“Would you be so kind as to let me recite a tale both old and glorious?” It was as if music escaped his lips when they parted, the entire audience already enthralled just sat silently waiting for him to continue, and he did.
“Once was a man blessed with powers so grand,
The women could not help but adore.
Unite his race was the mission he had,
Given to him by his god Gorandor
It took him no time to travel the land,
His body’s size of a man times four.
Yearning to save his race of man,
Whose conditions of life were so poor.
Though peace he wanted, he did understand,
To save them he must make war.
Many armies he crushed beneath his heel,
Improving man’s life with his sword.
Banners rose, his cause gaining strength,
His race was united once more.
It would not be long, he was assured
Armies would march with him by the score.
They cleared the lands of the evil it had,
And brought peace to his world’s doors.
His quest fulfilled, but man not safe,
For evil is like a festering sore.
Needing to ensure the safety of his race,
Knowing all too well their ancient lore.
He built a great city, named after his fathers,
Then arose from the stone, castle Valdadore.
For many hundred a year peace was protected,
The King now growing old and sore.
He passed his Kingdom to his only son,
Known now as King Sorantore.
Evil again strikes at our borders,
Always into the shields of Valdadore.
But each day the evil grows stronger,
As dark armies amass once more.
It seems the dark ones test our defenses,
Anxious to settle the score.
Too soon it seems our world again,
Will be drenched with the blood of war.
It falls to you, the young and the strong,
Blessed by the gods at your core.
To pick up the banners, and the cause,
And fight for your King Valdadore!”
The song was of the like that none of the boys had ever heard its equal, and the entire room sat enthralled hanging on every word the old man sang. Even the drunkards at the bar had quieted their clamorous jests to listen to the old codger’s song. Finally, when the man’s song came to an end many a man in the room lifted his mug and shouted "Long Live Valdadore!"
The old man scrutinized the small crowd, most of them still sat with their jaws still agape. It seemed to him his words had the effect he intended, and so with effortless grace he launched his body down from the bar and strolled straight across the room and out the door.
A few moments had passed since the old story teller had departed. Most of the people within the inn looked from one another in astonished glances, not feeling the warning the grave tale had told them. People started talking again in hushed voices at first repeating parts of the tale. The large room grew louder and louder as the twins and Ashton looked across the table at one another knowing all too sure that if the tale were true, The Choosing would be much more uncomfortable than anticipated. The boys still sat facing the bar, oblivious to their surroundings, discussing the old man’s tale when a loud thud followed by a bone shattering crack broke the tension in the room. Across from them, at the bar, stood one of the drunken men, holding one of the Inn’s stools in his hand. Next to him on the ground lay another one of the drunks writhing in pain clutching his face as blood spilled out between his fingers. Several men in the inn stood up. The barkeep, large as he was, ducked behind the counter as if to hide. The large burly drunk scanned the crowd measuring up those who had stood to intervene. Still holding the stool raised above him in one hand he turned back to the bar as the barkeep returned from behind the counter. The barkeep was now holding a small crossbow, drawn and loaded. If the drunk persisted he would drop where he stood.
“It time to call it a night John.” Stated the barkeep coolly. “Why don’t you go home, we can square up your tab tomorrow?”
The drunk, apparently named John, looked the barkeep in the face, and then glanced down at the crossbow. Hesitating momentarily, John lowered his stool then let it drop to the stone floor with a clatter. He looked at the man at his feet, turned and walked to the door muttering something about not gonna fight for Valdadore anymore, and how someone was gonna answer for his ruined night, then he strode, somewhat unevenly out the door slamming it behind him. Everyone in the room watched him go, everyone but Ashton. The gangly blonde bounced out of his chair and weaved himself between the stunned patrons towards the injured man. Coming to the man’s side Ashton dropped to his knees and closed his eyes, looking to the sky. His childish features relaxed and he spoke soft words then in Prayer to his Goddess, and opening his eyes looked down to the man who lay before him. Lightly grabbing the man’s protective hands, he peeled them back to assess the damage. Several people who had gathered around him, including the twins, gasped at the sight. The man's jaw was broken and ripped wide open spurting blood, his nose almost completely detached from his face. Ashton composed his face to one of un-terrified concern. He lowered his own hands above the man's face leaving a breath of a hair between himself and the man's mangled features. Chanting something nearly inaudible Ashton’s features seemed strained with some unseen exertion. Yellow and white light began to glow at his fingertips slowly, steadily encompassing his entire hands. With each repetition of his chant the light increased in intensity. Sweat beaded on Ashton’s forehead, and his body began to tremble lightly. He chanted louder and louder though his words were incoherent, something foreign. The light from his hands now encompassed the face of the injured man, and Ashton’s body shook more violently. Almost as if a cold wind blew down the young healer’s spine his body shuddered as the magic took him over racing through his blood. Ashton’s body was consumed in light for a moment as he regained control over the power that coursed through him. As if struck with an arrow he suddenly stopped chanting, his eyes popping wide open, he grinned in the direction of the twins then went limp falling to the floor. Ashton lay, eyes wide, breathing shallowly, still grinning at the amazing sensation coursing through his blood. The injured man lay next to Ashton, lying in a pool of his own blood. The man looked up at the faces around him, mouths wide open in wonder or horror, and he couldn’t be sure which. All the man knew was that most of the pain in his face had abated and the ringing in his ears had vanished completely. Not knowing how to react, he put his hands back up to shield his face, try to stop the blood. There was no blood, not now. Reaching up to touch his face he found with his blood stained fingers that his face had been completely and utterly restored. The guests all stared at the man on the floor and the boy beside him speechless. Only Garret and Seth reacted. They raced to their fallen friend and reached down each grabbing Ashton under an arm drug his limp form through the crowd and rested him in a chair. Garret shouted for some water, and a moment later the barmaid came hustling to their side with a large mug of clean water.
Long moments passed as Garret tried unsuccessfully to make Ashton drink the water. Ashton just sat there propped in the chair, a crooked grin on his face, eyes wide open oblivious to the world outside his own mind. The injured man had since regained his feet and was towering in front of Ashton with a look of unsurpassed gratitude lighting his face. The barmaid too was standing nearby incase the boys required anything further. The bar keep had come around the bar and was standing behind the small crowd, easily looking over their heads at the comatose boy. Ashton Blinked. The crowd froze. His lips settled into a straight line. The crowd still refused to move; now most of them stared at him with anxious faces their eyes wide. Ashton took a deep breath and shook his head as if to clear it of some invisible fog. The crowd roared a cheer like the boy had just slain a dragon.