The Journey, Part 1

The warmth of the fireplace filled the room, the soft crackling of wood played at his ears and the pungent scent of something rich in beef stock passed under his nose as he began to regain consciousness. He was lying in a small bed, wool blankets pulled up to his chin. He let out a groan as he tried to move, but there wasn't a muscle in his body that didn't ache. He could feel bandages wrapped all around him; on his arms, his legs, his chest, everywhere. A voice near him then permeated the air. The voice was aged, raspy, but kind and soothing too.

"Easy, you need your rest," he spoke gently, "You've been through quite an ordeal...unconscious for three days, we've had the most powerful mages here working spells to help speed up your recovery."

Slowly, he opened his eyes and as his vision turned clear, the orange, glowing, flickering flames of the fire illuminated the room. He could see two rounded bedposts beneath his feet. They were light brown, straight at the top, curved out towards the bottom, then curved back in with decorative, swirled impressions in the wood. It was a small cottage, just one story high; whimsical to a point, yet rustic as well. The few windows it had weren't very large; arched, four panes of glass to each, with off-white linen underneath a dark blue cloth both pulled back to the sides. It was pitch black outside. The ceiling was dark brown, the walls were a lighter brown, and the floor a dark brown again.

On a large rug of a faded, rustic orange; swirled, congruent designs on each corner and tan trim with fringe along the sides, an old man stood across from him, gazing into the fire. The fireplace was massive, made of large, smooth stones all gray's, browns, and off-whites with a curved double cream-colored casing around the opening, and a black pot hanging above the fire on an iron easel. His back was turned to him, one hand extended, resting on the fireplace, and the other behind his back. In a weak voice, the young man lying in the bed spoke, asking,

"Who are you...where...how did I get here?"

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through his temple forcing him to gasp and groan, dropping his head back onto the pillow. The old man turned towards him, dressed in long, elegant, yet simple robes of red, black, tan and white. His hair was short and white, his beard was full and long, white as well, hanging　down to the middle of his　chest, and his eyes were a light blue.

"I am an elder," he began, "A member of the High Order of these lands. The High Order is a group of wise men, fully versed in the ancient lore of our homeland. My name is Ralek," he said with a kind, courteous smile, then continued, "Three days ago, myself, along with a group of villagers found you just outside the
Dark Forest.　You were barely breathing and covered in wounds, being ravaged by the demonic wolves that dwell in those woods. They're vicious creatures,　hiding all in shadows,　fur pitch black, their eyes glowing red and their teeth jagged, more often than not dripping with the blood of their victims."

The wise man pulled up a chair beside the bed, sat down, took a sip from a mug set on the small wooden nightstand near him, and continued in a calm, even voice,

"No one has ever made it out of those woods alive until now, in fact that forest has long been forbidden. Only the most foolish or most heroic have entered there."

The old man set down his mug, then　looked at the wounded man, saying with a smile,

"I believe you to be the latter."

With a slight look of perplexed concern, the young man waited for him to explain why.

"There is an ancient legend, a prophecy known by all in this land of the Hero that will finally slay the fearsome dragon that plagues this place. It emerges from it's slumber, in a cave on the highest mountain here, every two hundred years. It lays waste to everything in it's path: our villages, our crops, killing hundreds of innocent people in these horrible raids. Many before you have tried to kill this dragon, yet none have succeeded, even the strongest of heroes only wounding it enough to seek recluse in it's cave again. You see, there the dragon is under the influence of a most powerful curse, no one knows how or why, but the dragon is imprisoned in that cave until the day comes again, one day every two hundred years, that he can escape and indulge his lust for destruction."

Ralek paused, then pushed his hands against his knees to stand, and meandered over to a bookcase, one of two propped up against the wall to the young man's left, and to the right of the grand fireplace. Both of the bookcases were made of dark brown wood with a green tint; four shelves high and bursting with leather bound books of several subtle colors, many with worn binding, wrinkled pages and loose papers stuffed inside, overflowing.

Ralek softly muttered to himself as he thumbed through the binds of the ancient texts.

"Ah," he exclaimed softly, "Here it is."

He grabbed a large, thick book and a scroll sitting beside it. He walked back to the chair,　set the book on the bed beside　the young man,　and with a mild groan and sigh, he sat down again.

"You think that I'm this Hero... destined to slay this dragon?", the other asked inquisitively.

The elder nodded and as he unfurled the cloth-like scroll, from the navy-blue, gold-laden ends, he replied,
　

"Yes."

He held the scroll up to him and the young man could see himself, dressed in the finest holy armor, his mouth open wide, screaming. He stood in a valiant pose　with one foot forward on a boulder. In one hand he carried a silver and gold shield and in the other, raised high above his head, he wielded a legendary broadsword of the same color and design.

"This sword," the wise man said, pointing to it, "is the strongest, most powerful,　deadliest sword ever forged from the earth. It was imbued with the strongest of magic, it's also the most ancient weapon in our lore. That sword and that sword alone is the only thing that can slay the dragon."

The young man laying in the bed laid his head back down, overwhelmed, and breathed a heavy sigh. Reassuringly Ralek spoke,

"You must think of this as a great honor, and not a burden."

After a moment of silence, hearing only the wind whistling past the windows outside, Ralek picked up the book he had set on the bed and turned to a page marked with a silky, red strip of cloth.

"That medallion around your neck, how did you acquire that?" he asked curiously.

The young man took the medallion in his hands, it was light, about half an inch thick, three inches wide and set around his neck with a thin piece of rope, tied off in a knot. The edges were trimmed with gold and in the center was an elegant, dark red,　meticulously carved, dragon; protruding slightly, raised so that if you ran your fingers across it, you could feel the design. The dragon's expression was fierce, it's eyes blank, and it's tail lay wrapped around it's thin, lengthy twisted body.

The young man shook his head and said in a voice just above a whisper,

"I don't know...I...I can't remember...I can't remember how I wound up in that forest either. I think I...I think I remember feeling this warmth all around, and a bright white light enveloping me, bringing me here, but...I can't remember anything else."

The old man then turned the bookmarked page towards him, and on it was a sketch of that very medallion. The young man chuckled softly and　breathed a sigh of disbelief.

"What about your life before we found you, do you remember any of that?"

"No, I, well not really," the young man rubbed his forehead, covered in beaded sweat, his fingertips tousling his short black hair above his furrowed brow, trying to recollect anything in his pounding head.

"I can see things, disconnected memories of my childhood, and...training...training when I was a few years younger, sword fighting and archery."

"Well," Ralek sighed, "get some rest, whenever you're feeling ready, we'll start your training again...you should try eating something, too."

The old man gathered a bowl and spoon, scooped some stew out of the large pot hanging above the fire and after he wearily sat up and ate, the young man felt a wave of exhaustion pass over him and, out of his control, he fell back into a deep sleep.