Par for the Course

The setting is a mix of modern medieval, and post apocalypse.

My characters are based on a couple polypore sets I made:

http://www.polyvore.com/lost_knight/set?id=40446890

http://www.polyvore.com/banished_crusader/set?id=42671603

I'd love comments, corrections. I'm sure my spelling slipped somewhere at some point -.-

The sun seemed so hot, like every ray of burning light it had to offer shined right down on him. Narrowed, focused. Cooking him under all his layers.

He ran a hand down his jacket again, pulling on his scarf. He wanted to take it all off, he wanted to stop walking. Everything hurt, every inch of his being. But he was to afraid, to unsure.



He didn’t know where he was going, how long he’d been going, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet, maybe not ever. He didn’t know, he wasn’t really thinking about it. He couldn’t think past the pain, the parched throat, the burning sun, the sweat running down his spine.



His boots kicked a heavy rock, stumbling him, dropping him heavily to a knee. His guard made a metal thump against the flat stone under him, his sword clattering down next to him, his fingers to weak to hold the weapon any more.



Fighting to swallow, to see beyond the glare of the sun he didn’t hear someone stalking him.



He stayed on his knee, panting, watching a heavy drop of blood splash the ground in front of him. His head was throbbing, a constant blinding pain. Something told him to look over his shoulder, some heavy presence weighing on his subconscious.



As he turned his head, just slightly, he found the point of a very sharp and very shiny pole axe aimed for his back. When eyes followed the staff of the weapon, the man holding it was paused in mid motion, as if waiting for something.



He was tall, most of him hidden behind a knee length coat. His dark hair was cropped short, but the wounded man could see nothing beyond his black eyes. Locked into his gaze. Waiting judgment.



“Who are you.” His voice was rough, angry. His frown revealing a scar he carried over his lips. Off center, closer to his left cheek.



“I don’t know.”



“What are you doing all the way out here.” The man didn’t appear to be amused, or believing.



“I don’t know.” He tried again.



“Do did that to you?” The warrior gestured to his head with the tip of his pole axe, he could only shake his head, wobbling on his knee perch.



“I don’t know.”



“Well what the hell do you know?” He snapped.



“That… I’ve been walking. I’m hurt, and thirsty.” He wasn’t asking for help, he wasn’t even sure if he could trust the angry stranger. And by the way the man stared so heavily at him, he didn’t think for a second he was going to be shown any mercy.



“Stand up. Hand over all weapons, and I’ll help you.” He didn’t sound happy about it.



Swallowing, thinking, he didn’t think he had much choice. Beside. If the man had had anything to do with whatever had happened to him, wouldn’t he just finish him now? Why drag it out.



Moving stiffly the wounded knight stood. He kicked over his sword, but had to look himself over for anything else. He didn’t know. He’d never stopped walking to take inventory. Finding only one other knife, he held his arms open, allowing the man to look him over.



“You first, back this way.”



With a pole axe just inches from stabbing him, he walked more carefully. Watching his footing. Luckily the walk wasn’t all that long. He must have passed directly in front of the others home. No wonder he was on edge.



Before entering the simple stone structure, the man had him strip of most clothing and all of his protective gear.



Scarf, chain mail neck guard, jacket, belt, knee guards.



The man reached out, fingering a necklace he hadn’t even noticed he was wearing.



It hugged his collar bones, laying flat with a couple well placed hinges. Metal around the back of his neck, but black stone of some kind on his chest, rounded and shaped cleanly. Once he noticed it he felt it’s weight.



The man looked over the short, log shaped pendent in the center of the cuff style necklace, looking back up to his face.



“Does Willelm or Skeldergate mean anything to you?”



He swallowing, thinking. The pain in his head growing, like a sliver of glass working it’s self in his mind.



“Maybe?” He felt shaky again, his knees threatening to give out.



“Alright alright.” The guy caught him before he fell, setting his pole axe aside and helping him into his small home.



It was dark, cool, but very small. Just big enough for the mans wooden cot, and a small fire. Protection from the elements and little less.



Setting Willelm down on the bed he found a white cloth to press against his bleeding wound.



“My name is Will.” He swallowed, the information feeling absolutely true, but nothing else could follow it. Not family, title, just pain.



“Eadric.” The man grumbled.



Shifting until Eadric found a bowl, he filled it with water from his flask. Wetting the cloth he dabbed at Willelm’s wound again.



“Here, drink slowly.” Eadric handed him the flask of clean cool water and Will would have proclaimed him a God for it.



Somehow he managed to do as he was told, drinking the sweet water slowly. His throat felt immediately better for it, his belly settling now that he had something in it.



“So you don’t remember anything?” Eadric asked it skeptically. Will wondered what it meant if the guy didn’t believe him but still helped him.



“Last thing I remember is walking. It’s like… I woke up doing it.” He tried to think back, tried to see the world in reverse. But the pain in his head grew, a sharp breath his only give away.



“Don’t force it. Sometimes head wounds can do this. Just relax.”



Will swallowed and tried to nod. Slouching slightly as tension eased from his body. Small comforts felt the most God given. Being out of the heat, hiding from the sun. Water in hand. Eadric’s hands, as rough as they were, added to his sense of safety.



He had a name now as well. Willelm.



“I think I’m religious.” He arched a brow, his eyes closed. He didn’t remember closing them.



“Most from Skeldergate are.” Eadric grunted, he once again didn’t sound happy.



The name didn’t raise any feelings though. Willelm didn’t feel the same connection to it as he did his name.



“What is that?”



Eadric gave a heavy breath, the idea of being a teacher clearly not on his list of things to do that day. He rediped his cloth in the water, cleaning the last of the blood from Willelm’s head.



“I know you are from Skeldergate because of your necklace, your tribes mark. From here it’s on the other side of the range. East. About three day’s walk, four in your state. It’s one of the larger tribes. Many vendors live there, the trade I’d say is your people’s main income.”



“What tribe are you from?”



Eadric didn’t answer for a long moment, either focusing on wrapping Willelm’s head or porously ignoring him.



“No tribe.” He finally answered, standing turning his back on the younger man. Looking over his makeshift shelves, collecting some things from it.



“You don’t belong to any tribe?” Something in Will told him to not believe the man. That something like that didn’t make sense. That you had to belong somewhere.



“Isn’t that what I said?” The man snapped, glaring over his shoulder. His hands formed heavy fists at his side. Willelm wasn’t all to sure the man wouldn’t hit him. He held a hand up, nodding, “Okay.”



Eadric shook his head in agitation, focusing again on a thick black pot. Filling it with a few scarps of something before throwing it on a large rock in the center of his fire pit.



“I’ll feed you, you can sleep outside tonight. And tomorrow if you feel up to it, I’ll point you in the direction of Skeldergate. Either way I’m leaving tomorrow.”



Will wondered where someone with no Tribe had to be. But he was to afraid to ask.



“That’s very kind of you.” He said instead, watching the other’s movements closely.