All Things Fade to Grey-Even the Bleakest Days(Storybook)

((This is a storybook writing of my characters tale, from his past to closer to the present. A prologue of his self before he arose from a quiet life in the aftermath. Later threads will likely be more inclined for full RPs.))

Keliha Greyson was born in a distant land to an old line of nobles, the Greyson. They held the land from centuries before, holding firm and upstanding sway this whole time through several tides of war and switching of noble houses. They were a proud people, who held onto moral strength of rights of even the serfs beneath them. However, as time moves on and old beliefs wane, fashion shifts and nobles grow angry at those who do not follow the tide.

Other nobles had taken up a growing policy of corruption, gluttony, and greed. They often drove their peasants into the ground, looted what they wished, and took to their chambers anyone who caught their eye. Management of their fiefs slowed and stagnated, money become scarcer even as they maintained strong sword arms and violent tendencies. It would eventually cause them fall, but they did not see this-instead they saw the Greyson held lands.

The fiefdom he grew up with contained several villages and a medium sized castle, alongside surrounding farmlands and other features. The forests had fat game guarded by happy wardens, the plowed fields were extensive and the wheat grew high. The structures of the village were stronger than one would expect from such places, stone structures and reinforced buildings. The peasants were healthy and happy, the military guards mostly around for show.

His family spent a large amount of the tax and gathered money on projects to improve the area. They oversaw many a construction or quarry force to make life better. They're military presence was notable, and equipped in good armor-but smaller and more reliant on heavy training than numbers. They had plenty of money from taxes and selling of crops and produce given to them to have luxury, and the peasants were able to offload their goods cheaply to merchants and keep there own lives well.

In such an environment, when the other lands live in the way of fashion and suffer for it, men's heart rarely see the light, but instead grow dark and cold. Although the taxes of the Greysons were by far the best crops and the most numerous gold, the whispers of the many other nobles was far louder than the old family of Greysons. They were archaic members with fine land, ripe for the taking to be granted to someone who was new and deserving-not someone who's deeds were long forgotten.

The King seethed with dark thoughts, and the armies of the many nobles marched, moving on the lands of the Greysons. They rallied and marched fast, with barely any warning to the family before they were besieged, the lands burned and pillaged. The guards had quickly retreated before the forces, falling into the fortress with it's overflowing granaries and it's heavily filled arsenals and medical wards. But they could never hope to stand forever, and so one son, the only son, was driven out when he sought to fight...


And so...the setting made, let the first part of this man's history arise.

Keliha was born to the Greyson family, a line that had rose to noble stature centuries before, the oldest line of the land. They held themselves proudly, believing themselves above the peasants-and in this era-the other nobles around them. They maintained land in ways passed down from those centuries before, ignoring the others who destroyed their holdings in naught but greed and lust. And he was raised on such ideals, believing in the basic needs and what providing them for his charges generated for both.

He was taught to read and write, arithmetic and algebra, and other things. Given books to study and tutors to teach, as well as regular exercise and access to combat arts. He traveled around, getting first hand access to management of resources and men, as well as other interest that caught his eye as he grew older, such as the fires of the forge or certain glimmering gems who's sight comforted his tired body at night. He grew up living well, and gained some knowledges of the arts of the court and other bits. All this in hopes he would some day take over the family lands and continue generations of tradition.

His age continued to grow, he performed boys mischief in free time he managed to acquire, relaxing at night and working during the day. The pampered life one may expect of a noble, even if he was forced into the dirt a bit more than he personally liked. Though he hissed and fought at times, his character eventually shaped into something somewhat expected of the line. He had decent skills of management, an appreciation for even the serfs, a grasp of courtly duties and etiquette, a taking to combat and swordplay, various interests that weren't too harmful. While he was far from a perfect ideal of the family, it was well known none were perfect.

However, even though he had achieved this, it was to be for naught. As flames of jealousy and anger fueled, his father knowing what was to come even as Keliha remained woefully ignorant, he looked towards a bright future; he saw happy serfs and soldiers faithfully following him, women's glinting eyes and charming smiles shown his way, building of the land into greater things, fine wines to rest his poor head at night and get an early start to the morning aches. However, the tides of politics are cruel, and it was snatched from him.

As a scout rode in and brought alarm of the approaching armies, the soldiers filing into the castle as the peasants fled to the hills, he started to prepare for battle as the rest of his family did. His father stopped him, and ordered him to leave this fools battle. Honor would be met with their own death, but his upholding of honor would be to maintain the blood line they sought to purge. Keliha was stubborn though, and did have a nasty prideful streak at times. He refused, spitting on the ground at the idea of being such a coward. With a growl, his father knocked him out, throwing him over a horse and sending it out the gate before closing it.

The memories are hazy, but Keliha woke up many miles from home, laying on the ground battered and on a rough dirt road far from any place he recognized. He looked up and could not see any landmarks in the distance, and his horse was nowhere to be seen. A surge of anger rose up at what happened, then crashed as the realization came. And he cried.

Cold. That is what I felt. Cold and sore. My cheeks felt crusted as well. Why was I so cold and sore. Then memories. Painful memories.


.....



Twas a beautiful day. The sun was high in the sky with a few clouds towering like some dreamy wonderland in fluffy patches throughout. He stared up at the sky, laying on the grassy hill outside the village. It was one of several villages in the lands surrounding his family home, and one that had a good wine press and a few kind women who would gladly share it with him.

The smell of tilled soil drifted into his nostrils, a few new fields being plowed as some peasants had drifted in from the surrounding areas looking for work. Other fields were sprouted and growing, plowed early in the season. He took a large smell, knowing some day tis would be his.

He grinned big, his white teeth flashing in the sunlight as he considered the day. He was supposed to be practicing his sword play today, but he had snuck away to this hill side and this village instead. He wanted to enjoy this fantastic day, and not be bored by such things as rigorous training. It was his birth day after all, and why spend his day sweating from excessive exertion when he could relax on this hill until someone found him then nab a bottle of the local vintage? It was a much more preferable option in his opinion.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth on his skin and the smells of soil on the air, grass beside him, and the forest in the distance. He smiled, his senses dully as he drifted into a relaxed state of half sleep. Idle thoughts drifted through his sluggish mind when a sudden pressure laid on him, soft scents of long hair and soft but well labored flesh drifting into his nose as his mind struggled back awake.

He smiled at the girl laying on his chest and snuggling, looking quite content to stay there. She was wearing simple clothes, a peasants dress with a bit of an open top. Her skin had a slight tan, and had a supple tone from a life of a peasant, even as she remained a pretty face with clean brown hair tied behind her head. "Why hello Ellisa, I see you found me." He said, smiling at her as she looked up with a small grin and a giggle.

"Did I mention it's my birthday? I've been waiting to take command for an entire 20 years now." He said, smiling sweetly at her, "20 years! I do believe I could use a good drink for such a wait. Don't suppose you know where I could find one? And in return I'll be sure to share the bottle." His warm grey eyes twinkled with joy and an innocence of one who has yet to feel the worlds wieght.

She smiled, reaching up to stroke his young face and cup his jaw, "Why yes, I do believe for such a kind offer from a handsome stranger, I can find you a bottle worthy of such a special day." She giggled again, looking at him with large blue eyes that twinkled with mischief as she looked at him. "Maybe I can even offer some more in return for sharing a bottle of wine, and make your oh so horrible wait easier."


........



He groaned, the flash back having been brief, moving at the lightning speed one sometimes expects of the mind. That had been his last birthday, a brighter day. He shifted, feeling the cold ground and chill air on him. He shifted, grunting as his stiff body complained.

He was on a rough dirt road, scattered trees building to a forest nearby. He remembered the invasion, the punch. But not much else. He forced himself to sit, hissing in pain. He had obviously been on the road for awhile-asleep or unconscious, he didn't know. He sat there, breathing for a few moments and growing used to the pain. As he did so, he remembered other tidbits of that day, and compared it to the harsh reality he had thrown in his face.

He shivered, and reached up to rub his face. He felt the salt from where his tears evaporated earlier, and realized if he didn't get up and find shelter, he may soon be dead. It was early winter, and he needed to quickly find some place he wouldn't simply freeze. He stood up, faltering and crying in agony before he gritted his teeth and forced himself to walk.

He would find rest eventually-but not in the grave.

Aches. His body was nothing but aches. Even with the cold nipping at him, and exhaustion making him nearly blind-the aches were there.


..........


Keliha wandered through the castle, his short thick hair whipping wildly as he ran. He was a young boy, a mere seven years of age. It was winter, and he did not much care for the cold outside. The children of some of the servants were taking refuge in the castle while they're parents worked, and they had started a game. The boys had got Keliha into a conspiracy to chase the girls around and try and scare them. As it stood, he was chasing one through the halls as she ran screaming, blind to her surroundings and in complete terror. He was laughing at her reaction, the other boy who had helped with the prank having falling behind to catch his breath.

The girl managed to slip into a hidden servants passage, losing Keliha in a part of the castle he had never ventured into. He kept running, trying to find her then stopped to catch his breath. He panted a bit, looking around, the stone here seemed to be worn smooth for some reason. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed by rougher and much more polished at once. He kept wandering deeper into the connected rooms and areas, large fantastic murals on the walls that he occasionally stopped to stare at, cases filled with scrolls and other items that mildly caught his eyes, tapestries and weavings adorning one room. He finally reached the end, the area feeling cold, but still warmer than the nipping air outside. There were no fire pits or anything, just scattered lamps, but still the place seemed to have a good temperature.

He looked around the room, noticing the walls held well painted portraits of men and women in regal attire and poses, a castle and landscape in the background that was similar in most, but occasionally seemed to expand or shrink. Beneath each portrait in the long hall was an armor stand, bearing finely crafted armor that matched the forms of those in the portrait. He looked in wonder at it, moving forward and past the last portraits and armor, moving up some stairs to a raised platform to find an armor stand of some stature below a large portrait. It contained a suit of heavy steel plate with thick chainmail beneath, and in front of it was a stone slab with a gleaming blade of the highest quality on it. The blade was fantastic, looking razor sharp and perfectly balanced from afar, with a line of runes marking the blood groove. The painting drew young Keliha's attention for a moment, and he noted that was actually the first of his family line, Gregor Greyson. The man never was a noble, but laid the foundation for the family's rise to it in the next two generations. However, such common history was not Keliha's interest so much as the blade.

Keliha was not given to fancies of combat as much as some other boys, but this blade seemed to have an almost unnatural draw-as if it was a siren calling to him. He tentatively began to reach for it, slowly and hesitantly when a loud voice rang across the hall from behind, causing him to stumble back and down the stairs. "Boy! I had a feeling you stumbled in here."

As Keliha panted from landing on his bum, he looks up in a daze as his father storms towards him. His father is not tall, but shorter than the average man. He is also set with large thick muscles and torso, showing a very intimidating and strong front. This was not helped by a booming voice and tendency to wear bits of armor with fine silks as his normal casual attire. He stood there, a red silk cloak wrapped around his shoulders, hints of blackened steel pauldrons trimmed with gold visible. A heavy leather belt wrapped around his fine tunic and chainmail clinked across his legs with the same blackened steel. His boots were of heavy leather, thick and rough just like him. His face was gruff and his air jet black and short cropped. Keliha could tell his hands were uncovered, even tough his arms were crossed, but the man didn't look pleased-admittedly, he NEVER looked pleased even when laughing.

"Boy, I had heard you chased one of those girls down here. And I knew you'd find your way in here." The man said, his voice reverberating through the hall. "Welcome to your heritage. Every Greyson who held sway-man or woman-has there armor and portrait in these halls. This is a tribute to our heritage, a museum. Trophies line the rooms outside, and personal symbols are in here." The man grabbed the scruff of Keliha's tunic and dragged him up, the world spinning around him.

"And before you lies the sword of Gregor Greyson, the heirloom bound to our family. It was his, said to have been forged by fey smiths in a grove and imbued with guardian spirits. It's runes glow with the tribute of power behind them when times of greatest threat arise." The man's voice, not helping Keliha's headache, held a sort of enraptured reverence. "It is said only the true heirs of our family can wield it, and that should the line fall into disarray, and the sword captured by another, it will shatter, and the spirits await the day when a true heir takes a blade of the highest quality and goes into the wilds to reforge the enchantment and guarding pact." His eyes glimmered with a respect and softness seen nowhere else, his childhood infatuation with the legend and his heritage having never died. However, Keliha was too short to notice this at the time.

The man turned his head sharply, his eyes hard again. "When I die, my armor shall grace these halls as well, and you shall become the true owner of the blade. And some day your armor will lie here as well." He said, his voice once again harsh. "But that day will be after you've learned not to chase girls and cause mayhem for the entire castle with their screams." He grabbed Keliha by the arm as Keliha shouted in pain, dragging him off.


......


Keliha collapsed to the ground, coughing heavily. As he hacked, he thought of the halls of remembrance, ransacked. He imagined the sword, either taken as a trophy-or if the legends were true, shattered. He thought of all this, and grasped at his cloak, only just now noticing it. It was pinned around his shoulders over the woolen travel clothes. As he began to recover from his fit, far to exhausted to get up again, he noted he had a small pouch as well. He struggled to stay conscious, to stand up and press on through. He failed, and he heard the hooves of the horsemen of death approach and the light of the afterlife shine as blackness surrounded him once more.

Darkness. All darkness. Is this death? Is my consciousness forever dark? Or do I yet ride the horseman's blade, gliding deeper into the abyss to my ultimate fate?


...........


"The boy isn't even seventeen yet and somehow, he's already got a husband trying to kill him! You know very well we can't let this go unpunished!" A loud voice shouted, dripping with a grouchy nasally accent mixed with a rather tenor sound. A low growl came out, Keliha's father never being one for words when he could avoid it-nor being in particularly good temper for those who make loud noises with little body. "Uhm, well he should be given something to teach him a bit more respect for such things. Perhaps...er, he could work at the quarry? Learn how hard physical labor is so he can get a better understanding of how hard life is for these men without having to chase after their wives when a man smiles."

Keliha's father pondered this suggesting. His face looking deep in thought, scrunched up and making it look like he was thinking dark furious thoughts of doom upon a prisoner. "Aye, we'll let that one go. Have him spend the week in the quarry, the new section. Under foreman...what was it? I forget who's where." He said.

"Uhm...Dreg, sir. Are you...sure?" The lighter voice man said, his voice faltering knowing exactly what the man was like-and that he wasn't going to be...gentle on Keliha as it stood. Not that you could call his normal bit gentle.

"Aye aye, sounds about right. I do hope they...have a good time with each other. He could use the exercise too, boy has no muscle." The patriarch said. The other man gulped and bowed, running off to pickup his nephew and drag him to the quarry.

Oh...this is...kinda cruel. Dreg is the harshest task master, and holds no respect for those of who can't work no matter their birth or standing. His friendship with the husband who tried to beat Keliha's face in and vengeful nature won't help. The man thought as he wandered off.

*********************

Keliha shouted again, dropping the pick onto he stone and cracking the block as the whip left another bloody welt on his back. He turned in a fury to the man who demanded to be called Foreman Dreg, glaring at him as he watched with a stone cold face, his icey blue eyes emotionless and cold like grave. Keliha didn't let the eyes grab him like when they first met, but stared him down as he brandished the whip. "That's another block ruined you bastard, I was doing fine until you slapped me with that blasted whip!" Keliha shouted, the nearby workers having stopped to watch.

"You should work faster, boy." Dreg said, cracking the whip just in front of Keliha's face with a practiced ease, causing Keliha to yelp and fall backwards, tumbling down a level into the stone pit where past blocks were carved and removed. Keliha glared once again, mumbling a long very fluent string of curses as he began struggling up, red faced and with his pants ripped.

"Do you have any idea who I am? You must, I told you like fifty times! I sh-" He said, cut off as the man threw a rotten cabbage into his face, the vegetable exploding and covering him with rot juices as he was knocked backwards again.

"I don't care your pedigree boy. We work here, hard work. You work slow and you waste valuable time and the money of the lords. Even if that money is your own, I'm to see that NO ONE wastes it. I advise picking up the pick before I grow tired and mar that pretty face." Dreg said, drifting closer.

Keliha took a breath, nearly vomiting at the mix of the smell and thought of what covered him. Who the hell gives a quarryman a rotten cabbage? Where the hell did he have it hidden? Keliha thought, growling but quickly grabbing the pick as the man brandished the whip. He ran over to a new block and began chipping into the edge to carve out a side, prepared as the whip slashed into his back and cashed a spurt of blood-causing the pick to slam down and bite extra deep into the stone.

Keliha smirked as Dreg said, "Good, but get it out." Keliha froze, then tried to tug the pick out, to find it stuck. His face went cold as Dreg said, "Best hurry, time's a wasting."

Keliha gulped and started to speak as he turned, "Well-" He cried out at that point, the whip coming down on him again and causing him to collapse.

"Pitiful. I need men here and I get given a pampered boy. How you ever could win the bed of a real man's wife I don't know." Dreg said, motioning for two onlookers to drag him to the infirmary nearby and causing the others to quickly get back to work with a simple glare.

To this day, even if half of it was blackouts and blissful sleep in my bed, I am sure Dreg has never had a more fun week than he did tormenting me.


..........................


The jangle of bells and gasp and cries rang in my head. But only darkness. Did I approach the gates? And why was there such terror and panic in the voices? Was I to go to heaven-or hell?

Warmth. A hot warmth. But...this warmth isn't searing. And darkness still. Is this...hell? Is this what we are to fear? A slightly uncomfortable warmth?


...................


Keliha, a young boy of only 9 years of age, looked down with boredom at the courtyard. A grizzled soldier was drilling some young men in combat, preparing them should the day arise armies were called. Keliha scoffed at this, their lands were insulated-and whats more, there hadn't been a war since the last civil war had occurred. Why bother with a standing army? Sure there were police duties, but a military presence was an expensive budget for times like these.

He turned and bumped into his uncle. A tall broad man, with a jovial face and a large muscled body. His skin was tanned, being a man who enjoys the labor outside and often finds himself wandering the mines and quarries on their's and neighboring lands. He was an imposing figure, and rather fierce in combat Keliha was told. "Uh...sorry uncle." Keliha said, backing up and turning his head to look at the giant.

"No worries boy, just came to find you for your lessons." The man said, his voice a light baritone ringing out loud and clear-though not booming like Keliha's father.

"Uh? Lessons? I have the day off from my tutors though." Keliha said, looking around with clear confusion on his face. He so disliked the many lessons of the court and management he had to take, and found it to be dreadfully boring when he could be out having fun and causing mischief. He took a step back and was grabbed by the man, a jovial grin on his face.

"Now now, these are differently. Some day the call of war will sound, and you must be ready-or perhaps a pretty girl will fall for you and you'll need to defend against the jealous lover of her." The man laughed, Keliha grimacing at such thoughts.

Keliha fought and struggled, trying half heartedly to argue as he was dragged down to the courtyard to see the grizzled veteran up close. The man was tall, though not as tall as his uncle. He had a face with a few scars down it's left side, and pitch black hair. The man had a close shave beard and looked imposing, though had a feel of gentleness even as he watched the pair approach.

"So, this is the Lord's son then? Let's hope his trouble making ways have taught him a thing or two about combat." The man said, his voice clear, though a bit soft. It carried well enough, but wouldn't be much use in the din of battle. He looked the boy up and down and took out two weighted wooden swords. "So, shall we begin?"

Keliha glared at them both, "What use is there for combat? We're in a peaceful land, and insulated from the outside. I doubt I shall ever see a need for combat in days to come." His face got an indignant look, that of a child who doesn't get his way, as he crossed his arms.

"Oh, this boy thinks he has no use for the training, eh? Well, forgive me your majesty." The man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he gave a mock bow. "I am sorry I had to take up your precious time. I mean, surely you have infinite combat ability already given your heritage! It must come naturally literally dripping out of your pores!" He kneeled, mocking worship of him. "Oh teach me great and wise master of the blade, this one is not worthy. Surely no one but that wee lass who found you last night in your-"

Keliha was red faced as people were laughing and giggling in the background. He turned and ran towards the man who was mocking him, who dropped the second sword and in a blinding motion wrapped the practice blade across his arm and sending him flying to lay on the ground holding his arm with a hiss. He turned redder still, standing up and charging again. This time, he got a light wrap on his cheek, splitting the lip as the man walked around mocking him, "Oh my, his ancestor must be so ashamed! His next in line is unable to even take a simple hit without bawling like a small child."

Keliha's eyes began to mist, causing him to quickly rub and glare. Then he noticed the sword, running and grabbing it before charging the man with a cry-his back turned. Still the man mocked, only to turn in a blur and thwack Keliha's side as he rose to swing, a crack resounding out as Keliha fell, gasping sharply. Standing, Keliha grasped the blade, thinking this time. The man didn't wait, but instead came in a charge, swinging wide as Kelih scrambled to block with his own training sword. A few more blows and the larger man kicked the bow, sending him sprawling out. "Now...what was that about combat being unneeded? I am hardly the best fighter around, and if you ever decide to travel, there are worries such as bandits and other threats even in a peaceful kingdom. And guards can sometimes be an inconvenience, or simply not enough. I would advise rethinking your ideas of this land being purely peaceful, as there are always criminals, kidnappers, and more out there."

The man turned and walked off, moving to train other men.


...........................


The warmth was dying down now, after an eternity. Who knew hell would cool down? It was comfortable now though. But...

Wait, a light, thoughts clearing.


***

Keliha groaned, his consciousness slowly coming up as he tried sitting up. He quickly collapsed, dizzy, and felt a rough linen and straw bed below him. Opening his eyes nearly caused him to throw up from the brightness, so he opened a slight and blindly looked around. As far as he could tell...he was in a small farmhouse.

"Are you finally awake?" A voice said.

Keliha sighed, looking up at the blinding light where the voice originated. He could see nothing, just a bright light as if he was staring at sometimes ten times the brightness of the sun. He laid back down, his eyes closed to try and calm the nausea washing over him in force. He noticed his stomach seemed empty-which he was thankful for at this time-and tried to breath and calm himself. The voice spoke again, a soft but strong voice of a man who had been working for many years. "Well, you seem to be awake, do try to rest, you've been out for nearly 3 weeks fighting a fever." Keliha heard foot steps approach and a leathery hand on his forehead, with a few grumbles as he heard muddled shouting outside. "Stay laying down here, seems the others are home-not that I expect you to get up and dance anyways."

The footsteps quickly moved outside, fading as the nausea faded to blackness once more.


........................................................................

Keliha, a short boy of 11 years of age, looked up at the tall scaffolding, being used to clean the walls of the castle. Someone had decided to pour mud all over it-mixed with something like concrete so that it took more than just rain to wash it off. While investigations were launched, peasants were using buckets of water and rags to scrub the grime off. Keliha had come out when there wasn't any laborers at work, and was poking around with boyish curiosity of the mischief in question. His father had managed to keep him "focused" on his studies the past week-armed guards being quite able to direct him-and thus he hadn't been able to see it till just now.

He looked at te towering structure of sticks and platforms, never having really been so close to such a tall group before. He was always run off or prevented from getting close before. His fascination kept him so focused in fact that he didn't notice a rather taller and more filled out girl sneaking up behind him. Not until she screamed "BOO!" and grabbed him, pulling him up as he struggled violently and knocked them both over and down the dirty hill behind them. He got up, glaring at the girl who some would guess was about 14 or 15, if they were more age inclined than the young boy.

"What was that for!?" He shouted, waving his arms as he tried to brush off the dirty from his white tunic. He mumbled as he glared, wary of her.

"Aw, don't ya wanna have a little fun pretty boy? It's not fun if your just shouting and complaining at mischief." The girl said, he blue eyes twinkling as she grinned and giggled, her dirt covered dress being a loose summer fit and revealing her tanned skin that marked her lot in life-and a bit of the skin that marked her gender too, given the fact modesty wasn't always the first rule for peasants. She giggled and gave a play charge, jumping at him and stopping to giggle wildly as he jumped back and tripped, falling on his behind.

Keliha's face was red, having fallen on his behind and just now registering the pretty boy comment. "Do you know who I am, I can-" He started to exclaim, only t notice her suddenly up close and leaned over him with a mischievous grin and twinkling eyes that seemed addicted to trouble.

"Why, yes, your Greyeyes, such lovely grey eyes you have Greyeyes, I see where you get the name." She said, a giggling grin on her face as she reaches up to tousle his hair as her own blue eyes have his stunned attention. She then jumped back before he could react, bouncing all around as she ran up the hill with screams and giggles ringing out.

Growling, the young boy chased after her, climbing up the hill and founding her hidden just above, crouched behind and ready to pounce him. As she did, he tried to roll away, but only managed to jumble them and prevent another trip down the hill. Instead he landed on his back, winded as she was sprawled on top, obviously not having expected the tumble and stunned momentarily as well. However, the girl recovered first, and moved to straddle and pin him wile staying above. "Well pretty boy Greyeyes, this has been fun." She giggled again, her eyes alight with mischief, "And while I do enjoy those pretty grey eyes, your looking so sad and dour, and it's not as much fun then." He was struggling beneath her, but could hardly shift her off of him from that position.

The girl jumped up, running to the scaffolding and grabbing a bar, spinning around with a giggle as he tried to get up. However, she overstimated the strength of the scaffolding, snapping the bar as she spun, causing a bucket of water to fall down first as the thing quaked and soak her through. She screamed as the water went through her hair and dress, paying attention a the scaffolding began collapsing. Luckily, the structure was more bars than solid pieces, so with her head covered she didn't get harmed, but was able to hide in the debris as a large group of men ran up looking at the damage.

Keliha's uncle came out, a scowl on his face as Keliha was the only person there. "Boy! What happened here? Who did this? I hardly doubt YOU could of caused this much damage. As much trouble as you are, yer just a lazy heir, not some strong arm who can break this." He glared the the boy, having taken into account the emptiness on his way over. He glanced around again, then went back to glaring.

"Uh...well...uh..." Keliha stuttered, remembering the girl and the chaos, but wondering if he should tell. "Well..I was looking at the scaffolding, and a wild dog was here and got scared when I approached. It smacked into a bar and whined, ya, and then ran off, the hit collapsing the whole structure. I'm lucky I wasn't next to it or it could of been, uh, bad." He finished.

The old man glared at him, obviously not believing him but giving a terse nod before moving off. "A'right men, we'll clear this tomorrow. And make sure nae DOGS can collapse it next time." He said, spitting and moving the mob away. "Also, Keliha, I believe your...honor guard have been looking for you." He called back as they rounded a corner.

The girl came out of the rubble, her soaked dress having specks of mud where the water soaked through dirt and her hair dripped wet. She grinned as he looked at her warily, grabbing his arm suddenly and pulling him close to her, forcing him to sit as she plopped on his lap as he oofed. He leaned in close, getting his own clothes wet-luckily with what had been fresh buckets of water-and smiled, "Why, thanks for not snitching Greyeyes. Your eyes are rather pretty as I said, and this makes you a winner-here's your prize." She said, leaning in to kiss him, holding him so even if he tried he couldn't struggle away. The kiss lasted for over a minute, lingering on his lips before she pulled back and her soft breath tingled on his lips further. "Catch ya next time, Greyeyes." She said, jumping off and running away as he sat there.



.........................................................


The farmer came back with his wife, who was trailed by an older women who started feeling Keliha up-in the medical way-and checking him out. She nodded and said "His fever seems gone, though he may still be weak." She handed the farmer some notes, and nodded her head again. "Follow those and it should help speed this man's recovery." To Keliha she said, "Your lucky they found you, otherwise you may of been a dead pretty boy." Then left.

Keliha was touch and go for a bit, but the kind farmer family cared for him well, feeding him broth and making sure that his strength returned. The local medicine woman proved extremely knowledgeable in her craft, and his recover was quick once it took hold. His strength slowly seeped back into his muscles, and he was eventually able to begin working his muscles without collapsing.

The medicine woman helped him exercise his muscles, and he was soon able to begin working to repay the debt he owed the family. Though he was far from an experienced farmer, he worked with the family to tend their animals and occasionally deal with their fields, learning skills he would find would be of use later on, though he did not know it now. His muscles began growing stronger with each passing day, and he was able to carry jugs of milk and even help transport goods to the market. His former tone and health returned, and although his passions were tame he even took some notice of the womenfolk in the area, although his mind was far from the carefree boy it once was.

In the end the whole ordeal gave him time to consider his past, and his heritage.

__________________________________

In the beginning, the family was founded by an ancestor of untold strength, blessed by gods and fey for his noble nature and powerful sword arm. He bore a blade crafted of the magics of beings beyond mere men, and his family was given the land and duty to maintain his heritage. Generations passed, and wars came and gone, and the man's legacy lived on, his origins among those not forgot, and his blade of strength held by each true heir.

However, wars can be terrible things, and great losses can occur. The tides will shift and the prizes will be claimed. For, it was foretold that should any not of the true heritage of the Greyson line hold onto their blade, the steel shall shatter, for it will not serve any unworthy of the heritage. And thus, should the line die off, it would be so, and the blade would be lost for eternity.

But, a blade, a heritage is not something that can be reconciled into a mere object. It is something far beyond, a birthright of untold strength that can pass generations to the next heir. In the same way, so is this blade, and so was the civil war. Herkon Greyson, a man who was born in an era of war and destruction saw first hand the truths of his heritage, and his tale is now recorded for all to see. Know that this song speaks of a past and future that shows that the blade is not the line, but that the blade is a symbol of the line.

Upon the shattered hill tops
The sullen valley falls
Upon the scared mountains
The steel horn yet calls

The Greyson family fights for the rightful heir to come
The throne is in dispute and a new age shall dawn
Families are divided even as this one stands whole
The land is burned and ravaged even as they stand so strong

But one man still proclaims
An era of the past
His armies are strong and relentless
And he crushes all in his path

The Lord of Cartian marches tall and strong
His noble vassals are vast and support him all
They stand by his demand of the same
The throne shall never change if he has his way

But through hiss endless bloodshed
He slaughters more and more
Women and children fall before him
His scythe his sword

And unto him stands firm
The rebels who shall defend
Who seek change and a new age
Upon their heir they stand

The Greysons are old
And their armies are strong
They stand at the precipice
A danger to them all

For long have they decided
Who shall rule the land
And thus the Lord of Cartian
Naught could let them stand

And now their days are numbered
As his armies marches forth
He seeks to crush this rebel force
In one mighty push

His armies are gathered
And the Lord Greyson stands
The blade of his ancestor
Shining in his hand

And lo is the day
That battle is come
Blood turns the 'scape
Red from sun to sun

And the victor is the vile
Lord of Cartian
The Rebel forces lie shattered
Upon the rocks they run

And lo does the blade
Greyson's heritage
Shatter in the hands
Of the Lord of Cartian

But the war remains
The rebels tenacious and strong
And Greyson shall not die
For his son remains alive

The hearts of the Greysons
Mourn with the blade
For they do not see
The truth behind it's way

The fey arise
Coming to the day
They bestow upon him
The Knowledge of the Way

A blade is but
An object and a tool
A sword's true strength
Lies within it's use

And thus the soul retains
The blade of Greyson's way
Reforged again
The runes struck anew

Bathed in the blood
Forged in the spring
The fey smith sing
And the blade returns to see

And thus did an age
Dawn once again
For a blade is but a blade
And the soul is heritage true



_________________________

He smiled, remembering such a tune from his youth. He had no doubt the blade was shattered, he had no doubt he would never see it in his life time. But as long as he lived, it could be reforged, returned to the next true heir of the heritage. The fey shall see that it is reforged, and that the next blade is strong.

As Keliha's strength returned, his muscles regaining their former tone, his love of women and wine gleaning in his eyes somewhat, however restrained. Though his sorrow at his losses kept him from returning to his former self, his strength gave him the ability to pursue more than merely carrying buckets of milk. Though he had often skipped out on his lessons as a child, the young son of the family so kind to take him in had an avid interest in the ideals of a soldier and a knight. Though he was far from a martial master, as the harvest was taken in and the days grow colder, he began sparring with the boy. His toning began to develop to one able to fight, though his skills were far from perfect. His skill with the blade grew some as the boy improved, and despite numerous welts and other minor injuries, the joy the young boy had at the arts brought a soft smile, even though he knew of war and conflict as horror alone at this point.

Keliha watched as the days grew ever shorter, the air ever colder. The sky became bleak and overcast as the twilight of the seasons continued, autumn fading into the dead times of winter. The farmers had quaint traditions he remembered well from his younger days at his fiefdom, taking a number of the fruits and more sweet things from the harvest and turning them into preserves and other treats for the winter. These things would be used to bring some joy in the winter months, providing succulent pies and other things amidst the howling winds and snows that were to come. Despite the harshness of winter months, some would say places such as these come more alive, for without the needs of the fields to tend to, and the weather to cold to travel far, festivals begin to appear. People gather at larger houses, hold large meals with the bounty of the harvest. They pray to the gods and celebrate many things, spending much time in revelry to drive away the chill from their bones.

It was a good life, though one that Keliha felt restless with. He was a lord, albiet one with a fallen house, and the life of a villager was far from how he should be. His family recorded many legends dating back quite far in his family, to the founder of his houses, Gregor Greyson. He started from such lowly beginnings as well, and found a way to rise above all he had been dealt-for the gods saw fit to bless him.

******************************************

Gregor looked out over the fields, aflame with fire and alight with the sounds of screaming peasants. They were panicked, fearful. A foreign lord led his armies down upon their lands, burning, ravaging, pillaging. The land was at war, and they were part of the crossfire. He looked at the men beside him, brave peasants, who he had been with since boyhood. They had dreamed of being a glorious soldier, finding loot and wealth at the enemy lands. They never dreamed of such as this-but their lives had prepared them for it.

They had no armor nor fine blades, they had mere peasant tools and sharpened sticks-but they had taught themselves since childhood how to fight with these, and they would not let these bastards go unchallenged.

He nodded to them, and they let looses a cry, two dozen men charging with various tools towards the equiped and blooded soldiers of the enemy. They charged, not knowing whether or not they would survive-believing that they would no doubt die this day...

******
A cry rang out waking Gregor from his dreams. A loud snort sounding out as his senses quickly sharpened. The dream of the start of this, but a few years ago, the battle he and a few others proved their metal. But no time for that now, the sentries of the camp sounded an alarm. An attack was coming, attacking his freeman group. He was under the employ of the king of this land now, leading numerous free peasants, most of which he had personally trained, into combat against the same enemy. The war had lasted years now, but he had proven his worth and the worth of the people who followed him.

"Man yer stations ya lazy dogs! Spearmen take up formation, scout captains, organize them to the points of attack! Delay the enemy and stop their advance, guard yer fellows and let them rally and prepare for the fight! To arms! To arms!" He shouted, his cry ringing out above the chaos as the enemies night ambush closed in. He grabbed his blade, his aketsan feeling warm as he moved to gather some of the more prepared groups of soldiers. The aketsan made a good sleeping jacket, and left him somewhat armored on the off chance an ambush happened at night-precautions do pay off.

A band of peasants wearing foriegn colors burst into his peripheral vision, waving around bills and shouting a war cry as they charged. He took his men and counter-charged, one of his men being skewered before they managed to reach contact range and cut down the poor fools. He shouted some more command, more and more soldiers managing to achieve combat readiness and gather for a more solidified defense.

He ran towards the main group, and took direct command of them. His sub commanders would take over other forces gathering to make resistance, and he was confident in their abilities. He organized a wall of spears to keep the still scattered enemy at bay while he took gauge of what troops he had and how much stuff they had gotten on. He then heard the sound of hooves beating down and cried "Spearmen! Brace yerselves!".

The calvary bore down in the chaos, and their lances caught several men-but the cries of dying horses and men sounded as wood snapped and the spears managed to hold off the horses. A more consolidated group of heavier troops begin hacking and pushing into his group, thee horses having taken advantage of the disorganized state and threw even more chaos into the men. He drew his blade and begin fighting with a knight who had landed near him, cursing as the mans heavy armor prevented any meaningful hits with his sword. They dueled it out, then one of his own men came and smacked him down with a mace, beating him to death.

He gave a sigh of relief, but noticed too late the commander of the force-a lord in the finest battle equipment, ran the man through. Gregor growled, and launched himself at the man with spring loaded legs. He caught the lord off gaurd, grabbing his torso and bashing him to the ground. The man's sword went flying, and Gregor began smashing with his own blade-it being good for little more than a blunt object to slowly beat the heavily armored man to death with.


The tide of battle was beginning to turn their way, and the other troops of the lord were beginning to die, surrender, or retreat. The lord was surrounded, and with another hit, Gregor's blade snapped, flying off and hamstringing one of his own men. He cursed, and the lord lay there, struggling and casting aside hiss helm. Blood from the internal wounds caused by the beating courssed from his mouth in a few coughs, as he croaked out "Mercy and yield." Offering his surrender. Gregor spit on the man's face, and ordered sosme men to carry him off. He then organized the force to relieve other beleaguered forces.

********

Gregor had won the battle, but lost another sword. Alongside that, the ambush had hurt a number of his troops, and hee was forced to take the prisoners and his men back to a nearby castle town. He traded both the lord and the prisoners to the lord there, gathering more supplies and some cash, alongside some favors to help him rest, recuperate, and rebuild his troops.

He sighed, resting his head in his arms as he tried to figure out what to do. His army would be out for weeks at least with the wounds they suffered. Many of the men would need replaced, so he'd have to hire volunteers and perhaps even mercenaries, training the ones in need of it and arranging for equipment. There was much work to be done. And then he'd need to find himself a new sword. Not an easy task. He was a peasant, even if a captian, and swords were often expensive. He also would need to make sure it wouldn't snap again. That could cost him his life.

He growled, tossing the papers off the desk he was sitting at. He shouted a number of curses to the room. Time spent finding a reliable blade was time not spent restoring his troops. And each day stuck in town was a day the enemy could destroy more land. His mind flicked back to his dream the night of the ambush, and mulled on that for a bit.

Then a voice interupted, a melancholy voice that echoed like water, "Fear nor noble Greyson, for within you lies a path greater than your birth."

*************************************************

Keliha stretched, laying in his loaned bed, his mind fuzzy from sweet wine of the feast of the day. He had celebrated the gods of war today, and had eaten much and been merry. It had even brought him out of his collective thoughts enough to find need of pleasant company. He smiled, feeling the warm mass breathing softly beside him, a fair visit and a reminder of better days for him. He sighed, and thought about what was to come.

When the winter snows would pass, he would need to press on. His destiny lay beyond this village, just as his ancestor's destiny had laid beyond his home.

The spring sun shone brightly above Keliha, his body now much stronger than it had been in quite some time.  He stretched, enjoying the soft smells of furrowed earth in the nearby farms.  It reminded him of his home, now seeming so far in the past.  The winter snows were long melted, feeding the wheat and grains planted in the fall, and causing them to quickly and greedily spring up in the early parts of the season.  The wheat had grown strong and been harvested, and now was the time to plough for the summer growing seasons. 

His hand rested on his pack, where two bottles of wine he had acquired nuzzled loaves of bread gifted to him by several young peasant woman he had spent time in the winter with.  He smiled, knowing the wine lay much akin to how he did during those long winter nights, kept warm by the soft touch of wonderful gifts to the world.

These thoughts took him back, to far more pleasant times.  Times of ignorance, of peace.

******************************

Keliha smiled at the young women in the village.  He gave a glittering smile and a bubbling laugh as he took the hand of a merchants daughter at her father's stall.  "My, such soft hands, so befitting the gentle and wondrous face above."  He looked at her with his glittering grey eyes, "No doubt such a wonderful beauty has never been so awed during her journeys as I am by the mere sight of you."  He leaned down and kissed her hand softly, causing her to blush slightly, "Ah, truly a shade befitting you, but alas, I cannot bask anymore.  The grasps of the earth and of time draw me forward.  Perhaps I shall see you again in better times before the world falls dark again with your absence."

With that line he slipped away before she could answer, a cheery smile on his face as he continued towards his destination.  He quickly moved down the crowded market street, making for a tavern where many of the craftsmen and visiting merchants shared meals.  He was no stranger to it either, enjoying the fine wine they acquired from the travelers and the lovely staff.

He slipped in the door, and looked around, taking an empty seat near a wall.  The place was crowded as always, but his blonde hair and glittering eyes stood out to all the waitresses in the place.  One was quick to slip away from her labor and bring him his favored bottle of their stock, a vintage from overseas that had a delicate and fruity taste.  She slipped into his lap as she sat it down, and gave him a small kiss on his nose.

"Well, you did show M'lord, I wasn't sure you would."  She said, grinning at him as she nuzzled him. 

He poured two glasses and handed her one and said, "How could I ignore the request of a fallen divine, forsaken the heavens to bless the earth?"  He looked into her green eyes with hiss glittering grey ones, focusing his attention on her and losing track of his surroundings.

"Oh, you always say such things.  I wonder how much you've practiced such things."  She said, flicking his nose playfully then pouting.

"I only speak the truth to those of true beauty, for how can I lie about such wonder?"  He said, not noticing the three men forming up nearby, the other waitresses noticing and clearing out.  As she was about to reply a hand landed on his shoulder and tugged, knocking both out of the chair and too the floor.

"You've made a mistake M'lord."  The man said, the last part obviously sarcastic.  Being the prince of these estates, son of the lord, obviously wouldn't save him from whatever this man wanted.  "Stealing all these women to your bed, I say it's about time we settle this matter, and stop you from ever using Prima Noctu again."  The men moved, and several merchants ran out in fear. 

Obviously the guards would be here soon, but he wasn't a prime fighter, so may not have that long.  He quickly formulated a different plan, and not taunting them with the fact Prima Noctu was more often invoked on the woman's wedding night.  "My good sir, I do admit I, like all my family, have a vice.  Mine is of course the love of beauty-and the inability to see how so many men seem to fail at the wonders these angels give."  He started, the men obviously not impressed.  "Obviously, you have heard some rumors though.  While I have had a few women woo'd to my side, I am but a normal man.  Despite my birth I obviously lack such traits as you fine gentlemen have." 

One of the men stopped and questioned what he meant, getting growls from the other two.  "Why, you men are obviously of superb strength and ability.  No doubt the women are all but fighting over such handsome men.  I have neither strength nor looks compared to you, so even if a few women may find me pleasant company-I have no doubt they will quickly abandon me if they realize they have a chance at men such as yourself."  He responded. 

It seemed to work on one guy, but the other two were harder cases.  While he was lost in day dreaming, the other two were very hostile.  Keliha acted quickly, to try and get this to turn around long enough, "Even the women I am with tell me I am but a passing fancy, while I am an unusual thing, they find I am lacking in so many things, and quickly wrap up with me. After all, why else would I seek so many women?  Do you truly think I am so skilled as to take them all?  I am merely having what I can before I lose what little I have and am forced to stand aside for greater men."

The day dreamer clicked back in, and said "Ya know guys, he does make some sense.  I mean, obviously none of the women stay with him right?"  The other man in the group growled and hit him, telling him off.  This got a snarl and a return blow.  The leader turned and told them to knock it off, they were finishing what they came for.  While the scuffle was quick to respond and fall in line behind the leader, it gave Keliha the chance to slip away.

By the time it was noticed he was quite close to the door, forcing the men to give chase.  Once out into the marketplace, it was easy for him to slip into the crowd and blend until the guards secured the men.  Before that occured, he found the waitress he was with earlier hiding at a nearby stall.  He smiled and said, "I do apologize for that.  The men merely had issue with my praise of your wondrous face and eyes.  The matter is settled now."  He reached and softy grasped her hand, "Would m'lady honor me by coming to lunch with me somewhere more private?"  He gave a grin and looked with his glittering warm grey eyes.


******************************************

Keliha continued down the road, moving outside the farmlands and into more unsettled wilds.  He moved south, feeling his restless body drawn that way.  His home to the north was lost, but perhaps something could be found still.