Shreds of an Archive

The Reality of a Hero

"Halt! What do you think you're doing with my mount?" Deinon said, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. The man turned, a humorless smile touching the edges of his mouth.

"Your horse? This is our land, our property now." He spoke calmly, a gruffness in his voice. Anger flared in Deinon's chest, forcing him to action. He ran forward, remembering all of the training and exercising he had endured back in the village. He knew he could win this. He was the best fighter in their village. Deinon slashed at the man's stomach, aiming to gut him. He was sure it connected but his sword hit nothing, momentum sending him tumbling forward. Suddenly, the man was upon him, moving with blinding speed grabbing his wrist and throwing him to the ground. His sword was wrenched from his grip clattering in the gross a couple steps away. Fear and desperation propelled him back up, he swung a wild right hook aiming for the man's temple, followed by a cross, jab, uppercut, each flowing into each other. The man easily moved around them, using slight movements of his head, and side steps to avoid every blow. Deinon ran forward, trying to grapple with him and managed to wrap his arms around his waist. This was his opportunity. He shoved hard, trying to uproot the man and tackle him to the ground. He didn't budge.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that, ey?" The man said, a smug grin across his face. The man brought the butt of his sword down, clubbing Deinon in the skull. Knocking him unconcious.

Deinon was greeted to the waking world by a frigid bucket of water and a man screaming at him to get up. He was on a winding cobblestone road, sun rising slowly coating the morning dew in a haze of yellow. Trees were on either side of them, thick trunked and huge, extending high into the sky. The gut wrenching memories yesternight came flooding back. In a surge of fight or flight, Deinon chose to run as fast as he could away, attempting to make a dash towards the surrounding woods. His attempt was quickly stopped by a hard yank as he realized he was tied to a wagon that stood on the cobblestone road. The momentum carried him back making him fall on his arse.

"I see you're well awake now." It was the man from the forest he said voice filled with humor.

"What do you want?" Deinon snarled.

"Me? Oh, I want nothing." The man said, smirking.

"Then why am I here? Where is my steed and my belongings?" The man let out a laugh, which ended up sounding more like a choking cough.

"You don't have any belongings now boy. You are our belongings, and so is the fine boned horse that you gifted us"

"Vi Ferde is not yours, and is not a gift." Deinon said rage bubbling up in his chest. The man lashed out, punching Deinon in the gut, causing him to keel forward.

"Everything in your life, everyone you know, love, or anything you even remotely cared about should be forgotten. You don't seem to understand yet, your life is over. You're ours now." Deinon burst forward, swinging at the man with his tied hands. The man grabbed them, taking a dagger out from seemingly nowhere and chopped off one of his fingers. Blood poured onto the ground and Deinon let out a roar before he found the man's knife at his neck. He knew that any movement could leave him here dead on the ground, and that thought alone was enough to turn his range into utter terror.

"Do you understand now?"

"Aye." Deinon whispered.

He had been pulling a wain up the mountain path with the company of savages for a couple days now. Hours and minutes blending together, muscles complaining and growing close to failure, but he never stopped, or he would be met with the bite of a whip against his back. There were other workers there as well, men that had been as unlucky as he to have been caught in the bandits territory. They had shared his mutual unwillingness to talk though. That was until a man dressed in rags, with a worn out and undernourished, but strong physique, that of a warrior.

"You're not like the others" He said in a low voice, striding over to him in a clearing they had stopped at to drink from a stream. Deinon grunted in response

"You still haven't stooped to be as lowly or submit as much as the other captives have, despite your young age."

"What of it?" Deinon's voice was gruff from lack of use.

"What's your name?" The strange man questioned. Deinon waited, thinking for a couple moments.

"My name's Deinon, son of Thrak."

"Well met, I think that men like you and I should stick close in times like these don't you agree?" Deinon looked at him, gradually understanding what he was implying.

"Men like you and I? We are nothing alike, I have just lost my entire home, my family, everything I've lived for" Anger and emotion crept into his voice, eyes turning glassy.

"Aye lad, I know it's hard. Trust me, I'm not quite unfamiliar with loss either." The man's face turned grim, twisting as an unpleasant memory gripped him. Deinon felt a moment of sympathy for the man, realizing that he wasn't the only one suffering.

"Sorry." Deinon said, voice almost a whisper. One of the bandits called for them to keep moving, cracking a whip in the air.

"What's your name?" Deinon asked, quickly regretting it, if they were caught there would surely be punishment. The man turned back to him, looking at him with a humorless smile.

"Vendrick, I hail from Favern"