Knights Reborn

I decided to put The Lost Seas of Tatooine on a long hiatus and to work on a story that takes place before it. I'll be honest and say it's pretty much about my character, but there will be plenty of KR, as well as other characters in it. It's sorta like the how-I-came-to-be fantasy story for my character, and I figured it'd make more sense to start here instead of with the Tatooine story. Hope you all enjoy.

Chapter One:

“Old man, Fischer! Wait up!” a young boy yelled as he came bursting out of his house, nearly throwing the old wooden door off its hinges. Practically stumbling the whole way, the boy ran towards a beaten dirt path where an elderly man was passing.
“Hah! Calm down, son. What’s the problem?” the man asked.
“Sorry to worry you, sir. There’s no problem. I was just wondering if you were heading into the market today.”
“Indeed I am.”
“Would you mind if I tagged along?”
“Not at all. Doing some shopping for your mother?”
“Yeah, she wants me to bring some things back for dinner tonight.”
“You’re shaping up to be a fine young lad. You know what? When we get there, I’ll pay for whatever she needs.” The old man proclaimed, laying his hand on the shoulder of the boy as the two started down the path towards the city center.
“My mom would kill me if she knew you were paying for our food again.”
“You don’t have to tell her.”
“Mr. Fischer, you don’t know my mom very well. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she worked for the inner-sanction interrogation team. There’s no way she wouldn’t find out.” To this, the old man laughed. His voice was deep and hoarse, as if he had spent most his life yelling at the top of his lungs and now his vocal chords were shot. He dressed in an old brown monk’s robe, and typically wore his hood up over his head with the lower half tied inward to cover his face. He walked with a long, wooden staff and donned a large metal trinket over his chest, held around his neck by chains. What it was, the boy couldn’t even imagine. Regardless, he couldn’t understand why the old man would have such a thing, as it must weigh half the man’s body weight.
“So, how much money did your mother give you? Let’s see it,” Fischer questioned, as he patted the boy’s pocket with his staff.
The boy hesitated, unsure of what to say, and could only mutter, “Well…”
“I thought as much. How are you planning to get anything for your mother if you have no money, son,” the old man started. He wasn’t expecting the boy to come up with an answer, and continued on, “I figured you were heading into town with me by your side so no one thought of you as suspicious. Clever, I’ll give you that, but I’d rather buy you what you need instead of letting you steal it.”
The boy looked down at the path, averting the old man’s gaze and replied, “I wasn’t planning on stealing anything. Not right now, anyway. The reason I wanted you to come to town with me is because I know some people who owe me money, and I was hoping that with you by my side they wouldn’t think twice about handing it over. The guys I hang out with are afraid to go with me.”
“So you’re in a gang then? Heh, brings me back to my old days. What do they call you?”
“They call me ‘tricky’, Mr. Fischer.”
“Well, then, Tricky, what makes you think they won’t fork over your earnings when I’m with you?” The boy stopped walking, which in turn caused Old Man Fischer to pause and look at him, as well.
“To be honest, sir, you’re not really as old as you act. You don’t have a limp, so there’s no reason to have that walking stick. You carry a giant metal crescent around your neck that must weigh a ton. Furthermore, you’re very sharp and can spot a scam a mile away. Maybe you don’t want to tell everyone else, but I think you used to be something more than just a monk.” Fischer chuckled a bit, then undid the knot near the base of his hood and tossed the cover back to reveal his face. Indeed, the boy was correct about Fischer’s age. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, at most. He had trimmed, short black hair and a well-groomed beard that stretched down along the sides of his face into a Vandyke-styled cut.
“You’ve done it, boy. You’ve figured out my secret!”
Tricky laughed and the two resumed their steady pace down the path, into the market. It wasn’t long before the boy wanted to continue his conversation with Fischer, and asked, “So what do you do, sir?”
“Well, if I told you that, I don’t think I could be your friend anymore.”
“Sir?”
“Oh, never mind. Let’s keep it simple. It’s classified.”
“If you say so.”
The market place was rather busy during midday, and the pair thought it best not to go diving into the crowd. With a little pleading and some witty comments, Tricky was able to convince Fischer to accompany him in retrieving his gold. The city was not very large, but one could easily get lost in the maze of alleys and streets. The city was circular shaped, and the different districts lie on different rings outward from the center. At the inner-most section was the Mayor’s Tower, where most of the politics were discussed, as well as the mayor’s living quarters. The next ring out consisted of most of the richer estates. Here is where the politicians, noble families, and their servants lived. Further out was the city guard’s section. Several barracks and outposts lay scattered throughout the circle here. The guard’s section was what divided the noble section from the market place, which was the farther most ring from the center, aside from the city wall and defense. Most of the poorer families lived out near the market or outside the city entirely, as was the case with Tricky and Fischer.
Navigating Fischer between houses and through alleys, Tricky was winding his way around the central market area and into what seemed more like a middle-class housing area. Eventually, they came to a pub and in the two marched.
“Here we are, sir!” exclaimed Tricky.
“I’m glad to see you spend your days memorizing where all the drunks reside.”
“They’re the easiest to win money from.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with that.”
Tricky stood at the doorway scanning the bar. After a few moments, he spotted who he was looking for in the far back corner, in a booth. “There he is.”
Fischer sighed and said, “Let’s make this quick.”
“I can’t guarantee anything…” Tricky started moving towards the booth while Fischer placed his hood back over his head and took a seat at the bar, as close to Tricky as possible. It didn’t take long for the man to notice Tricky’s approach.
“I was hopin’ I’d have seen the last of you, kid,” the man said. He propped his arms up on the table and laid his head on his hands. “Look, I don’t have your money, but if you’re up for another gamble, I’ll give you somethin’ worth ten times of what I owe ya.”
“I doubt you have anything of value on you, otherwise you’d have my gold like you promised.”
“Listen up, brat. I ain’t gonna say this again. Either take the challenge or you aren’t getting’ squat.”
“Fine.”
The man removed his head from his hands and smiled, reaching into a bag on the seat next to him. “You won’t be disappointed.” After some heavy digging, the man pulled out a white mask. It looked like any normal porcelain mask would; a glossy coat of white paint with solid black eyes and mouth. If anything, the mask was a bit frightening. It had a sinister grin and the curves on its forehead gave the eyes a chilling appearance. “This mask here is worth more than you, punk.”
“Looks pretty ordinary to me.”
“Well, looks aren’t everything. This thing is stronger than the metal on most star-class freighters. Also, it’s got a special connotation. The people who wear these belong to an organization of elite fighters. You could bid this thing off to any of their competitors for a big lump sum.”
“So why haven’t you done it?”
“I just got a hold of this thing recently.”
“How?”
The man placed the mask on the table hard and grabbed Tricky by the collar of his shirt. “I don’t have time to sit here and play twenty questions, boy. Are you interested, or not?”
“What’s the bet?” Tricky asked. The man released his hold and stood up in front of the booth, rolling up his sleeves.
“You beat me in a fight, and the mask is yours. If not, my debt is wiped clean and you buy me some drinks from the bar.” Ready to accept the duel, Tricky started stretching out his arms and pushed a few of the nearby tables and chairs further away. Just as he was about to speak, he felt someone brush past him briskly. Almost faster than his eyes could pick up, Fischer was standing over the man from the booth with his hand wrapped around the man’s neck.
“Sir, I could’ve handled this low life no prob-”
Interrupting Tricky, Fischer boomed, “Enough!”
Struggling under the strength of Fischer’s grip, the man cried out, “Hey, fella, what’s the big deal?”
“I’ll give you one chance to give me a straight answer. Where did you find that mask?” Fischer demanded.
“Chill out, man. I found it in some ransacked wagon outside the port city to the west!”
“When?”
“I dunno – three days ago?”
“I’m taking this mask. I suggest you give the kid his money, too, because I know you have it.”
“Of course, sir. Please, just, let go of me!” the man yelled. Fischer loosened his grip substantially, allowing the man to reach in his pockets and toss Tricky a pouch of coins. After looking over his shoulder to be sure that Tricky was paid enough, he let the man go and swept up the mask from the table quickly, hiding it under his robe.
Aware that others had been watching the entire scene from their tables, Fischer spoke to Tricky, “Come on. We’ve over stayed our welcome.” Tricky nodded in agreement and the two left the pub in a hurry, not slowing down until they reached the nearest alley.
“So I guess the guy wasn’t lying about the mask, huh?” Tricky joked.
“What would you have done if you had won it?” Fischer inquired.
“Hmm?”
“What would you have done with the mask if you beat the man in a fight?”
“I don’t really know. I probably would’ve visited the nearest pawn shop to get an idea of how much it was really worth.” Fischer stopped Tricky before he could continue, and placed his hand on Tricky’s shoulder.
“If anyone had seen you with this, it could’ve been bad new for you, your friends, and your family. There are those who spend days and night searching for the men who wear these, just to kill them. They are not driven by money, only revenge. This mask has a better chance of getting you murdered than getting you rich.”
“I guess I’m lucky I had you with me today.” Tricky replied, somewhat embarrassed at his own ignorance.
“I don’t think luck had anything to do with it.” Fischer cryptically commented.
“You sound like a Jedi,” Tricky said, playfully elbowing Fischer in the ribs. The two shared a laugh together and the mood seemed to lighten a bit.
“Let’s just get your mom those cooking supplies and get back home, yeah?”

great story...looking forward for the next installment