1 Prologue: The Spectre, The Stork

When recounting the life of a legend, should one start at the birth, the first heroic act, or with preamble?

Well, what if there is no information about their birth? If their first heroic act is debated as though it were scripture? Sometimes the preamble is necessary.

That was the thought process of a bard who sat in the Yesteryear Guildhall. He would write, then scribble it out. Write a stanza, then tear the parchment. Write, tear, write, erase. It was this continuous cycle that had led him to be sat in front of a man known locally in Parse as a legend- Guildmaster Alonso Orson.

Alonso Orson was a man of many talents, and he had used those talents wisely throughout his life to ascend to his post. He had a wealth of knowledge about all things going on in Ayaha as well, and the bard wanted to pick his brain to see if it contained any crumbs about the Spectre.

"You wished to see me, Eamon?" Alonso asked, lifting a goblet of wine to his lips slowly, purposefully. "I heard you've even been rejecting to perform in the hall these days. That's a change," the Guildmaster noted, leaving whether the change was a good thing or not up to the imagination.

"I've been… musing over the Spectre," Eamon admitted, taking his hat off and fidgeting with its rim as he spoke. He didn't mean to be rude, but he was simply unable to meet Alonso's eyes. Their difference in status had nothing to do with it- it was Alonso's oppressive aura and natural frown that made it impossible for Eamon to meet his eyes. "I asked around, and nobody had any useful information on him. Not even his real name-"

"Abel."

"Not even the weapon he uses-"

"None."

"Hell, I couldn't even find… wait," Eamon stuttered, then looked up to see Alonso resting his head on his hand, covering his yawn with the other. "You know him, Guildmaster?" Eamon asked, frowning slightly. "You really know the Spectre?"

"Of course I know him," Alonso sighed. "He saved my ass once long ago and he's lorded it over me ever since. He's not a hero, he's a conniving little shit if anything," he continued, creasing his nose slightly, then tutting. "But he's… a good friend. I can't remember a time when he refused to help out. He travelled over here from the Badlands- in one day. Ran it with a healer on his back, too, because I said Angela wasn't feeling well. The Spectre isn't all monster-fighting, you know, though he does tend to stay in the Badlands until he reeks like a monster."

Eamon sat silent for a moment, watching the Guildmaster's ponderous eyes. "But I heard he was… lifeless?" the bard asked quietly, causing Alonso to snort. "No? Is that wrong? Isn't he a lone-wolf type? Always on his own, wandering Ayaha and slaying monsters on his lonesome? Never stopping until he can't move any longer?"

"Sure, sure. You bards are all so fanciful. He said he'd be coming at midday. He should be here soon," Alonso said, waving off the hero-worship as he stood up and moved to a nearby window, opening it fully. "I'd advise you to leave before he gets here. Your heroic image might be ruined."

"What do you mean? Is he standoffish? More brutish than the stories entail?" Eamon asked, unable to comprehend what sort of person could make the Guildmaster, a Demigod, speak the way he was. "I must meet h-"

"He's close," Alonso said, interrupting the bard and returning to his seat with a grunt as he slouched into the cushions.

"How do you know?" the bard asked, craning his neck to look out of the window for some heroic figure on a black horse. Perhaps he'd even ride in upon the back of a tamed beast? Was it necessary to keep the songs he wrote fully honest? He could surely exaggerate the tale slightly, no?

"Boo."

The bard almost jumped out of his skin at the voice from behind him, jolting so furiously that his hat and notepad fell from his lap and to the floor. When he turned to see who had spoke he realised that even a pristinely white steed, a suit of marble armour, and a choir of cherubs would not be enough to portray the man as anything but… horrifying.

Eamon collapsed, falling limply to the floor as his fanciful mindset was unable to grasp the realistic outcomes of a heroic lifestyle. Abel pulled his hood down with a sigh, revealing a face and neck littered with burns, scars, bites, and every injury in between. The Spectre was not the unscathed hero of fables, he was a hero forged through trials and tribulations no bard could conjure in their wildest dreams.

"You're looking well, Abel," Alonso said, siting further back into his chair as a slight unease ran down his spine. "You do know that I can come and see you sometimes. You don't need to rush here every time. I know you're busy out there."

"It saves both of us time if I come to you," Abel replied, cracking his neck with a satisfied grunt. "Plus, this is quite important. It's… I found a kid, Al."

"And?" the Guildmaster asked, picking at his fingernails to feign disinterest. "What's that got to do with me?"

"You and Angela have been trying for a kid for a while now, right?" Abel asked rhetorically, knowing the answer. "It's all you ever talk about, honestly, and you were the only person I could think to ask."

"Are you..?" Alonso asked, dropping his act entirely as his eyes opened wide. "What? Do you know how much you're asking of me? Of Angela? Abel… I adore you like a brother, but-"

"Alonso," Abel butted in. His tone was not demanding, nor was it angry. It was somewhat desperate. "Please. I will do anything if you agree. Absolutely anything. All I ask is that the boy is raised strong."

"Would you even join the guild?"

"I would wave this guild's banner with my every step," Abel replied.

An intense staring competition began then. Such a promise from Abel was not to be taken lightly, Alonso knew, but the request was a rather hefty one out of the blue. The silence in that room may not have seemed like much, but as Eamon stirred back into consciousness, he felt a constriction around his throat. A tightening in his chest. A pounding in his temples that felt like moles burrowing.

"Fine," Alonso finally conceded. The tension in the room dissipated instantly, allowing Eamon to breathe once more. "Forget joining the guild. I won't ask why you're so desperate for this kid to get rehoused either, I know you have your reasons. Take him to the house and let Angela know."

"Thank you, Al. Thank you," Abel said weakly, standing up and throwing his hood back over his head. "I'll pay you back for this… somehow," he assured, making his way towards the window, placing a foot on it in preparation to jump out.

"Wait, Abel," Alonso said, ignoring the spluttering bard on the floor. "Does the kid have a name?"

Abel paused for a moment, tapping on the wall as though lost deep in thought. "Call him whatever you want, as long as you raise him to be honourable," he said before leaping from the window without a sound.

Alonso sat staring at the window for a while longer, bathed in silence and thought as Eamon clambered to his feet on the other side of the desk.

The bard cleared his throat and panted as he finally stood upright. "Oh, by the Gods… no… he's not a hero. Surely no hero looks like the devil," he said through gasps. "What did he want, sir?"

"He gave me a kid."