Chapter One - Bad Blood

"Some people are born killers, other times, killers are made," Dominik had told his young son Pieter, his fifth winter. This was the winter Dominik had started to train his son. "Which person are you?" Dominik tossed his young son a wooden practice sword as he unsheathed his dagger.

Most children would have been terrified of their father pulling a blade on them, but not Pieter. Pieter grabbed the wooden sword and immediately moved into guard stance. Even though Pieter was so young, he knew his father would not hesitate to drive his 6-inch steel blade straight through the five-year-old's throat if he did not fend him off. That was the way of his people.

Pieter's father Dominik Noire was the leader of the Direwood Forest Bandits. They were murderers and thieves with a thirst for carnage and total decimation of anyone who opposed them or got in their way. They taught their children to fend for themselves at a young age. They taught them the Code of Blood. They taught them how to stalk their prey, and most importantly, they taught them how to kill, ruthlessly. The Bandits took pride knowing their children were so lethal from such a young age.

Pieter counter-circled his father. He knew the dance of the swordsman now and Dominik had only been training him a week. Dominik made the first move, he lunged forward when he saw an opening in Pieter's defense, but instead of lunging with his blade his unarmed hand made a sickening thud when it came into contact with the side of the child's head. Pieter growled aggressively in response, unphased by the violent blow to the side of his small skull.

He knew before they started his training that he wasn't allowed to show any sign of pain or fear. Pain and fear meant weakness, and in his father's band of thieves, weakness meant death. Pieter crouched low and began to study his father, counter-circling until he found what he was looking for.

His father had been injured in a raid less than one moon ago, and although his father hid it well, when he suddenly shifted weight onto his right foot, Pieter saw him grit his teeth, clenching them in what he knew was pain. The next time he shifted his weight to change up his footwork, Pieter took his opportunity and drove his wooden sword hard down on his father's ankle then kicked his foot out from under him in one swift, smooth movement. This took Dominik by complete surprise. His small son disarmed him quickly with another hard hit to his wrist then in an instant grabbed the two inch blade from his sock that he had stolen from his uncle and when Dominik felt the cold steel of the small blade against his jugular he said instantly said "yield."

Pieter heard the sound of thunderous hands clapping behind him and he let his father up putting the blade back into his pocket. His giant of an uncle, Bartholomew had seen the whole incident and was highly impressed by the child's cunning wit and skill.

When Dominik stood up he ruffled the boy's hair and patted him on the back and said "excellent job son." That was the closest Pieter ever heard his father come to saying he was proud of him. It was good enough for Pieter.

Pieter's uncle kneeled down and looked into the boy's eyes, "you did well nephew, pretty soon you will be better than your ol' dad and I." Pieter grinned a little and handed his father his practice sword and looked at his uncle. "I hope to be big and strong like you and dad, one day."

Over time, Pieter had steadily improved and by his 9th year, Dominik was confident that his son could carry out his duty to the Brotherhood. He had sent his son on small trips to town for general thievery, mainly to steal food when the bandits were running low. Pieter always exceeded the clan's expectations, going above and beyond what his peers did. He brought bigger hauls back, better loot each time he went out. The next Spring, Dominik decided it was time for a real mission.

One night, as Pieter was sitting on an old, rotten tree stump looking out over the river they were camped on, he heard his father call to him from over where the adults were gathered telling war stories while sharing drinks around a large fire.

Pieter got up and walked over to his father. Dominik patted on the log, motioning him to come sit with him. When Pieter sat down next to his father, he said "yes father?" Wondering what he had called him over for. Dominik looked at him and patted his shoulder with his bear of a hand, he was drunk from the mead they had been sharing between the men.

"Son, I think it is time for your first mission." Pieter was always eager to please his father and the Brotherhood. He had an innate need to prove himself to his peers. Pieter replied, "really? What do you have in mind, father?" Dominik took another swig of mead before calling Bartholomew and a scruffy bandit known as Duggar over to him and briefly talked to them quietly under his breath, listening to their opinions for a moment before turning back to his son.

"Son, I have a special assignment for you. Tomorrow we will make a 3 days ride together with your Uncle and Duggar to Ashvale. A prominent mage who is in possession of a valuable magical artifact is rumored to be crossing at the Ashen Bridge the following night with several Ashvale guards and the High Priestess of Ashvale." Dominik paused, thinking for a moment. "Your task is to kill the mage and take possession of the artifact while we take care of the Priestess and the guards. If you can pull it off, you can take your proper place in the clan. Not only that, but you will get a cut of the bounty on the artifact."

Pieter nodded, "I gladly accept the mission. I am confident I can get the artifact for the clan, and I will not let you and our brothers down." Dominik was pleased with his son's confidence and squeezed his son's shoulder between swigs of his mead. "Good, good son." Dominik turned to look at Duggar momentarily and said, "Brother, get my son an ale, the strongest ale you can find; soon he becomes a man."

Duggar got up and filled a wooden pint mug to the brim with the strongest ale in the camp and brought it back handing it to Dom. Pieter's father turned to Pieter with the pint of ale and handed it to the 9 year old. Pieter had never had his own drink. He had only ever been allowed sips from his father's drinks. Pieter thanked his father and then took a large swig of strong, dry ale, savoring the burn of the alcohol as it flowed down his throat.