Raven's Quest - Chapter 2 - Quintlar

Chapter 2



“Get Up! On your feet man, I don’t have all day!” shouted the Drillmaster in his usual impatient resounding yell.

“Yes, sir,” he said, but his reply wasn’t much louder than a whisper, as he tried desperately to catch his breath.

“Come on then, let’s try it again!”

“Just give me a moment!” he snapped bitterly at the drillmaster, agitation rising in his voice.

He regretted it, as soon as it came from his mouth, but it was too late to stop from saying it.

“I’ve no time for that attitude! There’s lots of other’s here I could teach,” the drillmaster barked. “Now get up!”

Quintlar tried to clear his head, enough to will his muscles to move. He had hit the ground hard, knocking the air from his lungs and making his ears ring. But, he could still hear Drillmaster over the ringing, everyone could. They had been practicing defense tactics all morning, and all he knew was, he kept ending up on the ground in a cloud of dust. Grimacing with an audible grunt, he was finally able to muster the strength to get up. He had to get it right this time, he vowed. His strength was waning.

“Well now, that’s more like it! A few more and we’ll call it a day,” Drillmaster exclaimed with a nod and wry smile.

“Yes, sir,” spitting his reply through clenched teeth, as he dusted himself off and readied his stance.

Gritting his teeth, he prepared for the next all too familiar blow. Their shoulders came together and his hands gripped the drillmasters forearms while he strained, digging into the soft earth trying to stay on his feet.

Struggling, Quintlar pushed and shoved, trying to knock the man off balance. He was tired. His muscles protested. He could feel every bump and bruise. He would need to find a healer when practice was over for some herbs to lessen the pain.

The drillmaster was a huge Giantman, standing just shy of seven feet tall, but he wasn’t taller than Quintlar. He prided himself on the fact that he was a full head taller than the average giantman. Quintlar was easily seven and a half feet tall. Even the giantman women were tall, and usually stood an average of six and a half feet.

Known for their physical abilities, they were sturdy and well muscled. Despite their size, they tended to be very agile. A fact that opponents in battle, regularly forgot, to the giantman's advantage. They were also well suited to the warrior’s life because of their strength, endurance and fierce loyalties to clan and nation. Overall, giantmen were a proud and noble race, but a few clans, to this day, remained barbaric and unscrupulous.

“Fight boy, fight,” Drillmaster growled, with a hearty shove almost knocking Quintlar over.

Sweat ran down his forehead into his eyes, stinging, blurring his vision making him blink rapidly. I can do this, he chanted silently over and over in his head. He would not give in to the pain. Finally, he was able to gather that extra strength he needed. Swiftly he brought his leg around, catching the drillmaster off balance. Shoving hard, as his leg swept behind the man, he was able to complete the task, sending the drillmaster to the ground.

“Oh yes! That felt good,” he shouted joyously.

He extended a hand up to the man on the ground. Chuckling, the drillmaster got to his feet. Then gave Quintlar a strong clap on the back.

“Well done, lad. You’re learning fast. Not many have been able to do that, in the first week,” he praised. “I think there’s promise for you yet. That’ll do for now, go get something to eat and some herbs for those taxed muscles. We’ll practice more in the morning. Remember to work on that stance!”

“Aye, I will! Thank you, Drillmaster.”

“Off with you now, before I change my mind! All right you mangy lot, who’s next?” Giving Quintlar a dismissive wave, the drillmaster turned to his next opponent.

Catching his breath, Quintlar wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked around. The sun was way past its zenith, and he hadn’t eaten since the morning meal. His stomach protested loudly, and he realized just how hungry he was. Quintlar had been in Seaford’s Landing a month. He’d been accepted into the warrior guild a week ago. From the time he was a toddler, it’s all he ever wanted to do. Quintlar wanted to be a warrior, and not just any warrior. He wanted to be a guild master. He wanted to command his own troops, and earn the respect that came along with being a good leader. But he knew he had a long way to go, before he could realize that dream. One step at a time, he thought to himself. Then he headed towards the barracks.

Crossing the courtyard he saw the other warriors. All were paired off and practicing one skill or another. He stopped a few times to watch different the groups. Men and a few women were working on an array skills. There was everything from self-discipline to swordplay to hand-to-hand combat. Small groups were just standing around, yelling encouragements to those practicing, and waiting for their turn. He was surprised by the diversity of the races he saw. Elves, giantmen, humans, and dwarves were all welcome here. He hadn’t expected to see them all working together. You would never have seen Giantmen working with dwarves where he was from. It was a nice surprise.

A frown crossed his brow as he thought of home. “Home,” Quintlar whispered, his shoulders sagging with a deep sigh. This would be his home now, and fellow warriors his family. Quintlar’s father had not approved of his choice to come here. He had told Quintlar, it was a foolish dream that would only get him killed. Over and over he had heard the same speech; the war was over, and men needed to stay home with their family, grow crops and rebuild, the nation had enough warriors already. His father just didn’t understand, though he should have. He had been a warrior once, had even helped save and entire village from the undead army the Banator had sent. Why couldn’t he accept his choice? Didn’t he know Quintlar wanted this desperately? Maybe his father had forgotten; it had been almost fifteen years since he left the guard. Quintlar just didn’t understand and there were too many questions he would probably never know the answers to.

Frowning Quintlar shoved his fingers through his hair as he chided himself. He had walked away from his father, never looking back. Maybe he was too proud, but he couldn’t give up his dream. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but it was his only choice. Quintlar couldn’t have stayed there and been a farmer. He needed more. He was going to make something of his life. Regret and sorrow gripped his heart when he remembered his mothers’ heartbroken face as he had left home. He could still hear his father’s voice of disapproval, ringing in his ears. That image, of his mother crying, would haunt him until the end of time.

The thought made him shudder. Taking a few deep breaths, Quintlar cleared his thoughts and struggled to quell his rising anger. Never before had he disobeyed his parents. He wondered if they knew how much it had hurt him to do it.

“Get Up!” the drillmaster bellowed at a young elven man, abruptly snapping him back to the present.

Startled, it took him a minute to realize the bellow wasn’t directed towards him. He growled with frustration, clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to quell his anger. Stomping heavily across the unevenly cobbled courtyard, he headed for the bathhouse.

It was a large wooden building with a few glass paned windows, a heavy carved door and a wood plank floor. Inside there were stalls for showers and a few large metal strapped round wooden tubs lining one end of the building. He preferred the showers, even though he had to fill the water bladder himself. Several large kettles of water were always being warmed on the huge cast iron stoves. There were equipment lockers for keeping weapons, padding and the various items needed for workouts. Lockers to store normal attire were available, and bins were provided for soiled laundry. The plain black uniform he wore now, was provided by the guild. Everyone wore one in the courtyard. It was the one place where everyone was equal, no matter of sex, rank or race. The only exception being the drillmasters, they ruled the courtyard.

Quintlar was alone at the moment. Good, he thought. He was in no mood for idle chitchat, or to be bothered. Stripping off his uniform, he tossed it in the bin and stepped into the nearest stall. Pulling the rope he felt the water run down over body. Quintlar closed his eyes, letting the warm water wash away the dirt and tension, soothing sore spots. He willed his mind to go blank for a bit, relaxing tight muscles. Then he opened his eyes. Rinsing soap from his body as the water ran out, he stepped from the stall and dried off.

In his locker were his few belongings. Everything was neat and orderly just like he had left them. Removing his breeches from the peg, he pulled the soft brown leather over his legs. Then Quintlar jammed his feet into his boots. He had a plain vest-style tan tunic, which he held closed at the waist, while putting on a black leather belt with a silver buckle. There was nothing flashy about him. Quintlar liked things simple, uncomplicated and plain. He ran his fingers through his straight brown hair, and fastened it with a small leather tie at the nape of his neck. Smoothing his beard he gazed into the small mirror on the wall. His violet eyes stared back at him.

His stomach growled again, reminding him he should go eat. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly he walked from the bathhouse. Quintlar headed along the west wall to the nearest guild gate. The guard gave him a curtly nod as he passed through, into the bustling and crowded street.

He wanted to try the food at one of the local taverns. They provided meals at the guild, but the stuff was horrible. Quintlar chucked softly as he walked. They have the best warriors in the nation but the worst food, he thought.

Stopping at one of the healer’s tents, Quintlar purchased the herbs and salves he needed. Then he continued on his way. Occasionally, he stopped to gaze into a shop window, or to look in merchant’s cart along the way. Slowly, he made his way down the narrow street.

He had heard talk of a tavern down by the wharf. It was supposed to serve good food and generous mugs of ale. Again the empty stomach rumbling was a reminder, making him quicken his step. Turning the corner at the end of the street, he came to a two-story brownstone building with small smoky windows. Patrons filed in and out the door and the smell of food filled the air. The sign creaked above the door as it swung back and forth in the evening breeze. It read “The Goat’s Eye Tavern”. This was the place.

Pushing open the heavy dark wooden door, Quintlar stepped into a warm noisy room, filled with people. He looked around the crowded room for an empty table. From where he stood, he didn’t see any. Men were laughing and playing cards. He could hear an argument upstairs. Lots of folks were eating dinner, but most were just drinking and having a good time.

A large bar stood along the left side of the room. The bartender was busily filling tankards of ale from the large wooden casks that lined the counter behind him. In the middle of the room was a huge round stone fire pit. A half carved carcass roasted on the spit over the hot coals. The aroma of the meat filled the air, mingling with the smell of stale ale, warm wine and so many sweaty bodies pressed together. Long sturdy tables and benches were placed around the room, allowing patrons to eat, drink and socialize. In the back, through an open doorway, he noticed some smaller tables.

Heading that way, he hopped he’d have better luck finding a place to sit. Quintlar noticed a young elven man, sitting at one of the tables staring into his tankard. He seems quite oblivious to his surroundings. Quintlar stopped short of the table as the serving girl came by to refill mugs. He asked for an order of meat and roasted roots, along with a large mug of ale. The girl nodded with a wink, and went on filling cups and taking orders. He cleared his throat and the elven man looked up.

“Might I sit here while I eat? All the other tables seem to be full,” he asked, indicating the full tables and putting forth his hand in greeting.

“Sure, have a seat,” the elf replied as they shook hands. The man looked at him a moment, then nodded indicating the seat in front of him.


Quintlar noticed the scar the elf had on his face first. It ruined his otherwise dashing looks. His blonde hair was woven into a mass of complex braids, which ran down to the middle of the man’s back. The dark blue tunic he wore seemed to accentuate his tanned skin and amber eyes. Quintlar guessed he was close to six and a half feet tall, and had a good grip when they had shook hands. In one of his slightly curved pointed ears, he wore a gold hoop earring.

“Am I intruding?” Quintlar asked, a bit of concerned.

“Not in the least, I was just hoping a friend would show up tonight, but there is plenty of room” The elf replied.

“Thanks, hope your friend won’t mind.” Feeling relieved that it wouldn’t be a problem; Quintlar pulled out and sat in the chair offered.

“Nope, he won’t mind a bit,” The elf said, smiling.

As Quintlar sat, the girl brought his dinner and ale.

“Merle, put my new friends order on my tab will you, doll?” the man asked flashing a broad grin at the girl.

She winked with a nod over her shoulder, and went off to fill more tankards. The man watched her hungrily as she walked away in a swish of skirts.

As he did, he licked his lips and smirked, “Mmm, that’s one fine looking wench.” Then he turned back to Quintlar. “So, my giantman friend, I’m Miksus, you new ‘round here?” he asked.

“Thanks for the seat, Quintlar’s my name, of the Thirmik Clan.”

“Thirmik Clan? Hmm, Thirmik Clan?” Miksus was tapping his fingers on the table. “ Of the Southern Plains?”

Quintlar nodded.

“That’s quite a trek from here. I was born here in Seaford’s, total wharf rat. I haven’t really traveled much of the nation yet. What you doing up here?” Miksus asked, sipping his ale.

“Yeah, been around town for about a month, just started at the Warrior Guild a week ago.” Quintlar plucked a piece of meat from his plate with his fingers, and stuck it in his mouth. “I couldn’t take the food there another day,” he said talking through the food and taking a hearty drink of his ale to wash it down. He wiped a hand across his mouth and beard, and then he set his tankard back down, foam spilling over the side onto the table. “Food here’s much better indeed,” he said, with a satisfying belch.

Laughing loudly, Miksus exclaimed, “Oh I know what you mean, I don’t eat there anymore. I swear that woman’s trying to poison us. I mean really, how’s a warrior supposed to live on that swill!”

They laughed and Quintlar went about finishing his meal. He told Miksus about this journey to Seaford’s; of his ambitions and that he knew he was never meant to be a farmer. Quintlar soon discovered his new friend had quite an attraction to the opposite sex. If it was wearing a skirt, Miksus was flirting with it. When he had finished his meal Merle came and took his plate and refilled his ale. He was rather surprised when she tried to flirt with him. He was at a total loss for words. Feeling a bit embarrassed he settled into his mug of ale. Miksus, of course, thought the whole situation was hilarious and was rolling with laughter.

“Ah, Quint, don’t be shy. Merle don’t bite…well, unless you want her to,“ Miksus teased, with a knowing grin. “Guess that’s something we’re going to have to work on. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you.”

“Yea, well I’ve never had much luck with women. I’m better with a sword,” he replied regrettably.

At that moment, the door of the tavern was slammed open with a large crash, causing everyone to stop and look. A slick looking human walked slowly through the door and started looking about the room. He had a cocky, arrogant air about him and Quintlar could feel there was something sinister in his nature. The man was wearing rather nice clothes for a common man. His tunic was made of brown silk and belted with a topaz studded black leather belt. The breeches looked like soft doeskin and his boots were embellished with silver. He was also wearing a dark green velvet cloak, that he had slung over one shoulder. His shoulder length auburn hair was worn loose, and a bit unruly. What struck Quintlar was, the coldness in the man’s piercing emerald eyes.

“Miksus! Where the hell are you? Miksus!” the man bellowed. “You know you can’t hide from me!”

“Fardlings!” Miksus swore under his breath.” I was really hoping he wouldn’t show up,” he said as he slumped down in his chair.

Quintlar wasn’t quite sure what to think. He wondered what his man could want with his new friend. He saw that Miksus was trying to hide his face in an attempt to not be noticed.

“What does he want Miksus?” he asked his friend.

What ever it was he was going to stay out of it for now. If Miksus needed his help, Quintlar figured he would say so.

“See this scar?” Miksus replied pointing to a deep scar running from his temple to his chin. “Verrak gave me it, and that is Verrak. It’s really a long story I’d rather not get into now. I…”

“There you are!” Verrak growled angrily, as he approached their table. Eyes fixed on Miksus; he didn’t even glance at Quintlar. “You thought you could hide from me? You know what I want. Do you have it?” Verrak glared.

“Ummm, well…I mean…” Miksus stammered, visibly shaking, in an attempt to answer him.

“This is your only warning,” Verrak told Miksus, in a low menacing voice, as he leaned over the table until they were nose to nose. ”You have until the end of the week, that’s two days! TWO DAYS! If I don’t have it by then, well…I’ll deal with you,” he promised while tracing a gloved finger down the scar on Miksus’ face.

“I’ll have it, Verrak. I swear I will. Don’t worry, I’ll have it,” Miksus assured him as beads of sweat rolled down his brow.

“You’d better have it!” Verrak retorted. Then he turned and made his way back out the door.

Quintlar watched Miksus let out the breath he’d been holding. Picking up his mug, he drained his ale in one big gulp. The he looked around the room until he found Merle, and catching her attention ordered another round. Once they had the ale Miksus looked up into Quintlar’s questioning gaze.

“I should tell you what all this is about now,” he said trying to steady his shaking voice.

“Aye, you should,” Quintlar said simply.

“All right, umm…as you saw, Verrak isn’t the kind of guy to mess around with. A while back I got into some trouble, with the constable. Verrak decided he would help me. I didn’t ask for his help, but he wouldn’t take my refusal. He told me to do a favor for him. It was a simple thing really; he wanted me to get him some weapons from the guild. I told him I would. Well, after I did some thinking, I went and asked if he would take silver coin instead of weapons. I didn’t want to steal from the guild. I was afraid he wouldn’t accept at first, but he finally agreed…five hundred silver pieces! I figured it wouldn’t be that hard to earn it. I had most of it, but I went to Lila’s down at the docks.”

Taking a drink from his mug he continued his story. “I lost three hundred of the four hundred coins I had, playing dice. I know it was stupid, to go to the Gambling ship, but I had all this coin and thought if I could win, I’d have it all to give him,” he sighed loudly. ” I really screwed up.”

Quintlar sat and listened to his friend talk, and wondered how he had ever gotten into such a horrible fix. He felt a bit sorry for Miksus, but it was of his own doing. Taking a long drink from his mug he squared his shoulders and looked straight at Miksus.

“Well, this is what your going to do” he started in a sobering tone. “I’ve got some silver coins back in my trunk at the barracks. I’ve got enough to lend that you’ll be able to pay this thug off. Keep in mind, now you will owe me. I’m not going to put a time limit on it. You just pay me back when you can. Deal?” Quintlar asked smiling at Miksus.

Miksus just sat there and blinked at Quintlar in stunned silence for a moment.

“It’s a deal. I’ve never known anyone like you Quintlar. To do something like this for someone they just met, it’s beyond generous. I promise, I’ll pay you back. No matter how long it takes. I swear!”

“Just remember, you owe me,” Quintlar reminded him.

They talked more about the whole situation and decided they would go see Verrak in the morning. To celebrate, they ordered more drinks and talked for the rest of the evening, until the tavern closed for the night. Staggering out the door, with a shove from the bartender, they made their way back to the barracks to sleep off the night of merriment.






"Raven's Quest...prologue" 

""Raven's Quest" - Chapter 1" 

"Raven's Quest - Chapter 3" 
"Raven's Quest - Chapter 4"