*40 years ago*
There was blood everywhere.
The raid had begun at dawn. It was an orc attack by a nearbye tribe, they had the numbers needed to destroy the town of Noscerein. The garrison didn't have a chance.
Tiberious was leading a patroll of new recruits on a marching exercize. For the first time sence their training began they were marching in full uniform. Six months ago some of the kids could barley breath under the platemail, now they were marching several miles a day in it.
Not enough miles. The had to stop and rest at the town of Noscerein. The town was quiet, although there were rumors of increased orcish activity. Tiberious would have to file a report with his superiors on the matter.
The next day at dawn the orcs attacked. They were too much for the garrison. Some might think it fortunate that the forces of the Church had arived. They would be wrong.
There is no glory in battle. The worst thing is the smell. Some bigots think the orcish stench amoung the worst things in the world. They have never smelled a battlefield.
The slow decay of all the bodies. Of the townsfolk, of the guards, of the children wearing platemail, of the dead orcish hoard. There is nothing pleasent about a masacre.
The battle of Noscerein would later be recorded as a victory for the forces of the church. The humans had won. They had the only surviver. Tiberious. The one eyed knight was the only one to live to see nightfall. He and his horse. His horse was already wounded. It was in too much pain, slowly bleeding to death. Tiberious smashed in its head with his warhammer. Euthenasia was prohibited by the church. Screw them.
Tiberious picked up a piece of charcoal and wrote on the wall.
"I quit. -Tiberious"
He dropped his warhammer and walked off into the wilderness.
*Today*
It had been years sence that battle, and the battles before it. Each time Tiberious was either too late, or too slow. Despite his best efforts people still died. Because of his best efforts people died. On that night he had given up in desperation.
Today he was no longer a knight. He was a fisherman. He had left the port in the morning hoping for a bit of solitude and peace. Many of the children in the town mocked him, thought him a crazy old one eyed man. They had no comprehension of what this eye had seen.
The day started out with a few good catches. The winds were going at a good speed. The clouds started to gather. A storm was brewing. Tiberious and his boat "Noscerein" had been through a few squalls before.
This was to prove too much for them both. The winds and waves blew them south. There was land ahead, although the shore he could not recognize. Tiberious grasped on to the riggings while holding the rudder. His right hand tensed holding the rope, with a flash of lightning the insignia on his ring could be seen. A scale balenced upon a warhammer.
A wave pushed the boat up, only to crash it down on a rock. Tiberious went flying, the rope burning away at his arm, upon hitting the water he passed out.
He awoke the next day on the shore. His right arm was bruised and broken. He pushed himself up on his left arm. His robe was soaked with salt water and blood. He ripped a piece off and bound his right arm. The salt in the wounds hurt, but Tiberious had felt worse, it was better that the arm remain usable.
Tiberious looked around.
He had not seen this shore before.
Nearbye there was a tree, larger and wider then any he had yet seen.
"Must have been blown off course..."
"Eh.. liked that boat too."
Tiberious picked up one of his fishing poles which had drifted in from the wreck. He then set out to look for a road or stream.