[Red Sky Crafting Guild]

Articus – Part II

 

The boy’s heart was heavy and sore as he slid the boat onto the sandy beach. His stomach empty and aching, although not from lack of food as his mother had thought to bring enough bread and meat for both of them, and a few Bota bags of water, lest they be condemned by Aqauris while on the water. Any food he bestowed upon his body was instantly bestowed upon the sea, the image of the princes sword through his mother’s chest and the absence of his father in a time of need made his stomach hurt as though it was being used as a training dummy for some great warrior. When he felt the boat was properly secured in the sand he fell to ground, feeling the last of what strength he had to carry on leaving him. “What shall I do?” the boy said aloud to no one in particular, “surely Papa cant be far behind. He has sent me and mother here, and surely he will be here after he deals with the prince.”

 

            After resting for what felt like an eternity, Articus rose to his feet and surveyed his area, feeling wobbly after the couple of days on the water. He firstly noted a small trail leading down the waterside by an oak tree, although tiny compared to the Titan oaks of his homeland. He thought that it was likely a game trail but realized he could not take any chances and decided he would tow his boat down the shore. He then made notice of the setting sun and used it to orient himself for future travel, likely north. The last discernable thing he was able to make out was lack of wildlife. No squirrels crawled among the trees and no deer ran through field. He was not sure what this meant but assumed it be a bad omen.

 

            Able to finally nibble at a piece of bread now that he only had his mind working against him without the turning of the sea, Articus took stock of what was in the boat. He held the Nordic sword, in a loose but firm grip as his father had taught him. It was a hurried piece by his father, started at sunrise and finished by the time the sun was high in the sky. Only meant to be a temper test for his blades, it was covered in giant nicks and a thin layer of red dust. He rooted through the bag and sat each thing from it in a row on the seat of the boat. He still had most of his food, minus what he had gifted to the fish while at sea. Several pieces of fired baked bread a thick slice of dried pork that would feed him for three days if he rationed himself wisely. Four Bota bags, two still containing water. A sharp knife, also made by his father. A flint and steel striker to start fires. He was quiet adept at using this as his father had made it his chore to ensure the forge was started and ready to go by first light. And the last object was something he had never seen before in the house. A small pouch with an ornate stitching of their family crest, two hammers crossed in front of an anvil. He had noticed a slight give and rattle when he had moved it before and had been afraid to open it in case something should fall into the water. Now upon the shore, he emptied it onto the sack and was amazed at what he saw. Two gold rings, beautiful necklace, and several charms to ward off trouble making spirits. But perhaps the most amazing objects was the ten golden disk. They looked like the copper coins his father would sometimes give him to go and order charcoal, or the ever rare cookie from Lucille at the inn.

 

            “CAWWW CAWWW” The boy had been nearly lost in the void admiring the golden coins when the sharp cry of crows fleeing the forest startled him half to death. Articus cursed the birds for not giving him a warning before looking back to the coins, a nagging feeling eating at his entranced mind. He ran his hands over them, thinking how this would likely buy him his own castle if only he could find a man to build it for him. The thoughts pounded and chiseled at his brain, begging to be let in. “Yes, I would like you to put the palisades here. The Throne room here overlooking the river. My bedroom? At the top of the tallest tower so that I can watch over my kingdom of course.” Straining through the walls of admiration and distraction, the warning began to gain a foothold “I want the stables there, so that I am not burdened to retrieve a horse. And the watchtower and barracks and soldiers over…” The warning thoughts finally found it gap and flooded his mind. “the crows. What were they running from? Why did they flee? What did they see on the other side of the hill? What it comes this way? Will you fight? Will you run?” Atricus’ mind raced as he quickly repacked the coins and put everything in the sack. He would have to leave the boat. No time to drag it behind now. Quickly using the tie off rope to make the sack into a sling bag, he grabbed the sword and hurried down nearer the wood line and north up the beach.

 

            After travelling what he estimated to be a few miles down the shore, Articus sat to rest on a thinly wooded hill near the beach. He took advantage of the dusk to scan the surrounding meadows for any signs of campfire or torches. He saw nothing, although the beginning of a mountain obscured his view around the corner. He figured he would likely be safe there for the night and began to collect twigs and branches for a fire, as the air was rapidly cooling off. While searching for decent fire wood, he also used this last light of the day to pick a few wild berries and even a few mushrooms he thought he remembered being told they were edible. He also put a decent sized slab of slate into his pack and began back for the hill where he would make camp. After using the knife to shave some of the sticks into tinder, Articus started the fire with expert ease, although getting the rest of it to burn to was more of a challenge without the bellows he was used to. He made a angled trough in the soil to move the fire into as not to give off too much light. After a day of thoughts, painful and amazed, scared and alone, his mind could only focus on one thing right now. The hunger that was but a peck before was now a full pain in his abdomen now, feeling as though his stomach would eat him whole if he did not sate it soon. He placed the slate over the trough to heat up as he began slicing up the mushrooms and meat to warm, and crushing the berries the spread on a piece of bread as he had seen his mother do. The boy sat and noted the still uneasy silence of this new land. No scurrying of small creatures, no birds singing their goodbyes for the nights. Just the ease sloshing of the water behind him and soft rustle of the wind.

 

            An awful mistake had been made. The meal he attempted to make to remind him of home had only reminded him that he was not there and he was alone. The berry paste he put on the bread was bitter and gritty, the meat tough and chewy. The only thing he seemed to do right was picking the mushrooms. When warmed up they secreted a sweet and aromatic oil. He ate one, then two, and soon he had eaten five or six. As he ate he thought how they made him feel better, as if carrying his woes and troubles away. He placed his last few thick branches on the fire and laid to look upon the sky. Entranced by the figures he still remembered, the many gods who watched over them from the heavens and their ultimate plan in the fate of each mortal, and hoped that they would fix what they had broken.

 

            As he lay there admiring the glimmering gems suspended in the endless sky, he noticed the fire growing above the trench out the corner of his eye. He moved to rake the coals and lower the flames but found himself paralyzed. Not by fear or a dreaded sleep demon, but his muscles would not respond to any of his commands. He suspected the mushrooms were to blame but could not be sure. Watching the fire blaze away he saw something that, if he would not have already been in such a situation, would have scared him stiff. The faint glint of a torch cresting the hill, the stench of black naphtha filling his nostrils. Rumors told of the men who would soak their torches in the vile concoction, able to burn for days on end and immune to the rain, but more importantly, the dark black flame it emitted from its heart flame was a way for the user to signal to his posse that he was one of them. A Slaver.

 

            Articus wanted to run. He wanted to jump to his feet and tear through the woods. He knew what being captured meant and would have settled for grabbing the blade and at the very least, die fighting. His body betrayed him and all he could do was stare from the corner of his eye as the small band of men approached his camp. One of the men he had not seen previously came from behind and quickly put a wet rag over the boys mouth. Unable to panic, unable to scream, he just looked into the eyes of the dirty man above him. His teeth yellow from chewing on Rabbit’s Ear leaves for many years, his hair messy and matted. But perhaps the most inhuman feature of this wild man was his eyes. One dark brown and the other a sickly green with a heavy glaze of it. Staring into Articus’, they went through hours of emotion in a matter seconds. First he looked mean and enraged, as though expected a startled boy, then confused, and finally tired. He stood up and waved the others up the hill, leaving the naphtha soaked rag laying on Articus’ face.

“I think he’s already gone. Eyes open and never moved a muscle.” His voice even rougher than his looks.

“No. The boy thought he was eating some blackberries for dinner.” This voice sounded smooth and educated, almost out of place with this band of devils. “Parosi Bacche, or Coma berries. He will be paralyzed for several hours still. Put out that fire before someone else sees the smoke. Grab what you can carry and someone grab the boy.”

 

Articus heard the rattle of iron chains and felt a single tear roll down his face.

[Red Sky Crafting Guild]

Origin Story - Articus

Ferrous Heavy-Hammer, the blacksmith of the King of the Isles in what is known here as  Westlande. A large burly man who’s reputation as a brute was only dwarfed by his blacksmithing skills. They say his axes could fell the mighty Titan Oaks with only one swing, his armor could sustain the strikes of a thousand men, and his swords sharp and strong enough to cut other blades in two. But alas, not even his honor could save him from the treachery of man. When King Tithis was found with a dagger placed firmly in his chest, bearing the crossed hammers, the Prince wasted no time in ordering the blacksmiths execution for the act of murder and treason. Although, Ferrous is said to have not gone without a fight. His forge heavily enclosed, the only accounts known are of at least twenty of the Prince's men being dragged out. Massive dents in plate, large cuts through steel mail, one villager  even reported a pair of wolf-jaw tongs still locked around one man’s neck.

 

The smith's Wife, Jasmine, and his son being at the market at the time were warned by the town crier to get on a boat and just go, it did not matter where but they had to leave. Jasmine rushed the boy into the woods and waited until nightfall. When the moon lit her path enough she slid her way through the undercroft in the corner of the forge, sneaking into the cellar of the house. She heard the guards walking on the floorboards above her, looting weapons and armor and even family heirlooms. "Even his house tools and dishes are better forged than my own equipment,” a voice she recognized as Sergeant Liston said “rotten bastard deserved what he got after Tithis spoiled him like this.”

"Hush yourself boy, Lest he hears you and rises from the dead to thrash you again", An older, gruff sounding officer said as he paced his way to a window, presumably to ensure that the corpse of Ferrous did in fact still lay near his anvil.

Jasmine grabbed a leather bag from the storage and as quietly as she could, though it mattered little with the noise of the looting guards, filled it with food, clothes and charms. Upon leaving the cellar, she dared peek around the corner of the house where the weapon rack was set. Seeing it looted and all the finer weapons gone, she grabbed a beaten Nordic sword that Ferrous had used to test his steel. Badly dulled and nearly broken, she knew it was the best she could do, as there was no way to get to the attic when the Vostaskus blades where stored and hidden inside the false walls.

 

Sneaking back out the way she came, she creeped back to the creek where she had left the boy. The two ate what they could manage without the warmth of a fire as they listened to the Prince's men slowly walk the well-trodden path no more than 50 feet away. At daybreak the woman snuck down to the pier, untying the boat they would often use for fishing in the summer.

"Where is Papa? Where are we going? Why did we not return to the house last night? Why have we been sneaking between houses? Are we going fishing? Where is Papa, Mum?" The teen asked, his face as fearful as it could look, although it was obvious he had the same  stoic, unconcerned look his father had carried himself all those years.

"Quiet boy. Into the boat and stop asking questions. I must go and grab somethings from the boat shack and we will be off. Do not move." Jasmine told her son, knowing that she would tell him everything soon, but now would not make anything easier.

 

As Jasmine gathered her bow and quiver from the boat shack (Ferrous was never a fan of such trivial means of weaponry and would never have allowed it be kept in the house, so she stored it here lest it be broken into kindling for the forge. She had taken her son “fishing” more than a few time and made sure he knew how to shoots the odd squirrel and rabbit with it however), she heard horses galloping on the road. She ran from the boat house, arrow already notched and drawn as she passed through the doorway, letting it loose and finding she had not lost her touch. The arrow lodged itself in the neck of the lead rider. Readying another arrow she kicked the bag and oars into the boat next to the boy. Knowing she could not stop the soldiers, But that if she could hold them long enough, the river would take the boy to open water where he may escape, she did all she could think of.

Reaching back with her foot and kicking the boat from the dock, loosing another arrow and missing wide left from being off balance, she yelled to the boy "Go! Go far from this place and never return! Follow the setting sun and stop at the first land you find. This is your home no longer Articus."

 

Articus tried to reason with his mother but to no avail. He watched as another horseman lost his life to his mother’s arrow, then the horse out from under a particularly well armored guard. Knowing that for his mother to take arms, the situation must be dire, he attached the oars and began to row for all he could. As he made it to the bend of the river he looked back for the first time, just in time to see the prince kick his mother backwards into the water off his sword. From that moment on, Articus knew where Papa was, and that he must carry the massive mans legacy on in another land, where the name Heavy-Hammer was but a soldier's campfire story.