A large town, situated on the edge of a mountainous forest and inhabited by a mixture of humans, dwarves and elves, served as crossroads for traders aiming to profit from the spring thaw opening the mountain passes. The morning sunrise burst over the eastern treeline on the day that would take many lives – and irrevocably change that of one elf. Being one of the more important towns in the kingdom, this town was frequently a target for thieves and smugglers wishing to access the vast treasures inside its coffers.

This day, however, it would not be thieves who attacked.

An angry band of orcs and goblins burst through the front gates mere minutes after dawn, armed with torches, clubs and hammers. They quickly split up through the town to pillage, burn and destroy all they could reach. The two elven brothers, both of them light sleepers, had awoken at the mighty crash made by the now destroyed gates and had immediately grabbed their weapons – a pair of daggers for one, a finely made bow and quiver for the other. They shot up the ladder to the roof – the archer to pick off individual threats and the rogue ready to defend the archer from any threats.

Some members of the horde, noticing the rain of arrows upon them, quickly surged up the ladder to attack; however, they were easily fended off by the agile rogue. Eventually, though, sheer numbers overwhelmed him, and he was cast off to the side, wounded but not fatally. The horde, once he was removed from the combat, surged upon the archer.

A cry was torn from the rogue’s throat as he saw his brother’s mutilated corpse thrown off the edge of the building. Rage built up inside him, against orcs, goblins, and all those who would attempt to destroy the peaceful order of society.

Once the two threats had been neutralized, the horde of orcs jumped off the roof with the goblins on their shoulders without casting another look at the rogue. A few goblins, however, stayed behind to watch the elf. Eyes ablaze, the elf slowly rose to his feet. He picked up his knives from where they lay beside him and crept behind one of the goblins. The goblin whipped around at the sense of someone behind him. He fell to the ground, his throat slit, without ever making a noise.

The rest of the goblins were easily dispatched at the hands of the rogue. However, his newfound bloodlust still not sated, he picked up his fallen brother’s bow and quiver. Due to their relation, the two had trained as both archers and rogues; however, both had their own proficiencies. The elf drew and nocked an arrow, and the bow sang a deadly song.

In other parts of the town, the orcs had been driven off – but not before they had ransacked many buildings and killed many of the soldiers. The vault, being the most heavily guarded building, had suffered no damage; however, many families had been torn apart. The goblins had been fended off, with more losses by human and elvish life than by destruction. The entire raiding party, hundreds strong, had been massacred or had fled back to the mountains.

The town celebrated this victory and mourned their losses. Many who had lost friends or family had avenged the fallen in scores, and they were those who were honored the most. However, the rogue, full of grief for the loss of his brother, was disconnected from the rest of the town. He swore an oath against orcs and goblins, vowing revenge for his bereavement. He slipped out of the city days later.
He wandered for a long time, before finding a group that could help him satisfy his vow.