User:Xepscern/Gaiden

It was eerie how quiet this huge house could be. Having walked through these halls a countless number of times over the last thirty years, I’ve seen a number of things. Many of Baron’s elite, from aristocrats to generals, have found themselves at home in these walls. His majesty, even, was known to have visited my masters when the mood struck him. Once upon a time, this was the almost a second castle to the Baron empire.

And yet right now, I find only myself wandering these halls.

I open the door to my Master’s bedroom, unleashing the muffled sounds of steel clanging to the rest of the house. Master Spencer had set up several dummies, all wearing Damocles-type armor, and was doing his daily training routine.


 * BANG*

The sound of his steel lance striking the dummy caused such a harsh echo that to this day I had to cover my ears for it.


 * CLINK*

Master Spencer’s forehead dripped in sweat as he hit another target, accompanied by audible breathing.


 * POW*

And last, the sound I was least familiar with. Master Spencer took his lance, quickly turned it around, and fired it like a firearm.

Not one to go delving into details, I never have learned how his Majesty Avon obtained such a powerful weapon. The craftsmanship was pure Baronesse, but the technology was akin to what Midgard was renown for. No matter the case, a weapon like that could only go to whom King Avon could trust, and young Master was the perfect candidate.

General Spencer Richard Windchaser. Only 28 years old, but to be expected, I suppose. For the last six years, Master Spencer had been focused entirely on military affairs. His Majesty Avon has been antsy over what Midgard and Damocles have been up to. He needed a general who made him feel secure, and Master Spencer was more than happy to oblige.

Having caught his breathe and dried his face with his shirt, Master Spencer finally addressed me.

“You here for the daily wash, Greta?”

“Yes, Master Spencer,” I said, picking up the basket I was carrying when I came inside. He’s known me for his entire life, meaning I’m the only person of service whose name he remembers. “What would you like for dinner tonight?”

“No dinner tonight. I’m heading to the castle. I’m meeting with Avon again to plan out some strategies for the impending invasion.”

“Very good, sir,” I said, hiding my frustration as best I can. Spencer had come back home only yesterday from an incursion occurring at the Baron/Damocles border. Gone for a number of days, I had optimistically assumed he would give himself a break from fighting for a least a couple of days.

But then, given what Damocles had taken from him, I guess this was justified.

Almost done with gathering all the dirty clothes in the room, I walked to Master Spencer to grab his make-shift towel. He placed the shirt in the basket, giving me a brief look in his eyes. Sad and grey, one could easily mistake his eyes for someone twice his age. They were eyes that told a story of someone who lost everything he held dear. They were eyes of someone who wouldn’t let himself get over the pain.

As I walked out of the room, full basket in hand, I caught a last glimpse of Master Spencer. Being with the family for thirty years, short glimpses like these remind me of happier times. I sometimes see a five year old, chubby and happy, stuffing his face with sweet rolls and pastries. I sometimes see a thirteen year old, with glimmer in his eyes from receiving his first true practice lance. I sometimes see an eighteen year old, running happily around the halls to tell everyone he had successfully enlisted. And I sometimes see a twenty-two year old, arriving at the house in total heartache.

I remember the day like it was yesterday. He was so thrilled. Much pressure was on him as not only a member of the his family, but as the son of the great Alexander Windchaser. Nonetheless, he took to fighting as well as his dad and brothers. And already showing his prowess with a lance, he had earned the right to acquire his own dragon. And who better to help him in such a task than the greatest tamer of the nation, Elizabeth Windchaser, his very own mother.

That day, he, his parents, and his five brothers all left for the momentous moment. All with cheery faces, all excited.

Several days later, just Master Spencer returned.

While taming the dragon, an emergency alert has been issued. A Baronesse scout told them of Damocles airship that had flown across the border, heading straight for the castle. Though retired, Alexander accompanied his still sons into battle, Elizabeth riding with him.

As the closest to the airship, the Windchasers were the first to encounter it. As i was told, they fought valiantly. None of them gave up, putting their lives on the line for the kingdom.

And yet, despite their best efforts, Damocles bested them.

By the time a second wave of Baron soldiers arrived, most of the Windchaser family was found dead.

Master Spencer was the only one alive.

Obviously heart broken, Master Spencer threw himself into being a soldier. He blamed their deaths on his lack of experienced, and trained even harder to make sure it never happened again.

And in his words, if a couple hundred Damocles parish in his wake, that was all the better.

As I washed the clothes outside, I saw the young Master leave, heading towards the Baron castle. Realizing I had forgotten to ask when he would be back, I tried to tell to get his attention. He kept going though, either not able to hear me or ignoring me entirely.

As he left, a wave of dread suddenly hit me. My bones started to ache, as a cold chill went down my spine.

Because for some reason, my mind was telling me this was going to be the last time I would see the young Master.