A trouble filled youth finds himself embarking on a journey after pulling one too many stunts. (Based on medieval things and fantasy characteristics)
“Hey Fin, you’re wanted in the mess hall! Captain Thort looked real mad,” Fin looked around to face the boy that had spoken. Compared to Fin he was a little shorter and much more frail. His blond hair bounced around his energetic face as he waited for a response.
“Yeah ok, tell him I’ll be there soon” Fin replied as he sheathed his blade. The small boy hurried off back down the hill towards the barracks, his hair bouncing as he trotted down the slope. Fin looked one last time at the sea of grass and the ever-descending sun then turned and made his way down the hill.
Fin pushed open the massive doors to the mess hall. Inside it was a huge hall with outrageously long tables on either side with chairs neatly placed side-by-side surrounding the outsides of the two tables. In the middle of the hall was a very angry looking man. Fin sighed and walked onward.
“Do you know what you have done boy!” Boomed the man, “I’ll have you know that if your father weren’t the head general and in such good terms with our king I would have your head!” Fin stood listening to the captain yell as he tried to hold back his laughter. He had pulled a quiet dangerous prank on one of the serving girls at breakfast. She had tripped on a slimy substance that Fin had gotten from the storage cupboards, and let out a high pitched yelp as she fell to the hard stone floor. She went bright red and stormed off, completely embarrassed at what had just happened. Fin bit the inside of his cheek to keep an expressionless face in front of the captain, unless he preferred getting him more angry then he currently was and being assigned cleaning duty for the rest of his life.
“So do you understand the punishments for your actions?” growled the captain. Fin was so busy remembering his prank that he had completely tuned out the captain and was completely lost as to what was being yelled at him. Fin solemnly shook his head. “Good then make sure you have a couple knives on you, we will be heading out tomorrow morning at first light.” Captain Thort then turned around and walked off. “What do I need knives for?” Fin thought out loud. “I guess I’ll just have to find out tomorrow morning.”
Fin closed the door of the barracks as the crisp evening wind met his face. It was nearing nightfall and was already starting to get dark. He thought it best to purchase a couple new knives at the blacksmith before everything closed down. He walked down the dirt path, watching the women ushering their children to get inside before night struck. He looked up and saw an old sign with an anvil and a hammer on it, and the words “Blacksmith” written on the bottom. The sign was wooden like his sword but a light brown colour and it was very worn out. It had a lot of scratches and scars on it from the harsh winds and the pranksters that would throw rocks at the signs in town. As he opened the door there was a chime of a bell that was located above the doorframe inside the cozy building.
“Oh, hello Fin. What can I do for you this late evening?” asked a man, looking to be in his thirties or so. He was bald, and had a black goatee. His face was very round and plump as was the rest of his body. He was a short man and almost could be mistaken for a dwarf.
“Yes, I’m in need of some new knives, and I’ll need them for tomorrow morning,” Fin replied. He took a look around the cozy building. It had two windows on either side of the door. There were weapons of all shapes and sizes resting on the walls; there were swords, maces, flails, daggers, mauls, everything you could think of. It had always amazed Fin at how one small person could make so many magnificent weapons and in such a short time.
“Ah no problem, I already have some made, and could make a couple more if you needed. How many was it that you needed?” Asked the blacksmith, as he stroked the hairs on his finely trimmed goatee.
Fin quickly checked his belt, which had all his knives, buckled in and then answered, “Three would be good.” He then checked his belt again just to be sure. Yes, he only had three spare slots to put in new knives. He watched the blacksmith nod and hurry off into another room that was much darker for lack of windows and seemed to be filled to the brim with all kinds of deadly sharp weapons.
The small blacksmith came waddling back from the room carrying three beautifully crafted daggers in one hand, and as he neared Fin outstretched the other waiting for his payment. Fin dug into his left pocket and pulled out a small brown bag full of coin.
“Will this do?” He asked as he handed the blacksmith a couple coins from his bag. The blacksmith counted the coins Fin had given him then looked back up and nodded. He handed over the daggers and went back to his anvil with a hammer already in hand.
As Fin walked back out into the street, it was already fairly dark; he had to look hard to see objects in the distance. “I should get home while there’s still some light out” He mumbled to himself in the stillness of the night air. He could see his breath in the cold air as he made his way back home down the road. It was nearing the winter months and there had been recent sightings of frost in the early mornings. One thing that was unnerving the villagers was that there were also sightings of tracks of some unknown creatures everywhere around the village. Everyone had agreed to make sure that no one was out after dark. Fin looked around; he wasn’t that far from his home now, but there was no one outside at all. Everything was quiet; almost too quiet. He knew that everything quieted down at night but there wasn’t even a single animal or bird making sounds whatsoever. He strained his ears for any noise, any movement, anything at all. Nothing. Officially spooked, he quickened his pace and made it home.
He walked into his nice warm house a tad too late it seemed. His father Uther was sitting in a chair near the door looking at him with cold eyes.
“Why were you late getting home?” He growled, obviously angry. “You know that there have been weird things happening at night, and yet you still choose to dillydally and come home much past your curfew.” Uther got up and put his hands on Fins shoulders. “I’m just concerned that you might get hurt, and that’s the last thing I’d want to happen. You’ve scared both your mother and myself for the past hour.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I had to go to the blacksmith for some things. Captain Thort got mad at me and told me to get some for tomorrow morning.” Fin explained, “I don’t know what they’re for though.” He added.
Uthers face changed from concerned to disappointed. “I heard what you did to Shara down the street, it wasn’t very nice and you could have seriously hurt her. I’m disappointed that you pulled something so foolish.” Fin turned his gaze toward the floor; he went slightly red. He looked back up into his fathers face.
“It was just a harmless prank though,” he insisted.
“Prank or not, it was immature and has caused this family embarrassment. Now promise me that you will not try another thing like this again,” He said sternly. “And also promise to go and say sorry to Shara tomorrow,” he added.
“I give you my word, I will apologize to Shara the first chance I get next time I see her,” he replied, keeping a straight stern face while he said it.
“Good, now go up to your room. You need to prepare for tomorrow and then you can rest, now be off.”
Fin nodded and made his way up the creaky stairs to the second floor. He turned and made his way down the hall to the last room on the right. Trinkets lie in a shelf he had made a year ago on the far wall. To the right was his bed, and to the left was a large chest that he kept his valuables in. He walked toward his bed, sat down and pulled out the knives he had just bought, as well as his wooden blade. He got up and dragged the chest closer to his bed. He opened it up and rummaged through it and soon found what he was looking for. He pulled out two bottles of strange liquid; one was the strange liquid he used to prank Shara with and the other was a poison that he could easily apply to his blades. He put the two bottles next too the rest of his equipment and untied a small bag from his belt. It was a fine powder-like substance. Mixed with the poison, he knew that it could eat through human flesh. He chuckled to himself as he remembered when he had found out it could eat through skin; he had added them both together and, had then, out of curiosity touched it with his finger when he was a small child. He remembered running home to his mother cradling his blistered finger crying.
“Well that seems to be everything,” he said as he looked at the small pile of items he had put together. Glad that he was done, he closed the chest, pushed it back to where it usually was and stashed his group of items on an empty shelf by his bedside. He then looked at the light of the moon, still full of thoughts from the day, as he slowly let sleep consume him.