What Makes a Monster

Final Farewells and Forlorn Friends

The clack of hooves through the street signalled the padding of the knight-to-be’s stallion as he strutted with the same confident aire as his rider, who sat high on the saddle, posturing like a peacock, with the morning sun at her back as her tail feathers. Her stallion's onyx fur gleaming with the glint of pride, and a bounce in his step that heralded a new horizon ahead. 

In contrast to Jaime and her Fresian, her squire-to-be did not compliment his mount so harmoniously. In fact, Arimir's grey-muzzled steed held himself with a tired huff. An older, grizzled horse lacking anywhere near as much reckless spunk as his black pelted foil, nor his rider for that matter. The two seemed to bicker, a kick and a whiney being their weapons of choice. 

"Come on, you oaf." Arimir chided, pushing on the elder beast's flank. He earned a disillusioned huff, and if horses could roll their eyes, he did. 

"Don't be mean to Marv. He's older, and he's doing his damndest." Both horse and rider huffed in disagreement to Jaime's words. 

"Why in the five realms did ya' name this disaster 'Marvelous' anyway?" Ari asked, indignant tone irritating all three of his travelling companions. 

"I didn't name him! It's just the name he responded to." Arimir cocked a brow in disbelief, "Truly! When I took down the Hound, it retreated too quick for me to follow. When I commented on how 'absolutely marvelous' losing the damn mongrel was, suddenly this huge, stocky draft was standin' there. I was confused, but when I said it again, he perked up. I guess that was his name, so Marv's just been Marv."

Everytime Jaime said "marvelous" or "marv", the horse's silvered ears perked slightly. 

"Well, that explains why I came back from a year in a caravan to my sister not askin' how traveling the kingdom was, but telling me that she'd found something 'Marvelous.'" Ari chuckled to himself, Jaime rolling her emerald eyes. 

As they passed townsfolk, general "good morrows" and "fair winds" were exchanged, and many a sad and excited face beamed. Sure, they'd be losing their best warrior in town, and their folk hero, but she may bring their little home out of obscurity and into the kingdom's favor. The woman many had come to rely on as a hero would be leaving for the Benevolent knows how long. 

The familiarity of the village surrounded her, and for the first time in who knows how long, Jaime took a long moment to savor the feeling. Soon, the world would expand and lengthen into a splendid realm of unknowns and perhaps. Now, however, it was all beautiful knowns and of courses. She was pulled from her thoughts as a man walked up briskly to Marv. 

His leather apron was covered in soot and charcoal dust, his black mustache once a deep graying silver before the forge. In his hands he held small, leather wrapped bundle in his hands. 

"Jaime, before ya leave us in yer' dust, I wanted ta give ya a gift, lass. I've been workin' on it as a belated gift fer riddin' us of dem bandits, but now's as good'a time as any, aye?" he held up the leather wrapped thing, and she reached down to take it from the squatty blacksmith. 

"Let me see!" Ari trotted up beside her with a heel jab to Marv's ribs, the old beast huffing as he sidled up beside Dmitry, gladly accepting a nose pat. 

Jaime unwrapped the bundle, the sunlight catching on a beautifully ornate, silver, hunting knife. The hilt was engraved with a depiction if a woman fighting a gargantuan hound, two headed. The engraved image was designed in the traditional curves and knots of Grostag folk art. The cross guard was carved from bone, engraved with the Abri words "Zëbatal ond ati evyopin. Zëbatal ond ati ye tuusi." which when translated to the common tongue, roughly means "Strength is within us all. Strength is within her soul." 

"That's why you asked for the hound's femur, isn't it, Dmitry?" The squatty blacksmith nodded, a smile emerging under the sooty beard. 

"Aye, lass. Thought'cha could use a prop'a knife aftah them scoundrels broke ye old one." He shrugged as if the blade was a trifle to forge, as if it clearly hadn't taken the whole village to forge. The handwriting of the Abriskript was indicative of Solic, the scribe. The silver must have come from the silver mines manned by many up in the mountains. They must have worked overtime or Dmitry paid a week or two's sum for even half of the silver blade. The pommel fit perfectly to her hand, the engraved image baring the style of Maxin, Roman's son, who had quite the flair for the arts. The bone was a considerate touch of personalization, as the cracked femur was a trophy taken off the hound's corpse (and later given to Jaime) by Vanessa, the huntswoman, and prepared as a trophy by her companion, the herbwoman, Illva. It truly must have taken a village to forge, and the thought brought stinging tears to Jaime's eyes. 

"This is… Dmitry, this is absolutely gorgeous. Illyp noca, Dmitry!" She thanked, leaning down to wrap the man in as tight an embrace as she could manage on horseback. 

"We're all goin' ta miss ya, Jaime." He said through a wet choke of tears pricking the corner of his eyes as well. 
"You too, Arimir. If we'd've known you were goin', I'd've somethin' ta give ya too, lad." She sighed sadly, shaking his head in a silent chide to himself.

"All good, Dmi." Arimir said cheerfully, his voice as light as airy as usual. "I'll be back before you know it. Probably more successful than Jaime!" Wishful thinking always was his strong suit. 

"Optimism's a good look on ya, lad. I'm sure you will, aye?" Dmitry pat Marvelous' snout again, then Jaime's steed's, before they bid him farewell and started off again. This time, they would breach the edge of town. 

When would they return, Jaime couldn't find an answer to such curiosity. Instead, adventure song its siren song of seductive promises of glory and excitement in her ear. Arimir heard the siren song in a different tune, one of loyalty and exploration, but a siren sang for him nonetheless. The siren's tune implored them venture forth, and so they did, past village walls and guard posts, through familiar woods, north still into the uncharted world they'd yet to ever see.