Flashback Hunt in the rolling hills

[Dutch Forte]

Date: 18th of Summer, 507 AV
Time: 5 AM


“Get up! Before I kick you again.”
“That fuckin’ hurt.” The boy rolled over onto his other side to face away from the man; he checked his gut where a painter’s pallet of colors lay.
“Get up! Oh… by the way good mornin’ kid.”
“Thanks Barot, good to see you too. Glad we made it through the night.”
“Yeah, we’re always taking naps in the worst places. It’s early so lets go grab some grub.”
“What are we eating?”
“Whatever we find, the rations are out, so we’ll go hunting this time. Good news is we’re only one day out from where we need to be so we’ll be able to sell some of this off to lace our pockets.”
“You mean your pockets?”
“Don’t get fresh with me Dutch, we’ll split it eighty-twenty.”
“Fifty-fifty.”
“Fine, sixty-forty.”
“Deal, I’ll be the sitter this time.”
“Making the old man run? You kids have no respect.”
“You need the exercise anyway, we ate real fat last night.”
“Yeah, so you should be addin’ some muscle mass.”
“I will be, I’ll be doin’ pushups in the trees.”
“Whatever kid, don’t fall on your face like last time.”


The boy waited in a tree towards the end of the forest and, as promised, he did pushups to pass the time. No leaves had fallen yet so the animals moved silently, exhales and inhales was all that could be heard for a good distance. Dutch was on a nice wide branch body parallel to the ground with his left ankle hooked on his right, two arms resting under his armpits right where the branch rolled off. He went down, inhaled, then came up to exhaled; the boy repeated this for twenty-five reps. The arms pushed off to lift the body up while the hips and legs pivoted to swing themselves to a sitting position with feet hanging off the same side of the branch; an arm crossed the chest, the other locked underneath the elbow gently pressing its twin to the chest, they held this for ten seconds before they switched rolls. After some more arm stretches Dutch moved from this thick branch to a skinnier one, he bounced on the trees limb and it seemed weak so he tried another that seemed to hold the weight just fine. Forte squatted and put his knuckles forward on the curve of the branch, he kicked his feet backwards to hang and he waited for his body to settle before he took his left hand and flipped it palm up holding the branch, then he followed and did the same with the other. The monkey seeming boy lifted himself up once easy, twice maybe even smoother, the third accompanied some struggle, the fourth adversity, by the fifth it was true struggle, and the sixth was getting tough. Dutch figured he’d get two more out before he was in jeopardy and he did, he was extra careful when flipping his wrists to the other side of the branch. By now, he was feeling really tired in his arms so he struggled lifting himself up, muscles shaking the whole way as he cleared his chin over the branch; he couldn’t exert his arms anymore it seemed, so he swung his left leg over to get on top of the branch. The young boy sat panting with one leg hanging off each side, not a thought was on his mind.

“Heads up Izurdin!” Dutch turned his head, Barot was chasing a hog through the forest, and the hog was winning the foot race. Dutch turned his hips so his feet hung off the opposite side of the branch they were coming from. The animal was heading to run right under Dutch in the way hunters dreamed: It seemed for an easy kill. The hog ran, Barot following, dipping between trees and jumping over roots, this was a nasty little guy, a lot of meat rested on his bones.

The beast ran right behind Dutch and the boy effortlessly ejected himself from the branch heading towards the ground. The boar broke its path at the last second and headed left; Dutch caught his fall although it was tough on the knees. Without hesitating for a second the boy got up to run, although it seemed almost futile with regards to the beasts speed. “Use your knife!” Dutch checked the pocket of his jacket where, as he had forgotten, a light knife had rested. Dutch lifted the blade from its holster with his right hand and, mid stride, threw it at the beast.

The hog squealed, an edge resting right in it’s heal, it tried to limp forward but it was not gaining him escape now. Dutch ran up and jumped at the beast, lunging his beloved gladius deep into the throat of the animal; it squirmed for a moment before reaching its final rest, “hush little piggy.”

[Dutch Forte]

“You got your grapple?”
“How else are we gonna’ breach the camp later? Of course I got it.”
“Barot, have you ever done this before?”
“Of course I have! What do you think I’m a wuss?”
“I didn’t say that, fasten it around one of these branches so I can hang this pig.” Barot threw the hook upwards and latched it on the branch.
“Like that?”
“You don’t have to lie to me, ya’ know?”
“I don’t know, Dutch, I never stuck around when they did this, I always had a weak stomach; taking the skin off something,” he shivered and let out an exaggerated exhale, “it wasn’t ever my thing. Please don’t tell the guys.”
“I won’t, I remember when I was a boy they showed me all this, I felt the same way but I got over it, just don’t think about it too much.”
“Thanks for understanding, can you do this alone?”
“Unfortunately, no. Todays the day you get over your fear, I’d advise you to watch this so you aren’t yacking on the meat when I need you.”
“I ain’t making promises now.”
“No one asked you too, now let grapple have some give and hang it down so the hook is level with my head, then tie the rope onto the tree.”
“I don’t like this Dutch.”
“Man up.” So Barot did, fixing the grapple while Dutch cut the pigs back feet so only Achilles tendons remained, “I’m gonna’ need your help lifting this thing.”
“Gross, but okay.” The two lifted the boar up holding its big belly like a tree trunk.
“You got it good?”
“Yeah.” Dutch let go of the pig’s body and hooked the rear tendons on the grapple; the pig hung head down from the tree.
“Lets see if it’ll hold, let go.” The branch bent and the rope was flexing, “we’ll have to get some of this off quick before we break the grapple, give me that knife.”
“Sure,” Dutch took the knife and didn’t waste time: He cut right into the fatty layer of the pig starting at its back legs, separating the flesh and the hair. He worked his way around the body of the pig, dropping the hide on the floor, “ugh,” Barot was going white in the face.
“If you ever do this again make sure you cut out this things whole ass, that’s the dirtiest part of the pig.”
“Duh.”
“I’m just trying to teach you.”
“I know, I’m being an ass.”
“Least you can admit it. There, now the whole things out.” Dutch worked his knife down more towards the head of the pig, his knife got caught here and there on the hide but he always readjusted and cut closer to flesh just as he was taught. He got down to the front legs of the beast and cut lines down the sides of them, pealing the skin off before he separated the hooves. “I’m gonna need your help now.”
“No problem, what’s the issue?”
“It’s not an issue, just hold this things head.”
“I don’t think I could do that.”
“You can do it, now come-on.”
“What if I yack?”
“You’re not going to,” the branch made a sound like it splintered, “you hear that? Now lets get to it.”
“Alright already, the head?” Dutch nodded, “I’m not gonna’ like this.”
“Sure you will, you’re not even doing the grossest part. Now hold it nice and tight.” The two put their hands on the pig’s head, Dutch lower than Barot. Barot squeezed while hiding the sight from himself, the younger of the two turned the head all the way around till it faced its rear, Barot dry heaved, “almost there,” Dutch applied some force and the head came loose, Barot heaved again. “You’re done, go take a rest.” The skin dropped along the ground with its head attached, “first time I did that by myself.”
“I helped.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I just was just boasting a little. In all reality it’s the first time I did it as the lead.”
“And you did a good job, that would make a mighty fine rug. Hey, how do we know this things good to eat?”
“Well, we don’t. Pigs are dirty animals, so we’ll cook this meat till its white; but this thing seems fine, see that nice full coat? Usually means it’s relatively free of disease.”
“Hmm, you sure do know a lot for a youngster, good memory.”
“Thank the parents I don’t know.” Barot looked down, than up again, “I gotta’ disembowel this thing now and take the meat off, why don’t you go start a fire?”
“You got it, I’ve been aching to get away from this shit anyway.”
“Figured.” Dutch was now removing the innards of the beast, it was relatively easy from here on in: All he had to was take the meat off.

[Dutch Forte]

Dutch walked over with pig bits in hand to visit his partner, who had been establishing a worthy fire. Barot had dug out a sizable circle right at the clearing of the forest, he had encased the pit in stones and was readying for a full-fledged fire.
“We need some kindling kid, mind helping me out?”
“Not at all, you looking for something like this?” Dutch flashed a dried twigged toward Barot.
“I’ll need something like that eventually, but the sticks we’ll need for the fire have to be a little wet so they don’t burn right up. I’ll need the dry sticks for spark but we have to do some foraging for wood before we can even think about that.”
“You think there’s any wet wood lyin’ around over here?”
“No, nothing too close; we’ll have to find a damp place where they could be held or a river to wet them.”
“You’re a lot bigger and tougher…”
“Thank you.”
“Right…. You wanna’ hold tight and I’ll go searching?”
“Sure.”
“Okay you got anything else to do?”
“I’m gonna’ start fixin’ up these sticks, you see this bark and this stick you just gave me? I’ll strip these guys down to their whites and I’ll twist, rub, and press the stick on the bark to generate heat, that’ll be our spark. After that, I’ll have a little braid prepared from their splinters and that’ll be the base for our fire. That shouldn’t take much time though.”
“You want to salt to the pork while I’m gone? It shouldn’t take too long.”
“Yeah, I can handle that; I’m not gutting it this time.” Despite their differences, age or otherwise, the two enjoyed a quick laugh.
“Alright, I’ll be off.”
"Wait!... Dutch, I just want you to know I was wrong to say before you deserve less of a share than me; when we get back we’re splittin’ this half way whether you like it or not!” Barot had a smirk on his face, the kind that a child put on for a pat on his back.
“It’s hard not to appreciate an even split on the last cookie, it’s even tougher to forget the other kid just ate the whole jar.” The two nodded as the younger headed to the forest; a smug marked both their mugs, Dutch’s more than Barot’s.

---

Dutch walked the somber forest, it was easy and still at this time of day, the ball of light was finally over the edge of the horizon; flushing green were the trees, grass was beginning to grow ever proudly on the ground. Little creatures, squirrels and the like, had begun their daily business of the day, foraging and building up their homes; Dutch was lucky to not have faced anything larger, such was always a moment of huge risk. The trees had been covered in light, and finding damp sticks had been unfruitful, instead Dutch had begun to gather dry ones with the plan being to either wet them or gather such abundance to feed the fire for an extended time. He had around two-dozen in his backpack now, and it was beginning to seem a little fruitless to continue on, rather, Dutch was thinking of just getting a mass of sticks and turning around now.

A Rabbit poked its head from a borough beneath a tree and being quick (as rabbits so often are) he jumped into a bush nearby before Dutch could truly make note of the happenings. Again the critter emerged to show its face before heading to another borough just as quickly and Dutch, ever curious, thought it right to investigate. He peaked in the hole where the rabbits lay, getting down on one knee and forcing his head closer; in the den rested the same rabbit (given it’s eyes a little wider now), a similar seeming adult, a smaller adolescent, and what seemed like babies. The adult rabbits would make good meat but inner morality had Dutch feeling for the younger ones, without mother and father they would most likely stand no chance, plus Dutch also had much meat and nature had proven time and time again to the boy that she had no niceties for the greedy.

Dutch went to go stand from his spot when he noticed his left hand had been resting on wet tree bark. Dutch looked at the ground surrounding him, there were several damp branches around him, “Perfect!” Dutch exclaimed within the confines of his own bones. The damp branches immediately got thrown in the backpack but the boy thought even further: What if the dampness was somehow linked to a nearby water supply? Dutch again checked the ground to see that the wetness was in a large ring, with huge tracks to match leading in one direction: Moisture was apparent in the tracks leading to the big-wet-spot, but the tracks leading away were seemingly dryer. Dutch used his intuition and concluded that a large beast must have come here damp, rested for a short minute, and then shoved off. The boy, now in an intellectual-hunter’s fervor, followed the tracks from whence they came.

It wasn’t long before the mercenary-turned-scavenger found his way to a riverbed, which proved to be an absolute beauty: Local wildlife participated in the freshwater, willows wept over the river, some shrubbery dotted the coast but sand troubled their development, and fish flowed down the river seamlessly with crustaceans laying along its bottoms and beds. Dutch breathed it all in for a moment, it was truly a site; in that moment he pondered what it would be like to live amongst this before reconsidering hearing tales of people living away from civilization: It never proved to be a worthy lifestyle; instead the boy appreciated the time he had in the spot.

All the enjoying of beauty needed to end and he decided it was time to dampen the sticks. There was a fallen birds nest sitting close to the forest, this would be ideal as a way to run the water through the sticks without actually having to hold them in hand the whole time. Dutch laced the nest with the sticks, and planted one in the rivers water and one in the bank to hold the bird's nest in place, the nest rested quite well and the sticks were left to soak.

Dutch rested on his back, he had made a long haul from the fire pit, he thought it well deserved. He imagined coming trials: Dutch and Baron were supposed to infiltrate the camp of some raiders, people who lived a life quite similar to theirs, on specific orders from the head mages of The Avaricious Circle of Flame. Their goals were unclear to the boy, and Baron probably knew much more of the real objective but, for now, what was important was survival; Dutch always liked to take things one at a time.

Just as he reached tranquility a crab gripped Dutch's finger, “mother fucker!” He shouted at the nuisance, the shelled creature released. In retaliation, Dutch shooed the crab away with his foot, kicking it; the crab ran for its life and, unconscious of the gravity within the situation, ran into the stick Dutch put in the riverbed knocking it over, which, in turn, released the sticks from the basket into the river. Dutch had always heard of Qamurs existence in Mizahar, but this moment forced him to believe; it was just this bit of karma that made him realize the crab most likely acted innocently, with no means of harm to Dutch. In an attempt to make amends Dutch expressed some knowledge of its diet, passing an algae plated rock towards the creatures way; he even went so far as to scavenge a dead fish, which he found questionable for human consumption, off the bank for the crab as well. The creature dragged its rewards off and Dutch was going to rest again before some logs came rushing down the river towards him, stopping and splintering right before the boy. He quietly gathered the oddly timed arrivals, only taking the smaller sticks, and headed back for where Baron was waiting.

----

“Took ya’ long enough.”
“Haha, it took me just the right amount of time, I got some sticks for ya’.”
“Let me see…. Oh well these will do, these are perfect! Where’d you find these?”
“Down by the river.”
“The river aye? Plot it on my map there this way we can keep record in case we’re ever scarce on water.”
“Okay, you ready to start this fire?”
“Yep, let’s just set these sticks up tent style like this, than we create some friction between the stick and bark like shown before…. This’ll take a second…. There ya see? We got an ember, now ill drop this in this ball of braid,” Barot dropped the ember into the braid of splinters and blew softly so as to spread the heat, it wasn’t long before it smoked greatly and lit a flame, he threw the fire into kindling under the tee-pee of sticks. “Ya’ see that? Now that’s a fire right there!”
“Hah, you sure outdid yourself.” Dutch had been preparing sticks with mounted pork on their tips, he handed one off to Barot who nodded, they both proceeded to cook their shares of the pig on the open fire.
“I got to thinking while you were gone Dutch…”
“Don’t tell me you wanna’ head to the brothel again after we’re back, you know what happened last time.”
‘No none of that, although I might make you come again with me once we’re back,” Barot cackled, slapping his knee. “Being serious though, have you ever wondered if what we’re doing is right? We take lives before they were meant to whither away, granted I know they probably don’t have the cleanest pasts, but it seems that the money we make could never amount to what the slain could have made in their lives had they been allowed to live.”
“Well Barot, I’d have to remind you of the God Lhex who you taught me about so short a time ago: He watches fate, we can’t beat that; we were meant to be killers, and those slain were meant to be killed. It is just for us to carry on our destiny, which is non-determinable, in a way that not only makes sense for us, but accords in the overarching schemes of the forespoken God. As you put it so well he has no need for good and evil, ‘the tides go in, the tides go out.’ If we don’t want to do this we don’t have to, it’s just all I know and, as it is for myself as well, nice coin for you.”
“Yes, but isn’t there another, better way?”
“For sure, but the mages would have our heads if we choose to live it.”
“To hell with the mages!”
“You’re well entitled to say that, I, even in youth, have trouble not denying their claims.”
“So then why don’t you?”
“I… Don’t have a good reason for not doing so.”
“I’m gonna’ get out of this after I get a nice fat wallet and then that’s it, no more killing no more stealing, I’m living the good life!” Dutch didn’t speak a word. “Hey, lets belly up, we still have to hit that camp by nightfall, as much as we might not want to.”

[Dutch Forte]

After eating the two decided it was best to rest. Barot, as he so often did, decided to take a catnap, Dutch was trying to study up on a book he claimed before his departure. The title read “An Anthology of the Divine,” it contained a description of Gods and Goddesses along with a brief history of each. The book had no dates to mark it so it was hard to even assume what was said was accurate to date, but, despite this, it did provide a general view of those discussed. He read of Izurdin, the supposed patron of the Isur, who’s realm encompassed diligence and strength; Dutch silently thanked Izurdin for giving him a resilient-strong body, despite being human, and also for his work ethic, which moved him even in direst of perils. Dutch then read of Myri, the Goddess who was said to be queen of the Myrians, the woman killed the former God of war to preside over his domain, that being battle and victory; Dutch thought of prayers silently, wishing to her for victory and thanking her in advance.

Lhex was the next, odd enough, Dutch found it strange such a prominent God would be in the middle of the book, perhaps he had dictated fate to place him in the thick of the rest. Dutch was already familiar with the God of Fate, but decided to read more on him. It was said he dictated what souls did post-life and moved them to their rebirths; Dutch was well aware of this but what he found unusual, even humorous, was the apparent man’s personality: He was courteous when least expected and, on the other hand, was truly harsh during times of misfortune. Dutch thought that Lhex’s interpreters must have been misguided, assuming things fortuitous which were truly not and things bad which were not; the boy thought this as he had witnessed many a time in his life men get overcome by wealth, believing it to be the greatest good, when, in fact, they would spend it quick and blame their despair on it, such made it apparent to the youth that money was not inherently good, it could be used for such, but the despair it wrought at its loss was a far greater evil, forcing people to steal and fight, than its gain was a good as many who gain great amounts never think it enough and many who lose it covet money like a sacred treasure. Lhex was most likely interpreted incorrectly to the masses, Dutch found the God most interesting, wishing in the deepest of his mind to converse with him, although he wondered if the God’s vague ways would even produce a fruitful conversation, at least one that would appear so to Dutch. In the end, the boy prayed to the God of fate for a good future, not asking much, and thanking him for being kind enough to have allowed him to live well to this point.

Dutch turned the pages yet again; this time he found himself reading of Eyris, Goddess of knowledge. Dubbed the queen of learning, she knew no side in the war between good and evil; Dutch found it hard to fathom why such a knowledgeable being would not side with the good, for wasn’t it the greatest goal in life to do well not just to yourself, but others as well? Dutch than thought of what it truly meant to be good: To do good to all, not just your friends, but your enemies as well. Perhaps this could be why Eyris did not side with “good” Gods, as their wars with evil were inherently evil in themselves. Dutch reflected on this and thought Eyris herself even touched him in this moment. The only exception to this rule, where war would be necessary, would be when evil does harm to the innocent then, and only then, would it make sense for a good God to interfere; if the God’s themselves were attacked, they should hold steadfast, as there be way worse and more true sufferings than all forms of pain, such as being made a slave or being inflicted with cowardice. Dutch turned to thank the Goddess for all he knew, apologizing for his questioning of her, and wishing for true knowledge in his future. The boy turned the page again to see a beautiful image of her looking in his face; the thought of meeting such an aesthetically pleasing lover of knowledge teased his mind, still being but a man.



Dutch paused and cleared his head; he sat with his legs spread and arms behind his back with his hands on the ground, leaning on them to support himself. His head flooded with thoughts: “Will I see victory in my coming battles? Will I continue to live the mercenary life, or will I take a different path? Could I ever escape my roots? What positive things can I do, if any, to make the world a better place? Can I ever find true knowledge? What’s the point of all this work I do? Isn’t relaxing, like I am now, truly the most pleasurable thing?” Dutch’s last question stopped his thought, a particular segment caught him off guard, “like I am now,” Dutch realized he wasn’t even relaxing, rather, he was worked over in angst and his body even trembled as a result. The boy looked over at his companion, who was fast asleep, his back to the ground his face to the skies. Dutch went to match his company, attempting to clear his head. The same questions sporadically bothered his mind, but he tried to force them out; the young man focused on his breathing, and keeping his body still; it was not long before his head was almost clear (he still had to focus on keeping the thoughts out) and he was relaxing truly, perhaps for the first time in his life. Dutch closed his eyes, and a slight smile marked his face. However, feeling a disturbance in the air, his eyes darted open for just a moment: Barot was standing over him.

“What the hell are you so happy about? Let’s get to sparring, I’m gonna’ need you sharp for later.”

[Dutch Forte]

“Alright lets loosen up,” the two rolled their shoulders, heaving them forward around, then stretched their arms the same way.
“I already feel good.”
“Well sit around youngster, wait for the old man
“I’ll do pushups, lets see how many I can do while you try to get some life in your rusty joints!”
“You’re gonna’ get it.”
“1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5.. 6.. 7.. 8..”
“Alright I’m cutting it short to whop your ass.” Barot threw a hard wooden short sword, much like a gladius, at Dutch; he kept the longer one to himself. “Show me your guard.”
Dutch crossed his sword, gripped with his right hand, diagonal from his hip to chest. Barot came over across the opposite shoulder from the tip immediately, thwacking Dutch, “Fuck, that hurt.”
“Yeah, that’s what you get; with reactions like that you’re luck your alive today. You can’t always rely on your charm kid, one day you’ll have to learn how to fight.”
“I wasn’t even ready, now lets get to it; the day you describe has already come.” Dutch put his guard up again and so did Barot, they bowed and picked their heads up, pointing their swords towards each other’s. “You know you’re slower old man.”
“But you aren’t as good as me.” Dutch lunged forward swinging his sword vertically down at Barot who swung his sword to meet the force; the two collided right in front of Barot’s face who broke Dutch’s swing, “Or as strong.” Barot poked Dutch, who was overextended, in the belly, “one-o.” The two again proceeded in a ritual, crossing their swords across their chests and bowing. This time Barot made the first move, he swung horizontal at Dutch’s weak side, moving his right hand to the opposite side Dutch flipped his wrist and rolled his shoulder to create power; he caught his opponents blade with his own, which was upside-down and brought his hand across in a big circle so Barot was now overextended, his hand right hand high above his left shoulder. Barot retreated his blade and Dutch landed a light blow to his foe’s jugular.
“One-one.”

[Dutch Forte]

The two went again, this time Barot in a fury, he swung with all his might down on Dutch; the younger took a two-step back and twirled left, “see? Slow.” Dutch went to poke Barot who moved quicker and swung to catch Dutch’s rib.
“You’re cockiness might be the only thing stopping you, two-one.” The two squared again, this time Dutch feinted a horizontal swing and Barot retreated. They traced the circle, looking in each other’s eyes, one would shift a move and they would break for just a second before getting back to head games. Finally Barot confidently lunged, Dutch did as supposed and drove the blade to face down; after a battle of muscle the Dutch retreated to a circle again.
Dutch reached out to stab him, looking for the easy win, Barot sidesteped left and swung for Dutch’s right shoulder. The boy raised his hand in defense holding the sword horizontal, the two of them fought with might, “you know you can’t endure this.”
“Back off,” Barot drove through and crushed Dutch with the wooden sword, smacking him in the head, warm blood rushed across the boy’s forehead as he got his bearings, trying to cope with his shift in vision.
“Get up.” Dutch didn’t say anything, caught in his own daze, “we’re not even finished.”
“You don’t have to hit so hard.”
“Get over it, getting stabbed’ll be a lot worse.”
“We’re not looking to kill each other.”
“There are people out there who do want to kill us though, and it’s my job to make you know what that feels like.”
“Whatever, I’ll play your way.” The two mercenaries bowed yet again with a touch of scorn. The older of them went first, swinging diagonal starting at his opponents right hip cutting through to his left shoulder; the younger stepped to his left and lunged driving his sword from high above his head down. The experienced one used his strength to break his strike as the younger quickly slashed diagonally at his opponent’s right shoulder but the older man only had to take a step back to avoid. Barot laid in wait for short before Dutch ran at him swinging through his rivals abdomen, but again Barot caught the attack and drove him back; this time he pressed and swung from the down upwards. Dutch caught the swing upwards well below his waist and Barot used both his hands to drive up and, seeing him now vulnerable, Dutch kicked him in the stomach to back him off; the older one stumbled backwards, the younger followed his right foot through and planted to jump, poking his opponent in the belly subtly, “doesn’t mean I’ll slam ya’ with my sword.”