Disclaimer: Octopath Traveler and the characters/places mentioned in this story belong to Square Enix - I own only the story, what a surprise!
This two-shot will contain spoilers for the main stories of Olberic (ch 3 and 4), Tressa (ch 3) and H'aanit (ch 4) and the second part will take place after all their stories have been seen through, so you've been warned. It's only been rated T because the game itself is, it's not really that violent or explicit in anyway.
Just a little bit of shameless self promotion before we begin: in a few weeks time, I will be starting an ongoing collection of one-shots about the travelers called Travel On. This two-shot you're reading now was originally going to be two chapters of that fic before I realised it would be better as a stand alone thing. So, all I'm saying here now, is that if you enjoy this fic keep an eye open for Travel On in a couple of weeks time because it'll contain a lot more - shorter - stories in a similar style to this one.
Anyway, now that I've shamelessly plugged a project that's not even out yet, enjoy this fic! Please, fave, follow, review, come find me on Twitter under the same username if you'd really like, whatever... I just hope you enjoy this piece! (The second chapter will be published at the same time next week.)
Those Who Had Lost Their Way
Many years ago...
He'd been wandering for a while now, crossing from this village to that town, aiding them with his sword to put food on his plate. Not a glamourous life for the former Blazing Blade of Hornburg, but after all he'd done to his kingdom, his friends, what more did he deserve?
No one ever told him revenge could be so hollow.
And after everything was said and done, Werner had just up and left, leaving Erhardt and his fellow traitors to their own devices. With a word and swift arm gesture, he'd disbanded their little group, told them to go about their own way. He'd told them the sight of them disgusted him.
And so it had come to pass, in the span of 24 hours, that Erhardt had accomplished everything he'd set out to do since his town fell. He'd also managed to destroy every friendship he'd ever made while serving King Alfred, multiple of his former comrades falling under his blade as he raged his coup. And his partner, the man he'd called brother…
Erhardt rested a hand against the blade at his waist as he walked into the next town. It had been gifted to him by the King the day he'd been knighted alongside his partner, but what right did he have to swing it now, after everything he'd done?
To what end did he still carry this blade?
Melancholia setting in on him yet again, Erhardt shook his head as he crossed from the Dark Woods into Victors Hollow – a town known far and wide for it's contest of warriors. Mayhap he should enter the contest, show off his blade one more time before fading away again…
Glancing around town in search of any who might be in need of a sword, the former knight found no end of warriors. Swords, polearms, axes and bows were everywhere, even the occasional staff shone with the glow of battle. These men might fight only for the competition, but Erhardt doubted there was anyone in this town who'd need yet another sellsword added to the mix.
Dejected once again with little more reason to wield his blade now that he'd had ten hours ago, he made his way to the tavern. His leaves might've been running short, but he was sure he'd find someone willing to buy him a glass in exchange for a tale.
Contrasting greatly to the hubbub on the streets, the tavern was almost empty – a surprise considering it was going on supper time. Only one man sat at the bar, his blonde head bowed with as much sorrow as Erhardt's own. There was something familiar about the man and the blue polearm besides him, though Erhardt couldn't bring himself to try and remember what it was in his current state.
Instead, he simply took the stool next to him and threw a handful of his remaining leaves in the direction of the barkeep. "Wine, and another flagon for him."
The barkeep nodded and poured their drinks. In the meantime, the other customer looked over at Erhardt, also in vague recognition. There really was something about this young man that nagged at the back of Erhardt's mind, teasing him into remembering…
"Thank to you, Stranger." He said as the barkeep gave them their drinks, his accent pinning him down as a man of the sea.
"'Tis the least I can do," Erhardt replied as he stared into his wine – it was nothing compared to what he used to drink with- "Drinking alone is no fun, after all."
"Aye." The sailor raised his flagon. "To drinkin' with strangers."
"Aye." They clinked rims and began drinking.
With half his glass gone and the sailor still drinking, Erhardt cleared his throat and began his questions. "What brings a sailor such as you to a town like this?"
"Misfortune, my friend," said the sailor, finally putting his flagon down. "'Tis much the same for you, I wager, Sir Knight."
Erhardt shrugged, impressed that the sailor had picked up on his former profession so quickly. "The Flame's not been on my side for many a year now."
"Aye?"
"Aye." He didn't particularly want to take advantage of another down on his luck traveller, but he did want another drink… "A tale of woe'll cost you a drink."
Raising his single visible eyebrow, the sailor seemed more than willing to pay before another traveller sat down next to Erhardt.
"Doth thou minden if I buy thee drinks for the tale?" The older gentleman asked in archaic tongue. The way he dressed and wore his bow and axe reminded Erhardt of someone in much the same way the sailor did, though he could be no more bothered to figure out who he was than he could the sailor. He was just another hunter from the Dark Wood, offering to pay for the next round.
With a simple glance at the sailor, they both shrugged at took the hunter up on his offer.
"Thanke thee, strangers," he said as they all took up their drinks.
"To drinkin' with strangers." Said the sailor again, clinking the rim of his flagon against the other's drinks.
"Aye." They said together, drinking swiftly.
"Althoughe, art we not strangers only because we knowst not what we art called?" Said the hunter as he put his flagon back on the bar.
"Very well," said Erhardt, preparing another obvious fake name to give the two. "I am known as Hardt to some; a sellsword of little repute."
"Thou doen thyself a dishonesty, Sir Knight!" Exclaimed the hunter. "Art thou not Sir Erhardt, the Blazing Blade of Hornburg?"
Erhardt gave the hunter a sharp look; he wasn't the old fool he'd originally taken him for. Meanwhile, the sailor looked at him in astonishment.
"Does he speak the truth? Are you really the Blazing Blade?"
"…'Twas a name I wore much the same as any other in my past," Erhardt shrugged, giving the hunter a harder look as he tried to figure out who he might be. "Just Erhardt shall suffice now."
"As thou wishth, Sir Erhardt." The hunter looked past him to the sailor. "And thou art?"
"Leon." He said simply, far too quickly. It was becoming clear that he too had a name he wished to hide from the hunter. "A humble captain stoppin' in town before settin' out again on the morrow."
"… Thy, too, hiden who thou really art," said the hunter, looking at Leon closely. "Art thou not Captain Leon Bastralle?"
"The pirate?" Asked Erhardt, finally remembering why he recognised that blue spear.
"… Aye." Leon took up his flagon. "Though 'tis a profession I would rather forget."
The hunter nodded, also taking a drink. Erhardt looked at the man closely, hoping to figure out who he was before he told them. He'd definitely come across the man before, though not in Hornburg. No, he'd been out on a mission with- They'd gone to assist the Knights Ardente with a threat in the Clifflands… A monster terrorising travellers. It was the Cliffland's dragon, if he remembered right. Impossible to hunt alone, they'd employed the help of a seasoned hunter from S'warkii…
"Master Z'aanta!" Erhardt exclaimed suddenly, remembering who the man before him was. Without that wolf of his by his side, he'd not been immediately recognisable. "You are Z'aanta, the master hunter from S'warkii!"
"Aye!" Exclaimed Leon, also realising. "You helped me see off a kraken a few years back, did you not?"
"Indeed I didst." Z'aanta gave Leon a hard look. "Althoughe, I wast not impressed with thy attitude to those in towne. What wast it that thou spake to them as thou stolen from the weake and vulnerable?"
"The strong take… while the weak… quake…" Leon started strong, trailing off halfway through his mantra. "'Tis not a statement I believe in any longer."
"And why ist that?" Z'aanta probed.
"Because the strong fall just as easily as the weak."
"… A shameth what happened to thy friend, Master Baltazar."
"How did you-" Leon started, only for Z'aanta to interrupt him.
"The beasts in these woods tellen me all that transpires within our borders."
"… I see." Leon tried to drink from his flagon again, only to find it empty. Seeing that, Z'aanta ordered another round for the group.
"Thy wille goen on, lad." Said the hunter, supportive all of a sudden. "Wherever thou goen, Baltazar willt ben withe thee in spirit. And if thou needen more to holdth onto, thy friend's ship ist waitening to ben repaired."
"I could repair it and take it with me…" Leon's eyes lit up at the prospect, looking the most alive Erhardt had seen him yet. "I could make it a merchant's vessel, make Baltazar's dream become reality…"
"Indeed." Said Z'aanta, reaching around Erhardt to put a reassuring hand on the sailor's shoulder – inadvertently making the knight a little claustrophobic.
"A noble cause." Erhardt muttered into his wine glass, secretly relieved that he was getting free drinks without having to admit his tales. Not that he thought that would last much longer. With the Captain cheered up, attention would soon be shifted to making Erhardt feel better.
"And thou, Lord Erhardt-"
"Here we go…" He muttered into his wine glass, feeling the Captain grinning into his own flagon behind him.
"How wolde thou liken to particpateth in the warrior's tourney here in Victors Hollow?"
"…Beg pardon?" Erhardt had been expecting some sort of questioning of his actions in Hornburg, some insinuation that he was a horrible man that didn't deserve to go on. Not this.
"The contest here in towne, the one whereth warriors battlen one another in the Arena. Doest thou not wanten to puth that blade of thine to use, to fighten against men liken thyself?"
"…Why do I get the impression that you would get something out of my entering?" Erhardt asked, not denying his interest.
"Am I so transparente?" Asked Z'aanta with a little laugh. "In truth, I haveth already loste a faire number of leaves toe ill-founded wagers at the Arena…"
Leon laughed uproariously. "That's why you want me to repair Baltazar's ship!"
"Beg pardon?" Asked Erhardt, confused by the Captain's laughter. "Am I missing something here?"
"Nay, Sir Knight," Leon shook his head as Z'aanta started to blush. "'Tis simply that, I will need more leaves and supplies to rebuild Baltazar's ship, nay? And if I am so certain of treadin' a straight path from now, I will not be able to resort to pillagin' as I used to, nay?"
"I see…" Erhardt muttered, finally beginning to understand how he was being manipulated into joining the challengers in the Arena. "You both want me to enter so that you can wager what remaining leaves you have on me."
"Aye." Leon nodded. "What better bet to place than that on one of the Twin Blades of Hornburg himself?"
That name cut deeper than Erhardt thought it would, causing him to throw the rest of his wine down his throat without a moment's hesitation. "Captain Bastralle, please do not call me that."
Leon looked a little confused, on the brink of asking a dreaded 'why not' when Z'aanta interrupted. "Thou needen not use thine own name in the tourney if thou wishen not to."
"What do you want me to enter this contest for, Master Z'aanta?" Erhardt asked, still not saying no to the two men.
"In truth…" Z'aanta hesitated, seeming to fear the two laughing at him. "I haven a prentice in S'warkii who ist rather fondth of puttening me in mine place when I maketh mistakes. Were she to finden oute the number of leaves I haveth loste, I fear thou wolde hear her chastisements even outen at sea…"
The two men did laugh a little, though with the older man, rather than at him. It was a pleasant thing, Erhardt had to admit, laughing with comrades again. Although, there was still a large part of his mind that told him he wasn't allowed to…
"In that case," Erhardt plonked his purse of leaves on the bar. "How's about we make it a triple wager?"
"Aye?" Captain Leon asked even as he put his own purse on the bar. Z'aanta, too, put his purse with the others.
"Aye. The three of us pool our leaves together and bet them on Master Hardt, a sellsword of no repute from a lost town near former Hornburg. Master Z'aanta – being honourably known here in town – drums up support for me, makes my name known as I enter the contest. Captain Bastralle, you put all our leaves on me to win as soon as my name starts appearing in the books – if the odds are right, we will make more money than we could ever need."
"And I canst return homen without chastisement."
"And I can rebuild Baltazar's ship in good conscience."
"Aye." Said Erhardt, not knowing what he'd do with his riches once this was over, but knowing it would make these two men happy if nothing else.
"And thou, Master Hardt?" Z'aanta asked, already using his fake name. "What willt thou usen thy leaves for?"
"I know not." Erhardt admitted. "However, they will be enough to keep me travelling for a while yet."
"Aye." Nodded Leon, seeming to already have a plan for Erhardt's future.
The three men sat there, looking at their meagre leaves and empty glasses. If they played their cards right, this plan would work without a hitch and they could all go their separate ways again, all the richer for it. They collectively smiled.
"Barkeep!" Leon called. "One last round for Hardt and his merry men!"
Picking up their last drinks for the night, they turned to each other. Erhardt cleared his throat.
"We started the evening as strangers, and soon we will leave each other, strangers once again. However, for a few days, we will be friends, partners-" His voice broke on the word. Clearing his throat again, he carried on. "So, let us treat each other right, friends. Let us toast my upcoming victory!"
"To Master Hardt and his merry men!" Captain Leon raised his flagon.
"Here, here!" Z'aanta called as they clinked their rims.
And so they drank one last drink before ironing out the wrinkles in their plan at the inn that night, laughing as friends as they did, Z'aanta's dire wolf companion sleeping peacefully by the fire.
'Twas a strange thing, this sudden and unexpected friendship. Though Erhardt knew they'd all go their separate ways again soon, likely to never see each other again, he couldn't help but feel a kinship to the other men, the likes of which he hadn't felt in a while. Were Olberic here, he'd say he didn't deserve to feel happy like this, that he didn't deserve friends like these because he'd only betray them again.
And though his fellow knight would have all the reason in the world to say that, Erhardt knew he wouldn't betray these men, and no men after. Not anymore.
The contest came and went, Master Hardt snatching victory from the jaws of a wandering mercenary, and their plan went off without a hitch. It was safe to say the three men were richer then than they'd ever been before or since – though Captain Leon certainly comes close from time to time.
Knowing what his prentice would think if he went back to S'warkii with so many leaves, Z'aanta was willing to leave a fair amount of his share with Leon – "An investmente in thine shipe." He'd called it. Erhardt, too, left more than half his winnings with the Captain, staying in town long after the competition was over to help the man rebuild.
Truthfully, he should've left long ago; people were starting to get suspicious of his name and story, if he wasn't careful he'd be run out of town – a traitor. However, he couldn't bring himself to leave while his new found friend was still in need.
So, they mended a ship together, cleared their conscience together, began to put their troubled past to bed – Leon more easily than Erhardt. Often, he still wondered why he held onto his blade, why he still swung it, but those questions were quietened during the time he spent helping the Captain.
Finally, many moons later, the two were finished and had created a little band of sailors who were willing to follow the reformed pirate.
"Care to come aboard?" Captain Leon asked as soon as she was sea ready.
"Nay." Erhardt shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not made for the seas."
"'Tis fair, but I thought you might want to look at my treasures before I leave, perhaps take one with you as a memento?" The captain gestured to the treasures he had on deck.
Erhardt shrugged and took a deep breath – sea sickness had plagued him for many years, not to mention the fact that he wasn't a particularly strong swimmer – beginning the walk up the gangplank onto Baltazar's ship.
Once aboard, Erhardt could truly appreciate what an impressive job the Captain had done with the ship, turning it from a once fearsome pirate ship to vessel worthy of a merchant. He could also appreciate how much the former pirate had already changed these last few months – though physically the same, his eyes were lighter, his voice more subdued, sorrow and regret no longer marred his every move.
Erhardt hoped he'd look like that again one day.
"Help yourself to one, partner." Said the Captain, gesturing at his treasures.
His words still cut a little deep, but Erhardt payed little attention to them, his focus already been caught by a beautiful saber at the ships prow.
The knight had been eager to rid himself of this sword full of bad memories for a long time now, and as much as he liked the Captain, he just couldn't validate leaving it with someone who wouldn't use it and would likely only sell it on. So, instead, he kept his hate-filled sword and took this new saber with him too.
"May I?" He asked Leon as he picked the sword up.
"Be my guest." Leon smiled gently as he saw his new-found friend take the sword that had once belonged to Baltazar. He'd never have sold it – he was too much of a sentimentalist for that – but he also never would've used it. Knowing little about swords and sword play, he wouldn't have even known what to do with it, how much to sell if for if the fancy struck him. So, who better to have it than a renowned knight?
"Are you certain you're willing to part with it?" Erhardt asked as he left the ship, new sword at his side.
"Aye, your Lordship." Leon said as he watched him leave, certain that no one else would be able to take such good care of the sword. "Farewell."
"Farewell to thee." Erhardt saluted him with his new sword as they set sail. "May we meet anon."
And so the former knight watched the former pirate leave, certain that he'd see him no more frequently than he'd see his former partner in arms. However, he'd treasure the memories he'd made with him just as much as he did with Olberic; and regret them much less, to be sure.
And so Erhardt set out on his travels again, hoping there might be someone in need of his new sword in the next town he came across. And if not, there was always the offer to join the mercenary gang…