The Final Hurrah

Why Would I Go?

A young boy with curly brown hair and glasses, sat against a tree, tuning his guitar. He watched the people talk and the children play in the village, he never really fit in, but he had nowhere else to go.

Snowfall was a nice enough place, however it gets dreadfully cold in the winter. Luckily, it was summer and he could rest outside.

Wilbur decided to take a walk deeper into the woods to find some better shade from the beating sun. He sat by the stream watching the water run over the rocks. He saw something move in his peripheral and he turned his head quickly to see a man with golden hair and a green cloak, the cloak had two bleeding holes in the back.

"Uhm, you there!" Wilbur would call, "you're bleeding!"

The golden haired man turned to look at Wilbur, they were around the same height, but the golden haired man was more filled out to his form. While Wilbur was lanky or so he thought, too long arms and legs, too skinny, granted he was only a musician. Not some traveler from afar who thrives off trouble.

The man's piercing green eyes, somehow more green than an emerald, dug into Wilbur's skin.

Wilbur shuttered under his gaze, "we should get you to a healer, sir."

The blond haired man looks around and then shakes his head no, "that's not a great idea."

The man in the cloak didn't know why he didn't want to go to a healer, it just didn't resonate right with him.

"But," Wilbur began to only be cut off by the man in the cloak.

"We just can't, do you have a fireplace at home?" The blond haired man began to ask the boy questions about his home and Wilbur would nod to the things he possesses.

"I should have bandages because I tend to get blisters on my fingers," Wilbur motions to his guitar, "but, if I don't, I can run over to the marketplace to get them."

The blond man nods, "take me to your home, please."

Wilbur pushes his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and he nods, "follow me."

Wilbur takes the man into his home and looks to gather the things he asked for. He comes back and the blond haired man looks at him and says, "I'm going to have you wrap the bandages at an angle so I can still move." It was common sense but it was clear this wasn't the man's first time with a wound like this.

Wilbur nods, "what's your name?" Wilbur began to scrub the wounds, trying not to hurt the man too much.

He hesitates, "Philza."

Wilbur's brows furrowed in confusion, "like the god?"

Philza looks at him, "odd, I didn't know I was named after a god."

Wilbur looks extremely confused at that notion, "Philza, the father of crows, the keeper of skulls. The god of death. And you don't know who he is?"

Philza shakes his head.

"Wow"

"Wow?"

"Just. Wow."

Philza chuckles, "you're a strange boy, now what is your name?"

"Wilbur," the brown haired boy moved to grab something metal to cauterize the wounds with.

"I like that name, how do I know you aren't the god of death and we're not where we go after?" Philza asks

That made Wilbur laugh, "if I was the god of death I'd be up in his castle, watching over the people of Lavienge."

"So he's a god and a king?" Philza questions.

"I guess so? I don't know, I just know he lives in a castle." Wilbur presses the metal against the wounds, hearing a hiss of pain from the man. "Sorry," Wilbur began to apologize. "Don't apologize, it's necessary," Philza reassures Wilbur and then helps him bandage the wounds, his cloak now hung by the door and his bloodied shirt waiting to be washed.

Once they were done, Philza found himself staring at the wall while Wilbur played on his guitar. Philza listened, humming along to the song, it was something he'd heard a thousand times before. But where had he heard it from?

"Are you an adventurer, Wilbur? Oh, can I call you Will?" Philza began with these questions again. "I travel for music but that's about it, and Will is fine as long as I can call you Phil." Wilbur leans his guitar against the wall and leans back in his chair.

"Would you like to go on a trip with me to Lavienge to learn the music from there?" Philza plays with his sword.

"Why would I go? What reason do I have for it? I've been there, not a cheery place." Wilbur stares at Phil.

"I would like to see it for myself, and I don't want to travel alone with my wounds," he takes a deep breath, "gods know I'll tear them open again."

Wilbur heaves a sigh, "I guess, we can leave in a few days. I have some things to finish up here first."

"Oh, okay," Philza obliges, if he wants a friend he'll have to work with that
friends terms.

Wilbur stands, "I'll be back later, there's food in the kitchen, feel free to look around as you wish." Wilbur slips on his cloak and he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Philza looked around before heading to the kitchen, he was starving, he searched the cabinets, looking for something to make.

Wilbur paced himself to work, he was not excited. He worked for the local gossip place, what bullshit did they have for him this time. He enjoyed the writing but not so much the lies.

Will made it to work and he sat at his desk, beginning to write. He was going to run out of ink soon, that would be horrible, he's not allowed to buy his own and it can take weeks for theirs to get here.

Phil decided on some bread and leftover cheese, munching down. It was somewhat stale but he'd have to deal with it. Once he was done eating, he laid on the lounger Will had in his house, falling asleep while he waited for Will to come home.