The Vagrant Hero

The bright sun graced the world with glistening beams. Dew upon the long grass shimmered like sparkling diamonds. The morning sun kissed the landscape with tremendous admiration. A gentle breeze seemed to carry the songs of birds in the trees. The squirrels upon the grounds were busy picking amongst the dense grass. They searched for bugs and the occasional seed. A well-worn dirt road commonly traveled had a side path; this led to a lightly beaten patch of ground. Taking this further laid the way towards a cottage amongst all the serenity of the wild. It was a simple cottage of a hewed log, a roof of thatch, its chimney devised of hewn stone masonry. Windows were but square openings that had wooden shutters. Garden tools set aside ricks of wood. To complete the scenery would be a lackluster, clothesline currently holding bed sheets drafted in the wind. Some would consider such a residence a harsh mistress to please. However, the family that resided here. Knew the harsh reality, that civilization's ways could create even more atrocities than nature could offer. A simple family of three lived within. However, only two were present currently. The man of the house, Cyrus, was resting his eyes in the living room, sitting in his favorite rocking chair in a dark corner. His wife Merle was knee-deep in her task of sorting a large pile of clothing in their bedroom. "Cyrus." spoke a soft voice inside the cottage's main bedroom. The sun's morning vibrancy lit the room well as the large windows were opened wide. The room was of simple design. A large wooden bed frame housed a mattress, pillow, and blankets. On either side of it, rest the same tables with half-burned up candles. Against the wall bore a wardrobe, to its side, a vanity table with a round silver polished mirror the centerpiece. A variety of trinkets, necklaces, rings, and other accessories neatly adorned its surface. A chair sat next to the bedroom door with a pair of cracked, faded, heavily traveled leather boots afront it. Merle's voice commenced doing a soft rhythmic hum as she awaited a response. Her humming matched her work pace as she was sorting out clothing to place in drawers and armoires. Some of these clothes were beyond repair, long tears in pants from worn stitching, holes from snagging something, or simple age had taken its toll. These would be tossed to the floor to be cut up into rags. Those with good thread would be pulled apart for the string. She stood before quite the allotment of things that she piled up on her bed. Upon their large bed, britches, undergarments, shirts, coats, and many more items. As she kept to her task, a particular cloth item caught her eye from within the pile. Its vibrant colors made it stand out quite well to her. Long delicate fingers pecked it up quickly. She held up a green and orange tabard. The tabard adorned a mystical beast upon it, the Pheonix. The intricate decore made up the orange of the tabard. Her brown eyes grew with a burning passion as memories swept her mind. Her soft pink lips adorned a smirk. Gentle crows feet trimmed the corners of her eyes. Her quick laugh offset the revelation of her age. All this over her remembering her husband's service to his country. She was always the one that felt he did well, despite knowing he felt quite the opposite. Her all too well-known gut knowledge of her husband is what broke the silence of the room. "I hope you didn't wake me from my chair nap to look at that." Standing in the doorway, a man of venerable age spoke, his eyes of ice blue looked upon the tabard. Then to the gigantic mess that was scattered across their bed. The reason why he rested in a chair and not here. His frame wasn't too large, but he was a man of well-fed weight, his height was only slightly above average. Hair of black was akin to his beard, both medium in length and wild, with patches of grey to match. A mild stagger pulled him into the room. His legs tense from having sat immobile for some time. His muscles loosened as he approached Merle, his beckoning wife. "Haven't worn that in over five moons, I do not intend to anytime soon." His confession was to be expected. He approached her, his hands brushing her long dark brown hair towards her back. Clearing every small strand, he could see. Grasping her shoulders, gently, he kneaded them. His rough-skinned fingers enjoyed the cold touch of her silky soft skin. Her slight smile awarded him with a warm, heartfelt sense of fulfillment as she looked at him from over her shoulder. "No, I pulled it from the massive mess of garments I'm sifting through, see what to keep and what not to keep. I do intend on keeping this for the memories of when you served the great kingdom of Astalon." Her voice hinted a deep sense of pride on his behalf. "Where should I hang it I ponder?" Her words were quickly followed by pulling away to face him. She seemed to partake a small joy in giving him grief. Maybe perhaps she knew that deep down inside, he didn't hold as much dismay to it as he claimed. Bearing the tabard up, she would eye it to walls beside the bed. A playful laugh the whole while. Shaking his head with a look of irritation on his face, he would question her motives. " How can you look at that stuff with such joy after all I had done ended up going nowhere? Twenty moons of service to be called a traitor of humanity, and forced to retire." Her lighthearted humor seemed to strike a small chord within him. Merle would approach him, placing a hand on his full-bearded cheek. Her eyes would peer deep into his. "Well, I know you always did right. Politics are one thing, but your conviction to true peace amongst all races. Not just humans were the justest cause ever. I understand you ended up on the raw deal, but that didn't stop you from trying the best you could." Gently her fingers, combed his facial hair. "I asked you in here to go retrieve our daughter. She's been gone a couple of days, and I fear she may be overstaying her welcome at Baird's house or burning up all her coin on room and board at an inn." Knowing Sybil, she was doing both. It was that time of the season where the city abounded with many events and festivities—plenty going on to keep a youthful mind and soul occupied morning, noon, and night. With a close friend like Wrynn, it made it all the more enjoyable for Sybil to visit the city. Merle, often having dual intent with her reasons, also seen this as a good time for Cyrus to meet his old student and one true friend Zell. He was the father of Wrynn, and with Cyrus's last pull of power as captain. The reason Zell stood as captain of the Knights of the Phoenix. A heavy sigh would brood from Cyrus as he gave a simple nod to her request. "I already have a good idea of where she may have wandered off to..." He would peer out the bedroom window as he pulled away from his wife. He crept the window; his ideas came to sound. "Either up to no good with Wrynn, or she's in Fairemoore watching the knights events." his voice rumbled out the latter. "I'll gather my things and head out for her." Turning from the window, looking at his old boots in front of the chair, he would approach them. How many times did he wear these things? He pondered as he took a seat to put them on. Maybe while in the city, he would do well to buy some replacements, he thought. "You need to get out of the house; you used to love travel and adventure. Maybe if you make it to the city." Her toes would tap the tip of the boots. "Buy some new things? Like boots for starters." She often found it an odd bent; he would wear things to the point of all but disintegration. However, when it came to armaments, he tended to them quite the regular. "Perhaps you could enjoy Zell's company as well? It's been half a moon since you saw him last." Remembering back to it, the celebration of Wrynn's natal day was the last time the two had seen one another. "Despite everything, he still values you both as a close friend and advisor." Cyrus felt as though she read his thoughts often. He knew deep down inside; every word she uttered rang right to his heart. He agreed with her about the much-needed update on footwear. "Perhaps I will find something that will be a surprise for you as well." He intended to change the subject to something more favorable than her, knowing she was all too justifiable about the situation. "Mayhap I shall buy you a dress? The prime season is upon us, after all." The spring season had arisen just recently. The flowers blossomed, it was time for sowing seed, and once again, after the long frost to enjoy the outdoors once more. "Well, I do enjoy a good surprise from time to time. Been ages since you've spoiled me with a proper gift." Her retort to his offering was just enough to give him a chance to stand to his feet. "Off to the cellar than to grab your stuff? You'd best not move a thing outside of what you are taking! I spent what felt to be an eternity organizing it." Her words grew with a hint of stern nature as he proceeded out of the room. She wanted to ensure her comments were met with an ear to ear reception. "I will look after you are done, you mess it up, and I will have your hide, Cyrus." Her animosity only grew from the stress of trying to build a cozy homestead for her and her family. The three had been through many hardships and came so far. This wasn't an age of convenience. It was an age of horse-drawn wagons. Building domiciles took dedication and time to build. Cyrus was a man of warfare, and a warriors brawn, not construction. This was within his blood, and it was all he knew well. She, however, was a tailor, a mason, and a building planner. The profession she admired most was male-dominated, but that only stoked the flames within Merle. The fire she knew all too well drew many suitors. They were not enough, though. They lacked discipline and foresight, but at best pulled Cyrus to her. They always go above and beyond for one another. Cyrus made his way outside behind the cottage. Pulling open two enormous wooden doors, he made his way downstairs to his cellar. His wife's words were ringing in his ears as if a bell toll echoing. This cellar did not hold the typical storages found within most things such as coal, wine, or grain sacks. This cellar held Cyrus's small ensemble of items he had collected throughout his many years of service. Various armors adorned mannequins ranging from simple chainmail to ornate breastplate. Swords, axes, flails, shields, and polearms hung the walls. He encroached by candlelight to a wooden table, sharing the flame with candles upon the table. The illumination grew. The tables long waxed light-bringers brought upon the room a healthy glow. His blue eyes of his surveyed his wares. Mentally, he created a list of things he would take for himself. Before he began to pack, he looked up to the wall just above the table, a stone plaque commemorating his services for twenty moons hung there. It was an eyesore for him to see Merle had placed it back up. Even after his several attempts at removing it. Her words rang once more in his mind. He understood why she held on to these things, so he just left it up. Aside from that notion, he told himself, never mess with a builder and their blocks. He took back to the homestead after he had packed his gear. A short sword upon his side sheathed in its excellent leather scabbard—three throwing knives adorning a chest bandolier. A hint of a bulge from his boot should one take notice. It told the story of a boot knife. One that saved him, quite remarkably, he never forgot its value. A recurve bow of artisan craft rounded his shoulder, and it's quiver the opposite. He seemed like a man ready to face any adversary that dare cross him just as his wife would have wanted to see him be. "Alright, Merle, I'm all set and ready. Depending on how it goes, it may take some time, a day or so. More if Zell and his convincing ways make headway." The leather he wore upon himself for protection was pristine and well-tended to. Much to Merle's dismay, it collided with his boots and his facial presentation. She felt she didn't marry a feral man of the wild but a man who took upon the wild. She approached him in the living room, standing a few feet back, she looked him up and down. "Age hasn't stopped you one bit, you still look handsome, and the leather still fits well, I see." Her eye's charmed upon him as if a schoolgirl witnessed her first crush. Drawing closer to him, her small soft hand would grace his hairy face. "I pray the roads to treat you well. I fear not what the world will throw your way. Quite the opposite, in fact." chuckling, she would lean up on her tiptoes to meet her lips to his. The kiss was meant to quiet his untrust of the roads. "Do be mindful, and pull your hair back. We may have chosen country life, but we aren't uncivil." She would help herself to get a thong of leather from a nearby drawer and a brush from another drawer. Before he knew it, she was pulling his long black hair back into a simple ponytail. Then such actions turned into retrieving small clippers from a drawer. He took note that maybe, having her beautician tools in the living quarters. It wasn't the best course for those in mind for the road. Yet he endured her nurturing ways with soft eyes, watching her as she clipped away his hair with focused intent. Cyrus let Merle do her thing. He knew how she could be at times. "Perhaps I should leave more often just to get such attention?" He noted as she went from the hair to trimming his beard and mustache with scissors to make it less homely in appearance. She all but removed his beard and mustache. She left him a well-groomed goatee. As he looked upon the wooden floor, taking note of the amount of hair loss. He requested, "Am I fit for the road yet?" his question was answered with a relieved sigh and a nod from Merle. She pulled away with scissors in hand, beholding her fabulous self made masterpiece. "I will take the cease-fire as a yes?" His hand was raised to stroke what left of his facial hair. To his dismay, little remained. To pull his thoughts from looking like youth, he turned away from her. Cabinets that may chance of held food were his focus. Despite the silent admiring looks from his lover, he pressed onward with preparations. Dried rations were a traveler's keepsake during times of hardship. He knew this better than anyone being a former man of the road. Merle would make known as he searched. "I made a special home for them, down in the bottom cabinets to keep them cool and dry." Her mind is already picking apart his actions with ease. "I was told that it would keep freshness. We shall see?" Her hands brought themselves upon a broom that rested in the corner of the room. It was meant to clean up the mess she had made with his facial hair. The brush was homemade, the handle a tree branch that was worked into a stick shape. Tied to it with string at its base was thick hay that drew softer towards the end. Her sweeping motion ceased long enough to relieve the backdoor of being closed. Sweeping the debris outside, she would swing around to find Cyrus packing up commodities. She placed the broom back to its corner, and her coffee-colored eyes peered upon his rations. A simple mix comprised mostly of dried things such as meat jerky chunks, nuts, and toasted rye bread made the previous day. He began stowing the rations into his bags; those azure eyes would peer over his shoulder at his betrothed. "Do you remember how to defend yourself?" The question was brought up time and time again. One, he asked each time he left just about. Even if only a brief moment to tend to matters outside. Things such as the small garden of vegetables or to cut wood. Cyrus felt it was necessary, though, for she was his everything. Should he return home without her? That would mean a home not worth returning to in his eyes. However, many verbal war-torn battles lay between the two. He still remembers their first meet fondly. She was along the side streets, her prowess at the time was a bricklaying challenge. Despite her best efforts, she was outplayed by the other mason. Seeing her heart shattered, her ambitions for her craft brought to a mediocrity. He brought it upon himself to ease her pain and cut ropes that tied her to negativity. His invitation to dinner was the last thing she expected on that day of defeat. That evening was for both magical and unforgettable despite its simplicity. From that moment, he told himself he would bear such burdens. For him, her sacrifices eclipsed his own in every way. "Of course I do, I was taught by the best in-fact," Merle responded with a confident tone. Her chest perked as her back arched, hands firmly planted to her hips. Her mind reprised all the days she met dawn. A youthful, energetic husband at the time sought to teach her the ways of a swordsman. Outside the back of their domicile within the city, he trained her. His own men a touch envious at the fact she was treated to one on one tutelage. "You haven't a thing to worry about, and it will be as if you never left when you return." She would get back to her task at hand. "That is, if I can manage to get all this sorted, made quite the mess for myself." Merle eyed their bedroom with chagrin. "I guess the only way to finish it is to dive into it." Making her way into the bedroom, she felt a cold chill up her spine. Looking back revealed him gazing at her. A quick press of her lips to her fingertips, she blew a soft kiss at him. "I'll be fine, go tend to Sybil." Returning to her original task for the day, she made her way into the master bedroom. Cyrus would bid his farewells. He was reassuring her that she would see her ordeal through and be satisfied with the results in the end. Making his way outdoors, he sought his steed. He made his way out front of the cottage. Two horses were tied off. Cyrus relieved one of its bonds and began preparing it and placing his provisions upon his horse Hail Storm, a sturdy black horse with various sized white spots adorning its body. Mounting up, he would take leave headed down the dirt path, peering at his surroundings. Large trees scattering the area, assortments of flowers blossomed like wildfire in patches. He felt a sense of pride. He had found such unfettered beauty for his family. Along the trail, he went for ways until he hit the crossroads, a sign of weathered wood pointed one direction for Fairemoore City, the other direction was to Kappa Hills. Both of his destinations lie heading towards Fairemoore. Whether it be Baird's household or Fairemoore itself, he knew Sybil would be at one or the other. The horse was valiantly trotting along the ground. The travel so far had been a quiet trek. It gave Cyrus a lot to think upon. He hadn't traveled to the city in several moons. His curiosity was peaked at what kind of reception he would receive upon arrival? To some, he was still a former knight of honors. To others, he was a traitor to Astalon itself. He brushed aside wild thoughts of possible outcomes of scenarios that played inside his mind. His duty was to get his daughter back home, not care what city dwellers thought of him. Being a man of action and tactical thinking led his mind to more horrid concepts. Sybil's name would be well known. What if she were kidn*pped for ransom Jailed for a folly crime just because of her birthright. Perhaps the King deemed her a criminals child and gave her no quarter and had her hung? King Edwin wouldn't do such a thing, would he? Cyrus, having served him for twenty moons, shouldn't warrant such disdain. Despite the brazen attempt to unite Subterrans to the surface, Was the choice wrong, he thought heavily? Do humans fear the unknown to such lengths they would stoop to such lows as to incriminate his offspring? His heels spurred Hail Storms' sides without thought. He seemed to beckon the equine to traverse the landscape faster. Combating his mind to no end, he found himself gladly interrupted by a familiar passer-by. "Cyrus, you old hound, you must have known I was coming to get you." The familiar voice rang true. It was Zell Baird of all people. The young man taught by Cyrus from squiredom. He had aged mildly from when Cyrus last saw him. A dirty-blonde hair trimmed down into a bowl cut that cropped his ears slightly. Ember iris had a stare of brightness. They gave him a boyish charm and a sense of eternal youth. His frame laid light upon his war-horse of brindle coloration. His face clean of all hair, high cheekbones pronounced his face. Zell was a man a skin of a fair complexion, spots of freckles moderately patched along his face. "Zell." Cyrus would chuckle as he met eyes with the last person he held close to him in the knighthood. " To find you here a quirk. It was Merle's idea I get out of the house and get Sybil back home safe." "I figured as much, but I fear you are a touch late." The words Zell spoke hit a massive chord on the livelihood of the two reuniting. Pulling back on his horse's reigns to send it the opposite direction. "The king has placed her under imprisonment." Looking away from his former master, he gave a deep pause to find his next words. "She's under internment, bound for the noose on tomorrow's high sun." Eyes closed, he thought back to the supposed events. "She grew outlandish and daring with the King's court. I tried to still her tongue as did Wrynn." His words were all too convincing. A smile broke under his corrupt nature. His best attempt to regain his composure fell short to his audience. Meeting the eye to eye with Cyrus, he braced for the worst outcome. He knew the veteran to be a stalwart foe from the first-hand wrath. Yet he still strove to test him despite knowing the outcome. Cyrus had given many a foe the same glare of hostile intent. Despite many years absent from handling interrogation. He was a natural at revealing the truth from others. Lying wasn't one of Zell's strong suits as-is. If his deception were more talented in design, Cyrus might have taken greater offense and lashed out accordingly. However, he took the bluff with a grain of salt. Drawing his horse near Zell's, he would reach out and pat him on his shoulder. "You were always horrific at deception, my friend." A slight chuckle, along with a firm grip on Zell's shoulder, the veteran would pull his reigns away. His horse would jerk away from the knight, yanking him off of his horse. "You never were good at horse riding either," announced Cyrus as he watched his friend land hard on the ground. "Your horseplay, though, always a good time." He would dismount and aid Zell up to his feet, patting the dirt from his back. "So tell me, what's the real news?" Grunting to get back to his feet, he would groan. "I deserved that." Taking in a deep breath, Zell would regain his composure. "All is well in Fairemoore. The festival is underway, so it has been quite the bustling of people." Grasping the reins of his steed, he would mount up. Taking note of Cyrus's swiftness, he would proclaim the feat. "I see you haven't lost your edge, old-timer." His side still gave a mild ache from hitting the ground so swiftly. He chose not to present it openly, though. He knew it would incite weakness. "The girls are around the city, adrift in the knight's events. You remember, right?" He brought his horse to face the road. Their direction was to the city. "Perhaps you can help me find some suitors for recruitment? I know you always had a keen eye for the best." Guffawed as he began to make headway. "You did find me after all! Best and brightest if I remember correctly?" He was reciting the knight's graduation ceremony speech that Cyrus had given tenfold. Words he ever vigilantly used against his former trainer and still best friend. "Trained by Cyrus Stoutheart, the undaunted!" He gave pretend to there being fanfare from a large crowd, hooping and hollering cheers and celebrations. "That was a long time ago, Zell, you know that." He gave his horse a gentle spur to adhere to its speed to match up. "Haven't gone by that in many moons, and remember!" He would point to his head. "I was young too once, and I made mistakes. Perhaps you one of them I ponder from time to time." In light of Zell's boisterous nature. A mental relief had befallen Cyrus for the moment as he watched his former pupil's praise. "I hadn't thought it would go in that direction, given the circumstances which I still hold strong to my beliefs on the matter. If memory serves correct, it was an unpopular opinion that got several people, including me, forced to retire or if not in the best of standing. Banished, imprisoned, or flat out killed." His eye seemed to peer deep into the knight's core. His words struck Zell as though a dagger pierced him deeply. "Cyrus, I still believe in you and what you stand for. You must understand why it turned out the way it did. It was out of everyone's hands except for the council. We all know when it turns political, they are snakes looking for the best gain to be had." He kept his gaze upon the face of Cyrus. Trotting, along with one another, the silence was a must. Respect for one another was a rooted tree as they mentally relived that moment in history. "In the interest of the people..." Cyrus quoted his disbarment from the knighthood. "We feel you and other members of the order have an extreme nature, and it must be handled firmly. Given your valiant services over the past twenty moons, we grant you a peace-pass Retirement from the knight's order and enough silver to fulfill any man's desires. It's the best we can offer. Consider it merciful to us that you are not executed for actions against humanity." Cyrus zoned out as he remembered that day as if it were yesterday's news. Zell took a moment of pause. His eyes locked on his former trainer. The animosity in the air was thick. "Those men matter not. What matters is the people. Everything we ever stood for was for the people. Not the governing offices, magistrates, or any of those affiliates. Come on, Cyrus, grace the people with your presence. Times are changing for the better. You shook the world with wanting to accept underworld races into the surface." Zell took a moment to think back. "The Great Upheaval, when the subterrans arose from their caves and mountains. Not many thought they sought help. You and a few others had the wisdom and foresight to receive such unusual behavior as just that. Not an act of war." His wisdom of the whole situation gave a renewed light to the case. "Perhaps you are needed now more than ever before." The words he spoke rang of more than what appeared on the surface of matters. It seemed as though Zell counted on Cyrus to come exploring the city. The appellation rang true in Cyrus's ears. Despite how he felt about the situation, Zell always seemed to have a means of bringing him around. "Let's see if you are right, and it'll be good to travel with a conversation rather than my own mind. What has all changed? Is the magi council remade? Are city-folk seeing more underground slaves that are unjust for the cause? Since the war has been over, that is." Cyrus started to fall for the idea that humanity had woken up somewhat. He and several others faced death's door for such thoughts. He knew all but the most insectoid type races of the unknown lands were of deep thinking and actions. Much was akin to the humans of the above world. The surface dwellers saw them as threats, though. Whether it be the magical powers elves naturally possessed. The sheer might of orcs and ogres. The warmongering mind of the dwarves. All of them presented one thing that humanity feared of the utmost. Something different and unknown.