The Historian's Success
By Lazar "Dr. Stupendo" Janus
(lord lazy pants on FanFiction)
(Lordhirosuke on DeviantArt)
In the morning I got up, and checked my satchel before grabbing some dried meat and water, and teleporting to hook coast. When I arrived I quickly threw on my cloak and made my way down to the pub. On my way there I walked by a man, easily seven feet tall, and at least as wide as two barrels at his shoulders. 'that's gotta be him' I thought as we walked by each other. I thought of just turning about and asking him whether he was Liberator or not, but decided against it. I made my way over to the pub to ask the bartender whether Liberator lived here or not.
"Liberator?" he grins, wiping a mug. "Aye, he lives here, though he hasn't been called that by anyone in a long time." he chuckled. "He wants to leave those days behind him." he finished wiping the mug, and his sentence with a grimace.
When I inquired as to why he doesn't wish to be known as that he sighed and simply said "Let him tell you if you wish to know so much. It's not my, or any villager's place 'cept his."
I ended up staying for about a few hours, sitting at a table in the corner by myself, slowly drinking a mug of warm cider. When I got up, it was around noon. I went to the Barman again to ask where Liberator lived.
"Liberator lives over yonder, by the light house. But don't call out 'Liberator when you knock on his door." he said. "His name is Wilhelm Bardson."
I made my way over to the light house. There was only one house over there, so I figured it must be his. When I neared the house I heard the sound of laughter and other children…y sounds. Taking the Barman's advice I knocked on the door. "Mr. Bardson?" I shouted out, as I rapped on the door. "You're home, right sir?" the sound inside stopped suddenly, and I knocked on the door again. "Mr. Bardson?"
The door opened, and a young man, most likely in his thirties, tall and well built stood there dressed relatively modest.
"Which Mr. Bardson? If this is about my younger brother's bar tab in some other town, I don't know where that bard is. He hasn't been by in ages." he grumbled. "If you're here for me Da, he's not signing autographs, or teaching you to be as amazing as he is. You'll have to go to The Hero's Guild like everyone else." he finished, as he inhaled. "If you're here for me, I'm sorry but this is my day off, you'll have to contact me tomorrow about plans to build a house." he finished.
I told him I was there for his father, but not for any of the reasons he had mentioned, and that all I had to do was ask him a little bit about what's happened to him since he gave up being a hero. Liberator's son looked at me skeptically. I asked him to just ask his father to at least talk to me. Tell me something. At that point a little girl ran up to me and slapped me in the shin and shouted
"Tag! You're it!"
And then ran off. Mr. Bardson stifled a chuckle.
"You'd better come it. The kids'll complain that we had the 'It' leave. The game'll never end otherwise."
He chuckled. When he patted my shoulder my knees nearly buckled. I've never been the tallest, or strongest of hero's. I always leaned more towards the usage of Will and archery. I severally hoped there weren't any other Bardson men around other than Liberator. I felt like a hobbe standing in front of a troll. I followed the younger Mr. Bardson up the stairs, to the second floor. There, sitting by the fireplace in a comfy looking chair, wearing a simple white woolen shirt with a yellow trim around the edge of the sleeves and the shoulders, well worn brown leather gloves, dark blue pants with red stitching, and just thick wool socks on his feet. He had strong, chiseled features, barely visible under a thick, yet short white beard. His hair was of a typical cut for someone from Albion. You could see traces of Will line running across his face, and were probably present across the rest of his body. He was running his thumb gently across a guild seal, a small smile visible through his beard and moustache. Mr. Bardson cleared his throat gently
"Da, there's a man here to see you."
He said quietly, walking over to him. For a minute I feared that the great Liberator was senile, but then he looked up, and I saw it in his electric blue eyes, it was there. He was still as sharp as he had been when he first left the guild. This was Liberator. Still as mighty as he always had been. This was the savior of Albion.
"What's the short stack want?"
He grinned deviously, getting up from his seat, he was the large fellow I saw earlier today, and he looked even larger than seven feet up close. I obviously gulped, because he boomed out a thunderous laugh.
"S'ok lad, I'm not going to kill you. I'm the Liberator, right? Avatar of all that's good, and all that malarkey, right?"
He grinned, and motioned to one of the three chairs by the fireplace
"Have a seat and tell me why you're here Pencilneck."
A bit peeved at being made fun of, I introduced myself, telling him who I was, why I was here, and that I wished he'd just call me by my name.
"All right Roderick, I'll tell you about my life. But we're doing it my way. And I want you to take notes. 'Cuz you're the one who's going to get to publish the tale of my life. And I want you to show me what notes you took from who you talked to when you were looking for me."
He grinned, and his son looked at him, mouth agape.
"Da, you've turned down every one who wanted to write a book of you life. Why this guy?"
Liberator looked at his son and grinned
"Those blubbering fools were just interested in money. This kid probably just wants to finish his quest and get back to his studies, am I right boy?"
I told him he was and asked if we could begin.
"My name is Wilhelm. But most call me Will (ironic, because that was my weakest area of combat). Once I was a great hero. Skorm's craggy ass, I killed Jack of Blades! Twice! But that was years ago…"