"Raphael! W-what are you doing?!"
Travelling with a companion was an… interesting experience, to say the least.
The lone warrior yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, before turning towards the source of the exclamation.
Now, that wasn't to say that he disliked it - quite the opposite, in fact - but suddenly having to worry about more than just himself was quite a departure from his usually solitary life, a change that he still sometimes had trouble getting used to.
He cast his gaze around the room in a groggy fugue, a bleary figure of feminine proportions outlining itself in the corner.
'Old habits die hard', as they say, a phrase the tarnished had not put much meaning behind until his arrival in this strange world. He had not been on the road for long, yet already some of his tendencies had started showing.
Upon closer inspection, the girl appeared to be shielding her face with her hands, as if protecting herself from some unknown danger. Raphael scanned the room once more, but there was no-one else around to explain her strange behaviour.
Muttered conversations with himself underneath hushed breath, hours spent staring off into space, and the tendency to become absorbed in his own thoughts, oftentimes blocking out all else until he was jolted awake. It was a lot better when he helped Evelyn train, but as soon as he would get on the road a switch seemed to flip in his mind, and suddenly Raphael was back wandering the lands between.
He took a hesitant step forward, floorboards creaking under his weight. This proved to be the wrong thing to do, however, for the girl let out a strangled squeak at his approach, proceeding in a valiant attempt to meld her figure against the wall.
Contrary to his expectations, Evelyn wasn't inclined to drum up much of a fuss about it. She would give him funny looks sometimes, but she never really pried, something that the man was rather thankful for. In truth, both the trip and his subsequent attempt at teaching had gone much better than expected - although considering their difference in origin, some hiccups were bound to happen eventually.
"Erm… Evelyn? Are you alright?"
Grey eyes shone for a brief moment behind the veil of her fingers, before shying away once more.
"Put on a shirt, y-you scoundrel! Walking around like that is improper!"
Crimson eyes looked down and, just as his companion had said, Raphael's upper half was completely bare of any clothing. The warrior stood still for a moment, before he shrugged and snapped his fingers.
A spark, a brief flash of light, and when Evelyn finally removed her hands from infront of her eyes to actually see what was going on, Raphael was clothed once more in his usual golden attire. He levelled a nonchalant look her way, before smirking and turning to the door.
"Well, looks like we're all ready! Do you think this inn serves breakfast, by any chance?"
Evelyn seemed to almost growl under her breath, expression torn halfway between throwing a tantrum and slumping downwards in defeat. It was an amusing sight, in all honesty, and the man made sure to let her know with a brief widening of his smile.
In a totally unforeseen turn of events, this gesture seemed only to exacerbate her frustrations.
"Y-you… Why can't you just get dressed like a normal person?!"
Gauntled-clad fingers twitched at regular intervals, as if in suppression of violent urges. Maybe before he wouldn't have thought of this as particularly threatening, but their sparring had shown a different side to the girl, a rather frightening tendency to cause untold amounts of collateral damage to whatever was in her vicinity.
"Just please don't do that infront of anyone else, okay? I'd rather we didn't get kicked out from the tournament before it even begins!"
Still, it was almost hard not to tease her. Something about the faces she made was addicting in the extreme.
"And where would be the fun in that? I thought you were above such things, to be honest…" Raphael frowned in faux disappointment, before rubbing his chin in a sage-like manner.
"The pursuit of normalcy is usually reserved for the ambitionless and those mired in mediocrity - neither of which are attributes a warrior should possess."
The tarnished took a step forward, eyes sharp and lips curled into a grin eerily reminiscent of a fox's. Evelyn tilted her head upwards in a slow motion, staring up at the man's towering form, as an involuntary gulp left her throat.
"Before you pick up a sword, before you turn to fight, before you swear yourself to a cause, shouting out your convictions so that all of heaven and earth can hear; before you begin on this path, long and arduous as it is, you must first come to terms with a simple truth."
Golden tresses spilled around his features like a heavenly cascade, nearly inhuman in their perfection. Evelyn tried feebly to look away, but found herself unable, locked in place and mesmerised by forces outside of her understanding.
"In every tale of heroes and impossible odds, there is always one thing in common, a single concept found unfailingly within each and every story. What is so different about these people, who perform feats so grand that their very names are etched forever in the annals of history?"
The man chuckled to himself, his voice thrumming and echoing in ethereal tones. The rest of the room began to melt away, piece by piece, until all that was left for Evelyn to see was him, a vision of gold suspended in an empty void.
"Understand, Evelyn, that legends do not gain their title because they upheld what was normal, what was accepted or even what was right - but because they rebelled against it."
Raphael crouched down until they were of the same height, and locked eyes with his awestruck protege. A lifetime seemed to flash past in that single instant, hundreds of thoughts and feelings running through her brain, until he broke contact in an abrupt fashion, a mysterious look plastered on his face.
The tarnished got up and walked to the door, opening it and letting in a chill breeze. He seemed to contemplate something at that moment, frozen in place like a statue, before slowly, with an almost unnatural grace, he turned on his heel.
Orbs of purest crimson blazed with an emotion Evelyn found hard to place.
"To be who you want to be, to pursue the goals you have set for yourself… If you wish to be a knight, then you cannot stay as you are."
As the world came back into focus, empty white bleeding into the browns and greys of everyday life, Evelyn Waterford found herself at a loss for words.
He gave one last smile, another of his arrogant, infuriating, charming smiles, before leaving through the door with soundless footsteps.
'What… what just happened?'
A hysterical laugh began to bubble at the back of her throat, threatening to break free, but she held it back. It may be tempting to say that this was an unknown side to the man, although she knew it would be naught but a bold-faced lie.
He made it rather easy, to be honest. Easy to underestimate him, easy to think of him as a fool, a jester or some oblivious nobleman. Until now, even she had started to forget who he really was.
Within mind's eye she recalled that haunting scene, burnt into the deepest chasms of her memory. The piles of corpses strewn across familiar fields, the screams, the cries, the vacant expressions staring up into the abyss, forever cut off from the wellspring of life.
And standing out within the gloom, amidst the blood and grime, stood their saviour. A golden spectre clothed in carnage, eyes gleaming crimson in unholy blood-lust.
An angel of Vengeance had set foot in the lands of the living.
It didn't seem like something one would forget, but the fact that she had scared her like nothing else.
With halting motions, as if treading through muck, Evelyn took a single step forward.
Still, even that couldn't occupy her thoughts for long.
Raphael was no longer physically in the room, that was true, but his parting words rang like a bell through her mind. Over and over they tolled, each time sparking within her a growing sensation. A flame within her breast, a fire that burnt stronger with every passing second.
"As a wise man once told me, 'To be a hero is to laud the concept of change above all else.'"
With renewed vigour, the girl gathered her gear before rushing forwards, bursting through the inn doors and out into the world beyond.
"So tell me, squire Gideon…"
Her gaze darted around frantically, scanning the busy street, before locking onto the faintest shimmer disappearing into the crowd.
It was enough.
That everdistant goal, always fleeting and stuck on the edge of the horizon. That unattainable ideal, shining like a lighthouse within her dreams seemed for a fraction of a second, for a single moment in time, to draw closer.
"Do you have what it takes?"
Grey eyes filled with determination.
/
Behind an iron helmet, someone took a deep inhalation of breath.
The familiar scents of damp wood and iron tickled their nose, a nostalgic sensation, soothing the knight's frayed nerves and calming their mind. This was especially important, for the warrior was about two seconds away from erupting into a frenzy.
"What is this?"
The question might have seemed innocuous to a random observer, but the tone with which it was delivered seemed to shake the poor stable boy to the core.
"I d-don't understand, g-good sir…"
The knight didn't move, although from within his armour the sound of grinding teeth began to echo out, a death knell upon fearful ears.
"You don't understand? Really?! Well enlighten me then, stable boy, what is the purpose of you giving me a wooden sword?"
The boy began to panic. Although it was clear from his face that he still didn't know what it was, exactly, that he had done wrong, what he did know was that it didn't really matter. Logic had a bad habit of flying out the window when faced with the pointy end of a blade.
"Umm… S-sir Mordred, correct?"
The helmeted figure let out a grunt of acknowledgement.
"Well, I-I'm not sure if you were told, but the use of live s-steel has been prohibited by order of the King. N-new safety regulations, you know? Haha…"
The boy's attempt at levity died a sad death, his words seeming only to incense the knight.
"Really… That's pretty funny, y'know! For a second I almost thought you were telling the truth!"
The warrior tensed, and before anyone could react, he had already sprung from his position with a feline sort-of grace, placing a gauntleted hand upon the stableboy's shoulder.
It was a deceptively gentle gesture, marred only by the cold chill of steel through thin cloth, and the slowly increasing pressure upon the boy's shoulder.
When Mordred next opened his mouth, it was with more a growl than human speech.
"I'd think that it would be best to consider your next words carefully. Wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen, would we?"
The stable boy couldn't see the knight's face, but he got the distinct impression he was being levelled with a particular look - a smile that showed too many teeth to be friendly.
"The truth, if you will…"
He was scared. Terrified, even, and who could blame him? Others had told him these things could sometimes happen, but fool as he was, the boy hadn't truly taken their warnings to heart, and now look what he was left with!
Maybe he should just lie. Maybe he should just tell the knight what he wanted to hear, truthful or not, and run away with his tail tucked between his legs. That was the smart thing to do, he surmised. No-one would begrudge him for it.
Within the safety of his mind, the boy let out a sardonic chuckle.
He always was a terrible liar.
He stared though that menacing iron helm, into the manic eyes gleaming underneath, and took a deep breath.
"S-sir Mordred, you must listen! You can disbelieve me if you want, as is your prerogative, but you will not be allowed to compete within the squire's division without a wooden sword! This I swear, upon my own honour if I have to!"
The stable boy flinched back as soon as he finished his speech, predicting a violent retaliation to his words.
"Squire…"
A second passed, then two, before disbelieving eyes opened and took in his surroundings. The previously aggressive knight had stepped back, almost as if in shock, muttering obscenities under his breath.
"There's no fuckin' way…"
The boy wasn't sure what had happened, but he was grateful either way. It was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The knight seemed to process for a while, before walking back with decidedly more tentative steps. This time, when he spoke, Mordred's voice was a tad higher-pitched.
"A-are you serious?! I'm not a fuckin' squire, damnnit! Is there any way I can change to the normal tournament?"
The stable boy levelled him with a solemn look, before replying.
"I'm afraid not, sir. The registration for both tournaments closed yesterday, although if there's been a mistake, I can ask someone to pull you out-"
"No."
"A-alright then…"
The warrior grabbed the wooden sword from where it lay on the ground, and appeared about to say something, before shaking his head and thinking better of it.
Sir Mordred left without another word, the clang of heavy steel echoing in his wake.
/
Done moving all my stuff into my new uni apartment, hopefully I can get back on track with writing this thing. I won't lie, I'm very excited for the next few chapters, and I hope you all will enjoy them!