“And this is my gift to you. Go to Winterstone with it and become an alchemist. And then, if you want, you can return to me and pay me back in mystical potions and mountains of gold.”
Kraghtol couldn’t help but grin at his foster father’s humor. He would miss it for sure. And just like that, he realized he had decided to really go in his head. It would be a risk, sure, but he knew he would always, always be welcome here, back at home.
It was just a few days later that Kraghtol and Merrick stood in front of the healer’s house to say their goodbyes. Even though the thoughtof embarking on this adventure of his own had taken firm root in his mind, Kraghtol was in no particular hurry to leave. It was his foster father who was adamant about him realizing his plans sooner rather than later, for a practical reason. Even though Winterstone was the next bigger city, it was not reallyclose. The road was easy but long, and the half-orc would need weeks, perhaps even a month, to walk the almost 500 kilometers, which would be considerably easier to do in the early fall compared to later in the year.
This morning, Mistpine stood true to its name. It was the tenth month by now, and the equinox was just around the corner in a week. Thick white mist was pouring out of the Frostwater and the forest surrounding the village, enveloping the world in a diffuse and mystical blanket that would only dissolve in a few hours when the sun was strong enough to pierce through it. By then, Kraghtol planned to be already well on his way.
“So, this is goodbye for now. How are you feeling?”
Merrick was smiling, although the half-orc suspected that the fog caused not every bit of moisture on his face. He, too, had to fight a lump in his throat.
“Nervous,” he answered truthfully. “I have never been far away from Mistpine in all my life. And now, suddenly, everything changes.”
“But it’s a wonderful change. And you can always come back to your old man, whatever happens. But I believe in you, Kragh, I really do. Go chase your dreams.”
The lump in his throat seemed to have grown too big to give an answer now, and the half-orc knew no words that seemed adequate. Instead, he stepped forward and hugged his shorter father tightly untila noise suggested that he should let go if he didn’t want to suffocate the human.
“Thank you, father. I will come back.”
Usually, he called the man who raised him by his first name, but today, more than ever, he realized just how much of a father he was to him.
The two of them looked at each other for a moment longer until Kraghtol turned towards the southern exit of the village, currently hidden by the dense fog. And then, he put on his backpack and started walking, only looking back when the fog had already swallowed the house that had been his home for the last nineteen years. Mistpine was little more than two dozen wooden huts and a stone forge huddled together against the coldness of the surrounding pine forests, and the villagers hadn’t been much warmer. Still, Kraghtol had to fight a lump in his throat when he stepped outside, knowing it would be months or even years before he returned.
The ‘road’ leading south that he was setting out on was little more than a muddy path, barely wide enough for the one-horse merchant carts that came through twice a year. Dense pine forests lined the path on both sides, their silence only broken by the gurgling sound of the Frostwater.
From Merrick’s limited knowledge, who had been to Winterstone once before to get approved by the Guild of Healing and Bodycraft, he knew that there were several more villages along the road south, but no town or bigger city, and none to the north, making Mistpine the northernmost settlement of the country. The villages, too, were not close enough to each other for him to sleep in an inn every night,especially as he was traveling on foot, so he was prepared to make camp in the wild. Even though he owned no tent, this appeared to be the prudent choice, anyway.
Merrick’s life savings totaled 19 silver pieces, plus the gold coin, worth another 10 silver pieces, he didn’t want to spend. Since the guilds dictated the prices for goods and services, he knew that a night in an inn room, together with a hearty dinner and breakfast, would cost him at least three copper coins. Which meant that if he was to have that every night for the next 28 days, he would have already lost over 8 silver coins by the time he reached Winterstone — before he even knew how much it would cost him to join the alchemists’ school. That was decidedly too much, and so he would sleep outside and forage for food himself.
Luckily, the early fall was a good season for that, and Kraghtol possessed enough knowledge of plants to know which mushrooms and berries were edible. He would still have to buy bread, eggs and cheese occasionally, if he didn’t want to get sick from malnutrition, but that was considerably cheaper than buying everything.
Besides his money and the alchemical potion, he traveled lightly, mainly because he possessed little he could take with him. The advantage of this was that at least his light backpack didn’t slow him down, allowing him to cover the distance quickly. The weather was ideal for traveling. Even though it was not as sunny as it had been a few days ago, it was still warm and dry, and the hardened ground of the road made for easy walking.
As well as the traveling on the road went, as problematic were his stops at the villages, however. The first village he encountered had atleast heard of the half-orc of Mistpine — a fact that surprised him a lot — but even there, they approached him with caution. Still, caution was the best possible outcome for the other villages, as he learned. Most times, the villagers met him with open distrust, and sometimes even thinly veiled hatred. After one encounter with a farmer who spat on the floor in front of him, he started avoiding the villages altogether if he didn’t need to restock on food.
He was not just concerned for his own safety, but, perhaps even more so, was afraid he might lose control over the anger inside of him. If the farmer had hit him instead of the ground, he had a feeling that fists might have flown. Depending on the orderkeeper of the place, that might have already ended his journey. So, he stayed clear of the villages and endured the mistrust as best as he could if he needed something.
About one week after he left the village where he was born, and two days after the encounter with the farmer, he was making camp in a small forest a bit off the road. Kraghtol had been following the Frostwater, the stream that ran by Mistpine as well, since he had left Mistpine, even though it was too small for traveling on. It was, however, a good source of fresh water, and Kraghtol was disappointed to find it diverging from the road westwards. He would have to look for other sources of fresh water for the next part of his journey, but today, it was still near enough to supply him for one more evening.
He had just eaten his dinner — nuts and berries, and a bit of cheese — when he thought he heard a rustling sound.
Immediately, he was on high alert. Other people didn’t really scare him. He had, of course, heard stories about bandits on the road, buthe very much doubted encountering any in this part of the land, let alone in this secluded forest.
Wild animals were a different story. Wild boars could be terribly aggressive, especially when they protected their piglets. He vividly remembered one of Merrick’s patients who had been attacked by a mother boar two years ago, who had only survived her gruesome wounds by a miracle. Or rather, by the skill of his foster father. Now, it was way after the time boars typically gave birth, but that didn’t mean he was safe. Careful not to make too much noise, he looked around. Nothing. But a few moments later, there was a slight rustling noise in the foliage again.
It could be harmless, perhaps a rabbit or a bird. But if it wasn’t, it would be best to leave this place. The half-orc pondered what to do for a moment. Though he had slept in the wild before, he wouldn’t consider himself an expert, especially not on wild animals. He was, however, confident of discerning a boar from a bunny if he saw the animal in question. Shouldering his backpack so he could escape quickly, if necessary, he silently moved towards the noise.
He wasn’t as silent as would have liked, but at least he didn’t seem to threaten the creature into attacking. The rustling sound moved away from him, just as he was moving towards it, and he sneaked after the unseen source for a few minutes until, suddenly, the animal responsible sped up considerably and scurried away through the foliage back into the forest.
Kraghtol was just about to return to the stream when something else caught his attention. He had arrived at the edge of the forest, and behind the thin line of trees, a village only a bit larger than Mistpinebegan. However, that was not what he had noticed, but the shine of fire, the sound of music and the smell of food filled his senses. Of course, an equinox festival. As most northern villages did, Mistpine celebrated the spring and fall equinoxes, as well as the summer and winter solstices. The latter was the biggest festival of the year, a whole day of celebration between the thirteenth and first months, near the end of the long night, but the other three festivals weren’t bad either, with a caveat. Most villagers took them as a welcome reason to drink more than a few beers, and as the alcohol went to their heads, it often seemed an even better idea than usual to provoke the half-orc. That was reason enough for Kraghtol to abstain from drinking large amounts of alcohol himself, which made him stand out even more. Still, he liked the festivals for the good food and music, if nothing else.
Merrick was probably celebrating right now, and he most likely listened to the blacksmith and her daughter playing the fiddle, not unlike the faint music his foster son heard from the other village right now. A certain melancholy took hold of him. Did Merrick miss him already?
Kraghtol shook his head to clear his mind. Then, following an impulse, he stepped out of the forest and walked towards the light of the fire. It was probably a bad idea, but perhaps he could celebrate a bit with the people here.
Contrary to what he feared, the music didn’t stop when he stepped into the unfamiliar market square. Some people were playing the fiddle with more enthusiasm than skill, and the rest of the villagers either danced to its tunes or stuffed their bellies at the feast.
Suddenly, Kraghtol felt terribly out of place. What was he supposed to do? He knew no one here, and he couldn’t just invade their festival like that. This was a bad idea. Cursing his stupid impulses, he turned around to flee the scene before he could startle anyone with his appearance, but almost bumped into a considerably smaller woman who had appeared behind him in the dimly lit area.
