Twelve years had come and gone, yet the echoes of that night had never faded. Nathan stood at the edge of the ruins, where ivy and wild grass wove through the remains of his childhood home. The skeletal remains of charred beams jutted from the earth like broken ribs, and the scent of damp soil mixed with the faintest trace of ash that the wind had refused to carry away. He ran his fingers along a half-buried stone, the worn edges familiar beneath his touch. The walls had crumbled, the village had healed, but in his mind, the fire still raged, the screams still lingered, and the weight of that night pressed against his chest as if it had only just passed.
Nathan stood tall, the dying sunlight painting his blue gambeson in hues of amber and gold. The fabric, once stiff and new, bore the subtle creases and scuffs of countless hours spent honing his craft, a silent homage to the old swordsman who had once saved his life. Across his back rested Mr. Eriksson's greatsword, its hilt worn smooth by time but its edge keen, a relic of another warrior now entrusted to him. Beside it, a leather backpack hung snug against his shoulders, filled with the bare necessities for the road ahead. The evening breeze tugged at his sleeves, but Nathan stood firm, his mind fixed on the path stretching beyond Windhill, where his future lay in wait just beyond the horizon.
As Nathan gazed at the ruins, lost in thought, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned to see Mr. Eriksson approaching, his once powerful frame now slightly stooped with age, but his eyes still sharp and full of wisdom. The old village elder paused a few steps away from Nathan, taking a moment to study the young man before him.
"You've grown," Mr. Eriksson remarked, his voice warm but tinged with the bittersweetness of time. "I remember when you were no taller than my waist, swinging that wooden sword of yours like it was the finest blade in the land."
Nathan smiled, his eyes showing a glint of nostalgia. "And now I'm carrying your greatsword, Mr. Eriksson. Goodness, how time flies..." His smile faded slightly as he turned his gaze back to the ruins. "This place...it holds so many memories. I thought I'd still feel something standing here after all these years, but..."
Mr. Eriksson stepped closer, his hand resting on Nathan's shoulder. "It's because you've already made your peace, Nathan. You've carried the memory of that night with you all your life, and it's a part of what made you who you are today. And now, this place is just a reminder of one point in your life story, nothing more."
Nathan nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right. I've learned all I could from this village. From you, and everyone else willing to spare the time for me. And of course, crazy old Ranger Hans." Nathan chuckled as memories replayed in his mind. Then, he turned melancholy, saying "And now, it's time I go and put everything I've learned to practice, as I've always meant to."
Mr. Eriksson smiled, a proud but sad expression crossing his face. "I knew this day would come. You've always had that fire in you, Nathan. The same fire I saw in that old swordsman when he saved you. It's driven you to become the man you are now."
There was a moment of silence as both men stood there, the weight of the past hanging between them. Then, Mr. Eriksson's eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint. "But, couldn't I convince you to stay, at least a little while more? Plenty of work to be done here in Windhill, and the roof of our house had started leaking this morning. We could still use a strong lad like you around."
Nathan laughed softly, shaking his head. "The roof certainly picked a great timing to let the rain in straight for your face, didn't it? Still, nice try sir."
The elder raised his hand in mock surrender. "Only joking, lad. I know you've made up your mind. Still, I had to give it a try", he said with a shrug.
Nathan's expression softened as he looked at the man who had been more than just a guardian to him. "I'll never forget what you've done for me, Mr. Eriksson. You've been like a grandfather to me, and I'm grateful for everything you've given me for all this time."
Mr. Eriksson's smile widened, and he pulled Nathan into a brief but firm embrace. "And I'm proud of you, Nathan. You're ready for whatever lies ahead. The world can be a harsh place, but you've got a good heart and a good head. Trust in those, and you'll be fine."
As they pulled away, Nathan adjusted the greatsword on his back and gave Mr. Eriksson a resolute nod. "I'll make sure to put everything I learned to good use. And I'll come back someday to let you know how I'm doing."
"I'll hold you to that," Mr. Eriksson replied with a grin. "Now be off, before I change my mind and keep you here forever."
With one last smile between him and his former guardian, Nathan turned and began to walk away from the ruins, away from the village that had been his home for so long. Mr. Eriksson watched until Nathan was out of sight, his heart feeling the heat of pride interspersed with the ache of farewell. The elder turned back toward the village with a small smile on his lips.
Nathan set out from Windhill, determined with a determined stride. But as he reached the outskirts, he slowed, glancing back one last time. The village stood quiet in the evening light, its rooftops bathed in the sun's golden glow. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, the scent of hearthfires drifting on the breeze. For years, this place had been his shelter, his training ground, his home. Now, it was part of the past he carried with him.
With a quiet exhale, Nathan turned away. The dirt path stretched ahead, winding through rolling fields tinged in amber hues. The rhythm of his footsteps soon steadied, and his breath measured. Windhill faded behind him, and with it, the last remnants of the boy he had been.
As he rounded a bend in the road, Nathan's pace slowed when he saw a commotion ahead. A small group of men, rough-looking and clad in mismatched armour, had surrounded a younger man who stood with his back against a tree. The young man was notable for the large shield strapped to his back, a polished piece of equipment that seemed out of place in the hands of someone so youthful. They were arguing heatedly, their voices growing louder as Nathan approached.
Sensing trouble, Nathan quickened his steps and called out, "Is there a problem here?"
The biggest of the group, a hulking brute of a man with a thick neck and arms like tree trunks, turned to face Nathan. He had a rough accent, his voice gravelly, probably from years of shouting and drinking. "Aye, there's a problem, lad. This runt here owes us gold, and we're here to collect."
The shield-bearer, a young man with a nervous energy about him, quickly retorted, "That's a bloody lie! It's you lot who owe me! You think you can just rough up anyone who stands up to you?"
Another man in the group chimed in. "Oi, don't get cheeky with us, mate. We've got rights to what's ours, and you ain't gettin' out of this one without payin' up."
Nathan frowned, sensing the situation spiralling out of control. He stepped forward, positioning himself between the large man and the shield-bearer. "Let's settle this peacefully, shall we? There's no need for violence."
The large man sneered down at Nathan, unimpressed by his calm demeanour. "And who might you be, eh? Some hero come to save the day?"
Nathan remained composed, his tone firm but neutral. "Just someone who prefers not to see unnecessary bloodshed. If there's a dispute, it can be resolved without resorting to fists."
The shield-bearer took advantage of Nathan's intervention, and he added, "See? Even this man gets it! I don't owe you lot a single copper!"
But the large man wasn't having it. His rapidly thinning patience snapped entirely as he swung a meaty fist at Nathan, who barely registered the movement before the blow connected with his temple, and everything went dark. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious, as the rough laughter of the thugs echoed in his ears. The last thing he heard before slipping into the void was the shield-bearer's panicked voice shouting something indistinct.
When Nathan finally came to, the sky had darkened significantly, the sun just a faint glow on the horizon. His head throbbed painfully, and as he sat up, Nathan's stomach twisted as he patted his back, his fingers grasping at nothing but air where his sword should have been. His coinpurse was gone, too, the familiar weight absent from his hip. He let out a slow, shaking breath, his pulse hammering against his skull. For a long moment, he just sat there, his mind reeling. That sword was a gift from Mr. Eriksson. And now, some low-life had taken it, just like that. His jaw clenched, frustration bubbling under his skin. He had been careless, and now he was weaponless and penniless on the road to a town he had yet to reach.
"Damn it…" he muttered, rubbing the sore spot on his head.
Still, Nathan struggled to his feet, brushing dirt from his gambeson. The road ahead was long and perilous, and night was falling fast, so he had to make a beeline for Lyonsmeade before the monsters caught him in the dark.
By the time Nathan reached Lyonsmeade, the small town was still lively despite the late hour. Travellers and locals alike filled the streets, chatting at busy taverns through mugs of locally brewed mead, their laughter and the clinking of mugs carrying through the air. He trudged through the entrance of one particular tavern, the exhaustion of the day etched deeply into his features. With his stolen possessions and wearied spirit, Nathan sought refuge in a shadowy corner. He gestured to a passing waitress, his voice tinged with fatigue. "Water, please."
The waitress, noting his dishevelled appearance, nodded sympathetically. "Coming right up, sir."
Nathan sighed and gazed out across the room, his thoughts consumed by his immediate predicament. He needed a plan for tomorrow, and more importantly, somewhere to sleep that night. Mr. Eriksson used to tell him of penniless travellers who sleep in empty stalls at a town's public horse stables, and he hoped to find a space for the night.
That was when he heard it: a familiar, rough chuckle rising over the hum of conversation. His fingers curled around his mug. He turned his head slightly, just enough to glimpse the large man from the road, seated at a table with his rowdy companions. Nathan's heart pounded as his gaze dropped to the man's belt. His sword hung there, a mocking reminder of his failure. The shield-bearer also sat among them, trying to blend in as he sported a strained smile on his face, clearly uncomfortable among his rowdy companions.
For a brief moment, Nathan considered slipping out before they saw him before he did something reckless. But then his gaze was fixed on the sword at the large man's side, its hilt catching the dim candlelight. His stomach twisted. That was his. And he wasn't leaving without it. Striding purposefully toward the brigands' table, Nathan demanded, "Glad you came back my way to return my sword and coins, you filthy thief!"
The large man, taken aback by Nathan's sudden appearance, sneered and took a swig from his mug. "Well, well, looks like Mr. Hero's back for more. You think you can just stroll here and make demands of me, boy?"
Nathan's anger flared. "Yes, I do. And if you don't return it, I'll-"
Before he could finish, the large man mockingly finished Nathan's sentence. "'Gladly have more of your delightful thumpings, sir, thank you'." The whole table erupted with mean-spirited laughter.
The shield-bearer tensed when Nathan stormed toward them just now, his hand resting on the edge of his shield like a nervous reflex. As the large man jeered, he let out an awkward chuckle, but his eyes flickered toward Nathan. When the swordsman called them thieves, something in his expression wavered, as if the word stung more than it should have. But then the large man clapped him on the shoulder, laughing heartily, and the shield-bearer forced a smirk, sinking back into his chair.
Nathan's nails dug into his palms. Every word, every sneer from the large man chipped away at his patience, and the laughter of the gang only made it worse. He had been robbed, humiliated, left for dead on the road, and now, they sat there drinking with his sword hanging at their side like some cheap trophy. His breath came slow and measured as he fought the urge to lash out.
Then the large man leaned forward with a smirk. "A toast!" the large man bellowed, raising his mug with a grin. "To our little lost swordsman! May he learn to crawl after we break his legs!"
That was the last straw. Nathan's fingers closed around the neck of an untouched wine jug from a nearby table, and with a sharp exhale, he swung it to the hated thief's head, shattering it on impact. There was a moment of deafening silence as all eyes were turned to Nathan and the large man who was reeling from the impact for a while. The man shot a hateful glare before lunging at the youth, and a fight erupted instantly. The tavern patrons scattered, leaving the brawlers in their midst.
The large man swung his fists with powerful yet imprecise force, each of his blows fueled by rage. This time, Nathan was ready, and he nimbly weaved his way around his opponent's ape-like punches.
"You're not as fast as you think, you cheeky little blighter!" the large man roared, his face reddening with every hit he missed.
Nathan dodged every punch thrown at him, patiently biding his time as he inched closer to the large man with every evasion. He saw his chance with the umpteenth haymaker launched at him, letting it fly over his back as he slipped under the big man's arm, his fingers closing around the locket of his sword's scabbard. Nathan pulled his weapon free off the man's belt, and immediately dashed for the exit, much to the thieves' and the shield-bearer's collective surprise.
"Block him!" the large man bellowed. "Don't let him get away!"
The shield-bearer stepped into Nathan's path, his grip tightening around the edge of his shield. For a brief moment, he hesitated, jaw tightening as if caught in an internal debate. Then, with a deep breath, he steadied himself and raised his shield. "C'mon, mate. Don't make this worse."
As a response, Nathan made sure that his sword was tightly fit inside its scabbard before he started clubbing the shield-bearer with it. Each swing was a testament to his raw strength and control, testing the limits of his opponent's defences. Meanwhile, the shield-bearer moved with uncanny precision, his shield an extension of his arm as he intercepted every blow with effortless grace. The shield was an extension of his arm, manoeuvred with such grace and confidence that he seemed to anticipate Nathan's every move. Their clash became a mesmerising spectacle of Nathan's unyielding offence against the shield-bearer's impenetrable defence, revealing the depth of their skills and battle instincts.
The fight raged on, fists and steel colliding in a chaotic blur. Nathan could hear the gasps and shouts of onlookers, the scrape of chairs being shoved back as tavern-goers scrambled out of the way. Somewhere, someone was yelling for the guards.
Then, through the din of battle, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
The large man stiffened, his eyes flicking toward the door. Heavy boots pounded against the wooden planks outside, the unmistakable clank of armoured men approaching fast. A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat, and before Nathan could react, he shoved forward, knocking both him and the shield-bearer off balance.
A second later, the town guards burst in, weapons drawn. The fighters could barely get their bearings straight when the guards entered the tavern, and they were immediately restrained. The guards led Nathan and the shield-bearer away, turning the tavern into a scene of chaos and scattered patrons. The shield-bearer looked at Nathan with a mix of apology and resignation, his discomfort evident, as they were both marched to the town gaol.
Unbeknownst to both Nathan and the shield-bearer, a figure in a red wide-brimmed hat had been watching the confrontation from the edge of the crowd. The figure's eyes sparkled with intrigue as he observed the two young men being carted off by the guards. With a slight smile playing on his lips, the man in the hat began to ponder his next move, already formulating plans for the intriguing talents he had just witnessed.
… … … … …
The town gaol was dimly lit, and the air was thick with the musty scent of stone and iron. Nathan and the shield-bearer were both behind bars, settled into a quiet solitude as they awaited whatever tomorrow might bring. Nathan leaned against the cold wall, the anger from the tavern still simmering beneath his calm exterior, while Keith sat on a wooden bench, his expression thoughtful.
After a stretch of silence, Keith broke it with a hesitant voice. "You know, you fight pretty well, mate. I've never seen anyone wield a sword like you before."
Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? From what I gathered, you were working with those brigands. Why would I take compliments from someone who sided with them?"
The shield-bearer shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Nathan's gaze. "I can see you doubt me, and I can't blame you for that. Even so, I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused. Tell you what. Once we're out of here, I'll make it up to you. Promise."
Nathan frowned, puzzled by the shield-bearer's demeanour. "Why would you make such a promise? You're a thief."
The shield-bearer sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Look, mate, it's not that simple. I got mixed up with the wrong crowd after I got raided recently. They strong-arm people they like into working for 'em, and the lot actually killed anyone who refused. I didn't have much choice."
Nathan considered the shield-bearer's words, the anger from earlier subsiding into a reluctant understanding. "So, you're saying you were a victim of circumstances?"
"Yeah, that's right" the shield-bearer replied, nodding earnestly. "I was stuck in a bad spot, trying to keep my head above water, is all. It's not the best excuse, but it's the truth."
Nathan thought over the shield-bearer's words more carefully, recalling the way he shifted uncomfortably among his erstwhile comrades even during their first encounter on the road, and how reluctant he was to fight him. Nathan's expression eased up when he asked, "So, now that your former boss left you high and dry, what do you plan to do after this?"
The shield-bearer replied, looking light-hearted. "I dunno what comes next. Maybe I just…start over. Maybe I could stick around and do right by you. If you'll have me, that is. I'm kind of responsible for the money that bandit stole from you, after all. Besides, it's much safer to travel with some company, yeah?"
Nathan recalled the times Mr. Eriksson teaching his younger self how to spot a liar, sharing stories of scoundrels from his own adventuring days. The shield-bearer didn't have the shifty, practised air of a con artist. If anything, his regret seemed genuine. Nathan could see the man's sincerity, and if he was being honest, he could use a companion for the road ahead. He smiled, thinking about Mr. Eriksson chiding him for quickly trusting a stranger as he extended his hand, but he could feel that the shield-bearer meant it right to his bones. "I'll hold you to that, then. I'm Nathan Festivus."
"Keith Nimbus." Keith enthusiastically shook Nathan's hand.
The conversation between the two continued, the air of mistrust gradually lifting as they shared their stories and hopes for the future: a tentative camaraderie forged in the confines of their shared predicament. Their conversation was interrupted when a guard appeared at the cell door, accompanied by a cloaked figure; his hat pulled low, partially concealing his sharp, well-groomed face, as he stepped forward.
"Good evening, meine Herren." the man greeted with a smooth, sophisticated tone. "Harald Nachtwasser, at your service."
Nathan and Keith exchanged glances, both bewildered. "What's this about?" Nathan asked, his voice edged with suspicion.
Harald gave a courteous nod. "I have come to offer assistance. I am aware of your predicament and wish to resolve it. I am willing to cover your fines."
Keith's eyes widened. "You're serious? Why'd you do that for us?"
Harald's smile was both enigmatic and reassuring. "Let's just say that I find potential where others see mere trouble. Your skills are intriguing, and I would like to see where they lead."
Nathan's skepticism was evident, but he recognised the gesture as an opportunity he could not afford to ignore. "If you're willing to help, I won't refuse. But why the sudden interest?"
Harald's gaze was steady as he replied, "Opportunities would sometimes present themselves in ways no one expects. Consider this a chance for a…proper start."
The guard unlocked the cell door, and both Nathan and Keith were led out, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and cautious optimism as the guard returned their belongings to them. As they followed Harald out of the gaol, Nathan couldn't help but wonder about the nature of the man's interest and the path that lay ahead.
The trio reached a different tavern than the one Nathan and Keith fought in earlier, its warm and inviting atmosphere a stark contrast to the grim confines of the gaol. The trio sat around a sturdy wooden table, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight and the comforting hum of conversations from other patrons. The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, but for Nathan, Keith, and Harald, the meal was a mere backdrop to their pivotal discussion. They introduced themselves to Harald, and paid full attention to what he had to say.
Harald leaned back in his chair, his wide-brimmed hat resting on the table beside him. He sipped from his mug of mead, savouring the sweetness of the honey. "Ah…what a wonderful brew, the best one I've tasted in Rossland so far." He said as he turned his attention to Nathan and Keith, both of them quietly sizing him up. "For the sake of formality, allow me to introduce myself again. I go by Harald Nachtwasser, a travelling pyromancer. I used to be the heir of my noble house, but under circumstances that I would rather not discuss, I was disinherited. Also, kindly do not ask me about the name of said house, either."
Nathan, still somewhat wary from their recent encounter, eyed Harald with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. "I appreciate your generosity in paying my and Mr. Nimbus' fines, Mr. Nachtwasser. But I have to be frank: admitting to being disinherited from a house you wouldn't name over a matter you'd rather not speak about with us does not inspire trust in you. Anyone can claim to be of high birth to any stranger, you know?"
Harald's lips curved into an almost apologetic smile. "Ja, I am completely aware of that. For now, my word is all I could offer you gute Herren, so I will not ask you to believe me. Not right now anyway." The pyromancer leaned forward, his expression becoming serious before he continued. "What matters is the future we shall forge together. My current focus is on establishing a noble house of our own, and I believe you two can help me speed my endeavour."
Keith, his accent thick with enthusiasm, leaned forward eagerly. "Sounds right proper, that does. But what's this about us being part of it? How do you figure we fit in?"
Harald's eyes sparkled with a glint of mischief. "You see, after witnessing your performance earlier, I am convinced that you both are precisely the individuals I need. Not only do you possess commendable combat skills, but you also have the spirit and fortitude required for our prospective venture."
Nathan raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with doubt. "You've decided to bet your future on two strangers you barely know. Doesn't that seem rather... hasty?"
Harald chuckled softly, a sound that carried an air of sophistication. "You are most astute, Herr Festivus. However, I assure you, my decision is not made lightly. The bar fight was a testament to your abilities and, frankly, your resilience. You see, if nothing else, you would make excellent meat shields for a pyromancer of my caliber."
Nathan's eyes narrowed, and Keith's expression darkened. "'Meat shields'? Is that how you see us?" Nathan's voice was tinged with indignation.
Harald raised a hand, his tone soothing. "Please, do not take offense. I merely jest, and I admit it was a bad one. In truth, I see you both as equals in this venture. In fact, just now I can see that you are forthright, and you have the courage to speak your minds. This, I believe, is invaluable."
Keith, his earlier irritation softening, nodded. "Aye, I reckon I can see that. But let's get one thing out of the way first: what's in it for us?"
Harald smiled, his voice earnest. "You will have an equal share of any profits we make. You will not be mere tools or subordinates but partners in this venture."
Nathan sighed, his wariness fading as he considered the offer. "I'm still not really convinced, but I'll accept anyway. As of now, my options are limited, and seeing how far a pyromancer is willing to take this 'venture' should be a sight to see."
Keith grinned broadly, excitement evident in his eyes. "Count me in! Anything's better than being left behind by a bunch of crooks."
"Excellent. Then let us embark on this new journey together" said Harald, raising his mug in a toast. "A toast to our newborn house!"
Nathan chuckled softly. "I suppose that's a crucial detail."
He and Keith enthusiastically joined Harald, their mugs clanked together before they took a hearty swig from them.
Harald's brow furrowed in thought. "But you know, I have long considered a name for our house, or rather party as we are now, but a suitable one still evades me. Perhaps I could trouble you gentlemen with ideas…?"
Nathan and Keith chuckled in amusement, and they humoured Harald as they engross themselves into brainstorming names in the next several hours brainstorming names, each one more elaborate than the last. Nathan proposed "The Argent Knights," evoking images of chivalry and valor. Keith suggested "The Iron Shield," reflecting their role in protection and strength. Harald, with a flourish of theatricality, proposed "The House of Morgenstern," a nod to his own lost heritage. This went on until very late in the night, when the landlord asked them to get to bed. The three then decided to continue their discussion over breakfast.
"I must insist that it is related to stern", said Harald before they slept.