THE WANDERING SORCERER
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The Spooky Forest. It wasn't all that bad like many of the locals on Mt. Hakobe said it'd be. Maybe it was the uprooted trees and eerie howls of the wind that frightened these people, but not Fane. It did not frighten him, but he never felt at ease, either.
When Fane took a step, the dead leaves underneath the soles of his feet took one with him, a notable crunching noise ripping apart the silence. The tips of his ears and nose were blushed in red as a winter wind nipped his face. But this was only to be expected since he was just coming down from Mt. Hakobe and had been wandering these woods for a few hours since. The only object that shielded him from the wintery elements was a thin and dirty shawl he was wearing when coming down the mountain. It was enough to sustain him, but his body never could seem to reach a comfortable temperature.
The blonde-haired wanderer meandered through the Spooky Forest with deep thought burdening his mind. He looked troubled, glaring down at his feet as he walked with his hand stuffed in his pockets. Ever since he came down from the mountain, memories from years passing seemed to have slowly become... elucidated. Not in full, of course. But the fragments he had been holding onto seem to be somewhat clearer, while still only being fragments.
His name was Fane Howler and he heiled from The Pergrande Kingdom. Not only that, he came from a line of men and women whose whole family lived to serve His Lord and his descedents. There was nothing else significant about him, after all. But because of his servitude, he acquired unordinary skills to best serve his Lord. Sewing, cooking, brewing, navigation, massaging, swordsmanship, and other abilities pertaining to his status. Fane had also always had an affinity for butchering things because of his Lord's taste for fresh meat—it was only natural that he learned so.
Despite the litany of skills he had acquired, he could not, for heaven's sake, recall his Lord's name! Every time he tried, a sudden pain overwhelmed him and surrounded his skull. He couldn't even remember what he looked like. But, alas, this only encouraged him to find out just what became of this man which he, apparently, held so dear to him.
There were other mysteries, too. Just why and how did he end up in Fiore and even more specifically, Mt. Hakobe, if he recalled correctly? He imagined that he would have to cross Bosco and Iceburg just to see the borders of his homeland, and while he fully intended to do so, felt bewildered all the more. But this all seemed trivial in comparison to his biggest question—was he dead?
He was dead, wasn't he? He was sure of that. In his final moments, defending his Lord's land, all he recalled was the rain piercing his face, and then a overwhelming calm consuming him. That was death, wasn't it? Was it not? But it was, wasn't it?
Fane heard himself bicker between the two realities for what seemed like forever, only confusing himself even more. Everything felt real, and he showed all signs of being alive. There wasn't a single mark on his body that could've suggested otherwise. And yet. . .
Before he could finish the thought, something small and weak tugged on his shawl, and Fane stopped dead in his tracks with a layer of cold sweat caking his complexion. His blue eyes fell down to a much smaller figure—a young boy with snot covering his upper lit and tears brimming in his black eyes.
"Can you help me, sir. . .? Please, I'm lost. . ." the boy said with a trembling, indignant voice.
"Pardon?" Fane replied, confused.
WHATEVER AM I TO DO WITHOUT MY MASTER?
Last edited by Fane Howler on 24th July 2019, 4:20 pm; edited 2 times in total