Formendacil wrote:Several minutes later, Sir Dractor was rapping on the door to Bjarn's study. The scratchy sound of a quill on paper was coming from his desk.
"Come in," said Bjarn, not looking up.
"Hello there, old friend," said Sir Dractor, striding in. "How go things in the forest?"
Bjarn half-jumped from his seat, looking up in surprise.
"Sir Dractor?" he started. "Good to see you, my friend! Good to see you! Welcome home!"
Grid: M:8
Location: Drullen Bell Keep
Bjarn uncharacteristically rushed forward like a boy and pounded Sir Dractor on the back. Just a little surprised, Dractor stepped back half a pace and smiled broadly.
“Thank you, Bjarn, thank you. It’s good to be back.”
“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.” said Bjarn, “How went your quest your friends?”
“It was trying.” admitted Sir Dractor, “But we succeeded, my companions and I. And how are you?”
“As well as ever.” said Bjarn, “I haven’t drawn a sword since fighting off that gargoyle in the Neverwood, which is a good thing. I’ve been writing my memoirs, mostly.”
Bjarn waved at his desk piled with parchment.
“In fact, you’re just the excuse I need. I’ve seemed to developed the dreaded writer’s block of late, and my back is stiff. Let’s say we go for a sup.”
“Gladly.” smiled Sir Dractor.
They proceeded downstairs to the Great Hall, where Bjarn filched some piping hot vegetable soup and baked bread from the kitchen and brought them to one of the tables.
“Ahh…” Sir Dractor sipped at the soup, “Nothing beats Forestmen cooking. Nothing.”
Bjarn smiled and chewed some bread. Sir Dractor took another sip, put down his bowl, then said, “Which reminds me, what has happened that have caused the Forestmen to completely seal the borders?”
“War.” Bjarn sighed.
“No, not a Forestmen war,” he added quickly as Sir Dractor’s eyes widened, “But a Wolfpack war.”
“With who?” asked Sir Dractor.
“Themselves.” said Bjarn, “For months violent Wolfpack clans have battled among themselves, each trying to claw their way to the Wolfpack throne. Willem Blackcloak and his followers have fled. The Classic Emperor has ordered a complete lockdown of the area. In compliance, I’ve ordered the sealing of the Forestmen borders. Queen Arabella of the Dark Forest has down the same for her land.”
Sir Dractor blinked. “Queen Arabella? What ever happened to Radjar Kath?”
Bjarn chuckled. “You better get another bowl of soup, Dractor. It seems I’ve got a lot to update you on…”
After two more bowls of soup, another loaf of bread and an hour later,
Formendacil wrote:Sir Dractor and Bjarn, armed with longbows and full quivers, clad in green and brown, had gone hunting in the forest. Well, it was more like a long walk, to catch up on things, but while they were at it, they figured they might as well have a go. It had been Sir Dractor's suggestion: Gonderin had mentioned at dinner that Bjarn had been spending most of his days in his study, energetically scribbling away his memoirs. His loyal elven lieutenant felt that he needed to get out and breathe some fresh air. And what was more typical of a Forestman than a causal walk through the forest?
"A lot has happened in less than two months," said Sir Dractor as they went along, shaking his head. "Reno and Shainya married. I saw it coming, but so fast! I should send them a present…”
Bjarn smiled. “Fast, indeed. But not too fast, not at all. They have blossomed in the last few months, both glowing with love for one another. It brings a smile to my face just thinking of them.”
“Reno’s been a son to you, and Shainya a daughter.” Sir Dractor noted, “They both love you like a father. It is only appropriate that you should feel their love.”
Bjarn nodded, and said after a pause, “You need not send them a present. Let us visit them in a day or so.”
“I would like that.” said Sir Dractor.
Bjarn bent and examined a hoof print in the mud, then a bruised leaf.
“This way.” he motioned.
They changed direction and began to walk along a trickling stream.
“Where did Aros and Luxus go?” Sir Dractor asked after a moment.
Formendacil wrote:"They pretty much just took off, without any real destination," said Bjarn. "I imagine we'll see them again someday, but who knows when. They both have wanderlust pretty bad- not unlike you."
"I'll admit my feet itch for travel every now and then," said Sir Dractor. "But it's more action that I tend to crave- doing something useful. As a general rule, I don't do that too well in a single location."
"So what do you plan to do now?" asked Bjarn. "You don't intend to go back to your homeland, I take it?"
"No," said Sir Dractor. "I think I'll stay in Dametreos for life. As for the immediate future, I need a new suit of armor. When we get back to the Keep, I should show you what happened to it. It's quite the sight, and it makes you wonder how on earth I survived."
"It can't be repaired, I assume?" asked Bjarn.
"It wouldn't be worthwhile," said Sir Dractor. "It would take more effort than a new suit, and probably wouldn't be as good of quality. That's how bad it was."
"Well, talk to Roderick," said Bjarn, "I'm sure he'll be glad to help you. I'm guessing you also need a new sword as well?"
"Aye," said Sir Dractor, and was about to go on, but he caught sight of a small herd of deer off in the trees, and quickly raised his bow, firing the arrow. It struck one of the deer, which stumbled off. The other deer fled before Bjarn managed to fire at them. Sir Dractor and Bjarn followed the dying deer at a leisurely pace.
"That was a pretty fine shot, my friend," said Bjarn. "And at a considerable distance too. I thought you said that you weren't all that good at archery?
"I remember quite distinctly that you said your skill with a bow was not all that good. Were you lying?"
"No," said Sir Dractor with a smile, "but you weren't looking at it from quite the right angle. I am a master warrior: my skills with sword, lance, axe, mace, spear, and so forth, are about as good as you can get. By comparison, my archery skill is merely good. I have good aim and a quick draw, but I am no better than the average Dark Forester, and not quite up to the average Forestman. Certainly, you are a better shot than me. So, compared with my other skills, my archery talents are mediocre."
"You do yourself an injustice, my friend," said Bjarn, as the reached the dying deer. Sir Dractor bent down to cut its throat. "That was a fine shot, and you'd be accepted into a Forestmen company without a problem, although just barely. You have fine skills in war, my friend; am I right in thinking that it is all you have done?"
As he finished killing the deer, and silently thanking it for its gift, Sir Dractor replied. "All my life I have been a warrior. I have spent my energies on fighting and improving my skills at it. My homeland has been in conflict for years, and there was never an opportunity to do anything else. I displayed aptitude, and learned the skills, and have had ample opportunity to practice. But outside of battle and its related pursuits, I have very little."
"Do you ever wish you had more?" asked Bjarn.
"Yes," said Sir Dractor, thinking about his brother and his family. "I wish I could have done more, could have been more. But the path I chose was necessary, and I don't regret its fruits. Only its failings."
"Well, you are free from that path now," said Bjarn.
“I’m not sure if I want to be free from that path. I’m a warrior. Warrior’s battle. When there’s no battle, I feel so useless.” said Sir Dractor.
“Remember after the BloodVaine war, when you returned to Drullen Bell?” asked Bjarn, “From that point until we set out for Orion questing for the Temple Of Lost Stars, you had no battle. But you still did much good, and put your skills to good work. You helped rebuild the Forestmen army. You trained countless men, raising the skills of all the enlisted. You, in particular, improved every Forestman’s and woman’s skill with the sword. You helped pass on you skills to others. A warrior can use his skills to battle, but he also use his skills to train. Now that there are no battle for you to fight, you can do whatever you want, be whoever you want.”
Formendacil wrote:“There is no longer a war,” said Bjarn. "Perhaps it's time to find another use for those skills. There are always good people in need of defending and saving. From what I have seen of you, my friend, you might be a warrior, and a tyco good one too, but you are no killer."
"I have never wanted to be, but every warrior at times is a killer," said Sir Dractor, rather regretfully. "And that is never really going to change.”
“Sometimes…” Sir Dractor continued, “I wish…I wish I had taken a different path. Not of the warrior, but of someone else. Something not of killing. Remember Hans Lentawl?”
“Of course.” Bjarn smiled at the thought of the young LEGOlander scholar with the strange accent.
“He told me he’s never held a blade in his life, and he’s sixteen years of age. When I was seven, I had killed my first squirrel with my father’s knife.”
“I shot my first deer at age ten.” said Bjarn slowly, “I shot my first man a year later.”
Bjarn looked at Sir Dractor intently. “I chose the path of the warrior, like you. Sometimes, like you, I wish I had chosen a different path. But there’s no looking back. I became a warrior. Do I regret that choice? I do not know. Would have J’anrya married me if I was a farmer, or a woodsman, or a scholar? Perhaps. Would I have become the Elk Man? Perhaps not. But I became a warrior, and here I am. For the most part, I am satisfied. I’ve gone full circle. For all my life, I was battling someone, whether it was Green Fox, the Crusaders, the Royals, the Black Falcons, pirates, or BloodVaine’s minions. Now, that is over. My fighting days are over. My days of killing are over. Now, I hope, my days of helping have began.”
Sir Dractor nodded. “As Elk Man, you’ve aided the Forestmen in countless ways through your wisdom. But I am no king.”
“One need not be a king to aid.” said Bjarn.
“Perhaps you are right, there are always people in need of help. Perhaps I can find my calling helping people, not hurting them.” said Sir Dractor
Formendacil wrote:"I hope so," said Bjarn, "but I think that you already help people, although hurting others at the same time. Your aid was very important to us during the war, and during the Lost Stars quest, we did little battling, and much helping. And from what you've said, I think that you did a lot of good helping your sorcerer friend.
"But let's not worry about this for the moment! You're on holidays, and I intend to see that you enjoy yourself! Besides, I'm going to get you to transport that fine quarry of yours back to the Keep. My old back will be little assistance."
"You're no older than I," said Sir Dractor. "Or not by much."
"Perhaps, but I haven't taken as good of care as myself," said Bjarn. "And I wasn't blessed with your great poundage of muscles. The fates saw fit to give me a more slender build. And I have no intention of throwing out my back so soon after Daner fixed it- and everything else. I want to be whole and spry for many long years yet."
"Don't we all?" said Sir Dractor, heaving the dead beast off the ground. "Let's go straight back to the keep, shall we? I don't particularly feel like detouring with this stinky, heavy weight on my shoulders."
With a laugh, the more wood-wise Bjarn led the way back to Drullen Bell.
They soon were back at the great Forestman fortress, and they made their way to the kitchens, where Sir Dractor handed over to the chefs to manage. As Sir Dractor and Bjarn exited the kitchens, they were met by the elf Gonderin, Bjarn’s second-in-command.
“Greetings, milord, sir knight.” Gonderin nodded formally, and passed Bjarn an envelope, “This just arrived by carrier pigeon. It bears a Black Falcon seal.”
Bjarn thanked Gonderin and ripped the envelope open. He unfolded the sheet of parchment, scanned the contents, then broke into a smile.
“Who’s it from?” Sir Dractor asked.
“The Lone Falcon. You haven’t met him, but I have. He’s the leader of the Rebel Resistance, a group of Black Falcons and Bulls bent of overthrowing the current Black Falcon regime. And it seems they’ve succeeded.”
Gonderin raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? This is good tidings.”
Bjarn nodded. “Barbod must be extremely happy at this moment. The Bulls have completely regained their land. The Forestmen have new neighbors!”
Bjarn shook his head, rereading the letter. “This is stunning…my old friends Graygon and Willem Blackcloak have been located…and…Drakko! Drakko’s now the Prime Minister of the Black Falcons!”
“It seems many of the Misfits had a part to play in this Black Falcon overthrow.” noted Sir Dractor.
“Indeed.” said Bjarn, “I’m still trying to soak it all in…Graygon’s the next in line for the Black Falcon throne!”
“King Graygon? I can’t see it.” said Gonderin wryly and quite uncharacteristically.
“You won’t be.” said Bjarn, “Graygon has refused the throne. He’s also said that his mother might be willing to take the throne.”
“What’s that got to do with us?” asked Sir Dractor.
“She lives here.”