AlkaNephrite
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A week after the vurr’men invasion, the worst of the damage done to the village had been repaired and most of the injured were healed and ready to get back to their normal lives. Though the invasion left marks that would never heal, most of the villagers felt that the invasion, bloody and gruesome though it was, had taught them a valuable lesson: never be too complacent about security. The villagers, once confident in their guard of fifteen knights, now began to look for ways to better strengthen the defences, the able-bodied deciding to further their knowledge of combat, those too old to do so picking up books and tomes on healing and medicine, and those with families teaching their children the basics of fighting and healing. There was even talk of starting a school dedicated to teaching combat and heroic attributes. The only real shame, Paul’s father surmised as he watched the village leaders squabble over the idea of hiring mercenaries to protect them, was that it took such a horrible tragedy for this good change to occur.
Even now, the people of the village worked hard to bring the place back to life. Some of the structures had collapsed and went up in flames, courtesy of either a vurr’man’s stray bomb or one of their mages’ spells. The once fine collection of herbs and flowering plants growing around the village had been trampled underfoot, whether by attacker or defender, no one was sure. Some of the houses by the outskirts of the village had been ripped to pieces by the vurr’men’s forces. Considering all that, it seemed almost miraculous that only twenty had died.
Still watching the people working around him, he strode his way past the houses undergoing repairs -pausing only to greet his wife when he passed by her healing booth- before stopping just in front of the remains of the weapon shop, right by the edge of the village. Here, he stopped, straining to hear if there was someone, or something, anywhere near the vicinity of the weapon shop. He had to be somewhere around here...
He heard it. Wood crashing on wood. He walked on, letting the noise guide him through the plains until he reached it. The training ground. Loud blows echoed through a clearing he knew was used as a sparring ground by the knights and warriors of the village, himself included. He could hear someone there.
“Christian. What are you doing here?”
A warrior stood alone in front of a wooden practice dummy, a long wooden sword held loosely in hand. The man wore no armor today, wearing only plain clothes with his hair tied back, sweat pouring from his brow. It only took him one guess to figure out what he had been doing. Christian grinned, looking almost sheepish as he dropped the sword and walked over to where Brom stood.
“Hello Brom,” Christian greeted. “Fine day, isn’t it?”
Brom nodded before raising one hand as if to stop him from saying anything more. “I asked you a question...What are you doing here?”
Christian looked sheepish. “Well, I wanted to practice my sword fighting so...” His voice trailed off, as if he was unsure of what to say.
Brom raised an eyebrow at this. “There’s a perfectly good sparring ground in the middle of the village and I’m sure the others won’t mind if you ask to have the place to yourself for a bit. Why out here?” he gestured at the wide field, filled with old dummies and targets, some of them battered and worn, others burned and some shot with arrows.
Christian looked around, as if checking for unwanted listeners. “I uh... also wanted to avoid the... fan club back at the village.”
Brom burst out laughing, the lighthearted sound making him seem years younger. It was true. Because of Christian's active participation in defending the village and because of his being the one to slay the vurr’men’s leader, a V.O.U.G. called Snadzek, he had gained quite the fan club. Though he certainly didn’t mind giving tips and pointers in sword fighting to those who asked for it, he wasn’t all that fond of having entire groups of people running up to him and demanding him to teach them sword fighting. He even received, of all things, several marriage proposals. For Lore’s sake, he was already married! How many times did he have to repeat that, really now?
“The kids are getting to you, huh?” Brom remarked when he recovered, though his face still bore the traces of a smile.
“Don’t remind me...” he muttered, remembering one of the kids leaping on his back and asking if he could be his apprentice. The boy, being only ten years old, was inevitably refused. But that still wasn’t enough to stop the boy, named Solan, from following him around, practically a stalker. “I never knew that children could be such a handful...”
Brom smiled, almost sympathetically. “You’ll learn to get used to it.”
“I wish.”
The two men laughed.
Then, with a thoughtful expression on his face, Brom said. “Christian? Would you mind if I asked you something?” At the other’s nod, he continued. “How long have you been a hero?”
It was Christian’s turn to look thoughtful. “For about... twenty years or so. Why do you ask?”
Brom looked at the sky. “I’ve heard many tales about your adventures,” he said quietly. “Though I will admit, after hearing about so many heroes in the past few years, I stopped thinking of any story about a great hero as true. Especially because half of them seemed like copies of another’s grand quest. When I heard of your stories... well I passed them off as mere exaggerations of the truth, as I did with almost every story I’ve heard. After seeing you in actual combat... well, I wondered. You...You have to be one of the most skillful swordsmen I’ve seen in years. I was wondering about how long you’ve had to train to achieve that level of skill.”
Christian was silent. “Well...I’m certainly no ultimate, invincible hero, contrary to what some believe. How I attained my skill with the sword... that would be the result of good training and a lot of practice. If you’re asking about how long I’ve been practicing my sword fighting, I’ve trained with the sword since childhood but...”
“I wanted to know how long it took you to achieve your level in sword fighting. I’ve met heroes who’ve trained with swords since childhood whose skills are about as average as they get. You on the other hand...” His voice trailed off and he looked expectantly at the other warrior. Christian was silent again, deep in thought.
“Well... I think my skills have grown more in these past five years than they have in all my years of heroism.”
“Why is that?” Brom couldn’t help but ask, looking curious as he tried to recall the stories he heard five years ago. There was something about a knight...
“Five years ago, I fought an enemy I couldn’t defeat and lost within minutes of our battle. Though I managed to survive because of Fireheart, my enemy... well, he got what he wanted and no one was able to stop him. I... I haven’t really forgiven myself after that.”
His voice trailed off and he looked away. Brom nodded. He wasn’t surprised. Failure, as his own father once told him, gave good people the push to better themselves. He remembered now. It was a story about a powerful knight... or was it a DoomKnight? ... who destroyed a whole village in search of a... sage, was it? ... who claimed to see the prophecies for what they were and defeated a powerful hero named Christian in the process. But the sage... what happened to the sage was... he died in the explosion...
Or, according to other stories, killed himself, rambling about a Great Prophecy and two Great Dragons before he picked up a dagger and slit his own throat.
A Great Prophecy...
“On the brighter side of things,” Christian said suddenly, shocking Brom out of his reverie. “I got married a year after that incident. And two years after that, I made friends with another hero and we became travelling buddies.”
Brom smiled. “Well that’s nice to hear. Who was the lucky girl?”
A small smile spread over his face, an almost blissful expression. “Personally, I think I’M the lucky one. Her name is Alexandrea... Drea. She’s a mage and a healer.”
The other man grinned at his expression. “She sounds nice. And she sounds like a good match for your skill set.”
Christian scratched his head almost sheepishly. “She’s very nice... but when she gets mad...”
“Let me guess... you get whipped.”
“Yep.”
Brom laughed, though with an amount of sympathy in his eyes. He felt his pain... “And the travelling buddy? Who was it? Anyone famous?” If it WAS someone famous, he’d have probably known though...
He tilted his head, as if in contemplation. “A little but she’s publicity shy and tends to disappear from places when she starts hearing her name in conversations. If she wasn’t... well... she’d be as famous as I am.”
Brom looked impressed. Must’ve been a tough one then... “Name?”
“Rosalka. Her name’s Rosalka. A rogue... or close enough.”
He shook his head. He didn’t remember a Rosalka in any of the stories the travellers told. “Why ‘close enough’?”
Christian looked up, almost nostalgic. “She prefers daggers and she can dual wield but she likes to use magic when she attacks. Not like how a mage uses magic, mind you; she doesn’t go around firing elemental spheres or anything like that. She uses some sort of... symbol magic or whatever. A lot of potions and charms are involved... and sometimes, when she uses a bow or a slingshot, trick shots. Unlike with most rogues, magic’s a huge part of her fighting style.”
He didn’t think he’d ever heard of anyone who fought like that. He could remember a merchant who gossiped about a mage who preferred casting spells with a dagger instead of a staff but that was it. A rogue... with spells... “Sounds interesting.”
Christian laughed. “It is. Especially when she and Drea team up. Those combo moves...” he shook his head. “Excellent.”
Brom looked at him, a strange expression on his face. “They’re friends with each other?”
“Yes. They’re best friends, even.”
Brom suddenly looked at him with a lopsided smile, as if he had found something amusing in his statement. “Have they ever teamed up against you?”
He looked startled. “What?”
“You know... have they ever tag teamed you in arguments?”
Judging by the look on his face, the answer was a big, fat yes.
“You should’ve seen it when they first met... guilt tripping... old incidents... embarrassing secrets... skipped healing sessions...” He shuddered. “All in half an hour...”
He looked so genuinely tortured, Brom couldn’t help but laugh. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh...
When his laughter died down, Christian was back to normal and was waiting patiently for Brom to get over it. “Well what about you?” Christian asked, as soon as he saw that Brom had regained his breath.
“What about me?” he asked.
Christian looked curious. “Well I pretty much told you a huge chunk of my life story. I’d like to know about you.”
Brom was silent. “My life isn’t that exciting.” he finally said.
“I’m sure that’s not true-”
“It is,” he interrupted. “Not to a Hero like you. I was born and raised on a farm. I became a warrior and served the Swordhaven Army as a soldier who never rose a rank after sergeant then I retired and became a guard for this village. Met my wife Lia and had five kids: Paul, Brom (Jr.), Orcus, Arya, and Tenol. After that, nothing.”
Christian was silent. “Well...” he finally began. “It’s interesting to me. But... why did your ranking stay like that?”
Brom gave a hollow, bitter laugh. “According to my superiors? Because I was a talentless chump at sword fighting.”
He protested. “I’m sure that’s not-”
Brom interrupted. “It is. I got where I was because I worked hard to get to my level of skill but there was always someone better, someone who had the talent to bring their skills to a higher level. I could never compete with that...” he shook his head. “Do you want to know what they told me?”
Christian looked cautious. “What... What was it?”
“They said that I was too average for the job. Average. As if we average just weren’t worth it.” He seemed to age as said those words, as if those memories opened old wounds. The bitterness in his voice certainly echoed that.
“...Those guys were just jerks.” he finally said. “I’m sure you were as good as the rest of them. I saw you fighting last week. You...You’re a good strategist.”
He gave that bitter laugh again. “Do you really want to inflate an old man’s ego?”
“No... it’s just that... I saw you. You were brave... because of your quick thinking, you managed to get the children, the elderly and all those who couldn’t fight to evacuate to safety.”
His expression changed, his face sorrowful. “And yet eleven of the ones who died were the ones I tried to save.”
“...That wasn’t your fault.”
“It practically is.”
Christian was silent again. Then after the longest pause, he spoke. “‘I believe in the courage that drives men to fight for others, the courage that drives men protect those who cannot protect themselves.’” He paused for a second. “A friend of mine told me that. I feel the same. You were brave. That’s what makes a hero. I’m sure your commanding officers just didn’t see that. Blind of them not to, really.”
Brom was silent. “Blind you say...” and he was silent again, eyes closed, a strange, bitter expression on his face. “Hah...”
Once again, Christian had nothing to say. Not for the first time in his life, he wondered. He wondered about the people he saved, about those who couldn’t fight and had to be protected, about those who tried to fight but never had the talent...
‘Unlike me...’ he thought to himself, remembering how his first teacher told him that he was a natural at swordfighting. He could never imagine Brom’s situation, working hard but never getting what you want, what with someone always better, always smarter or stronger. He had always been talented. Always had been. But now...
“Fight me.”
Brom’s voice was quiet, curt and held no trace of his earlier bitterness. He looked composed now, noble even. Like a knight, he thought to himself, remembering the many good knights he had seen in his travels.
“...What?” was the only response Christian could muster, the older man’s sudden shift in mood startling him as much as the sudden request.
His eyes were calm. “I said, fight me.”
“What...What are you talking about?” he was still confused though he did have an idea on what Brom was talking about... and his intentions...
“I formally challenge you to a duel, one on one, your sword against mine, tomorrow afternoon.”
“Wait... wait...” he tried to clear his thoughts. Modesty aside, there was absolutely no way the older man could win against him in a serious fight. “Why?”
“Why are you asking ‘why’?” Brom shot back, crossing his arms, looking stern.
“It’s...It’s just a bit sudden. We don’t have any reason to fight now, do we?”
“We don’t have a reason NOT to fight. A good spar is an excellent way to practice our fighting skills. Unless, of course....” he raised a brow, “...You don’t think I have snowball’s chance in a pyromancer’s inferno?”
He was actually thinking of that...
“It’s not that! Honest!” he protested, albeit a trifle too hastily. “It’s just that... well...”
“Well nothing,” Brom cut in bluntly. “You have no reason to refuse my request. Unless...” one side of his mouth twitched upwards. “You’re scared of losing to a crusty old man?”
“I’m not!” Though he knew full well that Brom was trying to goad him, he was always rather defensive about those sorts of things. In fact, there was a time when he never refused a chance to duel...
“Then let’s make it public then. Tomorrow, after lunch, with real armor and actual weapons and at the village square. None of this sparring gear. No magic. Just a simple sparring match. Got it?”
“Yes but-“
“But nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.” and with that, Brom turned heel and stalked off, away from the village, heading in the direction of the forests north of the village, leaving Christian still wondering just how he got into this situation.
--
Brom stopped halfway through to the forests, his expression firm.
“Paul, I know you were eavesdropping. Come down here.”
A boy dropped from the branches of a low tree just a few feet behind Brom. The boy was young, maybe fifteen, and bore a striking resemblance to Brom.
“How did you know I was there?” he asked as his father turned to meet his eyes, a strange expression on his face.
“You’re my son. I’m your father. Of course I knew,” he replied, his face unreadable. “Now, tell me... what were YOU doing there?”
Paul looked defensive. “I wanted to ask for tips in disarming when I saw you two talking. I was just waiting for you two to finish when I heard you challenge... challenge...”
“...Challenge Christian to a duel?” he finished mildly.
“Dad, what were you thinking!?” Paul exclaimed, looking incredulous. “You can’t just go around challenging heroes like that! You’re not exactly young anymore and... and... dad, you said it yourself. You’re not the best when it comes to swords and spars.”
“I know that. I know my limits.”
“Then how can you challenge a man to a duel when you know that you don’t have a chance? You KNOW you’re going to lose.”
“No one can truly predict the outcome of a battle. No future is set in stone.” Brom said evenly, his expression still unreadable.
“...Dad, you haven’t won against ME in weeks. And I’m no hero. If you can lose to me, how the heck do you expect yourself to win against a big shot hero? He’ll mop the floor with you!” his voice was quiet and a little shaky. Brom softened and he stepped forward to clap his son on the back, almost knocking him to the ground.
“Oh I don’t know about that. You were always talented, Paul. Much more than I ever was. You can become a hero. You have great potential. You... You remind me of your grandparents.” he said softly, closing his eyes as if to remember the old days. “Have I ever told you about what your grandparents did?”
“Yeah...” Paul nodded slowly. “Grandpa was a knight and grandma was a farmer.”
Brom shook his head. “I wasn’t talking my parents. I was talking about your mother’s.”
Paul stiffened. His parents never talked about his maternal grandparents inside the house. Something about his mother disappointing them in some way. He had asked about it once or twice, when he was much younger but it always seemed to upset his mother so he stopped asking after a while. “What were they?” he asked cautiously.
Brom raised his eyes skyward. “They were Dragonlords. Both of them. Famous Dragonlords hailing from Dragonsgrasp.”
He inhaled sharply. Dragonlords... they were elites in the hero business. Bonded to dragons who they could grow to titanic size, Dragonlords were the most revered of heroes, practically worshipped by everyone he knew. He only ever met one. And that was Christian.
“What!?”
“It’s true. They were both Dragonlords. Powerful ones. Your mother was all set to train as one herself but she never found a partner dragon... nor did she have the aptitude in the Draconic magic necessary to become a Dragonlord. Her parents were, understandably, upset about this and they didn’t keep that a secret. Of course, no one was more disappointed than your mother...” he shook his head. “That’s why we don’t talk about them. She hasn’t quite forgiven them for reacting the way they did. You however...”
The stare Brom gave him was long and hard, as if he was trying to pierce through his very soul with his eyes alone. Paul stared back.
“You have it. The talent. You have the aptitude. You... might even find a dragon to bond with, one day.”
“Me!?” he looked incredulous. He had never... he hadn’t even...
“Yes. Your mother sensed it when you were born. You have a talent in dragon magic,” Brom almost smiled, lips twitching. “You always were talented in magic. Just like your mother.”
“But I’m no mage. I’m a warrior.”
“Things like that... they just don’t matter. When you have talent, you have talent. Anyone with the aptitude can become a Dragonlord, whether warrior, mage or rogue.”
Paul was silent, drinking in all of the new information. He never knew. His grandparents, his magic... even his own mother... there was so much he didn’t know about his own family, it surprised him...
“You...You have the ability to fulfil what your mother and I could not.”
His father’s sudden outburst startled him. He stared at his father, who stared back with something... was it pride or was it envy?..gleaming in his eyes. “You, unlike me, are naturally talented in arts both martial and magical. Unlike your mother, you have the capacity to become a Dragonlord.”
He took a deep breath. “Earlier, you asked me what I was thinking about when I challenged Christian to a duel. Here’s the answer. I was thinking about you.”
Paul inhaled sharply, a silent gasp.
Brom continued, that... that something in his eyes gleaming brighter with each word he said. “I was thinking: would he be a good teacher for you? Am I able enough to further your skills any more than I already have? If I teach you what I know, would you really be ready to become a great hero? Thing is, I already know the answer. It’s a no. I can’t. You’ve surpassed me a long time ago. I don’t have anything to teach you anymore.” he shook his head. “In hindsight, I should’ve sent you off to a school for heroes or off to become an apprentice years ago. But I was selfish. I didn’t want you to leave home so early. I was so selfish...”
“Dad... you... you weren’t selfish...”
“I was. I wanted you to become a guard for this village, just like I did, when I knew you had so much untapped potential... it would’ve been wasted here. I knew that the moment you began your sword training. Now... I know. You shouldn’t be cooped up in our tiny little village. Not when you have the potential to become so much more. When I challenged Christian... I was thinking... I was thinking of asking him to take you in as an apprentice... a student.”
It took him all of his willpower to stop his jaw from dropping.
“But... won’t that mean I won’t ever see you again?” he asked when he finally regained his voice, albeit a bit timidly.
Brom shook his head. “We’ll still see each other but not as often. But that’s the price we pay...” the something in his eyes gleamed and finally, he recognized that something for what it was; it was pride, a fierce pride in his son and in everything he ever did to surpass him. “...When we decided to become parents. Then again, they said that when you love something, you let it go. So I’m letting you go and become the hero I know you can be.”
Paul was silent.
He smiled, just slightly. He understood how he felt. He stepped back, allowing his son a few minutes to himself, and sat on the forest floor, looking in the village’s direction and imagining what could happen in its future, what would become of its citizens. There was still so much work to do before the village was considered home again. And so many things needed improving...
“Dad?”
He looked at his son. “What is it?”
“What if I don’t become a hero? What if I want to stay here and protect the village?”
Brom smiled. “I won’t deny it, I’d be glad to have you around. But...” he looked skyward. “I really think you can become a great hero. It’s your choice to make and your mother and I will support you, whichever path you take. When the time comes, I know you’ll make the right decision. Take all the time you need and don’t worry about Christian. He isn’t the only person fit to become your teacher. If you’re still undecided by the time he leaves, I’ll look for a different instructor. There are a lot of possibilities, after all.”
Paul still looked confused.
Brom stood, brushing the grass from his clothing before reaching upwards to the trees branches then pulling out two long packages, wrapped in cloth, and tossing one in Paul’s direction, somewhat startling the boy. He just barely caught it, unprepared for the thing’s weight. At his father’s look, he hastened to unwrap it. It was a sword, sheathed and somewhat heavy.
“Dad...” he breathed, astonished. “How did you know I-”
“You’re not the only one who hides things in this forest.” he cut in, smiling briefly. “I did it all the time when I was your age. Still do, actually.” he chuckled, taking his own sword out of its sheath.
He chuckled himself as he drew his sword. It was shining and undamaged, an almost exact replica of the sword he had broken in the invasion only a week before. The same condition when he hid the sword only a few weeks back.
"Did you polish this?" he asked, inspecting the blade's shining surface. It looked even cleaner than it did when he first hid it.
"Yes. Yes I did."
"Thanks." he said, sheathing the sword then hanging it on his belt. It's presence was comforting, making him feel just a little bit safer. He wondered about something though... "Dad? Why did you give me this?"
"I thought you might want to have a sword on hand, since your own sword shattered in the invasion last week."
He relaxed slightly. For a second there, he thought that his father wanted to-
"And I also wanted to have a practice match with you. Want to fight?"
“...What?”
"Like I said, do you want to fight? Just a practice match. First to land an actual hit wins."
Again, Paul found himself near speechless.
Brom, as if sensing this, almost grinned. Almost. “You look ... confused... earlier. Like your brain was overloading. That’s bad for decision making. It would be better if you clear your mind before you start deciding. A good duel is one of the best ways to do just that.”
Paul still looked confused by the whole thing.
Brom sighed before staring at him directly, a challenge in his eyes. “...Unless you’re afraid that your old man will give you a run for your money again.” his voice was teasing and relaxed, like he always did when he was playing around with his children. Paul, in spite of himself, smiled.
“Who won our last six duels again? Oh wait, now I remember. I did!”
Brom lifted his sword, shifting into a battle stance. “Prepare to find your streak broken then.”
He always did love a good fight. And he WAS feeling tense. A few minutes to forget everything, a few minutes where he could focus on nothing but adrenaline... “You wish.”
He shifted stances himself, drawing his sword and readying it into position.
For a few moments, the two looked at each other, each challenging the other to make the first move.
“Relax. Don’t let your nerves get in the way of your fighting skills. And don’t let your doubts cloud your judgement.” Brom said softly. Paul nodded, seeing what his father meant to do. This wasn’t just about clearing his mind. This was his final assessment, his final examination, per se. If he won, he’d prove his worth as a great hero. If not...
Their battle cries shook the forest as the two began to fight.
< Message edited by AlkaNephrite -- 1/28/2014 7:34:39 >
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