Anselm's Adventurers

Part 1: A Cry for Help

Haver Val'Jan was retired. Definitely. Completely. Retired. Ever since he hung up the sword and renounced his past life as a quartermaster of the wandering mercenaries known as Edric's Company, he had resided quietly at House Willbrand with his brothers in the Order of Light. As a retired soldier, he made himself useful around the enclave. He gardened badly, lent a hand where needed, and kept bees unusually well. Haver was retired, and he was just starting to get good at it.

Nothing would have changed for years and years and years if that letter hadn't arrived. Haver was outside, working with the bees, when a summons came from the Abbot. Dusting himself off and entering the Abbot's quarters, Haver took the offered seat across from the wizened older man.

The Abbot of Ningaloon studied the man before him. Val'Jan was neither very young nor very old. Twenty five years as a mercenary had given him a broad-shouldered, thick-set build that seemed as tough as old oak roots. Under a hood, his face had deep creases, but they were mostly from smile lines. He had smiled much over the years, telling many a tale around a campfire, and wooing other soldiers away from their treasured supplies.

As the Company's quartermaster, it had been his responsibility to keep the cookwagons full, and, the abbot had heard, his own haversack was even fuller. That's how he earned the nickname "Haver." A lesser man might have been resented for that, but "Haver" was good at what he did, and always managed to charm his way into enough supplies for the men he served. When needed, he could swing his sword effectively, but he generally was able to talk his way out of the situation before it came to that.

The abbot studied laugh lines mixed with the deep furrows left by private sorrows. Mercenaries were accustomed to seeing lives end, and often treated it lightly, as if whistling through a graveyard. Haver had his own tale that, while not uncommon, had robbed him of his hopes for his life's happiness when they were still in their first bloom. But, as he well knew, that was the case for most who had lived through the Faction Wars of Dudona. Since nothing could be gained from tears, Val'Jan chose to laugh and live.

Haver let his mind wander as his superior studied him. Years of army life had taught him to hurry up and wait, and it was a pleasant change to have a clear conscience as he sat. To the best of his knowledge, he wasn't in trouble for anything. For once.

The Abbot finally cleared his throat and began the interview. He asked him (as usual) how he was faring and whether he was completely recovered from his wounds. Upon receiving positive responses (as usual), the Abbot asked him whether he had firmly decided to lay down the sword or not. Haver hesitated. Smiling at this response, the Abbot slid a letter across the table to him.

Haver was not much of a reader, so it was lucky that the letter was plain and to the point. It was from Shindig, his old corporal, a weatherbeaten mercenary of uncertain age who had been like a second father to Haver, showing him the ropes when he had first joined the company as an awkward teenager. Shindig had written to ask for Haver's help. The corporal had settled in the town of Elmcroft, where, for many years, he had lived in peace. But something now threatened the town. Unable to confront it himself, he had sent the letter to find Haver, and to ask for his assistance in freeing the town from the danger it faced. 

Shindig's style left much to be desired. His spelling left even more to the imagination. There were half-a-dozen crossed-out attempts at "desperate," followed by a stark and simple, "HELP!" What Shindig lacked in adjectives he more than made up for in punctuation. Haver had never seen so many exclamation points in one place.

Haver finished deciphering the letter and looked up at the Abbot.

"Should I go?"

"It's your choice, my son. Your help is clearly needed, and you have sworn no oaths that prevent you from providing it."

Haver hesitated. "But I'm retired."

The abbot gazed through the man's eyes and into his soul. This soldier was running from his regrets, not resolving them. He made the difficult to release him. "By choice, yes. Not be lack of ability. Retirement need not be uninterrupted. You can always return."

Haver slumped down in thought. Then, he raised his head. Decision was written across his broad features.

"I'll go. He'd come help me."

"Then go. Go, may the blessing of the Brothers of Light go with you."