Once upon a time, in a land who’s name has long been forgotten, there was once a day where it was raining.
The rain fell in torrents, turning the dusty road into a thick and soupy mud. Dreven Willfreeze stared out at the road from under his makeshift shelter, then down at his dying and sputtering fire. Grunting in frustaration, he threw a log on it to try and keep it going, but this did little to help. You see, Dreven was not a typical man, nor was he someone very important. In fact, if not for the events of this story, little would be know or remembered of him in that country. Dreven was a street corner hobo, to put it bluntly. He had a short, rather stocky build, a short beard, coarse, greying brown hair, and was reaching the age of thirty-two. He didn’t beg, but rather, he hunted what he could, and foraged for whatever else in the nearby woods. People didn’t dislike him exactly, it was more like they simply didn’t recognize his existance. He was fine with this, living a quiet life. After falling on hard times do to the burning of his cabin, he hadn’t done much more than drink and wander around. Today, however, he was penniless, and sat under a shelter, which was more akin to a leaky pile of logs, looking at the silver sword that was his one posession. It had been given to him by his father, and was all that was left of him. His father never told him where he got it, just that it was a sovenier on one of his travells. The sword had a golden hilt, and the pommel was set with a strange, yet simple runic symbol. Despite it probably having much value, Dreven could never quite bring himself to part ways with it, as it seemed like a disgrace to his father. It was then, as Drevon was looking at his sword, that a pair of muddy, but fancy, black leather boots appeared before his sitting frame. He looked up, and his grey, middle aged eyes met with the vigorous ones of a man. He had long, golden hair, and a clean-shaven face. His armor was made of silver, with leather harnesses, and there was an assortment of gold and brass medals that adorned the coller of his armour. On his back, was a dark blue cape with a hood, which was currently over his head, and a long, two-handed sword, which was also made of silver. It too had a golden hilt, but that was adroned with a patch of green and red gemstomes. The pommel was the golden head of an eagle, who’s eyes were small, blue saphires.
“Excuse me,” The man said in a voice that breathed the cleanliness and nobility that his form suggested. “Where did you aquire that sword?” Drevon looked up at him and shrugged. “It was a gift from my father, why do you ask?” Drevon said in his quiet, gruff voice. “I happen to know for a fact, that the sword you are holding is very important. So important in fact, that the one who wields it, is tasked with the fullfillment of a prophecy,” The man explained as rain dripped off of his blue hood. “Prophecy, what sort of prophecy?” Drevon asked, clearly not amused. “The kind that not only involves a large reward, but the saving of this world,” The man said with a hint of mistique. “And what does that got to do with my sword?!” Drevon demanded, standing up. His patience with the man was waning. “You my friend, are tasked with the closing of an imminent threat. In the west, in the snowy wastes of The Blood Lands, stands a stone gate. It is rather uninteresting to see, but long ago, great evil spilled from the pits of hell and out of its mouth. The sword you hold there, is the key to stopping it. For you see, a great sorcerer has traveled there, and has discovered the secret to opening the gate. You must stop him,” The man said, in the same calm voice he had carried through the entire conversation. Dreven looked into the man’s eyes for a moment. “No,” He said suddenly, and began to walk away. “What? What do you mean no?” the man said, starting after him. This was the first time that Dreven had detected any hint of fear in the man’s voice. “If you want this so-called prophecy fullfilled, then you’ll have to find someone else!” He said. “As for me, I’m gonna go find some coin and get a drink!” “But sir, you must understand. You are the oonly one who can wield that sword for its purpose. You, a mortal man, whom the sword has been given to. I cannot do it, even if you gifted it to me, for I am not a mortal. It has to be you,” The man said, his once calm voice now sounding worried and distressed. Drevon looked back with a sigh. He thought about the man’s tale, about reward and danger and the saving of the world. In an instant it flashed across his mind. With a sigh, he walked back to the man. “Listen, if I’m going to do this, I want two things,” He said. “And what might they be?” The man said. Drevon stared into his eyes. “I want you to come with me, and I want to know who you are,” he said. “Very well then, my name is Jason, and the pleasure is mine to help you fulfill your quest. The saving of the world is no small thing after all,” the man said, flashing a smile of pearl-white teeth. “Fine then, and you promise I’ll get something out of this?” Drevon asked, sheathing the sword and strapping it’s sword belt around his waist. “Of course sir, of course. It is not a quest without a reward,” Jason said, still grinning. Drevon sighed. “Alright, let’s go then,” he said. He began walking down the muddy road, throwing a brown, weather stain cloak and pack on as he did. “Go, now? In this weather?” Jason asked, looking up at the rainy sky. “Hey, it’s your quest, and there’s never any better time than the present, so let us be off,” Drevon said, not loooking back. Jason sighed, drew his cape up around himself, and began walking after the disgruntled hobo, who held a prophetic artifact. The two men journeyed out of town and up to the top of a green hill. They gazed down at the land below, far off into the distance, as the rain quelled and the sun came out to see them. Drevon descended the hill with a sigh, and Jason followed. Thier quest had begun.
Fairy Tales
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