Starcaller
Evenstar, Morningstar, heed my call!
GreySwan
The Fox Den Inn, Road to Silverhold
"She's grown quite some, hasn't she?"
The ashen haired man asked Jareth as he sat there, with a mug in hand, watching the girl from a distance. The tavern was quite crowded that evening and she was extraordinary at making new friends over a mug. Indeed she had grown and Jareth was simply swelling with pride. He could hardly believe she was the child that he'd found on the muddy, narrow street, all as hell broke loose around the two of them. Even now, the moment painted itself across the canvas of his mind, pulling him from the reality of the here and now back to a place that was so far and yet, close enough for him to reach.
Jareth and Bastian were old friends, going way, way back. Yet as Jareth traveled so much, they didn't always have the chance to sit down like they did now. It was by a happening of fate that they found each other here, in the middle of a long road to and fro. Of the two of them, Bastian was the older one and it showed, his hair having grown a light shade of gray, promising to be white within the following years. In comparison, Jareth only started to show a few graying hairs within his trimmed beard as well as within the mane of long hair that hung upon his shoulders, though there were many years to come before he would look like Bastian.
"You never told me, where did you find her?" The man asked again, noticing the way Jareth had drifted from the moment, a mere attempt to tug him back into the conversation that they'd had moments earlier. Jareth, suddenly jerked from his reverie, only turned his head to his long-time friend, Bastian, green eyes studying his visage before he gripped on his mug, which was almost empty by now.
"Long story." Jareth responded to Bastian, a grin plastering itself across his lips. The gray-haired man nodded, scanning the crowd to spot the tavern maid who had been ever so busy fetching mugs to keep all her patrons happy. "Another round, will you?" Bastian called out, and her pretty red locks moved with the motion of her nodding head, which meant she'd taken his order in mind. Bastian turned to Jareth again with a smile.
"Well, I've got time, so start spilling." He said, to which Jareth found himself chuckling. "Fair enough. But it'll cost you a few rounds. Ten years ago, I was in Dornwich, getting supplies for the next day's road..."
Dornwich, ten years before...
Jareth buckled the last leather strap to yet another bag that he'd tied to his horse. Ningarnet had been his faithful steed for the last five years now, and she only turned her head briefly as she'd felt him place another weight on her. With a gentle pat, Jareth produced a carrot from one of the pouches strapped to his leather tunic, extending it to the brown muzzle that was more than excited to begin eating it. "Good girl." He cooed, smiling as he gave the mare a gentle pat on the muzzle. It wouldn't be long now before the two of them would set off on the next leg of their journey. There was still a good way to Greywald, one of the larger hubs of civilization in the Westlands.
It was a moment later that Jareth wandered off again, leaving to go and fetch the other goods that he needed for the trip. There were still shops to visit and Jareth also began feeling hungry, so a stop by the tavern to get something to eat and drink was on the list. Not to mention there were quite a few people from whom he could possibly learn interesting things. And Ningarnet could use the rest, too. The man doubted she would object to staying in Dornwich a while longer. With that in mind, Jareth soon made for the tavern, decided to get a stomach full before anything else.
It was an hour later, or so, when he and the other patrons of the small tavern had heard the sounds coming from outside. Horns resounding clear through the noises made by people who yelled and shouted, all as a bell rang the warning with despair. It had been ringing for quite a while, yet only now they could hear it clearly, mixed into the cacophony of shouts and screams and clanging of swords. And while the other men in the tavern cowered, trying to find places to hide, Jareth didn't. Whatever was happening outside, he had to get to Ningarnet and make it out of there. Pulling his leather hood over his head, the man unsheathed his short sword and made for the door, proceeding to exit prudently. Taking in the world around himself, Jareth quickly oriented, hurrying down a narrow street right across from the tavern. The screams and shrieks and noise were louder here, and in the haste, he'd not failed to notice corpses strewn across the street, and by the sounds of it, there would be many more to join them. These must have been the raiders that the men in the tavern spoke of. It seemed as though their fears had come true and Dornwich had fallen to a grim fate.
With the mud giving way beneath his boots, with the sounds of terror ringing in his ears, Jareth turned left on another small, narrow street, trying his best to avoid a confrontation. Somewhere ahead of him, a man ran across, trying to reach safety, though within a moment that felt like ages, Jareth witnessed an arrow lodge itself in the back of his skull, poking out through his eye and causing him to stumble forward a few paces and fall, face first, into the mud. It had made Jareth stop dead in his tracks, though within a few moments the archer who'd shot the arrow came into view, and turned his head right towards Jareth. The latter had barely a few seconds to react, to roll out of the way as the archer swiftly took a shot at him. Jareth found himself in the open now, face to face with the archer who was preparing a second shot, one which he heard as it wheezed by his ear, a few inches shy of striking his head as he continued to move, knowing that standing in one place while facing an archer was being target practice. His eyes had been fixed on his opponent, not daring to leave them as he continued to move. Jareth suddenly felt something creep up behind himself, and it was only a second between him moving out of the way and a blade cutting through the air. With a firm grip on his own sword, the man took a moment to regain balance before leaping into a brutal attack, each of his strikes being parried by the attacker, all as the archer tried to aim.
Jareth moved in such a way so that the other body was between him and the archer, thus making his attempt at shooting even harder, if not impossible. He parried a few sword strikes, deflecting them expertly before dodging one aimed directly to his neck and moving in closer, taking advantage of his significantly shorter blade to close the distance, careful for his opponent not to stab him. Each moment Jareth moved closer, his opponent stepped back, and it was within the moment when opportunity arose that Jareth shoved him, making him stumble back and fall against the archer as he went for the death strike, slitting the men's throats swiftly and rushing away from the scene, not wanting to attract more attackers. Though as he turned left on another narrow street, Jareth found himself facing a scene that caused his blood to run cold. An attacker brandishing a blood stained weapon in front of a scared little girl, no doubt terrorizing her before he would end her life. For a brief moment, Jareth almost felt compelled to pretend he saw nothing and yet, a part of him immediately berated him for such an attitude. Within moments, he hurried to the scene, attacking the invader furiously, leaving him no proper time to react between every sword hit that aimed to put him down. And indeed, the attacker soon fell, having failed to parry a strike that went right for his neck. With heavy breath, with sweat, mud and blood sprinkled across his face, Jareth turned to face the young soul, his heart shattering as soon as he saw that look on her eyes. Oh, what a poor soul.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, the first question coming to mind as he turned his head to look in the distance, to see if no attacker would appear.
The Fox Den Inn, Road to Silverhold
"She's grown quite some, hasn't she?"
The ashen haired man asked Jareth as he sat there, with a mug in hand, watching the girl from a distance. The tavern was quite crowded that evening and she was extraordinary at making new friends over a mug. Indeed she had grown and Jareth was simply swelling with pride. He could hardly believe she was the child that he'd found on the muddy, narrow street, all as hell broke loose around the two of them. Even now, the moment painted itself across the canvas of his mind, pulling him from the reality of the here and now back to a place that was so far and yet, close enough for him to reach.
Jareth and Bastian were old friends, going way, way back. Yet as Jareth traveled so much, they didn't always have the chance to sit down like they did now. It was by a happening of fate that they found each other here, in the middle of a long road to and fro. Of the two of them, Bastian was the older one and it showed, his hair having grown a light shade of gray, promising to be white within the following years. In comparison, Jareth only started to show a few graying hairs within his trimmed beard as well as within the mane of long hair that hung upon his shoulders, though there were many years to come before he would look like Bastian.
"You never told me, where did you find her?" The man asked again, noticing the way Jareth had drifted from the moment, a mere attempt to tug him back into the conversation that they'd had moments earlier. Jareth, suddenly jerked from his reverie, only turned his head to his long-time friend, Bastian, green eyes studying his visage before he gripped on his mug, which was almost empty by now.
"Long story." Jareth responded to Bastian, a grin plastering itself across his lips. The gray-haired man nodded, scanning the crowd to spot the tavern maid who had been ever so busy fetching mugs to keep all her patrons happy. "Another round, will you?" Bastian called out, and her pretty red locks moved with the motion of her nodding head, which meant she'd taken his order in mind. Bastian turned to Jareth again with a smile.
"Well, I've got time, so start spilling." He said, to which Jareth found himself chuckling. "Fair enough. But it'll cost you a few rounds. Ten years ago, I was in Dornwich, getting supplies for the next day's road..."
Dornwich, ten years before...
Jareth buckled the last leather strap to yet another bag that he'd tied to his horse. Ningarnet had been his faithful steed for the last five years now, and she only turned her head briefly as she'd felt him place another weight on her. With a gentle pat, Jareth produced a carrot from one of the pouches strapped to his leather tunic, extending it to the brown muzzle that was more than excited to begin eating it. "Good girl." He cooed, smiling as he gave the mare a gentle pat on the muzzle. It wouldn't be long now before the two of them would set off on the next leg of their journey. There was still a good way to Greywald, one of the larger hubs of civilization in the Westlands.
It was a moment later that Jareth wandered off again, leaving to go and fetch the other goods that he needed for the trip. There were still shops to visit and Jareth also began feeling hungry, so a stop by the tavern to get something to eat and drink was on the list. Not to mention there were quite a few people from whom he could possibly learn interesting things. And Ningarnet could use the rest, too. The man doubted she would object to staying in Dornwich a while longer. With that in mind, Jareth soon made for the tavern, decided to get a stomach full before anything else.
It was an hour later, or so, when he and the other patrons of the small tavern had heard the sounds coming from outside. Horns resounding clear through the noises made by people who yelled and shouted, all as a bell rang the warning with despair. It had been ringing for quite a while, yet only now they could hear it clearly, mixed into the cacophony of shouts and screams and clanging of swords. And while the other men in the tavern cowered, trying to find places to hide, Jareth didn't. Whatever was happening outside, he had to get to Ningarnet and make it out of there. Pulling his leather hood over his head, the man unsheathed his short sword and made for the door, proceeding to exit prudently. Taking in the world around himself, Jareth quickly oriented, hurrying down a narrow street right across from the tavern. The screams and shrieks and noise were louder here, and in the haste, he'd not failed to notice corpses strewn across the street, and by the sounds of it, there would be many more to join them. These must have been the raiders that the men in the tavern spoke of. It seemed as though their fears had come true and Dornwich had fallen to a grim fate.
With the mud giving way beneath his boots, with the sounds of terror ringing in his ears, Jareth turned left on another small, narrow street, trying his best to avoid a confrontation. Somewhere ahead of him, a man ran across, trying to reach safety, though within a moment that felt like ages, Jareth witnessed an arrow lodge itself in the back of his skull, poking out through his eye and causing him to stumble forward a few paces and fall, face first, into the mud. It had made Jareth stop dead in his tracks, though within a few moments the archer who'd shot the arrow came into view, and turned his head right towards Jareth. The latter had barely a few seconds to react, to roll out of the way as the archer swiftly took a shot at him. Jareth found himself in the open now, face to face with the archer who was preparing a second shot, one which he heard as it wheezed by his ear, a few inches shy of striking his head as he continued to move, knowing that standing in one place while facing an archer was being target practice. His eyes had been fixed on his opponent, not daring to leave them as he continued to move. Jareth suddenly felt something creep up behind himself, and it was only a second between him moving out of the way and a blade cutting through the air. With a firm grip on his own sword, the man took a moment to regain balance before leaping into a brutal attack, each of his strikes being parried by the attacker, all as the archer tried to aim.
Jareth moved in such a way so that the other body was between him and the archer, thus making his attempt at shooting even harder, if not impossible. He parried a few sword strikes, deflecting them expertly before dodging one aimed directly to his neck and moving in closer, taking advantage of his significantly shorter blade to close the distance, careful for his opponent not to stab him. Each moment Jareth moved closer, his opponent stepped back, and it was within the moment when opportunity arose that Jareth shoved him, making him stumble back and fall against the archer as he went for the death strike, slitting the men's throats swiftly and rushing away from the scene, not wanting to attract more attackers. Though as he turned left on another narrow street, Jareth found himself facing a scene that caused his blood to run cold. An attacker brandishing a blood stained weapon in front of a scared little girl, no doubt terrorizing her before he would end her life. For a brief moment, Jareth almost felt compelled to pretend he saw nothing and yet, a part of him immediately berated him for such an attitude. Within moments, he hurried to the scene, attacking the invader furiously, leaving him no proper time to react between every sword hit that aimed to put him down. And indeed, the attacker soon fell, having failed to parry a strike that went right for his neck. With heavy breath, with sweat, mud and blood sprinkled across his face, Jareth turned to face the young soul, his heart shattering as soon as he saw that look on her eyes. Oh, what a poor soul.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, the first question coming to mind as he turned his head to look in the distance, to see if no attacker would appear.