Bacorium Legacy Read Free Page A

him that his father had chosen to come to such a place - of all the places they had gone in the past decade, this was the worst. It was too cold outside for him to practise swordplay or magick, leaving him with nothing to do but read. He enjoyed to read usually, but today he felt restless.
    With a frown, he returned his attention to the small, hand-written journal in his hands, which he had been given by one of the people in the unnamed village he was staying in. It was the account of an anonymous writer who had set out to remote parts to discover great secrets.
    It read:
     
    Although these cold nights in the mountains have brought me little comfort or satisfaction, my resolution remains untarnished. The sanctum I seek must rest somewhere in these hills. My research has brought me to this location for a single reason; the lost and forgotten arts of the Magi. These great men of ages past were recorded by written account performing feats of magick unseen in this age.
    Such a tragedy, it seemed to me, that such greatness would be lost. Therefore I set out to rediscover at least some fragment of their lost knowledge. But the discovery I so eagerly seek has yet to manifest itself in any shape or form. All I have found out here is ice and monsters.
    But as I have said already, my resolution remains untarnished. If what I seek exists at all, then I shall find it or die.
    Tomorrow, I will search further.
     
    It would seem there was no escape from the freezing hell he was in. Even his book saw fit to remind him of it. He closed the book, rose and drew his robes tighter around himself. He paced relentlessly, hoping the movement would warm him up.
    Though it was always cold in the village, this day in particular was merciless. He prayed the storm would die down at least a bit before his father returned. Once he was back, they were to go out hunting. And he knew that no weather, no matter how fierce, would keep his father from a hunt. Not because the man enjoyed it - he seldom did - but because they were the only two hunters the village had left, so without them, there would be no food.
    How the people of this village had survived before their arrival, he did not know. The Arimos region was a deathly and desolate place, barely habitable by humans. Only certain parts of it could be safely settled, and even those were far deadlier than the more southern lands of Bacoria. The monsters of the north were more vicious, food and supplies harder to come by, and of course there was always…
    The cold.
    He made his way over to the lone door of the small hut, and peered out at the raging blizzard through the cracked frame. The howling winds gave no sign of relief. If his father was on his way, he would not be able to see him approaching through that haze.
    His father was a tough man, tempered by many years of living in the farthest corners of Bacoria. Humourless and determined, he had trained his son vigorously for the past fourteen years, almost all of which they had spent travelling, stopping only to rest in the occasional remote village for a month or two at a time. They had passed through Torachi and Samgo and Mainyu, and even the dead kingdom of Freidu. The more populated lands, like Sono and Saeticia, his father seemed to avoid, though they did pass through the edges of even those from time to time.
    The training had made him as tough as his father. He knew how to wield a blade well after nearly a decade and a half of practise. Though he was nothing compared to his father, he figured himself skilled enough in swordplay to handle just about any monster he came across. He had never fought another man, though. Sometime he wondered what it would be like to kill someone.
    His father never gave him a reason for the constant travel. He knew little about his father's life, or where they had come from. He had vague memories of a home he had once lived in, and a beautiful mother with golden hair. Whenever he brought this up, his father always grew