Chapter 1: The Unknown Name and the Scourge of Uruk.

The rain continued to beat. Clouds covered the very horizon in his sights. The same ill fate from the last hours continued to bring weight of wonder into his thoughts. And from the last hours, the same weight is all he can remember. Before that, it is feared as if nothing existed. Except for one thing: the presence of a spirit guardian. He would see it move time and time again, and whisper in his ear a word. ".vash.vash."
The very same word continued to grow even more and more, like a watchtower striking the hour of twilight. And sitting in the rain, underneath the abandoned straw house, with only the clothes and armor he awoke wearing, and the weapons by his side. He carefully examined each: a shield that depicted an aura of a sun, made with silver and plated with onyx and gold; a back pack carrying the supplies, tools, parts and equipment for a crossbow. A single edged sword made especially for quick, single stroke attacks, unlike double-edged swords that were for the battle- melee. And there was a long bow and quiver filled with arrows that appeared to fit with the sword and shield.
This weapon appeared to him the most pleasing, along with the sword. He couldn't understand why, but for hours in the rain, he examined each one, with hands that crafted expertise in the weapons. The hands must have been his, for knowledge was within him without the understanding of the origin. A tired eye overcame him, and he drifted into sleep.

He decided to move on after the night, to walk with all he had on. Nothing was left behind, for answers were to be found in these hands and tools. He slipped his hood on from his raincoat and walked in the rain, the long bow in his right hand, and the shield equipped on his left arm. The sword, quiver, and crossbow pack was already strapped to him on his back.
He gained about a half-day walk, and grew tired from hunger. Once again, without understanding how, he shot, dressed, and cooked a meal from a mid-sized waterfowl. During his meal the very same word appeared in his thoughts, ".Vash.." He understood that the Spirit was trying to tell him something necessary, and soon the word was more sounding like a name.
He continued his journey until dusk, where he found the Mustard tree; a tree with long branches, and enough leaves to cover him during the night. The scent of its fruit was pleasant and welcomed him during his travel. He grabbed a branch a little higher than his eyes, and with grace, climbed up each limb to the mid level of the tree. He sat on a thick branch, and hung his long bow and a shorter knot to side of the tree. From his hands he found a mustard seed.
Many thanks spilled from his lips, and words of praise continued in his mind. "Your Kingdom is like that of a mustard seed; though it is the smallest of seeds, it grows to become the largest of plants, with long branches so birds can build there nests and be sheltered." The words came like it was embedded in his blood, and he knew where those words came from: the Lord of Many Names. He sung a song of praise and fell asleep.

He jumped down from the tree with his long bow in his hands, and gravity did not overthrow him when he reached the ground. With skill, he made that landing from training, but once again, unknown of its whereabouts. He continued the journey away from the light.
He reached a hill with a greeting of smoke. Smoke that was born from a home-fire that welcomed him to enter. He loomed over the hill and found a village that was in a path towards a large stone metropolis. People plowing in the fields, gathering wheat and fruit, and children playing games accompanied by laughter. He smiled upon the sight, and wished to enter.
All was too sudden to take in, for a horn was sound. A black call and its blower filled with malice. Immediately, joy turned to fear, as cries filled the small village as people ran for protection. He quickly hid behind the boulders of the hill as the voices of orcs approached. Seven of them and one with the horn was a large war orc, with armor covered by the skin of men and horns of beasts. Beside him was a berserk orc slightly smaller from his chief, but larger than the rest. He carried two blunt war hammers and a helmet that reeked of bloodshed. The other orcs were merely servants and archers.
The young archer knew they were seeking great destruction for the small village. So he drew out his arrow from his quiver with silence, ready for a moment for an attack. The large orc raised his hand for the smaller ones to be patient from running toward the village. "Man is near! Spread out." They could smell him, and this dreaded him, for three were walking towards the boulders.
The orcs jumped towards the back of the rocks with arrows and daggers drawn, but found no man. They found empty grass and an illusion of what felt like a man before. To the archers luck, he swiftly hung on the edge of the cliff before the menaces even reached the rocks. Patience endured him, for the orcs knew a man was there, but could not see him. They even looked over the cliff, but could not find him. "I'be fresh knowtat a skeemer was here, I'do best sure," cursed one of the dagger-orcs. A second cursed-command called for the others to come back and forget the man. "Tha maggot ran when he saw his doom comin'.tear down this village." Horrid cries of hate pierced his ears, and feet raced down the hill.
The archer climbed and sprang back behind the rock, arrow still ready. He saw the orcs and commander at the foot of the hill, two of the archer orcs staying behind. The three dagger orcs ran towards a barn stable and set it on fire, horses running away from the flames. The commander and berserk stood in the middle of two houses, waiting for a bold soul to fight back.
The archer, with his arrow aimed for the archer orc on the farthest from him, and dead on the arrow met its mark at the side of its bald gray skull. This alarmed the second orc, but an arrow fell behind his neck before he could react.
The archer feared this alarmed the others, especially the commander. The dagger orcs burned the crops and was trying to get into a house; cries of fear could be heard inside, which delighted the cruel ones. He knew he had to take out the commander quickly, before someone was tortured in his menacing will. He assembled his crossbow and steadily aimed for his head. He laid on the ground for a shot, and to his demise, one of the dagger orcs spotted their dead comrades.
"Blast be! A snipah!" The commander turned around and the bolt met at the commanders shoulder. The dagger orcs were racing towards the end of the hill to murder the archer. They were late, for the archer jumped from the top of the cliff, gliding down on his feet against the edge, and coming down at the base of the cliff. He stood with his sword in his right hand, and another bolt ready to be released from the crossbow in the left. The orcs took offense to his acrobatics, and leaped massively at the archer. The first one aimed for his throat, but met too late by a bolt to the chest. The second orc clashed swords with the archers with two moves and then a slash across the shoulder. The third waited on the archer a little while, but the archer stood like a statue of death. The orc lunged at him with fury, and ended quickly by a swift dodge to the side by the archer and a sword to the back. The orc hissed and cursed the ground where his black blood was spilt. The archer cleaned his sword and slid it back in its sheath, and going for his bow.

A slab of iron thrust into rock and dust surprised him; the orc berserk roared fury and was ready to fight. The archer could see that the creature had a second sword like weapon, but more of a hook shaped made to scalp a man. The beast lunged forward with his iron, and the archer jumped on the first thrown weapon stuck to the cliff. The beast swung his weapon at his feet, and took the iron back wielding two weapons. The archer dodged away from a horizontal swing, and he rolled away from the beast. The beast jumped up and slammed both weapons to the ground, pinning the archer.
Hot breath and stench haunted the archer, as the orc was ready to crush his skull. The beast raised his foot to stomp him out, and the archer countered it by pushing his foot upward, toppling the beast backward with only one weapon. The archer got up and drew his sword once more. The beast's muscles bulged and cracked with energy growing and fury were rising. With a huge attempt, the beast twirled for a roundhouse with his weapon, once, and twice, swinging the weapon to confuse his enemy, and was cut short by a sound of wind. The archer was no longer in front of him but now behind him, his blade behind him. The beast had lost its head.

The archer turned around and gazed at the commander who was behind the flames. He said, "You are not to harm and distress these people no longer. I am merciful and give you a chance. Leave, or you shall fall before my feet." The orc commander laughed, shaking the ground along with its armor. "YOU of all swaggers come and fancy yorselves with feather and blade and think you strike fear into Uruk?! Be ready to taste your own blood and steel as I give you a last chance to cower behind the rock you hid before!!"
"Not unless you can stand the wrath of the flail!" The answer of Uruk's insult was not from the archer but from a lady and a spiked mace and chain into the face. The lass' face was hidden in a cloak with her flail in her right hand and a small round shield on the other. "These people are no longer under your power. Tell that to your demon master!!" she cried, and once again, the flail struck across Uruk's shoulder causing him to curse and moan. He drew out two swords; both chained together and heading towards the woman in the cloak. The archer knew what he had to do and took out his long bow in an attempt to distract Uruk. "A lady cannot handle a larger orc on her own!" He shot at his helmet that did nothing but tickle his baldhead, for he was still going for the lady. The archer shot a second time towards the shoulder. This time Uruk threw an iron star at the archer towards his head, dodged by the archer but threw him off to the side.
Before Uruk returned to the lady, a stone was thrown at him, knocking him dizzy. The lady had a sling as well, and shot another stone, hitting Uruk's fat gray nose. "CURSE YOU LIGHTRAIDER!!!" bowled Uruk, and slung one sword at the lady. She dove off away from the sword and let her flail loose aiming for his head. Uruk caught the flail with an arm wrap, and pulled the lady towards him. She fought for her sword, but failed to reach in time. Uruk slung her like a catapult in the air.
A sudden change of the air came and an arrow was in Uruk's eye. The archer's aim was precise when he turned and the orc commanders cried in vanity. "Two Lightraiders cannot defeat Uruk!! This has never happened before!!" He fell to his knees, clutching his face. The archer and the lady met with Uruk with their swords drawn, and stabbed the beast above the shoulders, killing Uruk the orc commander. His body fell before the fire of the barn stable.

As the fires were put out and men in search of loved ones, to joy of joys no one was hurt or touched by the beast. Men, women, and children of the village surrounded the archer with praises and joy of the great rescue and scourging of Uruk. The archer could not see the lady any longer, for she avoided the crowds; the archer was disappointed.
"Thank you!!" cried one of the villagers, someone of higher prestige. "Thank you for saving us from the tyrannies of the orcs. They have bullied us from far too long. My name is Avron. Would you care to stay in our village for the night, bold one?" The archer was tired from the fight and needed much rest. "I accept your offer." They asked where he was from, and he was puzzled. He could not remember.
"You do not remember at all where you are from?"
"No, I have not known. I've been traveling for three days."
"Then where did you learn your skills? Surely you are a fighter?"
"Surely I am, but don't ask me how." Avron was baffled. But he did not hold this against the archer. "Then may I ask what is your name?" The wind caressed the archer's face, with a feeling of assurance. The Spirit was with him. "You can call me Vash," answered the Archer.