Dark Age Year 871
Twentieth day of the Third month
“I still fondly reminisce about those early days of travelling with Tharos. Despite the challenges and hardships we encountered, such as enduring endless days and nights in the wilderness, facing bandits, wild animals, and monsters on the fringes of civilization, there was always an element of adventure and simplicity to it. Unlike the later years when he gained the moniker “The Dark Hawk,” things became significantly more complicated, to put it lightly. These initial years were, in a way, enjoyable. If you find constant danger and sleeping in abandoned, rat-infested hovels enjoyable, that is. It was during this period that Tharos took me under his wing and imparted various practical skills, including hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, equestrianism, and academic pursuits like history, linguistics, philosophy, and other disciplines. While I didn’t fully grasp them then, and even now, I still don’t comprehend everything entirely. Additionally, he taught 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. So he aimed to address any potential issues before they arose. That was always the justification he would give to me.”
—Excerpt From the memoirs of Cenric Dellcreek.
It is a crisp spring morning in the village of Golden Apple, a village known and famous for its golden yellow apples, a variety of apple only found and grown in Golden Apple. Often used by many wives to make sweet treats for their families or sour apple cider that fills its drinkers with liquid courage, the same kind of liquid courage that filled many a drunkard. The village of Golden Apple is a small but thriving community located on the outskirts of Aria, also known as the Frontiers. The Frontiers is a region in eastern Aria, stretching from the northern and southern coasts to the eastern side of the northern mountains. It serves as the borderland between the Deadlands and civilization in Aria. The Frontiers are known to be a rather dangerous region, as the continent is fraught with danger for its many inhabitants. Filled to the brim with monsters, vicious animals, and various tribes of orcs, goblins, or cannibalistic nomads who venture out of the Deadlands in search of easy loot and plunder. However, in recent years, during what later generations and historians would later call colloquially the era of warlords, a new type of predator would start to roam and stalk these borderlands around the half-dead forests and arid plains. Bandits, freebooters, and mercenaries of all stripes, races, and creeds. And if the bite of their axes, spears or swords didn’t get you, then famine or disease would.
Standing in a closed-off and empty pen behind one of the many homesteads that dotted the village of Golden Apple were two warriors. One of them was a young man with dark tanned skin, messy black hair, amber-colored eyes, and a tall, lean, muscular body with hawk-like features. He was dressed in a simple brown tunic and wore plain leather boots. His opponent was much younger than him. In fact, he could barely be called a man at this point; he was merely an adolescent, on the borderline between boyhood and manhood. He had fair skin, blonde hair, and green eyes. He was of average height and slim of build with gentle and soft features. Wearing a simple green tunic instead of brown and plain leather boots, similar to his counterpart. Both of them were carrying slightly rusted and dented one-handed iron swords. They were rather simple and crude swords, but they were swords that would serve their purpose well, as they did their previous owners, until said owners were pushing up daisies six feet under. These two warriors squared up, with the shorter and much younger warrior making the first strike. The strike was parried masterfully by the much taller and older of the two. The two warriors then exchanged sword strikes with one another, with quick speed and rapid succession, causing the blades to spark, dance, and sing through the air.
As the two warriors exchanged blades, they attracted the attention of many villagers passing by. Most of the onlookers in the village watched in admiration, even though they were not experts in swordplay. It was evident that the older warrior was highly skilled with the blade. The way he held it, twirled and spun it in his fingers, and executed precise strikes and parries showed mastery. His movements left little room for error or mistakes, as if the sword was simply an extension of his body and will. It was a brief distraction in the otherwise mundane and boring life that most of them preferred. Some of the women in the village would sneak quick glances at the faces of the two warriors. A few of them blushed at the handsome countenance of the warriors, finding it overwhelming, especially the younger of the two. They would quickly avert their eyes if they caught looks from their husbands or fathers. However, the two of them didn’t pay attention to the crowd gathering around, especially Cenric. He was too focused on the task at hand, even though Tharos was going easy on him. During this sparring session, he could barely keep up. But wasn’t this the reason he wanted Tharos to train him in the first place? And it’s not like Tharos seemed to mind. In fact, Tharos seemed to enjoy playing the role of the teacher.
“I want to get stronger, I don’t want to be weak and useless.”
These were the words that echoed in Cenric’s mind like repeated blows of a blacksmith’s hammer at the forge.
Cenric swung his sword at Tharos, as he always did during their training sessions. Tharos effortlessly blocked and parried it with a simple flick of his wrist, without even moving the rest of his body. Tharos stood almost as still as a statue, with only the blinking of his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest indicating breathing, and the brief but quick movement of his arm to block or parry Cenric’s clumsy attempts at swordplay. Strike after strike, blow after blow, Tharos would stand there with the same stoic expression. After several more minutes of this exchange, Cenric felt himself out of breath, his arms felt like they were made of lead. As Cenric raised his head to look at Tharos, Tharos gave him a small, reassuring smile.
“I think that will be enough for today’s training session, Cenric,” Tharos said in his actual voice, not the one he would project into the minds of himself and Rayner. His voice was gentle and elegant, with hints of world-weariness.
“Did I at least do better this time, Tharos?” he sighed, looking up at Tharos’ face, hoping without hope to gain more insights into his mentor’s thoughts.
“Well, at least you know how to hold and swing a sword now without tripping up on yourself or letting go of your sword mid-swing. So, it’s a start. However…” Tharos continued. “You give yourself away with too many unnecessary movements, and your footwork is terrible. If you were to fix those, you might have what it takes to be a decent swordsman.”
Cenric looked at the ground beneath him 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 take it too hard, Cenric,” Tharos said warmly. “You have only just started to learn, and the path to mastery begins with a single step. Do you not think that I myself or Rayner didn’t start as you are now? Every warrior worth their weight in salt started somewhere.”
“True, I guess,” Cenric said with a shrug. “But both of you are stronger and far more skilled than most people could ever hope to be. The two of you have single-handedly wiped out entire groups of bandits, several companies’ worth of mercenaries, and let’s not forget the orc war chief and his war-band that you and Rayner slew yesterday to a man. And all of that was just last week.”
“Cenric,” Tharos stated, “strength is a relative concept. All I ask of you is to do your best. That is all that is required of you at this time, and so far you have done exactly that. So, I wouldn’t get too upset about it.” He was about to respond, but Tharos cut him off.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Cenric. You survived Zarbar when so many others did not, and let’s not forget your rather bold and daring escape from the snake people. There are not many people of your age who could pull off such feats.”
“Yeah, I guess, but I had your help and Rayner’s as well. It’s not like I could have done it alone.” But wasn’t that the truth of the situation, at least how he saw it? If it wasn’t for Tharos jumping in to save him in Zarbar, he would have been sliced apart by those things made of liquid metal, like Torag had been, along with so many others, Or by those twisted nightmare abominations. In the Deadlands, sure, he could have escaped from those snake people, but then what? He only had the most basic of survival skills and maybe only a dagger to protect himself with. It wasn’t 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 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 for what felt like several minutes 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 for once and a roof over my head,” 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 Invictus. 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 everyone was compared to him: even though he was only fourteen, he was as tall, if not a bit taller, than most of the fully grown men in this village. The other 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.
As he sat at the table, picking at his food and slowly eating his breakfast, which was a simple salad with Sunnyside eggs and flatbread, he realized 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, nothing at all, Tharos,” Cenric stated, hoping to continue eating his breakfast in peace.
“Are you sure about that? I can sense that there is something troubling you,” Tharos replied.
Cenric gave a small sigh before responding, “It’s nothing major, just small things.”
“I see. Well, keep mindful of your thoughts because we will need you here to keep an eye out while Rayner and I go on patrol.”
“Can I join you?” he asked.
“No, you’re needed here, and…” Tharos looked him up and down, his amber-colored eyes scanning him. “I don’t think you’re fully ready for combat just yet. You still have some ways to go, I’m afraid.”
“I understand,” Cenric said, feeling his face go slightly numb.
“Come on, Cenric. Don’t pout; it is unbecoming of you. I know you want to be more helpful, but I don’t want you to push yourself too hard,” Tharos said, looking at Cenric. Cenric looked back at Tharos, trying to clear his mind of the dark storm clouds that were starting to form. “Tharos is right. I have a job to do,” Cenric thought to himself as he straightened up. “Understood,” he said with a solid nod. Tharos gave him a slightly warm smile.
After finishing their meal, they expressed their gratitude to Nico and his family for the food and then stepped outside. Waiting for them was Rayner, already clad in his armour with light splatters of blood on it, his great axe slung across his shoulder. However, there was something slightly off about Rayner that morning, a sight that only Cenric had witnessed once before, last month. In the nights leading up to a full moon, for some inexplicable reason, Rayner would become more irritable, his striking blue eyes appearing bloodshot, and his body would occasionally twitch uncontrollably when he thought neither he nor Tharos were watching. His wolf-like features would become more pronounced during these times, and uncharacteristically, he would isolate himself from others by frequently locking and barricading himself indoors or retreating deep into dark caves. Cenric had a few ideas about what could be going on with Rayner, but he decided it might be best to keep them to himself for now. He didn’t want to pry into Rayner’s business, and if it was important, Cenric was sure Tharos would have brought it up to him. He couldn’t help but think that Tharos had his own thoughts about what was happening with Rayner and, like himself, was keeping them to himself.
“It seems you’ve had a rather productive morning already,” Tharos remarked.
Rayner turned his full attention towards Tharos, a large toothy smile adorning his wolfish face. “I stumbled upon a small bandit camp a few miles west of here. Unfortunately, some of them managed to escape. But I believe they got the message.”
Cenric noticed Tharos looking at Rayner with a slightly bemused expression, his arms crossed. “A few got away, that’s unusual for you.”
Rayner responded with an angry snort, “Don’t worry, milker drinker, they will taste my axe another day.” He then turned his head towards him and asked, “Well, how did the sparring go? It looks like you didn’t trip on your own sword this time,Welp.”
“Yeah, I am getting better,” he said. Tharos added, “Yes, he made some improvements. At the rate he’s going, he will be a half-decent swordsman yet.”
Rayner gave a wide smile. “That’s good. Soon he will be able to join us for all the fun.”
“Fun, yes, that is one way to put it,” Cenric thought to himself. He never considered battle as something enjoyable. To him, it was more of a necessity when the situation demanded it.
He heard Tharos speak, “Rayner, I am training him so he can develop the skills to survive on his own. I am not training him to join you on your escapades.”
Rayner’s tone became more serious as he countered, “He is a wilder, Tharos. Conflict runs in his very blood. It’s our nature to fight. Why would you deny him that?”
Cenric observed as Tharos and Rayner exchanged words in what seemed like a heated argument to bystanders, but to Cenric, it was simply one of Tharos’ spirited debates. After a brief exchange, Tharos emerged as the victor, and they both set off on patrol, leaving Cenric to his own duties.
