Conviction of a Wanderer

The sound of horse hooves striking the ground with slothful vigour and the man's bundle resting on his back rustled and the sword at his hip and the gauntlets he wore jostled at every harsh bump and step of the road, his body moving to his own rhythm. Slowly as the sun rose that botter morning the mist escaping his lips became apparent and his sullen eyes sullen to the point he seemed to be more a skull than a face along with his reddened features seemed ready to collapse. Heading into the town the sounds of children outside that morning tossing balls of snow along with jeers and ringing laughter danced in the air that day. Entering the village along with his mighty oaken steed with a mane flowing like a river, getting down his feet had sunken into the snow and the frost he became accustomed jolted across his body. Quickly an elderly man ragged and shaken in bundles of cloths of soft chestnut and evergreen hues he smiled with a toothy grin showing more gum than bone.

"Ah, a traveller quiet the peculiar sight among these parts." He chuckled. "Judging by the worn leather attire and stocky horse you are no messenger, may I ask why you had come to these parts?"

The man tried to speak and as he took a deep breath the cold tore through the back of his throat and he hacked a harsh cough. Reaching for a small wooden flask he took and sip and settled before replying. "I'm a simple wanderer just seeking a spot to rest with both a hearth and meal or is that too much of a bother."

"Needing boarding, eh? Look down the village path till you see a sign in shades of purples and a cauldron. If the sign is hard to find, the roaring cheers of the villagers getting a warm breakfast should help you find it. Mind you getting a spot could put up to being a greater challenge. Anyways, off you go and if you don't mind there's a stable." He gestured to the stable off to the left it seemed to house a couple mules and luckily with a spot to spare. "Tobias' old mule passed the end of autumn and he can't go to a town to buy one till spring and he's stuck waiting for a merchant. So use the spot if you'd like only three coppers and I'd ask no more."

"A beggar's bargain, I'd say. Take five. I feel bad enough."

"Have not of it, through a traveller you still are a guest." Patting him on the back he continued. "Now get to Herman's before he ends the breakfast call and that's an experience on a cold winter day you'd rather enjoy."

Watching his horse be led to the stables as he handed the man the coppers he could already hear the conversations of the village from a lively building. A stark contrast to the quiet areas of homes either side. Walking in the warmth of the tavern and the smell of ale and revelry flooded his nose. Not incredibly overpowering but a refreshing sensation to the winter morning. Those around him parted ways letting the weary traveller pass through and one guided him to table and yelled out.

"Hermy, a proper Brivin breakfast will ya? We got a lad looking like a frosted branch over 'ere."

A tall well built individual with muscles not fitting of a chef but more of a smith turned around. If it wasn't for his height he could be mistaken for a dwarf with the braided beard and receding hairline complimenting his wide figure. Approaching him he planted a mug of ale and eyed him top to bottom and back again.

"I'll charge you no more than two coppers for yer meal and how about room for three a night?" Herman suggested cheerfully.

"As I said with the old man, a beggar's bargain indeed. This village seems to love them." Jokingly he mentioned Herman.

"Fret not, money is more for the merchants and taxes than within the village it's to stop ol' Darron drinking my cellar dry. Last time I'd let him near my homebrews. Anyways, care to tell me your name and why death seems to have her lovingly cold hands on your shoulder?"

The traveller realised he hadn't told anyone his name yet. Collecting himself he spoke, "Callum of Chenmal, once a merchant and now a sellsword for hire. Death comes with the territory of sellsword practitioners and well a bitter snow cold enough to slumber an Ignium stone is more than enough reason."

"Chenmal?" Herman placed a hand to his chin. "Yer quite far for a bloke from Chenmal if I recall from my time in the city that's a good bloody country away. Why would a fellow like you… Crasses the food." At that moment the scent of charring sausages became prominent. Plating the food in front of him he looked a little sheepish. "I won't pry further but sorry for charring it a little. I'll take only a copper for it."

Callum looked at the man's sincerity and rejected it. "I'd rather not, this plate is worth more than two to start with, I'll be fine." With that Herman apologetically walked off to tend to other businesses.

Callum personally was more flabbergasted at the meal itself. The portion alone would make him question if this was an orc village to start with; the plate could be repurposed as a buckler for a fighter and the food was even more impressive. The charged sausages weren't two or three but a whole set of five, dwarfing his hand in comparison with eggs and brown bread along with it. The mug of ale was warmed and the liquid helped quench and soften his brittle parched throat.

A man came stumbling up to him flushed red and it seemed his friends tried grabbing him. He was quite the stocky fellow with a bristly chin and boasting a beer gullet that reminded him of the under part of a frog's throat.

"You bloo'y newcomer who do you think is parading with a sword at yer hip. Think you are better than me since you can wield a blade?" the man bellowed, seeming frustrated.

A friend quickly grabbed him by the shoulder and struggled pulling him back. "I'm so sorry, Tobias is still furious about his mule. A sellsword had killed it in a drunken stupor, though he was charged and had his possession taken. He can't get a new mule for a good season till winter passes and its put him out of work."

Sipping his warm mug of ale he looked over to the man sitting at the table, noticing him calming down. "It's fine, if someone killed my horse I'd be wary of them."

"I'll pay for a couple rounds as an apology. Toby'll pay me back anyways."

"A free drink is hard to say no to."

They spent the morning drinking late into the afternoon.

Stumbling up the stairs to his room he laid in the bed snoring as long as the sun was out. Although it creaked in some parts the bed was surprisingly comfortable and much to his enjoyment the light did not pierce the curtains. Eventually he woke up late into the night when even the sounds of the bar were still. Grabbing his cloak and blade he jumped from the window knowing the door could wake the owner and that would be impolite. Strolling knees deep into the snow he walked into the dense forests behind the tavern, once he was certain that no one was around he climbed the trees and began observing the ground from there. Under the moonlight and cold air he felt his blood boiling, a sensation driving him mad and soon he fell under it's trance.

Everytime he entered this euphoric state he could not resist running as much as he could the weightless sensation it brought was like magic and the restlessness invigorated his muscles. Dashing across branches in mighty strides like stones across a river he was slowly embraced by the depths of the forest. Soon he smelt the strong musk of blood from below him, rotten and aged whatever it was it had died a while ago. But a sweet smell laid underneath the stench and his curiosity tempted him into dropping below the branches. There he found a mangled deer dusted with snow and within the opened ribcage of the creature was a light pink flower with a radiating hue of pinks and reds. As he got close to it the sounds of laughter could be heard and he immediately was startled.

'Pick me…' It whispered into his ear and everytime it slowly repeated this it felt like something brushed against his ears. Alert he drew his sword and searched the area around him looking for the source of the voice but it seemed nothing had been around.

'You silly being below you, the flower it's me.' Looking down at the flower he was confused at whether it was true. Getting closer the voice indeed grew louder and soon he felt the sensation of euphoria he felt whilst running. Gulping down he delicately grabbed the flower as low as possible to the roots and pulled it out. To his surprise there were no dangling roots, instead it was a bulb in the shape of a curled person. Looking in depth the features of a person seemed traced along the root like it was sculpted with a needle.

'Thank you,' this time he could tell the voice came from the root and not the flower. Soon it was enveloped in the pink hue but it became a rapidly blinding light causing him out of surprise to drop the root. Opening his eyes he saw a little pixie in the form of a person with rather than wings a halo against it's back constantly rotating and it's eyes were not discernable and more like beaming crystals of light.

"I am Delian and as my saviour I'm obliged to help you." The little pixie bowed.

"Are you one of those pixies wizards you're talking about?" Callum asked curiously.

"Me, a pixie? Well I must say that is utterly rude. I'm in fact an Arch Root Fae and you comparing me to something as lowly as a pixie is more than demeaning."

Callum, seeing how upset the fae was, apologised. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise you'd be so upset."

The fae's face softened. "I'd make a remark about you being a monkey but seeing as you seem to be sincere I'll happily help you."

"Thank you, I think?"

"You're welcome."

Quickly the rustling from a bush startled the pair and Delian hid in his pocket. A hare had jumped out of the brambles and scratched its nose before leaving.

"Pfft, Arch Root Fey. Is that what you are?" Callum started laughing.