by Wolfe Locke
Stepping into the light, the speaker revealed herself. She was a young flower girl of eighteen or so, with blue eyes and golden hair. Her faded pink dress was shabby and oft mended, but clean. I remember being like that. She wore the thick brown boots that were popular among young people in the city's worst neighborhoods. Sven recognized those boots; he’d worn something similar when he’d been younger. She carried a basket slung over one arm and within it held a stack of fresh marigolds.
"Look," she said, holding the basket up to his face, "Marigolds. Fresh marigolds. Picked today!"
"It's too late to out be selling flowers," Sven said, feeling anxious for the girl. “You should go home.”
The flower girl twisted her braid anxiously. "I didn't make my quota for today. I got distracted helping my younger sister with her schooling. We're not allowed to come back with a full basket. Boss keeps us out until we can sell at least half of it, and I’ve been selling my sister’s portion too."
Sven's heart broke for the scrawny girl. "What’s your name?" he said. "How old are you?"
"Maggie," the girl said, squinting at him suspiciously. "And I’m nineteen. Why? You better watch yourself mister."
"No, nothing like that. I remember what it was like to be young and poor in this city," Sven said. "I grew up in Rat’s Cobbles."
"That so?" the girl exclaimed excitedly. "I’m over the hill ‘neath the Citadel. Who d’you know still in the Cobbles?"
"No one now, I would imagine. Not a single person," Sven said. "That was a long time ago."
"Hey, that’s not true. Now you know me. You know what they say," Maggie said. "Once a Cobble's boy, always a Cobble's boy. Bet you never forget it!"
Sven pondered. It was true. He didn’t think much about his time growing up in the city anymore. But in some ways, despite how far he’d come, he was still a poor urchin at heart. He laughed, thinking, technically, I’m still poor now.
"You’re not afraid of me," he said, realizing the girl hadn't been scared off.
"Nah," said the girl. "I’ve seen worse than the likes of you. I’m good with people, have a Seer’s eye for it, or so my Mimi used to tell me, and I can tell a lot about you. You’re friendly and good hearted. I know it."
"You sure? I'm an adventurer, an S-Ranked one at that. You should know me or know of me. Sven? The Shatterfist?" Sven said, a bit stiffly. "I killed a hydra today."
"Really! That sounds amazing." Maggie said with a little bit of acting that made Sven question how serious she was being. She quickly changed the subject, "Hey, want to know a secret?"
"Uh," responded Sven, confused.
"I’ll tell you a secret if you buy a flower," she responded, batting her eyelashes in an attempt at flirtatiousness.
"Uh," Sven said again, thinking worriedly, I do not like where this is heading. "Sure. I’ll buy a flower."
Maggie handed him a large marigold in exchange for a copper piece, winking with a smile in a way that made him blush.
"Here’s the secret," she said, half-whispering, leaning into his ear. "I don’t recognize the name. I’m sorry. But thanks for buying a flower. I just don’t want to be a flower girl forever. I hate this job. Once my sister’s done with school, I’m going to become an adventurer just like you. I’m going to leave this city behind and never come back, not even when I get old. When this city is far behind me, I’ll really shine."
At least she was honest. Odd though. "You might come back here one day," Sven said. "I know I did, I saw the world, I saw a lot of things, and back here I came.” Sven gave a half hearted smile thinking of his younger days.
"That’s because you’re crazy, Mister! I’d never do that. Once I’m gone, I’m gone for good." she said with the last part coming out little more than a whisper.
It occurred to Sven that he had once said something remarkably similar when he was a young man. Funny how things changed. But not everything, people didn’t miss me when I left, and don’t remember me now that I’m back.
"You know what?" Sven said. "How many flowers do you need to sell to be done for the night? I’ll take that many if you promise to go straight home to your sister and get off the street."
"Wow!" said the girl. "You’d really do that for me? Thanks! I’ll give you a great deal too"
She reached into her basket and untied a few pieces of twine that kept the marigolds compressed together. So many marigolds. How did she fit that many? Sven smiled awkwardly as she handed over a heaping armful of flowers. He almost regretted buying them when he saw how many he would have to carry and winced when he realized the cost would eat up most of the rest of his small coin.
"Hey," she said, looking up at him. "Mr. Cobbles Boy, I didn’t ask you earlier. Do you still have a dream you’re chasing? You said you got out of here and came back, so what’s your motivation?"
"Uh," Sven stalled, unsure of how to respond. It was something he hadn’t asked himself for a long time. What do I want?
"Never mind!" she said, cutting him off. "I can figure it out without you saying anything. You wanted to be an adventurer when you were younger, just like me. It came true right? You got everything you ever wanted, and now you’re happy, especially with all of those flowers. I can see it all on your face."
She waltzed away into the night, basket in hand. Sven walked off in the opposite direction, heading for his rented room. She was right. He had wanted to be an adventurer when he was younger. And that dream had come true. He’d peaked.
It didn’t really work out that way at all. But what was his dream now? Did he even have one? I’d like to feel like I have a place again.
Growing up in the Cobbles, all he’d wanted was to get out. Adventuring was a way to do that. Ma Riley had tasked him with watering travelers’ horses by the city gate to earn extra money for the family, and more often than not, he’d seen the adventurers coming back from their travels and delves. Most of them were richly dressed and pockets full of gold. Though a few had seemed to be just as poor as he was. Sven back then had never been outside the city walls, but the tales he heard left him starry-eyed. Sven left the city when he was fifteen--four years younger than Maggie with her flowers—and he’d stayed gone for twenty-five years.
And he’d come back to do what? To escort under leveled clients through dungeon battles until he was too old to fight anymore? Or get back on the trail to immortality on the heels of the others who’d gone on without him. There had to be something better than that for him.
Ma Riley had always told him to look up at the stars when he felt lost and to never stop reaching for them.
"There’s your True North," she’d always say when he questioned himself too much. "What you see up there is your heart’s deepest desire, even if you don’t know it yet. Everyone sees something different. When I look up there, I see you kids. That’s what I always wanted, more than anything else, and I got it."
Sven had never questioned her story or wondered if Ma had once wanted something better for herself than five children and a room in a damp basement in Rat’s Cobbles. When he’d looked up at the sky as a boy, he’d seen fantastical monsters and faraway lands. He’d known there was more out there in the world waiting for him than had been waiting for his mother.
He missed her. I should put these marigolds on her grave in the morning when the city gate opens. She would have liked that.
Sven tried again to do as Ma had taught him. He squinted up at the darkness into the stars beyond and willed those stars to take on some coherent pattern. At first, they just looked like stars. As he looked, though, they seemed to form themselves into a picture right before his eyes.
The flower girl? Or is it just that I’m lonely? Doesn’t matter.
Sven grimaced. She’d been pretty, but too young for him, and awkward to boot. But then he thought about it. The interaction had been refreshing—more than any he’d had recently. Why?
She’d reminded him of a younger version of himself. And he’d helped her. He’d bought her flowers, sent he
r home for the night, and gotten her off the streets. Sven was a skilled warrior, true, but he had skills that went beyond fighting. He had wisdom and compassion. He cared about people. He could help them.
Was this his new dream? To keep people safe? To protect the weak and take care of them? To give others better choices than he’d had in his youth? He’d been an adventurer all his life—but he didn’t have to do that anymore. Sure, it kept people safe, but how many companions and friends did I lose along the way? Was it worth it? Sven could use his talents in new ways. He could start over. I’ve been a hero. I think its time to be something else instead. I just feel tired. How long has it been? 10 years? 20? They’ve all blended together.
Sven walked up the stairs to his rented room, a smile on his face as he opened the door. The room was sparse—white walls, a bed, a dresser, a basin. A room well-suited for a wandering adventurer. But that’s not who Sven was anymore. He felt like he’d grown old. Old and bored of adventuring. Maybe it’s just time for me to put down some roots.
Sven threw the window open and looked up at the stars again, feeling better than he had in a long time. This time they stayed stars, no pictures came unbidden to him, but it didn’t matter. He knew what his goal was. He just needed to figure out how to accomplish it. I want to be happy.
Chapter 4: A Quest Undertaken
The next morning brought with it a light fog from over the bay that spread over the City of Woodward. A fog that spread out into the surrounding countryside. Sven woke up easily. He felt refreshed and was ready to start his day. The morning was a bit chilly, and the hearth fire in his room had gone out sometime during his respite.
A cold mug of ale sat waiting for him on the end table. Sven took a deep draught and, when finished, was quick to grab his gear and the bouquet of marigolds he’d bought the night before. Though Sven had a [Spacial Ring] he preferred to carry his own weight for things like this. He believed that anything less cheapened a gesture. As his old friend and current Guildmaster, Galen used to say, "If you can't carry it on your back, don't carry it."
After last night and his encounter with the flower girl, Sven was ready to be on his way. An easy smile on his face for the first time in what felt like ages. He took a moment to stop by the inn’s kitchen before departing. Though Sven might have terrified some of the other adventurers, he rarely had that problem with regular people out in the city. Many of whom didn't recognize him. Actually, none of them seem to recognize me. It didn’t bother him.
The cook was one of those Sven could easily approach. She didn't recognize him either, or if she did, she didn’t say anything. Sven was allowed to join her in the kitchen for an early breakfast in peace. He hungrily lapped up an offered bowl of porridge with honey, much to the plump cook's delight.
"It's Clemon, right?" Sven asked with a smile as the cook beamed. "I’ll make sure to visit next time I’m in the city. This honeyed porridge is too good to pass up and I have not once been disappointed by the food here. This has been nice."
"Thank you! And you come back anytime with the pretty girl you’re carrying those flowers for, and I’ll make sure to teach her a few things about how to make a meal for a man." Clemon promised though Sven could see another reason in the older woman’s eyes, she, like him, was lonely in her old age. Something I can relate to.
Sven nodded and muttered a promise to do just that. He didn’t want to ruin the older woman’s good humor. He didn’t need to tell her the flowers were for his mother’s gravesite. It wasn’t his intention to ruin a moment, and the world was short on those. Sometimes, part of being a hero and being a man is knowing when to let other people have their joy.
He walked out with the load of flowers under his arm and a full belly. Sven turned to wave goodbye to the cook. She should be somewhere much grander than here, somewhere making meals for kings and heroes.
"Until next time." Sven promised with a smile.
The cobblestone road through the main street of Woodward was covered with the thin mist of morning. A thick mist like this can make people nervous. Sven tucked the gold engraved badge with his rank and position under his collar to intentionally obscure it.
Then Sven pulled his adventuring cloak tight against his body to ward off the damp, enjoying the comforting protection that only wool from the Rams of the North could provide. Rare loot. It took me 29 runs of the Ramshead Cave before it dropped.
Torchlighters in their red trimmed grey uniforms and the triangle hats that marked their corps moved up and down the street. Sven gave a respectful nod to each as he passed by and watched the candles in the lamp posts be replaced in preparation of the next night.
Merchants and vendors moved their carts about, getting their wares and shops in order and in place. Sven gave those only a passing glance. His purse was already feeling light of coin and he still needed to provision for the next adventure. I don't want to foster any unpleasant habits. A by the numbers approach is the way to go.
Besides shopping wasn’t what Sven had in mind. He had a promise to keep, a promise that would lead him just outside the city walls and into the forest beyond.
The gate to leave the city should have already been open for a while, but the traffic on the street was light. Far lighter than it should have been, even at the hour. Something is wrong. Sven thought as he headed towards the closed portcullis. The gate is still closed.
For somebody of his experience, it was easy to notice the two guards assigned to man the gateway were ill at ease. To the untrained eye, it was nothing, but Sven knew better. Those wary glances, concerned whispers, and a posture poised and ready to fight. Something must be nearby, otherwise the gate would be open.
Sven waited till the crossway was completely clear of the few city citizens and the handful of others who were going out and about their business before Sven announced himself as he approached the nearest of the two guards, a young man barely out of his teens named Ben. When he approached, Sven removed part of his cloak showing off the emblem of proof.
"I'm Sven, the Shatterfist, an S-Ranker with the guild. You should know me. They've called me the Hero of the Lost Company, a title granted during the campaign against the orcs. I can tell something is wrong. What's going on? I'll lend a hand if needed." Sven said, and though the two guards appeared nervous, they relaxed a bit when they heard his name.
"That's a true emblem it is, and heard of him I have," said one guard, an older man named Samuel. "If he’s Sven, then he took on the Orc King himself, that brute blessed by their mad god. Sven is a real hero he is. One of the few. I heard ye fell in battle to one of the great prismatic dragons."
“Sven? I’ve never heard of you.” Replied the younger guard. Samuel nudged him in the ribs to quiet him.
Sven ignored it. "That was me. I survived the battle with Dragonlord, but only barely, it was hard fought but I never did listen to warnings." Sven answered, and though Samuel was looking for the rest of the story, Sven didn't speak of it.
The younger guard, Ben, seemed relieved, but a different worry came to the man. "Master Sven, we've heard reports from our scouts that a mass of undead has found their way towards our city. We've sealed up the gate as is protocol and the horde should pass by us easily enough, once the fog clears, but until then, we keep the gate closed as long as their waiting in the mist.”
Protocol? Something about what the guard said didn’t seem right to Sven. “I’ve been gone awhile, but since when does the City Guard close the gates when a threat approaches instead of eradicating the threat so people can be safe?”
Samuel bristled at the comment. “Since recruitment took a dive. Young Ben over there was the last hire, and that was a season ago already, and you’re assuming the two of us are even strong enough to clear the threat. Which I can’t promise we are. What happens if we go out there and fall to the undead and leave the gate open? We have portal for a reason Master Sven.”
That makes sense. If nobody can replace you, or come to your aid, you’d have to be cautiou
s. Sven nodded. “I’m sorry. I rushed to judgement. How can I help?”
Ben seemed relieved that the tension had dissipated. Samuel spoke up. “We could open the gate if you’re willing to help us. Protocol allows for outside intervention and the two of us at least would be grateful. I am sorry though, we cannot afford to pay your protection fees. The city coffers only allows us to hire a single B-Ranker or 5 C-Rankers."
Protection fees? Sven waved the comment away reassuringly. "I think we can come to an agreement. I like this city, I like its people, and I don't want anything bad to happen to the people who live here. If I happen to go for a stroll through the mist and I happen upon this undead horde, I'll take care of it. No questions, no costs, and if you two want to see about scrounging up a bit of ale, or honey mead for after, I'll consider us even."
The two guards looked at each other, confused by the easy-going and good-natured S-Ranker in front of them.
"Actually, Sven, I think we have some honey mead in our stores here at the gate. Maybe even a crate full of it with your name on it." The guard named Ben offered.
"Thanks." Sven nodded as he started to walk past them, motioning for the gate to be lifted so he could pass into the mist beyond. "I don't need a whole crate. Just enough for the night will be plenty, I’m not greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll handle this. Just shut the gate behind me."
As Sven walked away, he heard the two guards whisper between themselves. "Aye, that really was Sven, wasn’t it? Didn’t they call him the Pauper Hero too? Not many like him at all. Always heard he'd save those who can’t pay for the saving. A true hero. He didn’t look too old though. Where’s he been?"
Sven nodded his head, a half-hearted smile on his face as he stored the flowers away in a [Spacial Ring] and walked into danger. I never thought of myself as a hero. Just a guy doing the right thing after spending a long time wandering. You don’t need a reason to help people. Sorry Mom, the flowers will have to wait.