Hedge Knight

Helbram continued to stare at the stone, the initial burst of despair fading, only to be replaced by a steadily growing flame of anger as his eyebrow twitched.

He closed his eyes, took in a breath, and let it go with a sigh.

“Tis not worth it,” he told himself as he opened his eyes, staring once again at the stone.

He recognized the boulder well, the gashes that streaked across it, the damage of weapons striking against it repeatedly. He walked up to the boulder and placed a hand on it, pushing against it with his fingers as he felt its immovable weight. It took him a minute, but he eventually found a faint, thin white scratch across the darkened rock, and ran a hand along it, feeling a sense of nostalgia and regret as he traced its path.

Echoes of clashing blades filled his mind, muffling a distant voice yelling with a familiar cadence. He pulled his hand from the stone, clutching his fist as he shook his head, banishing the noises from his mind.

“I must admit, I did not expect to see The Proving Rock, not since I left the Academy…” he mused.

Not since that day.

He tapped the tip of his sword against the boulder absentmindedly as he looked at the blemishes across its surface. It was tradition to display The Proving Rock the day before the Academy’s graduation ceremony. A perfectly cut, unblemished stone that the students would strike to display the results of their years of training.

That thin scratch was his contribution.

He snorted, finding a slight humor to it as he compared it to the damage around it, making note of two particular large cuts that bit into the stone. One was more a gash than a cut, but left such destruction in its wake that it was as if a beast had bitten out a chunk of the rock.

Given the size of the man that made it, a beast was not too far off a descriptor.

The other was a slice that dug into the stone, leaving behind a flawless line that gradually narrowed into a fine point. The edges of this cut matched the pristine, unblemished parts of the rock’s surface, as if a master had cut into the student’s proceedings to show them an example to strive for.

Though the woman that left it would protest to such comparisons.

From there, his eyes wandered to all of the other marks on the stone. Dents left from hammers, holes from spears, damage that could only be left from weapons that were infused with the power of Ether. Each with differing severity, scaling down until eventually his eyes fell back onto the scratch.

A compulsion took over him, shifting his body into a stance as he grasped his sword with two hands. He looked inwards towards his Core, drawing the small spark of Ether that lay within. He rolled his neck and shoulders and brought the blade above his head, pausing as he started to feel his heartbeat grow louder with each thump against his chest. His hands fidgeted around the sword’s grip as he licked his lips, feeling something gnaw at his chest. He calmed himself with another deep breath, and before the feeling returned, he lunged at the rock.

Steel struck stone, the strike skitting off to the side as the blade failed to bite into the rock. It traveled against the boulder’s face, leaving a fresh white line against its darkened make. As the sword finally left the stone, he stopped the swing. A weak puff of energy followed, scattering off into the darkness that was swallowing him.

Helbram slipped from his stance and let the blade hang at his side. He stared at the new scratch, noting no difference from the once that sat just above it.

“It is to be expected… I suppose.”

Despite knowing this, he could not help the sinking feeling in his chest, knowing full well why he felt such disappointment.

At some point, he had thought things would be different. Recent triumphs had given him the hope that he’d be able to shake from the shackles that bound him so, but like that day so many years ago, he’d been reminded that nothing had truly changed.

He stared at The Proving Rock, letting futility settle over him like a well worn cloak once again.

“The most potential… what a laugh,” he said with a chuckle.

He turned from the stone, dropping his blade and letting it clatter against the solid darkness beneath his feet. He removed his helmet after and let that drop as well as he covered his face with his hands. He paused the moment his fingers touched his cheeks, as he felt soft skin instead of the rough cloth of his gauntlets. This was followed by a gentle breeze that ran through his hair, and when he moved his hands from his face he found that he was no longer within the Void.

Instead, he found himself in a clearing, one that he was all too familiar with.

It was bare of any grass, filled only with packed dirt that felt as hard as rock beneath his feet and bordered by a simple, yet well built wooden fence that surrounded it like a ring. At the edges of this clearing were various racks, loaded with weapons made of wood, stone, and metal along with numerous training dummies constructed from straw, cloth, and wood. In the distance was a simple house made of wood and stone, possessing little embellishment, with a bulk that could have weathered any storm. He felt warmth in his heart as his eyes fell upon it.

How could he not, looking at his home?

Nostalgia eventually faded, giving him the clarity to notice that his hands, his body, were much smaller, and rather than his armor he was now wearing simple clothes. His hands were soft, absent of the calluses that had built up from years of training, and after a moment he realized that he was in the body of a child.

His body.

As the realization set in, control of his younger body was taken away from him. His younger self looked to the ground against his will, staring at a small wooden sword that lay at his feet. It was a crude playtoy, but one that made his heart ache with a whimsy that he’d thought had long left him. It was this that calmed his mind, and he allowed his boyish self to continue its motions, picking up the toy sword and examining it with what he could only assume to be curious, naive eyes.

Eyes that eventually left the sword and looked to the middle of the clearing, seeing a sight that brought a tightness to his chest.

His father did not have the typical features of a warrior. Indeed, were one to take a passing glance at Brom Alligard one would have assumed him to be of a more kindly trade, perhaps that of a small town merchant or a baker. Such notions would have been shattered if they looked at the man a moment longer, seeing a sternness forged from experience rather than anything hereditary. The steel in his brown eyes, the hardiness to his jaw paired with a short cut to his brown hair that Helbram himself would mimic in the present. Were that not enough, it would be his father’s size to tell the rest of the tale, possessing a height that Helbram had managed to match today, but a width that he could not hope to possess. Said large frame was filled with muscle, visible even through the loose cloth shirt and pants that he wore.

It was a look that the man possessed even when Helbram left so many years ago.

His father carried a rock on his shoulder, its size matching the larger man’s height and width, yet he seemed to heft it with little effort. The sight was enough to make Helbram’s younger self clap and giggle with glee, which brought a small smile to his father’s stern face. The man slammed the stone into the center of the arena and stepped back from it, drawing the ax that was looped to his waist. Like the environment around them, this too was of a simple, yet sturdy made, and Helbram could not help but think it looked too small in his father’s large hands. He wrapped both hands around the haft, and readied himself into a simple stance, the one that Helbram had done just a few moments ago.

Except… this one was paired with a tension that pressed around his younger self, and he could feel gooseflesh travel over his skin. His father did not bleed Ether into the air like he’d seen so many Awoken do. Instead, it hovered around him, settling over his larger frame in a condensed aura of red, its shade more like flames as opposed to the simple red he’d seen Leaf emit. The aura flowed into the ax, enshrouding its head in a sheath of that same, brilliant color. His father swung the ax down; a simple, practiced motion that looked to graze the stone rather than strike it.

And yet it split as if his father was cutting wood.

There was no aftermath of the blow; no shockwave, no splitting of the ground to further emphasize his father’s strength, yet Helbram was now old enough to know that the absence of any effect other than the rock splitting spoke more than any shockwave could. Perhaps his younger self knew this as well, for his small body was now clapping and cheering like he’d seen the most amazing thing in the world.

Helbram wished to join him.

His father was obviously not used to such praise, scratching his head with an embarrassed look that, for a moment, made him look like the jovial man his features would suggest.

“Again, again!” Helbram’s younger self spoke, making him wince at the lightness in his voice.

His father chuckled, a deep, hearty laugh that again triggered a pang of nostalgia in Helbram’s chest, “I’m afraid that is all for today, son. If I kept this up the forest is bound to run out of stone.”

“Aw…” Helbram kicked the dirt.

He felt his father’s hand on his head, ruffling his hair as the larger man knelt down to meet him eye to eye, “We’ll have plenty of time for more later. For now, let us get you ready, your first lesson with your grandfather is today.”

Helbram nodded, but peered into the larger man’s eyes with wonder, “Will I be able to do that one day? Just like you?”

His father’s expression faltered. He’d been too young at the time to know what it meant, but Helbram now knew that look well. It was one he’d seen all too often, except when such pity was displayed by his father, there was the addition of sadness that sat behind his eyes.

“You are getting ahead of yourself,” His father said, “it is better to keep your eyes on what is in front of you now rather than get lost at what may come in the future.”

Helbram cocked his head, “What’s that mean?”

His father snorted and ruffled Helbram’s hair again, “Just focus on your training.”

It was a good deflection, but even at such a young age Helbram could tell there was something wrong with him. The seed of doubt was always there, just waiting to sprout.

“What if I can’t?” his younger self said, a slight tremble to his voice, “what if I’m not strong enough?”

His father clenched his jaw and pulled the young boy into a hug, “You are strong enough Helbram, stronger than you believe.”

Helbram felt his small arms wrap around the larger man’s body, “But what if you’re wrong? What if I need help?”

He felt his father’s hand on his head again. It was calming, to both him and his younger self.

The larger man pulled away and looked into Helbram’s eyes, a reassuring smile on his face.

“There is nothing wrong with accepting help, son. Nothing wrong at all.”

It was the last thing he heard before his vision faded away.

Vision returned to Helbram in a blur, revealing only the dull blue glow of the morning sun in his room. Leaf slept in the bed across the room, rolled over and showing his back to Helbram as he remained motionless. It was an uncanny, seamless transition from the dream to consciousness, and had Helbram not broken the assumption by sitting up, he would have believed himself still asleep. When his senses finally cleared, he shifted to the edge of his bed and rested his head against his hands, finding solace in the fact that he was back in control of his actual body. His father’s words had followed him out of the dream, however, and he heard them repeatedly in his mind as if the man were saying it right in front of him.

He looked at his hands, studying their callused texture as if it were trying to tell him something. When he found no answers, he stood up from his bed and put on his boots. He needed some fresh air.

He closed the door gently on his way out, not wanting to wake his sleeping companion and walked softly downstairs. As he entered the tavern below, he noted that Mary was not there, and given the dull light outside, Helbram could only assume that his dream had woken him quite early in the day. He walked out into Cliffside and towards the alleyway next to the tavern, aiming to check on Bessie.

When he walked into the alleyway, he was greeted by the sight of Marcus waving around a wooden sword, striking a ramshackled mess of refuse and scrap that Helbram could only assume to be a training dummy. An erratic cadence of thwacks and yelps echoed through the alley as the younger man swung his training sword against the inanimate figure. Even from far away Helbram noted many error’s to the man’s form. His swings were too wide, too easy to read, and the constant yelling with each attack only served to grate Helbram’s ears rather than indicate any power behind each attack. As Helbram got closer, Marcus paused only to give him a small nod before resuming his movements. There was sweat on his face and his breathing was labored, but the younger man pressed on. Helbram had to admit, he had spirit.

Unfortunately, the young man’s noise had woken Bessie, and the Auroc let out a disgruntled sigh as Helbram approached. He snorted and rubbed behind her horn to soothe her before setting up her trough with some feed, which the bovine began to eat with gusto. He let Bessie set about her business and turned his attention back to Marcus, who was in the middle of performing a pirouette that led into a slash across the dummy’s stomach. Helbram winced at the wasted movement and clicked his teeth.

Marcus noticed.

The younger man turned to him, “Am I doing something wrong?” he asked, his eyes filled with curiosity as opposed to the irritation that Helbram expected. There was an earnest energy to the man, one Helbram could only emphasize with.

“Just about everything, I’m afraid,” he told Marcus in a blunt tone.

Marcus looked back at the training dummy, then at his sword, “Everything?”

Helbram walked up to the younger man, “You have the energy, the eagerness, that much is for certain,” he explained, “but it is entirely misplaced,” he walked up to the dummy and tapped its head, which was fashioned from a cracked bucket stuffed with cloth, “your movements are wasted, your aim is poor, and I’m afraid that most of your power is going into your yelling rather than your arm.”

Marcus lowered his sword and scratched his head, “Oh… I had no idea.”

Helbram cocked his head, “You haven’t been taught?”

The younger man shook his head, “No, I’ve asked others in the past,” he picked at the tip of his sword, “they told me to just make sure the pointy end goes into the other man.”

Helbram winced, “That… was a great disservice.”

Marcus frowned and looked to his side, “It’s not as if I could ask my father for help…” he muttered.

Helbram remembered the sword over the tavern’s counter, “Your father was an adventurer?”

Marcus spit on the ground, “Of great renown,” he said in a dry tone, “so great he’s gone and forgotten about his family I suppose.”

Helbram grimaced, “I see… well, regardless I’m afraid you’ll find yourself at the receiving end of a sword if you keep your movements like that.”

Marcus sighed, “What am I supposed to do then?”

“Ask the town guard?” Helbram suggested, “I am sure they would be willing to teach you the basics.”

Marcus snorted, “Who do you think told me that last piece of advice?” his eyebrows raised in realization, “Maybe you could teach me?”

Helbram considered it for a moment, holding his tongue about his concerns of the town’s security. He eventually nodded and held out his hand, “Let me see your sword,” he smiled, “I would be quite the hypocrite if I left you alone after saying such things.”

Marcus’s expression brighted and he gave Helbram the wooden blade in earnest. It was surprisingly heavy and equal in length to a longsword. He wrapped both of his hands around the handle and stepped in front of the dummy.

“First, you must always ensure that you are in the appropriate stance,” he shifted into a neutral guard, keeping the sword in front of him, “something like this, to begin with.”

Marcus nodded, his eyes studying Helbram with an eagerness that could only make him smile.

‘Second, keep your movements minimal,” he demonstrated with a swift strike against the dummy’s head, producing a sharper ring than when Marcus had struck it, “the less they can see the more likely you are to land a blow. Third…”

He moved the blade quickly, striking the dummy with a flurry of blows that struck the target in the head, chest, and arm, “Know how to move from one position to the other.”

He handed the training sword back to Marcus, “there is far more than that, of course, but that is a good place to start.”

Helbram motioned to the training dummy, “Shall we give it a try?”

Marcus nodded and stood in front of the dummy, trying to mimic Helbram’s stance.

“Your feet are too far apart,” Helbram said as he tapped Marcus’s back heel, “and your arms are too low,” he pushed the younger man’s arms up and adjusted his grip until the sword was positioned directly in front of him, “there we are. Remember this stance, maintain it, this will be your guiding line,” he stepped back from Marcus, “Show me a swing.”

Marcus brought his arms back for a downward slash and Helbram held up a hand, “Stop there.”

The younger man froze, keeping his hands near behind his head. Helbram stepped up to him and tapped his chest, “You’ve left your torso wide open. Someone with any sense would have ran you through by now.”

Marcus grimaced, but nodded.

Helbram pushed his arms back down to their guard position, “Keep your hands here, then strike.”

When he stepped back, Marcus brought the blade forward in a quick strike against the dummy’s head.

“Better,” Helbram said in an approving tone, “but swinging your sword involves more than just your arms,” he took the blade from Marcus and demonstrated an attack slowly, letting the younger man study his movements, “you must put the entirely of your body behind each blow, give it the weight to really do some damage.”

He gave the sword back and let Marcus have another try. The man practiced another swing, the blow landing with a much louder noise than before. He looked to Helbram, excitement clear in his eyes. 

Helbram grinned, “Much better.”

They continued to practice for the better part of an hour, with Helbram making small, gradual adjustments to Marcus’s form, making each strike tighter, more efficient until the man demonstrated movements that were good enough to be adequate, for the first day that is. At the end of their training Marcus was further covered in sweat, but his concentration never lost focus, which Helbram could not help but respect.

“That should be good for today,” Helbram said, “if you keep these things in mind you’ll be on the right track.”

Marcus looked at him, obviously hungry for more guidance, but did not ask for more and simply bowed, “Thank you.”

Helbram waved his hand, “Tis no trouble, consider it payment for your sister’s wonderful service last night.”

Marcus winced, “Yes… she did have a rough go of it, didn’t she?”

“Yes, I’m afraid she’s going to box your ears once all of this has passed.”

The younger man sighed, “I’d best draw that Sword soon then, she wouldn’t do that to me if I was chosen, would she?”

“She might do it even harder, if that were the case.”

They shared a small laugh.

Helbram pat Marcus’s shoulder, “All this training has made me famished, I’ll see you inside.”

He walked towards the Alleyway’s exit.

“Do you think I’ll be able to draw it?” Marcus asked.

Helbram turned around, “Were it a matter of determination, I would say no one else but you could draw it. But, I am not the Sword, so I could not tell you for certain.”

Marcus nodded absentmindedly, “Yes, but if I were the Sword, why would it choose me over someone like Marjorie?”

Helbram shrugged, “I know not the thought process of sentient weaponry. Tis my recommendation to not dwell on it, otherwise you’re bound to overthink things.”

He turned to walk towards the tavern again.

“It spoke to me last night, you know. Showed me dreams… memories.”

Helbram froze.

“It showed me the day my father left, made me feel that helplessness again, made me see my sister’s crying face… my mother’s despair,” his voice trembled, “I need to draw it, need to show them all that I’m better than my father was.”

Helbram didn’t respond.

“Helbram?”

He blinked, “My apologies…” he turned back to face Marcus, “I understand your desires, truly, but I would advise you not to hunger for such things so strongly, It will make you blind to things that are right in front of you.”

Marcus opened his mouth to respond, but as he did so he was interrupted by a sudden wave of tension that washed through the air. Both of the men stood still from the sensation, feeling a snap as it all released, signaling a burst of wind that blasted through the alley. Helbram covered his eyes from the dust and dirt that was kicked up from the gale, but as he looked to Marcus he saw the younger man staring at the sky. He followed his gaze, eyes falling upon a pillar of silver light that shot into the sky. He didn’t have to guess where it came from.

It was from the Shrine.

Author's Note: Yep, this arc is definitely a slow burn, but I hope that the pacing is even enough to be intriguing rather than a drag, I really want to spend some time hammering out character motivations and backgrounds so everything has a lot more weight to it. If you find that its taking too long though, let me know! I have goals but I don't want to make this story unenjoyable to read.

Till next time everyone, have yourselves a wonderful day! :)