Vulpine Warrior

By: Andrew C. Lyman

            In order to understand this tale, one must be introduced to Andrés, a young fox who lives in a medieval land. This fox has lost someone whom he held dear, a very good friend. This loved one shall not be named in the tale, in fact; only Andrés will be named at all.

Chapter 1

            Andrés sat on a rock mourning for the death of his friend. A Paige sat next to him, comforting him, “It’s okay. You couldn’t have done anything to save him.”

            Andrés stopped mourning to answer, “He’s dead.”

            “It’s not your fault.”

            “I could have saved him! I wasn’t there.”

            The Paige tried to explain how Andrés is wrong, and that the friend could not be saved, but Andrés was no longer listening to him. He was lost in thought of his best friend. The Friend had been kind and benevolent. His father was a local Lord. The Friend had been training as a knight and his vulpine Paige was the one who was comforting Andrés. The Lord had made some unwanted enemies during his life. It was one of these enemies that killed the Lord’s son, Andrés’ Friend.

            The next day Andrés sat on a fallen log near the edge of his village. He found himself unable to take his mind off of his Friend’s murder. I shall search out his murderer and kill him. I must overtake him and kill him.

            Lost in thought once more, as he often was since the Friend’s death, Andrés did not notice the approach of another. The one who approached was a scholar who worked for the Lord. He had been a teacher of the Lord’s son lost and knew well his friends.

            “Andrés,” Andrés still hadn’t noticed him. “Andrés!” the Scribe said again.

            Andrés blinked and realized his presence. “Hello, I didn’t notice you come.”

            The Scribe removed a leather cap and sat next to Andrés on the log. “Andrés, do you know who killed our Lord’s son, my pupil?”

            “Nay,” Andrés gritted his teeth, “but I will kill whoever did.”

            The Scribe grinned slightly, “Well I do, and I am as eager for justice as you are.”

            Andrés’ ears perked up. The Scribe tossed him a small metal object. Andrés examined it. It was a ring.

            “That, my lad, is a ring of magical protection. It will protect you from magical spells.” A questioning look made itself clear on Andrés’ face. He wrinkled his snout. “Put the ring on, Andrés.” Andrés did as he was told.

            The Scribe took from one of the scroll cases that adorned his belt a parchment rolled up and tied with a bright red string. He untied the string and rolled it out. He began to read from it in a strange language that Andrés could not understand. He held the scroll in his left hand and held up his right. I small flame appeared over the right hand. The Scribe stood up and backed several meters away from Andrés as he finished the incantation. The flame grew and became as a ball, though wisps of the fire still lifted out of the glowing sphere. The Scribe stopped reading from the scroll and flung the flaming ball directly towards Andrés. Andrés gasped and put his hands over his head. A barrier formed around Andrés. The fireball burst as it impacted the shield and was diverted around him. He looked at the flame pass harmlessly past him and after it passed he gazed at the ring.

            “Now then,” the scribe said, “We must atone for the death of your Friend.”

Chapter 2

            Andrés was not a learned swordsman. He didn’t even own a sword. However, if armed with a sturdy stave, he was indeed a force to reckon with. He made a stave of ash and hardened the wood by heating it. He then engraved his initials into the wood, A.T.

(His surname was Treeshadow). With stave in hand and a couple weeks worth of food on his back, Andrés left the village to exact justice.

            The Scribe continued to work for the Lord, knowing that somehow, Andrés would avenge the death of his pupil. The scribe was, like Andrés and the Paige, a red fox. Andrés had lived and worked as a servant in the castle. That’s how he met the Lord’s son. The Scribe also worked there. He taught the lord’s son much, including how to fight with a stave. The Scribe did not believe in swords, and thus could not teach someone how to fight with one. When he taught Andrés’ friend how to defend against attacks with a stave, he also taught Andrés. Andrés had a fiery heart and quickly figured out offensive moves even though the Scribe had only taught defense. Soon Andrés could link attacks and blocks fluently and, if he had wanted, could even have rivaled the Scribe’s skill with a stave. This is the reason that the Scribe saw him fit for avenging the death of the Lord’s son.

            Andrés was not quite an adult when he left the castle. He was about seventeen years of age. The murder of his best Friend had aroused rage in his fiery heart. He ate little and spent many cold nights beneath the stars with naught but a thin blanket for warmth. It had been not much longer than a week when Andrés came across the one he was looking for.

            In a clearing not far from the road a fox sat meditating. He shall be known henceforth as the Mage, for that is what he was, according to the Scribe. Andrés stepped into the clearing boldly. A strange sort of smile came over the Mage’s features and he ceased meditating. Andrés cleared his throat before speaking.

            “So then, before I decide whether to kill you or not, I want to ask you,”

            “Yes, stranger?” The mage said in a friendly tone. He wore a band across his forehead and his right sleeve was shorter than his left, “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

            “Are you the mage that murdered my Lord’s son, my best friend? I seek justice for his death.”

            The Mage hesitated. His voice almost seemed to waver, “I am afraid, um I have heard naught of this. Could you better inform me of this friend of yours?”

            “You lie.” Andrés was unafraid and brandished his stave.

            The Mage collected his cool and his voice did not waver further, “What makes you think I killed him?”

            “My sources are to remain anonymous until the minute of your death.”

            The Mage’s tone changed, “Very well then. You know too much. Your knowledge condemns you.” He clenched his right hand into a fist. He chanted the same chant as the Scribe had. He had memorized it, however and did not need a scroll. A flame appeared over his fist. But it grew much more than the Scribe’s had. He threw it at Andrés, who chuckled and held his hand up. The flames were so much that upon impact they engulfed Andrés in a maelstrom of fire. The Mage smiled, thinking his work to be done, and turned to leave. As he did so, the spell dissipated and Andrés became visible again.

            “Is that all you have?”

            “WHAT?!” The Mage’s eyes opened wide, and he turned back towards Andrés. He was unscathed. The Mage chanted as quickly as he could a different incantation and threw a relentless torrent of magical bullets at Andrés. The barrier blocked all and again he was unscathed. The Mage was obviously frustrated and infuriated. He calmed himself down, though, and calmly said, “It seems I have underestimated you, Warrior.” Andrés brandished his stave again. The barrier had blocked it from the magical attacks also. “Alright then, if my magic cannot hurt you maybe this can.” The Mage held out his hand and in it a sword materialized.

            “Finally a real fight.” Andrés smirked. He charged headlong at the Mage with his stave held high for a downward blow. But as he swiped it down it did not meet the sword waiting to block it, but went in front of it. Then Andrés thrust it upward into the Mage’s gut.

            The Mage’s eyes widened and he knelt in pain. Andrés did not strike again. The Mage spoke, “I shan’t fall for a cheap trick like that again.”

            “You won’t get a chance to.”

            The Mage swiped his sword at Andrés’ leg while still kneeling. Andrés blocked it with his stave and kicked him over. Andrés stepped on his wrist, pinning the sword to the ground. Andrés pointed the stave at his head.

            “Who are you?”

            “I am a Vulpine Warrior seeking justice for my best friend’s murder.” He grinned a grin that sent a shiver through the Mage’s body. “A Scribe told me all about you. He saw you leave the castle and decided to send me after you.”

            “A Scribe?”

            “Yes, and now that you have heard my source, the minute of your death is nigh!”

            The mage tried to scream as Andrés sent the end of the stave into his skull, crushing it.

Chapter 3

            Andres never returned to the castle. To kill was a crime no matter what the circumstances. Andres did not have the courage to face his peers as a killer. He wandered the lands with only his stave as defense. He lost all sense of belonging to a society. He lived off the land, hunting with his cleverness. He would also eat what plants or mushrooms he knew to be edible. He eventually came to a forest. He decided to live in it for protection. That was when he found a deep connection with nature. The forest was kinder to him than any person save one had been.

            One day, about a year after he was exiled, Andrés was sleeping in a pile of leaves. This was a good way of staying warm as his blanket had long since worn out. He lay awake in the leaves and heard someone coming by. A twig snapped and he was sure that someone was approaching. He glanced at the stave; it was close at hand. He reached for the stave, rustling some leaves. The footsteps stopped. Andrés grabbed the stave and leapt out of the pile. He had miscalculated where the stranger was and his stave did not find anything to hit. The stranger said an incantation quickly. Andrés turned to her with stave in hand. Andrés ran at her, but something grabbed at his foot, tripping him. Andrés fell and felt something like snakes winding around his body. He tore away from them and stood up, but they quickly grabbed him again while he stood. He couldn’t move; the snakes held him tightly. Andrés looked at them to find that they were not snakes, but that the forest itself had come alive to entangle him.

            Andrés then looked to the stranger. She was a reddish mare. She wore leather armor and approached Andrés. She looked over the entangled fox. Andrés’ tunic was tattered and full of holes. For some reason Andrés’ look expressed his detachment from society, and seemed charismatic to the mare.

            “What are you doing here?” the reddish mare looked into Andrés’ eyes sternly. Andrés was unafraid.

            “I was sleeping. I live here.”

            “Live? You seem more likely to be slowly dying.”

            “No, I have already died, now I am reborn.”

            “Do you have any idea where you are?”

            “As far as I know this is a forest north of my village.”

            “Your village?” the mare sneered at the word.

            “Nay, it is no longer mine. I am exiled from it.” The mare smiled. Andrés gathered his courage, “I have told thee something of myself, now won’t you do the same?”

            The leather-clad mare chuckled, “This is Shadoland Forest.”

            “Shadoland?” Andrés said to himself.

            “I am a member of the people who own this forest.”

            “Shadoland?” Andrés said again.

            “You are trespassing.”

            It was obvious that Andrés wasn’t paying attention. He was looking down thinking to himself. I’ve made it all the way to Shadoland?

            The mare lifted Andrés’ chin so that their eyes were equal, “Why did you leave your village?”

            Andrés looked down again. He recalled how kind his best Friend had been and the look of horror on the face of the Mage when Andrés ended his life in rage. Andrés closed his eyes and a single tear streamed down his cheek.

            “You lost some one, didn’t you?” Andrés looked up, surprised. The mare continued, “It is not difficult to read your emotions.” She patted Andrés’ cheek then waved her hand through the air. The spell broke. The vines and roots that had come out of the ground to trap Andrés receded back to their natural state.

            Andrés did not attack the mare. “You’re a Druid, aren’t you?”

            “There are those who prefer to call me that. Like I said, I am a member of the people who own this forest.”

            “Who are you, what’s your name?”

            “I am called Epona.” She looked at Andrés, “And who are you?”

            Andrés thought for a second and decided that he could tell this Druid his name, “I am Andrés Treeshadow.”

            “Treeshadow? It sounds as if you were meant for the forest. I shall let you stay. You may call me a friend if you wish.” The reddish mare then left. Andrés could not follow. He simply stood in awe, with stave still in hand, trying to figure out what just happened.

Chapter 4

            Andrés did not see or hear anything of the Druid for quite some time. However, he always felt that he was being watched, observed. Sometimes he would hear a twig snap behind him and turn suddenly to see only a woodland creature skitter away. Eventually Andrés could not cope with his paranoia and left the forest. He found a small village nearby. As he walked through the farms on the outskirts, some of the workers in the fields, mostly dogs, would stop their work to stare at the tattered vulpine visitor. Once he entered the main street of the village, people looked down upon him and sneered, for in his tattered tunic, and leaning on an old stave, Andrés looked a lot like a beggar. One canine actually tossed him some coppers. Andrés did not refuse the coins. He held them in his hand because his pockets had long since worn out. He entered a tavern leaning on his stave. Andrés yearned for civilized food.

            The tender muttered something about a wandering drunkard, but Andrés did not take it personally, he would have thought the same if he could see himself. He started towards a table and a large bouncer came up to him. “I’ll be needing that.”

            Andrés thought he meant the coins, “What?”

            “Yer stave. We don’t allow any weapons in here.” Andrés complied and handed the ash stave over to him. He hadn’t used it as a weapon for a long time. But he did remember why he had made it in the first place: to kill.

            Andrés went to a secluded table near the back. The light flickered and the shadows were dark. A waitress came to take his order. Andrés ordered a glass of water and some mutton. The waitress seemed surprised. Obviously she had taken him for a drunkard as well. She went to retrieve the order and Andrés looked around. Everyone was looking his way. Even now as he rejoined society, he was isolated and set apart.

            He received his meal and ate it slowly, savoring the flavor of it. He took a sip of the water. It was cold. There must have been a magician of some sort that had cast a spell to keep the water cool.

            As he sat eating his meal, a rowdy party of adventurers entered. They were of several different classes, it seemed; an arctic fox ranger, a red fox sorcerer, and a canine fighter/cleric. Each gave their weapons to a bouncer. The fighter/cleric was a well-built Rottwieler donned in melee battle armor. He laughed, “What a battle! Those two orcs that got away will never be heard from again..” The rest of the group laughed and agreed.

            Andrés had never seen an orc before. But he had heard of them. They were vicious creatures that had no mercy. The party sat down at Andrés’ table. He didn’t know what to say. They all looked at Andrés.

            “If yeh’ve had ‘nuff te drink, why don’t you give us this table?” Andrés could not stand it. He became mad. He got up and left. He heard the group laughing behind him.

            Andrés received his stave from the bouncer and left thinking of the nerve of that adventuring party. Almost as soon as he left the tavern, he heard a cry for help and saw thin wisps of smoke rising nearby. Having nothing else to do, he ran toward the smoke to help the one who had yelled.

            When he came to the source, he gasped. There were two hideous creatures. They lacked fur and snouts. Their skin was olive green and they were cackling sadistically as they set fire to a field. Never heard from again? Thought Andrés.

            Andrés ran into action immediately, realizing that these must be orcs. Each one had a short bow strapped to its back and an axe at its side. They held a torch in one hand and a shield in the other.

            Andrés charged one before they noticed him. He hit the side of its head so hard that it dropped the torch and fell down. A loud crack resounded through the air. Andrés couldn’t tell if it was his stave or the orc’s skull. The other orc threw the torch into the field and pulled its bow off its back. It had only two arrows left. The orc that Andrés had knocked down cursed loudly and grabbed its axe. It obviously wasn’t dead. Orcs were a little tougher than Andrés had thought.

The other orc notched an arrow and took aim. Just as the arrow was let fly, the first orc got up. The arrow shot at Andrés hit it in the back, slaying it. Andrés had not noticed the orc ready and fire its bow. However, he did notice it notching another arrow. He grabbed the dead orc’s shield and held it up. The second arrow stuck into the shield and Andrés discarded it. He then charged towards the other orc, which frantically groped for its axe.

            Andrés struck him before he could block. The stave broke in half! The orc cursed but was far from slain. Andrés thought fast. The orc raised the axe to strike Andrés. The stave halve still in his hand had been splintered. He grinned and struck the sharp end of the broken stave into the orcs chest, aiming for its heart. The orc dropped the axe and clutched the stave protruding from its chest. It fell over backward.

            At that instant Andrés heard a familiar voice, “What are you doing!” it was the arrogant Rottwieler from the tavern. And the rest of the adventuring party was with him.

            “Finishing your work.”

            “Did you start this fire?”

            “NO! They did!” he pointed at the slain orcs.

            “Are you implying that you killed two orcs unarmed?”

            “Actually it was sort of a fluke. I had a staff but they were a little tougher than I thought. My stave broke, but I did kill them with some luck.”

            The group seemed to believe him, finally. Before they could interrogate him further, a wolf ran out of a nearby stable.

            “It’s true!” the wolf proclaimed, “If it had not been for this tattered warrior, my life would be at stake! He is the best warrior I’ve ever seen!”

            The Rottwieler snorted, “Only ‘cuz I wasn’t here.”

            “Is there any way I can repay you?”

            “Well, my stave broke. Do you know of somewhere I can replace it?”

            The wolf chuckled, “I can do better than that, my friend. I’m a weapon smith, Follow me to my shop and I will give you any sword you want.”

            The Rottwieler’s jaw dropped, “Any sword?”

            “Not you, lad, the fox here.”

            “That sounds like a good idea.” Andrés said, “But what about that fire,?”

            “Ah yes I suppose it need to be put out.”

            The sorcerer stepped out of the group of adventurers and put on a brave and valiant voice, “Fear not, I shall smite these flames!” he chanted an incantation and it rained on the field, putting out the fire.

            The Smith gave a strange look to the sorcerer. “These aren’t really my fields, you know. I’m a weapon smith. But I’m sure the guy who owns this field will be plenty pleased to learn how you saved it from flames and watered it free of charge.”

            Andrés could barely hold in the urge to laugh and was led away by the Smith whose life he had supposedly saved, leaving the group to clean up the mess.

            Andrés was shown into a cozy shop that smelled of fire. A forge was burning and let up wisps of white smoke. The Smith showed him to the storeroom where he kept most of his swords on shelves. “Now look around. I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”

            “Well, actually, I don’t know how to fight with a sword.”

            “Surely you’re kidding me. Judging by how you fought that battle, I’m positive you can learn quickly.”

            Andrés picked up a two-handed sword, but wasn’t ready for its weight. He set it back on the shelf and looked at the wide range of other swords he could choose from. He occasionally picked one up to see how it felt, but he couldn’t find one he liked.

            The Smith picked up a longsword with seemingly gold hilt. It had a red gem set in the hilt right below the base of the blade and a green one in the pommel. “Ah, this here is one of my enchanted weapons. It has a spell on it,” he pointed to some runes written on the blade, “Combined with a competent swordsman’s skills, it can block almost every attack, even an arrow.”

            Andrés turned the sword over in his hands. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for. Even with the spell on it, the longsword didn’t seem right for Andrés. The smith returned the longsword to its shelf and picked up a cutlass.

            “This isn’t very expensive, but maybe you will like it.” he handed the cutlass to Andrés. The sword appealed more to Andrés than a lot of the others had, but it still did not seem right for him.

            The Smith returned it and took out a bastard sword, “I don’t make this type of sword often, and I don’t have any with spells on them.” Andrés held the sword on both hands. It weighed no more than his stave had. And it seemed perfect. He knew it right then, that this was the sword he wanted. He smiled. “Ah, you like it!” the Smith seemed pleased, “then it’s yours. Just allow me to make some final customizations.” He took the sword from Andrés, “What are your initials?”

            Andrés remembered how he had engraved his initials into the stave. He did not want to think of this sword as a replacement for that. “Oh it’s alright, I don’t need my initials in the sword.”  

            “Then perhaps you will let me put your astrological symbol on it?”

            Andrés thought for a second, “Yes that sounds good. I’m Aries.” The Smith heated the pommel and chipped his symbol into the metal. “Thank you for being so kind to me,” Andrés said, “but what am I to do with a sword?”

            “Well, what did you do with your stave?”

            Andrés had only used it once before that day. He had created it to kill. “I had it for self defense.” His voice wavered.

            “You used it to kill some one. I can tell. No one who would take initiative to attack even an orc would have used the weapon he attacks with for self defense only.” Andrés was getting tired of being read by his facial features and voice. “So long as it is used to kill evil people or things such as orcs, a sword is not an evil thing itself. Many paladins use swords.”

            So I am to be a bringer of death. Andrés thought.

            “The way you fight, you could be in an adventuring party like that other group.”

            Andrés sneered at the thought of bungling around questing for who-knows-what and having to get along with the other party members. “Somehow I can’t see myself doing that.”

            “Well, maybe you could be a lone adventurer. Not all adventurers are in groups like that one. I can see how one would be discouraged from that lifestyle by looking at them.”

            Andrés didn’t like the whole idea. He was not so separated from society that he could go on living for much longer as a hermit in the forest. But he was not able to maintain a “normal” lifestyle in a society. He would need some way to pay for the civilized food he preferred. “Very well, I shall become a warrior.”

            “Excellent! Here is your sword.” The Smith handed Andrés the sword. It was no longer hot as the Smith had dipped it in water, but it was still warm.

            Andrés said his farewells and left the village, hoping that he would some day return to see his new friend. He went back into the Shadoland Forest to teach himself how to wield his new bastard sword.

Chapter 5

            It is now two years since the day Andrés left that village. He has since bought a new tunic, a black one. He also bought a green cape and returned to the village to buy an ornamental scabbard, a belt that matches the sword, and some gauntlets.

            Once he had learned how to properly use the sword (with the help of the Druid, who welcomed Andrés back to the forest and approved of his decision to become a lone adventurer), Andrés checked into taverns for quests that he could accomplish. He has traveled to lands on quests that almost always involve killing something or someone who almost always has malicious intent.

            Now he has made it all the way to the West Sea. The ocean lies before him. Waves crash below him. Andrés looks out to the infinitely far away horizon. And he speaks aloud, “What have I become?” he becomes silent as if awaiting a reply from the vast plain of water.

            The only reply is the monotonous sound of crashing waves below and the salty air rising up to fill his nostrils. The sky becomes orange as the sun drifts down to meet the sea.

            “I have been called an adventurer, a warrior, a mercenary-” he flinches at the last word. He had known once of a mercenary, a fox whose right sleeve was shorter than his left. Has Andrés become the mercenary he was exiled for killing? He wonders if the mage had become a mercenary after killing one before him.

            Andrés grabs the hilt of his sword. “All I have now is my sword.” He unsheathes it slowly, “This is what I’ve become,” he sees his own reflection in the blade of his sword. “a sword that if paid enough will kill anyone.”

            He lowers the sword, “No, I will not be this. I vow right now to never kill unless I deem the one I shall murder to be deserving.” Andrés sheathes the sword again. The sun dips low and merges with the vast sea. Brilliant red and oranges fill the sky. Andrés turns from the dazzling sunset. His cape flows out behind him. He starts off south to a city known as Typrus. He goes to save a school of mages from evil monsters, and kill the wizard who filled it with the creatures. He clenches his fist. On it is a ring that will block him from magical attacks.

            “I go now to kill. Death mocks me.”

The End

 

Notes:

            Five of the characters in this short story were created almost five years before I wrote it. These characters are: The Paige, The Scribe, The Mage, The Lord (whose name changed from The Tyrant), and of course, Andrés: The Warrior.

           The druid in Shadoland forest is Epona, who I met when I first came to this world. since then I have filled in the rest of Vulpine Warrior's story, even from before he met her. They parted ways after they met, but he came back to her after getting his sword. Epona holds a special place in this story for me. After all, she taught me how to use my sword.

            The adventuring party is one that I DM. As a DM, I know how parties act a lot of the time. Chapter four parodies that.

            When Andrés looks for a sword he almost chooses a cutlass. I put this in there because my friend (and editor) likes cutlasses. The Smith also offers Andrés an enchanted longsword, which is none other than the sword of Marth from Fire Emblem, a Nintendo game that was never released in America. But he is the character I play as on Super Smash Brothers Melee for Gamecube.

            The Smith is the anthropomorphic alias I made for a friend of mine who was so interested in swords he wanted to make them. I have heard that he now has a forge, but I have to see the sword I requested (and it is the one Andrés eventually chooses).