bandit hideout is. True, you may find it on your own, you probably will, but if you go wandering up and down the hills all day you will certainly alert their sentry. If they spy a lone man from afar, there is no question you would be killed.