Vistaf

Vilheim

Vilheim was born and raised in Haense by his strict, but caring mother, and no father. With no father figure in the picture, Vilheim was a mischievous but cunning child, always managing to talk his way out of trouble, or run and hide a lot better than the rest of the children. He was quick, very quick, and with Vilheim being much smaller than the rest of the boys, he was forced to live this way, bigger and tougher children would always come along, but none of them could keep up with Vilheim’s speed. This fact remained true for all of Vilheim’s childhood and into his teenage years. When most of Vilheim’s friends were getting jobs, either enlisting into armies, or being used as lackeys for their strength, Vilheim was always left behind. Vilheim was forced to thieve in order to survive, although he despised doing it, he knew what he had to do to survive.

Throughout his teenage years, Vilheim learned that he had skills that other people don’t, he could dance his way around opponents like dancing to a waltz with the most beautiful girl, except, the girl was a very large butcher with a very large knife who was trying to stop him for stealing some sausages. When Vilheim learned he has these skills, he began to train in fighting, albeit, in a different style to most. He wore little to no armour, mainly because he couldn’t afford it, but also because he felt it slowed him down, Using a much smaller sword than those seen wielded by famous knights, he realised he could get a lot more swings in before his opponent could even unsheathe their weapon.

At sixteen years old, Vilheim’s mother passed away, he never knew what caused it, they couldn’t afford a doctor or even a funeral, so Vilheim grabbed his shovel, carried his mother to the top of her favourite hill, where you could see beauty for miles and began digging. That was a hard time for Vilheim, no matter how busy he kept himself, he would always find himself awake at night, staring at the moon, feeling nothing.

At the age of seventeen, the time finally came to put his skills to use, he had never killed anyone before, only deterred them or injured them in order to survive. However, a caravan came into Haense one day, highly guarded by at least 6 armoured men, being pulled by 2 horses with the carriage covered up, Vilheim thought there must be something of value in there. Vilheim thought it to be the perfect opportunity to finally earn some real money. No more stealing, no more running, just one last steal and he could start a new life elsewhere. It was dusk, the weather had not been kind and a storm was arising and whilst Vilheim began to observe the caravan and mark out the perfect moment to strike, the heavens opened, the strongest rain Vilheim had ever seen suddenly came crashing down. “Surely this is a bad omen? Should I really attempt this, what if I get caught, I will surely be hanged” Vilheim thought to himself. “No, I must do this, else I’ll be stuck in this stinking city and never get to live my life”. He spotted that the caravan was heading down a small, narrow street, only barely wide enough to fit the caravan, with 3 men at the front and 3 at the back in a double file formation, he thought this to be his opportunity, no way the men at the front would spot him behind, so he only had to deal with the other 3. Vilheim made his move, throwing 2 knifes in the neck, between the helmet and the breastplate of two of the men, killing them instantly. As Vilheim watched them die he has a rush of adrenaline, he’d never killed before, it was so natural to him, like a work of art. Now there was only 1 left to deal with, heavily armoured with a large two handed long sword, this was no mere man, this was a knight. Standing at a overwhelming 6 foot 3 inches compared to Vilheims mere 5 foot 9 inches, it was terrifying. *Whoosh* the knight swung his longsword, almost decapitating Vilheim in one, but remember, Vilheim was fast. He dodged, backstepping away from the blade but before he could even regain his balance, a downward strike from the longsword, barely missing Vilheim. The longsword hit the floor, Vilheim then countered the attack, striking the solider right between his helmet. He was dead, Vilheim grabbed two of the boxes from the back of the carriage and ran for his life. 2 of the other knights scrambled to get past the carriage in the small alleyway, but finally broke free and were in pursuit of Vilheim whilst the other remained as a guard. As Vilheim was running for the gates of Haense, he heard the bells go off to shut the gate, he realised this was no mere caravan, this was a royal caravan and now the whole city will be in persuit. Luckily, Vilheim knows another way out of the city,a small crevice in one of the walls, barely big enough to fit him. He ran and escaped with the two boxes, he got so far that he couldn’t even see Haense anymore, and so he decided to look at his reward. As he opens the first box, his body rushes with excitement, “What could be inside?” he thought, “Gold? Jewels? Silks?”..... “Quills.” He had robbed a chest full of quills, albeit, the fanciest quills he had ever seen, multicoloured with huge feathers. “Must be from some exotic birds” Vilheim says to himself in sheer disappointment. Vilheim had not given up hope, there was yet another chest, and this was one locked. The chest itself was not very tough, so a few throws will break it open. After throwing and launching the chest, it finally broke open, the same questions ran through his mind “Gold? Jewels? Silks?”.... “Ink.....to go... with the quills” and now smashed up ink bottles it was. Vilheim sat, and began to realise what a mistake he made, however, he could never go back to Haense, they’ll hang him for murder.

With the disappointment of his score, Vilheim must now make a life elsewhere, but where will the path take him, he realised that not all was lost, he was now free.