****** Kingdom of Albion ******
****** LLanelli Farmstead ******
He knew this day would come, with each passing year, he knew the day was coming closer. Yet, season after season, he unfailingly toiled away at the farmstead as if nothing was amiss.
His arms, legs and body were marred in old scars, reminiscense of battles of times past, so much so that the children from a nearby village called him Crow or Scarecrow or many other names they conjured for the once wandering warrior who had been reduced to a mere farmer, whose scent was that of manure and hay, rather than steel and sweat.
To anyone who saw the man without a name, the man with many names, they would have assumed he must have been a warrior despite his peasant clothing and hay hat. His appearance was battle-hardened yet weary, old and young all at once. A mighty commander who had likely fallen from grace and was toiling away as a serf, a peasant at a wealthy widow's command, and her two children, working the hard chores as the man of the house in return for food and roof and a modest handful of coins.
The two bundles of mischief, a lad and a lass, who had just come of age, had yet to mature and behave like proper adults, still nothing in their heads but to spend the day playing pretend sword fights and shooting makeshift arrows at the real scarecrows scattered in the fields as if it were a battlefield in open war.
"Do you like it? Do you like it?" asked the young lad running out of the barn and over to Scarecrow to showcase and display his finished hand-made sword. "Look, I can be a knight now, I can fight off thieves and bandits" declared the young lad swinging a few strokes against the air, running around the nameless one as he toiled in the field picking crops from the allotment for their early supper.
It was perhaps for these three and their sakes that the Farmer had failed to leave sooner. He knew the dangers looming over his shoulder but he also knew how much the widowed family depended on his services to tend the roof, sharpen the tools, toil the lands, chop the wood to keep them all warm in winter, clean the stables, feed the cattle, plant and collect the crops. It was a lot of dirty hard and honest work for little pay but the warrior was content with his lot in life, a handful of copper and silver pieces each week that he could scurry away or waste away at the nearby village's tavern. It was not a glamorous life filled with honours, praises and glory but it was a pleasant, quiet one, at least, for now.
They say that time heals all wounds, they say that time cures all ailments, they say that bad experiences fade into nothing but vague memories, in time... but no... for one man... this was not the case... revenge had been simply simmering over time, like stew pot filled to the brimming that had been left unchecked and was now raising to a boiling point.
Each month was spent scouring the very large kingdom seeking the one man no one knew by his true name and even fewer knew his true whereabouts much to the dark knight's anger and frustration.
Sir Tron Pentre, the leader of the armies, the lord knight of the realm, was a knight whose heart was colder than stone, if he even had one... whose deeds put murderers and marauders to shame, the only thing knightly about him was his official title as the king's right-hand-man though tavern gossip simply referred to him as the king's butcher and even butcher would have been mildly put.
With every vow from the Old Code of Chivalry broken and no one to stand up to him, to stand in his way, his mission was simple... revenge. He was thirsty for vengeance against the one who had been once his tutor, his friend, trusted confidante and mentor, against the one same man who in the end had refused him entry into the king's service as a knight and made a mockery of Tron's efforts to succeed, cast aside and disregarded his skill and training over his dubious morals.
Now that he had grasped the power in his gauntlet, he would find that one man and make him pay... one way or other. It was a matter of time before the errand vagabond was found and when he did find the nameless one, he would greet him in those exact same words.... "Greetings... old friend" though their inevitable encounter would certainly be anything but friendly and the Farmer knew this as much as the Black Knight.
For now all was well at the farmstead and surrounding villages, perhaps it was but the calm before the approaching storm, how long it would last, no one could tell.
****** LLanelli Farmstead ******
He knew this day would come, with each passing year, he knew the day was coming closer. Yet, season after season, he unfailingly toiled away at the farmstead as if nothing was amiss.
His arms, legs and body were marred in old scars, reminiscense of battles of times past, so much so that the children from a nearby village called him Crow or Scarecrow or many other names they conjured for the once wandering warrior who had been reduced to a mere farmer, whose scent was that of manure and hay, rather than steel and sweat.
To anyone who saw the man without a name, the man with many names, they would have assumed he must have been a warrior despite his peasant clothing and hay hat. His appearance was battle-hardened yet weary, old and young all at once. A mighty commander who had likely fallen from grace and was toiling away as a serf, a peasant at a wealthy widow's command, and her two children, working the hard chores as the man of the house in return for food and roof and a modest handful of coins.
The two bundles of mischief, a lad and a lass, who had just come of age, had yet to mature and behave like proper adults, still nothing in their heads but to spend the day playing pretend sword fights and shooting makeshift arrows at the real scarecrows scattered in the fields as if it were a battlefield in open war.
"Do you like it? Do you like it?" asked the young lad running out of the barn and over to Scarecrow to showcase and display his finished hand-made sword. "Look, I can be a knight now, I can fight off thieves and bandits" declared the young lad swinging a few strokes against the air, running around the nameless one as he toiled in the field picking crops from the allotment for their early supper.
It was perhaps for these three and their sakes that the Farmer had failed to leave sooner. He knew the dangers looming over his shoulder but he also knew how much the widowed family depended on his services to tend the roof, sharpen the tools, toil the lands, chop the wood to keep them all warm in winter, clean the stables, feed the cattle, plant and collect the crops. It was a lot of dirty hard and honest work for little pay but the warrior was content with his lot in life, a handful of copper and silver pieces each week that he could scurry away or waste away at the nearby village's tavern. It was not a glamorous life filled with honours, praises and glory but it was a pleasant, quiet one, at least, for now.
They say that time heals all wounds, they say that time cures all ailments, they say that bad experiences fade into nothing but vague memories, in time... but no... for one man... this was not the case... revenge had been simply simmering over time, like stew pot filled to the brimming that had been left unchecked and was now raising to a boiling point.
Each month was spent scouring the very large kingdom seeking the one man no one knew by his true name and even fewer knew his true whereabouts much to the dark knight's anger and frustration.
Sir Tron Pentre, the leader of the armies, the lord knight of the realm, was a knight whose heart was colder than stone, if he even had one... whose deeds put murderers and marauders to shame, the only thing knightly about him was his official title as the king's right-hand-man though tavern gossip simply referred to him as the king's butcher and even butcher would have been mildly put.
With every vow from the Old Code of Chivalry broken and no one to stand up to him, to stand in his way, his mission was simple... revenge. He was thirsty for vengeance against the one who had been once his tutor, his friend, trusted confidante and mentor, against the one same man who in the end had refused him entry into the king's service as a knight and made a mockery of Tron's efforts to succeed, cast aside and disregarded his skill and training over his dubious morals.
Now that he had grasped the power in his gauntlet, he would find that one man and make him pay... one way or other. It was a matter of time before the errand vagabond was found and when he did find the nameless one, he would greet him in those exact same words.... "Greetings... old friend" though their inevitable encounter would certainly be anything but friendly and the Farmer knew this as much as the Black Knight.
For now all was well at the farmstead and surrounding villages, perhaps it was but the calm before the approaching storm, how long it would last, no one could tell.
****** LLanelli Farmstead ******
At Llanelli farmstead the day rose to clear skies and a warm breeze, promising to be yet another very hot and hectic day, as it has been the case for the past month, today perhaps even more so than usual as they approached the peak of mid August.
With the town's fair looming, in fact, the very next day, every abled body around the large grange was hurrying to help pack the different crops, loading the produce onto the oxen driven carts to bring it to Carmarthenshire village so it could be sold during the Harvest Fair, which would last a week. The only time when sales were guaranteed and the family made their yearly income.
Besides the widow, Hunith, her daughter Ebony, and son Taff, at the farmstead there were two young maids, Beatrix and Martha, their grandmother Gwen who was the housekeeper and old grandfather Zachary, as well as Farmer.
It was not the case that the two heirs of the household were not willing to work hard, not at all, Taff was very dedicated to any given chore and so was Ebony but fact was that Taff was not particularly muscular, his thin somewhat scrawny frame was far more suited to a castle manservant or even a scribe than a sturdy burly farmhand or stablehand. With that in mind, it was on Farmer upon whose shoulders fell the hardest chores and most strenuous tasks.
Today, however, they all pulled their weight in and did their best efforts to ensure as many varieties and quantities of every crop produced at the farm was carefully packed and loaded onto the carts ready for the sale. Had there been ten more servants, there would have been twenty times more carts and produce brought to the fair's markets. However, the family fortune and size had significantly dwindled since Hunith's husband died, to the point she had dismissed most of the servants, sold her finery, jewellery, dresses, artefacts and works of art found around the former lavish home to make as much earnings and savings as possible in order to keep the family finances afloat.
It was crucial for the family's survival and to secure a more comfortable winter for those left at the property that they loaded the carts to the brim to ensure profitable and steady sales throughout the week. Anything left over by week's end would be dried and salted if it were meats so as to store it away for the year. Fruits would be turned to jams and vegetables would be boiled or pickled and sealed away to be used throughout the especially harsher winter when the lands gave little returns for the much effort and sacrifices involved.
Hunith left the household packing and loading and came over to Farmer to let him know all was ready for the journey to the village, bar the heavy barrels of wines and oils, far too large and heavy for any of them to load safely onto the last two carts.
At Llanelli farmstead the day rose to clear skies and a warm breeze, promising to be yet another very hot and hectic day, as it has been the case for the past month, today perhaps even more so than usual as they approached the peak of mid August.
With the town's fair looming, in fact, the very next day, every abled body around the large grange was hurrying to help pack the different crops, loading the produce onto the oxen driven carts to bring it to Carmarthenshire village so it could be sold during the Harvest Fair, which would last a week. The only time when sales were guaranteed and the family made their yearly income.
Besides the widow, Hunith, her daughter Ebony, and son Taff, at the farmstead there were two young maids, Beatrix and Martha, their grandmother Gwen who was the housekeeper and old grandfather Zachary, as well as Farmer.
It was not the case that the two heirs of the household were not willing to work hard, not at all, Taff was very dedicated to any given chore and so was Ebony but fact was that Taff was not particularly muscular, his thin somewhat scrawny frame was far more suited to a castle manservant or even a scribe than a sturdy burly farmhand or stablehand. With that in mind, it was on Farmer upon whose shoulders fell the hardest chores and most strenuous tasks.
Today, however, they all pulled their weight in and did their best efforts to ensure as many varieties and quantities of every crop produced at the farm was carefully packed and loaded onto the carts ready for the sale. Had there been ten more servants, there would have been twenty times more carts and produce brought to the fair's markets. However, the family fortune and size had significantly dwindled since Hunith's husband died, to the point she had dismissed most of the servants, sold her finery, jewellery, dresses, artefacts and works of art found around the former lavish home to make as much earnings and savings as possible in order to keep the family finances afloat.
It was crucial for the family's survival and to secure a more comfortable winter for those left at the property that they loaded the carts to the brim to ensure profitable and steady sales throughout the week. Anything left over by week's end would be dried and salted if it were meats so as to store it away for the year. Fruits would be turned to jams and vegetables would be boiled or pickled and sealed away to be used throughout the especially harsher winter when the lands gave little returns for the much effort and sacrifices involved.
Hunith left the household packing and loading and came over to Farmer to let him know all was ready for the journey to the village, bar the heavy barrels of wines and oils, far too large and heavy for any of them to load safely onto the last two carts.
The old crow shouldered his duties with stoic grace and a soft smile, as if each drop of sweat from his labors might offset a drop of blood he'd spilled. These hot summer days promised a bounty of it. Even at that early hour he was stripped to the waist, leather gloves protecting his hands from blisters as he scythed down swaths of wheat and tied them into stooks to dry. After a while he paused, placing his fists against his lower back as he stretched, face stretched into a grimace. The scar across his lips made it look like more of a snarl. He leaned against the scythe as he rested, quenching his thirst from his waterskin.
Across the field he spotted Hunith packing produce into baskets for transport. He waved to her. Some in the town wondered why the two had never been married--with her husband deceased and Crow already carrying out much of the job, it seemed a sensible match. But whenever anyone asked Crow about it, he gently deflected and changed the topic. "Mistress Hunith," he called. "The plums are ripe enough to pick for the festival, methinks. Should it please thee, I can tend to them once I have finished here."
Across the field he spotted Hunith packing produce into baskets for transport. He waved to her. Some in the town wondered why the two had never been married--with her husband deceased and Crow already carrying out much of the job, it seemed a sensible match. But whenever anyone asked Crow about it, he gently deflected and changed the topic. "Mistress Hunith," he called. "The plums are ripe enough to pick for the festival, methinks. Should it please thee, I can tend to them once I have finished here."
****** LLanelli Farmstead ******
Hunith watched Famer dutifully toiling at the back breaking task of cutting and gathering the hay and wheat. A chore that was in itself most ungrateful, fit only for criminals, for it meant roasting one's skin under the scorching sun, sunrise to sundown, day in, day out, with not an ounce of relief and little pause if the fields were to be collected before the autumn storms struck down and lay the harvest to waste.
When he waved her over, Hunith dutifully ran to the man to not delay him unduly and she graced his presence with her silent, honest and warm smile.
Though her eyes betrayed her losses and strains which she kept to herself buried in a sea of silence out of respect for the good hard-working man that stood before her, they also revealed her deep gratitude, genuine care and true kindness she felt for Crow which easily let the townfolk gossip about an amorous relationship between them two, a gossip that Hunith often and quickly denied and rectified as simply honest friendship, despite all these years living together.
He had indeed become her rock and a shoulder she could cry upon, a steady hand she could rely on in the hardest times and a fatherly figure for her two children, but she was tactful enough to not overstep the fine line between friends and lovers.
She knew not his true name nor his origins, not even his more recent past before the vagabond wandered into her lands and struck a conversation between the pair of them by the end of which he accepted to become her stablehand, yet she did not dare ask, just as he never asked about her late husband's name or misfortune.
The fact more than half the farmstead and surrounding buildings and barns lay mostly in ruins, all of it badly scorched and portions of it poorly rebuilt, it was a clear sign that the estate had been burnt down at some point in the past with the intention of destroying the entire property, raizing it to the ground to lay it to waste.
Considering the additional fact that the two young maids had neither father nor mother and had been raised by the old and worn grandparents Gwen and Zachary, the housekeeper and butler, and the fact that Hunith herself had no man to call her husband any more, all pointed to a raid gone wrong or worse... a serious charge of high treason.
There were some tell-tale signs of the latter being the case, prominent among them was the coat of arms that once adorned the main residence entrance which had been desecrated and defaced to the point of being unable to tell its true form, or the fact there was a rope hanging by the nearby fig tree that none had the heart to take down despite there were no bones left in those entwinned worn threads, only a small mound, the remains of a clearly unmarked grave laying beneath it, a pile of rocks and dirt whereupon Hunith or Ebony would come to lay down flowers quietly, from time to time, the first and last flowers of spring.
Perhaps it would explain why her two children were obsessed with swords and battles, the boy solely focused on becoming a knight, as if he bore the burden of clearing their father's name, a gnawing urgency to serve lord, king and kingdom dutifully and somewhat restore the family's long lost honour, good name and tarnished reputation. Were they aware of their father's manner of death? of the charges that had been leveraged against their household of Llanelli and by whom? Perhaps... but even then did neither Ebony nor Taff ever speak his name at all, both keeping the same wall of respectful silence their mother often donned and had endowed them with.
Hunith listened attentively at Crow, accepting the well made remark that the plums too were ready for picking.
"Indeed, Farmer, we must strive to bring as much stock as we can, of every type we can offer and amount we can carry. The eggs have been collected, the chickens caged, milk in clean clay jars, the lambs and pigglets are gathered and the calf is tied to the cart too all ready to get moving. Alas, we have dire need of your strength back at the courtyard, see, the barrels of wine, vinegar and oil have been sealed and are ready to be loaded, though as you know, a woman of my age and her young son can only manage so much, we lack the ability to have them lifted onto the carts." confessed Hunith.
"If you could kindly see they are loaded and secured, I can send the girls to come over and help pick the plums into the freshly woven baskets that good old Zachary finished weaving yesterday by sundown, ready for today" explained Hunith, looking back briefly at the old couple.
While not all of them shared a blood bond with one another, all the household members had formed a family of sorts strengthened by the years spent together and the many harships lived together. A family built on trust and respect and genuine, generous care for one another.
Hunith watched Famer dutifully toiling at the back breaking task of cutting and gathering the hay and wheat. A chore that was in itself most ungrateful, fit only for criminals, for it meant roasting one's skin under the scorching sun, sunrise to sundown, day in, day out, with not an ounce of relief and little pause if the fields were to be collected before the autumn storms struck down and lay the harvest to waste.
When he waved her over, Hunith dutifully ran to the man to not delay him unduly and she graced his presence with her silent, honest and warm smile.
Though her eyes betrayed her losses and strains which she kept to herself buried in a sea of silence out of respect for the good hard-working man that stood before her, they also revealed her deep gratitude, genuine care and true kindness she felt for Crow which easily let the townfolk gossip about an amorous relationship between them two, a gossip that Hunith often and quickly denied and rectified as simply honest friendship, despite all these years living together.
He had indeed become her rock and a shoulder she could cry upon, a steady hand she could rely on in the hardest times and a fatherly figure for her two children, but she was tactful enough to not overstep the fine line between friends and lovers.
She knew not his true name nor his origins, not even his more recent past before the vagabond wandered into her lands and struck a conversation between the pair of them by the end of which he accepted to become her stablehand, yet she did not dare ask, just as he never asked about her late husband's name or misfortune.
The fact more than half the farmstead and surrounding buildings and barns lay mostly in ruins, all of it badly scorched and portions of it poorly rebuilt, it was a clear sign that the estate had been burnt down at some point in the past with the intention of destroying the entire property, raizing it to the ground to lay it to waste.
Considering the additional fact that the two young maids had neither father nor mother and had been raised by the old and worn grandparents Gwen and Zachary, the housekeeper and butler, and the fact that Hunith herself had no man to call her husband any more, all pointed to a raid gone wrong or worse... a serious charge of high treason.
There were some tell-tale signs of the latter being the case, prominent among them was the coat of arms that once adorned the main residence entrance which had been desecrated and defaced to the point of being unable to tell its true form, or the fact there was a rope hanging by the nearby fig tree that none had the heart to take down despite there were no bones left in those entwinned worn threads, only a small mound, the remains of a clearly unmarked grave laying beneath it, a pile of rocks and dirt whereupon Hunith or Ebony would come to lay down flowers quietly, from time to time, the first and last flowers of spring.
Perhaps it would explain why her two children were obsessed with swords and battles, the boy solely focused on becoming a knight, as if he bore the burden of clearing their father's name, a gnawing urgency to serve lord, king and kingdom dutifully and somewhat restore the family's long lost honour, good name and tarnished reputation. Were they aware of their father's manner of death? of the charges that had been leveraged against their household of Llanelli and by whom? Perhaps... but even then did neither Ebony nor Taff ever speak his name at all, both keeping the same wall of respectful silence their mother often donned and had endowed them with.
Hunith listened attentively at Crow, accepting the well made remark that the plums too were ready for picking.
"Indeed, Farmer, we must strive to bring as much stock as we can, of every type we can offer and amount we can carry. The eggs have been collected, the chickens caged, milk in clean clay jars, the lambs and pigglets are gathered and the calf is tied to the cart too all ready to get moving. Alas, we have dire need of your strength back at the courtyard, see, the barrels of wine, vinegar and oil have been sealed and are ready to be loaded, though as you know, a woman of my age and her young son can only manage so much, we lack the ability to have them lifted onto the carts." confessed Hunith.
"If you could kindly see they are loaded and secured, I can send the girls to come over and help pick the plums into the freshly woven baskets that good old Zachary finished weaving yesterday by sundown, ready for today" explained Hunith, looking back briefly at the old couple.
While not all of them shared a blood bond with one another, all the household members had formed a family of sorts strengthened by the years spent together and the many harships lived together. A family built on trust and respect and genuine, generous care for one another.
Nemo leaned against the scythe as he listened to Hunith. It was good that Zachary had finished mending the baskets, which mice had gotten into in the spring. How such little creatures could do so much damage always surprised him, but he could say the same of men as well as mice. The thought made his lips twitch in amusement, and he responded to her request with a gentle nod. "Verily, mistress, I shall do it anon." He bowed to her. Despite the many years they'd known each other, he still treated her with a sort of formal deference, which tended to keep people at arm's length.
After stretching again and shaking out his arms, he set about reaping the rest of the wheat in this plot, and tied it into stooks to keep the heads from moldering against the ground. With this task done, he shouldered the scythe and ambled towards the barn to put it away before heading to the courtyard. He looked around for the children as he did. Despite how busy the homestead was in preparation for the festival, the vigorous youths let nothing come between them and their sword practice. Occasionally he would offer them pointers though he always tried to keep his history hidden from them, for their own safety as well as his privacy. Still, he was surprised he'd managed to keep the secret for as long as he had. Even though his sword and armor were locked away in a trunk in his little bedroom, his scars gave away his old trade as well as his weapons did.
When he reached the courtyard, he locked the cart wheels so it wouldn't roll and laid a board down to act as a ramp. Muscles heaving, he tipped a barrel of vinegar carefully onto its side and began to roll it up the ramp into the wagon. He was intent on occupying himself with the future, not the past, even if he didn't look further than tomorrow.
After stretching again and shaking out his arms, he set about reaping the rest of the wheat in this plot, and tied it into stooks to keep the heads from moldering against the ground. With this task done, he shouldered the scythe and ambled towards the barn to put it away before heading to the courtyard. He looked around for the children as he did. Despite how busy the homestead was in preparation for the festival, the vigorous youths let nothing come between them and their sword practice. Occasionally he would offer them pointers though he always tried to keep his history hidden from them, for their own safety as well as his privacy. Still, he was surprised he'd managed to keep the secret for as long as he had. Even though his sword and armor were locked away in a trunk in his little bedroom, his scars gave away his old trade as well as his weapons did.
When he reached the courtyard, he locked the cart wheels so it wouldn't roll and laid a board down to act as a ramp. Muscles heaving, he tipped a barrel of vinegar carefully onto its side and began to roll it up the ramp into the wagon. He was intent on occupying himself with the future, not the past, even if he didn't look further than tomorrow.
****** LLanelli Farmstead ******
Zachary and Gwendolynne, the butler and housekeeper to the once honourable household were much too old to be able to endure the gruelling journey on foot to the village of Carmarthenshire, easily a day or two on foot given the slow pace required to ensure clay pots didn't break, barrels didn't roll away, cattle didn't scurry off and mules, oxen, donkeys and people alike had a chance for much needed pauses, short opportunities to take up brief rests and ample water by the wild springs that sprouted in the dense forests along the way.
Zachary had watched with grateful eyes the invaluable efforts that the stranger, who had affectionately come to be known as Crow by the children, had lent the family across the years. The man was admirable, never a complaint nor delay to any requests laid upon his shoulders, now matter how straining or lengthy.
If he was a warrior undertaking penance for a dark past deed, there was not a shadow of a doubt that the man had more than redeemed himself by relentlessly assisting the widow in such dedicated and dutiful manner. It felt at times a knight in shiny armour and a fair damsel he had devoted himself to.
Zach and Gwen both too thought that he would make a most worthy husband for the widowed Hunith, if only she came to speak up about the family's past and the charges of treason that hung above all their heads. Each day lived on borrowed time. Each with a death sentence looming over their heads. Though it did not stop any of them helping Hunith nor her children move onward and forward, always higher and further to improve everyone's quality of life.
It had been painfully heartbreaking for the old couple to watch the once most honourable household crumble into oblivion, the farmstead fall into disrepair, all over one cowardly black knight's false accusation and one act of bravery from the landowner's part, but, it was all too late to lament losses.
If anyone had the least chance to restore this household to its former glory and name, such duty fell upon the eldest son who bore the weight of treason upon his young shoulders more than anyone else. However, seeing that even the boy himself did not know of the burdens he carried and his obligations to cleanse the family name, it would prove indeed a difficult chore.
No one, neither the mother nor the butler nor the housekeeper had ever told the two children of their father's maner of execution. All the children knew is that on a dark night their father had been hung unjustly and the estate laid to waste. Their futures risen from the ashes of great losses and sacrifices from their mother's behalf.
Hunith was a daughter of the noble house of Llanelli and it was by her maiden name that the family had been a lot less harrassed. Even her husband's family name had been cast to the flames that night in order to give the children and remaining servants a chance to live a little more peacefully.
The two young maids, their beautiful granddaughters, Martha and Beatrix, were equally none the wiser as were their young lords about that fateful time, so long ago it felt but a faded nightmare.
Their mother and father had perished in the housefire, purposely thrown to the flames for daring to stand up to a black hearted knight, for daring to protect an honest kind lord, Sir Arnold Stormborn. A lord knight whose battle skills put everyone else there to shame but who surrendered to spare the two servants lives to no avail, for they were murdered all the same, burnt alive before his very eyes as he was hung from the fig tree where Arnold could hear the horrid screams of the married loyal and humble couple. That night, Gwen and Zachary had lost a son and daughter-in-law, braver than any armed men there, but bowed to raise the two daughters as if they were their own and worked hard to rebuild the crumbling homestead with their bare hands that the girls might have a roof to live under and a kind hearted lord and lady to serve in the future.
But Zachary was accutely aware that now that the children had come of age the danger upon the two youths lord Taff and lady Ebony was all the greater, the charges of treason and rebellion against the crown all the more pressing against their oblivious heads. Taff still dreaming of being a knight, of gaining a modest amount of wealth in order to better provide for the family and nearby villagers. His heart and determination was pure as gold even if his fighting skills likely found a little wanting, though not by much seeing how Crow had been guiding and correcting the young man during his relentless training since young. Now, the efforts were paying off, he could fight well, better than most, and if he stayed out of trouble, perhaps he might just make his dream come true... only time would tell.
For now, Zachary could not simply stand aside and let the boy be hanged should his true name have been discovered. Some older denizens in the village, the taverner Dean Morgan especially, would know the truth about the family and the high treason committed by their father. Most had been kept silent out of pity upon two children and a disowned widow scraping to get by, but, now the boy had grown up, Zachary worried about the family's safety. Dean and Zachary, their friendship went back for many years and he could trust his friend to keep an eye on the two younglings on his behalf.
Zach called the boy over and watched Taff come over to listen to the family's adopted grandfather most attentive and respectful.
"Listen, young man, when you reach the village, keep your head down at all times, be respectful and stay out of trouble no matter what. Should trouble nonetheless arise, go to the tavern called The Risin Sun, the taverner there, he is my good old friend called Dean Morgan. He can give some refuge and help" explained Zachary, his composure taking a more serious stern turn, which was rather out of character for the usually smily and friendly butler
"Now you need to hear something very important son... your father... he would have liked you to know all this and you are now old enough to learn and understand it... a position of power is a position of duty and most of all a position of sacrifice and service. It is not there for your personal gain but for everyone else's gain at your expense" explained Zachary as he had often told young Arnold in his younger years.
"There is no shame in serving and serving well, one must always bend the knee to those of higher authority, for without respect and command there is lawlessness everywhere. Even if that authority can be at times undeserved." muttered Zachary.
"Remember, son, a knight is not made by the blade he wields, by the family name he bears nor the armour he dons but by his honourable decisions and brave deeds. By the life he leads and the commitment and dedication to the way of the sword." explained Zachary in a solemn tone he had not used before
"On the way to the village, you should learn these words by hard, learn them and live by them unto death if needed be. This is what your father always strived for since his younger years. These principles I am going to tell you are called the Old Code of Chivalry or knightly oath. They say this...
With or without a sword, a knight is without fear in the face of all adversity, friends and foes alike. He is brave and upright that all may respect him. He safeguards the innocent and does no wrong. He is sworn to valor, honour and courage. His humble and honest heart knows only virtue. His blade defends the helpless and his arm and might upholds the weak. His wrath undoes the wicked and injustice.His word speaks only the truth, even if it costs him his life. His sword, life and limbs are used in service of righteousness and justice.
Remember, knight, your word is your bond. Fullfil your oaths and accomplish all your promises, or make good on the ones you could not. Undertake your appointed tasks and quests, no matter how small or humbling as if they were but your last that in all things your household name may be remembered by your courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self control and an indomitable spirit which must not yield even in the face of corruption nor certain death" recited Zachary
"Do all these things, live by them, and train hard, every day, without faltering, without idleness and one day... you may become a knight or at least die like one" smiled Zachary patting Taff's back satisfied
Zachary and Gwendolynne, the butler and housekeeper to the once honourable household were much too old to be able to endure the gruelling journey on foot to the village of Carmarthenshire, easily a day or two on foot given the slow pace required to ensure clay pots didn't break, barrels didn't roll away, cattle didn't scurry off and mules, oxen, donkeys and people alike had a chance for much needed pauses, short opportunities to take up brief rests and ample water by the wild springs that sprouted in the dense forests along the way.
Zachary had watched with grateful eyes the invaluable efforts that the stranger, who had affectionately come to be known as Crow by the children, had lent the family across the years. The man was admirable, never a complaint nor delay to any requests laid upon his shoulders, now matter how straining or lengthy.
If he was a warrior undertaking penance for a dark past deed, there was not a shadow of a doubt that the man had more than redeemed himself by relentlessly assisting the widow in such dedicated and dutiful manner. It felt at times a knight in shiny armour and a fair damsel he had devoted himself to.
Zach and Gwen both too thought that he would make a most worthy husband for the widowed Hunith, if only she came to speak up about the family's past and the charges of treason that hung above all their heads. Each day lived on borrowed time. Each with a death sentence looming over their heads. Though it did not stop any of them helping Hunith nor her children move onward and forward, always higher and further to improve everyone's quality of life.
It had been painfully heartbreaking for the old couple to watch the once most honourable household crumble into oblivion, the farmstead fall into disrepair, all over one cowardly black knight's false accusation and one act of bravery from the landowner's part, but, it was all too late to lament losses.
If anyone had the least chance to restore this household to its former glory and name, such duty fell upon the eldest son who bore the weight of treason upon his young shoulders more than anyone else. However, seeing that even the boy himself did not know of the burdens he carried and his obligations to cleanse the family name, it would prove indeed a difficult chore.
No one, neither the mother nor the butler nor the housekeeper had ever told the two children of their father's maner of execution. All the children knew is that on a dark night their father had been hung unjustly and the estate laid to waste. Their futures risen from the ashes of great losses and sacrifices from their mother's behalf.
Hunith was a daughter of the noble house of Llanelli and it was by her maiden name that the family had been a lot less harrassed. Even her husband's family name had been cast to the flames that night in order to give the children and remaining servants a chance to live a little more peacefully.
The two young maids, their beautiful granddaughters, Martha and Beatrix, were equally none the wiser as were their young lords about that fateful time, so long ago it felt but a faded nightmare.
Their mother and father had perished in the housefire, purposely thrown to the flames for daring to stand up to a black hearted knight, for daring to protect an honest kind lord, Sir Arnold Stormborn. A lord knight whose battle skills put everyone else there to shame but who surrendered to spare the two servants lives to no avail, for they were murdered all the same, burnt alive before his very eyes as he was hung from the fig tree where Arnold could hear the horrid screams of the married loyal and humble couple. That night, Gwen and Zachary had lost a son and daughter-in-law, braver than any armed men there, but bowed to raise the two daughters as if they were their own and worked hard to rebuild the crumbling homestead with their bare hands that the girls might have a roof to live under and a kind hearted lord and lady to serve in the future.
But Zachary was accutely aware that now that the children had come of age the danger upon the two youths lord Taff and lady Ebony was all the greater, the charges of treason and rebellion against the crown all the more pressing against their oblivious heads. Taff still dreaming of being a knight, of gaining a modest amount of wealth in order to better provide for the family and nearby villagers. His heart and determination was pure as gold even if his fighting skills likely found a little wanting, though not by much seeing how Crow had been guiding and correcting the young man during his relentless training since young. Now, the efforts were paying off, he could fight well, better than most, and if he stayed out of trouble, perhaps he might just make his dream come true... only time would tell.
For now, Zachary could not simply stand aside and let the boy be hanged should his true name have been discovered. Some older denizens in the village, the taverner Dean Morgan especially, would know the truth about the family and the high treason committed by their father. Most had been kept silent out of pity upon two children and a disowned widow scraping to get by, but, now the boy had grown up, Zachary worried about the family's safety. Dean and Zachary, their friendship went back for many years and he could trust his friend to keep an eye on the two younglings on his behalf.
Zach called the boy over and watched Taff come over to listen to the family's adopted grandfather most attentive and respectful.
"Listen, young man, when you reach the village, keep your head down at all times, be respectful and stay out of trouble no matter what. Should trouble nonetheless arise, go to the tavern called The Risin Sun, the taverner there, he is my good old friend called Dean Morgan. He can give some refuge and help" explained Zachary, his composure taking a more serious stern turn, which was rather out of character for the usually smily and friendly butler
"Now you need to hear something very important son... your father... he would have liked you to know all this and you are now old enough to learn and understand it... a position of power is a position of duty and most of all a position of sacrifice and service. It is not there for your personal gain but for everyone else's gain at your expense" explained Zachary as he had often told young Arnold in his younger years.
"There is no shame in serving and serving well, one must always bend the knee to those of higher authority, for without respect and command there is lawlessness everywhere. Even if that authority can be at times undeserved." muttered Zachary.
"Remember, son, a knight is not made by the blade he wields, by the family name he bears nor the armour he dons but by his honourable decisions and brave deeds. By the life he leads and the commitment and dedication to the way of the sword." explained Zachary in a solemn tone he had not used before
"On the way to the village, you should learn these words by hard, learn them and live by them unto death if needed be. This is what your father always strived for since his younger years. These principles I am going to tell you are called the Old Code of Chivalry or knightly oath. They say this...
With or without a sword, a knight is without fear in the face of all adversity, friends and foes alike. He is brave and upright that all may respect him. He safeguards the innocent and does no wrong. He is sworn to valor, honour and courage. His humble and honest heart knows only virtue. His blade defends the helpless and his arm and might upholds the weak. His wrath undoes the wicked and injustice.His word speaks only the truth, even if it costs him his life. His sword, life and limbs are used in service of righteousness and justice.
Remember, knight, your word is your bond. Fullfil your oaths and accomplish all your promises, or make good on the ones you could not. Undertake your appointed tasks and quests, no matter how small or humbling as if they were but your last that in all things your household name may be remembered by your courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self control and an indomitable spirit which must not yield even in the face of corruption nor certain death" recited Zachary
"Do all these things, live by them, and train hard, every day, without faltering, without idleness and one day... you may become a knight or at least die like one" smiled Zachary patting Taff's back satisfied
****** LLanelli Farmstead ******
Taff listened attentively, drinking in every spoken word, with peaked interest, focused and absorved in what was being explained to him. He looked shocked and surprised at how much this old man knew about knighthood, something he never even entertained or mentioned before, up to now, not even a reference about his father.
He felt the urge to ask more about him but Taff took each of his words of wisdom to heart and nodded, quietly, in agreement, repeating the words softly to himself until he had learned them, not about to ask further questions about his father or how Zachary came to learn these things, silent and respectful as his mother had always been.
Throughout this time, he had noticed Hunith's pale face, they all likely did take stock of her haunted looks, teary eyes, the suddenly sweaty brow and ragged breath, the pallor that left her white as a ghost as Zachary spoke those solemn words out loud, an oath that had not been recited upon that soil for more than a decade by her now departed husband, which he did every sunrise and sunset, polished sword to hand, even on that fatal night too he spoke them sternly at the black hearted knight to no avail. But she kept gracefully silent, knowing it was inevitable that a knight's son would eventually follow his father's footsteps. The childish dreams and swordfighting games struck down by the reality that they may well come to pass, for the boy was now a man and a well trained warrior at that, with Farmer to thank for it for it might one day save her boy's life.
"I shall tell Dean Morgan the taverner that you and your wife are keeping in good health" called Taff, waving at Zach and standing by Crow's side, concerned eyes gazing at his mother but respectful enough to not prey into her past
Hunith cleared the throat and forced a polite smile for everyone else's benefit. "Best we get going then if we want to make it in time for tomorrow's fair with all the stands well laid out" suggested Hunith. She did her best to collect the few spilled plums back into the woven basket, adding a few dry herbs on top before turning to Crow.
"This is the last of them, if you could load it..." quipped Hunith softly finally handing the last basket to Crow with visibly shaking hands and trembling arms.
"We shall return by week's end, if all goes well" smiled Hunith at Zach and Gwen, turning to face the dusty path ahead that would lead them like river bends through the dense wilderness all the way to their sought after destination.
Taff listened attentively, drinking in every spoken word, with peaked interest, focused and absorved in what was being explained to him. He looked shocked and surprised at how much this old man knew about knighthood, something he never even entertained or mentioned before, up to now, not even a reference about his father.
He felt the urge to ask more about him but Taff took each of his words of wisdom to heart and nodded, quietly, in agreement, repeating the words softly to himself until he had learned them, not about to ask further questions about his father or how Zachary came to learn these things, silent and respectful as his mother had always been.
Throughout this time, he had noticed Hunith's pale face, they all likely did take stock of her haunted looks, teary eyes, the suddenly sweaty brow and ragged breath, the pallor that left her white as a ghost as Zachary spoke those solemn words out loud, an oath that had not been recited upon that soil for more than a decade by her now departed husband, which he did every sunrise and sunset, polished sword to hand, even on that fatal night too he spoke them sternly at the black hearted knight to no avail. But she kept gracefully silent, knowing it was inevitable that a knight's son would eventually follow his father's footsteps. The childish dreams and swordfighting games struck down by the reality that they may well come to pass, for the boy was now a man and a well trained warrior at that, with Farmer to thank for it for it might one day save her boy's life.
"I shall tell Dean Morgan the taverner that you and your wife are keeping in good health" called Taff, waving at Zach and standing by Crow's side, concerned eyes gazing at his mother but respectful enough to not prey into her past
Hunith cleared the throat and forced a polite smile for everyone else's benefit. "Best we get going then if we want to make it in time for tomorrow's fair with all the stands well laid out" suggested Hunith. She did her best to collect the few spilled plums back into the woven basket, adding a few dry herbs on top before turning to Crow.
"This is the last of them, if you could load it..." quipped Hunith softly finally handing the last basket to Crow with visibly shaking hands and trembling arms.
"We shall return by week's end, if all goes well" smiled Hunith at Zach and Gwen, turning to face the dusty path ahead that would lead them like river bends through the dense wilderness all the way to their sought after destination.
****** Forest of Brune ******
Between Llanelli farmstead and the town of Carmarthenshire there was a very dense and extensive wilderness called the Forest of Brune. It provided privacy to the family homestead as well as means of survival for many, from gathering wood to hunting prey, this forest was key to the livelihood of many commoners.
With Carmarthenshire's fair coming up, everyone readied to journey there to either sell or buy wares for the year or trade merchandise. It was the most important gathering of the region and no one wanted to miss on the opportunities the festival brought to raise up a few coins or merely spend a blissful carefree time of celebrations, with dances, cheery music and ample food and drinks to go around to compensate the trudging hard work of their daily duties.
Deep in the heart of this wilderness there were denizens that toiled hard to benefit themselves and others too, among them Wesley, an orphaned wood logger who brought wood to the farmstead often to save Crow the effort and to Carmarthenshire for the winter as well.
Among his chores, he removed fallen trees so they would pose no danger and also focused on repairing bridges, keeping the roads and paths clear for the travellers to use, getting a modest pay from the mayor or from the taverner for the services to the community.
He too had been secretively practicing swordfighting, often overhearing each instruction Crow ever gave to the two young heirs of the farmstead, whenever he brought batches of chopped up wood over, an excuse to learn from Crow if nothing else. Upon returning to his cabin, he too would spent endless hours practicing what he has observed young Taff do while he was hard at training, repeating each step and move rigorously, with the added advantage that he had developed a rather muscular frame by use of his now somewhat blunt axe.
Wesley came out of his logger's cabin, having finished putting away the tools before going to Carmarthenshire town to merry make like the rest when his eyes caught sight of a friendly, well-acquainted face, none other than Adelia. With a grand gesture of reverence, mostly a friendly tease, he saluted the young woman.
"Greetings... my lady..." grinned Wesley standing upright afterwards, a friendly smile on his face, looking at her.
"So what can I do for you? What brings you here?" asked Wesley curious looking at her, pleased with the company that made a positive change to his otherwise usual solitude.
Between Llanelli farmstead and the town of Carmarthenshire there was a very dense and extensive wilderness called the Forest of Brune. It provided privacy to the family homestead as well as means of survival for many, from gathering wood to hunting prey, this forest was key to the livelihood of many commoners.
With Carmarthenshire's fair coming up, everyone readied to journey there to either sell or buy wares for the year or trade merchandise. It was the most important gathering of the region and no one wanted to miss on the opportunities the festival brought to raise up a few coins or merely spend a blissful carefree time of celebrations, with dances, cheery music and ample food and drinks to go around to compensate the trudging hard work of their daily duties.
Deep in the heart of this wilderness there were denizens that toiled hard to benefit themselves and others too, among them Wesley, an orphaned wood logger who brought wood to the farmstead often to save Crow the effort and to Carmarthenshire for the winter as well.
Among his chores, he removed fallen trees so they would pose no danger and also focused on repairing bridges, keeping the roads and paths clear for the travellers to use, getting a modest pay from the mayor or from the taverner for the services to the community.
He too had been secretively practicing swordfighting, often overhearing each instruction Crow ever gave to the two young heirs of the farmstead, whenever he brought batches of chopped up wood over, an excuse to learn from Crow if nothing else. Upon returning to his cabin, he too would spent endless hours practicing what he has observed young Taff do while he was hard at training, repeating each step and move rigorously, with the added advantage that he had developed a rather muscular frame by use of his now somewhat blunt axe.
Wesley came out of his logger's cabin, having finished putting away the tools before going to Carmarthenshire town to merry make like the rest when his eyes caught sight of a friendly, well-acquainted face, none other than Adelia. With a grand gesture of reverence, mostly a friendly tease, he saluted the young woman.
"Greetings... my lady..." grinned Wesley standing upright afterwards, a friendly smile on his face, looking at her.
"So what can I do for you? What brings you here?" asked Wesley curious looking at her, pleased with the company that made a positive change to his otherwise usual solitude.
Llanelli Farmstead
Crow continued loading the barrels in the manner of a more-accomplished Sisyphus--one after another, slowly, steadily. Muscles flexed in his powerful back and shoulders as he toiled, until each of the barrels had been rolled into place and lashed down to prevent them from rolling about and splitting during the journey. He gave the last one a hearty pat, then climbed down from the wagon.
Taff was loading another wagon nearby when Zachary approached. Crow didn't mean to eavesdrop, but once he picked up what the old man was saying, he froze and shot him a sharp look. Despite his willingness to help Taff learn the ways of the sword, Crow always tried to shepherd him away from martial professions. Use this skill to protect thy family and thy flock, he always urged, sternly, especially when the boy spoke the high praises of knighthood. Yet here was Zachary, telling him of those oaths which were as heavy as iron shackles. Crow's brow lowered and his grey-green eyes hardened like steel, and when his mouth twisted in a grimace, it was made all the worse by his scar. Taff was of age in the eyes of the law, perhaps, but he was still a child to Crow.
Even when people asked outright why Crow did not choose to court Hunith, he always avoided answering in any meaningful way, leading people to invent all manners of reasons for his reluctance. But in that moment, as they listened to Zachary, they wore such similar expressions that they might as well have been married. Quickly, however, Crow forced his expression to smooth out. When he tried to smile, however, it didn't reach his eyes. He turned to take the basket from Hunith, and as he did he let his scarred hand brush hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. He had a good idea what she was thinking about. "Aye, mistress," he murmured softly as he took the basket to the cart.
Crow did not wear his sword and armor on the trip, for he kept both well-hidden in the trunk at the foot of his bed. His armaments were distinctive. Even his mighty shield, with its face painted black, was distinctive as well in its own right. Even though he had not worn them in many years, he still felt naked without their familiar weight upon his shoulders. Many years had gone by with no interference from the court, and he had no reason to think that this year would be any different ... so why did he have such a terrible feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach ... ?
Crow continued loading the barrels in the manner of a more-accomplished Sisyphus--one after another, slowly, steadily. Muscles flexed in his powerful back and shoulders as he toiled, until each of the barrels had been rolled into place and lashed down to prevent them from rolling about and splitting during the journey. He gave the last one a hearty pat, then climbed down from the wagon.
Taff was loading another wagon nearby when Zachary approached. Crow didn't mean to eavesdrop, but once he picked up what the old man was saying, he froze and shot him a sharp look. Despite his willingness to help Taff learn the ways of the sword, Crow always tried to shepherd him away from martial professions. Use this skill to protect thy family and thy flock, he always urged, sternly, especially when the boy spoke the high praises of knighthood. Yet here was Zachary, telling him of those oaths which were as heavy as iron shackles. Crow's brow lowered and his grey-green eyes hardened like steel, and when his mouth twisted in a grimace, it was made all the worse by his scar. Taff was of age in the eyes of the law, perhaps, but he was still a child to Crow.
Even when people asked outright why Crow did not choose to court Hunith, he always avoided answering in any meaningful way, leading people to invent all manners of reasons for his reluctance. But in that moment, as they listened to Zachary, they wore such similar expressions that they might as well have been married. Quickly, however, Crow forced his expression to smooth out. When he tried to smile, however, it didn't reach his eyes. He turned to take the basket from Hunith, and as he did he let his scarred hand brush hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. He had a good idea what she was thinking about. "Aye, mistress," he murmured softly as he took the basket to the cart.
Crow did not wear his sword and armor on the trip, for he kept both well-hidden in the trunk at the foot of his bed. His armaments were distinctive. Even his mighty shield, with its face painted black, was distinctive as well in its own right. Even though he had not worn them in many years, he still felt naked without their familiar weight upon his shoulders. Many years had gone by with no interference from the court, and he had no reason to think that this year would be any different ... so why did he have such a terrible feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach ... ?
***** Road to Carmarthenshire *****
The journey to the festive town had begun without too much trouble, birds chirping away and butterflies fluttering about as they passed, the sound of the streams and springs rather calming in contrast to the grinding noises of the coarse path, stones crushed beneath the heavy cart wheels and crunched fallen leaves beneath their feet.
Hunith looked more recuperated by the hour in the midst of wilderness and fresh air, walking on foot by Ebony's side who saw it fit to bring her bow and arrows along the way, just in case opportunity presented itself for a bit of archery practice.
Taff had been muttering to himself all what Zachary had told him, once he was sure he had remembered it all correctly he looked up at the ragged man by his side, the scars that adorned his arms and face making it clearl that the farmer had in fact been a warrior in older times past, questions nagging him that required answers.
"Crow, have you ever met a knight or seen one yourself? Are they really mighty strong, honourable and fearless like old Zach said?" Asked Taff looking up curious, eager to learn more
The journey to the festive town had begun without too much trouble, birds chirping away and butterflies fluttering about as they passed, the sound of the streams and springs rather calming in contrast to the grinding noises of the coarse path, stones crushed beneath the heavy cart wheels and crunched fallen leaves beneath their feet.
Hunith looked more recuperated by the hour in the midst of wilderness and fresh air, walking on foot by Ebony's side who saw it fit to bring her bow and arrows along the way, just in case opportunity presented itself for a bit of archery practice.
Taff had been muttering to himself all what Zachary had told him, once he was sure he had remembered it all correctly he looked up at the ragged man by his side, the scars that adorned his arms and face making it clearl that the farmer had in fact been a warrior in older times past, questions nagging him that required answers.
"Crow, have you ever met a knight or seen one yourself? Are they really mighty strong, honourable and fearless like old Zach said?" Asked Taff looking up curious, eager to learn more
****** Forest of Brune ******
Fishing had been fruitful, her fish traps had been full when she checked them and now she had a cart half full of fish. A bucket with smaller feeder fish. And another with what she could keep and dry out for food.
Everyone was merrily working and preparing for the festive season. Being the reason for so many smiles and chatter she was drawn into the atmosphere of it all. Watching children run about laughing. Keeping out of the way as she hefted her cart up and pushed it along.
Like many others she had her own ways of providing for herself. Living alone, much of the chores fell on her shoulders and she managed what ever she could. Food was easier to come by with her ability to make baskets and traps. A small garden provided food and she always gathered smaller sticks that had fallen or broken off for wood. It was hard work but she was managing.
The familiar voice had her looking up at Wesley. Her smile was bright and genuine. Placing the cart down she waved and blew a quick breath to force a wisp of hair from her brow. Her voice had long since gone away. Having been inflicted with an illness that claimed many lives she could no longer speak. The price of surviving the illness.
She tilted her head to the right and shrugged her shoulders in a slight of indifference.
-Nothing, much.- Her expression echoed.
She tilted her chin and jutted it out toward her cart, tapping the cart with her fingers that was holding the fish and then waving a hand toward the festive about them.
-Selling the fish I caught in the festival.-
Her eyes returned to his face as she nodded in his direction. Her brows furrowed and her nose wrinkled in question. -What are you up to?-
Her face was very expressive to those who were used to her silence. Her gentle demeanor and cheerful attitude had helped her many times from being cheated by those who knew she could not tell even if she wanted too. Self taught in most things she did her best.
Fishing had been fruitful, her fish traps had been full when she checked them and now she had a cart half full of fish. A bucket with smaller feeder fish. And another with what she could keep and dry out for food.
Everyone was merrily working and preparing for the festive season. Being the reason for so many smiles and chatter she was drawn into the atmosphere of it all. Watching children run about laughing. Keeping out of the way as she hefted her cart up and pushed it along.
Like many others she had her own ways of providing for herself. Living alone, much of the chores fell on her shoulders and she managed what ever she could. Food was easier to come by with her ability to make baskets and traps. A small garden provided food and she always gathered smaller sticks that had fallen or broken off for wood. It was hard work but she was managing.
The familiar voice had her looking up at Wesley. Her smile was bright and genuine. Placing the cart down she waved and blew a quick breath to force a wisp of hair from her brow. Her voice had long since gone away. Having been inflicted with an illness that claimed many lives she could no longer speak. The price of surviving the illness.
She tilted her head to the right and shrugged her shoulders in a slight of indifference.
-Nothing, much.- Her expression echoed.
She tilted her chin and jutted it out toward her cart, tapping the cart with her fingers that was holding the fish and then waving a hand toward the festive about them.
-Selling the fish I caught in the festival.-
Her eyes returned to his face as she nodded in his direction. Her brows furrowed and her nose wrinkled in question. -What are you up to?-
Her face was very expressive to those who were used to her silence. Her gentle demeanor and cheerful attitude had helped her many times from being cheated by those who knew she could not tell even if she wanted too. Self taught in most things she did her best.
****** Forest of Brune ******
Wesley had been around Adelia long enough to know every look, every gesture, every intended yet silent comment just by looking at her postures, mannerisms and faces. The townsfolk knew she was dumb and made some accommodations to make her more comfortable, but none spent more times crossing paths with her than Wesley who lived in the same wilderness as she did.
"I know, I know... silence is golden... especially in a huntress, must make your job so much easier that way. I guess I talk too much to make a good enough huntsman uh? Seems I'll have to settle for a chatty wood logger" smiled Wesley
"Here let me help you with that. I can pull the cart all the way to the town for you." offered Wesley gallantly
"I am sure taverner Dean Morgan will be tripping over to get this good catch, the batch looks fresh and big enough, besides with so many customers at any given time and each with different fancies when it comes to food, it will be good for him to have fish alongside meats. From my part, this year, I have decided I won't take a cart myself this time round, I will bring the dried wood closer to winter when it is more valued. At the festival, I am simply collecting the yearly pay for the road maintance and wasting some of it away for a jolly good time." explained Wesley taking up the sword instead of the axe in case they encountered trouble.
The forests and wilderness were not without its occasional passing-by bandits and raiders or even the odd wild beasts, one ought to take precautions when journeying an entire day. It was likely they would encounter other travellers, which would be good, greater numbers provided greater protection, but one ought not to assume they would find the caravan and catch it in time, it was best to go well armed and ready, humming songs and whistling from time to time as he tugged at the cart as if he were a mule.
"You owe me a drink for this, you know, or at least your good company over a hearty meal." grinned Wesley in a friendly tone, trudging forward in the heat of the day as they headed to the village
Wesley had been around Adelia long enough to know every look, every gesture, every intended yet silent comment just by looking at her postures, mannerisms and faces. The townsfolk knew she was dumb and made some accommodations to make her more comfortable, but none spent more times crossing paths with her than Wesley who lived in the same wilderness as she did.
"I know, I know... silence is golden... especially in a huntress, must make your job so much easier that way. I guess I talk too much to make a good enough huntsman uh? Seems I'll have to settle for a chatty wood logger" smiled Wesley
"Here let me help you with that. I can pull the cart all the way to the town for you." offered Wesley gallantly
"I am sure taverner Dean Morgan will be tripping over to get this good catch, the batch looks fresh and big enough, besides with so many customers at any given time and each with different fancies when it comes to food, it will be good for him to have fish alongside meats. From my part, this year, I have decided I won't take a cart myself this time round, I will bring the dried wood closer to winter when it is more valued. At the festival, I am simply collecting the yearly pay for the road maintance and wasting some of it away for a jolly good time." explained Wesley taking up the sword instead of the axe in case they encountered trouble.
The forests and wilderness were not without its occasional passing-by bandits and raiders or even the odd wild beasts, one ought to take precautions when journeying an entire day. It was likely they would encounter other travellers, which would be good, greater numbers provided greater protection, but one ought not to assume they would find the caravan and catch it in time, it was best to go well armed and ready, humming songs and whistling from time to time as he tugged at the cart as if he were a mule.
"You owe me a drink for this, you know, or at least your good company over a hearty meal." grinned Wesley in a friendly tone, trudging forward in the heat of the day as they headed to the village
****** Forest of Brune ******
Adelia laughed, the sound a whish of air passing from her lips as her chest heaved up and down from the action. She placed a hand over her mouth and closed her lips. She was capable of sound, just not speech. Still she was embaressed by them. Many assumed because she could make sound speech was possible. And she had tried many times. Her words would just come out as a jumble of inaudible sounds. The effort had brought her to tears on many occassions. She wanted nothing more than to speak like everyone else. To give life to the voice inside her head that spoke eliquently and proudly but went vastly unheard.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. -You jest.-
While he took her cart, she folded her hands behind her back and walked at his side keeping pace. Her head bobbing as she agreed with his words. It was one of the reasons she liked his company. He was easy to talk to and could fill in the convrsation where her own words could not. He never made her feel inaept for her lack of ability to speak.
She bumped her shoulder against his, admittedly she was far less built then he, and would not move him nearly as far if he were to do the same to her. When she looked at him she nodded enthuastically and lifted her hand to give him a thumbs up. -Drink and meal on me.-
It was moments like this she felt her own shortcomings. How she lingered in her head with the things she could not say. 'It would be my pleasure.''I would love to.' Instead she merely stared at her feet as they walked in comfortable silence. Her head coming up to peer at the path they were taking before she turned to look at him, then the fish he was hauling for her. She pointed to him and then the fish. -Do you want one?-
She had plenty and sharing with him would help pay for his kind gesture. She still had to check her smaller traps for other prey that would be just as useful. Rabbits and quill. The furs, feathers and meat could all be sold. She needed the coin this year. Perhaps with whats he saved she could by a proper knife, and bow. The one she had been using had snapped and she was in the process of carving a new one with with old blade she owned.
Adelia laughed, the sound a whish of air passing from her lips as her chest heaved up and down from the action. She placed a hand over her mouth and closed her lips. She was capable of sound, just not speech. Still she was embaressed by them. Many assumed because she could make sound speech was possible. And she had tried many times. Her words would just come out as a jumble of inaudible sounds. The effort had brought her to tears on many occassions. She wanted nothing more than to speak like everyone else. To give life to the voice inside her head that spoke eliquently and proudly but went vastly unheard.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. -You jest.-
While he took her cart, she folded her hands behind her back and walked at his side keeping pace. Her head bobbing as she agreed with his words. It was one of the reasons she liked his company. He was easy to talk to and could fill in the convrsation where her own words could not. He never made her feel inaept for her lack of ability to speak.
She bumped her shoulder against his, admittedly she was far less built then he, and would not move him nearly as far if he were to do the same to her. When she looked at him she nodded enthuastically and lifted her hand to give him a thumbs up. -Drink and meal on me.-
It was moments like this she felt her own shortcomings. How she lingered in her head with the things she could not say. 'It would be my pleasure.''I would love to.' Instead she merely stared at her feet as they walked in comfortable silence. Her head coming up to peer at the path they were taking before she turned to look at him, then the fish he was hauling for her. She pointed to him and then the fish. -Do you want one?-
She had plenty and sharing with him would help pay for his kind gesture. She still had to check her smaller traps for other prey that would be just as useful. Rabbits and quill. The furs, feathers and meat could all be sold. She needed the coin this year. Perhaps with whats he saved she could by a proper knife, and bow. The one she had been using had snapped and she was in the process of carving a new one with with old blade she owned.
Road to Carmarthenshire
Despite his occasional limp, Crow was a man very accustomed to walking. Every so often during their journey, when the conversation had gone quiet, he would tilt his head back and sing. Those from the farmstead would know his voice well, for he would very often sing while he worked. He had just finished a song of love and loss--many of his songs seemed to revolve around such themes--when Taff asked his innocent question. Crow's face darkened like a storm cloud. "I have," he said in a hard voice unlike his usual gentle one, though he tried to soften it as he went on. "They are men and women like any others--some good, some evil, and most falling somewhere betwixt."
Crow sighed and closed his eyes. There was no way to pretend that he hadn't been affected by Zachary telling Taff about the oaths. "The code of chivalry is a noble one, and 'tis a glad thing thou heed'st its tenets. But ... thy family needeth thee at the farmstead, Master Taff. I pray thee, be in no hurry to throw thyself at the feet of the knighthood." Crow dreaded the thought of young Taff serving as a squire to Pentre. If the black knight didn't come up with a shady reason to execute him outright, he would put the boy into greater and greater danger until the world did the job for him.
Despite his occasional limp, Crow was a man very accustomed to walking. Every so often during their journey, when the conversation had gone quiet, he would tilt his head back and sing. Those from the farmstead would know his voice well, for he would very often sing while he worked. He had just finished a song of love and loss--many of his songs seemed to revolve around such themes--when Taff asked his innocent question. Crow's face darkened like a storm cloud. "I have," he said in a hard voice unlike his usual gentle one, though he tried to soften it as he went on. "They are men and women like any others--some good, some evil, and most falling somewhere betwixt."
Crow sighed and closed his eyes. There was no way to pretend that he hadn't been affected by Zachary telling Taff about the oaths. "The code of chivalry is a noble one, and 'tis a glad thing thou heed'st its tenets. But ... thy family needeth thee at the farmstead, Master Taff. I pray thee, be in no hurry to throw thyself at the feet of the knighthood." Crow dreaded the thought of young Taff serving as a squire to Pentre. If the black knight didn't come up with a shady reason to execute him outright, he would put the boy into greater and greater danger until the world did the job for him.
****** Forest of Brune ******
Wesley gave Adelia his fullest attention, tugging at the cart as they walked and made conversation when she suddenly pointed to his chest and back to the fish, clearly offering some. He looked over at the catch and nodded in acceptance.
"Oh absolutely, I would like some, you bet!. We shall make a small camp fire and grill the fish over the hot coals, with some well rubbed herbs, but first we need to pick pace and go on further if we want to make it to Carmarthenshire by nightfall. We cannot afford to delay our arrival by stopping unduly." Explained Wesley looking up at the sun to gauge the hour.
"If we hurry a little, we might catch up to the caravan, or perhaps we find other travellers, many are bound for the same destination. When it comes to travelling, the more companions the better. There's more safety in greater numbers" smiled Wesley pushing forward a little harder to get moving quicker.
"Besides, with your skills, I have no doubt that there'll be other prized prey to collect along the way from your traps" mused Wesley "You'll be rich once all is sold for a fair price... unless taxes come to find us, but I hardly doubt it, lord Simon the royal taxman hasn't bothered to visit the poor north in more than a decade. We're pauper's land around here, so much so, he can't be bothered to travel from the southern capital all the way up here for a few scraps of silver" shrugged Wesley
Wesley gave Adelia his fullest attention, tugging at the cart as they walked and made conversation when she suddenly pointed to his chest and back to the fish, clearly offering some. He looked over at the catch and nodded in acceptance.
"Oh absolutely, I would like some, you bet!. We shall make a small camp fire and grill the fish over the hot coals, with some well rubbed herbs, but first we need to pick pace and go on further if we want to make it to Carmarthenshire by nightfall. We cannot afford to delay our arrival by stopping unduly." Explained Wesley looking up at the sun to gauge the hour.
"If we hurry a little, we might catch up to the caravan, or perhaps we find other travellers, many are bound for the same destination. When it comes to travelling, the more companions the better. There's more safety in greater numbers" smiled Wesley pushing forward a little harder to get moving quicker.
"Besides, with your skills, I have no doubt that there'll be other prized prey to collect along the way from your traps" mused Wesley "You'll be rich once all is sold for a fair price... unless taxes come to find us, but I hardly doubt it, lord Simon the royal taxman hasn't bothered to visit the poor north in more than a decade. We're pauper's land around here, so much so, he can't be bothered to travel from the southern capital all the way up here for a few scraps of silver" shrugged Wesley
****** Forest of Brune ******
Delia clapped her hands in excitement. Fresh fish over the coals. Some warmed bread and cheese. If she was lucky she could get a nice bowl of soup as well. The very thought had her smiling.
With his words of encouragement and urgency, she moved to the cart and took a bucket to hold in her hands and against her hips. She gave a curt nod of the head.
-I understand.-
That would at least make the cart lighter so they could move faster. To which she did walk faster and mind her footing.
Adelia nodded and sighed, her head lowering as she gave a slight shake of it.
-I hope you are right.-
She feared taxes more than anything. She barely made enough as it were. To have to supply anymore would surely kill her. And with her infliction she feared she would be jailed or simply killed for being inept.
She smirked at his compliment all the same and shook her head happily while bitting her lower lip. Her brows lifted when she looked at him.
-I have many traps too.-
She would love to hunt bigger game but she needed her bow for that. Arrows that were actually metal and not stone. Bigger hunts meant more money which would help her get better supplies and live properly.
Her gaze moved to him as she lifted her free hand and made the number two with them then pointed them to the floor and wiggled them as if walking.
-Let’s hurry up.-
With that she picked her pace up once again. Wesley wasn’t wrong about the caravans.
Delia clapped her hands in excitement. Fresh fish over the coals. Some warmed bread and cheese. If she was lucky she could get a nice bowl of soup as well. The very thought had her smiling.
With his words of encouragement and urgency, she moved to the cart and took a bucket to hold in her hands and against her hips. She gave a curt nod of the head.
-I understand.-
That would at least make the cart lighter so they could move faster. To which she did walk faster and mind her footing.
Adelia nodded and sighed, her head lowering as she gave a slight shake of it.
-I hope you are right.-
She feared taxes more than anything. She barely made enough as it were. To have to supply anymore would surely kill her. And with her infliction she feared she would be jailed or simply killed for being inept.
She smirked at his compliment all the same and shook her head happily while bitting her lower lip. Her brows lifted when she looked at him.
-I have many traps too.-
She would love to hunt bigger game but she needed her bow for that. Arrows that were actually metal and not stone. Bigger hunts meant more money which would help her get better supplies and live properly.
Her gaze moved to him as she lifted her free hand and made the number two with them then pointed them to the floor and wiggled them as if walking.
-Let’s hurry up.-
With that she picked her pace up once again. Wesley wasn’t wrong about the caravans.
****** Road to Carmarthenshire ******
Taff broke out into a laugh at Crow's serious tone of voice. "Now, now, you have nothing to fear. I am quite certain you and I are stuck at the muddy farm for years to come, likely a lifetime of toiling the land" assured Taff patting Crow's shoulder in reassurance
"If only it were that simple to achieve knighthood. Things have changed a lot since the olden days, you know. It is no longer a matter of who is more deserving for having the better skills in swordsmanship or battle tactics" assured Taff shaking his head clearly amused at how easy Crow was making matters appear.
"For starters, only those that are chosen by a knight can be accepted to become squires, as long as they also have the approval of the lord knight of the realm and Sir Tron Pentre, the king's hand of justice, has not visited the northern shires in more than a decade, in fact, no knight has ever been to these lands in my entire life.
Then you have the fact that to become a squire you have to be of noble birth and bloodline from the father's side of the family, or at least be a son of a known knight, commoners and peasants, lowly farmers, like you and I, we can never aspire to be chosen for such positions of honour, power and glory. It is meant for the better social classes only, those that tower above us by right of birth.
Lastly, and more importantly, to be able to enter the service of a knight or lord as a squire you need signed papers, written permission from your father to do so, and I don't have a father to sign any such papers, not even his names are known to me, so it would be practically impossible to ever be considered for knighthood" sighed Taff disappointed shrugging his shoulders at this impass.
"Seeing as I am a no-name, a young man without a father's lineage and family name to claim and give to anyone, I may never even make it to a townsguard. Even guards have to give their father's name when they register. Imagine it... Taff... son of... who knows?. I don't see it happening" shrugged Taff kicking a pebble out of the way frustrated.
"Mother won't even speak father's name or explain anything of his side of the family and there are no parchments or written word of him anywhere in the house either. Trust me I tried to find a glimpse of him but to no avail" assured Taff having made a discreet effort to learn more of the man
"Seems, he died a failure, an unknown dreamer like me wishing for a knighthood that never came, rumours say he actually died a traitor, but, who knows what is truth is these days... I haven't anyone to trust but you, Crow" shrugged Taff
"Nonetheless, that won't stop me from training hard, right? One has to hold onto dreams for a better, more honourable life ahead of them. For my own sake and everyone else around me" mused Taff having spoken softly enough to not distress his own mother on the matter seeing her outright refusal to aboard the matter openly
Taff broke out into a laugh at Crow's serious tone of voice. "Now, now, you have nothing to fear. I am quite certain you and I are stuck at the muddy farm for years to come, likely a lifetime of toiling the land" assured Taff patting Crow's shoulder in reassurance
"If only it were that simple to achieve knighthood. Things have changed a lot since the olden days, you know. It is no longer a matter of who is more deserving for having the better skills in swordsmanship or battle tactics" assured Taff shaking his head clearly amused at how easy Crow was making matters appear.
"For starters, only those that are chosen by a knight can be accepted to become squires, as long as they also have the approval of the lord knight of the realm and Sir Tron Pentre, the king's hand of justice, has not visited the northern shires in more than a decade, in fact, no knight has ever been to these lands in my entire life.
Then you have the fact that to become a squire you have to be of noble birth and bloodline from the father's side of the family, or at least be a son of a known knight, commoners and peasants, lowly farmers, like you and I, we can never aspire to be chosen for such positions of honour, power and glory. It is meant for the better social classes only, those that tower above us by right of birth.
Lastly, and more importantly, to be able to enter the service of a knight or lord as a squire you need signed papers, written permission from your father to do so, and I don't have a father to sign any such papers, not even his names are known to me, so it would be practically impossible to ever be considered for knighthood" sighed Taff disappointed shrugging his shoulders at this impass.
"Seeing as I am a no-name, a young man without a father's lineage and family name to claim and give to anyone, I may never even make it to a townsguard. Even guards have to give their father's name when they register. Imagine it... Taff... son of... who knows?. I don't see it happening" shrugged Taff kicking a pebble out of the way frustrated.
"Mother won't even speak father's name or explain anything of his side of the family and there are no parchments or written word of him anywhere in the house either. Trust me I tried to find a glimpse of him but to no avail" assured Taff having made a discreet effort to learn more of the man
"Seems, he died a failure, an unknown dreamer like me wishing for a knighthood that never came, rumours say he actually died a traitor, but, who knows what is truth is these days... I haven't anyone to trust but you, Crow" shrugged Taff
"Nonetheless, that won't stop me from training hard, right? One has to hold onto dreams for a better, more honourable life ahead of them. For my own sake and everyone else around me" mused Taff having spoken softly enough to not distress his own mother on the matter seeing her outright refusal to aboard the matter openly
As Taff explained the knighting process to him, Crow lifted his eyebrows and suppressed an amused smirk, then made a point to listen raptly. Every so often he would punctuate with a nod or an "O, verily?" and he kept his attention fixed on the younger man. But as the Taff began to bemoan the unknown fate of his father, Crow's expression twisted, and he pressed his tongue against his scar so fiercely that it twinged. He was not a fan of elaborate secrets such as the ones he suspected Hunith held. Though he could not say if certain if his suspicions were correct, he still felt as though he was implicitly lying to young Taff, and that did not sit well with him.
"Thy mother holdeth thy father's secrets close to her breast, and we must respect that. She hath her reasons, I am sure. Anyway ..." He dropped a scarred hand on Taff's shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. "... he could not have been a villain. He sired thee, and thou'rt as noble as they come."
"Thy mother holdeth thy father's secrets close to her breast, and we must respect that. She hath her reasons, I am sure. Anyway ..." He dropped a scarred hand on Taff's shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. "... he could not have been a villain. He sired thee, and thou'rt as noble as they come."
****** Forest of Brune, Road to Carmarthenshire ******
Wesley took Adelia's gesture to help as her agreement and approval to hurry up a little more. When she picked up a bucket, keeping up with him, it encouraged Wesley to also hurry more along the way, his muscles flexing and showing rather well furnished arms as he pressed onwards down the dusty path.
He made the necessary pauses, whenever Adelia indicated a location of a trap or other, but other than that, he pushed on until he caught up to a travelling group, the man at the far back sporting a clear limp to his foot, the youth by his side none other than Taff from the Llanelli farmstead, Ebony and Hunith at the front with Beatrix and Martha by the side of the cart, chatting away.
Taff looked up at Crow with a warm smile and a nod of acceptance for his reassuring words "if you say so, I shall take your word for it" mused Taff, yielding at the insistence from Crow in respecting Hunith's desire to keep silent about her husband. He was about to ask further questions about the knights he had met when their conversation was broken by the arrival of newcomers, looking back well pleased.
"Well, hello, fancy meeting you lot here" smiled and saluted Wesley joining the locals on their way to Carmarthenshire too, certain there would be others they would cross paths with down the same route.
"If you don't mind, good neighbours, Adelia and I shall like to travel together with you... greater safety in greater numbers" requested Wesley respectfully, wiping away his sweaty brow with the back of the hand and pushing the well loaded cart forward, Wesley and Adelia too poor to own any cattle of their own so having to make do by themselves
Wesley took Adelia's gesture to help as her agreement and approval to hurry up a little more. When she picked up a bucket, keeping up with him, it encouraged Wesley to also hurry more along the way, his muscles flexing and showing rather well furnished arms as he pressed onwards down the dusty path.
He made the necessary pauses, whenever Adelia indicated a location of a trap or other, but other than that, he pushed on until he caught up to a travelling group, the man at the far back sporting a clear limp to his foot, the youth by his side none other than Taff from the Llanelli farmstead, Ebony and Hunith at the front with Beatrix and Martha by the side of the cart, chatting away.
Taff looked up at Crow with a warm smile and a nod of acceptance for his reassuring words "if you say so, I shall take your word for it" mused Taff, yielding at the insistence from Crow in respecting Hunith's desire to keep silent about her husband. He was about to ask further questions about the knights he had met when their conversation was broken by the arrival of newcomers, looking back well pleased.
"Well, hello, fancy meeting you lot here" smiled and saluted Wesley joining the locals on their way to Carmarthenshire too, certain there would be others they would cross paths with down the same route.
"If you don't mind, good neighbours, Adelia and I shall like to travel together with you... greater safety in greater numbers" requested Wesley respectfully, wiping away his sweaty brow with the back of the hand and pushing the well loaded cart forward, Wesley and Adelia too poor to own any cattle of their own so having to make do by themselves
Adelia kept good pace and did not falter. Watching quietly as Wesley pulled the cart thankful for his presence and help. She was not a blind woman nor was she ignorant of his charms. She simply smiled and kept such thoughts to herself. Someone who was inept as she was could never covey the attentions of someone like him. She couldn’t say his name let alone, vocalize any form of interest or attraction.
Such thoughts plagued her as she checked her traps quickly and effortlessly. They were well hidden and each bore fruit. Rabbits. Forest fowl. Squirrels. She wasn’t fortunate enough to catch any foxes or boars in her snares which would have fetched far more coin. But overall, she was not empty handed and the turn out was fruitful.
As they came to the caravan she mind her steps and slowed to be behind Wesley a bit. Offering a polite smile and nod of the head to everyone as her hands still held the basket. She did not complain, nor did she try and strike up conversation. Being around the others made her feel her inferior abilities. Her eyes roamed over their faces before casting to the floor. She walked just fast enough to keep up but didn’t dare interrupt their conversations.
Even here, amongst the villagers, she did not take their kindness for granted.
Such thoughts plagued her as she checked her traps quickly and effortlessly. They were well hidden and each bore fruit. Rabbits. Forest fowl. Squirrels. She wasn’t fortunate enough to catch any foxes or boars in her snares which would have fetched far more coin. But overall, she was not empty handed and the turn out was fruitful.
As they came to the caravan she mind her steps and slowed to be behind Wesley a bit. Offering a polite smile and nod of the head to everyone as her hands still held the basket. She did not complain, nor did she try and strike up conversation. Being around the others made her feel her inferior abilities. Her eyes roamed over their faces before casting to the floor. She walked just fast enough to keep up but didn’t dare interrupt their conversations.
Even here, amongst the villagers, she did not take their kindness for granted.
Moderators: Tusitala Guardian_Girl The Hanged Man (played anonymously) JustaBitEvil