The afternoon sun peeks through the bedroom window brushing his face with warmth. Slowly his eyes open and his ears are filled with the haggling customers in the store below. “Another day…” he mumbles as he crawls from his bed. “This….there just must be something more than this….” He speaks to himself while he dresses for the day.
“Sid, must you sleep all day as if you have no respect for your father?” says an aging woman as he steps into the family kitchen.
“Not now….” Sidurol utters, while reaching for a leftover muffin from breakfast.
“Not now? Not now, then when? Your father is the unspoken king of this bridge town. He has built this family’s wealth from nothing! What will you do when he is gone? What shall you do? You show no interest in learning any of the businesses your father owns, who will carry on the Vishnin legacy!” Shrieking and nearly sobbing his mother leaves the room while continuing to mumble about his shortcomings.
It was true. His father owned a jewelers store, a smithing store, a market for local produce, and a butchers shop. On top of that he owned many residences in the bridge town that he collected revenue from. Though there were whispers in the taverns, in the alleys, the occasional secret argument…that his father wasn’t always the entrepreneur that he is today.
A retired highwayman, an aging bandit his father was. Built his initial wealth robbing the rich traveling the Caemlyn road…or so that’s what they say anyhow. His story is that of hardwork, careful planning, and wise spending got him to where he is today. However, the chest in his room speaks a different tune. A simple dark-hooded cloak, a battered and worn shortsword, and a weathered dirk speak the tale of a different life…
“Sidurol, come here.” Rang his father’s voice from the other room. “Finally awake are we?” he said with a smug look as Sidurol entered his office. “My son…life is but a story. I feel as if it is time for you to begin your tale.” He said quietly. “I do not wish to see you go, you are my eldest boy, but I know you must….you must venture these lands and see what you will to quell the desire inside your heart.” He continued. “Perhaps you will only be gone a short while, perhaps you shall never return. What is destined for you is your own, and you will find it on your own.” He spoke firmly. “Gather your things and leave my house.”
“Father…” Sidurol was cut off by his father. “SHUT UP. Gather your things and LEAVE this home.”
Confused Sidurol left the office. Quickly he made his way up the stairs towards his room. His door was already open, his bed had been stripped of the linens. His blanket remained folded in half on his bed. As he got closer he could see it was covering something. He snatched the blanket back in a hurry revealing a brand new greatsword with a bone handle in a leather cross scabbard. Beside the freshly smithed weapon lay a pouch of coin, one last gift from his father.
He slung the scabbard over his back, covered himself in a thick woolen cloak, and slid the pouch of coin into an inside pocket. With one last look at his childhood dwelling, Sidurol quickly made his way down the hallway, down the stairs, and out the rear door of the house. Sadness, and fear could be felt in the rear of his being, however excitement took the foothold and drive his body towards the city of Tar Valon. “Life is but a story…….”
Sidurol Vishnin
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