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Quirrel had nothing but the woods around him to keep him company. He walked with light steps. He enjoyed the afternoon breeze running through his short, dark hair — tied in a neat little knot on the back of his neck, frizzy bangs held back by a dark blue headscarf — and the light that poked through the trees, spreading across the forest floor and his moving body like many little spotlights.
At his side was a sword sheathed in a leather case. A fine blade, one he had carried with him for as long as he could remember. In his hands, he studied a small stack of papyrus paper — messy sketches of a mask that resembled a tear drop. There was some sort of familiarity radiating from it. He wasn't sure where he had seen it before; maybe some distant fever dream.
The details were a bit disorganized. Did the mask have one eye or two eyes? How big where the eyes? What shape were they? Where were they placed on the mask? Did they have any distinct markings? All of these were questions that Quirrel racked his mind for, but no answer ever came up. He knew it had to have belonged to someone important, if only he could remember who.
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Quirrel finally arrived in a nearby town, a quiet little settlement with buildings made of cobblestone and wood. He made his way to an old trading post, pushing open the splintered wooden door, the rusty bell at the top of the door jingling as he made his way inside. The shop was dusty and had an antique air to it. Artifacts and other ephemera were cluttered close together, Quirrel noticed as wove through the tall display cases towards the shopkeeper's desk.
"Good afternoon, I was wondering if you had an item I was looking for," Quirrel reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. He held it up to the shopkeeper— an old man with a monocle in a fancy vintage suit. It was a messy charcoal drawing of the tear drop shaped mask, with its face scribbled out, evidence of Quirrel's frustration. "I'm looking for a mask that's this shape. It belonged to someone important to me."
The shopkeeper only shook his head, telling him that they didn't sell "creepy old masks" at the trading post. With a subtle clench of his fist, Quirrel just returned the gesture with a weak smile and a curt thank you.
Quirrel was about to leave the shop with a sigh of defeat, planning to perhaps head for the next village over, when he heard a rumble coming from outside— followed by a scream. He stopped in his tracks, snapping out of a daze he didn't know he was in. He threw the door open, hurrying out to find where the sound was coming from.
The buildings were in ruins, townsfolk running about. A large shadow loomed across the village’s dirt paths and scrambled about. His eyes scanned his surroundings, across the people hurrying about and wrecked buildings.
Then, he spotted it, a manticore. One about the size of a small building, matted orange mane swirling lazily in the wind— a beast with rows of jagged teeth, glowing yellow eyes, the body of a lion, and a tail bunched up with quills. The manticore chased the townspeople around, lunging at them before clamping its jaws around the small bodies and throwing them around. The beast didn't seem hungry, however, evident by the way the bodies were discarded on the ground instead of being gobbled up. It was playing.
Villagers were screaming and running in the chaos, as the manticore swooped in to claw at its prey— slamming itself into the village's buildings. The rumble shook the earth as Quirrel sprinted in the direction of the village.
He looked among the collapsed buildings and distressed citizens. After assessing the situation, he dashed towards the larger ruins, in search of anyone who might be trapped inside. He heard the cries of a man underneath a pile of rubble.
Quirrel dug his heels into the dirt, lifting a wooden beam that had fallen onto the villager. The man grunted as he staggered back to his feet.
"Thank you so much! I-"
"No need to thank me," Quirrel was quick to say. He yanked a smaller plank out of the ground and tossed it to the man, “Take this, protect yourself from the beast, and run as far as you can!”
The villager nodded sheepishly before rushing off with the plank of wood to shield himself.
Quirrel turned his attention to the manticore that was now atop a windmill-- trying to reach for a hooded figure who was standing on its windowsill, silver, spiraled shield held above his face. Quirrel hopped over a few broken wooden planks and displaced bricks as he made his way towards the windmill.
The manticore turned and used the spikes on its tail to strike against the shield and push the man back on his heels. The man staggered back before the beast lunged at him with rows of teeth as sharp as razors.
In an act of impulsive thinking, the man jammed his shield between the manticore's jaws. The beast staggered backwards in confusion, losing its grip on the windmill's railings. It thrashed its head around but was unable to bite through the stiff plate of metal. Quirrel ran to the base of the windmill and looked up at the fight above. He grimaced a little seeing the beast hobble about and cause the platforms to shake along with it. He looked up at the man with the hood.
"You need to get out of here and run while you still can!" Quirrel urged as he drew his sword. He took a hesitant step back. “If you jump down, I’ll catch you and—”
The man simply stared down at Quirrel with a bitter expression, nothing short of a scowl. "Don't tell me what to do."
Quirrel was taken aback by the man's attitude, taking a hesitant step back. His concern won, however, and he straightened back up and spoke firmly, "I'm just trying to help! It's too dangerous out here for a citizen like you! That shield's not gonna hold it forever!"
"A citizen like me??? What the hell is that supposed to mean!?" The man whipped his head around in offense, which was proven to be a grave mistake when the manticore suddenly charged at him from behind. It slammed into his body and sent him flying over the edge of the windowsill. The man winced as he grabbed onto the edge.
Quirrel's eyes widened with worry as he frantically looked for a way up. "Hold on, I'll be right there!"
"I said I don't need your help!"
This little bicker of theirs had caught the attention of the manticore. It turned its attention towards Quirrel, who braced himself with a hesitant step backwards. The beast had shaken the shield out of its mouth, its teeth bared angrier than before.
The beast lunged for Quirrel, kicking itself off the windmill's ledge and smacking the other man with its tail— causing him to lose his grip. The man fell with a heavy thud and a groan.
The beast then lunged for Quirrel with its blood stained claws. Quirrel dug his boots into the charred dirt and swiftly grasped his sword. In a blinding swipe, he slashed the manticore across its face, blood spraying from the wound. It wasn't deep enough to kill, but it left a sharp line that stretched from its cheek up to its ear.
The beast yowled in pain as it pawed at its face whilst its blood seeped into its eyes. It shook its head around, matted clumps of hair swishing about. Quirrel took this chance to hurry over to the man, hauling him back to his feet. "Are you alright, sir? You took quite a fall there.”
“I’m fine,” the latter replied with a stern huff and the brush of a hand. The man seemed to be well-equipped with armor of his own— although a bit worn out from what was possibly years of wear and tear. The man walked over to his fallen shield and kicked it back up into his hand. “It’s nothing I’ve never dealt with before.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Quirrel sighed.
Quirrel followed his gaze back to the manticore who was still stumbling around foolishly with its blood dribbling in the dirt. He grimaced a little before he looked back at the man. “I don’t believe I’ve caught your name… Would you mind—”
“Tiso. My name is Tiso.” The latter then raised an eyebrow, “Has anybody ever told you you talk too much?”
“Ah, I get that a lot,” Quirrel replied as he gave an awkward laugh, “You can call me Quirrel, Defender of—...
He paused. Just what was he the defender of? His mind just went blank and he hesitated for a moment. His thoughts were starting to get a little hazy now, like a blur of something he couldn't quite grasp. Now he looked like a fool, what kind of paladin forgets his own cause? Quirrel recoiled mentally in embarrassment.
“I bet I could slay the scrawny thing with much more haste than you.”
He was quickly snapped out of his thoughts at the man’s arrogant remark. "That scrawny beast launched you off a windmill, Tiso. I am saying this for your own safety, I think you should leave the beast to me."
"You mean the one you turned your back to?"
Quirrel was about to open his mouth for a sharp retort when he was cut off. The manticore charged at the pair. Tiso quickly dragged Quirrel behind him and raised his shield up. The manticore's claws scratched the surface, pushing the both of them backwards from the impact. The beast angrily struck the shield again with its massive paw, the impact echoing through the small town. Quirrel mentally cursed at himself for letting his guard down.
He stepped out from behind Tiso and slashed at the manticore's underside-- drawing a thin line of blood. The beast swiftly turned towards Quirrel, aiming to hit him with its barbed tail. Quirrel jumped over the tail and parried the spikes that nicked his legs. He gave another side glance to Tiso, giving him a nod as a way to say "thanks" for covering him.
He sidestepped as the manticore pounced on him, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. Quirrel parried the claws that were swung at his face, lurching backwards slightly. He attempted another slash but the beast dodged his blow.
Quirrel lunged forward with his sword held at the ready. He focused his strength to zip past the roaring manticore, slashing a deep laceration in the creature’s shoulder. Blood splattered onto the dirt roads and coated Quirrel’s blade. The beast howled in pain as it used its tail to sting Quirrel. His armor took the hit for him. He sidestepped again as the stinger flew past his face— barely nicking his freckled cheek.
He sprinted in a zig-zag pattern, his sword grasped with both hands tightly. Quirrel's eyes didn't leave the manticore's poised stance, locking onto its eyes as he dashed. Quirrel pivoted on his heel, not stopping his onslaught as he advanced towards the beast again. He swung his sword again, jumping over the manticore's claws that swiped at his thigh.
The hit connected, drawing another line of blood from the beast. Too shallow but just enough to sting and force the creature to recoil. Quirrel’s boots hit the ground roughly as he wiped a bit of blood from his face. He turned around to face the beast and steadied himself for another attack.
Quirrel dived for the manticore, ready to swing his sword when his blade just barely fell short of the beast's body. He had overextended, a mistake he would pay dearly for. The manticore used this opportunity to launch a volley of quills. He didn't have enough time to dodge as multiple spikes pelted through his armor as one lodged itself deep into his abdomen. Quirrel let out a small wince of pain as he stepped back. Blood seeped through his tunic and tinted his hand. The poison would render him completely immobile within just a few moments.
He acted fast, diving under the large creature as it swung its claws straight for his throat. He tightened his grip on his blade as he slashed the creature's body again in another clean hack. In another bold slash, tufts of the manticore's mane were cut as orange fur flew into the afternoon wind. Blood began to trickle from the beast's wounds, staining the ground as it tried to turn its large body to keep up.
The manticore howled in pain as it staggered back onto its hind legs, Quirrel taking this opportunity to charge and drive his sword forward— straight through the beast's chest. The beast let out one last cry of outrage before it slumped to the ground with a heavy thunk that shook their surroundings.
Quirrel felt his hands go numb at the blow. He faltered, unable to yank his sword from the beast’s pierced heart. He could finally hear the adrenaline fading as he began to lose feeling in his legs. With an audible wince he collapsed, his hands leaving his sword’s hilt.
======
Quirrel stirred. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He was lying in a cot with his side bandaged up under his shirt— small blotches of red seeping through. Next to him, was a nightstand where his now sheathed sword was laid. Quirrel rubbed his eyes wearily and sat up. The room was lightly furnished with nothing much besides a bed, desk, dresser, and a lantern at his side.
He reached a hand out for his weapon, bringing it to his lap. Once he drew it, he noticed it was wiped clean of the blood from the earlier battle. The pure silver shimmered under the ambient lantern light of the room.
Quirrel put his boots back on and held his weapon in his other hand. Gently pushing the door open, he glanced out into the hallway. There was a man sitting on a bench there, shining his shield with a spare cloth. He sheepishly made his way over, the floorboards creaking under his feet.
"Tiso.. was it?"
The man stopped shining his shield for a moment, slowly looking up at Quirrel. "Oh, you're awake."
"..Yeah. I am," Quirrel replied. He looked around the hallway, realizing there was no one else around. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"
Tiso gave him a blank stare, before awkwardly shuffling to the side to let Quirrel sit down. He moved his shield to the side, the heavy steel scraping against the ground as he did so. There were a few beats of silence between the two, neither of them knowing what to say.
"Thank you for helping me out back there, I really do owe you one," Quirrel spoke first, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands. "Are the townspeople safe?"
"Uh huh."
"That's a relief..." Quirrel responded. He leaned his head back against the dark oak walls. "So.. do you live around here?"
"No, I was just visiting," Tiso answered, "I plan to leave by sunrise."
Quirrel nodded in response. He glanced down the empty hallway in contemplation. "I have other places to be, I think I would like to get going as soon as possible."
"Right… Where are you going?"
"The next village over, I guess," Quirrel responded. His hands fidgeted with his sword's hilt. "Whichever that is. I lost my map… so, I'm just going wherever the wind takes me."
"That sounds ridiculous, I don't think the wind can do any of that." Tiso rolled his eyes dismissively before he spoke, "I am a warrior, searching for a worthy challenge. So far I haven't met an opponent who can match my skill."
"A warrior, huh.." Quirrel hummed in response. He looked around the empty hall once more before he looked over at Tiso. "Say, I have an idea. Would you like to accompany me? When you find your worthy challenger, you're welcome to leave at any moment."
"Accompany.. you?"
"Uh huh, I don't think there's any harm in that, right?"
Tiso looked at him like he just proposed some insane idea. "No. I do not wish to have to act as a bodyguard for a knight who can't even look out for himself."
"Do you strike me as incompetent?"
"You were the one in the infirmary cot, not me."
"I was one doing the fighting," Quirrel chuckled, "Still, I do appreciate you looking out for me. But, I am more than capable of handling myself."
Tiso just rolls his eyes, shaking his head, and mumbling something under his breath. Quirrel couldn't tell if he was genuinely annoyed or if that's just the face he always makes.
Quirrel fell silent. He sighed, before slowly standing up and brushing himself off. "I think I'm going to call it a night. It's been a long day for both of us and I'm still quite sore."
Before Tiso could respond, Quirrel bid the latter good night before he turned to walk back to his room.
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The sun barely peaked over the horizon as a cold breeze swept through the village. Dawn brought a soft, golden glow across the rebuilding village. Some citizens were out doing their early morning tasks, tilling their fields or getting started with repairing what damage the beast had left. Quirrel quietly pushed the door to the Inn open, stepping outside and catching the morning air. He was feeling refreshed after the night's rest, albeit still a bit sore. The Innkeeper had offered him breakfast and he was back in his usual suit of armor— ready to continue on his journey.
The townspeople insisted Quirrel accept a generous portion of food and a large pouch of coins. He initially objected, with a dismissive wave of his hand, trying to push the offering away. He really had no need for it, he already had enough money on his own and he didn't want to take away resources from the villagers for himself. However, after enough pressure, he caved and accepted the offerings so they'd leave him alone. Begrudgingly, Quirrel was prepared to leave the village with two extra bags than he arrived with. Just as he was about to depart, he heard the Inn's door open.
Tiso stepped out, rubbing one of his eyes tiredly. Quirrel could tell he was still half asleep. He wasn't used to getting up this early. His armor wasn't even on properly.
"Good morning Tiso!" Quirrel smiled. "I was just about to be on my way."
Tiso scratched some stubble on his face as he responded to Quirrel with a weary "morning". It wasn't bright enough for him to squint his eyes, but it looked like he opened them before he was fully awake. Tiso stood frozen in place as Quirrel waved him goodbye, wishing him good luck on his journey, and turned to leave. Quirrel walked a few steps before Tiso finally spoke up.
"Wait."
A beat of silence.
"I'd like to join you."
"You would?" Quirrel stopped, a look of surprise on his face as he turned around.
"I changed my mind."
Quirrel's expression lit up like the morning sun. He fully turned around and scurried over to Tiso. He could barely contain his excitement for companionship. Tiso flinched with surprise when Quirrel nudged him with his elbow.
"My offer was just too tempting, wasn't it?" Quirrel joked with a hint of cheekiness in his tone as Tiso walked over to him. "Don't worry, you won't have to look out for me. I promise I'm not that much of a handful."
Tiso listened as Quirrel expressed his excitement to finally have a companion on his journey. He fidgeted with the shield in his left hand, only half-listening to what the latter was saying as the two finally left town.