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[/b][/i]\n\nI hope everyone enjoys though I know my writing is not the best", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Short story setup for a fantasy story I am thinking of writing.

Toby is haunted by more than nightmares as he quest to find the person that killed his parents and mentor and left him for dead.

I hope everyone enjoys though I know my writing is not the best", "writing": "[t][b]Ghost of the Past:[/b][/t]\n\n“Tobias! We have got go, Tobias… go now… Go!”\n\n“But..”\n\n“There’s nothing we can do for them now. Gods help me!”\n\n“The spirits… So angry…”\n\n“NO! NOT THAT WAY!”\n\n“Need my help…”\n\n“Tobias, no choice…”\n\n“THEIR COMING!”\n\n“Help me, help them…”\n\n“Forgive me son...”\n\n“Wait, w-what are you… no No NO! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!\n\nHis screams follow him from his nightmares to his bed with him half out of it fighting with the blanket that has tangled around him. The image of the hay pile coming closer as he is thrown from the window. Waking every time before he hits the ground, still playing in his mind. He is covered in sweat and his breathing comes in ragged gasp.\n\n“Sir…” KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, he jumps at the sound and reaches for a sword that is not there before relaxing.\n\n“Sir, are you al’right sir?” The innkeeper knocks again. “Alright, Alright,” Toby calls out the man, “I’m awake, you can stop your damn, infernal knocking.”\n\n“You alright Sir? You were screaming something awful. Scared half my customer away you did.”\n\n“Yes, just a bad dream,” Toby says dismissively.\n\n“Few more ‘dreams’ like that and I may be out of business. Scaring the other guest, you are… Sir.”\n\n“Just get my breakfast ready. I won’t be in your hair much longer.” \n\n“…Very good sir.” He could hear the fat Opossum scurrying off, grumbling to himself. Toby was sure he caught the words “last time I let… not worth the coin no matter how good...” and so on.\n\nToby untangled himself from the blanket, cursing, and got up to pour cool water into the basin watching it fill then looking up into the mirror, startled to see a person behind him. He whipped around, but the room was empty, so sighing he turned back around and saw the words “Help Me” written in the now foggy glass.\n\nSighing he wipes the message way, “No help until after breakfast.” Toby ignores the spirit as he washes up and gets dressed, strapping on his sword, and picking up his little black book. He then leaves the room, locking the door behind him, before bumping into the Innkeeper. “But… your breakfast sir…” \n\n“Bring it to the commons, I won’t be eating in my room today.” He walks briskly down the stairs, the innkeeper in his trial. “And bring me a pint of dark ale,” he says as he sits at the far end of the long table, nearest to the hearth. At least the spirits tend to not bother him when near a fire. Not that they mind it, he was sure, but they preferred the dark and the cold. The Innkeeper sat down his tray and quickly walked off.\n\nToby sighed, his thoughts still lingering on the dream as he tore off a hunk of bread, making a trencher out of it for the stew the serving girl brought by. He dipped his bacon in the stew, and it crunched as he bit into it. The dream was never a good omen. Only bad days followed the dream that made him relive the day he lost his home, his parents and his mentor. He would have been dead too if his mentor had not bodily thrown him out the window. \nIt was his dream to be a knight and he had trained with a sword since he was old enough to hold one, but nothing had prepared him to fight the horrors he saw that day as a warlock, with a grudge against his family, conjured up monsters to lay waste to their home. But he froze, just standing there as fear filled his lungs, feeling so feeble as he saw older men cut down before his eyes. It was only chance that saved him, the smallest of hay piles breaking his fall just enough that he lived, though to anyone looking down, from the third story window would have seen a broken boy, his blood staining the stones.\n\nIt was from that day on that he was plagued by spirits, first it was his parents’ ghost, come to say goodbye before fading. Then Marcus, his mentor, but Marcus did not fade, but followed him for days just saying “return it” over and over and over again until he thought he might go mad from it. It took him a month to reach his Mentor’s home and returned the locket the man must had slipped into his pocket before shoving him out the window. But, as soon as he told Marcus’s wife how her husband had dyed saving him and handed her the locket, he heard Marcus’s ghost sigh and fade as the woman hugged him and cried.\n\nBut that was history, he has learned much since, and he has paid for it. The more he tracked the warlock trying to find him, the more horrors he saw. But every year he returned to the Claudian’s home for Marcus had a brother, Cyrus Claudian, who continued Toby’s training, preparing him to one day become an Eldritch Knight.\n\n“You need magic as well as a sword to beat a warlock,” Cyrus would say. So, flipping open his book of spells, he studied them as he ate. However, this was not just any book of spells, it was also a diary, a catalog for every horror Toby had seen and how to destroy them. Some of the ways were ways he learned on his own. Most were instructions from others in the trade of hunting and killing horrors, but very few would give up their trade secrets until he convinced them he was not after their business and gained their trust.\n\nThe serving girl was back, carrying a tankard of dark yale and setting it down asking, “Will you be wanting anything else sir, any clothes need cleaning or mended?” \n\nHe smiled, she was a pretty doe, her long ears standing upright, twitching as she listened to the noise of the room. An English spot perhaps, he thought to himself, but he could not be sure, however, if she was her breading would surely be pure. Her fur pattern would be perfect if not for the recognizable signs she had a touch of albinism. Those beautiful pink eyes, and a missing ring marking over the left eye. One would only need to look for the strip down her back to verify. But her hair was too long for that, not without having to undress her. \n\n“No girl, perhaps later.” He watched her as she started to leave. “Here, now wait a moment.” He called her back after he felt a cold whisper in his ear. The young bunny came back as ordered, “Let me look at you… how old are you, girl, what’s your name?”\nBlushing she blinked, not sure why he wanted to know. “Molly sir, I’m 10 sir,” she finally said. \n\n“So you are, and such a pretty name,” he clapped his hands together, “you have your father’s eyes child.” \nShe giggled shyly, “but my eyes are green sir and fathers are brown,” she said and giggled again. \n\n“Right you are. Oh, and here, I found this in my room.” He produced an old doll from his pocket and handed it to her. \n“Oh, sir, can I really?” When he nodded, she snatched the doll up and hugged it closely. “Thank you, sir, thank you.”\n\n“Think nothing of it.” Then in a softer voice, “Your mother would want you to have it.” \n\n“What was that sir,” she asked? \n\nCoughing, “it was nothing child, nothing. Now listen, you take your doll right back to your room this instant and put her some place safe, and one more thing. This silver is for the food…. And this silver is for you. Hide it, it’s yours.” Then looking to be sure her adopted father was busy, “Now off with you girl, double sharp, or you will be missed.” \n\n“Thank you, sir you are too kind,” she hugged him and then ran off to her room. He did not watch her go but looked over to the ghost of a pretty, older doe with familiar markings standing in the corner, her ghostly eyes followed the child until she was out of sight. Then looking back at Toby said a wordless “thank you” before fading from this plane of existence. “That just leave the one upstairs, wish they were all that easy,” he sighed before draining his mug in one go.", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Ghost of the Past:

“Tobias! We have got go, Tobias… go now… Go!”

“But..”

“There’s nothing we can do for them now. Gods help me!”

“The spirits… So angry…”

“NO! NOT THAT WAY!”

“Need my help…”

“Tobias, no choice…”

“THEIR COMING!”

“Help me, help them…”

“Forgive me son...”

“Wait, w-what are you… no No NO!  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

His screams follow him from his nightmares to his bed with him half out of it fighting with the blanket that has tangled around him.  The image of the hay pile coming closer as he is thrown from the window. Waking every time before he hits the ground, still playing in his mind.  He is covered in sweat and his breathing comes in ragged gasp.

“Sir…” KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, he jumps at the sound and reaches for a sword that is not there before relaxing.

“Sir, are you al’right sir?” The innkeeper knocks again.  “Alright, Alright,” Toby calls out the man, “I’m awake, you can stop your damn, infernal knocking.”

“You alright Sir? You were screaming something awful. Scared half my customer away you did.”

“Yes, just a bad dream,” Toby says dismissively.

“Few more ‘dreams’ like that and I may be out of business. Scaring the other guest, you are… Sir.”

“Just get my breakfast ready. I won’t be in your hair much longer.”  

“…Very good sir.” He could hear the fat Opossum scurrying off, grumbling to himself. Toby was sure he caught the words “last time I let… not worth the coin no matter how good...” and so on.

Toby untangled himself from the blanket, cursing, and got up to pour cool water into the basin watching it fill then looking up into the mirror, startled to see a person behind him. He whipped around, but the room was empty, so sighing he turned back around and saw the words “Help Me” written in the now foggy glass.

Sighing he wipes the message way, “No help until after breakfast.” Toby ignores the spirit as he washes up and gets dressed, strapping on his sword, and picking up his little black book.  He then leaves the room, locking the door behind him, before bumping into the Innkeeper. “But… your breakfast sir…”  

“Bring it to the commons, I won’t be eating in my room today.” He walks briskly down the stairs, the innkeeper in his trial.  “And bring me a pint of dark ale,” he says as he sits at the far end of the long table, nearest to the hearth. At least the spirits tend to not bother him when near a fire. Not that they mind it, he was sure, but they preferred the dark and the cold. The Innkeeper sat down his tray and quickly walked off.

Toby sighed, his thoughts still lingering on the dream as he tore off a hunk of bread, making a trencher out of it for the stew the serving girl brought by.  He dipped his bacon in the stew, and it crunched as he bit into it.  The dream was never a good omen. Only bad days followed the dream that made him relive the day he lost his home, his parents and his mentor. He would have been dead too if his mentor had not bodily thrown him out the window.
It was his dream to be a knight and he had trained with a sword since he was old enough to hold one, but nothing had prepared him to fight the horrors he saw that day as a warlock, with a grudge against his family, conjured up monsters to lay waste to their home.  But he froze, just standing there as fear filled his lungs, feeling so feeble as he saw older men cut down before his eyes.  It was only chance that saved him, the smallest of hay piles breaking his fall just enough that he lived, though to anyone looking down, from the third story window would have seen a broken boy, his blood staining the stones.

It was from that day on that he was plagued by spirits, first it was his parents’ ghost, come to say goodbye before fading. Then Marcus, his mentor, but Marcus did not fade, but followed him for days just saying “return it” over and over and over again until he thought he might go mad from it.  It took him a month to reach his Mentor’s home and returned the locket the man must had slipped into his pocket before shoving him out the window. But, as soon as he told Marcus’s wife how her husband had dyed saving him and handed her the locket, he heard Marcus’s ghost sigh and fade as the woman hugged him and cried.

But that was history, he has learned much since, and he has paid for it. The more he tracked the warlock trying to find him, the more horrors he saw. But every year he returned to the Claudian’s home for Marcus had a brother, Cyrus Claudian, who continued Toby’s training, preparing him to one day become an Eldritch Knight.

“You need magic as well as a sword to beat a warlock,” Cyrus would say. So, flipping open his book of spells, he studied them as he ate. However, this was not just any book of spells, it was also a diary, a catalog for every horror Toby had seen and how to destroy them. Some of the ways were ways he learned on his own. Most were instructions from others in the trade of hunting and killing horrors, but very few would give up their trade secrets until he convinced them he was not after their business and gained their trust.

The serving girl was back, carrying a tankard of dark yale and setting it down asking, “Will you be wanting anything else sir, any clothes need cleaning or mended?”  

He smiled, she was a pretty doe, her long ears standing upright, twitching as she listened to the noise of the room.  An English spot perhaps, he thought to himself, but he could not be sure, however, if she was her breading would surely be pure. Her fur pattern would be perfect if not for the recognizable signs she had a touch of albinism. Those beautiful pink eyes, and a missing ring marking over the left eye. One would only need to look for the strip down her back to verify. But her hair was too long for that, not without having to undress her.

“No girl, perhaps later.” He watched her as she started to leave. “Here, now wait a moment.” He called her back after he felt a cold whisper in his ear. The young bunny came back as ordered, “Let me look at you… how old are you, girl, what’s your name?”
Blushing she blinked, not sure why he wanted to know. “Molly sir, I’m 10 sir,” she finally said.  

“So you are, and such a pretty name,” he clapped his hands together, “you have your father’s eyes child.”  
She giggled shyly, “but my eyes are green sir and fathers are brown,” she said and giggled again.  

“Right you are.  Oh, and here, I found this in my room.” He produced an old doll from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Oh, sir, can I really?” When he nodded, she snatched the doll up and hugged it closely. “Thank you, sir, thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” Then in a softer voice, “Your mother would want you to have it.”  

“What was that sir,” she asked?    

Coughing, “it was nothing child, nothing. Now listen, you take your doll right back to your room this instant and put her some place safe, and one more thing. This silver is for the food…. And this silver is for you. Hide it, it’s yours.”  Then looking to be sure her adopted father was busy, “Now off with you girl, double sharp, or you will be missed.”

“Thank you, sir you are too kind,” she hugged him and then ran off to her room. He did not watch her go but looked over to the ghost of a pretty, older doe with familiar markings standing in the corner, her ghostly eyes followed the child until she was out of sight. Then looking back at Toby said a wordless “thank you” before fading from this plane of existence.  “That just leave the one upstairs, wish they were all that easy,” he sighed before draining his mug in one go.", "pools_count": 1, "title": "Ghost of the Past", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "text/plain", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "1", "rating_name": "Mature", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "3", "name": "Violence", "description": "Mild violence", "rating_id": "1" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "207" }