Alternate Beginnings

So this was it, the fabled Crimson Mire with its red moss that brought him back to the early days of his crusades and bloody battles. That color brought a few memories to the surface—memories that he wished to bury beneath the muck that sloshed beneath his horse’s hooves. Ewan’s eyes, pale blue with an ever present spark of determination, wandered over the brush as the animal came to a halt and stomped its hoof in protest. His scarred brow cocked and he let out a low chuckle. It was a heavy sound; borderline half-hearted with a hint of minor annoyance. “Fine, Arion. You’ll run through a volley of burning arrows if I will it, but gods forbid we walk through foliage.”

The man eased down from his saddle with minimal noise. He rubbed the creature’s neck fondly and then took the reins in his hand, taking his first few steps through the moss and brush. His horse followed, however reluctant. They had been through many a battle together; the paladin would be amused if the warhorse succumbed to the ‘terrors’ of the mire instead of a wound inflicted at the hands of a warrior.

As the duo reached a slight opening in the brush Ewan halted, the glow of the torch catching his full attention. He sucked in a sharp breath and used his free hand to dust the front of his fur lined coat. When traveling on the crown’s order it was rather unusual to see him out of his armor—but this task was anything but ordinary. Disguised as a traveling sell sword, the King’s Guard was to locate a pair of fugitives, confirm their identities, and then return them to the capitol. His orders were to bring them in alive and he had every intention of doing so.

That being said, this was hard on the aging knight. Children were a sore spot for him and his master knew that. Maybe the man had hoped this job would free Ewan of his guilt. Help the crown, save a child from her wicked traitor of a father and his black magic. The man shrugged his broad shoulders, the heavy great sword and shield on his back weighing him down just a bit more than usual.

Something wasn’t right here; his god was trying to warn him, surely—but with Ewan’s loss of his daughter he had long since began to drift from his righteous path. He would deny it until the grave but there was a detachment. No righteous and just god would take away his only child and leave him so raw and uncertain of the future; without guidance. He swallowed his thoughts as quickly as they had arisen; they were no good for him, not here and certainly not now. He had a job to do.

The knight continued to lead his horse until he was within the farthest reaches of the torch’s light. It barely kissed his massive frame. The warm glow reflected off of his metal adornments and with an easy tilt of his head and brush of his hand he revealed the hilt of the second sword beneath his cloak. Pale eyes soaked in his surroundings once more, careful not to miss a thing. His hair, a light brown with blond ends, was beginning to gray in some areas. He was scruffy now and his face was scarred. It was quite obvious he had seen things—things no man should.

“Have you no fear of bandits?” he spoke loudly, voice thick with an accent brought over from the mainland where he’d grown up. Whoever’s torch this was—they’d certainly picked one bad place to make camp. While the probability of it belonging to who he was hunting was slim, there was no harm in checking. Maybe they’d seen something at the very least.

As you come closer, it becomes apparent that the torch is standing next to a gnarled tree branch sticking straight from the ground, acting as a signpost. Across from the post stands a hooded figure, mumbling to himself in the clearing while peering in either direction of the sign.

His eyes catch your frame as you break the silence of the night. The man corrects his posture, clears his throat, and replies with a voice only a bit younger than your own...

"The Mire has a lot worse than Bandits, didn't you know?" he remarked with almost a sigh, but clearly not from relief. The bottom of his charcoal colored cloak was covered in mud and bits of moss. It was evident that this man had been traveling for some time.

Coming closer into the light, you can see silver embellishments along the stranger's hood glistening against the light of the flame; his cloak is cinched with a silver cord. At first glance, it appears he doesn't have any weapons. He had more of the air of a priest, than a fighter, which would make sense given the rumors of the more....pious folk being found in the Crimson Mire. Perhaps he is a man from the nearby hold or a man of the lord?

"The Mire isn't a place for the weak. Most of it is still unexplored... by us, atleast", his voice trailed off a bit as he scratched the side of his bearded scruff, the ends of the hairs frayed from exposure to the elements. Just underneath the hood, you can feel two green eyes scanning you, trying to uncover your own origin.

"The Mire has it's way of playing tricks on the mind, a bandit would be too foolish to survive for long. I'm surprised the Mire let you get this far... May I ask, what are you doing here?"

“I suppose I wouldn’t know.. I’m not exactly from around here.” He mused, eyes landing on the man and following his every movement like a hawk. He examined him in a way that hopefully wouldn’t be too noticeable; Ewan didn’t want to miss a single detail. Judging by the state of the stranger’s clothing it was obvious that he had been in the mire for a while, which meant that there was a chance he’d seen the pair that the King’s Guard was hunting.

However, Ewan wasn’t going to jump straight into questioning him. No, that would be a rookie mistake and he was far past those at this point. He tilted his head and chuckled softly. He didn’t take the insult to heart—it amused him and even left him feeling a little defiant. From time to time, despite how he’d changed over the years, aspects of his younger self tended to surface. He had spunk and he could get cocky; as always, those feelings showed in his pale blue eyes. His eyes were the only thing that would always betray his innermost secrets.

“You must be very wise to have made it this far, yourself.” He murmured, rubbing his chin. “That or very determined.” Ewan shifted his weight and his horse impatiently stomped his hoof. “I’m heading for the nearest hold. My guild received word of some contract work and it would seem I am the most expendable.” It was a solid lie; despite being a godly man lies were all part of the job. “What about you?”