The Start of a God Part One

Srongar smiled devilishly as he rode his lone frost wolf through the ice-capped forests of Margothe, ice trident in hand. His hunt for the final God’s trial was the infamous bandit leader Pemptrar, a vicious, merciless maniacal killer with no regard for life, human or creature. Currently located in a tree village cloaked in ice and fear, his minions each an expert in different forms of combat, the sword, the shield, and flame controlled by the open hand; all deadlier than the last and all of their masters loyal to their merciless leader and prepared to kill at the snap of a twig. All these thoughts were racing through Srongar’s head as he remembered what had been relayed to him by his great grandfather Buzrend, the head of the gods of Mesrad.

As Srongar neared the camp he dismounted his wolf-steed and edged closer to the camp on foot with his trident poised to attack, when he spotted a lone archer crouching in a tree. Smiling Srongar reached for the bow he had recovered for his first god trial and with a steady and stealthy hand drew an arrow from his quiver and drew the bow.

The arrow flew swiftly and firmly lodged itself in the elf’s throat, killing him instantly, this saddened Srongar because he hated killing, especially the look on someone’s face as their life left them but sadly that was what he had to do if he wanted to become a god and he couldn’t contest it because he would be ridiculed and disowned if he did.

After making certain he was unseen, he crept closer into the camp wearing the archer’s armour which were somehow weren’t stained with blood when he pulled them off of the dead archer’s body and fit him snugly which helped against the bitter cold. Resisting the urge to scratch and adjust the mask which was made of scratchy course wool and fit like a balaclava