[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/LawfbCn.png[/img][/center] Volume 1 - Beggar Knight [right]Childhood Memories[/right] [hr] The arid desert heat drew beads of sweat down Duncan's forehead. He had been awake for a few hours now, sitting outside the small tent the Bedouins had been gracious enough to provide him after the feast. He struggled to sleep the night before, he could only think it was a side effect of being asleep for a thousand years. He wondered if he'd ever have a good nights sleep with this much to catch up on. He rolled a sleeve up and rubbed his wrist. Omar hadn't held back in their fight, that was certain, he felt like someone had been smashing his forearms with a hammer. He looked up at the sky, he had taken off his chainmail before the feast last night but even his tunic felt too hot in this weather. He wondered how the tribe managed to keep so cool in their long, flowing robes. People had been beginning to wake up and start their day for a while now, all the while Duncan had been deep in thought, trying to remember as much as he could about his past, if anything at all. Everything still felt like a ghost to him. Faint shimmers of faces and voices appeared in his mind like lightning bolts if he thought hard enough. Nothing substantial though, nothing to grasp onto. His trance was broken by the approaching Mehdi, that same knowing smile playing on his lips as he carried over a bundle of robes. "Good morning, Duncan." He spoke. "I hope I am not disturbing you." "Not at all, Mehdi." Duncan replied, rising to his feet and brushing sand from his legs. "Your people's hospitality has been great, but I really must be on my way, Merlin awaits me." Mehdi shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not so simple as that, my friend. Merlin did not just ask us to find you, but also to help you..." He searched for the word. "Acclimatise to the world as it is now. This camp is one thing, but the world beyond it is another." He handed over the stark black robes to Duncan. "Here, put these on. You must be baking in that old tunic." Duncan nodded, retreating into his tent before emerging resplendent in the fine robes. He smiled at Mehdi, already feeling cooler as the robes worked to combat the heat of the oppressive sun. Mehdi allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips. "We'll make a Bedouin of you yet, Duncan. Come, Merlin told us you are a great warrior. If you are to fulfill your end of the contract I shall have to teach you how to fire a Jezail." Mehdi led Duncan to their camels and the two mounted their animals. They rode lazily under the sun for an hour or so, heading in the direction of a few boulders marring the horizon with their presence. "Mehdi, much has been said about this 'contract' between your tribe and Merlin. What exactly is my end of the deal?" Mehdi didn't turn to acknowledge his question. He smoothed his moustache against his face. "All will be revealed later, my friend. For now, let us focus on the task at hand." Duncan nodded, albeit with a hint of suspicion coursing through his veins. They arrived at the boulders and dismounted, Mehdi sliding two rifles from the saddle of his camel and pointing Duncan to the top of the boulders before moving over to the space far in front of them. He planted a few sticks into the ground and slid a few empty cans on top of the sticks to serve as targets. Mehdi joined Duncan on top of the boulders, handing him one of the rifles and crouching next to him. Duncan inspected the weapon, not quite understanding what the contraption was. "This was what you used to kill Ali yesterday. Is it some sort of wizard's staff? I have only seen Merlin conjure such explosions from thin air." Mehdi smiled. "A magic of sorts, my friend, but one that requires no wizard to cast. These are our rifles. Unfortunately they are not as advanced as the type you will see in the wider world, but they serve their purpose." He slid the ram rod out from underneath the rifles barrel and instructed Duncan to do the same. "We used these to fight the Ottomans during the second world war. Handy rifles made handier with our knowledge of the land." He unhooked a bag of powder and another of ammo from his belt and placed them inbetween the two. "We load the rifle with these small, metal balls and then fill it with gunpowder. The gun does the rest." He explained, demonstrating just what he had said before resting the rifle against his shoulder and aiming down at the targets he had set up. "Then you just point at your target and squeeze the trigger." In an instant there was a loud bang and the noise of a tin can being hit and flying off it's stick over in the distance. Duncan almost jumped back at the noise, looking down at the rifle. He'd never been much of an archer, much preferring close-quarters combat, but this device surely could change the tide of many battles. He attempted to copy Mehdi, loading the rifle and firing, but missing completely. "Keep trying, my friend. No one hits the can on his first try." Duncan nodded, loading the rifle again as he began to speak. "Mehdi, I can only assume the reason you're teaching me this is because our contract involves bloodshed. I am capable and willing to fulfill my end of the deal if it is for a just and honourable cause, but my only request is a sword. Have you have any idea what happened to my Ebony Blade?" Mehdi just shook his head. "Merlin had mentioned such an artefact. We combed the desert for days searching for it, but nothing was found. The desert has a funny way of getting such things lost." Duncan cursed under his breath. "Perhaps it is for the best. Still, I should need a weapon I feel more comfortable with should we be facing danger." "This can be arranged." [hr] Mehdi had made sure to bring Duncan back well before nightfall. The knight had taken to the rifle rather quickly, all things considered. He was no crack shot, but he was managing to at least glance off the cans consistently by the end of their trip. Mehdi had given Duncan the rifle as a gift and promised to speak with the Sheik about arranging an appropriate weapon as soon as possible. They dismounted as they neared the camp, leading their camels in and tying them outside a nearby tent as they made their way in for dinner. A group of children ran by laughing, play-fighting with some sticks. The sight pierced through Duncan like a blade. He felt a surge of emotion and enlightenment so harsh it almost knocked him off his feet. He could remember—remember something so far back it was like a dream. [hider=Memory 1] Duncan’s vision blurred, and suddenly, he was no longer in the desert but in the lush highlands of Scotland, centuries ago. He was a boy again, no more than eight years old, his small hands clutching a rough-hewn stick as he faced off against his brother, who was a few years older. The two of them stood on a grassy hill, the wind whipping through their unruly hair as they laughed and swung their makeshift swords. Duncan had taken the role of the villain, his face scrunched up in a mock scowl as he menaced his brother. "You’ll never defeat me, Sir Alasdair!" he cried, trying to deepen his voice to sound more menacing. His brother, playing the hero, grinned and raised his stick high. "In the name of the King, I shall!" his brother declared, charging at Duncan. Their sticks clashed with a satisfying thwack, and they whirled around each other, giggling and shouting, lost in their game. The sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, and for a moment, the world was nothing more than this small hill, their laughter, and the thrill of the battle. "Duncan! Alasdair! Come in, it’s time for supper!" Their mother’s voice carried on the wind, breaking through their game. Duncan’s brother, Alasdair, lowered his stick and grinned at him. "Looks like the good knight wins this time," he teased with a smile, before turning to run back toward their small cottage at the bottom of the hill. Duncan laughed, chasing after his brother, the stick forgotten in the grass as he raced down the slope. As they neared the cottage they were met with the familiar sight of smoke curling from the chimney. Their mother stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a smile on her face as she watched her sons approach. Her auburn hair was tied back in a braid. "Wash up, both of you. Your father will be home soon," she said, ushering them inside. Duncan could feel a surge of excitement at the mention of his father returning. He had been gone longer than usual this time, maybe even a week. He chattered excitedly with his brother, wondering outloud if his father had brought them any trinkets or souvenirs on his travels. Duncan’s father arrived just as they were sitting down to eat. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a rough-hewn face, his dark black hair flecked with grey. He carried an air of rugged strength about him, and Duncan admired him deeply, though he could never quite understand why his father was often away for days at a time. Their parents had never gone too deply into his fathers missions, just telling the boys that a knights duty took him away for days at a time. "Been a long day on the road." His father said gruffly, patting Duncan on the head as he passed. Duncan noticed the tiredness in his father’s eyes, but also the way his mother’s smile faltered ever so slightly as she glanced at him. To Duncan, it was a mystery why his mother sometimes seemed worried when his father came home, why she always asked if he was alright, and why his father would only respond with a quiet nod before changing the subject. The two boys were so excited to see him, why wasn't their mother? [/hider] The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Duncan with a hollow ache in his chest. He had loved that small, simple life, and though the memory was bittersweet, it brought a smile to his face. He wondered what had become of his family, of Alasdair, and of the parents who had shaped him into the man he had become. The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Duncan standing beside Mehdi, who noticed the distant look in his eyes. They began to walk toward the large communal tent where dinner would soon be served. The scent of spiced meat and fresh bread filled the air, pulling Duncan back to the present. Mehdi glanced over at him, his brow furrowing with concern. "You seemed far away just now, Duncan. Is everything alright?" Duncan hesitated before offering a small smile. "Yes, just… remembering something from long ago. I'm fine." They continued walking, the lively sounds of the camp around them contrasting sharply with the quiet, haunting echoes of Duncan's past. As they entered the tent, Duncan pushed the memories to the back of his mind, knowing that whatever lay ahead, he would need to stay focused on the present. But the images of the highlands, his family, and that simple, happy time lingered just beneath the surface. He hoped more of his memories would come back soon, he still felt so lost.