There is but Gold & Steel

[Quigmyre Graye]

He walked down the rugged contour of a rarely traveled road, eyes squinting from the sun. It'd been years since He'd lifted his swords. The urge to fight had long since been replaced by a want to exist peacefully, perhaps in a silent home upon which only stumbled the casual lost wanderer or the really astute trackers employed by those whom wished him dead for his transgressions against someone close.

Money wasn't an issue anymore. His services had been called upon so frequently through the years that he'd accrued more wealth than he ever would have required for the simple life he'd pictured for himself. Indeed, were he to find the spot for his hideaway he could easily live in seclusion and spend the rest of his days patiently awaiting death.

"A reasonable plan," he thought. "It isn't as if I can continue this way much longer. Hell, the shoulder's still bothering me, and I would have been over this in a day if I were 10 years younger."

True enough, he wasn't in prime condition anymore. Muscles ached and pulled these days with some of the most mundane of tasks. Of course, he'd arrived with nothing more on his mind than idle conversation, bantering over kegs of ale about glory days from long ago. Friendly sparring and laughter ensued quickly upon his arrival. It never took him long to make acquaintences, after all. He was blunt, perhaps, but fair. Masters of the word could get away with being direct. It wasn't the message; it was always the delivery.

He stopped and looked behind him....then ahead. The road was equally unending in either direction. He pulled his coin purse out and checked the funds that were readily available. He smiled as he thumbed through the gold and silver, thinking he had more now than a few days ago. He tucked the pouch back into his belt, then looked at his limp arm slung from his neck, a mug of ale gripped tightly in his hand. A smile slowly crept over his mouth as the memory of newfound friends flooded him in various visions.

Friends.......they became such a hinderance sometimes. It's much more difficult to leave a settlement when you have them. Vagabonds fair much better when keeping themselves distant and safe from emotional involvement. It was a mistake that was beginning to become a bad habit. Garreth. Talus. Olos. Freswinn. Katherine. What were they doing, now? Would they remember him fondly?

He again stared at the road behind him. The grass lightly waved to him, the wind blew gently against his cheek, and his eyes stared intently for a moment as ears honed in, searching for some sign of them.

"Bah. Such silliness," he muttered. "The memories shall suffice. They have every day until now. Today is no different."

He turned again to the road ahead and continued on the into the unknown.