Second String (Canon)
- Location
- Oregon
Second String
With a grumble, the Satyr rose from his bed, the clatter of his hoof's on the stone floor echoing around the room. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and the fog from his brain, he answered his door with a gruff, "What'dyou want?"
At his doorstep, an old man with a pointed cap fiddled with his slippers in a befuddled manner, before peeking his head up, spectacles seeming to shine with joy. "Ah, Philoctetes, I thought I might find you here!" He said with a croaking chuckle. "And just my luck that you're in, too! I'm in need of a favo-" With the slam of his wooden door, Phil rubbed his horns, muttering to himself angrily as he retreated back for the comfort of his bed. He was stopped rather abruptly by a puff of smoke appearing in front of him, the Satyr coughing and waving it from his eyes, the form of the man from before appearing in front of him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed in displeasure.
"Quite rude of you indeed to just be leaving before I could even complete my sentence!" He chided with an accusingly pointed crooked finger. With a growing temper, Phil let out a short growl, shaking his head.
"Look pal, I didn't ask for some random old-timer to come barging into my place asking for favors. Now beat it!" He ordered, the man stammering something about, "Old timers?!" in a stunned attempt at a rebuke. Content with having left him at a loss for words, Phil hoped to be able to achieve some silence for himself.
"Hey, umm… Phil?" A voice from the front door sounded off, one that he could recognize easily enough. "You've got some company out here…" Phil froze, letting out another growl before stomping back to his front door, throwing it open to look outside. What he found waiting for him only made the infamous trainer of heroes' temper rise further.
A young boy in oversized robes, blond hair and fair faced, stood nearby in the grass, pushing away an inquisitively clingy girl with red hair, constantly looking about. At his side another lad, perhaps in his younger teens with rust colored hair and wearing a green tunic, also stood, though he looked around in wonder at the area - at his side he held a simple club, though it was more of a stick in all honesty, probably a broken branch stripped of bark given its edges. At least one was a more recognizable Hercules, glancing around him in curiosity, mounted upon his mighty steed, Pegasus, a lady behind him with her arms wrapped around the waist, though Phil hardly counted the temptress as a person at all.
Last of all was a broad shouldered man with dark red hair and a strong face - he looked unsightly, wearing peasant garb and a quiver on his back. At least he had some sort of weapon unlike the other two newcomers, arming sword and bow attached to the man, even if the way he looked about with narrowed eyes suggested he wasn't the brightest lamp in the room.
"Oooooh no!" He shouted then and there, crossing his arms in the shape of an 'X'. "I already swore this stuff off before, and I'm not going to babysit a bunch of brats!" Hercules had the decency to look confused, suggesting he had nothing to do with the arrival of all these people, but the old man took that moment to come out again, a pipe in hand that he puffed on before blowing out a ring of smoke.
"Au contraire," the man in robes said with a chuckle. "I believe you'll find these rapscallions most interesting indeed. Why don't you all introduce yourself to the Satyr?"
They all paused, before the oldest of them walked up with a snort, "Name's Sir Kay," he remarked with a nasal like quality to his guttural voice. "I rescued this lot from undead knights before the old man poofed us away with 'is magic." He took a moment to think before continuing, "Weren't much besides a pile 'uv bones really. Coulda taken them if 'I'd wanted." He boasted, to which Phil couldn't help but give him a nasty glare.
There was a lapse, as the two young men behind him seemed to procrastinate, giving glances to one another as if urging the other one forward. "Arthur," the old man eventually remarked in a chiding tone, apparently the use of his name all the boy needed as the blond stepped forward with a groan.
"Yes Merlin," he said tiredly. Looking at the Satyr directly, he hesitated before speaking. "I'm Arthur… just Arthur." He settled on, before another voice chimed in with ferocity
"King Arthur!" Sir Kay cut in angrily, his reproach catching the boy off guard as he stumbled in his talking.
"King I suppose," he amended, looking to Merlin for support, though the old man only nodded supportingly. "I pulled this… sword from the stone, and Merlin has been holding on to it for me. I suppose it makes me King… though not of much at this point." He spoke tiredly. "Merlin said we'd be safe here, though I can't imagine any place safe after what I saw." He paled significantly, head turning down while Sir Kay scoffed.
Merlin was silent, humming to himself, while Phil turned his eyes to the girl latched to the blond's side.
"And you?" He asked the young teen, who glanced at Phil, turning her head just slightly. Then she… was that a chirp, a click of some kind? Whatever it was, it was damn freaky. He makes out at least one word, the girl managing to eek out a brief, "Hazel" before returning to her alien chatter.
"She doesn't talk much, sir." Arthur clued him in, trying to push the girl away as she suddenly nuzzled her cheek into his neck, though it only made her giggle and intensify her efforts.
Phil decided to let that one go - better not to ask about that kind of weirdness. Instead, he looked to the final person, who hung at the back with a melancholic and lost look in his eyes. "Now what about you, kid?" Phil asked despite himself; he might not be letting them stay, but he could admit to being a bit curious.
He looked up, somewhat confused before appearing to realize he's being referred to. "Taran," he says, and that appears to be all he's willing to say, before he continues in a quieter voice. "I'm a pig-handler." He stops talking, apparently believing that to suffice.
With a growing fury, Phil let's loose his anger, "You gotta be kidding me! You're dropping some "King" with oversized clothes, a pig-farmer, a girl who can't even talk, and a dimwit in my lap?!" He shouts to the old man, who appears to think, before nodding wisely. "Forget it!" He screams, face red with rage.
"Phil," Herc speaks suddenly, dismounting his steed and walking up to the Satyr, Meg apparently content to remain on the beast. "I need to tell you." There's something broken in his eyes as he bends down to eye level, and Phil understands immediately that the hero had failed.
"I know," the Satyr says with a groan. "We all know… you can tell, by the way things look." It seemed as if everything was teeming with death nowadays, the way the land appeared grayer, and the life around them had lost its sheen.
"Hades… he has Titans patrolling everywhere, and Olympus is a fortress," Herc says hopelessly, fists clenching. "I tried to get through but… I wasn't enough. I need help." There's a plea in that statement that Phil recognizes, one that has the Satyr looking over his shoulder to the group behind him.
"Kid… I'm done, you know that. You were my last shot." He says back with a bone deep exhaustion. "I can't take it anymore. I quit." He says with a finality to the statement. Hercules grasps the Satyr by the shoulders, his grip firm but not harsh, though he can feel the kid's palms shaking despite himself. Phil has never seen him so close to breaking - despite having his strength back, he's more fragile than ever.
"Please, Phil." He asks desperately. "The world needs more heroes… I can't do it on my own."
The old mysterious Merlin takes another puff of his pipe, turning to speak to the group.
"All of you behave now. I'm off to search for more hopefuls!" He says cheerfully, Arthur looking incredibly confused in that moment.
"Didn't you hear him Merlin? He said no - he's not going to train u-"
"I'll do it." The short trainer of heroes spoke firmly, the edge of rage in his voice gone for the moment. "I'll train these losers. The world needs a little hope put back into it I guess." Merlin offered a brief thanks, before walking away, quickly poofing into smoke.
"... Okay where'd he go?" The Satyr questioned in exasperation.
"Something about finding other people for you to train I think," Sir Kay answered, cleaning out his ear with a pinky, glancing at it and looking displeased with the haul.
"..." The eruption from Philoctetes was impressive, though with it, came the slim hope that the world would find itself with more heroes once again.
With a grumble, the Satyr rose from his bed, the clatter of his hoof's on the stone floor echoing around the room. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and the fog from his brain, he answered his door with a gruff, "What'dyou want?"
At his doorstep, an old man with a pointed cap fiddled with his slippers in a befuddled manner, before peeking his head up, spectacles seeming to shine with joy. "Ah, Philoctetes, I thought I might find you here!" He said with a croaking chuckle. "And just my luck that you're in, too! I'm in need of a favo-" With the slam of his wooden door, Phil rubbed his horns, muttering to himself angrily as he retreated back for the comfort of his bed. He was stopped rather abruptly by a puff of smoke appearing in front of him, the Satyr coughing and waving it from his eyes, the form of the man from before appearing in front of him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed in displeasure.
"Quite rude of you indeed to just be leaving before I could even complete my sentence!" He chided with an accusingly pointed crooked finger. With a growing temper, Phil let out a short growl, shaking his head.
"Look pal, I didn't ask for some random old-timer to come barging into my place asking for favors. Now beat it!" He ordered, the man stammering something about, "Old timers?!" in a stunned attempt at a rebuke. Content with having left him at a loss for words, Phil hoped to be able to achieve some silence for himself.
"Hey, umm… Phil?" A voice from the front door sounded off, one that he could recognize easily enough. "You've got some company out here…" Phil froze, letting out another growl before stomping back to his front door, throwing it open to look outside. What he found waiting for him only made the infamous trainer of heroes' temper rise further.
A young boy in oversized robes, blond hair and fair faced, stood nearby in the grass, pushing away an inquisitively clingy girl with red hair, constantly looking about. At his side another lad, perhaps in his younger teens with rust colored hair and wearing a green tunic, also stood, though he looked around in wonder at the area - at his side he held a simple club, though it was more of a stick in all honesty, probably a broken branch stripped of bark given its edges. At least one was a more recognizable Hercules, glancing around him in curiosity, mounted upon his mighty steed, Pegasus, a lady behind him with her arms wrapped around the waist, though Phil hardly counted the temptress as a person at all.
Last of all was a broad shouldered man with dark red hair and a strong face - he looked unsightly, wearing peasant garb and a quiver on his back. At least he had some sort of weapon unlike the other two newcomers, arming sword and bow attached to the man, even if the way he looked about with narrowed eyes suggested he wasn't the brightest lamp in the room.
"Oooooh no!" He shouted then and there, crossing his arms in the shape of an 'X'. "I already swore this stuff off before, and I'm not going to babysit a bunch of brats!" Hercules had the decency to look confused, suggesting he had nothing to do with the arrival of all these people, but the old man took that moment to come out again, a pipe in hand that he puffed on before blowing out a ring of smoke.
"Au contraire," the man in robes said with a chuckle. "I believe you'll find these rapscallions most interesting indeed. Why don't you all introduce yourself to the Satyr?"
They all paused, before the oldest of them walked up with a snort, "Name's Sir Kay," he remarked with a nasal like quality to his guttural voice. "I rescued this lot from undead knights before the old man poofed us away with 'is magic." He took a moment to think before continuing, "Weren't much besides a pile 'uv bones really. Coulda taken them if 'I'd wanted." He boasted, to which Phil couldn't help but give him a nasty glare.
There was a lapse, as the two young men behind him seemed to procrastinate, giving glances to one another as if urging the other one forward. "Arthur," the old man eventually remarked in a chiding tone, apparently the use of his name all the boy needed as the blond stepped forward with a groan.
"Yes Merlin," he said tiredly. Looking at the Satyr directly, he hesitated before speaking. "I'm Arthur… just Arthur." He settled on, before another voice chimed in with ferocity
"King Arthur!" Sir Kay cut in angrily, his reproach catching the boy off guard as he stumbled in his talking.
"King I suppose," he amended, looking to Merlin for support, though the old man only nodded supportingly. "I pulled this… sword from the stone, and Merlin has been holding on to it for me. I suppose it makes me King… though not of much at this point." He spoke tiredly. "Merlin said we'd be safe here, though I can't imagine any place safe after what I saw." He paled significantly, head turning down while Sir Kay scoffed.
Merlin was silent, humming to himself, while Phil turned his eyes to the girl latched to the blond's side.
"And you?" He asked the young teen, who glanced at Phil, turning her head just slightly. Then she… was that a chirp, a click of some kind? Whatever it was, it was damn freaky. He makes out at least one word, the girl managing to eek out a brief, "Hazel" before returning to her alien chatter.
"She doesn't talk much, sir." Arthur clued him in, trying to push the girl away as she suddenly nuzzled her cheek into his neck, though it only made her giggle and intensify her efforts.
Phil decided to let that one go - better not to ask about that kind of weirdness. Instead, he looked to the final person, who hung at the back with a melancholic and lost look in his eyes. "Now what about you, kid?" Phil asked despite himself; he might not be letting them stay, but he could admit to being a bit curious.
He looked up, somewhat confused before appearing to realize he's being referred to. "Taran," he says, and that appears to be all he's willing to say, before he continues in a quieter voice. "I'm a pig-handler." He stops talking, apparently believing that to suffice.
With a growing fury, Phil let's loose his anger, "You gotta be kidding me! You're dropping some "King" with oversized clothes, a pig-farmer, a girl who can't even talk, and a dimwit in my lap?!" He shouts to the old man, who appears to think, before nodding wisely. "Forget it!" He screams, face red with rage.
"Phil," Herc speaks suddenly, dismounting his steed and walking up to the Satyr, Meg apparently content to remain on the beast. "I need to tell you." There's something broken in his eyes as he bends down to eye level, and Phil understands immediately that the hero had failed.
"I know," the Satyr says with a groan. "We all know… you can tell, by the way things look." It seemed as if everything was teeming with death nowadays, the way the land appeared grayer, and the life around them had lost its sheen.
"Hades… he has Titans patrolling everywhere, and Olympus is a fortress," Herc says hopelessly, fists clenching. "I tried to get through but… I wasn't enough. I need help." There's a plea in that statement that Phil recognizes, one that has the Satyr looking over his shoulder to the group behind him.
"Kid… I'm done, you know that. You were my last shot." He says back with a bone deep exhaustion. "I can't take it anymore. I quit." He says with a finality to the statement. Hercules grasps the Satyr by the shoulders, his grip firm but not harsh, though he can feel the kid's palms shaking despite himself. Phil has never seen him so close to breaking - despite having his strength back, he's more fragile than ever.
"Please, Phil." He asks desperately. "The world needs more heroes… I can't do it on my own."
The old mysterious Merlin takes another puff of his pipe, turning to speak to the group.
"All of you behave now. I'm off to search for more hopefuls!" He says cheerfully, Arthur looking incredibly confused in that moment.
"Didn't you hear him Merlin? He said no - he's not going to train u-"
"I'll do it." The short trainer of heroes spoke firmly, the edge of rage in his voice gone for the moment. "I'll train these losers. The world needs a little hope put back into it I guess." Merlin offered a brief thanks, before walking away, quickly poofing into smoke.
"... Okay where'd he go?" The Satyr questioned in exasperation.
"Something about finding other people for you to train I think," Sir Kay answered, cleaning out his ear with a pinky, glancing at it and looking displeased with the haul.
"..." The eruption from Philoctetes was impressive, though with it, came the slim hope that the world would find itself with more heroes once again.
