Section 1: The Heroes

I had learned to spot spells before the elements came to life beneath my feet. I rolled to the left, and quickly regained my composure. Surely enough, where I once stood was now in flames. I gauged the distance between my foe and myself. Around twenty meters distanced my blade from his helm. Covering that much distance in enough time to avoid another spell wouldn't be a difficulty; all that I had to do was rush him, then defeating his staff with my steel would be a relatively simple matter.

Apparently, I spent too much time thinking over a plan. I didn't even see him charging up his next spell. With the time that I had left to me, I decided to perform some damage control. I leapt into the air. Just leaping wasn't enough, though, as the blizzard then caught my feet. I raised my sword and then decided to break through the ice, and continue with slightly frostbitten shoes. He didn't seem to want to give me any opportunity to do such, and began closing the gap between the two of us. I broke the ice, and flipped back, just in time to avoid having his staff come down on my helm.

I brought the steel down on to his staff. Hard. It was all that he could do to parry. Unfortunately for him, parrying my blow wasn't enough to hold me off. Smiling, I flipped my sword to its backside, and I brought the back of the blade onto the backside of his head.

"You owe me one striped apple, my friend."

Though I couldn't see it through his armor, I could tell that he was smiling.

Of course, after our sparring match, we bowed to one another. Sqzaj and I were trying our hardest to prepare each other for the coming travels; if we were to lead the next caravan, then we should be at least a little stronger than your average Clavat or Yuke.

As a Clavat, I stood only slightly shorter than six feet. Since we were only sparring, I mainly wore a combination of street clothes, and armor. Nothing too fancy, as that would only slow me down. Whenever I was sparring with Sqzaj, I wore a helm that I had obtained from a friend's father, who happened to be a Lilty blacksmith. Needless to say, it was high quality. Underneath my light chain mail, I had on a fine Selkic cotton shirt, green and oddly warm. I had the traditional slacks that most Clavats wore proudly, the Clavatan symbol on my belt-buckle. Physically, it could be said that I was handsome. With my blonde hair, and green eyes, sometimes I was mistaken for a Selkie. That was not the case for my friend.

I harbor no ill feelings towards the Yuke race; Sqzaj was, and I hope always will be, one of my closest friends. This is not to say, though, that he was a sharp looker. For unknown reasons, the Yukes all wear armor over all of their body, save for their wing-like arms. For even more inexplicable reasons, no one ever asks the reason for the strange behavior. I guess that that would be impolite, but it wouldn't matter to good friends. Still, I never asked, and I would bet a golden striped apple that I never would. He wore an odd arrangement of armor, a little bit of Selkic, a little bit of Liltic, a little bit of Clavatan, a little bit of Yukic, the mismatching of which added a certain flair to his aesthetic appeal.

There were two thoughts of the Yuke race. Some thought that the Yukes were giant, bird-like beings that were sagacious without reason. The reason for this was because of their stature and wing-like, feathered arms. The Yukes stood in much the same manner that all of the races did, however, they were more haunched than the rest, and their armor seemed to bulge at particular sections. The wing-like arms were long and broad; their wingspan was about one and a half their height. The only other supporting evidence of this theory was the large, bumpy formation at the tip of the face, like a portruding nose, or a rounded beak. Those who did not believe in the idea of a bird-Yuke thought that the armor was nothing more than a casing for the Yuke's soul. This group thought that the Yukes were souls, kept together by armor. The Yuke's relation to magic, and their worldly-wise nature supported this idea. Though, whether bird or spiritual entity, so long as their heart shone like gold, friendship with them was more precious than mythril.

We walked back to my parents house together; not only was it supper-time, but sparring that intensely really takes a lot out of you.

Along the way, we happened upon one of my close friends.

"Oy!" cried Nathan.

"Yo!" Sqzaj and I called back.

He ran as he usually did, which was quite bemusing. He put his arms behind his back, and they flailed in the breeze as his oak-colored cloak did. He looked much like I did, though his eyes were blue, and his hair was the same oak color as his cloak. He wore a brown shirt, which seemed to be much warmer than my Selkic shirt. Of course, because I was slightly older than he was, I was reaching the maximum height that a Clavat could aspire to. He seemed as though he would grow taller, but until that day, I would stand a good four inches taller than he did.

"Are we still to have supper at your family's house?" Nathan inquired.

"Of course! Would you be kind enough to ask for some of your mother's infamous guard potato stew?" I responded.

Nathan pulled back his cloak, revealing the container of the glorious stew. That, likely, drew a smile to Sqzaj's face, and saliva to my palate. Nathan grinned, then drew the container back, hiding it again with his cloak. I moaned with frustration, and both of my friends had a hearty laugh as my stomach showed that it shared my opinion on the matter.

"We should get going then!" Sqzaj exclaimed, "'lest your hunger consume you!"

Upon arrival at my den, I knocked thrice, and then shouted, "I'm home! And I've brought Sqzaj and Nathan with me!"

My elder brother, Ramsey, saw the party that I had formed, and let out a more-than-audible sigh.

"I thought that you were bringing Jorti, Skott and Kay!" he complained.

"Unfortunately," I said, "Jorti has a family get-together, Skott is bedridden, and Kay had prior engagements."

Ramsey turned to the ground, disappointed, but only for a moment. His smile then returned to his face. He really liked to talk philosophy with Skott, and he must have been looking forward to company with Kay and Jorti.

Just as quickly as he looked averted his gaze, he brought an arm around my neck, and with his other hand, he began to frazzle my hair.

"Well then, just make sure you talk with them earlier next time, then, okay?" He said.

With practice, I had figured my way out of his deadlock. I knelt down, and then slid backwards away from him. To this, he smiled. He grabbed me by the leg, tickled my foot, and then allowed me to get out of his arms' reach.

"You've still got a ways to go before you can best me," he said, laughing.

I turned to my companions. Sqzaj looked stoic, and Nathan was doing all that he could to prevent himself from bursting into a fit of laughter. I had told him the other day that I was almost entirely certain that there wasn't a man alive that could best me in battle after I finished sparring with him. Apparently, this was still untrue. I looked to my friends for help, but they didn't seem to want to get involved.

I turned, in dismay, as Ramsey started to edge nearer to me, an evil gleam in his eye. This caused me to flinch.

Luckily for me, my father came in, just in time, to save me.

Grabbing Ramsey by the ear, "And you're years before you can beat me!" he scolded.

My friends joined me in laughter this time.

It was a good meal, made all the better by the good food, the good company, and the good music. My dad had a knack for playing his guitar. As legend had it, it was made from the ancient oak of the Mushroom Forest, which was quite impressive. Furthermore, it was odd that an alchemist, who was supposed to be so wound up in his studies and teaching, would have time to pick up the guitar. The outside world never really understood my father. Some called him a crackpot, others said that he had no room for family in his lifestyle. One would think that by marrying Mother, who was also an alchemist, and by supporting and schooling two children of their own that they would have changed their opinions, but then the masses began to think that he had only wed and fostered children to destroy the dark public image placed upon him. Most anyone who sat down and talked with Father would realize that he was a very kind and gentle man. He cooked. He cleaned. The only thing that he primarily left to Mother was organizing the notes that they took.