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II.Warden Vulpes Velox
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A Half Cycle Later
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A tavern sat, tucked into the crook of a winding cobblestone street that hadn’t seen repair in decades in a small countryside village. It’s name, "The Bladed Bow," hung above the door in faded, flaking gold lettering, barely legible under the grime built up over cycles. A weak glow spilled from the cracked windows, promising warmth to the weary or unwelcome. Inside, the air was thick with the mingled scents of cooked meat, pipe smoke, and the faint, earthy tang of spilled mead soaked into the wooden floors.
A long oak bar dominated one side of the room, its surface etched with countless nicks and grooves, as though it carried the history of the tavern all on it's own. Behind it, an old bartender leaned against a barrel, his wiry frame wrapped in a patched leather apron. His one good eye scanned the establishment, making sure all seemed well and stayed well. His other eye, a milky orb clouded by some long-forgotten injury, seemed to focus on nothing and everything at once. His gnarled hands worked absently at a glass with a rag.
The tavern patrons were few, but distinct. A couple of groups spread throughout, a woman in the corner, and a man at the end of the bar. But most notably, at a central table, three men sat hunched together, their voices louder than anyone else's. Their appearance was rough with their clothes patched and worn as their faces were haggard and dirtied by hardship. Each bore a blade at their hip, as most men did these days.
"Crops dead, nothing to sell," one of them growled. This was Legan Narsel, the self-appointed leader of the group. His dark eyes darted around the room, "And those damned wolves are picking off what little livestock we've got left."
His younger brother, Keeg Narsel, nodded fervently, "It ain't natural. Something's cursed this land, I swear it."
"Cursed or not,” spoke up the third man, Buuman, slower in both speech and thought, "Ain't gonna matter if we can't eat."
The bartender leaned over the bar cautiously towards them, “Gentlemen, I understand times are hard, but maybe keep it down, eh? Folks here just want some peace with their drink."
Legan slammed his fist on the table, making the mugs jump, "Peace? Don't talk to me about peace, old man. Where's peace when your village burns? Where's peace when your family's starving? Wait til it's your shitty tavern old timer."
Keeg smirked, rising from his seat and drawing his blade, "Maybe we take a little piece for ourselves. Startin' with this bar."
The few patrons in the tavern stiffened and quieted with their eyes darting toward the exits.
"All right, everyone, just stay calm,” Legan called, his blade gleaming in the low light, "Hand over your coin and no one gets hurt."
Buuman lumbered to the nearest table, grinning as he snatched a patron's coin purse. The frightened man didn't resist.
At the far end of the bar, the lone man stood, his back to the commotion. He was broad-shouldered, wearing black clothes underneath that were mostly hidden by his cloak. Attached to the cloak was a hood that he had pulled low over his face. Slowly, he turned towards the men.
"You've made a mistake,” the man said, his voice low yet firm to get their attention, “Everyone's in bad ways these days. But not everyone is robbing folks like you lot.”
Legan turned to him, sneering, “Oh? And who the hell are you supposed to be?"
The man raised his hands, palms open, showing he was unarmed, “Just someone who's been looking for you." The tension in the room spiked as the three bandits circled him, taking a closer look at his grimacing determination emanating from his stare.
“Oh shit! They did put out a price for that last job,” Legan growled.
"Big mistake, you damn dog,” Keeg snarled, lunging first.
The man sidestepped smoothly, grabbing Keeg's wrist and twisting it. The knife clattered to the floor as the stranger drove his elbow into Keeg's chest, sending him flying backwards into a stool by the bar.
Buuman came next, swinging wildly. The man ducked, then jumped up, grabbing the back of Buuman's neck, and slamming him face-first into the end of the bar. With an aggressive swiftness, the attack knocked him out instantly.
Legan hesitated, but only for a moment. He charged with a snarl, his blade slashing in tight arcs. The stranger parried with a stool leg he had grabbed mid-motion stepping towards the bar, and disarmed Legan with a precise twist. A moment later, Legan was flat on his back, groaning as the stranger pressed a knee to his chest. The tavern fell silent.
"Who... who are you?" the bartender asked, his voice shaky.
The man straightened, brushing dust from the sides of his cloak. From his pocket, he pulled a folded parchment and handed it to the bartender.
"Just a warden, sir," said the man.
The parchment bore crude sketches of Legan, Keeg, and Buuman, along with their bounty for 10,000 gold coins. “Wanted for Robbery and Injury,” it read.
The stranger tied up, then hauled the bandits outside, tying them to a horse trough as he signaled to the local law the job was done. They hurried off to grab chains and a cart to take the men away. As he secured the ropes, a feminine voice called out from the tavern door, "Well done."
He turned to see a woman leaning against the door frame. She was the one minding her business in the corner with her cloak up just like he had done to avoid lingering looks. The situation didn't seem to disturb her drinking and it looked as though she actually enjoyed the show.
She stepped out, pulling her cloak back. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back in loose waves. The man noticed that it reminded him of sunlit wheat at harvest time as it caught the fire light from the torches like it had been spun from gold itself. Then he was then drawn to her eyes, the irises a color of emerald, glinted beneath long lashes. They were beautiful and assessing, showing a clever mind behind them.
Then came her outfit that was astonishing in both function and allure. It consisted of a red leather corset on top and black leather pants on bottom that hugged her curves like a second skin. The design was sleek yet practical, with straps, buckles, and subtle pockets that hinted at hidden tools of her trade. A dagger rested on each hip as their hilts gleamed faintly.
The neckline of her corset vest dipped just enough to distract the unwary. Surely a trap as deliberate as any snare laid in the wild. The polished boots that climbed to mid-thigh clicked softly against the wooden floor, the sound deliberate, calculated as she approached. Drawing attention without demanding it, and surely he was drawn in.
Her smile, when it came, was like a blade hidden in silk. The fleeting curve of her lips spoke of mischief and danger. The man had seen her type before. Women like her usually prefer an easy mark, but here she was giving him the attention. She stopped her stride in front of the man.
"Thanks," he said, warily.
She stepped closer, taken in by the stranger’s silver eyes that caught the flickering flames as her hair did for him, "Name's Selena. And you are?"
"Quintin," he responded with a little hesitation.
Quintin was barely past his twentieth cycle, yet already carrying the weight of the road upon him. He hadn't changed much physically, still tall and lean, but his build was now tempered by travel rather than farm work. His looks, however, seemed to show he was older than he was, as his straight black hair now reached his shoulders, framing a face still untouched by the deep lines of age, but easy enough to maneuver and hide when needed.
A short black beard wrapped around his jaw coming to small point at his chin. His grey cloak, travel-worn, but well maintained, shifted with the wind, revealing a black leather tunic and pants as his attire and his father’s sword rested on his like hip, with the hilt wrapped in black leather to hide the uniqueness underneath.
"Where you headed, Quintin?" Selena asked, after looking him up and down once more.
He hesitated again, then said, "Mount Scion."
Her brows lifted. “Ambitious. Not many go that way anymore. You know how to get there?"
"Not exactly."
A slow smile spread across her lips, "Well, for a little coin, I could guide you. Know these lands better than most."
Quintin studied her for a moment, weighing her offer as the local law finally arrived to pick up the three miscreants. As he handed off their parchment, a coin purse was tossed his way as he turned back to Selena showing it. Then, with a nod, he said, "Okay.”
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Selena swung effortlessly onto her own black horse. The creature snorted softly as it adjusted to her weight. She got settled on top and smirked down at Quintin.
“You coming then parchment hound, or is that puppy?” she teased.
Quintin scoffed with a smirk as he mounted his own steed. He nudged the horse forward, falling in behind Selena as she led the way out of the village.
They traveled in comfortable silence for a time, the sounds of their horses' hooves muffled by the soft earth beneath them. Selena veered off the main road, guiding them along a narrow path that wound through the countryside.
“Thanks for agreeing to avoid the main roads,” Quintin said after a while.
“Wasn’t hard to agree to that,” Selena replied with a shrug, “I prefer the quiet routes anyway. Less chance of running into trouble. Hell, you saw how people been acting as of late. Those three. I've been seeing and hearing that all over.”
Quintin smirked faintly, nodding in silence but agreement, though his gaze stayed forward.
Selena glanced back at him with curiosity, “So, let me guess. You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
“Not really.”
“That so?” she chuckled, shaking her head, “Well, lucky for you, I can carry a conversation all by myself.”
Quintin’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile as he shook his head in disbelief.
Selena pressed on, “So, no home, huh? You one of those ‘wandering soul’ types? Figure you might have to be to be a warden.”
Quintin hesitated, then replied, “No not really a wanderer. Haven't really been traveling a long time. But home’s... not an option anymore.”
Selena caught the brief shadow that passed over his expression and decided not to push, at least not yet, “Fair enough. Lot of people losing their homes, farms, or even whole villages. World's somehow gone to shit even more than before. But either way, I’ve got to know. How does someone like you end up as a chasing down wanteds? You don’t exactly give off the ‘hired muscle’ vibe.”
Quintin shrugged, trying to carefully choose his words, “It really just fell into my lap. Had a run-in with some bandit on the road. Local guard saw me take them down and handed me a bounty for the trouble. Happened a few more times pretty much the same way and I figured it was an easy way to make coin while I traveled.”
“Easy?” Selena snorted, “That’s one word for it. Dangerous would be another.”
“Danger doesn’t bother me.”
Selena arched an eyebrow, leaning back in her saddle, “I’ll bet it doesn’t. Still, there’s easier ways to make money, you know.”
“Not for me,” Quintin said simply, knowing he couldn't stay in one place for too long to hold down any sort of trade job.
Selena studied him for a moment before changing the subject, “So then, why Mount Scion?”
Quintin’s jaw tightened slightly, but he just gave a half smile as she looked back and didn't answer.
Selena tilted her head, “You know people think that place is cursed, right? It’s barren, inhospitable, and supposedly haunted by the spite. Not that anyone’s actually seen it from what I hear. Just a lot of bones and tall tales.”
Quintin didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the horizon, “Tall tales usually start somewhere.”
Selena whistled low, “You’re a mysterious one, aren’t you? Hunting bandits, chasing legends…”
Quintin didn’t reply again, so Selena let the conversation lapse into silence, though her eyes gleamed with curiosity.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, the pair found a secluded spot in a wooded area. Tall trees offered shelter from the wind, and a small clearing provided enough space for their horses and a fire.
Selena dismounted first, patting her horse’s neck before unpacking her supplies, “This should do. Feels safe enough.”
Quintin followed suit, unsaddling his horse and pulling out a bedroll, “We’ll take turns keeping watch.”
Selena arched an eyebrow, “Expecting trouble?”
“Always.”
She shrugged, settling onto a log and striking a spark to light a fire, “Fair enough. I’ll take first watch, then.”
The fire crackled to life, casting warm light over the clearing. Selena leaned back, watching Quintin as he set his bedroll near the fire, but didn’t lie down.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” she asked, a teasing in her voice.
Quintin gave her a sidelong glance, “Trust is earned.”
Selena laughed softly, “Fair. Guess I’ll have to work on that, huh?”
Quintin didn’t respond, but tried to hide a smirk. As the fire burned, the night grew quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. Selena tilted her head back, gazing up at the stars.
“You ever think about what’s out there?” she mused.
Quintin followed her gaze, his expression unreadable, “Not really.”
“Well, I do,” Selena said, her voice soft.
“Stories, legends, gods... I figure there’s gotta be something more than this.”
Quintin didn’t reply, but her words lingered in the quiet air as the fire crackled between them.
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End Part 2
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