As the golden fingers of dawn spread over the land, Eric set to work. Rhythmically, with practiced hands, he milked the cows. Chickens clucked as he approached waiting for their morning grain. He was currently walking the fence line. It was tedious, but he liked the time to himself. walking along seeing the rolling green hills and scattered trees inspired a feeling of joy in him, but it had a sour edge of longing to it. The feeling was an old one but it never got easier to ignore.

  And what was he longing for so much anyways, sometimes it was hard to pin down. Mostly it was a sense of wanting more, but more what? More excitement? Definitely more than just the same chores he did everyday. He walked up on a section of fence where a middle board was snapped completely in half.

  Eric simply pulled out a thin piece of wood he had brought for this purpose, marking down that he needed to return with a board next time, with a piece of charcoal. Then he stowed them both back in his pack and continued along the fenceline. He continued taking in the lovely scenery that he had enjoyed his whole life.

  He could remember when his father first walked him around this same fence. Eric had ridden on his father's shoulders for much of the walk, being amazed at the sights around him. Back then it all seemed so much more fascinating, every bush, tree and rock held a new wonder to discover, but over the intervening years he explored the property in full, there was no rock he hadn’t overturned, and no tree he hadn’t climbed. He had waded the full length of the stream more than once. That was actually a little scary the first time as he had started in the pasture, and ended up in a small pond just outside town. Luckily he had just stayed there and played in the pond until his father found him just as the sun was setting. He had been searching the creek afraid Eric had drowned and had scolded Eric harshly for making his mother worry so.

  Eric felt his eyes warm from the memory of his father's harsh tone. Blinking away the thought he forced himself to refocus on his task, but his walk was still dull, and he found himself looking off into the distance once more. A vision of himself running off towards the horizon, a sword in hand and joy in his heart.

  He found himself at an ancient castle with swirling storm clouds overhead, and armies of undead poured from the gates. Eric stood there in shining metal armor, holding a shield in one hand and his sword in the other. With practiced hands he fell into a rhythm slashing through body after body. His sword only stopped swinging to block with his shield, but he was such a great warrior he never took so much as a scratch. He forced his way inside the open gates slashing through mobs of zombies.

  Finally he forced his way through swarming dead and into the central tower of this ancient castle of crumbling stone. Inside he found a wizard with a long gray beard, as soon as he saw Eric he turned, raising his staff over his head, and the castle began to shake.

  Eric was drawn out of his day dream when he found a corner post that had two boards completely ripped out. reaching into his pack he pulled out a hammer and nails.

  Chunks of stone were falling all around him as the castle was crumbling apart. Eric ran forward dodging boulders as he dashed for the wizard quaking the earth. Running fast enough to warp time he ran the wizard through to the hilt. With his final breath the wizard uttered a curse,

  His lifeless corpse fell from Eric's blade as his blood swirled together making complex symbols that shimmered with magic. Before he could react it formed a door to hell and a dragon’s claw emerged pulling up its scarlet head. In one fail swoop Eric sliced the dragon's head as it appeared in front of him, as the head rolled in the stone floor, Eric leaned over the hole to hell and watched as the body fell through the portal closing behind it.

  The daydreams helped ease his boredom but he couldn’t deny he felt trapped in this farm. Eric put his hammer back in his bag walking the rest of the fence line, fluffy white clouds scattered across the sky, and green grass hills sprinkled with trees, were all he saw.

  Maybe it’s just too peaceful here, or maybe there is something wrong with me?

  His mother and father were so happy here, his father had worked his whole life for this farm, and Eric wanted nothing to do with it. He craved adventure, like the stories he heard outside the tavern.

  Renbar Earthhand was the bravest hero of them all. He went into a hell gate with thirty people, but he was the only one to return alive but his hand was gone, replaced with a rock that could take any shape. A unique hell relic for sure, but once fully bonded to him it became a hand of stone. Thus earning his name. He has closed countless hell gates since and is often the only survivor.

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  Flint Flame Axe was a savage adventurer, who rode horseback with his gang of hell powered bandits. They raided towns and villages for years before Eric's own grandfather, Jack Steelblade, snuck into their fort slicing Flint's throat, just as the duke's men came charging in the front doors.

  That was it Eric was not like his father because he was like his grandfather, and he too could set out with nothing but a steel blade in his hand, and today was his eighteenth birthday. Today he would tell his parents what he was going to do with his life.

  After he finished his chores for the day Eric sat down with his parents for dinner at an aged wooden table, that wobbled if you bumped it. His mother had prepared a feast of beef stew, fresh bread, with cake for dessert, which was a rare treat as sugar was hard to come by. She must have traded with a traveler recently to be able to make a cake just for his birthday.

  His mother was a wispy looking woman with blonde hair that she always wore in a bun. His father was a thin man with ripcord muscles on his arms. He had dark hair with speckles of gray running through it.

  His entire life Eric’s parents had made sure he had more than they did and it showed. He had the shape of a healthy strong young man. While his parents had aged faster than they should. He had watched his parents wither away as he had grown, sometimes it was hard not to feel guilty, but if he could go out and make something of himself maybe he would be able to take care of them. Eric just wished his parents would see it that way.

  As they were eating Eric decided it was time.

  “Mom, Dad, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for sometime,”

  Breath… you can do this

  “ I think I’m going to set out on my own for a little while, I know there’s work around the farm that needs done, and I’ll do all I can before I go, but…” Eric paused looking at his parents. His mother’s eyes were misted over, on the edge of spilling over into tears. His father had a distant look in his eye, similar to the look Eric got when he fantasized, but his father had a horrified cast to his face.

  Eric pressed forward; he knew if he stopped now he would never tell his parents how he really felt, “I want more than this, I want adventure and excitement. I want to be the hero of a story, not a farmer, who only ever knew tending his field and feeding his animals.”

  His mother broke out in a series of loud sobs before giving her son a kiss on the head and rushing out of the room. His father went from horrified to resigned, like when he had to do a task that he hated but knew it had to be done.

  The man who had raised him and taught him, let out a long breath. “ I knew this was coming for a while, you’re like my father, he spent most of my childhood away on some adventure, he used to tell me of his journeys through the different hells,” he sounded almost fond remembering the stories, then his tone turned sour. “And well he left on one adventure that he never came back from.”

  What was Eric supposed to say to that? Of course he wasn’t looking to die, but he felt like if he stayed here he would never live at all, but how was he supposed to explain that to a man who never left his home and was completely satisfied.

  Eric’s father must have seen his internal conflict warring across his face because he said “I know I won’t talk you out of it, I just wanted you to understand why your mother and I are having such a hard time with this. Come on, I have something for you.”

  He led Eric out the back door to the old small shed, behind the barn. The shed was only used for tools, so inside it was dark and dusty with cobwebs along every wall. The floor was wood that was rotting and covered in dust. Eric’s father pulled back a few warped boards that creaked in protest as he did. Blowing the dust away and creating a cloud around him, he plucked out a worn leather pack. He pushed past Eric to open it in the evening light.

  In the light of the setting son his father showed him a sword with many small chips and looked to have a fine layer of rust on it. Handing it to Eric. “This was your grandfather’s sword. He used this sword to slit the throat of Flint Flame Axe, before he got a magic one and he once told me I would use it when… I was old enough to join him.” It sounded as though his voice caught at the end.

  Eric looked down at the sword in his hands then back to his father. Then he laid the sword down reverently and gave his dad a warm hug. “Thanks Dad, for everything.”

  His dad coughed and began explaining what the rest of the equipment in the pack was for, and how Eric should use it.

  After his dad’s lessons on camping and survival Eric went inside and lay down in bed, but he couldn’t sleep his mind was racing with dreams of grand adventures. When sleep finally took him he dreamed of fighting impossible beasts with his grandfather’s sword.