The Epic Tale of Ser Horsemurder - Prologue

In which the nursery of the hero is scrutinized

Once upon a time, there lived in Swadia a knightly dynasty. bound by familial obligation to defend the weak against the depredations of the savage bandit, the arrogant noble and the fickle merchant. Suffice to say, this did not endear them to many beside peasants, and thus they had to keep things "within the family" for generations, lest their blue blood become muddled. This in turn developed a number of dynastic quirks, the more prominent being an almost single-minded focus on the noblest form of equine combat: the frontal charge. Many entries of the Liber Interfectores Equis, the most exalted tome recording the deeds of the Horsemurder dynasty, narrate in detail how the exalted knights of the exalted family broke the backs of considerably less exalted, and quite frankly outright wretched, armies manifold their number and attained victory when all hope was lost. The tome makes a point of indicating the interesting atmospheric phenomenon of the sudden clearing of dark clouds. The tome also has a substantial amount of footnotes, in-between great tales of victory, on the matter of "craven curs", "feckless horsemen with bows", and "treacherous pikemen" that failed to die a noble death by the Horsemurder charge.


But alas. so consumed were the Horsemurders with chivalry and perpetuating their line, that they grew slack in overseeing their finances. Indeed, their horses were up to their necks in debt, and quite a few became prized steaks in taverns. And so it was, by the time of ser Horsemurder's birth, the hero of our tale, that Horsemurder lands were reduced to a small palace, kept inhabitable by the few peasants kind enough to repay them for their protection. Young Ser was the child of Ignatius, the most noble knight who was also his great uncle, and Eurika the Insatiable, a lady of most high standing and education, but slandered by her tutors for no reason but the wanton pleasure of besmirching. Named after the honorific used for generations, Ser was indeed his father's son, and was set to becoming the most brilliant knight of the dynasty for generations. But once again, fate conspired against the Horsemurders, and on the night when the family painting was finished at last, a masterpiece 10 meters wide to celebrate their unbreakable dynastic spirit, a fire broke out and consumed all the Horsemurders and their horses. Ser managed to salvage the painting before the fire destroyed it in its entirety, and fled on the gardener's workhorse with only the weapons he kept on him as he slept.

Horsemurder family painting, after the fire claimed the rightmost... Well the middle and left bottom half too. 
  

Brave Ser Horsemurder rode off to Praven, overcome by an unnatural desire to spend his last denars on cheap ale. In his grief, he almost didn't notice the rasping of a sword being drawn from its scabbard (which is actually pretty damn hard to notice, unlike what Hollywood would make you believe). But as a wise man said, there's a large road to walk from thought to action, and the bandit thought he could defeat a Horsemurder in combat. His walk was a short one before brave ser Ser cut off his legs. Just as he was about to claim his ignoble skull as trophy, a disgruntled ran up to him flailing his arms and acting like a recently beheaded hen. Ser would've skewered him, if not for the fact the man was unarmed, and his chivalry overruled the urge to strike down a man running towards him just after being ambushed. The man offered him food and a place to rest, and not willing to spend another night in the stables, Ser accepted. The bandit was not alone, his host told him. The local captain of the guard, a man who ought to have been the most upright member of the community, had turned to banditry to pay off his debts. Amongst his many ill-deeds, he had made prisoners of a number of men foolish enough not to fall into the claws of his wicked schemes. Among those, the brother of the man that now hosted Ser. Once again, the cruel reality of the commoners was thrust upon a  man of the Horsemurder. And once again, the unbeatable spirit of knighthood was ignited, demanding to be fed the bodies of the wretched. But alas, there's only so much a single man can do. And thus, brave Horsemurder rode out at dawn, and gathered from the youth of the country a good handful of men. And so he did, and many of the gentry were proud to join such a distinguished, if impoverished knight. Quite a few were veterans of war too, judging by the scars of hammer blows on their heads.

The people of this village by the hill-coast were either too hesitant or too eager..

 A goodly group of men gathered, it was time to track down and defeat the foul kidnappers who no doubt were hiding in the darkest of pits, to better avoid the equine wrath that would befall them. So it was to the warband's great surprise that the kidnappers were actually by a creek a few feet away from Praven, happily eating roast deer. Ser Horsemurder, who had not eaten a proper meal in some time, roared an uncommonly throaty roar as challenge, and it was a testament to the bandit's lack of intellect to find humor in the leonine outburst of our hero.Quickly taking in the geography of the surroundings, Ser Horsemurder wisely picked a location, unassailable by the enemy, from which to sail forth like a gust of wind and sweep away all the unworthy fiends soon to receive their first honor in life, the tip of his blade.

Mount and Blade is infamous for its dubious spawning points.

 And honor them he did, and proved the valor of his line in combat like his father and grandfather and his ginger half-brother from his grandmother's side in the field of honor. That was not the only tradition that he revived that day. Among the fallen brigands, a handful were battered but breathing; these were mercilessly put to ball and chain, and dragged off by the pitchfork-wielding people of the land. Ser felt like a quick celebration was in order, and thus prevented the deer that was so callously poached from going to waste by feasting upon its roasted meat. It was a testament to his spirit of self-sacrifice that he left naught but bones by the end of it. His plebeian men-at-arms, finding this a chance to feast upon meat, fell upon the beast's discarded raw viscera in an ungentlemanly display of wanton gluttony, bless their hearts. A quick stop by the town was in order, to deliver the villains to the authorities.

The "authorities" had forgotten to post a ransom, thus improvisation was in order

 

Alas, a detail had escaped the sharp Horsemurder mind, or so it would seem; he had not questioned the survivors for the whereabouts of their den of villainy. It would've been a blunder from any other man, but not from one of his blood. For indeed, one of the outlaws bawled out all manner of sentences with which he thought his redemption could be earned, among which the location of their fort. In good time as well, as his tongue was cut out soon after. No one appreciates an uppity captive after all. Without delay, and trailed behind by his apprehensive militia, Ser Horsemurder left to besiege the bastion of savagery and cruelty, that cancer upon the land from which all manner of oppression was thrust upon the populace. The most astute of you will have arrived to the conclusion by now that Ser's charismatic leadership was able to turn regular men into fearless lions of war. Then, what was the cause of that nagging feeling, that little demon whispering cowardice unto the hearts of the men under his charge..?