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"It was then that we came upon the foot of the mountain where the twisted Malagent Xithis had made his final stand."
Osclow smiled as he rose from his chair, extending his hands to the sky in a theatrical gesture. Such was the nature of the eager storyteller, especially when before an audience as interested in every single one of his words as Jenny was. The young girl smiled weakly to the bard's tale unfolding as she lay in bed. She had been rather depressed regarding certain events with Sehron. The bard knew not the reasons for the elven rogue and linguist teacher leaving, but he certainly was going to get to the bottom of it in time. Jenny’s arms wrapped around a pair of dolls. The one in her left arm resembled a woman in a red dress with long copper curls. The one in her right, a knight with a golden circlet and dark brown hair tied into a ponytail. Though attempting hard not to over-elaborate on his own role in the story, the bard could not help but think back upon the numerous titles he had obtained over the last few days from townsfolk, refugee, and traveling companion alike.
Slayer of Xithis...
Savior of Sundren...
Hero...
He did not do it alone, and the praise and titles did go a little far at times. However, he was not so much against it as he was willing to spread it to those who deserved it as much as he did, if not more. The emptiness of the Triumvirate barracks where Jenny slept did well to remind the bard of those who deserved perhaps the most praise of all; those who gave their very lives in the necessity, yet tragedy, of war. No... it was not war they gave their lives for, but the people of this valley and the honorable duty they swore upon. The bard continued with his story.
"Vast swirls of black clouds cascaded down the mountainside, further given its wicked accent by the chants that rose skyward to the Lady of Poison, Talona herself. The mountain looked as though held by the hand of a dark god that was as determined to see this day end in tragedy as Xithis himself. Lady Blake looked upon her troops. She could see the fatigue upon them after fighting through so many of the dark army. However, her eyes shot upward to the mountain as well. She did not wish to press her friends further, but she knew they had a job to do. One by one, we stood tall and saluted her. We could see her reluctance, and wished for nothing more to ensure Commander Blake that we were loyal to the end, tired or not. The Scarlet sorceress smiled upon us before giving the order to press forward."
"And that is all you are getting tonight little one." Osclow chimed in with a smirk as his voice slid away from the tones it typically adorned when telling an epic story. Jenny nodded, interested in hearing more, but not quite putting up the fight she normally did when told to go to sleep. Quietly, she lay back, the dolls still in her arms as Osclow pulled the covers over him and gave a light kiss upon her forehead.
“Well why the hell do I need to do it? You brought me out of hiding for this, and so damn early in the morning?” the tall slender hooded man whined in a manner atypical of someone half his age. Such was usually the case and the bard was not willing to put up with it this day,
“Look Fenton, I will pay you if you want.”
Fenton looked back, almost hurt, “You know I cannot take your money Osclow. I just do not see why you need me for this. He’s your friend, not mine.”
“Well maybe if you took the opportunity to talk to a few people here.”
“I don’t wanna talk to anyone here. I keep telling you I hate this place.”
“Well, to me it is a home away from home. Just see if you can at least find out where Sehron is going. I just need a little bit of whatever information you can give me and then I shall follow it later. For now though, this needs to be done first.”
Fenton looked to his good friend with a bit of concern, laced with a hint of sadness over his statement of calling this damn valley “home” in any shape or form.
“What’s the matter with you? You seem rather serious for a hero that helped defeat both Xithis and the necromancer Samantha. You should be reveling in your glory; tossing back a few drinks, spending a special night with Jess, Some crap like that.”
“There are more important things.. Especially regarding the war with Xithis.”
“What’s wrong Os?” Fenton asked once more with no sarcasm attached this time. The bard turned to him with a warm, comforting smile.
“Fenton. I am just making sure heroes do not become forgotten.”
Osclow could not help but be a little nervous and, for once, at a loss for words. As he stood before the door, regretting that he had already knocked, his mind raced to the various possible conversations he could begin. Not one of them seemed appropriate. He had to think fast. A light creaking of the floor boards rang in his unusually sharp ears. She was approaching. Quick man, think, think! Jokes were no good and the marionettes could not possibly be utilized in a worse time. So what did that leave? It left about three more seconds before the door opened. Osclow quickly straightened his posture, removing his hat as he now stood before a pleasant looking, if not rather ordinary, woman in her mid 40’s.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, clearly not the rude type but also looking quite determining to decipher the reason the bard stood upon her front porch.
Silence. Pure cold silence was all the bard could manage. How could he possibly talk about such a sensitive topic and express the thankfulness he truly felt for everything this woman’s son provided.
Hera Parkis was the name of the woman that stood before him, according to the information he managed to obtain. 42 years old and a mother of two. Her eldest son, Cristauf, was a Private rank Avenger in the Red Blades. Though Cristauf lacked much in leadership skills, his swordsmanship was nearly on par with most of his superiors. According to a brief summary on record regarding him, he was a man who ’never wanted to lead, as it would take him away from the side of those he was most proud to call brothers-in-arms’.
That line almost brought a tear to the bard’s eye. It was amazing that of all the performances he had given in front of crowds of vast sizes and regardless of the fact that he stood tall against Xithis himself to deliver the final blow across his throat, that it was THIS moment he would simply break and lose all focus and willingness to continue. Cristauf died a noble death by the side of his brothers-in-arms. He died for Sundren and for its people. How could a silly little minstrel talk about this man, when he was lucky enough to walk away from that terrible war? How!? The tear finally shed, only to be collected by the gentle touch of the women that stood before him. The bard looked to her, both ashamed and a little embarrassed.
But then, she smiled…
It was a kind motherly smile that quickly put the bard’s mind at ease. “Come now sir Osclow, that is no way for a hero to be acting.”
She knew his name? After a brief moment, the bard realized that such was not so unusual, as his name was fairly well-known as were many trademarks of his typical appearance, such as the feathered hat he almost always wore.
“I am sorry.” Osclow replied, the sadness in his voice, even as it faded from his gaze.
“I am just beginning to see that this is harder than I thought it would be.”
“The first step’s always the hardest hero.” Hera said, still smiling.
“Indeed you are correct.” Osclow took in a deep breath before taking his first step. “I have come to show my appreciation for everything your son did for me.. For all of us, all the people of Sundren and perhaps even for lands beyond.”
Mild surprise took Hera as her smiled widened. This man, this hero of the people was thanking her. He did not look down at her from a pedestal or have an army of loyal guards by his side. It was just the two of them and a grateful thanks that shined well with sincerity in this man’s emerald eyes. This time it was she who shed a tear, and the bard was quick to return the same favor she had granted him by extending a gloved finger to wipe it free.
“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea or some coffee?”
“I would love to.” the bard replied with a smile.
Osclow smiled as he rose from his chair, extending his hands to the sky in a theatrical gesture. Such was the nature of the eager storyteller, especially when before an audience as interested in every single one of his words as Jenny was. The young girl smiled weakly to the bard's tale unfolding as she lay in bed. She had been rather depressed regarding certain events with Sehron. The bard knew not the reasons for the elven rogue and linguist teacher leaving, but he certainly was going to get to the bottom of it in time. Jenny’s arms wrapped around a pair of dolls. The one in her left arm resembled a woman in a red dress with long copper curls. The one in her right, a knight with a golden circlet and dark brown hair tied into a ponytail. Though attempting hard not to over-elaborate on his own role in the story, the bard could not help but think back upon the numerous titles he had obtained over the last few days from townsfolk, refugee, and traveling companion alike.
Slayer of Xithis...
Savior of Sundren...
Hero...
He did not do it alone, and the praise and titles did go a little far at times. However, he was not so much against it as he was willing to spread it to those who deserved it as much as he did, if not more. The emptiness of the Triumvirate barracks where Jenny slept did well to remind the bard of those who deserved perhaps the most praise of all; those who gave their very lives in the necessity, yet tragedy, of war. No... it was not war they gave their lives for, but the people of this valley and the honorable duty they swore upon. The bard continued with his story.
"Vast swirls of black clouds cascaded down the mountainside, further given its wicked accent by the chants that rose skyward to the Lady of Poison, Talona herself. The mountain looked as though held by the hand of a dark god that was as determined to see this day end in tragedy as Xithis himself. Lady Blake looked upon her troops. She could see the fatigue upon them after fighting through so many of the dark army. However, her eyes shot upward to the mountain as well. She did not wish to press her friends further, but she knew they had a job to do. One by one, we stood tall and saluted her. We could see her reluctance, and wished for nothing more to ensure Commander Blake that we were loyal to the end, tired or not. The Scarlet sorceress smiled upon us before giving the order to press forward."
"And that is all you are getting tonight little one." Osclow chimed in with a smirk as his voice slid away from the tones it typically adorned when telling an epic story. Jenny nodded, interested in hearing more, but not quite putting up the fight she normally did when told to go to sleep. Quietly, she lay back, the dolls still in her arms as Osclow pulled the covers over him and gave a light kiss upon her forehead.
“Well why the hell do I need to do it? You brought me out of hiding for this, and so damn early in the morning?” the tall slender hooded man whined in a manner atypical of someone half his age. Such was usually the case and the bard was not willing to put up with it this day,
“Look Fenton, I will pay you if you want.”
Fenton looked back, almost hurt, “You know I cannot take your money Osclow. I just do not see why you need me for this. He’s your friend, not mine.”
“Well maybe if you took the opportunity to talk to a few people here.”
“I don’t wanna talk to anyone here. I keep telling you I hate this place.”
“Well, to me it is a home away from home. Just see if you can at least find out where Sehron is going. I just need a little bit of whatever information you can give me and then I shall follow it later. For now though, this needs to be done first.”
Fenton looked to his good friend with a bit of concern, laced with a hint of sadness over his statement of calling this damn valley “home” in any shape or form.
“What’s the matter with you? You seem rather serious for a hero that helped defeat both Xithis and the necromancer Samantha. You should be reveling in your glory; tossing back a few drinks, spending a special night with Jess, Some crap like that.”
“There are more important things.. Especially regarding the war with Xithis.”
“What’s wrong Os?” Fenton asked once more with no sarcasm attached this time. The bard turned to him with a warm, comforting smile.
“Fenton. I am just making sure heroes do not become forgotten.”
Osclow could not help but be a little nervous and, for once, at a loss for words. As he stood before the door, regretting that he had already knocked, his mind raced to the various possible conversations he could begin. Not one of them seemed appropriate. He had to think fast. A light creaking of the floor boards rang in his unusually sharp ears. She was approaching. Quick man, think, think! Jokes were no good and the marionettes could not possibly be utilized in a worse time. So what did that leave? It left about three more seconds before the door opened. Osclow quickly straightened his posture, removing his hat as he now stood before a pleasant looking, if not rather ordinary, woman in her mid 40’s.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, clearly not the rude type but also looking quite determining to decipher the reason the bard stood upon her front porch.
Silence. Pure cold silence was all the bard could manage. How could he possibly talk about such a sensitive topic and express the thankfulness he truly felt for everything this woman’s son provided.
Hera Parkis was the name of the woman that stood before him, according to the information he managed to obtain. 42 years old and a mother of two. Her eldest son, Cristauf, was a Private rank Avenger in the Red Blades. Though Cristauf lacked much in leadership skills, his swordsmanship was nearly on par with most of his superiors. According to a brief summary on record regarding him, he was a man who ’never wanted to lead, as it would take him away from the side of those he was most proud to call brothers-in-arms’.
That line almost brought a tear to the bard’s eye. It was amazing that of all the performances he had given in front of crowds of vast sizes and regardless of the fact that he stood tall against Xithis himself to deliver the final blow across his throat, that it was THIS moment he would simply break and lose all focus and willingness to continue. Cristauf died a noble death by the side of his brothers-in-arms. He died for Sundren and for its people. How could a silly little minstrel talk about this man, when he was lucky enough to walk away from that terrible war? How!? The tear finally shed, only to be collected by the gentle touch of the women that stood before him. The bard looked to her, both ashamed and a little embarrassed.
But then, she smiled…
It was a kind motherly smile that quickly put the bard’s mind at ease. “Come now sir Osclow, that is no way for a hero to be acting.”
She knew his name? After a brief moment, the bard realized that such was not so unusual, as his name was fairly well-known as were many trademarks of his typical appearance, such as the feathered hat he almost always wore.
“I am sorry.” Osclow replied, the sadness in his voice, even as it faded from his gaze.
“I am just beginning to see that this is harder than I thought it would be.”
“The first step’s always the hardest hero.” Hera said, still smiling.
“Indeed you are correct.” Osclow took in a deep breath before taking his first step. “I have come to show my appreciation for everything your son did for me.. For all of us, all the people of Sundren and perhaps even for lands beyond.”
Mild surprise took Hera as her smiled widened. This man, this hero of the people was thanking her. He did not look down at her from a pedestal or have an army of loyal guards by his side. It was just the two of them and a grateful thanks that shined well with sincerity in this man’s emerald eyes. This time it was she who shed a tear, and the bard was quick to return the same favor she had granted him by extending a gloved finger to wipe it free.
“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea or some coffee?”
“I would love to.” the bard replied with a smile.