“The Hero Of Arosoc”

Sam slumped back against the rain-slicked rock wall behind him, the mud under his feet slowly sank down, creating a suction around his boots he knew he would not easily pull out of. But there were more pressing matters to attend to, his eyes drifting down to his side. He could see the leather had been cut clean through, he didn’t know how deep into his side the blade cut and he frankly didn’t want to. The thought sent vivid images of the other wounded men he had seen in battles before this, the wounds left gaping on their bodies. The rain beat down on him washing the blood seeping from the gash away, and some of the sweat pooled on his brow too. It was cold, bitter cold, biting and stinging with every drop. Or perhaps you just have a fever Sam, wounds like this lead to fevers. He closed his eyes letting the cold settle into his skin, hoping if he did have a fever this would help lower it a little.

The clattering of hoof beats slammed on the rock overhead. He counted as they passed over him, heading higher up the mountain. Far away from the frock of battle.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five. Five horses had gone up the hill, nearly half of those stopping them from reaching the goal had followed him.

He chuckled. “Bloody fools.” He could feel his lungs ramming themselves against his ribs with his heart. More adrenaline seeped into his veins, his eyes opened, looking at the grey swirling mess of a sky. The sword in his hand felt a hundred pounds heavier by every second and soon, his fingers simply could not hold it anymore, they would not obey their master any longer. His gut twisted and wretched as if suddenly awakened into the realization of what was happening. The world tilted and shifted on its own will, dipping in and out of focus like it was inviting him to dance with what he knew was there.

Death was coming for him. Whether by the wound in his side or by the riders on horseback when they inevitably came back down the mountain and found the shallow muddy nook he was hiding in... He would die here, his memory a splattered stain across this rock. And maybe those he fought alongside here today, maybe they would remember him the moment before this, a hero, leading away some of the enemies on his own to give them an advantage in a desperate situation.

He thought of what brought him here. Once, at some point in his life, he was a normal young man, barely 20. He had been home for a break at his parents house after a less than praise worthy performance in an attempt at living on his own. The bitter sting of failure was all he knew, angry at himself, ever angrier at the world. Though it wasn’t this world he was angry at, not this one of kingdoms and wars, he had more than enough reason to be angry here now. He felt foolish looking back on where he came from, the way he stamped all over what he had. He hadn’t noticed how lucky he was until now.

If only he had never found that box, that he had never taken it from his parents attic. His hand shakily reached into a leather pouch on his side, pulling out a small box, it was ordinary enough by appearance, slightly bigger than his palm, a deep brown in color with a polished varnish wrapped in brown paper with a broken wax seal on it. Inside was a small notebook, and a necklace. The necklace was a simple chain with a small dragon made out of gold wrapped around an emerald. The leather cover read with an inlaid phrase brushed with gold.

May Your Story Be An Interesting One

It made his stomach turn to look at it now. He slowly opened the first page of this small book and felt his stomach sink, seeing the table of contents had an extra chapter at the end of the book now:

VII - Lord Samuel of Aeof “The Hero Of Arosoc” - Page 67

His heart seemed determined to break from his chest. This all had to be a bad dream. How he longed for the comforts of his real home. The sound of music from his old roommates room, the stupid cat that curled into his side and purred (even when called stupid), his moms nagging phone calls. He wanted to sit on his couch and finally watch all those stupid movies his best friend recommended.

Not die here, like this. Unable to even pick up a sword.

This cursed thing, he wished he had never opened it, that he had never put on that necklace. The sound of the horses was so close now. He could make out the words now, the shouts to find him, all the sounds seemed so clear even in the rain. He pushed himself harder against the wall hoping they at least wouldn’t find him and let him bleed to death in peace. A horn bellowed in the distance and a mix of bittersweet pride brushed over him hearing the cursing of the riders so close to his hiding spot. His distraction had worked, he had done it, they won, he helped them reclaim Arosoc. The riders sped off, rushing to flee themselves now, in danger of meeting the same fate he did. He felt his body tip forward as his vision blacked out for a second before he was staring at the sky once more. The rain had stopped, now laying flat on his back he could see no blue skies… still only sweeping waves of grey.

He couldn’t help but see no beauty in this moment...his mind wandered to wonder how many others died for this, who would find him here? What would they do if they did find him? Would they bury him? How would they do it? As a Lord?

What about his family back home did they know what happened to him? Would they spend the rest of their lives looking for a son and brother who died years ago in a different world? Guilt and shame burned his cheeks alongside his fever. Tears welled in his eyes, there was so much left to do, he was too young to die here! He wanted to scream but his voice had no strength when he tried, he could barely feel his feet and hands, the mud was cold against his back and matted into his blonde curls, caking them dark. He could taste the metallic tang of death. His lungs labored and he found what little strength he could to settle his hand on the box. That was all he could hold now as the black crept across his vision. He sucked in a deep breath, letting his eyes close, and his life slipped away.

Another thing had also slipped away then, his hand empty now. The small box was gone, only a broken blue wax seal was left in its place. A few dimensions away, in a dusty attic, a deep brown polished box sits wrapped in brown paper adorned with a blue wax seal. Inside sits a slightly thicker notebook. With the ring of a long-forgotten lord resting next to it. Patient enough to wait however long it needs to, to collect its next stories.