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“Just what kind of relationship do you presume me and Shepherd have?” The cleric pouts at the two mercs of her party. Her voice had an air of light that misportrayed her serious question.
They both turn to each other snickering. We see them at an inn, as they retire for the night from the various monsters they have slain to save the world. A lost Knight, a grumpy Cleric, an unenthused Ranger, and a changed Rogue, this is their story.
"I simply do not understand why I must be the one to talk to Shepherd." Lucille turns her foot on the dime.
"You think he's going to listen to a hardened criminal over there or my lazy bum?" Oakley, the ranger, sits backwards on a chair, resting his face on his arms. His voice was at a high pitch, yet still as sleepy as his demeanor.
"You've worked with him before, Lucille. We're hired men. Well..." Gustav, the rogue, eyes Oakley at his lax stance. "I'm hired men." His voice was a lot more gruff, with a hint of a Latin accent.
"I take offense to that! Only because I overslept and took a while to get to the party..."
"You took months to get here. Your skills may be impressive, but your code is..." Oakley starts to doze off. "Flimsy."
"Can't it be you, Oakley? You're the savant here, he'll listen if you tell him the rest of yesterday is the strength of tomorrow or something along those lines." Lucille pokes Oakley with the end of her rod.
"Maybe? But, actions speak louder than words. If I hit the hay right here, he'll get the message for sure." Oakley falls asleep right then and there.
"Are we really going to survive this adventure?" Lucille mutters, performing a simple prayer.
"Look, Lucille. He'll open up to you. Knights? They're dreamers. Tough folks who 'rough it out' for the sake of righteousness. So, just lead him on, give him what he thinks he deserves, a reason to keep at it."
"I'm a cleric, not a princess." She pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Tch, what he needs is a woman's grace, ease him in. God knows what happened to the poor fella."
She almost utters a word, before retracting her statement. What could have Shepherd been through?
"What about this? I'll fetch you that rod, you were eyeing at the market and you get the big man back into shape, how's that?"
She eyes him warily. "You'll pay for it right?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm trying to start a clean life. Risking the royal pardon would ruin the whole reason I joined this venture." He is as sincere as a rogue can be.
...And she has no reason to say no. "Deal."
Shepherd leans on the inn wall outside. He always gets restless nights like these. Trained through those times until exhaustion was the only thing left on his mind. This adventure gave him not much strength to pick up his blade, yet his mind still wandered, visions of an older man with faded yellow hair.
Surrounded by monsters in the dark forest, with the only thing between him and certain death, is a blue shield and the stark, scalding tone that Shepherd feared the most than any monster.
“And to think, this is what I raised.” The old man turns to face Shepherd, his expression is unreadable. “A coward,”
“N-n-no!” Shepherd reached out for his father.
“Who RAN from me, to save his own skin.” The monsters inch to his father, ready to pounce.
Shepherd stumbles away, on foot through the thick of the woods. The vicious rip and tear of what he can only imagine was from his own kin. The disembodied yells get louder, coming all around him.
“RUN, SHEPHERD, RUN!”
“YOU USELESS SON, SHEPHERD!”
“SHEPHE-!”
"Shepherd!" A black-haired, cleric in her night garments yelled at him, snapping out of the trance.
His eyes popped wide open, he held his stomach close to retching. Beads of sweat and tears accompanied his complexion. Lucille looked more deeply concerned than she initially was.
“Are you alright?! What was that?!” The cleric rushed over to check the knight’s vitals. He refused the care, placing a hand out to her to stay.
“I-I’m fine…” He starts to hack and wheeze, a hand on his throat.
She sighed, taking on a softer tone. "Is it another one of those nights?"
"Yes, I can't find rest." His voice was deep, baritone. Like that of a commander, though it seemed softer as of that moment.
"You ought to, you haven’t been resting much recently.”
"Nothing your healing can't fix."
"My magic only works on your wounds. Your exhaustion? I can't recover that energy." The worry in her expression is blatant. It only further strikes him of guilt.
"Apologies, m'lady." He observes the moon to hide his face from her. "Give me a few moments."
"Very well." She stands beside him, unmoving close-eyed. "I shall accompany you until the moments pass."
"M'lady, you need not bother with my strange habits."
"You look after us on the battlefield, Shepherd. You put your life on the line for our sake. Let us at least lighten the burden you hold heavy on your shoulders."
He trembles, blinking profusely. The adventure distracted him from the gravity of his role. His team trusted him… they trusted a fraud. “Please…” He muttered. “Don’t rely on me.”
Lucille held his hand with both of hers. Staring at his face, pleading. She felt as if he would crumble had she let go.
The town of Haggerdom is still lively at night. Many have set up stalls that sell various foods and drinks, yet a night on the town is not our focus. We follow the two other party members at the night market. Oakley yawns, slouching behind Gustav as he makes his presence discreet from the waves of people.
“Did you have to bring me, Gus?” Oakley complained
“Gustav to you, lazybones.” Gustav stared daggers into Oakley. “And yes, I did. So Lucille won’t be on my back about getting that rod, you're my witness.”
“At the night market? The shadiest market in all of Haggerdom?”
“Hey! I saw the same rod at a cheaper price, I’m just a smart consumer!”
“A cheap one at that!”
“I’ll be taking that as a compliment.”
“You must know a lot about taking, huh?”
“How coy, marksman.”
“I have a name, Oakley.”
“That you do, not one I acknowledge, however."
Before they look ready to start another one of their incessant quarrels, they find themselves at the right place. One of the stalls selling various items of varying quality. A Rusty Carver, a Mugger’s Shiv, Brass Knuckles just to name a few.
“They sell this kinda junk?” Oakley inspects the pig intestines sold as “lute strings”.
“Hey, has the quality dropped down since I retired as a peddler, what is this stuff, Handler?” Gustav gesticulates, waving his glove madly.
“Sorry, Gus. It’s like you said, ever since you turned a new leaf our supply has become rather… limited.” The Handler sat with his cheek on his palm, unbothered.
“Fantastic.” Gustav sarcastically remarks. “Nevermind that then, do you have a Medicine Cane?”
The Handler squints at him, pondering to themselves.
“Watch ‘em have it sold to someone already.” Oakley jokes.
“Lucky for us, I am quite the lucky guy. Chances are they’ve got it for me.” Gustav flashes a smug grin.
“Let me get it out, I was contemplating whether you were planning on nicking it off from me.” The Handler walks to the back to retrieve the Rod.
“No-no, I’ll be paying full price! Which is half the price at the day market.” Gustav counts his gold carefully.
Cha-ching! With a purchase made and a promise fulfilled, they head back to the inn with no funny business. Well…
Their bickering stops as they come across a ravaged part of the night market they passed. The crowd has dissipated, in its place Goblins, Bats, Ogres, look at them for a beat. The pair stare likewise.
“We need Shepherd and Lucille!” Gustav withdraws his dagger, readying to flee and protect his cover.
“On it!” Oakley lights an arrow using a flint against the tip, shooting it up into the atmosphere. It burns bright and true.
Lucille clings onto Shepherd's hand, clasping it in hers. Shepherd doesn’t stop quaking, he tries to pry himself free from her grip-
“No!” Lucille shakes her head vehemently. “What are you saying, Shepherd? Don’t rely on you?”
…His mouth stays shut, tight as a clam.
“Hey, don’t go cold on me now.”
He turns to her with terrified eyes as Lucille is not only upset, but furious. To the point a few tears escape her eyes. “Tell me, you better tell me.”
There’s only one other face that he hates seeing, he grits his teeth at the memory and acquiesces to her request. He tells her of the dream and his father. It isn’t easy, the words stick to his throat, cling to every fiber of his being. Cowardice, regret, anger these feelings surface more and more. He doesn’t dare see what kind of face Lucille is making.
“That is the man behind the King’s best knights.” He sneers at his own self-pleasing title. “Though, perhaps the King has figured me out. After all, that would explain why he sent me on a journey with a group of mercenaries rather than one of his very own forces.”
As he turns to Lucille, he is unexpectedly met with the force of God, as Lucille’s rod whams into Shepherd, breaking on impact. Splintered wood bloodies her palm, but she doesn’t waver. He mutters a few exclamations, but doesn’t hold anything against Lucille. Rising up to meet her, he couldn’t have expected that as soon as he did, she hugged him.
Even as her blood dripped onto him, despite the fact she was mad, in spite of himself at his worst, she hugged him. That was one of the only times where Shepherd’s head was clear. How much ill-will and spite he had for himself, exhausted into the recess of his mind. The only thing he thought to say was:
“I’m sorry.”
“Say thank you.” She muttered, against him.
“Thank you.” The only thing he should have said.
Shepherd’s eyes tore away from Lucille as a bright orange hue shone over the town. He rustled Lucille and pointed to the light. It dissipated as quickly as it came.
“Oakley said he and Gustav were going to look for something at the night market. That must be them!” Lucille bandaged her palm as best she could. She held out her hand to Shepherd. “Here! C’mon! We need a knight and you are a true knight, Sir Shepherd!
Without delay, he took her hand and they went off to the sight of the signal, leaving all but the fractured rod, on the inn grounds.
Oakley and Gustav are in a rush as their foes don’t relent on having their victims escape. They stall for as much time as possible, setting fire to the ground behind them, chucking knives at the monsters that try to cut off their escape.
“These beasts have never attacked in town before!?” Gustav dips through an alley, watching a massive snarling ogre charge right in front of him, he narrowly slides under the aggressor planting a dagger with green viscous liquid on the tip at his ankle. It growls and falls to the floor, unconscious. Oakley stomps on it, following Gustav.
“If I had to guess,” Oakley steadies his stride. “From our previous encounter, it is as if they don’t want to fight us either…”
“Meaning..!?”
“They might be being forced out of their usual habitat… By something stronger than them.” Oakley answers gravely.
Gustav whips his head back, with a scrunched face that says “Where did that come from?”.
“What? I didn’t say I was a dolt. Just lazy.”
Their idle chat comes to a close as they find that people are being injured or lay on the town floor. Townguards and local militia are in the fight too, but are disoriented and can’t group up in an orderly formation.
Gustav notices the Handler down beaten senseless. “Shit!” He dashes across the mayhem and thrusts his dagger onto the Goblin raising his ax. It lies splayed out next to the Handler who is a little too late to point out…
As Gustav is cut into by one of the two other Goblins that have come to replace their dead brethren. He parries the second one and skids across, next to the Handler, holding his shoulder.
“Sorry, I’m late Boss.” He winks before shouting, “¡Puta madre! That hurts like hell!”
“Owing you favors is bad for business!” However, they’re happy for the rescue.
Two arrows fly into the two other Goblins, as Gustav looks over to where they came from as Oakley repositions, bite marks on his forearms as he tries to outrun this crazed flying bat after him. Although, he can’t hold his focus for long as the same Ogre that slowly approaches him, locks eyes to his target.
The grip on his dagger hardens as the Ogre pulls the dagger out of his foot and throws it to the floor in front of Gustav.
“Can you move?” He refers to Handler to his back.
“They got me good, I can’t feel my legs.” The Handler paws at their legs, with no reaction.
“It’ll be alright.” Gustav reassures them. The Ogre crushes the head of a Goblin who is interfering with their rematch.
“It’ll be alright.” Gustav says to himself, clutching the messenger bag with the Medicine Cane, the rod in which he promised to Lucille. He would fulfill his promise. He steeled himself against the lumbering oaf and his wooden club.
“It’ll be al-” Suddenly, a loud reverberating blue shield bashes into the Ogre from the side, knocking it down at its feet. “SHEPHERD!” The Rogue screamed in familiarity.
Gustav heard panting from Lucille, catching up to them with no rod. “Lucille!” He tosses the messenger bag at her, as she skitters to catch it. As soon as she does, the Medicine Cane lights up, held between her hand and a serene green envelopes all those who fight the vicious invaders. Injured guards and militiamen feel their wounds healing and continue the fight at a greater strength.
“Gustav, I apologize for my absence, what is the status?” Shepherd helps the Handler up and stabilizes them with Gustav.
“Fight seems to be in our favor now,” Gustav grits his teeth at the weight and the pressure of his lesser wounds. “ Oakley ran off after being attacked, hell do I know where that kid is!?”
“Lucille, help Gustav move the injured and coordinate with the townsfolk.”
“What about you?” Lucille reasons.
“Y-yeah! Like, I can carry this all on my own!” Gustav strainingly responds.
Lucille, self-conscious, takes Shepherd’s place and starts walking to somewhere safe. “What will you do?” She yelled back to him.
“What I’ve always done.” Shepherd stares at the Ogre getting up on its feet. He bashes his sword against his shield, catching the attention of the threat. “COME!”
The now hoard of bats relentlessly chase Oakley, as he tries to find an opening to fire a few bolts. No matter how much he tries to lose them, their flying speed makes them difficult to shake off. Just a moment…
As he passes through an alley, a hooded figure behind stabs one of the bats, which has all of the others face their assailant. The figure steps back, about to turn chase as arrows strike through all the fanged nuisances in one go. They drop like flies.
“Ah! Gus, thanks for the backup.” Oakley casually pulls back his bow, and strolls on over. He is met with a knife to his throat instead. “Oh! Not Gus…”
Although, they look as if they mean no harm as they sheathe their blade just as quickly and retreat away from the ranger who eyes them from afar. He notices the tan orange tuft of hair peeking out from under the hood. But as soon as they almost exit out of the alley their cape near the neck is pinned to the wall by an arrow, then one by their glove and another on the other side.
All the arrows have left them unharmed yet restrained as they tug on their garments with no give. Oakley saunters along, whistling all the while to them.
“Shouldn’t steal what isn’t yours friend,” He unbuckles the pouch of coins that was taken from him. His tone is sly, almost suggestive in a way, with a big smug grin on his face. “You might get in a lot of trouble.”
He jogs off to go meet with the others and we see the hood fall on the mysterious stranger. A ponytail, with the same tan orange hue is seen only fuming with anger and embarrassment.
Panting. Shepherd is panting as the Ogre marches forth once more. They’ve exchanged blows, but Shepherd’s attacks lack the pierce to fell the Ogre. He readies his stance once more, taking a long breath. Then charges again, after all, it comes back to him. All he can do is throw himself until he breaks. Because he can’t beat this guy because he is a fai-. The monster is brought to its knees as an arrow and a dagger hit both knees. He glances at both Gustav and Oakley, who nod in return. With resolve he prepares his strike and cuts clean through the Ogre’s head.
Because, he really can’t beat these threats alone. It takes a team to do it. And so, as dawn looms over the horizon, the town of Haggerdom lives on. The team slump together dirty and exhausted out of their mind. In the morning…
The town cleans up the damage from the fighting. Those fighters received healing from Lucille who now tends to the injured civilians. Gustav takes care of the Handler at their residence. Oakley is still asleep at the inn and won’t wake up until midday. Shepherd is being celebrated by the leader of Haggerdom along with the town militia, credited for his bravery and leadership of his party. He can only stand proud knowing, it was all because of them, his party, the Battleheart.
The innkeeper greets a similar looking rogue to that of Gustav. She walks to one of the rooms with an ajar door. Slipping in and silently scouring the room, she found her target. Oakley deep in his sleep, dreamt of a pretty woman crawling up to him on his bed. He was deliriously ecstatic, glaring at her lecherously, all up until he noticed the color of her hair and the knife to his throat…
“Trouble, you said?”
End of Chapter 1.