Chapter 1

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[John]

John slashed at the wooden dummy, anger powering his muscles, despite the exhaustion. His wooden sword banged weakly against it, making a sharp, rapping noise as the wood bounced away.

“Pathetic!” the instructor yelled at him as he sank to his knees, letting the sword drop from his bruised hands.

John grimaced, his hands were in agony, and he could see the mottled purple beginning to spread once again. It was Wednesday, and he would have to endure through to Saturday before his next healing potion was assigned. Until then, each and every slash would be pain. He endured though, the faces of his friends flashing through his vision.

He picked up the sword, willing his hands to close around the roughhewn handle and reset.

“Begin the sequence again John…” the man yelled.

John took two big breaths and advanced. The dummy shot a ball of mud towards him that he deflected with his buckler; a small shield that was mounted on his forearm.

John had it on his left, and as he deflected the projectile, he let the motion carry through his body, using it to help bring his sword in for a descending slash.

The dummy flashed red, indicating he had scored a hit, and he ducked under the arm that swung at him, tucking his sword in close and spinning around. As he faced the dummy again, he let the sword fly out and scored another flash of red.

He jumped backwards, forcing his tired body out of the way of the dummy’s spear, and nearly tripped on the loose sand. John managed to regain his feet, and he circled around the dummy to the left, positioning the sun to his back.

The dummy wasn’t blinded by the sun as a human would have, but it kept it out of his eyes, letting him keep awareness. Sweat trickled down his forehead, collecting into pools above his brows. The baking hot sun didn’t help with his sweating, and as he engaged again, the sweat broke free, as water from a dam and ran into his eyes.

Partially blinded, John didn’t see the sweep coming, and the spear shaft took him in his ankles, knocking him down.

Fear took hold and as the spear spun around, until its sharp point was pointed directly at him, John froze. He knew he should roll, back, out of reach, but his body betrayed him, and he couldn’t seem to move.

John blinked, and the spear descended…

*** 2 hours later ***

“Get up, you lazy bones” the instructor yelled in his ear.

“Wha…” he mumbled back, confused at the assault that had just occurred on his newly conscious mind.

“No time to waste, you’ve already had a two-hour nap, off to your next lesson my boy, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Regaining his wits at last, John felt it was slightly unfair to call it a ‘two-hour nap,’ he’d been knocked unconscious! He didn’t say so however, instead responding: “of course sir.”

“Good, its herbalism, correct?”

“Yes sir” John replied.

“Good, you’ll find your clothes on the dresser, there” the instructor replied, pointing to the small square piece of furniture beside the bed on Johns’ right.

“Thank you, sir” John replied, watching the man get up and leave.

It was only after he had left, that John realised the implications of what his instructor had just said. With a gasp of horror, he covered himself up, realising that he had just been chatting with his instructor, totally and completely naked.

John blushed bright red in embarrassment, and quickly changed. Scurrying from the tent and trying to avoid everyone.

No-one, no-one needed to know about that!!!

Herbalism took place out in the gardens behind the newly constructed guild building, and it was led by a stoic woman named Angela. She had been an adventurer for many years, and now, in her mid-fifties, she taught would be newbies and refresher classes for the adventurers’ guild.

John sighed as he sat down, wincing in pain at the action of crossing his legs. He would normally be absolutely fine with the action, but the constant fighting had taken its toll, and when Saturday came and he received his health potion, he was normally so banged up that all the little aches and pains didn’t get fixed.

John didn’t like herbalism. It wasn’t that he didn’t find it interesting, he did. It was more the frustration of not being very good at it. Making potions required a deft hand and a good application of knowledge. Things John struggled with. Perhaps having bruised hands every time was hindering his results, perhaps not. But it was certainly detrimental to his mood, and the recent embarrassment of talking to his combat instructor naked hadn’t helped either.

This lesson had taken his patience and put it through the wringer, and he was glad when it came to a close. John had nearly exploded in anger several times, and he knew that it wouldn’t be good for him if that happened.

Not only did Angela not deserve his anger, he would be in trouble with the guild.

John wouldn’t let that happen; he couldn’t let that happen. Their deaths had to mean something, and John wasn’t going to let them be in vain. Delving the dungeon was something he had wanted for a long long time, and he was determined to help their families, to look after them, he felt a responsibility towards it.

Sigurd had told him several times that it wasn’t his fault, and intellectually he believed him. But his emotions didn’t follow suit. Still, the half-dwarf was wise beyond his years, and john took a page from his book, sitting down on his bed and attempting to clear his mind.

Going to bed angry meant waking up angry, and that was not a good way of making the most of his training. He had paid for one year and that was nearly up.

Relaxing, he focused on his breathing…in…out…in…out…

In…

Out…

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In…

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Out…

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In…

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Out…

Slowly, the anger, frustration, and everything distracting faded away, until all that was left was John and the moment. Far more even tempered, his patience restored, John opened his eyes, feeling the world wash back in. Smiling, he stood up, walked downstairs, greeted his mum, and had a lovely, pleasant evening meal, before retiring to an early sleep, ready to do it all again on the morrow…