This is the first in hopefully more chapter of short stories addressing the back story of a new character I'm planning to create. I'm trying out a writing style that I'm not all that familiar with, but I thought it suitable for the way I wanted to tell the story. Enjoy, and feedback regarding the writing style and the story itself would be appreciated!

Chapter I: A tombstone, a bloodied figure and a dug up grave

It had been silent for some time now. It was difficult to tell just how long, as each second felt like agonizing hours. The soaking, young boy clutched an amulet in his two trembling hands, an amulet with the shape of a horn. Outside, the rain was pouring down, as it had been doing consecutively for the entire day. The gentle rain was tapping on the roof of the shack, the boy hadn't heard any other sound but the rain for several minutes, or was it hours?

Another drop descended from the roof of the shack onto the boy, it made little difference as he had already been exposed generously to the cruel weather. He slowly pushed himself up on his shaky legs. He needed to know. His father had told him to run and hide, and run and hide he did. With a series of slow, steady breaths, the young boy attempted to regain control of his sobbing body, succeeding only minorly. The shack door creaked open, but his father was no where to be seen. Pine trees that the boy had climbed in a number of times, the lake, which had always been generous with fish. Blood. The rain had obscured it somewhat, but it was definitely there. The boy gulped, clutched his amulet tighter, and pressed on. Where could he be?

Blood. A trail of it, leading from the lakeside house into the nearby pine forest. Had his father attempted to run? Or to draw whatever that was coming away? The boy held on to the latter. His father was no coward. The boy decided he wasn't either, and pushed on into the forest. Was this his father’s blood? Or that of whatever that was coming? The boy dismissed the thought, he couldn't bear losing his father too.

The forest was damp, yet protective from the rain, the large branches near safeguarding the boy from the relentless rain. The blood was easier to track here, and the boy sped up his pace, and before he knew it, he found himself deep in the forest. It was getting progressively darker - night was fast approaching, the boy knew he had to hurry, he could be in danger. A groan. It was faint, but it was audible. Obscured by the heavy rain. Could this be his father? The boy darted off in the direction he thought he heard it coming from. Another groan, clearer this time, he knew he was getting closer. He looked around, he recognized this place, he hadn't been here for many years.. The grave of his grandfather? Soon the boy found himself in a clearing. A tombstone, a bloodied figure and a dug up grave.

“Father!” The boy uttered as he darted towards the bloodied character, lying in a mixture of mud and blood, tightly clutching his gut. “Boy..” the man started, coughing up blood as he attempted to speak. “Gah.. Don’t.. Worry about what you’re seeing, boy.” the man added weakly, wincing in pain - both in his heart and physically. “It’s been dealt with, but at a cost I wasn’t ready to pay.. There’s no helping me, I’m done for I’m afraid. Y..You need to end it.” The man stated coldly, a determined tone played his words, sobbing as he glanced with pity and hopelessness at his son. The boy was horror struck. What would he do without his father? Tears rolled down his cheeks, but one couldn’t tell, the rain was merciless. “I.. I can’t. Don’t ask that of me! I've never killed anything!” The boy cried back desperately.

The man pulled his son close, too weak to utter loud words at this point. “I know it’s hard, nothing’s been easy since your mother passed, but at least I’d leave this world knowing I’ve a strong, brave son to carry on.. You’ll.. be fine.” The man replied, nodding firmly to his son as he reached down for the boy’s hand, clutching it, and the amulet, tightly. “It’s almost time. Ahh, end it now… “ He said, his tone shaky, his body trembling. “Show me the mercy of Stendarr!” He demanded, using what power he had left into those words.

“A sad story, my friend. Truly.” The fat man opposite on the table said, raising his tankard in a toast as the warm fire in the tavern crackled intensely. “Putting your old man down cannot have been easy.” He continued, his voice grim, as was his expression. The other man on the table nodded a series of times, stroking an amulet the shape of a horn at his chest. “No, it wasn’t.” He replied calmly, glancing emptily into the fireplace, seemingly completely lost in thought. “Hrm.. You mentioned your grandfathers grave had been dug up.. What had happened to it?” The other man asked, narrowing his eyes at his drinking buddy. “That, Esdrec, is a story for another time.” He replied softly, slowly averting his eyes from the flames, offering him a brief glance before pushing himself off the table. “There’s work to be done.”