"Take the girl! Leave the boy for the vultures!"
Caught unaware at night, Lucan had no knowledge that the future would soon become one of worry. His sister, Cordelia, and him had been camping in the plains of Lostgrove on their way to clear out a gnoll infestation that had been giving nearby villages problems. Thuggish and ruthless, the gnolls would steal crops and slay any traveler on the roads for their own benefits. Lucan had hoped to gain the upper hand at first against such brutes, but it had seemed lady luck was not smiling down on the twins.
The gnolls had been somehow aware that powerful mages were on their way to remove them from their premises. At first, they came only in small numbers, easy enough for them to handle. Lucan was on the front lines, blasting gnolls with magical bolts of purplish arcane, while Cordelia provided support with her own magic. An array of gnoll corpses laid dead on the ground, each burned with blast marks tinged on their armor and fur.
With the number of dead gnolls before him, Lucan thought the battle was won, but it wasn't until much later he realized what the gnolls were attempting. Forced apart by the sudden skirmish, the gnolls were pulling the twins away from each other to single them out. The realization had hit Lucan like a truck when his magic began to short circuit, creating only a minuscule spark in comparison to the powerful bolts of magic he was casting moments ago. A group of gnolls stood in between the twins, their mangy faces grinning as their plan came to fruition.
Cordelia was dragged away screaming while Lucan struggled to fend off the gnolls with his sword. For each one he would slay, two more would be ready to spar with Lucan. It was an endless horde, and Lucan was spending more energy and stamina than ever in an attempt to save his sister, but it was to no avail. Suddenly smacked hard on the head with an unknown object, Lucan fell to the ground and faded in and out of consciousness--his last memory being screams and something of vultures.
By morning, Lucan woke with a killer headache. The blow had been strong enough to knock him out, but Lucan hadn't felt any dried blood coating his white hair. Climbing to his feet, Lucan looked around for his sister, seeing nothing but dead plains for miles. As if to see something, Lucan struggled to summon a speck of magic in his hand, but nothing would appear out of thin air. If I'm still alive, she must be too... although far away. Lucan thought, gathering what little the gnolls left behind at their campsite.
Thinking, Lucan realized the need for a plan in order to get his sister back. However, in his current state, Lucan was useless besides what he knew with a sword. Lucan needed allies, people willing to work with him to save his sister, just as they had been doing for the people of Lostgrove. Hoping lady luck wouldn't abandon him as she did the night before, Lucan made haste to the nearest town as he rubbed the back of his head where a bruise had formed.
A few hours had passed by the time Lucan reached the outskirts of Roseburgh--a town once known for its roses. Like everything else in Lostgrove, the roses wilted away under the unkind sun, their water taken by peasants struggling to survive. Despite the despairing looks the village showed, it was Lucan's best hope to see his sister again. Finding his way to the town's center, Lucan stood on the edge of an old empty fountain that was clearly no longer working.
"Ahem," Lucan said with a cough as he attempted to grab the attention of the villagers. "You may not know me, but I am in desperate need of help. The gnolls... th-" Lucan spoke, before he was suddenly cut off by a rock being hurled at him, and then what he thought was feces. Some of the villagers were sympathetic, but most who cared to listen to him couldn't careless about his problems. Get lost! They said. We have our own problems! They yelled. Whatever the case was, Lucan wasn't lucky with his pleas for help and aid.
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