So here it is, entitled "Ironfist".
By: Caleb
Introduction
The desert wind swirls around him, carrying with it, stinging grains of sand.
The man, swaddled in a heavy cloak, walks with a measured pace, towards a small unimportant town in the distance.
He passes a small lean-to on the side of the road, once home to a beggar, who now lay dead in his meager abode. He did not die of starvation.
On the far side of a dune, by the road four ragged men watch, as the lone traveler approaches.
Leaping up, the four men charge down the dune to assault the traveler, who draws a intricate sword from under his cloak.
The gang surrounds the traveler, and begins to circle him.
One moves too close, the traveler spins with a horrible speed, and punches him in this breast, his ribs sound off a loud report, shattering under the power of the blow and the scavenger falls to the ground, limp.
The others all converge at once, seeking to overwhelm the lone man, as he swings his sword parrying the first blows from the scavenger’s makeshift weaponry, permanently separating one thief from his fingers. He then receives a strong blow to the back of the head
…
The wind howls, a storm approaches, as the man is separated from his possessions, and almost his life.
Awake…
Like a trickle of sand though a small hole, the man’s concinceness returns to him… All but one detail…
Who am I?
Then comes reality flooding in; a room, dim, dancing with the shadows thrown by a lone candle on a table beside him, the sound the wind singing its loud dirge outside.
Outside where?
A stirring in the room, a man steps forth from the darkness, short but sturdy, with hair on his arms as thick as a wool blanket, he stares with a mixture of surprise and concern.
“Mister? He’s awake! Caradine, come swiftly he is awake!” He bellows.
The wood of a door groans its complaint as a woman in a simple blue dress enters the room. The traveler’s head spins as his tries to sit up, Caradine however is quick to push him back down.
“Sit ye still mister, you‘ll be alright.”
“But…” The man protested.
“Don’t worry your safe.” she says with a calm voice.
The world blurs, the mysterious man’s mind dulls, and sleep brings him into it’s fold.
* * *
Bright light now shines through a window, as the man awakes again, wincing at the intensity of the light, that seems to pierce right through is skull. He slid across the bed, and let his feet fall to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed. His head throbbed with intense pain as he sat up, giving him a sense of vertigo. He sat still till he felt better, and stood up, he wavered bat managed to keep upright.
He stumbled across the room to the window, outside was a small town, several clay brick houses, and shops where before him, wooden roof beams sticking out of the walls, like spokes on a wheel.
Farther away he saw the steeple of a church, matching the dull orange color of the other buildings it stood dark and solemn at the edge of town, it looked as if it had not been disturbed by anyone in quite some time.
The door to the room creaked open as the man from last night walked in holding a bowl and a plain wooden cup.
“Why are you up? You should be resting, after what all you’ve been through.”
“I wanted to look out the window” he replied quietly
“Very well, but sit down at least before my Caradine comes up and sees you.”
He eased himself onto the edge of the bed, and while the man handed him the bowl.
Bean soup
“Who are you?” The traveler asked as he blew on his soup.
“Who me? I’m the Smith here, they call me Geardin.”
“And where is here?” He asked.
The smith shook his head. “That blow to your ‘ead has done more damage then I thought, do you remember anything?
“I don’t know…” The traveler felt numb as he spoke “I don’t think so… at least very little I remember small things, distant memories but I see it all as if through the bottom of a beer glass, blurred and distorted. I don’t know who I am, what I am, where I am, where I’ve been, nor where I’m supposed to be going.”
Geardin paused, digesting what he had heard.
“Well in that case, I’ll tell you what I can. You are in the town of Carlvaan in the Dhzaric Desert. I know not who you are, but if what you wore and the sword you carried where anything to go by, I’d say either someone of importance, or perhaps once a officer in some military.
“A Sword?” The Traveler queried.
“Aye, fine one too, it was guided with a deep red along the blades edges. I would have saved it if I could, but those Thieves who attacked you took off with it b’fore I could.” Geardin Explained.
“Thieves attacked me? And they won? Something makes me think I wasn’t ever in a military.
“Ah, but they did have surprise on their side, besides you fought well, one of them lost his grimy little fingers, while another…” The smith hesitated.
“What? What about the other?”
“You eh… punched him… He died instantly…”
“What!?!” The traveler exclaimed unbelieving.
“I don’t know how you did it, you’re as fit a man as the next, but to just punch a man and him die… ye don’t have that much muscle on you. When I examined the man after I reached you, his chest was caved it, you broke all of his ribs, with one blow! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Geardin paused searching his ward’s face for a reaction.
The traveler sat there, his soup forgotten as he tried to wrap his mind around the tale.
Then he asked; “What direction was I going?”
“North, out of the desert, a lot of people pass through here on their way through the desert, now however all traffic coming from the north has stopped, no one knows why, everyone has their own theory though.” The smith looked worried just speaking of such news.
“I’ll leave tomorrow then.”
“What?” the smith said “but … you can’t! Your head is liable to fall right off your shoulders, if you don’t let it heal.”
“I doubt that, besides I feel a lot better” The man stretched, as he spoke, rolling his sore shoulders
“Nonsense, a wound like yours will take weeks to heal properly”
Ignoring Geardin, he got up, and strode to the window again.
“I must prepare to head out”
Just then Geardin’s wife, Caradine entered, she scowled seeing the traveler out of his bed.
“And just what do you think you’re doing out of bed?”
“It’s not my fault, I can’t get him to keep still” said the smith to his wife.
“Well? Why are you up, you should be resting, not standing about, like some tom fool.” She said turning addressing the man at the window.
“I’m better.” He mumbled
“I’ll be the judge of that thank you.” She asserted “now sit down, time to change your bandages.”
He sullenly returned to the bed, as she sat beside him, and began to unwrap his bandages. The bandages where nearly removed when Caradine’s hands stopped cold.
“What is this? And who are you, that you can do such things? This is not possible!” Her voice was frantic, as she backed away from him.
The traveler sat up, and Geardin gasped. Wondering what it was that caused their surprised and even fear, he searched the room for something reflective, spotting a small brass mirror on a table. Picking it up, he gazed at his reflection, angling the mirror so as to better see his head. It was fine, without a mark or scratch, and his hair grew evenly across his scalp.
Turning to his hosts he asked “what’s wrong? I look fine.”
“That’s exactly it! The backside of your head had a huge gash all across it! We shaved your head so we could clean the wound, and now, its not even there!” She quaked as she spoke, but seemed to have regained some of her composure.
“I assure you I’m just as confused, I didn’t do this.” He spoke softly trying to reassure them.
“I don’t know who you are, but I want you out of my house, I’ll have nothing to do with dammed. Get him out Geardin, immediately.”
“Yes dear.” Geardin said, softly.
Gesturing at the door, he led the traveler downstairs, and stood at the door with him.
“I’m sorry about Caradine, her parents really put the fear ‘o god in her, when it comes to people like… you she offers no compromise. I’m sure you know that special people where hunted, exiled, executed, and tortured wherever they where found, in those days, anyone that wasn’t normal, was deemed a demon and killed. It is a belief far overdue to be swept under the rug, but like most cases of discrimination, it takes far too long for people to give up folly, and accept that they are wrong.” Geardin said apologizing for his wife’s behavior. Sorry for the trouble he had caused, the traveler said;
“No need to apologize, I’ve caught between a rock and a hard place, I didn’t mean cause any trouble.”
“Well I can’t send you from my home in the state your in,” Pointing down the road, at a ally, geardin bade him to wait there, and he would come out to see him after he had calmed his wife.
Nearly ten minutes later, the smith appeared, with a pack in his arms.
“’Ere take this, should be enough to get you on your way, it wasn’t right of my wife to send you away without food, or a skein of water, or anything. Had some trouble getting out with it all, but she won’t notice.”
The pack contained some food, typical traveling fare, bread, some cheese, rice cakes, among other things, it also had 2 skeins for holding water or other beverages, some flint and tender for making a fire and a small pot.
“Thank you, for your kindness, Geardin, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Oh but that’s not all.” The smith said with a sly wink.
He went around the corner, and returned a moment later with a medium sized walking stick, and handed it to the traveler. It was made of sturdy oak, polished with use, it’s tip, had a pointed brass cap, for climbing the shifting dunes, and slippery terrain, at it’s top, the wood had been shaped into a knob which had engravings upon it.
“Can’t travel without a good stick, or so said my grandfather. Your journey, where ever it goes will be a long one, I sense, and you’ll need a trusty stick.” Then he paused. “And... this too, I believe.” He said producing a large dagger.
“I found this on you, after I ran off the remaining thieves, it’s of fine craftsmanship, and rightfully belongs to you.”
The man took the dagger, holding it gently, as if he was afraid it would break… It was a piece of his past, so precious. He examined the dagger closely, it was long, the blade about 9 inches long, there was a small vertical loop under the guard, where the wielder could slip in his forefinger, for a stronger grip, at the base of the blade was a small emblem, of a hand, with it’s five finger’s splayed out, on the opposite side of the blade, was a similar emblem, the same hand, however it was missing three fingers.
Geardin stood waiting for a response.
“I thank you Geardin, for your help, and your honesty, in returning this piece of my life, a part to the puzzle.”
With that, he shouldered his pack, and began to walk out of the ally way.
“Wait!” The smith called.
“You can’t run about willy nilly, you don’t even have a name, what shall you do?”
The answer was long in coming but after a moments reflection the traveler said:
“I shall go north, as I was before, where I after that, I know not. As for a name for myself…”
He paused as a vision of the night before flashed unbidden to his mind, and he saw it, the blow that killed a man, he could see it with his eyes, feel it in his hands, and hear the resounding cracks in his ears, and as it appeared, so did it leave, suddenly, it was gone.
“… I shall call myself Ironfist!”
With that, he turned and walked away leaving the confused smith in the ally behind him.
