The Birth Of Alasdair

Something was wrong. His dreams were turning troubled and warned him to wake. He obliged them in time to see a spear held over his neck. In one fluid motion he drew the dagger under his pillow and brought it around cutting deep into his attacker's thigh. The man dropped with a scream. The knife plunged hilt deep into his neck permanently silenced the coward's cries. Something was wrong though.
The man rose from his bed and bent to look at the breastplate of the corpse on his rug. On the breast plate was a blue fox, a Rashingan fox. The man had been betrayed. He didn't find it suprising though. The entire region was talking of secceding for awhile. Everyone was sick of the goverment and it's tyrannical ruler. He supposed the legion commander finally had enough and left Rashinga. Their nontolerance of the many races and backgrounds of certain individuals was extremely taxing on the morale of the town guard.
The man stopped thinking of the past and started looking to the present. Picking up his glaive, Dunmahtoir, he left and charged into the night to slay his betrayers. He wasn't prepared for the devastation that had been wrought. THe entire village had been destroyed. What buildings that weren't buring were being used to contain the bodies of the villagers he shared a town with. They all were slain because they valued freedom. It was not over yet. Screams were still ringing in the air. Running to the source the man was once again confronted by the evil caused by the land he was once loyal to.
Every woman deemed attractive had been rounded up in the town square. Unspeakable acts were being done to them. Many had died from the ghastly wounds inflicted on them. The man completely lost his mind there. With a scream he charged into the square and started swinging.
The first man's head exploded as the glaive went through it. Another was run through before he could even draw his sword. A third lost his arm and leg in rapid succesion. The seven remaining men died in the flurry of blows that followed. Never had these men seen a fury like his and never again would they. Men came pouring out of the woods to strike down the one that slayed their men.
The man turned to the women and shouted one word, "run!" The women grabbed their clothes and listened. He swore he would buy them the time to escape even if it meant his life. Swinging in wide arcs he held the attackers off until the last of the women disappeared into the horizon.
When she disappeared he bolted. He would not join the pile of bodies left in his wake. As he entered the trees an arrow pierced his right knee. The arrow sent shards of white hot pain through his body. Still he pressed on, not willing to be captured.
When he felt he had successfully escaped his pursuers he spent the time to remove the arrow. The shaft of wood grinding caused him to scream out in agony. He bandaged his knee and found a pile of pine needles to collapse into. On those needles he made a decision. As long as those reponsible for the deaths of his villagers still walked the earth he would fight them. Only through purging them would he enjoy a life of peace. The fire in him burned intensly. From that day on he donned the name Alasdair to remind him of his commitment.