I wanted to say a quick thank you for over 50,000 views! It's absolutely insane to me to think that people are still reading Travel On a year and a half after it started! And to MrGoodStuff who left a review as a guest this week, since I can't message you directly to say thanks, I just wanted to tell you that I read your review after a difficult 12 hour shift at work and it brightened my mood so much!

Anyway, today's story is a little on the angsty, tragedy side of things, it's been a little while since I last wrote something like this. It's not really a tragedy, but it does feature some stronger than usual language and blood/gore mentions.


Cyrus' idle curiosity about the fall of Hornburg earns him a story from Olberic, one the warrior wished to never tell.


Hornburgian History

They'd been travelling together a while now as part of this group of adventurers, however, Cyrus had still not found the time to ask the question that had been on his mind since Olberic had joined them.

There were, of course, many questions that Cyrus sought answers to being a scholar and all. Normally, he would turn to his tomes, his library and his colleagues to find those answers. However, whatever knowledge they had to share had been learnt second hand, they had not experienced the history they spoke of. And while Olberic himself had not experienced the history of Hornburg and its religions that Cyrus so wished to know more of, he had played a hand in its more recent history.

Cyrus certainly wanted to learn all he could about the coup that brought down so old and distinguished a Kingdom, he simply hadn't found the right time to ask.

That was until he and Olberic found themselves alone together in a stopping off inn-tavern on their way to Victors Hollow. With a few tankards under his belt, Cyrus was sure he could open Olberic's lips and hear all that had transpired a near decade ago.

"You are not subtle, Scholar." Olberic sighed into his mug as Cyrus paid for the third round.

"Whatever do you mean, my good man?" Cyrus feigned ignorance as he toyed with the stem of his own wine glass.

"Whatever question you may have for me, I would suggest you ask it soon, afore my head becomes too clouded with your drinks to find my thoughts."

"Are my intentions truly so obvious?" Cyrus sighed himself, a little disappointed that he'd been so easily found out.

"Aye. Out with it, Scholar."

"Very well." Pulling an empty tome from his cape, Cyrus looked Olberic square in the eye as he asked, "I hope it is not rude of me to pry, however I would like to learn all I can about the day that Hornburg fell."

A definite twist of discomfort came to Olberic's face as he was asked to recall such painful memories and any man not in desperate pursuit of knowledge would likely have had the common sense to back off. Cyrus, however, continued to stare into Olberic's face as the man turned away, sighing into his tankard once again. "Why?"

"Why? Why, to learn more about how a nation with such a grand history can be lost so completely in but one short week!"

"The ladies often say that you have no concept of how your actions affect the emotions of those around you."

"They do?" Cyrus asked in interest, turning slightly in his seat to look in the direction of their rooms for the night.

"I am starting to understand why they say such a thing."

"I… see." Cyrus cleared his throat and closed his tome, realising what an insensitive thing it was he was asking of the knight. "You need not answer my question, if you do not want to."

"Nay, I will answer your question." Olberic shook his head with a sigh. "However, do not say I did not warn you."

Cyrus only nodded, his tome still closed as he stared into Olberic once more, ready to absorb all the knowledge he could.

"We received our orders from his Majesty King Alfred himself. Under his orders and guidance, we were to set out onto the battlefield immediately to save the Kingdom from those who would wish to destroy it. We were not told whom our enemies were, as knights and warriors such information was often not required, however such a lack of knowledge left us woefully unprepared when we faced our foes. For they wore the faces of our friends and fellow knights, yet they fought to end both ours and his Majesty's life. As his Majesty's right hand, I was tasked with leading the main faction of our force into battle. Tell me, Scholar, have you fought against former allies on a battlefield before?"

"Ah, no." Cyrus shook his head. "I have read extensively on the subject, however I have not experienced it myself."

"Then you are lucky, for the texts often leave out the worst of it." Out the corner of his eye, Olberic stared Cyrus down. "Would you like me to tell you what the tomes do not?"

"Y-Yes." There was a hesitancy to his voice that Cyrus simply could not hide. He had to know, for without this knowledge how could he inform his students of the mistakes that haunt history? The mistakes they were almost certainly doomed to make once again. "I must know."

"Imagine you are on a battlefield surrounded by hundreds upon thousands of people, all of whom are screaming, shouting and bleeding. The air is full not only of the screams of man and the swings of metal, but also the stenches of rust, sweat and shit. Every way you turn, there is another blade pointed at your head, ready to sever it, to kill and move on to its next victim without even a second hesitation. All one can do is fight to survive, to protect oneself by killing one's would be assailant first.

"I was sought after more than most of my comrades due to my proximity to the throne. As such I…" Olberic's fist tightened around his tankard. "I killed many more friendly faces that day than I have killed enemy faces since. In their last moments of life, I watched as their faces twisted and they realised they had made a most terrible mistake, all before they fell to the ground."

"Olberic, you need not-" Cyrus started, realising what a grave mistake he'd in asking Olberic this question. Olberic didn't hear him, he simply carried on his tale.

"My men heralded me a hero, I fought with the might of a score of men even on this battlefield, even against this foe. Yet there was one… One whom I could not best, despite having done so many a time in the training ground before. Erhardt. The left hand to my right, my partner and brother in arms… I watched as he..." Olberic cleared his throat, his eyes a million miles away as he remembered the day. "As he stabbed King Alfred, as he tore his life away. And then came at me, with great conviction and determination, with a sword still covered in his Majesty's blood. By the time I fell, I too was covered in his Majesty's blood. And when I woke, all that surrounded me were the dead bodies of my comrades, friend and newly turned foe alike."

"Olberic-"

"Tell me, Scholar," Olberic finished his drink and turned towards Cyrus with great tears hiding behind his eyes. "Does such a tale sate your curiosity? Or would you like me to carry on? To tell you how I had to burn the dead for there was not enough room to bury them? To tell you how the smell of their burning bodies made me ravenous for they smelt far more delicious than the ratkin I had been dining on since the fall? Would you like me to tell you how I nearly ran myself through with my sword when I first woke up?"

"N-No." Cyrus stammered, at a complete loss for words. "I think… I think you have shared more than enough."

"Your curiosity will be the death of you, Scholar." Olberic sighed once more as he stood, dropped a handful of leaves on the bar as a tip and left Cyrus behind as he shook.

Such a tale… It did not answer Cyrus' curiosity about the fall of Hornburg, instead it rather left him feeling hollow and empty, broken and battered mentally as he struggled to his shaking feet.