He looks over the night sky from his nook in the rock face, the small fire burning next to him from the scant wood he was able to gather.
Will turns his thoughts inward, thinking over everything, what he has had, what he has lost. Sighing softly and adds the last plank to the fire, shivering slightly from the chill of the desert night.
“It’s been twelve days since I set out from Kettleberry. I wonder how Gwen is.” He shakes his head, a few strands of hair coming lose out of the ponytail he had it tied in. “No, she is the reason I’m out here, I have to get past that.” He sighs slightly and presses his hand to his heart, a clover wrapped in a small handkerchief resides there and he nods.
“Luck, be with me tonight.” He opens his knapsack and winces, most of the trail rations and water being gone. “About two days left, I better go restock at the gnome camp.” He thinks to himself. “To find myself,” He scoffs, “I’m just as lost as I was before, and the only difference now is I have sand in my boots.” Pulling his hair down and shaking the sand out; he goes to his bedroll, pulling his boots off, and climbing in.
The Dreams come, as they have every night.
“will…”
“Who is that?"
“Will...”
He yells into the darkness.
“WHO ARE YOU!!”
“WILL..!”
The darkness explodes into light; hundreds of colors swirl around him as he lies in the black water, wearing only his underclothes. The colors and lights swirl around him, and stab at him. From the light there is a figure.
“Thaddeus?”
The figure regards him.
“You know what to do, you are on the right path, Will.”
The lights and colors suddenly stop, and he is falling, falling, the sand rushes up meet him yet there is no impact. He stands and looks around, above him the black, starless, sky greets him and in the distance he can see a light, shining from the ground and stretching into the sky.
Morning comes and he opens his eyes, brushing the wind carried sand from his cheeks. “My first uninterrupted sleep in months, and he spoke to me this time.” He stares off into the distance for a moment, refreshed but disturbed. Looking in one direction, it seems to pull at him, to pull at something within.
He shakes his head, knowing that the distance is too great for just two days worth of rations. “Better get moving, if I want to get there.” He packs up and hikes his great sword over his shoulder, strapping it around his torso but leaving the belt hanging so the sheath can move from side to side.
He starts for the gnome encampment, thinking why he is doing this, and before he can think about it, his mentors words come to mind.
“Will, when you feel something, something deep down, and you know you have to do it, then do it. Don’t wait for it to pass by.”
He speaks aloud to himself. “I’m doing this for me and me alone. What ever is out there I’ll find it.”
The Sabbatical is broken, but only for the moment.
(((This is a re-editing of a story of mine from a previous server on Jun 12, 2006, there is a lot to it, so I will be updating it as i get time to rewrite it.))
Sabatical of a Spellsword
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*Farseer Wraith
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
“Three thousand gold, for this?!?”
Will gives the gnome merchant a look like he is out of his head.
“But that’s insane! How the hell am I supposed to come up with…Bah!”
The gnomeish merchant gives him a withering look. “Well this is the only place you can get decent supplies, so pay or start walking.”
Will sighs and feels his near empty gold pouch. “Fine. You have these supplies ready by sundown and I’ll come by and pick them up; I’ll have your damned money.”
He hikes up his sword as he turns away and starts the walk to the Smell of Rain tavern.
“Well this annoying, having to play for a bunch of half drunken sods, for meager coin, at best.” He grumbles softly as he thinks this.
As he walks through the encampment, a thin figure shadows him, moving silently from tent to tent, green eyes studying. “A bard, easy pickings.”
***********
Later that night, Will climbs off his stool, his fingers sore from the lute strings, but his coin purse being filled. “Doesn’t even feel the same anymore…” He looks down at his lute and sighs. The Innkeeper has paid him well but there seems not to be happiness in his eyes, only a hollowness which is no longer filled by song and dance. The innkeeper brings him a note, signed with his name and a sigh escapes his lips, it is from Gwen. He takes a seat at a table, propping his lute against the edge and reads, a frown slowly forming on his face. “Damn it, I did not mean it like that…” He pulls out a sheet of parchment, shaking the sand out on the table, and pulls out an inkwell and quill. Quickly, he writes a short letter, then using the displaced sand, sands the parchment, seals it, and hands it to the innkeeper; paying him a modest fee for a runner to be sent to find this woman.
All this time, the thin figure, draped in a dark brown cloak watches him, all of his movements. From the vantage point at the back, Will is being watched, and is totally oblivious to it. He quickly packs up and slings his sword over his back, starting out of the tavern. The figure quickly follows.
Outside, not but fifty feet from the door, the figure intercepts him. Sliding in behind him a dagger prods into the lower right portion of his back. “Take it easy and you won’t be hurt, kay? I’ll make it simple, your money or your life.” Will freezes, raising his hands slowly, cursing himself mentally. “Oh you should have seen this coming, Moron.” He motions slightly to the bag on his waist. “Its all there, take it.” When the figure starts to reach for the money, Will’s left hand darts in and grabs the handle of his sword, jerking it hard from right to left. Being unsecured, the sheath moves violently and knocks the dagger away, but not before the figure has started to stab. Blood trickles from the small wound as Will, in one smooth motion, rips the sword free of its scabbard, and pivots on his heel; bringing him and his blade around in a deadly arc. The figure folds its knees and rolls back; pulling a short sword free from its sheath. It rolls to its feet, finally revealed. The cloak has now fallen away and the figure is revealed to be a black haired, elf woman, with piercing green eyes and an arrogant smirk. Without word she rushes forward, left blade held normal, right reversed and strikes in a low, right hip to left shoulder slash. Will parries the first blade and the second one scratches it’s way across his chest piece. He pushes himself back, a half jump in the lose sand; and drags the edge of his sword along her upper right arm. She pulls back with a hiss, blood flowing down her arm.
“Steleigh!!”
Jerking her head around, she looks into the night.
“Quit messin around, I ain’t payin you for nothing! Caravan leaves in five minutes! Now Move yer ass!”
She frowns and looks back to Will. “You’re lucky, but I am going to get that coin out of you, one way or another.” She straightens and sheaths her weapons, slipping away into the shadows and into the night.
He, on the other hand, stands there, slightly bewildered and frowning. “The hell? Damn bandits are everywhere…” He sheaths his sword and places a hand on his side, wincing slightly as he does. “Did not go too deep, I can still travel on it.” He quickly bandages himself, being as careful as he can not to get sand in it. “Time to go.” Will squares his shoulders and walks ahead, first to the gnomish encampment for his supplies, then out into the dunes.
Distantly, a ghostly voice is heard on the wind.
“Wielder...”
Will gives the gnome merchant a look like he is out of his head.
“But that’s insane! How the hell am I supposed to come up with…Bah!”
The gnomeish merchant gives him a withering look. “Well this is the only place you can get decent supplies, so pay or start walking.”
Will sighs and feels his near empty gold pouch. “Fine. You have these supplies ready by sundown and I’ll come by and pick them up; I’ll have your damned money.”
He hikes up his sword as he turns away and starts the walk to the Smell of Rain tavern.
“Well this annoying, having to play for a bunch of half drunken sods, for meager coin, at best.” He grumbles softly as he thinks this.
As he walks through the encampment, a thin figure shadows him, moving silently from tent to tent, green eyes studying. “A bard, easy pickings.”
***********
Later that night, Will climbs off his stool, his fingers sore from the lute strings, but his coin purse being filled. “Doesn’t even feel the same anymore…” He looks down at his lute and sighs. The Innkeeper has paid him well but there seems not to be happiness in his eyes, only a hollowness which is no longer filled by song and dance. The innkeeper brings him a note, signed with his name and a sigh escapes his lips, it is from Gwen. He takes a seat at a table, propping his lute against the edge and reads, a frown slowly forming on his face. “Damn it, I did not mean it like that…” He pulls out a sheet of parchment, shaking the sand out on the table, and pulls out an inkwell and quill. Quickly, he writes a short letter, then using the displaced sand, sands the parchment, seals it, and hands it to the innkeeper; paying him a modest fee for a runner to be sent to find this woman.
All this time, the thin figure, draped in a dark brown cloak watches him, all of his movements. From the vantage point at the back, Will is being watched, and is totally oblivious to it. He quickly packs up and slings his sword over his back, starting out of the tavern. The figure quickly follows.
Outside, not but fifty feet from the door, the figure intercepts him. Sliding in behind him a dagger prods into the lower right portion of his back. “Take it easy and you won’t be hurt, kay? I’ll make it simple, your money or your life.” Will freezes, raising his hands slowly, cursing himself mentally. “Oh you should have seen this coming, Moron.” He motions slightly to the bag on his waist. “Its all there, take it.” When the figure starts to reach for the money, Will’s left hand darts in and grabs the handle of his sword, jerking it hard from right to left. Being unsecured, the sheath moves violently and knocks the dagger away, but not before the figure has started to stab. Blood trickles from the small wound as Will, in one smooth motion, rips the sword free of its scabbard, and pivots on his heel; bringing him and his blade around in a deadly arc. The figure folds its knees and rolls back; pulling a short sword free from its sheath. It rolls to its feet, finally revealed. The cloak has now fallen away and the figure is revealed to be a black haired, elf woman, with piercing green eyes and an arrogant smirk. Without word she rushes forward, left blade held normal, right reversed and strikes in a low, right hip to left shoulder slash. Will parries the first blade and the second one scratches it’s way across his chest piece. He pushes himself back, a half jump in the lose sand; and drags the edge of his sword along her upper right arm. She pulls back with a hiss, blood flowing down her arm.
“Steleigh!!”
Jerking her head around, she looks into the night.
“Quit messin around, I ain’t payin you for nothing! Caravan leaves in five minutes! Now Move yer ass!”
She frowns and looks back to Will. “You’re lucky, but I am going to get that coin out of you, one way or another.” She straightens and sheaths her weapons, slipping away into the shadows and into the night.
He, on the other hand, stands there, slightly bewildered and frowning. “The hell? Damn bandits are everywhere…” He sheaths his sword and places a hand on his side, wincing slightly as he does. “Did not go too deep, I can still travel on it.” He quickly bandages himself, being as careful as he can not to get sand in it. “Time to go.” Will squares his shoulders and walks ahead, first to the gnomish encampment for his supplies, then out into the dunes.
Distantly, a ghostly voice is heard on the wind.
“Wielder...”