The Blade Dance

Act 1 - Eran the lonewolf

Eran gently rubbed his weary eyes, stirring from a fleeting respite within the tattered horse-drawn carriage. The aged driver, a weathered soul at the reins, roused him with the announcement that they had reached their journey's end. As Eran gazed around, he beheld the crossroads unfolding before him.

"Awaken, young man!" the old driver's voice rang out, his gnarled hands tending to the horse's bridle with seasoned care. The vehicle, a relic of its former self, bore little resemblance to a proper horse-drawn carriage. Eran shook off the remnants of sleep, his senses sharpening enough to discern the crossroads that lay ahead.

"Step down; this is as far as I can take you," the old man declared.

Eran disembarked from the timeworn carriage, savoring the crisp morning air. His body felt stiff from the cramped quarters, but his consciousness had fully returned. As he surveyed his surroundings, he realized he stood at a tranquil crossroads. In the distance, a breathtaking rural panorama unfurled, with lush hills bathed in the warm embrace of the morning sun.

"We've arrived at our destination, haven't we?" Eran inquired of the train driver.

The driver, with a solemn nod, affirmed, "Indeed, this is the place you requested to halt. No other paths from here."

In a gesture of gratitude, Eran retrieved a handful of coins from his pocket, preparing to compensate the driver for his services. Despite the train's aged and timeworn appearance, Eran harbored a deep appreciation for its role in safely conveying him to his journey's end.

However, the driver declined Eran's offering, stating firmly, "Keep it. I'm pressed for time. Consider yourself fortunate."

Without lingering, the antiquated horse-drawn carriage resumed its solitary journey, leaving Eran to step onto the rain-soaked ground. His gaze discerned a village not far off. Pulling the hood of his black cloak over his head, it rested lightly on his shoulders, accompanied only by a small bag affixed to his waist.

Opting for the road's periphery to evade puddles and muddied terrain, Eran moved forward.

The inclement weather worsened, casting a shroud of darkness upon the night, a prospect he disdained. Upon entering the village, he encountered an ancient, moss-covered sign bearing the inscription Alku. It was a bustling hamlet renowned across distant lands, a coveted hub for mercenaries in pursuit of purpose, adventure, and fortune.

The village exuded an aura of bustling indifference, its denizens seemingly impervious to the relentless rain. Alku Village, perched at the very edge of the Eroth Empire, thrived as the nexus of migration and commerce, a vital conduit for both weary travelers and ambitious merchants.

As Eran delved deeper into the heart of the village, he was met with the crescendo of merchants' fervent pitches and the intoxicating symphony of fragrances wafting through the air—a sensory onslaught.

Upon every wall, Eran observed the unmistakable presence of yellow flags, each adorned with two coins. They bore testament to Alku's subjugation under the dominion of the Berillan Kingdom, a realm presided over by the Heirs of Golden, the formidable Hunter Clan. These heirs, responsible for churning out elite hunters and archers, also held the distinction of being the Empire's foremost financial patrons, securing their position as the wealthiest heirs on the vast expanse of the Anthares continent.

Eran, seeking momentary respite from the burdens he carried, meandered through the vibrant streets of Alku Village, eventually arriving at a modest tavern nestled amidst the bustling thoroughfare. There, the air hung heavy with the tantalizing aroma of culinary delights, punctuated by the joyous laughter of patrons.

Before he could fully register his surroundings, Eran found himself standing before a timeworn, slightly shabby structure. Etched upon its door were the engraved words "Freya Tavern," and with a sense of anticipation, he crossed the threshold into the unknown.

Seated at a secluded corner table, Eran yearned for the simple indulgence of a glass of ale and a slice of apple pie, their familiar comfort beckoning to him. Within the cozy confines of the tavern, he sought refuge from the ever-encroaching shadows that weighed upon his soul—or, at least, that was his fervent desire.

Yet, the stark contrast between his desires and reality became apparent as the cacophonous and bustling atmosphere within the tavern unfolded. He surveyed his surroundings with a disdainful exhale, resenting the throngs of revelers that engulfed him. In due course, a weathered waiter approached.

"What shall it be for you, hooded lad?" asked the elderly waiter, her tone tinged with thinly veiled disdain.

"I'll have a plate of pie and a glass of ale," Eran replied.

The waiter departed, leaving Eran to observe the lively patrons, his disposition disinclined to embrace the jovial conversations and mirth that reverberated throughout the tavern. In his solitude, he found solace, his thoughts reluctant to engage with the strangers that surrounded him.

However, amid the revelry, a Bard graced the scene, perched upon a table, plucking a lute and singing with boundless joy. A captivated audience encircled him, ensnared by the spell of his performance. The melodious strains of his music resonated throughout the tavern, weaving tales of courage and lost love with a voice that evoked profound emotions, holding the patrons in rapt fascination.

"Pie and ale," the elderly waiter announced as she placed them before Eran, then departed after receiving payment. Eran chose to begin with a sip of ale, finding its warmth a perfect foil to the inclement weather outside. There was a sublime delight in indulging in pie following a sip of ale.

The soft, sweet embrace of the apple's flavor seamlessly melded with the crisp, savory pie crust, orchestrating a symphony of tastes upon his palate. He savored the dish, a profound sense of contentment settling over him, as if the day's tribulations had been whisked away by the alchemy of the moment.

As the establishment swelled with more patrons, Eran found solace in the corner table, a bastion of tranquility amid the lively tumult of the tavern.

As the final notes of the Bard's melody lingered in the air, he purposefully navigated the crowded tavern, his gaze set squarely on Eran's table. Eran's steely eyes met the Bard's warm, inviting smile—a collision of contrasting personalities in that fleeting moment.

"Rumor has it that the alle in this village is unrivaled," the Bard began, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. "Crafted from fermented ripe berries with just a touch of salt, it possesses a formidable alcoholic potency, yet it dances gracefully upon the palate."

Eran's attention was drawn to the voice before him, revealing the Bard who had earlier held the tavern enthralled. Now, he shared Eran's table. Eran, however, chose silence, fully engrossed in savoring his pie. The Bard's usual banter might captivate the ordinary, but Eran remained an unyielding fortress, impervious to the Bard's attempts at conversation. Undeterred, the Bard persisted.

"I am Halbarad," he declared, his tone unwavering. "I couldn't help but notice this is your first visit here, Mister Mysterious Hooded. Might I inquire about your journey's destination?"

Eran cut him off abruptly, his voice firm. "I have little patience for fairy tales and idle chatter."

"Very well," Halbarad responded, unfazed. "Yet, your enigmatic presence stirs my curiosity. Pray, where might your path lead, as even a child might discern from your guise?"

"Well, I had foreseen it," Eran mused, his tone tinged with a hint of resignation. "News travels faster than one can anticipate. It seems even the Band of the Sun arrived in this village three days prior," he added, his surprise palpable at Halbarad's revelation.

"Ah, that would explain their swift presence," Eran responded, attempting to regain his composure.

The Band of the Sun, renowned as the pinnacle of mercenary prowess, executed their missions with a precision that left no room for doubt in their capabilities.

Halbarad took a sip of his alle before continuing the conversation. "So, where do your companions reside?"

Eran paused briefly, contemplating his response. "I walk this path alone, without allegiance," he declared. "Solitude is not a burden but a sanctuary. I find comfort in silence, in the quiet companionship of my own thoughts. I do not require a multitude of voices to feel at ease."

Halbarad, ever the Bard, probed further. "Is there no allure in a fellow traveler's company?"

Eran's response was unwavering. "The journey to find true friendship is a quest few embark upon. I'm disinclined to engage with strangers whose presence in my life is fleeting."

A knowing smile graced Halbarad's features. "A lone wolf, a fitting embodiment of your demeanor," he remarked, his smile warm and stylish.

Every moment spent in conversation with Eran felt like stagnant echoes of meaningless words. It became increasingly evident that Halbarad had deliberately sought out the solitary warrior, sensing some enigmatic quality that had piqued his curiosity.

Halbarad, in a bid to steer their discourse toward a more suitable topic, extended an apology. "Forgive me if my inquiries were overly intrusive. What of your adventures thus far? Are there tales of intrigue you might be inclined to share?"

With a single raised eyebrow, Eran conveyed his reluctance to delve into his experiences. "Adventures are the threads of my existence. I have roamed far and wide, encountered a tapestry of souls, yet I harbor no inclination to boast or recount."

"You speak the truth; adventures are deeply personal journeys," Halbarad acknowledged with a nod, his gaze searching for a new conversational avenue.

Turning his attention back to Eran's plate and glass, Halbarad inquired once more, "What draws you to this humble pie and ale?"

Eran's eyes narrowed, and he replied with an air of contemplation, "Pie and ale represent life's simplest joys. They evoke delight and summon cherished memories with each bite and sip."

"What a sagacious response! It might find its way into my latest verses. Would you care to be the first to hear them?" Halbarad offered with an eager enthusiasm.

Eran's patience with the Bard began to fray.

"Well then, Halbarad the Bard, I sense my departure looms near. I extend my gratitude for our brief exchange. I trust our paths shall not intersect again," Eran declared as he gracefully rose from his chair.

Halbarad, however, persisted with a question that hung heavy in the air, "How did you survive the massacre?" In response, Eran's piercing gaze remained locked onto the Bard's face, revealing a silent intrigue and an unspoken story that begged to be unveiled.

***