Sat out in a field, surrounded on all sides by eager faces and wide eyes, lay a man. A foreigner to this land, strange as he was intriguing, possessed of knowledge unknown to common men, and a wisdom that belied his apparent age.
He sat amongst the hazy grass, and regaled his audience with stories fit to be etched into legend.
"So there I was, Trapped! Completely alone and at the mercy of my enemies-" Torrent, lying on his belly and absently flicking at flies with his tail, let out an unimpressed snort.
"Yes, you were there aswell you bloody drama queen. Are you a scribe or something? A little bit of inaccuracy gives character to your story, I tell ya!"
The horse turned his nose up in a theatrical manner, making the gathered children burst out into giggles.
"Anyways, as I was saying, both me and my gallant steed were stuck in the middle of a poisonous swamp, no way out in sight! The evil commander had surrounded us with his spirit soldiers, and they were starting to converge on our position with bared steel and violent intentions. The situation was certainly dire, and I had begun to lose hope, until…"
His audience gasped in suspense, fully immersed in the story.
"Ahh, what happened next?!"
"Did you kill the bad guy with your sword?"
"Ooh, did you shoot fire at his ugly face?"
"I bet Alexander the warrior jar came and saved the day!"
The excited murmurs of the children brought a genuine smile to the man's face.
"Those are some good guesses, but what happened was even cooler! You see, I remembered in that moment an item that my-"
His monologue was cut off by a feminine voice.
"Raphael, a word?"
The person in question looked towards the source of the sound, and spotted Evelyn leaning on a tree a small distance away. Her hair had been sheared down to chin length since the last time they had met, and her posture seemed a tad straighter, something the man was surprised he even noticed.
Raphael turned back to a host of imploring eyes, and grimaced apologetically.
"Sorry guys, seems like storytime is over for now. Don't worry, I'm sure we can continue some other time…"
The children did not seem particularly amenable to this change in schedule.
"Huh? But it was just getting to the best part!"
"Aww, that's not fair!"
"Yeah, can't you and Evelyn go smooch some other time? She's always such a spoilsport!
That last comment seemed to get on Evelyn's nerves, judging by her embarrassed blush and twitching fingers.
"We are not going to s-smooch, Jacob! Where did you even get that idea?!"
Jacob stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.
"Nuh-uh, not telling! Let's go guys, it looks like Evelyn and her new husband need some 'alone time'."
"H-he's not my husband!"
Her impassioned declaration fell upon deaf ears, the children rushing off back to the village, giggling all the while.
Evelyn watched them go with a put-upon sigh.
"Sorry about that. They're good kids, even if they don't know when to shut up sometimes."
Raphael let out an amused chuckle, before getting up from where he was sitting and walking over. Evelyn noted, absently, that up close, her head barely even reached his shoulders.
A strange shiver ran through her body
"Don't worry about it. Children will be children at the end of the day, nothing to it but nature. Besides, what they said was hardly offensive. Any man would be lucky to be married to a lass like you!"
She turned her face towards the ground, hoping that her flushed cheeks would remain unseen. Evelyn coughed in order to release some of the building tension, although it came out in an awkward fashion, more a squawk than the dignified noise she had been going for.
"A-anyways, I have important news! Old man Gareth has apparently been asking after you, for what reason though I am not certain. Whatever it is he wants, he seemed quite desperate; the man was practically on his knees when I agreed to go find you!"
The warrior's face didn't change much at this revelation, although his red eyes seemed to narrow a tad.
"I'll be over in a minute then, Evelyn. Just need to give Torrent the raisins I promised him. The old bastard's been poking at my side for ages about it, bloody glutton that he is."
An affronted whinny left the aforementioned steed, and Evelyn let out a rather unladylike snort at the sight, her stymying hand doing little to suppress her laughter.
She gathered her bearings a moment later, although not without receiving a subtle smirk from her quarry.
"Well, I guess I'll leave you to it. Goodbye for now."
The girl turned and made to leave, although a cultured voice halted her mid-step.
"Your hair looks good like that, y'know. I think it suits you."
Maybe if she had the cover of darkness to shield herself from view, then her reaction and subsequent response to his words could have gone unnoticed. Maybe she could have left the clearing with her pride still intact.
Unfortunately for Evelyn, it was still the middle of the day.
Raphael watched as the girl turned completely scarlet, let out an adorable noise more akin to a rabbit than a person, and then proceeded to flee with her tail between her legs.
'Huh… I've never had that reaction before."
Fingers pulled at the unfamiliar contours of his face.
'Must be the new look.'
/
Old man Gareth hobbled through the front door, carrying with him two tankards of ale. His frame may have once been called stout, although now only remnants of his prior form remained, with gaunt cheeks and sunken-in eyes standing out amongst the dim light.
It looked as if he hadn't slept in days.
The old man placed the drinks onto a small circular table, and took a seat next to it. Pushing one of the tankards across the wooden surface, his face morphed into a strained smile, before speaking.
"Ser Knight, I implore you, please lend me your assistance!"
Gareth bowed his head in reverence as he made his plea, eyes looking straight towards the ground.
Raphael grimaced.
It was starting to become rather irritating how so many of the villagers still had trouble making eye-contact with him, although it was hard to get truly upset about it considering their culture - no matter how flawed he thought it might be.
A single golden eyebrow raised in askance.
"And what is it, exactly, that you need assistance with? I feel like I've done quite a lot of 'helping out' recently."
His tone was light, meant to brighten the mood, although it didn't seem to have much effect.
Gareth shuffled in nervous agitation, balled fists clenching and unclenching in sporadic movements.
"We are forever in your debt, Milord, and I know I have little to give, but I beg of you; please, hear me out."
After a seconds pause, the warrior nodded his head.
"A million thanks, milord!" If he were to look closely, Raphael could almost see the beginnings of tears in the older man's eyes. "M-my son, he went out into the forest yesterday and has yet to return. He is a trapper, you see, so at first I thought he might have just been taking longer than usual, b-but…"
Gareth trailed off into silence, his body trembling in unconcealed anguish. A comforting hand was placed upon his shoulder in the next instant, and the old man turned his gaze to finally look into the visage of his saviour.
He was almost blinded by its radiance.
'Maybe the priest was right about him after all…"
"I will have a look, my friend. I am sure he's just fine. Probably sneaked off somewhere with a lady friend, eh?"
Both men let out a weak chuckle, although they knew within their hearts reality was hardly so kind. Still, it was a hopeful distraction, and anything to put the old man's mind even slightly at ease was worth it.
A man like Gareth hadn't much pride, of that he could admit to readily. Such a thing could only ever serve as hindrance to those that shared his status. Yet, it still galled that he was reduced to asking assistance from others about a job that he should have been able to complete himself.
Alas, the days of his youth were long behind him now, and their recent circumstances had not done him any good either. Even walking to the tavern and back had become an excruciating endeavour, and most days he was confined to his bed with wracking coughs.
The old innkeeper knew he was not long for this world, but he wished at least for his family name to continue on. His dear Annabelle had already left him a few summers ago, their infant daughter lost to the flu, and he had no knowledge of any cousins or siblings that he may have had.
All that was left was his son.
Gareth watched with reverent gaze as the man in shimmering armour left through the door, before shutting his eyes. Clammy hands found their way around the rosary that hung from his neck, and he grasped it, holding it with the tender affection his mother used to.
'Give me the strength, merciful God, to pass through my pain…'
He prayed for the health of his son, for the safety of the village, for little Emma to be welcomed into the embrace of the almighty. He prayed for the saints and martyrs of old, that they would guide him through these troubled times, and for Lord God to deliver his soul from evil.
An old man sat alone in his empty home, beseeching all that would listen, as cracked lips formed into the barest of smiles.
And most of all, he prayed for the Angel that had been sent down to them from on high.
/
"I can't believe the lot of ya! How in Christ's bloody name did you lose track of the boy?! There's dozens of you and only one 'im, for fuck's sake!"
Hidden under the thick canopy of trees, a group of men made their way through the underbrush. Around 30 strong, with grizzled features and hard eyes, the men exuded savagery and bloodlust in a way that was hard to replicate.
Their leather cloaks were dyed burgundy red, and upon muscled shoulders they carried a host of weapons; swords, spears, axes and hammers, some of them adorned with serrated edges
In contrast with their intimidating appearance, however, the men's faces were void of the expected scowls or snarls, instead pulled into sheepish smiles.
"We got 'im in the leg though, boss…"
"DOES THAT SOUND GOOD ENOUGH TO YOU?! If that bastard get's back to the village, then we can kiss an easy job goodbye!"
'Henry the horrible', apparent leader of this band of mercenaries, shouted at his group in outrage. Tall in stature and possessed of a fierce scar running from cheek to chin, the man in question towered over his entourage like a giant. In large hands he held a battered claymore, and with it he carved a path through the shrubbery.
Henry's mind swirled with thoughts of strategy and planning as he charged, for if he didn't do it, the rest of those rotten lot certainly wouldn't. They could call him a worrier and a coward behind his back all they liked, but it was his quick thinking that had gotten them out of many dire situations, and it had been him who even had the charisma to get this job in the first place.
The cacophonous noise of rattling metal echoed out from the forest.
On the surface it was nothing but a quick paycheck. The village had apparently fallen upon hard times, most of the menfolk dead due to the petty whims of nobles some months prior, leaving the place ill-defended at best. A few old codgers with pitchforks would do nothing against his trained group of killers, but it never hurt to be prepared.
It was one of the habits that had been beaten into him a lifetime ago.
He could almost imagine his old instructor's wizened face, brows furrowed as he dispensed crucial information onto the younger generation. Henry had been but a squire back then, young and with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, although even that had become twisted in time.
Nowadays, all he could taste was blood and ashes.
The mercenary shook his head, dispelling the nostalgic thoughts from mind. Dwelling on the past would do him no good now.
With a final step the horde of men crossed the forest's borders, and were embraced once more by the noonday sun.
Squinted eyes stared forwards, in search of their target, before unwashed faces grinned in excitement.
The village of Camelford lay on the horizon.
/