050 » striking through to the bone

[grynd]

[ Wellspring is unchanged when Erhardt returns, and so it seems like to remain thereafter. That is, not only does the town breathe easier in the absence of any immediate threat, but not a day goes by without some grateful gesture sent his way, from notes to gifts. He keeps the former to tuck each one away inside a tin in his quarters, leaving the latter to Bale and his men. There are well wishes aplenty for his swordsman friend, too, and when Olberic writes, they have words to wield in lieu of weapons.

The past can never be undone — by rights, it isn't a matter of letting bygones be bygones, nor would lifelong atonement cleanse the blood from Erhardt's hands — and it feels foreign still, to parry Olberic's every how fares Wellspring with wry wit rusted over. But Erhardt catches himself daring to breathe again, shallow breaths to live instead of merely existing.

In short, Wellspring fares well. Erhardt fares better than he perhaps should.

Once upon a time, he would have moved on to the next town among countless towns, but he'd sworn no more oaths to break then. Now, idle hours licking at the edges of his days like spreading flames, he has his pick of desert roads to patrol with the same relentlessness reserved for the Sunlands' lizardmen.

You'll soon have these parts cleared down to even the last wanderweed, Lord Erhardt — have you no need of rest?

Need of sleep, the same as any other man, certainly, but sleeping and resting were always different things (no rest for the wicked holds true). And as the sun creeps toward the horizon, Erhardt thinks only of the stretch of sandy path before him, his bed far from his mind. ]

Comments

[crossfate]

[underneath the setting sun, something wicked this way comes.

it has been some time now since kit left the company of the eight travelers who saved him from — what, death? death would not have been that slumber so sweet — but the end of his life, at any rate, and an era of darkness for orsterra besides. not that kit is aware of that, really. he is aware only that his father is dead — that his last hope of having a loving, idyllic family to come home to has been laid to rest at last — and with his house long abandoned, kit has nowhere to go, nothing to do, no goals to stir his heart.

he knows only that his father bade him a life to call his own.

but life is a difficult proposition when a lizardman’s steel aims to cut it short.

some distance deep in the wilds of wellspring, kit crossford crosses blades with a lone lizardman — which should be a rarity now that they have been driven to the caves, but even lizardmen have their own laws, and this particular lizardman has been exiled from his tribe for crimes inexplicable to men. driven to hunger by means of his isolation, he now plans to make a meal out of the petite blond traveler who simply looks like he has soft, tender meat hidden beneath his cloak.

kit, of course, does not plan to surrender his meat. as the lizardman’s scimitar swings its way toward his side again, he parries, but the force of the blow shakes his entire arm, and he does not look to have the upper hand in any way.]

Nngh...!

[grynd]

[ Steel meets steel, and the familiar sounds carry, crossing the sands. Their source is a clearer destination, which Erhardt makes for with sure strides, blade at the ready.

He spies the lizardman first, the gleam of his scimitar in the fading daylight. The lizardman's target, this untrained young traveler, would do better to turn to hired steel for protection on his journey — then again, it could well be that he lacks the leaves.

Sword drawn, Erhardt moves swiftly, a streak of colour against miles of pale sand, closing in on the pair from the lizardman's flank to strike. ]

Get back!

[ Erhardt's blade connects with the lizardman's leathery neck, slicing deep, just as the lizardman's attention strays from his desired meal-to-be. It's over in moments — gurgling thickly, the lizardman sags to the ground, shudders, and lies still. ]

[crossfate]

Aaah!

[with a rather undignified yelp, kit jolts backward only to fall onto his own rear end. mumbling sheepishly as he rises, dusting the sand from his trousers and cloak, he seems faintly unsteady, much too weak-legged to be traveling through the harsh desert. he has few possessions. the coinpurse hanging from his belt looks rather small.

his eyes flick downward toward the dead lizardman, then upward, towards erhardt’s face.]

...Thank you. I owe you my life.

[grynd]

[ Droplets of blood flicked from Erhardt's blade dot the sand in an arc near the lizardman's corpse. Scavengers are sure to scent the promise in the stench mingling with the dry air, and soon, the body will be bones picked clean.

Turning to face the stranger wobbling on his feet, Erhardt sizes him up — no blows struck him, as far as the eye can tell. Untrained though he may be, he hasn't met an untimely end, which is no small feat.

With a shake of his head, Erhardt dismisses the young traveler's grateful words, offering him his hand after a moment to steady him. ]

You're uninjured, then?

[crossfate]

...Nothing ails me that will not heal with time.

[with that strange, vague answer, kit stands properly, leaving his shame behind him in the sand. he has his feet firmly placed upon the ground by the time erhardt's hand comes his way, and when he takes it, it is in gratitude, a handshake not unlike those of erhardt's admirers from the ranks of bale's men.]

Thank you, truly — again. Is it some habit of yours to save travelers lost in the sands, good sir?

[grynd]

[ A strange, vague answer indeed, admitting to something amiss, yet hastening to close the topic in the same breath. There was a time when lies rolled off Erhardt's tongue, and he knows such evasive maneuvers well, but who is he — neither apothecary nor priest — to make this stranger's business his own?

So they shake hands. Erhardt's grip is firm, the press of their palms brief. ]

A habit... I've yet to meet other lost travelers, but I've some advice to give them: travel in numbers.

[ Stepping back, Erhardt glances at the darkening sky. ]

...Have you somewhere to be this very night?

[crossfate]

[allowing his hand to fall, kit shakes his head, following erhardt's gaze heavensward. the desert sun has set its cruelty aside for the day, and the merciful moon is beginning to take its place, but that is small comfort when kit feels sweaty and overburdened, with sand stuck to his skin and hair.]

I had companions for a time, but we traveled together only so long as it was convenient for us to do so. We disbanded at Cobbleston.

[cobbleston, where olberic resides now. a coincidence, surely?]

I heard tell of a town called Wellspring, and I thought I would stay there. Is it far from here, sir?

[grynd]

[ At mention of Cobbleston, Erhardt's gaze returns to the weary traveler, lingering on his profile. Too much of a coincidence, this, when Olberic wrote of his own long journey after they parted ways, but likely nothing more than a coincidence nevertheless. ]

If Wellspring is your destination, you're headed the right way — follow me.

[ First, Erhardt hands the boy a water skin. Then, turning away, he takes the lead across sloping sand dunes and cracked barren ground, towards the town. ]

In Cobbleston, you might have sought out a man named Olberic, and left with a few lessons in wielding that blade of yours under your belt, at the least.

[crossfate]

[kit's pride is not so large a thing that he would refuse the waterskin erhardt offers him — as a matter of fact, kit's pride is so minuscule that he settles into pace behind erhardt at once. it still seems difficult to walk on the sands, but the cool water is most welcome against his dry lips. at the mention of olberic, kit even has the audacity to smile.]

Olberic? Ah, he seemed busy with that boy of his... Peter? Or Patrick? — Phillip, I think it was. Anyway, I didn't want to impose, and besides, I've always managed well enough on my own — not that I am not grateful for your assistance, of course!

[grynd]

Is that so...

[ Over his shoulder, Erhardt casts the boy another glance. A traveling companion of Olberic's, then, no coincidence after all, though it seems their journeying together ended before he could become a second pupil.

Always is a long time. How many years, exactly, is no business of Erhardt's, either, but he thinks of Gustav and Gaston, and of a lost young fool, a lifetime ago.

Wellspring's lights glimmer in the distance, tiny specks at first. ]

How brief do you hope to make your stay here?

[crossfate]

[kit is relieved to see the lights in the distance — indeed, his eyes flicker with charming, boyish hope. if the gods are merciful, and he has reason to suspect that they are, he will be able to rest at a comfortable inn in wellspring tonight... provided that the price for his stay does not exceed his finances on hand.]

I only meant to rest the evening. In truth, I am bound for the Grimsand Ruins, in Marsalim. I was told that my father left a message of sorts for me there...

[but the grimsand ruins are a veritable deathtrap for unseasoned travelers — in fact, they were closed off until just recently. unless kit finds the coin to buy a mercenary's services, he's likely to die just trying to get to the catacombs.]

[grynd]

[ It strikes Erhardt as a fool's errand to search the Grimsand Ruins for this message of sorts, but its discovery no doubt promises closure worth risking life and limb. It isn't something that its recipient can content himself to hear secondhand.

Erhardt merely utters a thoughtful sound, leaving it at that for now, and the traveler to his sips of water. They reach the outskirts of Wellspring, the town square, the inn. Stopping outside the door, Erhardt indicates the building with a flick of his fingers. ]

You'll find bed and board here. In the morning, we make for Marsalim.

[crossfate]

[comically, kit does not seem to process this statement until a moment passes — he looks past the oasis a few times, his head turning between the inn and erhardt, blinking owlishly, until at last erhardt's final sentence sinks in and kit points to himself in apparent disbelief.]

I... I'm sorry? You... too?

[he seems strangely panicked and flustered. how is he to repay his savior if his savior means to help him again?!]

[grynd]

[ Erhardt's mouth quirks as he watches the boy's unfolding reaction. ]

The town is in good hands, and I daresay I know these parts better than some. I'll see to it that your journey ends only when you've returned home.

[ With that, considering the matter settled, he pushes open the inn door for the both of them to head through. The innkeeper, upon catching sight of the two new arrivals, gasps aloud, and begins to bustle about, clearly eager to impress. "Sir Erhardt! And a friend here with you, too?"

In the end, Kit may keep his meager funds, offered a room and meals free of charge. ]

[crossfate]

[bewildered, and quite unable to explain that he has no concept of home, kit sputters his way through social interaction until at last he stands in his newly acquired inn room, free of charge, with the innkeeper having gone to fetch a washbasin of abundant oasis water. it's a modest inn room, and wellspring is not goldshore or grandport, but kit looks around the room — at the mattress with its clean sheets and the small desk that is his for the evening — with such obvious wonder that one might suppose he has never had such luxuries in all his life.]

I — b-but how am I to repay you for all this? I really — I've nothing to my name!

[grynd]

[ The innkeeper was adamant — for the duration of his stay, Sir Erhardt's friend would enjoy every humble comfort without paying a single leaf, the least the town could do in repayment for Erhardt's aid so readily given. Erhardt himself keeps Kit company awhile longer, waiting until the young traveler has settled in. From his spot by the door, he speaks up when Kit recovers to muster his protestations: ]

A name to call you was a start. Besides that, you could stay in one piece.

[ After a beat, a moment's contemplation, Erhardt gestures at Kit's blade. ]

One last thing would be to let me see that before we set out.

[crossfate]

M-My sword? What's wrong with it?

[with an anxious expression on his youthful face, kit gives erhardt his sheathed blade as soon as it is requested. it is a handsome longsword, made of — some sort of sturdy metal, with a bizarre inlay that gleams like the stars. on the whole, it seems like an old blade, but one that has been well-kept as a family heirloom more so than a tool for the art of war.]

Ah... and my name is Kit. Kit Crossford... but Kit will do just fine.

[grynd]

[ There is nothing wrong with the sword itself, a finely crafted thing in good condition. Closer inspection now simply confirms Erhardt's suspicions — this blade is the sort kept on the mantelpiece or stored safe and sound in a case for years. It isn't Kit's trusty weapon of choice, and it could have attracted unwanted attention.

Erhardt slides the sword back inside its scabbard, and hands it to its owner, shaking his head. ]

So will your sword. [ Do just fine, that is. ] You've managed well enough on your own, as you say, but it won't hurt to test it against mine.

[crossfate]

You... you would have me test my mettle against yours? I —

[the innkeeper returns then with kit's basin of water, humming to herself as she somewhat briskly opens the door to his room and flashes a sunny smile at the boy and his savior. "it's been so long since i've had such a meek little guest!" she chirps. "we've had all these passing merchants who are so loud and fussy — i've been hoping to get a nice boy like you!"

a strong, broad-shouldered woman, she carries the fairly heavy washbasin with an ease that kit would likely struggle to imitate; it is so full of water that a loud sloshing sound makes the boy jolt when she sets it down, but the innkeeper doesn't spill a drop. "be good to sir erhardt, now!" she says, and excuses herself with a merry little wave.

kit takes his sword and bows his head.]

I, er... Perhaps after a bath?

[grynd]

A bath and a good night's sleep. Preferably breakfast in the morning, I should think.

[ Erhardt turns to see himself out, voice laced with genuine humour. They have time enough before they leave for the ruins to test Kit's mettle; for now, night has fallen, and all he expects for the evening's remainder is that Kit avails himself of the innkeeper's generosity.

Erhardt's own plans, meanwhile, are to seek out Captain Bale.

Framed in the doorway, he glances at Kit a final time. ]

I'll return just after sunup.

[crossfate]

[as the door closes behind erhardt, kit's first thought is that the man's hair is so long, and his second thought ponders what will be served for breakfast tomorrow. he thinks about what his father could have possibly written for him in the grimsand ruins, but there's no use in speculation, so he puts it aside for the moment. he undresses, he bathes, and he goes to sleep.

when he dreams, he dreams of darkness — cold and quiet. he dreams of floating on the waves in a sea of stars.

in the morning, kit feels strangely empty, and he has a distant look in his eyes that no one is around to see. by the time he has gone out into the inn's courtyard with his sword in hand, however (after a hearty breakfast of fruit and breads, of course), kit seems very much himself as he clumsily practices his swing.]

Ah — Sir Erhardt! [he breaks into a laugh.] Everyone calls you that!