Another cold, gray and dreary day dawned in the County of Petrice and the scattered towns and villages within its borders. Towns such as Tuk, if it could be called such a thing–it was more or less a series of shops and tradesmiths settled along the main road which continued on into the Eastern Mountains, eventually becoming the Road of Benedict. Any few travelers who entered the County would pass through this way, and so the little town sprung up around this meager traffic, not unlike a dank cavern weed that barely sustained itself upon what condensation dripped down the stone walls above it.
The tavern which sat roughly at the center of the Tuk served as its only source of ‘entertainment’, though it was a low-lit and dejected-looking place where haggard, swarthy men drank in silence and did not laugh.
So it was an unusual and peculiar sight when a handsome man with short brown hair and a sunny disposition entered in through the weathered tavern door, positively beaming with a grin. He wore a short, dark cloak draped over dirtied half-plate armor and leather. Despite his long travels and dangerous occupation his armor had stayed impressively intact, and it might have all looked quite regal, if not for the copious amounts of dirt and dried mud which stained most of it and dulled its sheen.
The man strode up to the counter with a swagger which drew eyes–and ire as well–from some of the less-savory folk among the establishment. Paying them no mind, he clapped his two palms down upon the wooden surface of the bar with an enthusiasm which was not returned, going by the expression of the ‘tender.
“A mug of beer please! What a long road it has been! I’ve been looking forward to some refreshments!”
The bartender looked at him with a notably lackadaisical air as he replied. “Ain’t no beer for you. Just for them.” He motioned with his head toward a corner table where three of those previously mentioned less-savory folk were seated, leering over towards the newcomer.
This young man frowned a touch, but it did nothing to dim the merry shine in his eyes.
“A shame, then, that they’ve rented out the whole tap.”
But the bartender shook his head slightly. “They ain’t, they just buy it as they need, and they told me not to give no more to anyone else ‘til they have gone.”
“Ah.” At this, the younger man glanced over his shoulder again at the seated trio, and then back to the bartender, his smile returning once again. “Then a mug of beer it is, my good man!”
The bartender startled at that, as did the men at the table. The sound of wood squeaking against wood rose as two of the three slowly drew from their seats.
“Th-there ain’t no beer for you…” The bartender stammered a bit as these three brigands now approached.
“If they have not yet purchased it then any that have the coin can do so instead.” The lad stated matter-of-factly, seemingly oblivious to the approaching danger.
“Hey!” Called out the smallest of the three men. “Didn’t you hear? That keg is ours ‘til we’re done wif it! Bugger off!”
At his call the young man turned to face them, but he did not seem nervous at all, and in fact displayed that same beaming disposition remained despite the harassment.
The two men halted just before him, eyeing the armor he wore, which despite the grime, was considered quite costly around parts such as this. Then their eyes moved back up to his face, where he still smiled naively, his skin without a single scar or a wrinkle on it, and he appeared quite ignorant of the world to these men, and they grinned with foul intention.
“Now, now lads…” Called the tallest of the three, the only one still seated at the back. He spoke with a friendly tone, but also with a mischievous lilt. “There’s no need to be rude. Let the lad enjoy a drink. One tall mug ain’t gonna dry the tap none.”
His cohorts looked less than pleased at that, but they could sense the meaning behind his words and acquiesced, nodding curtly to the man behind the counter, who nervously fetched a mug.
“Thank you strangers, I was certain we could settle this with some civility!” Replied the lad with a smile.
“Oh, think nothing of it…” Said the third man, as his compatriots slowly made their way back to their table, still eyeing the newcomer with some indignation as he turned back towards the counter.
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Niklas attempted to maintain some level of composure as he followed behind the Librarian. He still felt a lingering, shaking weakness in his muscles and bones from that moment when, in the dark, her chilled and decrepit old hand had been placed upon his shoulders and gave him the utmost fright! But swiftly thereafter she had produced a candle from beneath her dark cloak, wordlessly beckoning for him to follow.
Now, Niklas was not so sure that this was the best idea, but his curiosity had overcome his common sense. Now he plodded along behind her as she crept through the corridors between the ancient bookshelves, spaces which were in fact so narrow that Niklas wondered how someone of a normal stature was meant to traverse this place. The Librarian was the only person he had met who was thinner and bonier than himself!
Suddenly she stopped, and so abruptly that had he not maintained a cautious distance from her Niklas might have stumbled into her back! As he recovered his composure, her pale-blue and bony finger emerged from beneath the dark cloth of her hooded robe and flitted across the dusty tomes and files on the shelf before her, which appeared identical to all the rest. Her hand trailed over texts of all different sizes and subjects until it finally stopped upon one, which it withdrew. Then, just as suddenly as she had stopped, she began to move again, and Niklas was forced with a start to catch up with her and follow along, lest he lose his one source of light!
Over the course of a half-hour or so the Librarian repeated this process several more times, until they finally, after a bit more walking, emerged from the maze of tight-set shelves into the familiar space of the desks and tables, which Niklas recognized as where he had been sitting just before. Approaching one of the tables, the old woman placed down an aged tome, a scroll, and a stack of parchments held together by a fraying string, and then she gestured for Niklas to take his seat, placing her own fresh, tall candle down beside them. Staring incredulously at this collection of documents, he lowered himself onto the chair.
“The-these are..!” He stammered in amazement as he began to open each and take in the wealth of information written inside in faded, but precise script. Included among them were various detailed reports, trade receipts, records of purchase, and old quaint histories–all dating back several generations!
These are exactly what I needed next! He thought to himself in amazement as he flipped through the pages laid out before him. How did she find the exact papers that I had hoped for? I didn’t even say a word to her!
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
He turned over his shoulder to where the Librarian had been standing, ready to express his gratitude for her assistance. “Tha-” but he stopped abruptly. for she was no longer there.
“Huh..?”
After a moment of stunned silence, a knocking came from outside the nearby doors, distracting him quite thoroughly from his mysterious and unsettling helper.
“Yes?” He called, and the portal creaked open again to reveal old Belfort standing there.
“My Lord, supper has been prepared for you.”
“My! Has it already been so long?” Niklas asked in amazement. Time had truly flown as he was buried nose-deep in the records, enjoying himself immensely. “But I have only just now found some more interesting texts!”
“Shall I have them sent to your quarters?” Asked the butler promptly.
“Do that,” Niklas replied eagerly,” I would be most grateful. Then I shall go to sup now and return to them after.”
He moved through the darkness of the library, finally emerging into the light beyond the open doorway. As he passed he said to the old man. “And do thank the Librarian for me, for her assistance!”
Belfort cocked an eyebrow at that, but kept his bemusement to himself, merely scratching his balding scalp instead.
Librarian..?
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Emerging from the tavern doors, the brunette youth waved and called a friendly farewell back over his shoulder towards the bartender, which the man did not return, merely watching him depart with a look of troubled annoyance.
“What refreshment!” The lad sighed aloud to himself. “A most good mug of beer after such a long walk! I thought I might stop at the inn for the night, but now I feel I could go on for a bit more of a ways! Perhaps I shall feast on seed with my mule, and camp under the night sky.”
His rather loud and jovial monologue drew eyes from all directions, from locals with mostly pale and gloomy faces, similar to those he had encountered within the tavern.
Paying them no mind at all, the young man walked along for a time until he reached the stables. Within the furthest stall he came upon his mule, still weighed with a great many packs and items tied on with ropes, which was gratefully gorging itself upon grain in a trough.
“Come, my dear! A little more walk is in us before it gets dark!” He called merrily.
But as the two of them exited the building and came back onto the main road he was forced to stop. Three men stood before him, dark-looking thugs with long mangy beards wearing tattered leathers and grim expressions.
“Hello again friends!” He called out to them, just as amicably as always.
The smallest one spat onto the mud. “No friends here.”
That tallest one spoke again in a friendly tone, but with a mean grin. “I had thought at the time it was fine if you had a bit of our beer, but now I’ve changed my mind, and I thought I would like it back from you.”
Confused, the young man said. “I do apologize, but I have already drunk it all.”
At that, the tallest man’s grin grew wider and meaner. “Well then, I guess we’ll just have to cut it out of you!” And all three men at once drew their maces, axes and daggers, respectively.
“Well, that is mighty uncivilized of you.” Said the target of their ill-intent as he reached a hand into one of the packs upon his mule’s back.
“Don’t blame us, stranger.” Replied the middlest man. “It’s you foreigners who keep comin’ here alone with yer fancy-expensive armor an’ goods.”
“You stand out too much!” Said the smallest man. “It’s like yer beggin’ to be robbed!”
“I can’t quite say I understand…I was born here in Petrice myself.” Replied the young man, and from the packs that burdened his mule he withdrew a sword. It appeared to have been entirely forged from some sort of black iron, and it resembled a rapier, except for its blade which had a distinct and wavy design. The brigands' eyes grew wide as they looked upon it.
“Monster Hunter..!” Breathed the tallest man in shock.
There was a pause then, long and tense. Onlookers once content to ignore this foul event were now drawn now to the sight of the infamous blade which represented these elite Petrician swordsmen.
“Aye, Thomas is my name. I hunt monsters and dangerous beasts!”
The shortest man looked most afraid, but he held his ground in an almost indignant manner. The middlest one looked more unsure, but he too held his ground, mostly following after his compatriots’ lead. But the tallest one at the back took a step away and placed his axe back upon his belt loop, unseen by the other two men, his eyes blown wide in terror.
“I’ve yet to see a Petricien act this way in all my life,” the newly-revealed swordsman remarked, almost casually. “You three resemble more the men from Otkorn. I hear it is a foul place with many outlaws and bandits.”
“How dare you..!” Cried the shortest man, offended.
“Ah, so you were the true foreigners all along,” laughed Thomas. “Stow your weapons away, men, I only hunt Monsters.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Replied the middlest man, though a bead of nervous sweat now ran down his temple. “Take off that armor and hand over that mule and you can be on your way!”
For the first time that day, Thomas truly frowned, furrowing his brow. “I need this armor to hunt dangerous beasts. And I shall not abandon my dear friend to the likes of you!”
“You don’t have a say in the matter!” Cried the shortest brigand, and he glanced over to his companions then. “Come on! I don’t care what they say about those Flamberges! He can’t take all three of us at once!”
Together the two more reckless ne'er-do-wells charged forward, weapons aloft, unaware of their companion’s hesitation.
The shortest man died before he even saw Thomas move. He had swiftly and suddenly lunged on the power of his back leg while kneeling in with the front one, piercing his opponent’s neck before withdrawing just as quickly. The second man brought his axe down in a two-handed blow, which awkwardly glanced off of the side of the guard and the quillons of the Flamberge. Thomas then bent his elbow inwards to his waist and jammed the wavy blade into his opponent’s side just above the hip, tearing through leather and chain with unnatural ease. The brigand cried out and fell to his knees beside Thomas, clutching frantically at his wound.
Thomas stepped back from this second lunge and looked down at the man where he knelt and wept. Still watching from the sidelines, the ringleader of the group looked sickly, disturbed as he was at the swiftness with which this fellow had cut his brothers down. Thomas smiled at him most casually, and with a flourish he sank his blade halfway through the neck of the kneeling man, who then went silent and slumped over into the mud as he joined his short companion in death.
From one of his mules’ packs the young brunette produced an old filthy rag, with which he cleaned his blade, before stowing the weapon away once more.
With a flippant nod towards the last man, he said “G’day, then!” before he promptly led his burden-beast forward and departed, leaving the town behind to sort out the mess. The tallest brigand watched the unassuming pair wander away until they disappeared into the distance, before turning back to look at the corpses of his friends, where a small crowd was beginning to gather and gawk. The man spoke to himself then, his silver tongue gone hoarse with fear.
“I...should go back to Otkorn.”