Vagabond's Blessing - Prototype

Hello again, old friend. It is always so pleasant to see you here - even more so in such dire times. If I am not mistaken, you’re reading this well after my vanishing. Fear not, it will all make sense in due time. Ah, I can’t express in words how excited I am to take you on this journey with me, just like old times. However… I do feel obligated to warn you before you continue.
This is not just a story. No, it is not. This, friend of mine, is a battle - a duel, if you will. A duel between reader and author, audience and performer. I will guide you through this adventure, but not by holding your hand. No, of course not. You shall be guided by the tip of my blade. It is nothing personal, obviously. Even then, seeing you by the end of this adventure is not something I expect. As with any proper duel, one must fall, and the other must rise. I do wish you the best of luck, of course. After all, it’s not every day that you get to spend time with those you truly hold close to your heart. People whose virtue helped shape your own.
Regardless, I will not dwell on such feelings through the following pages. I’ve found that a duel is no place for a heart, if not for it to be pierced. Furthermore, I am also fighting time as it chases as swiftly as the most agile snail. I must not let it win for it is such a boring opponent, nothing like you. Trust me when I say that I have not come this far to die of hollow bones.
This tale, as much as it pains me to admit, is not about either of our old souls, friend. It is about a little girl, lost in her own world. Over the Cracked Hills of Lasmner, through the Forked Treebark and beyond the Great Wall of Lüdwyn, that is where her essence was brought to life. Carried by Sunyl Himself, can you believe it? Do not be mistaken, however, for our young girl was not of noble or even pure blood. Raised in the poor villages around the great Lüdwyn Castle, her essence was forever stained by mutants in her bloodline… Or that’s what they kept telling her.
That chin was slightly too stretched, and so were her ears, perhaps. Maybe her forehead was a bit long, her fingers too, who knows? Her pale, almost porcelain-colored skin never allowed the sun to persuade bronze to appear, and there were dark circles around her eyes! Please, do not let them get started on her eyes: ashen, as dull as a cloudy day. Her most remarkable feature was her hair, for it did not grow past her collar and its strands were as dark as the deepest tunnel of the most ominous catacombs. That is all of little importance, though. Deep into her soul, despite all of those accusations, she was akin to all jesters, and just as useless. Of what worth is a girl like herself?
That is what this duel shall decide. I have also taken the liberty to start our journey at the middle, rather than the beginning. It is odd, I understand, but I urge you to stay with me. This is of utmost importance.

	Draw your sword, old friend. And do try to keep up.

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Chapter One.
Fire.

	There they were, right by the small fire lit for the brutally cold night. The strange girl used her thin, long blade to poke the burning wood, expecting to see it rise again, just like in her dreams. As expected, it continued to burn the wood, like any other fire she’s ever seen. By her side laid an unconscious man, a forgotten knight whose armor had been replaced by a dirty coat. His only recognizable feature was a rusty raven ring wore on his right index finger. The Raven Knights were, among many other things, guardians of the night, recruited by the Lüdwyn family to protect the poor villages around the castle, or to keep them in check. Analyzing his figure, the girl wondered about his place in all of this. How was he there, too? No one walks through the Forked Treebark woods alone, except for her. The entrance to this forest, marked by a large tree with huge vertical and forked branches, was the stuff of nightmares.
	The knight first came to her in a dream. She remembers seeing the fire rise and stand as tall as a man, before turning into an ashen raven which flew right through her chest. The morning after, the uneven crackling of dry leaves and branches gave away the man’s stumbling approach. Pale and wounded, the deserter fell unconscious mere meters away from her small camp. Too much of a coincidence, is it not? Craving answers, the girl dragged him to her camp and laid his body on raggedy sheets. After that, it was nothing but a waiting game with brief glances at his apparent wounds, which didn’t appear to be severe enough to threaten his life. The faint mist of his breath was the only signal of his survival.
	After many cycles, deep into the night of that very same day, this is where she finds herself. Slowly, the man's eyes were finally opened to reveal the characteristic purple tone of the Raven’s irises. However, only one showed color: his left eye was of ashen hue, just like the girl’s. The lass swiftly got up on her feet and watched the man’s consciousness return, though he wasn’t aggressive, nor hostile. As soon as his eyes were fully opened, he sat up by the fire and used it to warm his hands.
	“Every night is colder than the last,” he said, without even looking up. “It’s faster than ever before, that’s what they’re not tellin’ you.”
	The girl, looking for words, felt her chest vibrate with the knight’s deep, raspy voice. “Who are you?” she asked, calmly pointing her blade towards the man.
	“Sir Garyel of Presin.” He replied, finally glancing up. After a couple of seconds analyzing the girl’s figure, he chuckles to himself and looks down at the fire again. “Sir…”
	Impatient, the girl planted her feet into the ground harder, still pointing it at the bloke. “So? What are you doing here, Sir Garyel of Presin? Are you following me?” She asked, threatenly.
	The knight chuckles once again, throwing himself into a brief coughing fit. “Oh, girl. The sun doesn’t rise just for you, you know.”
	She shrugs. “I know that. Seems awfully coincidental, nonetheless.”
	Another laugh leaves the knight’s mouth, though it’s louder this time around. “By the Gods, girl. You’sa scholar, now? Drop that fancy tongue of yours an’ speak proper.”