Written in The Stars

The Second Scroll: Marcel

The man reached the royal domain a couple of days after his departure. Along the way, he met robbers and several packs of wolves. As the most important defender of his friends, Marcel was not afraid at all. He brought with him the belongings of the bandits who attacked him and a couple of wolf skins to the city – which was very convenient, because he did not have much money with him. He rented himself a small room in the main tavern and went down to the ground floor to have a snack before the audience with the king, whom had not yet known about it. A pleasant melody was playing in the hall – a young bard was sitting by the hearth and plucking the strings of a lyre. Only the owners of establishments in large cities could afford their own musicians.

"What do you want, good fellow?" an aged lyre woman was standing behind the counter, pouring ale into someone's glass.

"I'd like to eat something. I've been on the road for two days"

"Oh, that's not a question. I'll feed you now," the woman smiled.

"Thank you very much"

Marcel looked around – there were no more than three visitors in the room, including him. One of them was an elderly dark-skinned man with long gray hair. He was sitting in the very corner of the inn and drinking herbal tincture. The strangest thing was that he didn't look away from Marcel.

"Do you need something?" The warrior asked.

The old man smiled slightly and beckoned with his finger. Marcel, frowning slightly, joined the stranger at the table:

"What do you want, Father?"

"Where are you going, daredevil?"

"To the king. I want to fight for him"

"So I was right..."

"What do you mean?" Marcel frowned.

"You remind me of someone very much. So I was looking at you. I decided to find out what you do in life"

"I've been holding a sword my whole life"

"That's what I thought"

"Who did I remind you of?"

"Myself..." the old man rubbed his nose. "Only when I was young"

"Did you fight too?"

" Mmm... all my life. I participated in the battle against the orcs"

Marcel raised his eyebrows.

Finally, the innkeeper came to their table and put a plate of stew and a piece of hardened bread in front of lyre.

She patted his shoulders.

The man nodded gratefully.

"Is there a family?" he asked his companion.

The old man pursed his lips and shook his head:

"With the kind of life I had, it's useless to try to start a family... there was one girl... I loved her very much... But it didn't work out"

"What about friends?" Marcel took a sip from his plate.

"There weren't many of them... Everyone died in the war"

"My condolences"

"I don't need your condolences," he waved his hand. "You will soon learn the injustice of the path you have chosen"

"You don't have to say that"

"The truth of life"

"No, that's not going to happen to me," Marcel insisted.