Chapter 6 - Adventure Awaits

The morning sun filtered through the forest canopy, dappling the quiet glade with gentle gold. Rowan stirred from his bedroll, stretching limbs lately unburdened by morning's pains. Today marked his seventeenth name day - and the day his journey truly began.

As was his wont, he watched dawn light chase shadows from glade to forest's shrouded heart. But nostalgia found no foothold; his sword sang a sweeter song on morn's soft breeze. This was no day for looking back, nor lingering over what might have been. Fate beckoned down well-trodden winding paths, and his steps must not falter now.

Rising in a fluid motion, Rowan went through stretches and forms with fluid grace, steel flashing liquid as dawn lit dew. Each motion carried perfect control; poise distilled from ten thousand trials. Warriors twice his years could scarcely match such fluid lethality, let alone surpass its razor's edge.

Today, steel's kiss felt sweeter still against calloused palm. This was no final test of flesh tempered in solitude, but mastery's first steps beyond glade's bowered dance. What trials might await on roads winding ever westward, he dared not ponder – he only grips his hilt firmer and steeled his resolve even harder than folded metal. There would be time enough for wonderment in city lit by sunset's bleeding glories.

For now, his home's lone embrace yet lingered - oak's bowered canopy bowing farewell sadly on still morning airs. Rowan drank deep dew-fresh loam and leather, committing each sensation to depths where only memory might keep them. Soon this sacred glen would know he no longer survive in lonely dreams. But other paths called him now, winding ever onward towards destiny's next unveiling. Today was dawn. As the sun rose higher, Rowan shouldered his pack and turned west. His steps soon brought the forest's shrouded eaves giving way to familiar cottages crowding the village heart.

At the blacksmith's forge, stout Geralt worked steel under ringing hammer, sweat beading a bowed head. His back straightened at Rowan's approach, gruff features softening. "So, the day has come at last," he rumbled, setting down hammer to grasp a gnarled hand. "You've come far, boy. Farther than I dreamed that day you darkened my yard."

Pride swelled Rowan's chest to match the veteran's own. "Your teachings made it possible, sir. This land will never know a truer protector."

A bark of laughter escaped Geralt. "Well spoken, warrior. But a man grows in strange soils - and threats unseen plague wider fields than ours." His stern mien returned. "Stay vigilant. Let no drop of that blood go to waste."

With a solemn nod, Rowan took his leave of mentor who had carved him from green boy to tempered steel. Villagers bustled the square, pausing chores to call well-wishes; faces etched with all he fought to shield blurred behind a sheen. His steps were steady as he threaded the knot of families, children, tradesmen - all owing their ordered days to promise writ in scars upon his forearms, miles trod under steel-shoed feet. Each farewell sang bittersweet upon the breeze gusting his cheeks, now set only westward. This place would ever ring in his heart, as steel did, the winding road bore him from familiar rooftops into forest's green embrace once more, enshrouding him in dappled gloam. No backward glance disturbed the mantle of leaves - only straight shoulders and steady footfalls charting a new future unfolding with each westward pace. His village slept behind, the road awaited, guiding strides ever on. Filled with restless energy, Rowan's long strides ate the leagues. Though his pack bore sparse burdens, leather and steel were all this road demanded of him.

The trees became old companions as winding paths turned his boots east and west. He drank deep of the woodland's living breath - loam and growth and morning dew - letting it course like new wine through limbs enflamed with each mile stretched behind. By afternoon, his breathing remained light as dawn, sweat beading only slightly across a taut brow.

Here was solace after haunting days spent wandering glade no longer home. The past whispered faintly as forest-scent sank deep, while future's road unfurled endless before boots swift as quicksilver. He banished the thought of all clinging vines of memory or duty, immersing senses fully in emerald wilderness embracing him like a long-lost child.

Thus, did hours spin by as the young warrior drank of woodland's wild spirit freely offered. His blade sang liquid counterpoint to birdsong swirling on autumn's eve, and each footfall seemed borne on wings. By dusk's mauve cloaking the trail, a newfound peace had taken root within his breast, directed now fully towards unknown horizons unfolding ever westward with dawn's young light. This was a road meant to be walked and walked without pause or reservation - only let breath come freely as forest breeze caressing all in its sweet passage. Ever had this road been friend and solace. Now its boon was renewed tenfold for all lying ahead shrouded yet in soft twilight's veils. With the wood's benediction sunk deep in flesh and spirit, Rowan made camp to watch stars' unveiling, awaiting the next gift of dawn's beams through shadowed bows. As trees and hills passed in an emerald blur, Rowan sank into reverie's embrace. His mind turned over lessons wrapped tight as scars around muscle and sinew.

From Geralt he had learned that strength dwells deeper than flesh — in bracing wind and rain until the body forgets such notions exist. His mentor had imparted subtleties of form, the endless micro-adjustments distinguishing master from student. Each callus and scar testified to these truths sunk down to marrow.

From solitude he knew the virtue of stillness, how permeating every pore with forest's wild song could grant visions sharper than any blade. Lonely nights had taught him to listen where shadow reigned, and peer beyond sunlight's glittering veil into mysteries there lurking.

His glade had demonstrated heart's tenacity, how with each loss its roots struck deeper until even storm's howl could not shake its foundation. Though he walked her bowers no longer, their lessons were carved into his soul like runes in living bark. Pain and remembering had fused into a strength quieter than any he had known before.

So as trees blurred by and dawn lit each horizon fresh and unknown, Rowan felt ready to receive what gifts the road may bear. It was trials he would weather as willfully as forest tempests, and appear wiser, hardier, more attuned to midnight's secrets. Whatever challenges awaited were but grains upon life's tide — and he had become as immovable as the earth beneath well-trained boots. This road held no fears, only promise of insights to come.

He walked on, eager to see all horizons had to unveil. After weeks of traveling, the imposing city walls finally began to take shape through the morning haze. Though distant, their form stretched impossibly high into the pearly sky, dark bulwarks silhouetted against the sunrise.

Rowan strode lightly through the thinning forest, senses alive with anticipation of mysteries awaiting beyond those sheer earthen barricades. As trees gave way to rolling meadows awash with wildflowers dancing in the breeze, the city's shape loomed ever larger.

Spires and domes emerged, jutting proudly above crenellated ramparts. Watches paced endless rounds along crowning's blurred by distance, silent guardians of a metropolis surely cacophonous even from leagues afar. Flags and banners billowed atop parapets in dawn's shawl of gold and rose, announcing a kingdom's thriving power to any who sought refuge within.

Soon he made out individual towers piercing mist like obsidian lances, and wide gates stood open in welcome, though the crush of rooftops and streets remained shrouded mystery. It seemed a world unto itself, this walled titan dominating the green swells rising to meet its stony girth. All that Rowan had known was, but a pebble compared to such colossal industry.

Yet he strode onward light and eager, transfixed by promises of wonders untold within those sheltering flags. Adventure called from beyond the last corpses; destiny beckoned him into streets paved not with grass, but history, fortune and new skies without limit. The city awaited - and he, a step closer to mysteries unfolding since time's breaking dawn. His road had led here, and here was where horizons expanded without bound. Rowan passed beneath towering gates, senses reeling under the city's sensory onslaught.

Cobblestone streets teemed with life -- merchants pitching wares, laborers hauling goods, craftspeople plying numerous trades. Snatches of myriad tongues blended with pounding hammers and tuneful ballads. Spiced aromas wafted from kitchen alleys, mingling with harsher smells of industry.

He drank it all in, nerves singing with exhilaration. Criers' calls echoed off sandstone walls looming protectively over the maelstrom. Banners in myriad bright dyes flapped from balconies and eaves, while domes of many-colored glass caught daylight's rays.

Before long, Rowan lost all sense of direction amid the tangled thoroughfares and teeming squares. But awe held him rapt, eyes alighting on each new spectacle -- caravans rumbling in from distant lands, fashions diverse as the world beyond these shores.

Musicians' lilting notes wove dazzling spells, compelling passersby to linger and toss coins into eager hats. Scribes meticulously copied scripture and law for solicitors and clerics. Exotic spices perfumed each breath, joyously foreign after wind-carved scents of road and glade.

This was life in all its rich abundance, a veritable kingdom unto itself within high walls. Rowan drank deep of the chaos and industry, new horizons unfurling with each discovery. His road had led him at last to a metropolis holding more mysteries and adventures than he could have dreamed. The true quest awaited within these pulsing streets of men and dreams made manifest. He was calm. Rowan wandered the bustling avenues, seeking amongst the din some trace of the adventurers' hall. When at last a drunk tossed him a sloppy hint through laughter and ale, he followed the slurred directions down winding lanes.

Soon a light and lively clamor rose above the din of the marketplace. A weathered signpost creaked above a tavern door, depicting crossed blades beneath a griffon's snarling maw. Here was no genteel parlor but a sanctuary of warriors, rogues and dream swords, where fortunes and falls alike were relived over tankards brimming to the rim.

Stepping within was like dunking head in roiling surf. Laughter and song crashed from every timbered corner, mingling with curses and clashes of table-thumping fists. Pipe smoke wreathed the room in a blue haze, carrying scents of searing meat and spiced wine amid tails tall enough to scrape the low rafters.

Servers weaved expertly between crowded tables and cliques, sloshing drinks with practiced ease. In one nook a volley of dice rolled, animated arguments erupting after each throw. At the bar, a scarred veteran regaled rapt listeners with exploits both glorious and grisly abroad.

Rowan slid into a vacated seat, senses reeling under revelry's relentless pulse. Here dwelled souls of pure mettle and marvel, kin whose hands had shaped history even as his were but learning to grip hilt. At last, his road had wound him to comrades of spell and steel, where legends were forged afresh each even as old ones echoed on for ages hence. This was fellowship's first taste - intoxicating as any brew within arm's thirsty reach. Rowan surveyed the rowdy tavern, hoping to glean some clues amid the riotous celebration of drink and exploits. Just then, a gruff quarter-orc thumped down on the bench beside him. "Your first time at Ol' Lefty's, lad?"

Rowan nodded, and the orc grinned, extending his thick-nailed hand. "Grumm be the name. Word is you're eyeing work." Grumm signaled the barkeep, sloshing two fresh ales that frothed over the rims. "Drink deep, then we'll talk terms."

As the potent brew set nerves aglow, Grumm launched into tales of past assignations - hunting beasts terrorizing border towns, traversing blighted wastes to forgotten ruins rumored housing relics of power. Rowan listened raptly, envisioning himself amid such peril and wonders beyond counting.

At last Grumm leaned close, rumbling in an undertone barely audible beneath the din, "Heard tell of a mage gone missing in the Fey wild. Trail went cold at the academy - you know anyone there could shed some light?"

Rowan's breath caught. Could the halls of higher learning at last return the companion whose light had kindled hope through long, lonely years? He met Grumm's shrewd gaze steadily. "Lead me to your contacts. I mean to find the truth behind this mage's disappearance."

A thunderous slap sealed the pact. Adventure's song had led Rowan at last to fellowship - and possibly, a reunion wrote in fate's inscrutable ink since memory's first dawning. Destiny walked in this tavern's very footsteps that night, and its mysteries, just beginning to be unveiled.