[color=7ea7d8][i]Howland Morrys - The Opportunity[/i][/color] 

While he awoke in the cold morning, Howland's pale blue eyes unveiled themselves to the crisp morning of dispersed hay that was on the floor ahead of him and the fine, warm wolf pelt that lay beneath him. The pelt felt matted and rough, as it always did, but enough to make him adequately warm under his undergarments and silk shirt he wore as clothes to rest in. He was nestled comfortably the soothing warm coat that blanketed over him which he used as a cape whenever he didn't stop to sleep somewhere for the night. His fine, black leather armor was carefully placed next to him while his father's sword was still tightly grasped in his hands. Weather can cut through any metal-armor better than sharp steel or mithril blade, which is why he preferred leather over any metal to wear, if he had the chance to choose between the two. Metal could only slow the boy down, it was a burden he preferred not to have. 

His father's sword was something with needed to be watched with the utmost protection, it had been in his family for generations and was worth more to him than any gold ever offered to him. To Howland, the sharp longsword was a symbol of where he came from which originated from a battle long ago. To make a long story short, its origins are said to have emerged from the Dragon Knight of the North and his infamous sword, the "Prince of Scathing." It was a very fascinating sword, it's hilt was comprised of a golden dragon which decorated a pommel, its eyes were flaming a bright red crimson diamond. The grip was made of a fine leather material that was changed every few years or so and the cross guard was carved with symbols of the olden tongue that even Howland couldn't read. The blade itself was said to have been made of mithril, but no one could be sure, mithril was a very rare material that was once dug by the great Dwarven miners to the south and forged by them. The blade hardly, if ever, required sharpening and survived for hundreds of years. Where they managed to find the long sword was unknown - but the story was that Howland's ancestor was the main subject in a grand, epic tale in which Rassel, the Ice-Scourge of the North, was responsible of slaying the illustrious Dragon Knight of the North in single cobmat during some great battle of some kind. Everything that happened thereafter, was completely obscure. The morning sun had stubbornly sheered its way into the open stables and greeted the young boy with a warm, gentle kiss to give him strength for the day. The stables were then alighted with a bright orange pigment as the he slowly adjusted his eyes to the morning light, an orange sun had finally risen from the horizon. 

While he slowly and progressively began to get out of his sheet and out of bed, a stable-boy who looked no more than ten or so approached him with a pint of cold ale which was half full along with a wooden plate of sausage with mashed potatoes, topped with delectable yellow cheese which was freshly cut and prepared by the farmer who let him spend the night in the stables. The brightly, red-headed boy waited while Howland was assembling his leather gauntlets, tightly to his forearms before reaching out for the plate. To his side, stood his trusty stallion, Dustard, who was named for his enjoyment rolling around in the dirt and often had a tendency to behave rambunctiously whenever they stopped to rest anywhere out of town, the trusty steed was probably the only thing Howland ever felt close to. The boy then greeted the young man with his breakfast and a simple [color=bc8dbf]"Good morning"[/color] which was then preceded by a awkward silence before Howland finally signaled the stable boy to leave before the red-headed boy darted back to the farm to inform his father that his temporary worker was finally awake and ready to leave the farm. 

Out of the many rooms the farmer had, Howland kept to the stables with Dustard, he was quite used to sleeping outside comfortably. Mainly because he hardly the money to sleep anywhere else - even with the many odd jobs he had the past years since he ran away from home to make a living for himself. There was a comfort in solitude and sleeping outdoors with his trusty steed, he would hardly trade a special night like that with anyone else, not even with a whore to comfort him. This was the last night Howland would spend at the farm, where he had planned to work for only about a week before he was to head to the coast toward Gothic-Maxim in search of other jobs. As he drew towards the coast from the mountain ranges, he would smell the fresh ocean breeze that filled his lungs with satisfaction and a sense of an opportunity which was possibly at hand, whatever it may be. 

After he broke his fast on the succulent pork sausage and the potatoes which were sparkled with fresh cheese and a half-pint of ale, Howland bid his farewells to the both the amiable farm owner and the shy, redheaded boy who insisted that Howland take a sack of food in his journey towards Gothic-Maxim to which he then thanked. The ambitious boy then gave them an earnest smile and walked towards the trail, grabbing Dustard by the dusty reins and headed to the port-city of Gothic-Maxim. However, before he was able to mount his horse, something peculiar took his sight. Three men, who he had never seen before emerged from the trails ahead of him. They were ugly men, men who Howland could tell were trouble in his experiences throughout his voyages across the continent. Their mismatched armor, which was almost undoubtedly stolen, became more visible from the distance and as they walked toward Howland and the farm behind him, they grew taller. Howland paused for a moment, to get a good look at the three of them. 

One man was dressed in studded, iron armor which covered the majority of his chest but left his arms exposed, he was the tallest man there. He was was covered in long, white-blonde hair that flowed down to his stomach with a scruffy beard that appeared to be stained with ale and looks as it it had never been properly washed. The brute wore a large iron, horned helm which covered the majority of his ugly, brute face and was the largest man Howland had ever seen in a while; He stood a head taller than he did and Howland was considered a fairly tall boy. The other two, who the blonde one towered over, stood on either side of him. They were dressed in leather armor that was stained by unwashed dirt and most probably, blood which seemed to be months old. 

As they approached, they seemed to ignore the young man entirely and headed to the farm and its two innocent owners who then meekly gave them a quick glance. Howland turned to see it all happened, there was a short yet loud discussion between then and Howland then knew what was happening. Trouble was coming and it all almost seemed that the incident was nothing more than a shake down through intimidation. Howland knew he needed to do something for the farmer who had just gave him a place to stay. With a rush of confidence, Howland darted near a tree, tying Dustard's reins firmly onto thick branch before throwing his warm coat over the saddle of his stallion. 

Howland then made his way to whatever was going on as he then tighten his sword belt to ready himself for anything that might happen, should it ever befall on him. The mangy men turned towards him as he approached the small crowd of men gathered. A part of himself wanted to turn his back and run away, but Howland forced himself to stay there. Howland has killed men before, terrible men - he does not fear of doing it again if he had to. 

[color=ed1c24]"The fuc' do ya want?"[/color] One of them grunted. 

[color=7ea7d8]"I couldn't help but notice the yelling and I wanted to know what the fuss was about."[/color] 

[color=ed1c24]"Why? It's no concern of yours. Now, fuc'yer off and leave us alone."[/color] He said. 

[color=7ea7d8]"Oh, but it [i]is[/i] my concern. It makes no difference that your excessive pestering of is poor man is any more annoying to him than it is to mke."[/color] Howland emphasized. [color=7ea7d8]"And no, I'm afraid I can't do that. I want you to leave this man be and carry on your way. Do this and there will be not blood shed, I am not looking for a fight with you men."[/color]

[color=ed1c24]"You wan-"[/color] One of them said before a loud roar of laughter burst from him. The others did not seem so easily amused. 

[color=7ea7d8]"Now, I'll kindly ask you one more time to leave this kind family alone and be on your way."[/color] He replied, earnestly. 

[color=ed1c24]"Go ahead n'ask, boy!"[/color] Proclaimed the large one in a wretched groan, staring Howland straight into his eyes a way that a predator hunted a prey. He then turned to face him fully but Howland would not give up so easily, not through mere intimidation and although there were three of them - he could easily tell they were not experienced, at least not diligently. The way they stood their stance gave it all away. Howland then reached for his pommel and stood his stance, facing his shoulders towards the oppressors. His blade had shown itself, an eighth of it was exposed while the larger man examined it. [color=ed1c24]"That's quite the sword yer got there, would be ashamed if I took it for myself in yer pretty boy blood."[/color] 

[color=7ea7d8]"Is she? I'm afraid she is far too beautiful to be yielded by fuck-ugly, impudent brute such as yourself."[/color] Taking offense, the large brute briskly drew his sword while Howland drew his immediately after. Howland's ancestral blade sung a beautifully powerful tone as it was unleashed from his scabbard. The first man who approached him was the man on the brute's side who then charged at Howland impetuously in an attempt to thrust his blade into him, but Howland was far too quick. With a quick flick of his wrist, Howland jerked his sword and deflected the incoming blade, just having the point of his enemy's sword from striking his abdomen. He sped across Howland and tumbled in the mud. The larger brute was second, who had his sword held high with both hands, ready to strike down the young man with his brute strength while Howland readied himself for the blow. Howland clutched his sword above with head with one hand that gripped the blade, the other was held tightly around he hilt until they both caught blades as both swords sang in a loud clang that deafened Howland's ears with a sharp pang. 

The third man came from behind the large one, but before he could make a move, he was impaled with an arrow form an archer behind Howland. Howland did not turn to see who did it, the only thing that mattered was that whoever was killing these bandits, was most definitely on his side and cared not to even question who fired the arrow. The large bandit gawked at Howland with hungry, aggressive blue eyes that wanted blood as Howland soon thrust himself backwards to break himself free. Howland then looked to see the first man with his peripheral vision to see that he was struggling to get up while the farm owner rushed out of the house with a long sword in his hands. Howland then concentrated on the larger, blonde man while the father fend himself against the other. 

The large man swung his blade while Howland pranced around him, barely missing the blade as it whooshed past him or happened to be blocked by Howland's blade every now and again. The young man waited for the right opportunity to strike when the simpleton exhausted so that his movements would slow with every swing of his rusty sword until at last, his opportunity came... Just barely, as Howland caught the bandit's blade and forced it on top of his guard. The boy then crouched and thrust his cold blade into the brute's exposed armor just under his rib cage. The large brute man got the sword he wanted, but through his stomach and only stained with his own blood than with Howland's. 

The brute did not scream, but his eyes met Howland's with disbelief as the boy soon reached for his dagger and plunged it into the man's neck, burying it deep into his throat as veins popped from around the man's head. Immediately, the once tough brute collapsed while Howland released his weapons from the man's flesh as blood gushed from the wounds and stained the blades. Howland turned to see the farm owner, covered in bright red blood while he nodded his head and approached him to see if he was alright. 

[color=7ea7d8]"Are you hurt?"[/color] He asked. 

[color=bc8dbf]"No."[/color] He said, breathing heavily. [color=bc8dbf]"Thank the gods... And thank you."[/color] The farmer coughed from exhaustion, his red beard waved as he coughed. The farmer was an elderly man in his fifties but could yield a sword effectively, or so he proved. The farmer later explained that he was a veteran of war long ago and wished not to use it ever again and thanked Howland for his efforts in fending him against the bandits. [color=bc8dbf]"Where did you learn to fight like that, is that why your going into the city?"[/color] 

[color=7ea7d8]"One of the reasons, yes."[/color] He replied though he did not say anymore, not even he knew why he was truly going there. Just a gut feeling telling him to travel to the coast. The old man stood straight and cracked his back which was followed a sigh of relief while his shy, red-headed boy ran towards him, carrying the longbow in his hands he used to kill the third man. Surprised, he added a small sentiment. [color=7ea7d8]"I cant say, it's a very long story, but killing a man is not something you'll get used to."[/color] Howland then looked at the boy who had concern written all over his bright blue eyes while he father comforted him and put an arm around his shoulder. When the farmer insisted on rewarding him with a pouch of gold, Howland simply refused and rode along the trail with haste after helping to gather the bodies together. Killing a man was something he did not enjoy, but it was the only way to get himself out of a dire situation if he could not use his tongue. 

[hr]

Howland rode his steed with haste through the trails as Dustard speedily ran without getting too easily winded for the three to four hour journey he rad. Dustard was a horse you could easily depend on during a voyage, he was rambunctious and steady as he was enduring. They passed through thick woodland and flat marshes of the rolling hills until they reached the destination about fifty miles from where they started. It was the Toll Man Bridge, a large infrastructure made of thick cobblestone and was guarded by twelve or so crossbowmen who observed incoming traveler. Howland stated his business and was permitted access into the port city. 

The city was rather large, almost too much for his liking, while his horse happily trotted in the busy city roads as they neared the harbor. It smelled of spices, fresh fish, or other foods that soon made the young man and his horse hungry once again. Howland then pulled a bright red apple from his pouch to feed his Dustard, he saw a woman crossing the street near him who held a piece of paper in front of her. He could not read it well from the distance, but he had the feeling that it was something promising. She was a tall, voluptuous young woman who darted through the crowds of people with a look of disgust in her face as she held her nose in from the harbor. He watched as she strode through the city streets, constantly ignoring the catcalling of the men who were near her. She held the piece of paper in her hands tightly as it appeared she was using it to guide her way through the streets before it was snatched from her hands by a gust of subtle ocean wind. The paper then flew across the open air and headed towards Howland's direction, grabbing the paper as it almost flew completely right past him. Before his horse could even have a bit of the tender, juicy apple that was in his hands, Howland clutched the flying paper for himself, holding it tightly so it would not be carried off from him too. The horse gave out a neigh of complaint while he read the paper to himself. 

It was a summoning of ambitious young people like himself to band together who had a thirst of adventure and that would transpire in the process, the place was not too far from where he stood which immediately caught his attention. It was not very far and he had nothing to lose. 
The Farmer’s Daughter was the name of the Inn and Bar that was ahead of him. Howland did not much think of the place, it was a large Inn but seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary from your average one. Howland soon parked his horse and then dismounted, realizing that he still had the red apple which the horse so desperately wanted, still in his hands.

[color=7ea7d8]"Here ya go boy. I'll be back."[/color] Howland said, giving the apple to the hungry horse who then gave a neigh in satisfaction while he petted his black mane. Howland turned to the door of the Inn and took a deep breath before entering and hoped that he would not get into another brawl. When he entered the bar, Howland did not expect there to be so many people cramped into a bar this early in the morning, but they were there anyway. Even the woman he saw earlier was there although he could barely see her. [i]Could they have also been here for the meetings?[/i] He questioned. Inside, the smell of fine ale and food as Howland casually made his way to the stand and ordered a pint of golden ale to wash down the cheese he would be eating from his pouch. When his ale was finally served by the bartender, Howland eat his lunch alone and waited to hear someone speak which would most certainly be Rusk, whoever he was. Only then would feel the need be gregariously inclined to utter a word to anyone at all.