A New Story Begins

The scratch of my quill was the only sound I claimed as my own, cutting across the hum of the tavern. I wrote of the frontier town, of the dirt-laden streets and the way the firelight glinted off the iron hinges of the door, and of the travelers who carried more stories than their packs could hold. Around me, the crowd cheered, and a voice, bright, unrestrained, impossible to ignore, rose over the clatter of mugs and laughter.

The renowned bard, Lyren Luminel, had just finished his song. The applause was warm, boisterous, and uncontainable, spilling like a river from the center of the hall. I stayed bent over my journal, quill tracing careful lines, turning a rough pencil sketch of ancient carvings into permanent markings. 

Typically I'd write down the stories of bards and compare them with my notes to get a better grasp on what really happened, looking through their typical embellishments, but this particular bard had a knack for retelling old tales so none of his words were of interest to me. 

A dim shadow fell across the edge of my table. “Still scribbling away instead of actually living?” he said, voice teasing, the faint echo of an old argument threading through the warmth of his grin. I glanced up. Lyren had returned, settling into the seat across from me as though he had never left, though the tavern and its crowd had changed in his absence.

Starlight ran in Lyren’s veins, same as every Lumanari. Their beauty and voices were the kind that made mortals stop and stare, but Lyren, more than most, had never been content to let a spotlight pass him by. When we were young, we shared a dream to be recognized for the stories we'd write, but once he got a taste of glory from carrying a lute, we started treading down different paths. 

From a distant corner, talk of a man known as "the Wandering Blade" floated on the air, whispers mixing with laughter. They spoke of him as a man who carries an arsenal on him, a legend who clears out monster infested caves on his own. My quill paused. A new story had begun.

"I don't get it, you with all your books. Even if the stories you write about are good, no one's actually going to read them." I ignore him, but he continues anyways. I don't have the time to indulge in this petty farce, not when the tavern gossip is starting. 

“They say he's currently in a nearby town up north,” a thin man had said, leaning forward across the table. “No doubt trying to claim glory by saving them from some low-level monster threat. I swear that man only lives for himself.”

A woman at the next table clutched her mug, tilting her head in worry. “Isn't that where rumors of a Lamia’s lair are? Surely he can't be planning on taking them all on, can he? Don’t Lamia drink blood, and eat children? I hear that he carries many weapons but I've never heard about him wearing any armor.”

Lamia are said to roam forests alone, hiding their serpentine tails, luring humans with false smiles. If that’s the case, then why do these patrons speak as if they hunt in packs?

“He doesn't need armor!” a young burly man sitting on a stool near the hearth bellowed, fists slamming on the table. “Eryndor is far too powerful, the greatest amongst us humans at slaying monsters! I've heard he took on a dragon with his bare hands! So I better not hear anymore slander about him being some selfish hero.”

The man from before grew timid as he muttered “I've never even called him a hero, I just said he lives for himself...”

As the conversation between patrons continued, a single word from that boisterous man who was clearly exaggerating caught my ear, the name of this wandering blade. Eryndor. I wasn't the only one who took notice unfortunately.

"I think I just found the inspiration for my next song," Lyren’s blue eyes gleamed, he was already beginning to circle the man who let the name slip with questions. Although, had he listened from the start, instead of picking at me about song versus prose, he’d already know enough to get started.

I close up my book and place it in my bag, without saying a word I get up to leave to check out what lies due north. Lamia are monsters that don't live in lairs, much less in groups. They live alone in forests hiding their lower half to try and deceive humans into feeding them blood. With that inconsistency, there was bound to be a story.

On my way out I turn back to see Lyren tilting his head in my direction, a smile tugging at his lips, as I slipped past the crowd. He would follow soon enough, I thought, though I didn’t bother to look back anymore. I left the tavern needing to cover my eyes to let them adjust to brilliant sky above, checking on the sun I orient myself in the right direction to investigate this "Wandering Blade" person. 

Soon after I embarked on my journey to Riverhelm, I noticed that the road markers claimed that it'll take me a couple days to reach my destination which means that I would need to stock up on supplies. I check for what I have on me, a half empty canteen which I can refill with water magic, some books that won't be of much use, and a sack of 20 silver coins. Not much but it should be enough for some food. I can use fire magic to keep me warm at night, which will save on costs for camping gear. 

 During my detour to the local shopping district I was eventually greeted by a familiar face, one I looked past to see what I can buy that'll last. I'd rather not kill any creature myself for food, that responsibility rests with the butchers of the world. Since this isn't a major city my options are limited so I settled on some reasonably priced fruit.

“Still ignoring me?” Lyren said as I weighed the apples. His voice carried the same playful tone as in the tavern, but there was something softer beneath it now, something that almost sounded like worry. “If it’s about what I said, I only meant your books deserve more flair, not that they’re worthless.”

I handed a few coins to the vendor, refusing to look at him. “You’ve always cared too much about how things sound, not what they mean.”

Lyren leaned closer, resting his elbow on my shoulder. “And you’ve always cared too little. Stories are only alive if someone listens, Caelen.”

I stilled at that, his words too pointed, too familiar, but shook them off and tucked the fruit away. He smiled as if he’d won, though the corners of his eyes betrayed him.

"Fine, feel free to accompany me." I'd rather not argue with him, especially not out in public. I just needed some supplies for the road. There's no need to make a scene with the infamous "Lumanari Bard". 

"How splendid, while we're at it, how about I give you some advice on where we're headed? Hmm?" I thanked the vendor and started heading away from the shopping district now that I had all I needed.

"We're going north towards Riverhelm." I try brushing Lyren off of me but he resists for a moment before straightening his posture maintaining his stride next to mine.

"I'd expect no less from you old friend. Always one step ahead, aren't you? If I may ask, how exactly did you piece that one out, I don't recall them ever mentioning where he was." He leaned in close to me, making sure to hear everything I say no doubt. I have a habit of talking under my breath which he learned to counter.

"Somebody did, they mentioned it before they started talking about Lamia. It was while you're were going on about something I wasn't listening to." My mind started racing thinking about if there truly was a cave of those monsters, and what that might mean. 

I know this trip will be long, but I guess it won't be so bad with company. Unfortunately, Lyren doesn't really share the same interest I have in learning about the truth to our world, of the histories long forgotten. This means I probably won't be able to stop every time I see something that catches my eye, however that should mean we get there a lot sooner than I was originally planning. 

The earlier scratch of my quill had given way to the rhythm of boots on the road, a quieter sound, but one that promised more. Behind me, the tavern’s noise still echoed, mugs clashing, Lyren’s laughter carrying above the rest, but ahead stretched the silence of an untold story. He fell into step beside me soon after, lute slung across his back like a banner. I did not look at him. My eyes were fixed on the road to Riverhelm, where whispers of the Wandering Blade and the cave of monsters in which he fought waited to be proven true or false.