Temptation dared Jabari Tavor to lock fawn irises with the sun. He resisted the idiotic contemplation and cursed his recklessness all the while allowing procrastination to gnaw at his innards. Time had run its course and with that stream of time dying out, a new river of opportunity had begun to flow. Opportunity steeped in uncertainty. Jabari sighed. Rue this day he sorely did.

“There you are, Jabari,” a light, feminine voice said.

Jabari tore his gaze from the azure above and set it on the petite woman approaching him. He knew his sister would remain in his heart always, but he had no need to see her right now. Not today, of all days. He slipped his leather bracers over his wrists and tied them down. Swept his maroon tunic with a palm and did the same to ebony bottoms as he stood up from the rock presently digging into his ass. Hide boots sunk into the soft earth underfoot.

“Sister. What are you doing here?” Jabari asked. He feigned annoyance.

The woman chuckled. “Looking for you,” she said. “I knew you would be on the road just outside the village. So you leave without saying so much as goodbye?”

Jabari averted his eyes to the brush and tree line just beyond the shoulder of the dirt road. His mind had so many things to say. To shout. To scream. Of course he was leaving, what else was there for him at home? It had been half a season since he left his knighthood behind and no one in town had forgotten or forgiven. People had turned their backs on a former knight, but they had ensured he remained invisible when he became a sellsword. They saw him as no better than a murdering thief. But none of them knew the truth. And within Jabari’s mental sanctum, he knew the truth was the one thing he would never say.

“I’m sorry Jamelia. Accept my apologies, but do not try and stop me. Not this time. There’s a job that waits for me in Viscerium. Two days walk and a new life begins.” Jabari hung his head.

Jamelia stepped closer. She grabbed one of his hands and held it up so he could see it.

“Brother, I did not come to stop you. I came to remind you,” she said.

Jabari looked at both hands. They were both the same darkened chestnut complexion. They had similar veiny patterns and wrinkles. Jamelia was the only woman who Jabari knew worked as hard as he had. He smiled briefly before the straight line of forced resolution reconstituted his countenance. He dropped her hand.

“Thank you, sister, truly. I will not forget that we are of the same blood. It brings me comfort. I promise to return one day. On the day I know I’ll have made you proud.”

Jamelia smiled and hugged her brother. Jabari reluctantly returned the gesture, taking in one last whiff of lilac from his sister’s voluminous, curled locks. Then the two separated. Jabari picked up his sheathed blade and belt that had been resting against the rock he’d occupied. He let the belt hang loosely on his waist, slightly dragged down by the heft of his sword on the left side of his hip. He patted the nearly empty coin purse near the small of his back on the same belt. Fretted briefly that he had no belongings to bring along.

“I must be off now, Jamelia. Give mama and father my regards,” Jabari said finally. Then he turned and began his trek down the shoulder of the dirt path. He wished he had a horse, but settled that once he’d completed this job, he’d have enough money to get one. Of course there was the matter of the companion he had to meet. Another sellsword to split the profits with. Jabari hadn’t willingly accepted the proposition, but he’d been assured there was no other choice. The job required the talents of two and couldn’t possibly be completed by a single man.

Jabari scoffed as he walked. He wouldn’t believe it. The job described sounded simple enough. Escort the caravan of some important dignitary into Viscerium and collect coin. To have to meet another man to split the share with seemed wasteful, but Jabari brought himself to rationale as he strode on. This was likely a test, after all. A knight would only escort one of the Royal line and by the sounds of it, this dignitary was in the kind of danger he chose to surround himself with. Jabari shook his head. The escort’s shames or glories were of no concern to him. His first step was clear. The job would be a two day walk, but he’d meet his mysterious companion at the crossroads along with the caravan in a short while.

Emmeline watch the world pass her by through the window of her attic room above the family shop. Through the floor she could hear customers coming in and out, the hum of conversation. If she focused she could pick out the ddp baritone of her brothers voice, and the contrasting lightness of his new wife's. The bright sky seemed to mock her, the fluffy white clouds flying free across it’s face, no tethers, no obligations.

It could be her freedom too.
She doesn’t deserve it.

With a sigh she turned away from the window, rubbing her eyes to try get them to adjust from the brightness outside to the dark gloom inside. The room itself was sparse, no more than a bed, a chest of drawers, the chair Emmeline was sitting in, and a wardrobe. Hanging from a row of pegs next to the closed door was a cloak of forest green bordered in embroidered wildflowers, a sword, and an empty pack. The only other indication someone lived in the room was a letter on the dresser, weighed down by an empty ink pot.

Stretching as she stood she crossed to the dresser and picked up the letter. It was good parchment, and the script was ride but without flourish. Written by someone who has neither the time nor patience for working on their penmanship. If she smelt it, like she did the first time, it would smell of swordpolish, leather, and faint traces of jasmine. It wasn’t a letter she had ever expected, and authored by someone who would have been better to forget she existed. Ever since she hung up her armour a year ago she may as well have disappeared from history. That Thelana Goldensword had not just remembered, but kept tabs on, her old protégé was both heartwarming and concerning in equal measure.

Her eyes skipped over the polite bits of the letter. The commiserations on her mother’s passing. The congratulations on her brothers wedding. They came to rest instead on the last paragraph, the source of turmoil and unrest inside her for the last week.

You may have given up on yourself but I never did. Your heart has ever been true for a Knight, and hanging up your armour was the most selfish thing I’ve ever known you to do. Nonetheless, I have kept tabs Emmeline. You wither away in your room above that shop. There is nothing remaining for you in Luinne, and the moment you enlisted you were no more a Goode like your family, you could never go back to a small life again. I saw that in you, that is why I chose you as my novice. I have put your name against a job, as a freelance swordwoman, and you are required to export a caravan to Viscerium. The map to the meeting point is on the back on this parchment.

Are you ready to prove yourself?”

Like she had done every time she read it she resisted the urge to crumple the letter and throw it into the fire downstairs. She wanted to forget it, but to what avail. Her mentor was right. The Knights weren’t the ideal she had thought, hoped, and dreamed they’d be. But she couldn’t stay here in Luinne, certainly not in the small residence above the shop where her brother was trying to start his family. And she had no skills past being a swordsman.

So that left her with no choice but to take on this job. Do the job, get paid, then with some coin of her own she could choose a direction from there. Protecting a caravan should be easy money too really. She checked the map on the back – to make it in time she’d have to put in some good travel distance over the next two day, but she could do it. Especially traveling alone, setting her own pace. The weather was pretty good this time of year too, so a camp wouldn’t need to be much.

A new start. Something to do to chase away the ghosts of a past that haunt her. To help people that the Knights would turn away because their requests were too small, or they couldn’t afford the Knights charge. To not be cursed at simply for the ensignia she bore when travelling the outskirts of the kingdom. To be free, like the clouds. And if nothing else, freedom to be away from Luinne, and a family she doesn’t fit into, a community that is wary of an ex-knight. She straightedge her navy tunic and black leggings, pulling on her sturdiest boots, and began putting supplies into her pack. Spare clothes, a few toiletries. That cursed letter. The few coins she had were distributed about her person in her own method – you could never be too careful about pickpockets – and finally her cloak went about her shoulders. She fingered the embroidery, the last gift she got from her mother before the illness set in. She gathered her sword and belt, opened the door ready to make her way down the narrow stairs to the shop, and nearly bowled over her brother.

“You’re going to take that job then? Good.” He nodded, as if it had never been in doubt that she would. “You’ll need this,” he continued holding out a bundle. She took it to the bed and opened it, revealing travel rations, a new blanket, and a few other practical things.
“Thank you Felmar,” she replied, turning to her brother. They had the same slight build, although where Emmilene had a wiry firmness to it from her Knight training, Felmar had the scrawny look of someone used to penmanship and accounting. His shaggy hair was the same ebony as her currently braided lengths, and the hazel eyes peering out met her own hazel ones. Twins they were in birth and appearance, but personality wise Felmar had been the academic and bookworm destined to take over the shop, whilst Emmeline had been the mischief maker always coming home covered in dirt with ripped clothes and scraped knees, and stories of adventure for her twin.

“I don’t know what happened Emmy, and I know you won’t say. I do know though that it haunts you, its replaced the sense of wonder that used to be in your eyes. Mum was only even am excuse to run from it. But whatever it is, don’t let it hold you back. You have a good heart, and good insincts. And remember that no matter wherever you go and whatever you do, you will always have people that love you.” Felmar embraced his sister, the kind of hug that says goodbye forever without saying those damning words aloud.

She hugged him back. “You do right by that wife. Make sure that when I come home I have so many nieces and nephews I won’t know what to do with myself ok?” She shot back, breaking the embrace. She packed the thing s Felmar had brought her and followed him down the stairs. Pack on her back, and sword belted on she gave him, and her sister in law, a farewell hug and set out. Away from the shop, away from Luinne.

As the wooden sign denoting Luinne inched closer, Jabari knew he was getting close to the crossroads. He strode on, each step crushing shrubbery and compacted mud in equal parts. His mind was a windstorm of thoughts and feelings. Memories eroded his threadbare armor and penetrated his mind’s eye. Memories of his days as a Royal Knight in service to the King and Queen. In service to his fellow brethren. The cobbled roads patrolled and labyrinth cities journeyed through and guarded. It was Jabari’s duty to ensure no one stood against his King and Queen by any means necessary. Most people thought of the Knights as a benevolent force that paraded around in plate armor as a symbol of peacekeeping and chivalry. Jabari scoffed. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

The heft of the blade at his hip made itself known suddenly. Jabari found himself torn as he continued onwards. His sword was his most prized possession, but it also remained his most painful reminder. The ornate regalia rested within its decorative sheath proudly awaiting its moment to unleash and devour again. Jabari knew it. He could feel its pulsing desire beating right next to his heart. He glanced down at the scabbard and hilt dangling alongside his wide stride. The scabbard was leather cow hide dyed ebon with a series of three evenly spaced gold straps and buckles lining the inky exterior. A golden tip etched with a tribal design had been sown to the tip where the blade would be. The hilt matched the scabbard’s dual shades of night black and bright gold, a diamond with sharpened vertices at the hilt’s end. The blade’s crossguard had been tempered into the shape of the number eight, but on its side so it more accurately depicted the infinity symbol.

Jabari shook his head. He could feel the bittersweet pangs nipping at his skin. He’d kept the physical manifestation of his anguish for the simple reason that he couldn’t bear to part with it. He felt there was a deeper lesson in there somewhere. Something about how a person both hated and secretly enjoyed their pain. At the very least, his mentor would have said something about as poetic. He chuckled. He missed his mentor even if he’d had no other choice than to forgo his post indefinitely. As suddenly as he’d had the memories, his absent-minded gaze saw the crossroads looming ahead. And at those crossroads, the caravan awaited.

Jabari stopped. Used a palm like a visor over his eyes and scouted the caravan from where he stood. There were several horses and riders all surrounding a horse and cart. The cart was decorated with banners and flags and other accoutrements Jabari didn’t care for. He’d never been political even when he was a Knight. The cart was also covered by a tent of red embroidered with gold so the occupant couldn’t be seen. He scouted for any indication of his mysterious companion he was to be working with, but another interesting facet caught his eye instead. The riders surrounding the horse and cart wore chain mail and were equipped with swords and some with bows of their own. They weren’t simply servants to this unknown dignitary. They were warriors in their own right.

It made no sense. Why hire two mercenaries to escort a clearly well guarded occupant into Viscerium? It made no sense, but Jabari waved the thought away. All that mattered was his coin at the end of the two day journey. He started towards the caravan once more. He figured his partner would be coming along and would be easy to recognize and differentiate from everyone else. The warriors all wore the same kind of chain mail with the same colors and helmets. Jabari wondered what kind of person he was to be paired with as he neared the caravan.

Emmeline walked. It felt great, to be stretching her legs, out on the open road again with the sun in the sky and the promise of adventure ahead. For the fest hour or two anyway. Then she realized just how out of condition she was. Not to say she was unfit, after all she’d kept up a physical regime even while nursing her sick mother and the empty months that followed it. But endurance isn’t something you can keep up inside city limits, not really. The sun baked down, and the dust from the road made her throat drier than a desert. Her feet ached, her calves cramped, and her pack weighed her down and backward, her centre of weight off balance from usual. She was sore, and bored, and the boredom only served to aid her in focusing on how tired and sore she felt.

She pushed through though, and it did become easier, her body starting to remember after all this time what being on the march felt like. She also remembered the ways she used to pass time whilst a Knight. Admittedly most of that time was also mounted, and she definitely preferred riding to walking. It was also mostly passed in conversations with her fellow Knights, sometimes story telling, sometimes banter, sometimes someone would start singing a song and they’d all join in. She did try singing but all that did was remind her how unconditioned she was, and how dry her throat was – even with frequent sips from her water pouch. She settled instead from recalling the stories her mother used to tell them as children, remaining their endings into something more fantastical. She made up some time walking into the evening, knowing that she only had to settle down for herself, with a small dinner of dried foods. Sleep and repeat.

The sign for the crossroads came into view just about on time. The first say had been the worst for sure, but she’d since found a rhythm. Taking a moment before continuing ip on the caravan she brushed down her navy tunic, and polished her black boots on the backs of her legs. She touched the hilt of her sword, it’s scabbard of brown suede banded in brass, holding its shining silvery blade. The cross guard was solid and brass coloured with engraved flowers, a brown suede grip, and rounded pommel again in the same brass colour and shaped to look like a flower also. She tucked some of her black hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear and heated her pack higher on her shoulders.

As she got closer she scanned the caravan she was approaching, and scowled. Red cloth embroidered in gold meant two things. First she was in for a good payday at the end, and secondly she was going to hate every moment of getting there. This wasn’t a happy merchant looking for protection but some upper class twit that thought nothing about the lives of those who kept them in luxury. The warriors were also... odd. Why hire two sells words when you travel with a militia that looks as impressive as that? Whatever the reason it was a job, it was a paycheck, and it was he first step towards freedom. What she didn’t see yet as she scanned around was someone else who didn’t fit, this mysterious partner. Regardless she strode up to the rider at the beginning of the column, assuming that the lead warrior would be the best person to talk to.
“Hello there, I’m Emmeline. I’m lead to believe you are expecting me and one other to, um, assist in guarding this caravan?”
The warrior looked down from his chestnut mount, the sunlight glinting off his chain mail and helmet, and she saw the red cloak he was wearing had a sunburst embroidered on it. The insignia tickled her brain, but heraldry had never been her strongest suit. The guys face was impassive, but at least he wasn’t openly derisive of her. “Aye, we are expecting two sellswords.” His face might not have shown derision but his tone certainly did, with the way he twisted the word sellswords. Clearly he didn’t think much of them being hired either. “Wait here for the other one. I only want to disturb m’lord once on your account.” He gestured off to the side slightly and turned away, dismissing her as a nuisance had no longer had to deal with. She moved away slightly, clamping down on a childish desire to stick her tongue out at him, or flip him off, and found a spot in a shadow to stand in while she waited for her counterpart. She didn’t figure they’d be far off.

Nonsensical assumptions continued to pester Jabari’s mind. For the first time, he wished he could remember some of the political teachings his mentor had desperately tried to impart into his younger self’s thick skull. The sunburst embroidered onto the red and gold cloaks each rider wore was key, but its nature eluded Jabari. All he knew for sure was the color scheme represented nobility and wealth and all that meant was maybe he could haggle for more coin at the end of the whole thing. Still, the part of his brain honed and sharpened to a fine edge that tied into his instinct continued to scream at him. Nothing about the job was making sense and his body wanted to turn around and head back to the village. Jabari refuted his inner voice and approached one of the riders just as another cloaked individual was headed into the shade of a nearby willow tree.

“Fine armaments, good sir,” Jabari said.

The rider said nothing. His eyes sized up the darker man below him and then returned to their front.

Jabari ran a palm through curled black strands and short locs tied back with thin rope. Used two fingers to massage his goatee some before nodding respectfully and making his way around the rider and his horse. His instinct shouted at him again. He found it to be odd. As a Knight, he never would have given a second thought to this setup because as a Knight he never would have been a part of it. At the same time, because of the training he underwent, he knew something was off. He resolved to think more on it later. He had two days to do so, after all.

Jabari watched as another rider trotted their steed up to the tent covered cart. They gingerly swung off their horse and stuck their head inside a tent flap. Then they entered. Jabari turned his attention away and headed towards the tree with the other cloaked individual. They were the only ones who stood out amongst the caravan so clearly it was the second mercenary. And the conversation between rider and lord would drag out for a while so this was the perfect opportunity.

As Jabari neared, he realized his folly. He had been expecting another man to have to share the profits with and he’d assumed and thought no more of it. He was met with a woman instead. Not that it was a problem, but it did come as a surprise. In Jabari’s memory, the training to become a Knight’s apprentice and then a fully fledged Knight was tough. He’d never known another woman as strong as his sister, but seeing the woman and the sword at her hip was a dead giveaway. Unless she was also nobility, the uniqueness of the blade was hard pressed to be anything other than the blade of another former knight. Or stolen from one. Jabari decided to stop making assumptions. Maybe she was never a Knight at all, but what she was now was his partner. He quieted his thoughts.

“Fine day for an escort, would you not agree?” Jabari asked, stopping just a couple of feet away and increasing the volume in his voice appropriately.

The willow tree provided scant shade, but it was enough for Emmeline to get out of the sun, and to provide some relief from the warmth of the day. She continued to watch the mounted guards warily. It still didn’t make sense to her, if the caravan was already guarded then why in Light’s cadence did they need two sellswords as well? She also continued to scan the road for her companion, but they must be coming from the other direction.

Continuing to watch the caravan in front of her, the more it seemed odd. They were only 2 days out from Viscerium, why stop and wait for two merc’s on foot? She tried to put it from her mind, she wasn’t paid to think why, but to follow orders and get the job done. Even so. She’d just started to list out all the heraldry she could think of with sunbursts, which shouldn’t be as long of a list as it was but between church officials and royals both official and not so official it was longer than she’d like for how dusty her memory felt recalling the lessons. Thelana would be disappointed. She may have kept up with physical training, but “a Knights mind is just as important of a weapon as her blade and should be kept as sharp.” She recited the old lesson under her breath, just as she spied movement in the ranks.

One of the mounted guards started moving towards the covered caravan, disappearing inside and she got the first glance of her travelling companion. He looked to be a similar age to her, perhaps slightly older, and walked like a man used to the road and the sword at his hip. His hair was bound back in a warriors queue, and his chestnut skin was going to fair a lot better on the journey than her fairness. Noting his worn clothing and warrior stance she quickly categorized him as being either having been a mercenary for some time (although clearly not a good one, her thoughts added measly as he came closer and she noted his worn clothes) or an ex guard come to try and earn better paying work.

Not that the ex-Knight could talk, she mocked herself. She felt particularly shabby herself next to the mounted personal guard, and especially after being hard on the road the last couple of days. She fought the urge to smooth back her braid as he approached her shady patch, resting her hand lightly on the hilt of her sword. The jerks in her squadron of squires had decided to start up with calling her the Maiden Knight due to being both A) female, B) compassionate, and C) stopping to appreciate a flower stall one time. The title had stung, until a newly appointed Knight who was helping Thelena with her mentoring duties helped her to own the title, and had the sword made as a gift for her knighting ceremony as a reminder. Being a gift made it her own blade, and thus she was able to keep it when she quit her Order, and it had become her most priced possession – and on her darkest days her most hated reminder.

Speaking of blades, the one at the hip of the gentleman coming towards her was exceptional. It definitely wasn’t the blade of a mercenary or Guard. He had just become quite the enigma. The fellow stopped just shy of her, calling a greeting. Taking a strode or two closer she smiled at him. “Better than rain, aye. Wouldn’t mind a breeze though.” She countered, keeping her tone friendly and light. “Bet camp set up is going to be a nightmare though,” she continued nodding her head at the caravan, indicating the rich (and probably pompous) patron they were to guard. From her experience they are never happy with sleeping on the road, and are very good at demanding things for their comfort but never willing to actually help make it happen.