Author's Note: Okay, here's the skinny people. I first wrote this story, what I've been posting so far anyways, like...I don't know, five years ago. And comparatively to my writing nowadays, it was pretty lousy. So, as this was my first real attempt at writing back then, I've got a bit of a soft spot for it and decided to rewrite the story, fixing it up and turning it into an exciting adventure that isn't painful to read. So, any critique would be appreciated, good or bad, as long as its constructive. Thanks for reading as always, and until next time, good luck and good hunting...

The Adventure of a Lifetime

Chapter 1: An Adventurer Born

The tops of the trees swayed; the light breeze of the morning made their gnarled limbs creak, the rustling of the sea of leaves was soft and calming, like the steady rhythm of the ocean's waves. Somewhere deep within the foliage, a bird sang, chirping its merry song, perhaps proclaiming its joy through vivacious melodies. Sunlight from the clear faultless sky above shone down upon the canopy of branches, thin rays of golden light seeping through to glisten upon the soft soil of the ground.

In short, the atmosphere of the forest was soft and alluring, its peaceful image inviting one to enter its shaded embrace, to frolic amongst the stout tree trunks and to revel in the wonders of nature. Though truly, it was an ingenious masquerade. The forest was far larger than one could suppose, stretching on and on, league after league of endless vegetation.

And the further and deeper one went, the more they began to understand their situation. Creatures other than playful squirrels and flamboyant songbirds resided within those woods. The sort that would instill fear and pain upon any who encountered them. There was a hidden darkness lurking amid the everlasting trees, most certainly invisible from the sparkling and impeccable exterior.

Many folks were fooled by this subterfuge, lured in by the joviality of the outside, drawn deep into the shadows mired in its depths. Most of these poor souls did not wander back out again. Others were wiser, knowing full well of the perils that lurked in the gloom, approaching and entering with eyes open, prepared for treachery and no small amount of risk. Many of these too, never emerged. A fearsome place, that forest, making hearty and stalwart men wary and few would dare to enter such a place willingly, unless great need or sheer desperation spurred them on.

Yet below these trees, stepping amongst them, having entered the forest from the western-most border stood a figure, casting a long shadow into the dim radiance of the forest's edge, undeterred by the possibility of fiends prowling within. A man, though a youthful one at that, perhaps twenty or so years young, who stood at an impressive eight spans tall, perhaps a bit more. His complexion was that of paleness, not the ghostly white of the dead like one who had spent their entire life in a cave, yet far from a vibrant tan.

Slender was his build, his frame not gaunt or bony, but neither was it stout or broad. His arms, which poked out from a basic tunic of wool and cotton as well as a sturdy worn piece of armor made of leather, were narrow, but there was unmistakable sinewy muscle clinging along them, almost strategically placed to give him a more solid appearance.

Gleaming midnight black hair ran down his neck, touching his shoulders, flowing in a straight yet stylish wave. Eyes that were a crystalline sapphire, with a captivating gleam, the sort that latched on to a person's intrigue with but a glance and drew them in deep. At his side hung a sword, a graceful arching brass hilt, the handle wrapped in tightly bound leather that looked almost primeval. The scabbard too looked battered by time and use, a bit strange really, such a weathered weapon in the possession of someone who had the air of an inexperienced youth.

He was stern-faced; his mouth straight, his eyes set, as he scanned the seemingly harmless illusion of tranquility before him. Yet despite his near somber nature, there within the depths of his eyes glimmered a wild spark of excitement, which began to spread to his other features. His mouth shifted into a small smile, which grew larger and broader until it became a full fledged grin, as his gaze darted to and fro, soaking up his surroundings in depth, something about it was obviously tickling him, for he looked neither worried or afraid. Rather…thrilled and captivated. It takes a rare sort of man to stare unflinchingly straight into the maw of danger. And indeed, this chap was a far cry from average. More so than even he guessed…

Sophonus drew the fresh salty ocean scented air one last time, before striding forward, passing the threshold of the trees, entering the forest for the first time in his life. As he let his eyes wander, traveling back and forth, absorbing all that lay before him, he could not help it when a huge grin began to slither across his face; the realization of his freedom, that the day he had dreamed of had at last come, began to drive itself home. This is it, he said to himself, trying to steady his quickened heart, I'm really doing it…I can't believe it…I'm…I…I feel…so alive…

Nearly jittering straight out of his armor in anticipation, he calmed himself, breathing slowly and began to examine the atmosphere of the woods with more interest. All around were tall trees, easily seventy spans high or more, clumped tightly together, creating a huge hallway of leaves and branches. The ground was covered in shade, making the forest far cooler than outside in the full force of the mighty sun. A welcome change indeed. And quiet. At home, the constant waves of the nearby sea prevented the village from ever being totally silent. Yet away from the reaches of the ocean, this place was almost sullen and calm. Despite that however, he still felt exhilaration at all that he surveyed.

Though his near awed wonderment suggested otherwise, Sophonus had traveled in woods before, certainly, cavorting through them in his carefree childhood and hectic adolescence. But this was different…this was the forbidden woods, the Newcraven Forest, the one he and all other children from his village had been warned to steer clear of. Tales of greedy child-hungry monsters and nameless terrors that would all but pull a careless youngster to their horrific doom were but a few of the terrible stories he had been told in a desperate attempt to curve his natural boyhood curiosity.

Now grown and mature, Sophonus saw past the fiction he had been told. Though there may very well be some manner of hideous creature, a bane of all things living, lurking inside the Newcraven, the most usual and perhaps greatest threat to travelers and hapless children were simple bandits; humans or orcs, more than willing to capture, rob, and in certain grisly instances, eat anyone and anything encountered. Back then though, he believed what he was told by his elders. Like the other children, he had been somewhat terrified of those evil entities that dwelled in the dark places of the trees, yet unlike the rest, it wasn't enough to quell the bubbling intrigue he had churning inside of him.

For most people, regarding a horrid and perhaps gruesome fate at the hands of monsters was a rather negative outcome, which would leave most disconcertion…to put it mildly. But to Sophonus, he was unbothered by such things, nay even; he was looking forward to it. To face down despicable desperate men, who were so loathsome that they'd stoop to stealing from simple common travelers and merchants, merely to satisfy their insatiable lust for gold and valuables, was what he had always wanted to do…That and so much more.

But despite his righteous desire, before he took any further steps, he had a compulsion to crane his neck, to look back the way he had come. There behind him was the large field of tall thimbleweed grass, clusters of trees to form the numerous thickets that dotted the land, and there, right where it had always stood…his village, his home. The place where he had spent all of his twenty-two years, born and raised. Peaceful, quiet…uninteresting. A village without a true name, far from the grand cities of the world, isolated from other races and mired in self-sufficiency.

He had a profound fondness of it, having many fair memories circling the austere rustic buildings and as he looked back, he felt a twang of wistful longing to return to it. Yet his craving for adventure and excitement called to him, summoning him out from the average existence that he lived. His childhood dreams of venturing out beyond the sheltering walls of a farmer's life, entering the Newcraven as a mighty warrior and journeying beyond to epic quests had always burned brightly inside of him.

He remembered his ambition of his younger days, going on from an early age, talking about slaying dragons and waging heroic battles against detestable foes. He also remembered his family, his neighbors and friends and their attitudes towards his aspirations…His mother had called him a fanciful daydreamer…His brother had called him a scrawny weakling…His father had called him a damned idiot. The neighbors all thought of him as more than slightly odd and what few friends he had thought him to be just plain silly. And after years of being told this as he grew older, over and over again, Sophonus had begun to feel that perhaps they all were right; that it was silly, he was a fool, to be wishing for a life that would forever be beyond his meager grasp.

Only Zarrin had believed in him, even urging him towards his dream. Master Zarrin, the old man of profound mystery.

Sophonus had met him in his youth, at age thirteen, though their first encounter was a bit on the odd side; Sophonus, in a near hysterical distress over the recent ridiculing comments of his father and brother, had run away from the village in tears, and somewhat blinded, had knocked himself cataleptic by running headlong into a tree right near the borders of the Newcraven. And it was Zarrin who had come across his unconscious form. The elderly fellow had come riding a wagon out of the Newcraven, looking for a quiet place to settle in his old age and had found the boy with a busted nose and drying blood on his face, sprawled out in the grass.

Naturally, as they talked, Sophonus was intrigued that the aged man had made it through the infamous forest with nary a scratch on him, only to learn after a time that Zarrin had been an adventurer in his youth and a pretty powerful one at that. At once Sophonus began to pelt him with questions of the world beyond the tiny fishing village and all but pleaded him for instruction in the ways of adventure.

The old warrior was hesitant at first, for many reasons ranging from how the boy's parents may react to their son learning the art of combat and such, as well as Sophonus, at age thirteen was a pale stick of a teenager, didn't look physically able to withstand the relentless painstaking effort required to hone oneself into a fighter, so wiry and frail he looked. Eventually Zarrin had agreed and began to pass on all that he had learned, instructing his apprentice in all the skills of heroics.

Now, nine years later, that scrawny boy filled with grand dreams of renown was about to leave the sheltering comfort of his home and emerge from under the protection and tutelage of his teacher. Nine years of harsh work, grueling lessons, emotional distress, pain and even miserable anguish. But he hadn't faltered; his wish of fulfilling his ambition helped him push onward through the adversity.

Though there were unquestionably several times where his own determination had faltered and nearly split in twain. For instance, his family could not understand his gallant aspirations, regarding it as a sick misguided obsession only and over the years his life at home began to deteriorate into constant confrontations and heated, oft times violent arguments.

All of this and more had been hurled into his path, impeding his advancement but Sophonus had evaded and withstood all of these obstacles and keep proceeding. Year after year, hardship after hardship, he had waited and longed for the day to at last arrive. And finally, it did…

"Ye are ready boy…" T'was the previous night, Zarrin had been smoking his pipe thoughtfully, gazing off into the fire, "I've taught ye everything that I know…well, everything that matters anyhow. How to fight, how to think, an' how to survive. The rest is up to ye. There's no reason for ye to remain here, it be time fer ye to step out into the world. Tomorrow then…ye'll be walkin' out of this town and goin' on yer way."

Sophonus had sat, listening, having known for weeks, months even, that his education was near completion and his own journey was close at hand. In a way, he had felt content to merely stay in the village, in the company of his master. After all, it was what he knew for years. But the allure of exotic lands and to see all sorts of bizarre monsters, as well as doing battle with them, was a yearning that wasn't to be ignored.

Zarrin had stood, slowly ambling over to an old wooden truck, cracking the lid, its once polished hinges of copper having dulled and rusted over the years and the stress of its movement echoed throughout the cabin in a grinding creak. After a moment of rooting through the contents, the old man emerged holding a scarred and hardened jerkin made of sturdy leather, as well as a sword, housed in a beaten scabbard.

"Take it," he offered the sheathed weapon, "My old sword, as true a blade as any ye'll find. I have faith that'll put it to good use. An' this armor…it ain't much an' it surely won't keep an arm from bein' lopped off, but ye don't really even need armor…as ye know…"

The young man had accepted the armor and then the sword, carefully drawing it forth, his skin tingling as he heard the crisp metallic resonance of the polished blade. With a hand that was now skilled and agile, the sword sang a whispering song as he deftly twirled it to and fro, watching the silver blade catch the light of the fire, casting a shimmering gleam along the walls.

He had seen this sword before; Zarrin had shown it to him a few times, often reminiscing about his glory days as the boy clutched the weapon, listening and absorbing the history. Despite the exhilaration of holding the weapon that was to be his and lead him to glory, Sophonus couldn't shake a lingering trace of apprehension that seemed to plague him. Zarrin undoubtedly felt it, and probably saw it on his pupil's face as well.

"Ye're feelin' nervous aye?" the old man gave the young adventurer-to-be a tap on the arm, "I know…ye're leavin' everything ye've ever known behind, not to return for months or years. Maybe never even…That's enough to make yer a bit uncertain. But the first step be the hardest, I know from experience. Once ye're out there, seein' the world an' possibly savin' it, ye'll know whether ye made the right choice or not."

Sophonus wasn't worried about his decision. He had known ever since Zarrin had begun teaching him that he was walking the proper path. But yes, the thought of departing his home, with the possibility of never seeing it again…well, that would cause understandable uncertainty in anyone.

However, Zarrin was correct, as he had a tendency to be. It was time to go; he had trained hard, spending more than one third of his life in pursuit of becoming an adventurer, and it was finally time to go forth, putting all he had learned to use.

Though despite that, he had no illusions of grandeur, not letting his imagination of what lay in store for him cloud his rationality. Sophonus knew that he was one man only and his newfound talents, while important and valuable, were not enough to completely guarantee his survival and well-being. After all, despite his abilities, there was much he simply could not do. For instance, could he cast devastating spells, conjuring up lightning and fire to incinerate his enemies with overwhelming fanfare? No. Could he call down the power of the gods themselves, to smite and punish the wicked with purity and divine justice? No. Did he have a hunter's steady and unparallel aim, able to pick a fly out of the air with a crossbow from two hundred spans away? Certainly not.

What he did have was a comprehensively solid grasp on the art of swordplay, perhaps even greater than most, a few minor incantations for mending wounds, a head full of survival tactics as well as a knack for strategy, and a burning passion to do good; a power that surpassed the mightiest mage spells. So Zarrin had said.

Master Zarrin…

Sophonus could even now, less than a league away, picture his master, sitting outside his plain cabin, under the shade of a convenient tree, perhaps puffing his pipe or whittling a fishing rod. A mysterious and complex man, yet deceivingly simple in his manner and pleasures. Why, one time, Sophonus could remember the old man having…

He cut those thoughts off, giving his head a shake and lifted his eyes upward, seeing the rays of the sun filtering through the meager gaps in the leaves above.

"If I don't stop with this nostalgic reminiscing," Sophonus said aloud, "then I'll be standing here all day." Focusing on the now, he knew that the Newcraven was no haven of harmony and serenity; thieves, murderous thugs, and perhaps monsters awaited him. If his mind kept wandering off to think of days gone by, he'd be in trouble when a pack of hungry beasts descended upon him with their guttural bloodthirsty howls. He needed all his wits and thoughts facing forward, ready to combat any threat with intrepid swordplay and cunning stratagem. And perhaps…a droll retort to be thrown in now and then for good measure.

"Okay everybody out there;" he called out loud, his grin returning once more as he began to press onward to adventure, "Here I come…"