| No Heroes Here; Section Primus | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 2 2009, 03:24 AM (130 Views) | |
| Raphael | Aug 2 2009, 03:24 AM Post #1 |
![]()
The King of Terrors
|
In the high valley, the frost clung to my boots and the sun fought in vain to pierce the fog stirred by my passage. High noon, and the village below was shrouded in fog. I shrugged my cloak loose and inhaled deeply, relishing the feeling of the chill air filling my lungs. Fortified, I headed down a steep incline towards the road, and on into the township itself. Despite the clinging fog the townsfolk seemed to be out and about. The inhabitants neither cast wary glances towards me nor avoided my gaze, but they did give the stranger in their midst a wide berth. Still, my feet led me quickly to the smithy, forge burning hot and driving back the hanging fog around the building. The proprietor looked up as I approached. "Help you?" I nodded. "Yeah. Got a chain coat that's been rent pretty bad. You think you could fix it up?" "That I might. I'd have to take a look at it of course, before I could tell you either way." I had expected that answer. "Fair enough. I'm also looking for a Lucas. Heard he's something of a legend around these parts." The blacksmith grinned wide, teeth a brilliant white against a face stained permanently with coke and age. "Ol' Luke certainly is. Used to be one of His Highness Lionel's Knights, back when he ruled these parts. You lookin' to settle a score for your grandpappy?" The message was clear. I'd find no information on Lucas without confirming my intentions. "Nothing like that." I responded. "Just hoping to sit at his knee for a while and learn a bit about real Knights." The smith nodded. "Alright then. Why don't you go and get me that coat so's I can look at it, and when ya get back, I'll tell you where you can find Luke." "You have my thanks." I said as I departed. I looked back up towards the hill I'd come down and sighed. I'd left my horse and heavier gear up there because the paths were so treacherous. But it looked like I'd have to find a way down into the dale. |
![]() |
|
| Sir Agean | Aug 2 2009, 09:02 PM Post #2 |
|
His name was Agean, and clad in boiled leather and a worn brown cloak, he travelled the dirt road towards a small village. By all appearances from atop the hill, it was a small town, self reliant by all measures. It was stationed by the river, and more than a few houses were built on the hard earth that neighbored the riverbed. At low noon Agean made his way into the town. The few on the unpaved streets gave him few quick glances. His impressive physical stature made him an easy sight. His hair was a dirty gold, his eyes brown. His chin was cleft, and he had a crooked nose. He was well built. Agean made his way into the inn, and it was very empty. The dozen round tables didn’t have a single soul making use of their convenience. There was no one behind the counter. Noises could be heard from the kitchen. “A patron is here!” “A moment, just one!” The man who emerged from the kitchen was a man wide in girth. His moustache curved from his lips to his wide double chin. He wore simple clothes, layered over by a stained apron. “Greetings, young traveler. Can I interest you in a room?” “Yes. I have been on the road for more days than I’d prefer. It would be good to have a good meal before I retired this eve.” “All which can be provided! I assume you will be heading off in the morning?” “I am. Sleep is for the dead.” The inn master coughed lightly. “Then I ask for three silver dragons.” Agean looked into his coin bag. It was too light. “The town four days behind gave me a room and meal for two and a half.” He dropped the coins into the tanned hands. “Pardon myself master, but this is not the town four days behind you, and three silvers were my price. Hold just a moment for your key.” The large man went behind the counter and revealed a bronze key, old but not very worn. “The door immediately on your left as you enter that hall.” Agean nodded and went into his room. He dropped his gear on the floor, threw his cloak onto a wooden post, and fell on the bed. He fell asleep very quickly. Edited by Sir Agean, Aug 5 2009, 06:22 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Raphael | Aug 7 2009, 04:41 AM Post #3 |
![]()
The King of Terrors
|
The trail down into the vale proper was well hidden and not often used. Worse, it put me on the far side of town. With the sun rapidly sinking into the horizon, my time would be limited. At this kind of altitude being out of doors once the sun was down was a quick way into an early grave. The chill would steal the life from your bones long before sunrise. Still, I trudged into town, and made a beeline for the blacksmith I'd visited earlier. Thankfully, he was still open. I suspected the heat from his forge allowed him a greater range of operating hours. "I've returned, good smith, with the coat." The blacksmith looked up in surprise. "So you have! I hadn't thought you'd make it back down in the same day!" I shrugged. "I wouldn't have, but I found a trail down into the far side of the vale that was usable." The smith laughed. "That? That's an old hunting trail, hasn't been used for at least a decade! I'm surprised you were able to use it at all! Must be quite the outdoorsman, 'ey boy?" "Must be." I agreed lamely. I passed the blacksmith the coat. He held it up to examine it, and sucked in his breath. "Boy, there aren't but half-a-dozen links in this coat that aren't mangled beyond repair. You'd do better to commission another entirely." I shook my head. "Wouldn't if I could, smith. It's something of a family heirloom. Salvage what you can if you'll have the job, rebuild the rest from scratch." I turned to walk out and seek shelter from the rapidly falling night. The smith nodded. "Have you e'er heard the parable of the Axe of Herodotus boy? Story goes that Herodotus slew a score of men in defense of his king in ancient times. Died of a grievous wound from the battle, and so his axe passed down to his eldest son, as was the custom. The son used the axe in much the same manner, waging war in defense of his king, and in time it again passed down. By this point, the axe is notched and dull, so the grandson of Herodotus has the blade replaced. This continues until *his* grandson has the haft replaced. And so on, and so forth, each in the line replacing what was broken. But though the weapon had been repaired so many times that none of the original material was left, it never stopped being the Axe of Herodotus." --- The tale of the old smith left a grin on my face, even as the innkeeper lightened my purse, even as sleep drug me down into a place of darkness and rest. If only he knew what I'd meant by family heirloom. Edited by Raphael, Aug 10 2009, 03:31 AM.
|
![]() |
|
| Sir Agean | Aug 11 2009, 08:36 PM Post #4 |
|
He awoke at the early hours of night, just as the bombastic nature of the tavern was beginning. The laughter, clapping of hands, banging of ales and brutish uproars were all equal contributors. He got up with a groan followed by him wiping the drowsiness out of his eyes. Agean knew there was no way he was going to sleep through all that, so he decided to join them. After all, it had been a good three days since he had the opportunity to drink some beer and eat some bread. If Luck was with him, both of them will be fresh! He joined the inn’s company. Their small numbers made were made up by their enthusiastic nature. Agean had thought there were a good thirty men there instead of the rough dozen. When the inquiring fisherman (since the village laid on the riverbed, and various fish were plentiful) asked what a man with as many scars as he and with a frame as bulky as his was doing so far from the castles and keeps that made use of knights, Agean told them, quite simply, his Lord was killed, and he is looking for a new one. “In the meantime, I am lending my good sword to any man who can make use of it.” In plainest speak, a mercenary. Few hedge knights will rarely be able to find a new lord. That is the destiny of several of them. Others become bandits, raiders of those they once protected under the feudal banner. The rest could not adapt to such a massive change. They disappeared entirely. Talk with ale was cheap and so it was spent a good deal. Agean learned much from the banter: like how some more troublesome teens once again decided to make off with some of the single farmer Aggot’s stock of mushrooms, or how that wedding between Elgie’s son Lentin and Benton’s girl Claricee was as fine of one anybody could expect from these parts. Save for some nobleman’s wedding, to be sure. Even a fisherman has to keep things in perspective. Agean had little doubt that these same old beer tales were the same ones told the night before and the one before, but with a different teller and different emphasis placed on that part and not this one to make them have the allusion of difference. Through them all Agean would just nibble on his cheese and remain as a silent observer. The night was young, it would a good while until he would set off, and he had ample time to spare. |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Chapter I · Next Topic » |
| Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
9:12 AM Jul 11
|







9:12 AM Jul 11