Dark Age Year 871
Twentieth day of the Third month
“I still fondly reminisce about the early days of travelling with Tharos. Despite the challenges we faced—enduring endless days and nights in the wilderness, encountering bandits, wild animals, and monsters on the fringes of civilisation—there was always an element of adventure and simplicity. Unlike the later years when he gained the moniker “The Dark Hawk,” things became significantly more complicated. These initial years were, in a way, fun if you find constant danger and sleeping in abandoned, rat-infested hovels enjoyable. It was during this period that Tharos took me under his wing and taught me various practical skills, including hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, equestrianism, and academic pursuits like history, linguistics, philosophy, and other disciplines. I didn’t fully grasp them then, and even now, I still don’t fully comprehend it. Additionally, he thought it would be prudent to teach me the art of diplomacy, politics, etiquette, and what he deemed the most crucial lesson of all—how to interact with and charm girls. His rationale for these lessons was always that I had the potential to be a lady killer and a breaker of maidens’ hearts. Whatever that meant, I often thought to myself at the time. Of course, I didn’t really pay much attention to these lessons, although in hindsight, I should have. It would have spared me a lot of trouble.”
—Excerpt From the memoirs of Cenric Dellcreek.
It is a crisp spring morning in the village of Golden Apple, renowned for its unique golden yellow apples that are exclusive to the region. These apples are often used by the villagers’ wives to create sweet treats for their families or to brew sour apple cider that imbues its drinkers with liquid courage, akin to the courage that emboldens many a drunkard. Golden Apple is a small yet thriving community situated on the outskirts of Aria, known as the Frontiers. The Frontiers encompass the eastern region of Aria, extending from the northern and southern coasts to the eastern side of the northern mountains, serving as the boundary between the Deadlands and Civilization in Aria. This area is notorious for its dangers, teeming with monsters, ferocious animals, and various tribes of orcs, goblins, and cannibalistic nomads who venture from the Deadlands in search of easy plunder. In recent years, known as the era of warlords by later generations and historians, a new threat emerged in these borderlands—bandits, freebooters, and mercenaries of every race, stripe, or creed who roamed the half-dead forests and arid plains. Some of them were leftover dregs from the many armies now fighting over the land of Aria like staving dogs, others exiles from other lands trying their luck in greener pastures. Their weapons, whether axes, spears, or swords, posed an ever-dangerous threat to those unlucky enough to cross their path, and the looming spectres of famine and disease only added to the peril of the region, as death was around every corner, waiting to bring people into its sweet embrace.
In a secluded pen behind one of the homesteads in the village of Golden Apple, two warriors faced off. One was a young man with dark tanned skin, messy black hair, amber eyes, and a tall, muscular body reminiscent of temple statues and figures. His opponent was a younger adolescent with fair skin, blonde hair, and green eyes, whose body was slim yet robust, as if the young man in question was gradually coming into his own. They both wielded slightly rusted one-handed iron swords, engaging in a swift and intense exchange of strikes. The older warrior deftly parried the younger one’s initial attack, leading to a flurry of swordplay that sent sparks flying through the air. The clash of their blades echoed in the empty pen, showcasing their skill and determination.
As the two warriors clashed swords, they drew the attention of passing villagers. Despite not being swordplay experts, most onlookers admired the display. The older warrior’s skill was evident in his precise movements, twirling and spinning the blade effortlessly. His mastery left little room for error, making it seem like an extension of his body and will. The spectacle provided a brief escape from the villagers’ mundane lives. Some women stole glances at the warriors, blushing at their handsome appearance, particularly the younger one. They quickly looked away if caught by their husbands or fathers.
However, the two of them were oblivious to the crowd gathering around, especially Cenric, who was completely engrossed in the training session. Despite Tharos going easy on him, Cenric struggled to keep up during their sparring session. Yet, this was precisely why he sought Tharos’ guidance in the first place. Tharos, on the other hand, seemed to relish his role as a mentor.
I want to become stronger; I refuse to remain weak and useless. These were the thoughts that echoed in Cenric’s head.
With each swing of his sword, Cenric attempted to challenge Tharos, who effortlessly deflected and countered with minimal effort. Tharos remained almost motionless, save for the subtle movements of his eyes, chest, and arm. Despite Cenric’s relentless attacks, Tharos maintained a composed demeanour. As the training continued, Cenric found himself gasping for air, his arms heavy with exhaustion. Looking up at Tharos, he was met with a reassuring smile.
“I think that’s enough for today’s training session, Cenric,” Tharos said in his natural voice, not the one he projected into their minds. His voice was gentle and elegant, tinged with a hint of world-weariness.
“Did I do better than last time, Tharos?” Cenric asked, looking up at Tharos, hoping, hungering for feedback.
“Well, you’ve learned to handle and swing a sword without stumbling or losing your grip, which is a good start. However, you still have too many unnecessary movements and your footwork needs improvement. If you work on those, you could become a decent swordsman.” Tharos critiqued.
Cenric looked down at the ground and gave it a quick, small kick, causing loose bits of dirt to fly into the air. “I understand, Tharos,” Cenric said with a slightly dejected tone.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Cenric,” Tharos said warmly. “You’ve just begun your journey of learning, and mastery starts with a single step. Remember, even I and Rayner started where you are now. Every skilled warrior had to begin somewhere.”
“True, I suppose,” Cenric replied with a shrug. “But both of you are much stronger and more skilled than most could ever hope to be. You’ve taken down entire groups of bandits, companies of mercenaries, and lets not forget the troll just last week.”
“Strength is relative, Cenric,” Tharos explained. “Just do your best, that’s all that’s required of you. And you’ve been doing just that. So, don’t be too hard on yourself.” Before Cenric could respond, Tharos continued.
“You underestimate yourself, Cenric. You survived Zarbar when many others didn’t, and your escape from the snake people was bold and daring. Not many your age could have accomplished what you have.”
“Yeah, I guess so, but I had your and Rayner’s help. I couldn’t have done it alone. If I was alone, I would have been toast,” Cenric admitted. It was true that without Tharos saving him in Zarbar, he would have met the same fate as Torag and others. In the Deadlands, he might have escaped from the snake people, but then what? He only possessed the most basic survival skills and perhaps just a dagger for protection. It wouldn’t have been enough.
“That is true, but you did your part, and you did it well. You have nothing to be disappointed about,” Tharos said. He then noticed Tharos pause and start turning his head to look towards the small crowd of people who were starting to disperse once the two of them stopped swinging their swords at each other. The only person left standing was a well-dressed and rather plump old man, with greying short black hair and deep brown eyes, who began to give them a slow but respectable clap.
“A wonderful display as always, Master Tharos, and also from you, young Master Cenric,” the old man said.
“Is there something you require from us, village elder?” Tharos asked.
“No, no, nothing at all like that,” the old man continued, waving his hand in a casual motion. “You don’t need to be so formal with me. Just call me Nico,” the village elder said in a gentle and kindly tone of voice.
The village elder, Nico, continued, “I only came by to watch your wonderful display of arms and to tell you that your breakfast is ready.” Upon hearing that breakfast was ready, Cenric felt a rumble in his stomach. He noticed Tharos turning his head towards him.
“Cenric, that will be enough for this morning training session,” Tharos said. They both sheathed their swords, exited the pen, and followed behind Nico. As they walked, Nico spoke up. “Will Master Rayner be joining us, or does he still prefer to hunt for his food?”
“It is the latter, I am afraid, village elder,” Tharos stated, seemingly disappointing Nico.
Nico, the village elder, gave a small sigh. “I see, what a shame. I was hoping that he might join us and regale us with some of his tales. Even out here in the Frontiers, the name Rayner the Crimson Wolf is on quite a few people’s lips.”
Tharos and Nico chatted as they made their way to the village elder’s house. Cenric stopped paying much attention at that point, as it was about things he didn’t need to be concerned about. Most of it was just village gossip or reports that the elder received from neighbouring communities. There were mentions of more groups of bandits and reports of more monsters spotted in the area that he hoped Tharos and Rayner would take care of. Cenric, however, was more focused on the growing rumble in his stomach. For the past few weeks, this had been his daily routine, ever since they arrived in this village. Initially, they had planned to stay for just one night and then continue on to the city of Sanctus. However, the villagers persuaded Tharos and Rayner to stay longer by offering them some coin, free food, drinks, and lodging in exchange for helping protect the village. Cenric thought it wasn’t a bad deal, and it was a significant improvement from their living conditions before they arrived.
It’s nice to have a proper bed and roof over my head for once. Cenric thought to himself.
There was something comforting about this village; it reminded him of his own village, Dellcreek, to a certain extent. Although he would prefer to be in a wilder village rather than one full of Invicti. Not that he had an issue with them per se, it’s just that the way they do things was odd to him. Sure, there were a lot of similarities in how the village was run compared to Dellcreek, and the concerns of its people. But it was the little things that stood out to him. One example was how short and small everyone was compared to him: even though he was only fourteen, he was as tall, if not a bit taller and bigger, than most of the fully grown men in this village.
A thing he noticed was how conservatively dressed everyone was, compared to what he was used to in his home village. It wasn’t like the people in his village were running around buck naked or lacking in modesty; quite the opposite, in fact. However, it wasn’t uncommon to see someone in their undergarments or being scantily clad even if it wasn’t seasonal. Not that he paid much attention to that, although the absence of it was odd to him. Another thing that bothered him about this village was how some of the people would look at him. He didn’t think it was because he was a wilder, because to be honest, both him, Rayner, and Tharos were being given a multitude of looks. However, the ones he was receiving, especially from some of the girls in the village, were different. They would look at him in the same way Estrid and some of the other girls would look at him back in Dellcreek. It was a look he found odd-the flushed cheeks, the reddened lips, or the fidgeting some of them would do by twirling their fingers or tapping the ground softly with their feet.
As he sat at the table, picking at his food and slowly eating his breakfast—a simple salad with Sunnyside eggs and flatbread—he realised that even though it wasn’t much, it was better than nothing. He was halfway through his meal when he heard Tharos speak up.
“Is there something else bothering you, Cenric?” He looked up, seeing Tharos staring at him with a bored and tired expression that painted his sharp, hawk-like face.
“No, it’s nothing, Tharos,” Cenric stated, hoping to continue eating his breakfast in peace.
“Are you sure about that? I can sense that something is troubling you,” Tharos replied.
Cenric let out a small sigh before responding, “It’s nothing major, just minor things.”
“I understand. But Please stay alert as we need you here to watch over things while Rayner and I are on patrol.”
“Can I join you?” Cenric asked
“No, you are required here, and…” Tharos paused, examining him with his amber-colored eyes. “I don’t believe you are fully prepared for combat just yet. You still have some progress to make, I’m afraid.”
“I see,” Cenric replied, feeling a slight numbness in his face.
“Come on, Cenric. Don’t be disheartened; it doesn’t suit you. I know you want to contribute more, but I don’t want you to overexert yourself,” Tharos said, looking at Cenric. Cenric met Tharos’s gaze, trying to dispel the dark clouds forming in his mind.
Tharos is correct. I have a job to do. Cenric thought to himself as he straightened up.
“Understood,” he said firmly, nodding. Tharos offered him a gentle smile.
After finishing their meal, they thanked Nico and his family for the food and stepped outside. Rayner was waiting for them, already in his armour with light blood splatters on it, his great axe slung over his shoulder. However, there was something off about Rayner that morning, a sight Cenric had seen only once before, last month. In the nights leading up to a full moon, Rayner would become more irritable, his blue eyes appearing bloodshot, and his body occasionally twitching uncontrollably when he thought no one was watching. His wolf-like features would become more pronounced during these times, and he would isolate himself by locking himself indoors or retreating into dark caves. Cenric had some ideas about what might be happening with Rayner but decided to keep them to himself for now, not wanting to pry into Rayner’s business. He was sure Tharos would have brought it up if it was important. Cenric couldn’t help but think that Tharos had his own thoughts about Rayner’s behaviour and was keeping them to himself.
“It seems you’ve had a rather productive morning,” Tharos remarked.
Rayner turned to Tharos with a toothy smile. “I found a small bandit camp a few miles west of here. Some managed to escape, but I think they got the message.” Tharos looked at Rayner with a slightly bemused expression, arms crossed. “A few escaped. That is unusual for you.”
Rayner responded with an angry snort, “Don’t worry, milker drinker, they will taste my axe another day.” He then turned to him and asked, “How did the sparring go? It seems you didn’t trip on your own sword this time, Whelp.”
“Yeah, I’m getting better,” he said. Tharos added, “Yes, he’s making progress. At this rate, he’ll become a decent swordsman.”
Rayner smiled broadly. “That’s good. Soon he’ll be able to join us for all the action.”
Action, yes, that’s one way to describe it. Cenric thought to himself. He never saw battle as enjoyable, more of a necessity when needed.
Tharos spoke up, “Rayner, I’m training him so he can survive on his own, not so he can join you in your wild adventures and escapades.”
Rayner’s tone turned serious, “He’s a wilder, Tharos. Fighting is in his blood. It’s our nature. Why deny him that?”
“Yes, you have made this point abundantly clear before. However, I am not denying him anything. In fact, he is choosing to travel with me. Isn’t freedom something your people value?” Tharos reiterated.
“That’s not the point, and you know it,” Rayner countered.
“Oh,” Tharos sighed, his eyebrow raised. “Then what is the point, please enlighten me in your own words.”
In the next few minutes, Cenric observed Tharos and Rayner engaging in another lively debate, more like an argument, which seemed intense to some villagers but was routine for him. He didn’t pay much attention to these frequent debates as they had become a regular occurrence. Occasionally, something would catch his interest, but most of the time, it was just background noise. Lost in his thoughts, he listened as they debated. After the discussion, Tharos emerged as the winner, as he always did and they soon left for patrol, leaving Cenric to tend to his duties. Reflecting on the exchange, Cenric watched them depart.>
I wish they would ask me, what i wanted or what thoughts are.
With a shrug and a turn of his head, Cenric walked in the opposite direction. He had farm work to help out with, and those apples weren’t going to pick themselves.
