The Story of Renaud Bochemin
From the journal of Kovac Mulligan, told by his close companion, Rhistel Iligeiros, written in blasphemous pen towards the Golden Road itself
Thus have I heard of the old traveler and ascendant of the Golden Road, Renaud Bochemin, once a young man back in his homely village. A simple farm boy was he, helping his father with the wheat and the grain, swiping and scything; Letting the days pass by from planting to harvest. One morning, Renaud awoke to see the sun rising over the main road into the village. The rays glistened over the dew drops of shards of grain fallen off the wagons. Not only did Renaud awake, but also something else inside of him awoke as well. Some say the main road turned to gold at that moment, but I think that’s balderdash, I think something met that man’s heart. And so Renaud dressed, packed his bag, and said goodbye to his father and his family. He carried out and was called out along the roads and distances unknowing.
Renaud traveled for many years, gaining a knack for getting out of wiles that would otherwise kill a man. Who could forget the miraculous escape from the palace of the Mad King, Solomitus. By that point, Renaud had been seen traveling so much that many considered him some kind of myth or spirit. Many couldn’t understand how one man could keep up such a pace, many thought he wasn’t real. But one day he arrived at the Mad King’s City, and Solomitus knew he must honor such a legend by having Renaud stay with the King. But this King was arrogant. He thought he could keep Renaud tied down and locked away. He wanted to be the man who could stop the man who couldn’t stop moving. After a lavish welcome and an opulent dinner feast, Solomitus showed Renaud to his room. Once Renaud entered, Solomitus slammed the door and locked it behind him. Renaud, in distress at his current situation, cried out for help but heard not one peep in the palace. So he walked to the window, lamenting at his new imprisonment. From his room he could see the gates of the city emblazoned with fiery sconces. Renaud closed his eyes and imagined himself at those gates so deeply he felt the wind from the street at his back and the heat from the scones against his nose. When he opened his eyes he found himself standing at the gates with the wide road out of the city and into the dark forests ahead. He heard the alarm bells from the Palace, and the clamor of the guards. “Renaud has escaped!” He could hear in the distance, and knew he had beaten the old king by some miracle. Wasting no time, Renaud rushed into the woods, uncertain of what would lie ahead.
Many more years he traveled, from sea to sea and from continent to continent, meeting some of the most wonderful people. Merchants hawking their wares, diplomats from countries across the globe, and charlatans of all shapes and sizes. But there was one who caught his eye most of all, the maiden Elena of the Morrowood. Some say she was the most beautiful woman in all of the world. If you’re asking me she probably just took a liking to all of the quirks Renaud must’ve learned on the road. Either way, Renaud was weary from traveling the day and saw a cottage on the edge of a wood. A beautiful cottage of plaster walls and roof thatching adorned with roses and tulips and ivy all over. A true maiden of the wood’s cottage. Renaud was so enchanted by the cottage he thought he might try to see if anyone was home. He knocked on the door, and the door opened to a slender woman with auburn hair dressed in a flowing work dress. Renaud and Elena talked throughout the night, taking him in and Elena was charmed by his quirks. And so he said for the week, and told Elena he must keep traveling on, for he needed to see what lay beyond in lands yet traveled. Elena protested, saying that Reaud must stay since he had been such good company and wished to have him around longer. Charmed by her beauty, Renaud stayed for a second week. The second week turned into a third and finally a whole month. At the end of the month, Renaud knew he did not have the strength to protest again and that if did not leave soon, he would live with Elena for the rest of his days. In the dark of night, Renaud packed his rucksack and snuck out into the night, with only the golden glow of the moon to light his way. In the morning, Elena awoke to find Renuad missing, and wept.
Even a man as independent and ever moving as Renaud had family along the way. He had several horses, whose names have been lost to time and several traveling companions also whose names have been lost to time, but the one companion. The one who stayed with him the longest was Bayard. Bayard was a surly man who could drink himself deeper than the oceans depth and be ready for travel at the crack of dawn. The man had a knack for identifying trees and mushrooms, and was the best cook Renaud had ever seen. Bayard could take a few scraps and make the most filling and scrumptious meal anyone across the world could make. For that, Renaud kept him close, they traveled together across 18 different countries and 8 different oceans and lived for decades together on the road. Until one day, Bayard grew old and weary. Mind you Renaud himself had shown signs of age himself. One evening in a small inn, the two weary old men sat on their bunks reminiscing about old travels and tales of former glory. During the laughter and stories, Bayard got quiet. He looked deep into Renaud’s eyes and said-
“Maybe it’s time that we’ve done it, old friend.”
“What do you mean?”
“That it’s time to write the final chapter for us, maybe find somewhere and settle down”
“Don’t be foolish, Bayard. There’s so much more to see!”
“I know there is Renaud. But I’m getting tired. I can feel it deep into the marrow of my bones. I’m getting old and frail and I wish to find a happy place to cook a few more meals and sing songs with my best friend.” At this Renaud started to weep.
“You know I can’t do that, Bayard, as much as I may want to.”
“Please, There’s more to this world than exploring elsewhere.”
Renaud was silent.
“May I die tonight if I cannot walk with you another day,” said Bayard and turned away from Renaud. Later that night, Renaud awoke to the silence of the dark and quietly gathered his things. He came to Bayard, deep in sleep, and kissed him gently on the forehead. Renaud rose and mumbled to himself
“I’m so sorry, my old friend, for I cannot stay at rest, even for you.” And left.
Many months later, Renaud was plodding along with the road and hoped to reach a nearby town before nightfall. He knew the main road wouldn’t get him there in time but had been along this road before and thus knew a shortcut through a graveyard. In his older years, Renaud had grown trusting of his step and cloudy in his vision and could not see the dug grave in front of him before he fell to the bottom and cracked his skull. As he lay dying, he felt the warm feeling enveloping him, a Golden feeling some may say that he had traveled all of his days and even walked right into his death.
Note: This story is meant to be an oral history, told by traveler to traveler, and writing it down is taboo to those who tell it.
Thus have I heard of the old traveler and ascendant of the Golden Road, Renaud Bochemin, once a young man back in his homely village. A simple farm boy was he, helping his father with the wheat and the grain, swiping and scything; Letting the days pass by from planting to harvest. One morning, Renaud awoke to see the sun rising over the main road into the village. The rays glistened over the dew drops of shards of grain fallen off the wagons. Not only did Renaud awake, but also something else inside of him awoke as well. Some say the main road turned to gold at that moment, but I think that’s balderdash, I think something met that man’s heart. And so Renaud dressed, packed his bag, and said goodbye to his father and his family. He carried out and was called out along the roads and distances unknowing.
Renaud traveled for many years, gaining a knack for getting out of wiles that would otherwise kill a man. Who could forget the miraculous escape from the palace of the Mad King, Solomitus. By that point, Renaud had been seen traveling so much that many considered him some kind of myth or spirit. Many couldn’t understand how one man could keep up such a pace, many thought he wasn’t real. But one day he arrived at the Mad King’s City, and Solomitus knew he must honor such a legend by having Renaud stay with the King. But this King was arrogant. He thought he could keep Renaud tied down and locked away. He wanted to be the man who could stop the man who couldn’t stop moving. After a lavish welcome and an opulent dinner feast, Solomitus showed Renaud to his room. Once Renaud entered, Solomitus slammed the door and locked it behind him. Renaud, in distress at his current situation, cried out for help but heard not one peep in the palace. So he walked to the window, lamenting at his new imprisonment. From his room he could see the gates of the city emblazoned with fiery sconces. Renaud closed his eyes and imagined himself at those gates so deeply he felt the wind from the street at his back and the heat from the scones against his nose. When he opened his eyes he found himself standing at the gates with the wide road out of the city and into the dark forests ahead. He heard the alarm bells from the Palace, and the clamor of the guards. “Renaud has escaped!” He could hear in the distance, and knew he had beaten the old king by some miracle. Wasting no time, Renaud rushed into the woods, uncertain of what would lie ahead.
Many more years he traveled, from sea to sea and from continent to continent, meeting some of the most wonderful people. Merchants hawking their wares, diplomats from countries across the globe, and charlatans of all shapes and sizes. But there was one who caught his eye most of all, the maiden Elena of the Morrowood. Some say she was the most beautiful woman in all of the world. If you’re asking me she probably just took a liking to all of the quirks Renaud must’ve learned on the road. Either way, Renaud was weary from traveling the day and saw a cottage on the edge of a wood. A beautiful cottage of plaster walls and roof thatching adorned with roses and tulips and ivy all over. A true maiden of the wood’s cottage. Renaud was so enchanted by the cottage he thought he might try to see if anyone was home. He knocked on the door, and the door opened to a slender woman with auburn hair dressed in a flowing work dress. Renaud and Elena talked throughout the night, taking him in and Elena was charmed by his quirks. And so he said for the week, and told Elena he must keep traveling on, for he needed to see what lay beyond in lands yet traveled. Elena protested, saying that Reaud must stay since he had been such good company and wished to have him around longer. Charmed by her beauty, Renaud stayed for a second week. The second week turned into a third and finally a whole month. At the end of the month, Renaud knew he did not have the strength to protest again and that if did not leave soon, he would live with Elena for the rest of his days. In the dark of night, Renaud packed his rucksack and snuck out into the night, with only the golden glow of the moon to light his way. In the morning, Elena awoke to find Renuad missing, and wept.
Even a man as independent and ever moving as Renaud had family along the way. He had several horses, whose names have been lost to time and several traveling companions also whose names have been lost to time, but the one companion. The one who stayed with him the longest was Bayard. Bayard was a surly man who could drink himself deeper than the oceans depth and be ready for travel at the crack of dawn. The man had a knack for identifying trees and mushrooms, and was the best cook Renaud had ever seen. Bayard could take a few scraps and make the most filling and scrumptious meal anyone across the world could make. For that, Renaud kept him close, they traveled together across 18 different countries and 8 different oceans and lived for decades together on the road. Until one day, Bayard grew old and weary. Mind you Renaud himself had shown signs of age himself. One evening in a small inn, the two weary old men sat on their bunks reminiscing about old travels and tales of former glory. During the laughter and stories, Bayard got quiet. He looked deep into Renaud’s eyes and said-
“Maybe it’s time that we’ve done it, old friend.”
“What do you mean?”
“That it’s time to write the final chapter for us, maybe find somewhere and settle down”
“Don’t be foolish, Bayard. There’s so much more to see!”
“I know there is Renaud. But I’m getting tired. I can feel it deep into the marrow of my bones. I’m getting old and frail and I wish to find a happy place to cook a few more meals and sing songs with my best friend.” At this Renaud started to weep.
“You know I can’t do that, Bayard, as much as I may want to.”
“Please, There’s more to this world than exploring elsewhere.”
Renaud was silent.
“May I die tonight if I cannot walk with you another day,” said Bayard and turned away from Renaud. Later that night, Renaud awoke to the silence of the dark and quietly gathered his things. He came to Bayard, deep in sleep, and kissed him gently on the forehead. Renaud rose and mumbled to himself
“I’m so sorry, my old friend, for I cannot stay at rest, even for you.” And left.
Many months later, Renaud was plodding along with the road and hoped to reach a nearby town before nightfall. He knew the main road wouldn’t get him there in time but had been along this road before and thus knew a shortcut through a graveyard. In his older years, Renaud had grown trusting of his step and cloudy in his vision and could not see the dug grave in front of him before he fell to the bottom and cracked his skull. As he lay dying, he felt the warm feeling enveloping him, a Golden feeling some may say that he had traveled all of his days and even walked right into his death.
Note: This story is meant to be an oral history, told by traveler to traveler, and writing it down is taboo to those who tell it.
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