IV

Grey couldn't stand his family. They were so pompous and blind, not to mention overwhelmingly over-demanding and overly sensitive. The way they thought of the hired staff... it was demeaning and uncalled for. The staff might not mind, but it ate away at Greyson. This way of life was disgusting and it was sure to be ill-fated eventually. All life had to cease at some point.

Greyson knew that everything that has a beginning has an end, and vice versa. In the case of the Fallheart family wealth, neither seemed to be visible. Where did it come from and how did they acquire this fortune? Was it something that happened so quickly that you didn't have time to think, or was there many, many years of strategic plotting and careful execution of a precisely articulated plan? Was it a plan at all, or did they come across it by total chance? There was no record of it anywhere, and that bothered Greyson deeply. He didn't know where the turn to for answers.

The next morning, Greyson could be found yet again in the temporary market. He wandered the streets, mingling with the shopkeepers and patrons as he waited for a certain merchant to finish up with his current customer.

"Alright, Greyson. I'm ready for ya now. This'n here had some private matters to handle with me. Sorry 'bout the wait." Thorstein chuckled softly.

"It's no problem. I came here on business anyway."

"Oh?" Thorstein's brow raised, amused. "What business might young Greyson here have in my humble tent?"

Greyson remained firm in his sour solemnity. "I need a weapon."

After paying Thorstein their negotiated price, Greyson Fallheart stepped out equipped with his first weapon, a straight sword. It wasn't very ornate, but the guard had some silver garnish here and there, and a wolf was imprinted on the base of the blade on both sides and a line of runic text down the rest of the blade. The hilt was pretty generic, only having a leather grip and an iron pummel. He didn't know why he needed this, but his instincts told him that it was wise. Instead of fighting with his intuition, he submitted himself to it, curious as to where this would lead him. Ever since he woke this morning, Greyson had an unusual impulse to search the market. His instincts told him he needed to be here, that... something was about to go down and he needed to be there and make sure he was armed.

Suddenly, laughter is heard from a distance and a sickened feeling washes over Greyson, who immediately ran to investigate. A couple of shop keepers had a young boy by the collar of his tunic and were staying him off to... well... only they and the gods knew where.

"Hey! Help!" the boy cried out, "Somebody help me! I don't want to die!"

Greyson's hands moved before his thoughts could fully form in his mind. A flash of refined metal and a couple of shrieks later, Greyson came to his senses and realized what he had done. The men he lashed out at were not dead. Far from it. They were moderately wounded however. Cuts were made into the arms of the men that had conspired to take life from this innocent soul. These cuts weren't deep enough to be lethal, but they were definitely serious enough to need a couple of months to heal properly and be an inconvenience the whole way.

Greyson turned to address the young man appropriately, and he had come to totally freeze in shock. This was the same individual that he had come across the day before. He had bruises all over his face and looked as if he'd been kicked quite a bit whilst he was down. His golden hair was now stained in several places from the blood that had been flowing from splits in the skin on his head. It looked as if a few individuals may have even taken stabs at this boy.

What did he do to deserve such harsh treatment? The thought that these people might be hurting the boy for no particular reason, which wasn't unheard of here in Avalon, made him sick to his stomach. A light whisper of a nausea-like sensation rattled inside of Greyson's body, and he felt like he might puke soon. He tossed the thought aside and focused on getting the young man to safety. A bystander took him and helped him carefully trudge over to the local healer at Greyson's command.

"You're seriously gonna help somebody like him?" one of the nameless men asked.

"Give me a reason I shouldn't." Greyson extended the challenge curtly. He was quickly losing patience, and these men had no time to waste.

"He's been stalking from our shops for years now, and we finally caught the damn bastard. Then here you come and help the criminal get away!" These men knew Greyson enough to know he wouldn't do anything if he knew it was wrong. A perk of having friendly relationships with the owners of the shops he frequents was that they can be a bit more understanding than someone you hadn't talked to before.

"My deepest apologies." Grey conceded defeat and handed the group of men the leftover coin he had on him after the transaction with Thorstein. He knew there was enough to pay for services rendered for a healer to work on ten times the men with sounds ten times as grievous. The men hair at the coin.

"Where did you get all this money from?" one of them inquired.

"That isn't any of your business," Greyson scolded sharply as he walked away. None of them said another word until Greyson had been out of sight for quite a few moments.

"You lied to me." Greyson pointed at the youth as the breaker wrapped the wounds in clean cloth.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? They probably were going to kill me!"

"True, but you didn't tell the whole truth yesterday when you were leaving town. It wasn't because the market became tiresome to you, it was because you were trying to get away before you were caught stealing."

"So what? Why do you care?"

Those words. For some reason Greyson could not explain, those words felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He felt sick and he couldn't come up with an answer.

"... By the way... I never got your name before. What is it?"

"Only if you give yours first."

"Very well. My name is Greyson."

"Calef. Calef Mastavius."

"Ah, so you have a surname."

"Yes, but it doesn't mean anything. In fact, I'd reckon it's cursed. Nothing has ever happened to me and my family that would indicate Fate thinks very much of us."

"It can't be that bad, can it?"

Calef looked Greyson dead in the eyes and said, "Follow me."