His Own Hands, 1,363 words

Most of those around the bonfire were either very young or very old. Harti felt out of place surrounded by children and elderly, but he was desperate for something to keep occupied this midsummer night. The house was stuffy midsummer. The crops were all planted and growing nicely. There was relatively little work to do tomorrow worth getting up early for.

Harti was very carefully adjusting his toasting stick. He wanted to get the piece of bread evenly golden brown. He wasn’t particularly hungry, and he was not picky about toast, but meticulous focus on the toast kept his mind occupied. He was only barely listening to the old man’s story.

“See those stars? That constellation is the Guardian Dragon.”
“Which stars, Mister Schaffer?”

In the darkness no one saw Harti roll his eyes. Everyone knows the Guardian Dragon. It’s the second most obvious constellation after the Great Dipper. My best friend Dagmar died along with his pretty sister, Daega. Who survived? Dagmar’s annoying baby brother, Ritter.

The old man humored the youth.

“See those starts sort of making a hook. That’s the Dragon’s back. The two points there. Those are the Dragon’s fangs.”
“I see it!”
“From there the Seraphon watch over us. When the Forces of Chaos or Death threaten, the Seraphon descend from the stars on beams of light to combat the Forces of Darkness”
“Like before when the big rats came!”
“Exactly, they saved us all when you barely crawling. We are fortunate to have them as protectors.”

Harti’s toast caught on fire. He threw the smoldering square into the flame.

“You are full of skite old man! You can gloss it over for those too young to remember but I remember. The magical lizards didn’t come down until the Skaven were in the misty forest when the visibility for their weird guns was blocked. The Seraphon came to kill Skaven, helping us never mattered to their plans.
We are running and hiding for four days and nights. Poison gas was exploding everywhere. Horse sized rats were tearing up everything in sight. If the magic lizards cared about us, they wouldn’t have waiting till almost quarter of us were dead. They would have cleansed the lingering illness that followed and halved our livestock! They would have chased after the warbeasts that escaped and are breeding in the forest right now!”

The youngest girl there started crying looking fearfully out at the woods

“They're…not…really…monsters…in the woods?”

The other children began to crack. Ritter edged closed to the bonfire. Immediately the elders swooped in.

“Of course not. Even if they're were dark creatures in the woods. The Seraphon will protect us.”

Harti barely realized he was standing now.

“If we want to be secure we have earn our safety with the work of our own hands. My own hands.”

Harti stormed away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

For several days he thought about his own words. He wanted to be able to defend himself, his people, but he didn’t know how a farmer’s son could fight against the creatures of darkness. He was gathering firewood in the outskirts of the woods. Since Harti had not-so-accidentally reawakened the fears of rogue rat beasts in the woods, it was not worth the effort to convince the youth to collect firewood.

For a brief moment he was afraid as he considered that if they're was a rat creature in the woods, there was nothing he could do about. A strange voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Young man, you are out in the woods pretty far. Dusk will soon be upon us. It’s dangerous to go alone.”

Harti turned to see an older man in a dirty earthen cloak. His face half-hidden.

“You are alone.”
“I have faith.”
“In magical sky lizards from the sky or gold plated sky minions of Sigmar? I bet if I bought your good luck talisman I would be safe forever….”
“I only want you to be able earn your safety with the work of your own hands.”

The old man adjusted his cloak and unsheathed a gleaming sword.

“I have this blade, an extension of my hands.”

He sheathed his sword and unshouldered his pack. From it he pulled a sheathed and wrapped sword of similar make. He presented it to the youth.

“Now you have a blade.”

Harti examined the blade. It looked better than anything crafted within 30 miles. He took a practice swing. It seemed like it was perfectly balanced for Harti’s body. He touched the blade as lightly as he could with his finger. A drop of blood formed. The blade almost seemed to warm up in his hands.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harti kept his sword a secret from those in his village. He often made excuses to go into the woods to practice swinging it. He was concerned in dulling his blade and avoided hitting anything but once he missed and clipped a tree branch. It sawed through the branch as easily as flesh. Not that the blade had tasted flesh yet, not counting the small prick on his finger.

Harti wandered out farther and farther, more than half-hoping he would find an excuse to use the blade. One day his wish came true. He heard a snarl and barely turned in time to see the rat creature. It looked like an ordinary rat except for its size, half as big as a horse. Harti wondered how it got so close without him seeing it, but that was not the real problem.

Harti drew his blade and swung wildly grazing the rat creature’s shoulder. The creature backed up with bleeding haunches. Normally a wounded predator goes elsewhere when a prey that fights back, but this was not a normal predator. This was one of the Skaven’s foul war creatures gone feral.

Harti swung at the giant rat but it backed away. It began circling the human. Harti swung several times more but the beast could skitter backwards with impressive speed avoiding each swing. It had Harti’s measure. Harti remembered when he discovered father’s gnawed bones, the poisoned corpses of his neighbors, and rage built with him. He swings became wilder.

“FIGHT ME MONSTER!”

Harti was as livid and wild and as any Skaven-spawned creature. Sensing his foe’s lack of focus, the creature charged narrowly, avoiding the humans blade as he bit Harti’s torso. Harti brought down his blade into the rat’s head then slashed at the creature again and again until its body was in shreds.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harti could not make up a plausible excuse for his bite mark, and he needed treatment, so he had to tell the truth about the rat creature. Since everyone wanted to know how he survived with a relatively small bite he had to tell others of his sword as well. Most were too impressed with his valor enough that they chose not to probe too deeply into where his blade came from. Most.

One visitor came in the middle of the night. The old man with the sword.

“Well done, but it is a miracle your bite wound did not become infected. To be a true warrior you will need suitable armor. When you recover, meet me where you received your sword.”

As soon as he could walk, Harti sneaked off to the woods to find the mysterious old man again. This time there two lumps covered with blankest. The old man withdrew one of the blankets revealing a glimmering suit of steel armor partially painted red. Harti’s swords seemed to hum in sympathy. He didn’t think he ever wanted anything more his whole life.

The old man pulled back the other blanked revealing the quivering form of young Ritter, bound and gagged.

“Why did you bring him.”
“If you want the armor, you must earn it with the work of your own hands.”

---

I wrote this piece for October-November 2017 Lustria-Online Short Story Contest.
This is the first piece I wrote in the Age of Sigmar universe, not the Warhammer Fantasy universe.
But to me this, is an old theme. I've always been fascinated on how an ordinary person can end up in league to Chaos, a large portion of Legacies is about this very thing.