Me, The Wanderer

[Thalrick]

The hills rolled on and on and on, endlessly, as if there would never been an end. His feet hurt inside the tight boots, the boots he had been wearing for too long, the boots that were suffocating his feet like his father had done to his mother. He wanted to take them off, to cook and eat them, but knew that would be folly. Before long he'd have feet ridden with blisters, and be stabbed a hundred times over by all that hid in the ground. I'll keep them on, and rob the first man I see for his. . . No, no. That is behind me now. I left that life behind me, the moment I washed up ashore. I'm not a pirate anymore, damnit, I should've never been one. There had been a sweeter time in his life, when piracy was not so bad. They had raided other pirate vessels, and that had been it. A time before Yarlen Greyhorn, self-proclaimed Pirate Lord, had gone mad and forced his crew to raid helpless merchant ships, and fishermen. Thalrick all too well recalled the look in an old fishers eyes, when his dagger had dug into his heart. Those eyes, he feared, would haunt him for the rest of his days on earth. Those eyes are dead, and so is the old me. . . He had allowed Wilda, the daughter of the innkeep at The Fisherman's Friend, to tend to the wounds he had suffered aboard the last night of The Widower, and then left them without a word. She had wrapped his torso in cloth bandages, and dabbed the wounds around his stomach with an unknown oil that burnt him every time she applied it. ''Just once more,'' she had said thirteen times, until finally he screamed at her and she gave up on trying to help. Her hospitality was noted, but he was in too much disarray to care about anything she had to say or do to help. He had just lost all of his friends in a single stroke, and once again he was alone in life. . Thalrick did not particularly know where he was going, nor did he care. He had spent most of his known life at sea, and had grown accustom to the ocean beneath him. Now he walked on grass, and he had been walking on that same grass for what felt like an eternity. The Wildlands were nothing but rolling hills, it seemed. He had come across a few men, one of which had tried to rob him of his boots, for some reason. When Thalrick drew his rapier the man backed off, and continued on his way. Now that he thought about it, he should have robbed him for the garron he had been riding. Surely that would have gotten him across this sea of grass much quicker. The sun was setting over the horizon, emitting an orange glow across the land. It was a beautiful sight, one Thalrick had never truly appreciated. He had always been too busy managing the ship, or cleaning his lordships boots, or helping Jon distract rich people so he could steal their horses. Now, he was free from all that, and he could appreciate the warm glow of the sun as it set to make way for its brother, the moon. Has it always been so glorious? He thought, as he mustered the energy to ascend one more hill. Wilda had given him a bedroll and a pack to carry it in, some clothes and a ragged leather belt that he could slip his rapier, Swiftclaw into when he travelled. Rapiers did not require sheathes, their blades were too thin. His clothes fit him perfectly somehow; a tunic made of a cream-colored cloth, some comfortable breeches and a surcoat of white and black. Her fathers boots had been smaller than his own, unfortunately, and he was stuck with them. They were still wet from the Suvan Sea, and still ripped and frayed from all the years he had worn them out. ''A fire. .'' Thalrick whispered aloud as he approached the crest of the hill. Far away he could see plumes of smoke rising, a wisp of grey that was just as promising as anything he could ever imagine. It could have been an inn, where he could find refuge, or perhaps the campfire of a merchant group. Surely a merchant group could take him out of this grass sea, and to civilization. He needed a way to civilization. As if he had just been sleeping for a year to conserve energy, Thalrick burst into a sprint, the sound of his pack jingling about as he made his mark upon the grass, moving as fast as any horse could have taken him. He climbed up hills and then back down, until finally the plumes were close enough that he could smell whatever was cooking beneath them. All he had eaten since he left was a rabbit he caught, and all he had eaten before that was some soggy old bread and a wheel of cheese that Wilda had given him. ''Food . . .'' He said aloud, panting. Suddenly all the energy was drained from him, and he felt himself drag his own body weight toward the fire. He was close enough now to realize it was not an inn, but a campfire. He would have killed for a hot supper. And perhaps before the night was through, he would . . .

[Thalrick]

''Is it food y'want?'' He heard a hoarse voice say from behind him. It startled him, but he did not move his hand toward his hilt. He did not want to seem hostile, he only wanted whatever they were cooking. ''Aye.'' Thalrick replied, and turned to face the man. He was tall, broad, bald, draped in an old yellow cloak, and covered in various layers of leathers and mail. Nestled in his arms was an abundance of twigs and pieces of wood. He did not seem at all like a merchant. There goes that thought. . . ''Well if it's food y'seek, friend, come eat with us. We have plenty enough. Old Rick tends to chew his pork and spit it out, and Mit plays with it like a toy, never putting it near his bloody mouth. Sometimes I wonder why we even have supper! Har! The name be Jack, boy. Jack the Brother they call me, on account of me making this merry band we call the Band of Brothers. Come, I'll fill ya belly and introduce ya to me company!'' The man seemed friendly enough, and his laugh was hearty and inviting. Thalrick allowed himself to follow the man down the hill, and up the next, until the camp came into view. It was nothing but a camp fire, a wagon and a couple of chestnut-colored garrons that had been grazing on the grass. When the men saw Thalrick with their leader, they gave him a curious stare. ''Who's this then?'' one asked, sitting on the ground poking a dead insect with his stick. His shaggy black hair fell below his ears, and his face had a scar that ran over half his nose, taking a small chunk of it with it. His teeth were crooked and yellow, his eyes as dark as the night. The others were all dressed similarly to Jack, though they only wore leathers and no mail. ''Introduce yaself, boy. They won't bite. . . least I'd hope not. We're fighters but we ain't savages.'' Jack gave Thalrick a friendly pat on the back, and he introduce himself. When they asked how he had come to get there, he told them he was looking for Sunberth, leaving out all the details of his past. Mit, the one with the stick, seemed to find that funny. ''Sunberth, aye? Who would want to go to that damned place, crawling with bandits and men who think themselves above the law. There's no order to it, not a shred. You'd find more order in a wenches smallclothes.'' He gave a laugh after that, loud and obnoxious, and returned to poking his dead insect. Jack shook his head, smiling. ''Mit, don't run the boy away before he's had the chance to supper, it's not our business where he's headed! Sit, Thalrick Levelle, and I will share with you our pig.'' He cut some of the roast with his knife and handed it to Thalrick, who ate it quicker than he thought he would. As he was finished eating, two more men returned, with a hare slung over their shoulders. ''Who's this, then?'' One of the men asked Jack as they placed the hares beside the fire. ''Thalrick Levelle.'' Thalrick said bluntly before Jack replied. The men stared at him, puzzled, for only a moment. ''Suit yourself, I'm Jarl and this be Ryger.'' Jarl was a tall, slim man, with a close-cropped beard and short brown hair. He wore a leather brigandine with a tunic beneath, and a mail skirt over his breeches. Ryger wore the same, though his head was half covered by a dinted sallet forged from steel. He did not say a word, and only stared from the one eye he had left. Thalrick was quickly beginning to wonder what this Band of Brothers were about, and let curiosity take his tongue. ''Band of Brothers, you said? What are you, common folk turned bandits? Soldiers?'' He felt rude, but the question seemed necessary. Jack laughed his hearty laugh. ''Bandits? Har! We are no brigand, boy. Quite the opposite, wouldn't you say Jarl?'' Jarl nodded and smirked, taking a slice of the roast for himself and eating it from his knife. ''I started this little company a year back, when me and my fellows were all denied our rights by law of the city. We defended ourselves in the streets of Syliras, that's all it was. Self bloody defence, had we not done it we would have all been dead men right now, nearly skeletal I'd say. Anyway, a little gang of would-be mercenaries ambushed us, and we fought them. Ryger lost an eye, but that man that took it lost his arm, and then his life. When we were all taken to trial, they did not choose to execute us; and banished us from the city instead. Still, to this day, we are unaware of the bastard who set those men to attack us. They wanted us dead, that was clear enough. Har! Now we try to redeem ourselves, out in these wilds, by putting brigands and common bandits to the sword. Maybe we can win back our honour, maybe we can't. It doesn't matter, we're here now and we are still all bloody alive, and that is what matters.'' The men all yelled out the name of their company after that, before Jack moved back to lean on the edge of the wagon. Inside it was crates, likely filled with provisions for their travels. ''Tell me then, Thalrick Levelle, why are you here? Any fool knows Sunberth is in the opposite direction.''

[Thalrick]

I cannot say why I'm truly here . . . yet he has been honest enough with me . . . Thalrick did not know the answer to the question. These men dismantled bandits, and they would likely find a pirate to be the same. After all, they were just bandits on big ships that were made of wood. Still, it felt wrong to be dishonest with them. They had taken him to their camp, given him food and warmth . . . he was a free man now, unbound to any masters; he was a pirate no longer, maybe they would understand that. Hopefully they would understand that. When Thalrick told them his background, and how he had came to the Wildlands, Jack seemed to understand. Ryger looked at him angrily from his single eye, and Jarl did not really seem to care, and instead sat there plucking a harp he had taken from the wagon. ''The affairs of the oceans aren't our concern, boy. We won't harm ya, lest you're prepared to harm us. But you don't look like the sort that could do any harmin', so I won't stick ya with the pointy end of old betty here.'' He patted the sheathe of his sword, laughing. Mit had finished poking his insect to a slow death, and stood up. He was short by nature, but his hunched posture only made him smaller. He stood behind Thalrick, startling him as he spoke. ''I heard o' that ship, not long ago. That captain, your captain, did quite a bit of plundering in his day. I'd bet twenty gold mizas that you helped him with it, am I wrong?'' Mit placed one hand on the hilt of his short sword that clung to his hip. Thalrick shook his head, afraid Mit would charge him. And if he did, he would have to defend himself, which would likely set all three of the brothers present on him. ''Aye, I helped with his plunders. But I'm a better man, now he's dead. Yarlen became a monster more than a man, greedy and self-centred, content on ridding the entire Suvan Sea of any other ship beside our own. I'm better off now, on my own.'' Mit took a step forward, and Thalrick two back. Jack sighed loudly, as if he were trying to draw attention to himself. ''Stop it, Mit. He won't harm us and you won't harm him. If ya do, I'll see you lose an eye just like Ryger, only slower and more painful-like. Lower your bloody ugly hand and keep pokin' ya fuckin' insect.'' Mit huffed, sat back down, and stared at the ground. He was like a little kid, and Jack his father. The burly bald man placed a hand on Thalrick's shoulder and squeezed it gently. ''Harmless as a fly, that one. All talk and no dick. Har! We're not heading to Sunberth, for Mit despises the place, but we can get close enough. If it strike you to travel with us, then feel free. We make camp every night, and Jarl usually plays a few songs on that wretched harp of his. Better than being on your own, boy. What do you say?'' The offer was tempting, but Thalrick was already doubting how safe he would be in the presence of Mit. Jarl seemed alright enough, Ryger seemed to have lost his tongue as well as his eye, Jack was friendly, and he had not even seen this 'Old Rick' that he had mentioned earlier. Still, it was safer than travelling alone, where a brigand could murder him in his sleep amongst a sea of grass, where his body would rot without anyone ever knowing. He had no choice. ''I accept.'' Mit groaned, and Jarl smiled like he had just made a new friend. ''Perhaps a song, then? Have you heard 'My maid, in Ravok'?''

[Thalrick]

Oh my maid Hair as soft as silk Oh my maid She protects me when I'm ill Oh my maid Her breasts so soft and round Oh my maid The fairest in the town The song seemed to go on for quite some time, until Jarl placed the harp down beside him and instantly fell asleep. Mit had already been, same with Jack and Ryger. Something kept Thalrick awake, though. He could see the faces of Vann, and Tasha, and Jon, all biting at him every time he shut his eyes. It was like the inside of his eyelids had turned to savage memories of the life he had once lead, the life he would now try so hard to escape from. He wanted to start anew, as his own man; free from any master. He had served men all his life, and now it was time that he started serving himself. All he needed was himself, and Swiftclaw, for it would protect him when nothing else could. The embers of the fire rose high, red and yellow and orange flames dancing against the black of the sky, crackling and comforting any who were close enough. He watched them for awhile, until finally he managed to drift off to sleep. . . The next morning, just before the sun had risen, Thalrick was awoken by a man he had not met the night before. He was tall and broad like Jack, with long brown hair and a white-brown goatee. He too wore a yellow cloak, with patches of brown and green sewn over rips in it. ''Who're you?'' He asked, right after digging his leather boot into Thalrick's ribs. He assumed this was Old Rick. ''Thalrick, erm, Levelle.'' He began, too tired to think, ''I'll be travelling with you for a time, at least Jack tells me so.'' Old Rick said nothing, and instead turned to Jack, who was sleeping in the back of the wagon. He delivered a swift punch to his shoulder to awaken him. Jack nearly rolled out of the wagon in scare. ''Jack, you invite this boy to join us without my consent? We are a band of brothers, not the band of Jack!'' He seemed angry, his voice gruff and hoarse. He moved menacingly across the camp site, back to Thalrick, who was now pulling himself to his feet. ''You'll leave, and you'll leave now. We have no room for new brothers, this is the only family we got. Get up and go, go on. Try and stay and I'll cut you down, I swear it.'' Old Rick was now furious, and Thalrick had said nothing but his name. What have I done? This old bastard is delusional. . . ''I-I did not intend to offend--'' Rick kicked him in the ribs again. ''Go.'' From behind him, Thalrick heard the chuckle of Mit. He seemed rather pleased with what was unfolding. As Thalrick stood to leave, Jack interjected, climbing down from the back of the wagon, still half-asleep. ''Don't leave, boy. Old Rick is a fool. Calm yourself, he has done nothing wrong. He is safer with us, it is safer than travelling alone. These lands are bloody dangerous at any time of the year.'' His words did not seem to calm his brethren, and Rick drew his long sword from its leather sheathe, then pointed the end at Thalrick. ''He's a bloody pirate, Jack, Mit told me so. How can you trust a pirate? He's a bandit, if not worse than one, and we killed damn bandits for a livin'. We should poke holes in him now and be done with it.'' Old Rick yelled. Thalrick looked at Mit, who smiled a crooked, evil grin from beneath his shaggy black hair. By now he had his hand wrapped around the hilt of Swiftclaw, for Old Rick seemed likely to explode at any moment. ''He was a pirate, not no more, Rick. He's a wanderer now, just like us. Only he's less armed and less dangerous, and doesn't roam around killing bloody brigands. We kill men and so has he, it's all the same.'' Jack seemed so calm, whereas Old Rick was the opposite. The finest form of juxtaposition was unveiling itself before him, and all Thalrick wanted to do was leave. If Old Rick attacked, then maybe Jack wouldn't, but he had no doubt Mit would join in the assault. And he had nothing around him but grass, there would be no escaping. He'd have to fight.

[Thalrick]

''Pirate or no pirate, he's a bloody liability. I don't want to be stabbed in my sleep, Jack, maybe you're blind to see it but this lad's the type that would. If you don't send him away, I'll do him in me bloody self.'' ''You won't be doing anyone in, Rick. You'll be putting that blade away now, and I won't have anymore of it.'' Old Rick pointed his sword at Jack, and Mit had raised himself so that he was standing. Miraculously, Ryger and Jarl still were fast asleep beside the dying embers of the fire. ''This is a band of brothers Jack, not your merry band o' men. You are the leader as much as I, or as much as Mit. We are free, all of us, condemned to these lands together. You seem to have forgotten that, takin' in strangers without a second thought. If I say he goes away, and Mit says he goes away, then he does. That's all there is to it. I don't want a bloody vicious pirate sleepin' among us, so if you want to fuck him, do it now before he leaves.'' Jack's thick grey brows furrowed in anger. ''I may not be your leader, but I sure ain't gunna be spoken to like I'm shit. Lower your fuckin' sword or you'll see the wrong end of mine.'' Jack was as fearsome as a bear when he was angered, and he went as red as blood in the face. Old Rick did not lower his sword, and instead turned it on Thalrick. The former-pirate and root-of-all-their-problems ducked the swing, rolling aside to avoid the steel. Jack drew his sword but Mit drew his own, a vicious scimitar that seemed to gleam beneath the rising sun, newly polished – or forged. Perhaps it had belonged to a bandit they had slain. Jack drew his sword in hopes of defending his new friend from his own sworn brother. ''Put ya blade down, Jacky.'' He warned. Jack did not put his blade down, but nor did he move forward as he had intended. Thalrick suddenly felt weary. He had just woken, and his legs felt like slime and his arms as heavy as lead. His eyes still hurt, and the water in them made one Old Rick suddenly become five. He yanked his rapier free from his belt, far from gracefully, but he did not care. Old Rick laughed, and Mit sneered. ''What do you plan to do with that thing? Poke a hole in me?'' He asked, voice laced with mockery. Thalrick shrugged as he assumed his stance, legs open, rapier in one hand and the other behind his back. ''If I must, then I will poke ten holes in you, and see you stain this green grass the darkest shade of crimson. But I do not need too, nor want too. Lower your sword, so neither of us shed blood. I have done enough of that in my years.'' Thalrick took a step back, but Old Rick just snorted. He had done enough talking. ''Harrrrr!'' He roared as he charged in, swinging his blade across in hopes of cleaving his opponent in two. Thalrick had to leap backward to avoid the swing, and swore it scraped the edge of his surcoat. Jack watched on in fear, fear that his new friend would be split in two by his oldest one. Old Rick's longsword was long as the name implied, but so too was it heavy. He did not have the speed Thalrick did, for he was too busy using both arms to swing his sword about in great arches. It did not take Thalrick much energy to dodge each of his swings, though he could never come close enough to deliver a blow of his own. This is so unnecessary. He thought as he side-stepped an attempt at a stab. He was done talking with the gruff man, for it seemed he only spoke in steel. He would put a wound in him, and make him surrender before he put more. That was his only way of walking away from the camp alive.

[Thalrick]

Soon, Jarl woke and so did Ryger. Neither said a thing, and watched on in confusion. Mit gave them a threatening glance, one that suggested they did not move. Both of them seemed to understand what his glance meant. Old Rick fought with pure strength, and a sense of brutality that he had only seen in his former Myrian ally; Tasha. There was no calculations in his strikes, only muscle. He was not particularly cunning in where he swung, nor did he care for what limb he was swinging at. Old Rick was like a frenzied bear. Thalrick had never fought a frenzied bear, but he had fought men who were equally as angry and a lot faster. Dodging the man's attacks would have been easy, had he not just woken up. Each swing was as strong as the last had been, but each swing became slower. It seemed the frenzied bear had just woken too, and was quickly running out of energy. By his thirteenth swing, Old Rick was nearly out of coal; Thalrick could see the flame of his anger dying out, right before his eyes. After a missed attempt of beheading the former-pirate, the burly man panted, and that was all Thalrick needed. He rushed in like a crow to a corpse, only this crow had been armed with a rapier that poked holes in flesh like it was butter. Swiftclaw did exactly that as it entered Rick's ribs, poking a hole in his insides. He coughed blood onto Thalrick eyes, and used his blindness against him, driving a leather-gloved fist into the thinner mans face. Thalrick leapt backwards to avoid a second punch, though was unable to pull the rapier free. Now unarmed, he raised his fists as the large man approached him, breathing loudly. ''Har! The thing tickles my belly, boy. I'll have to thank you for getting the stiffness out of my joint, before I end you.'' Damnit. . . He's got my sword in him and he's not even hurt . . . Now I'm unarmed, fuck . . . The man came rushing forward again, this time with a fist instead of a sword. He swung it at Thalrick, and he was unable to dodge it. It hit him hard and quickly, like a lightning bolt running through his body. Thalrick jerked back, and failed to defend the second and third punches, both of which hit him fair in the jaw and chest. He had always fought amongst a plentiful environment; one where he could hide and make use of. In a field of grass, he was as helpless as an ordinary man. A rapid torrent of fists began pouring out of Old Rick, as though a heap of coal had been tossed onto his flame. Fist after fist hit Thalrick, over and over and over, until he stumbled back onto the grass, defeated. His face was bloodied and numb, and his heart beat so hard and fast he was expecting it would burst from his chest at any moment. This must be it, where I die . . . I deserved this . . . All those years preying on the innocent, I have finally met my maker in the form of a big old man . . . The sun had risen, only to be blocked out again by the enormous shadow cast by Old Rick. He seemed a thousand feet tall, looming over Thalrick like death itself. He closed his eyes, expecting to die, but instead felt something land on his chest. Swiftclaw. The man had pulled the rapier from his chest and dropped it onto his defeated adversary. ''Go.'' He said bluntly, and though Thalrick felt close to dead, he found enough strength to stand and walk. And so walk he did, back the way he had came, each step feeling like a thousand swords had just pierced his stomach and his chest. ''It's just me then. . . Me, the wanderer.'' He thought aloud.

[Nemesis]

. Thread Grade Pending Greetings! This is just a notification that, I cannot grade this thread until you deal with the Intervention that I have just placed on your Character Sheet... and removed living expenses from your ledger to reflect active play during the season of Winter 514AV. Once you have done these things, please send me a PM and I will grade your thread. Thank ye, -Nemesis