Departure

The sun rose from the east as Eranor was waiting at the fountain for the other two. His head was throbbing slightly, but overall, he was fine. He cracked a smirk. Raione would no doubt be a wreck this morning. If there were a party, she would always overdo it. Last night might have been her wildest night in a long time. She was one of the last ones standing when the liquor finally ran dry. Even some of the more veteran drinkers in town were scared to go one on one with her. She could polish mug after mug. However, this tended to intensify her already explosive demeanour. She would begin to curse with every sentence. She would slur so intensely that most could hardly make out what she said. To combat this, she would constantly shout and make wild gestures. 

He heard she had another little tournament last night after Eranor and Kaltmund retired. She dropped five contestants before everyone decided that the fighting should stop, well, everyone except Raione. Strange, he thought. Strange that Raione was so brash, yet she somehow tolerated the reserved Kaltmund. He would always leave early and get up before the sun rose. That is when Eranor realised something. Kaltmund was not here yet. He should have been the first to be here, yet he was nowhere to be seen. Eranor took a step away from the fountain wall. He looked around to no avail. Only the occasional shop owners getting their stores ready. He spotted the vegetable lady; she was a middle-aged woman with a pudgy face.

“Kal always visits her stand in the morning; maybe she knows something,” he whispered to himself and made his way to the vegetable vendor. She was busy unpacking the cabbages when he was a few paces away from her.

“Sixteen cabbages, hopefully, everyone needs some vegetables after last night. It would be a waste if these went rotten,” she said to herself as she placed the final cabbage on the stand.

“Excuse me,” he said. She jolted before turning around with a look of anger on her face. However, when she made eye contact with Eranor, her friendly expression returned.

“Oh, Eranor. You gave me quite the scare. What can I do for you?” she asked and took her place next to her stand.

“Uhm, miss. Did Kaltmund by any chance come by this morning?” he asked.

“No, he didn’t. Which, come to think about it, is rather odd. Maybe he doesn’t need to come anymore since you are leaving today. He usually comes by to get groceries for his father,” she replied while tapping her chin with her index finger.

“I see. So, you don’t know anything about why Kaltmund isn’t here right now? Did you maybe see something last night or this morning? Anything will help, miss,” he asked. She went silent for a moment and probed her memories.

“Well,” she pondered further, “early this morning, I did see Raione walking the streets. She kept stumbling forward and mumbled something about the chapel,” she explained, and before she could finish her sentence, Eranor rushed away.

“By the Goddess. Raione, what have you done?” he shouted as he sprinted through the town. The occasional person up this early studied with intrigue an Eranor dashed down the street, visibly distress. His mind raced. He began to think of what to expect when he gets to the chapel. Will she have started a fight with one of the priests? Did she challenge Kal? Was she feeling rowdy and would vandalise it? She was never one for belief? In fact, she regularly spoke out against the church. “No, Raione, please don’t tell me you did something that horrible,” he pleaded and continued his mad dash.

He rounded the bend and ran down the street leading to the chapel. The front door was wide open, and Kaltmund’s father stood on the porch. He was clearly displeased. Eranor slowed his sprint down to a meager jog.

“Mister Snjor,” he greeted in between his slight panting, “how are you this fine morning?” Kaltmund’s father turned to Eranor and did not crack a smile. His mustache enhanced the violent scowl he wore.

“Young Eranor, I assume you are here for that wild animal and my son?” he interjected. Eranor’s mind started to race. He struggled to find what to answer with.

“I, Uhm, yes,” he stammered and felt a bit of shame for some reason.

“Very well, Kaltmund is tending to her as we speak. Go on inside,” he said dishearten, and pulled a pipe from within his jacket.

“I’m so sorry, mister Snjor. That'll be the last time she bothers you,” he added quickly before entering the chapel. He quickly passed the arches of the doors to find sad sight. There before him laid Raione on one of the church pews. She was dressed and packed, but she was also in a grim state. Kaltmund was by her side and was clearly at the point of giving up.

“Raione, please get up. I have packed everything for you. We can’t keep Eranor waiting any longer,” he pleaded as he leaned on his staff. Raione only groaned and put her hand on her forehead.

“Kal, can’t we go tomorrow. I don’t think I’m up for it,” she whined.

“Kal’s right, wouldn’t it be best to get up now,” announced Eranor. He was happy to see that the entire chapel was not trashed. “Besides, I’ve got something that might help you. I was hoping to use it if we encountered something poisonous, but this is fine too, I guess,” he said and produced a small vial. It was crystal clear with a golden colour cork.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, Eranor. She came in last night and demanded compensation for the cheating. That or a match between the two of us, so I let her stay the night. What I didn’t expect was that she would harass my father out of his bed,” he admitted with guilt in his voice. Eranor walked over and stood next to her.

“It’s okay. I’m just happy that everything is manageable,” he said with a big smile to Kaltmund, “Now, Raione. Listen to me very carefully. You’re going to drink this potion and keep it down. If you dare vomit this up, I’ll have you pay for our next resupply singlehandedly,” he warned and uncorked the vial.

“What the hell is it?” she stammered weakly.

“It’s a potion to help with the recovery. Specifically enhanced for poison,” he said and slowly emptied the vial into Raione’s mouth. Her fists clenched. Her entire body grew tense. Eranor knew how bad this potion tastes, and in her state, it must be far worse. Also, it will feel like the worst heartburn she’s ever had. Another aspect of the potion that'll be like torture to her.

“Thank you, Eranor,” stated Kaltmund from behind.

“No problem, Now let her lay here for a while. The potion works quickly, but I think we should leave Raione alone for a bit. Mind coming outside with me?” he asked and stood back from her.

“Sure thing,” answered Kaltmund. The two of them left the groaning Raione behind on the church pew.

While outside, they saw that Kaltmund’s father no longer stood on the porch. There was, however, evidence of him cleaning his pipe in the bushes just in front of the railing.

“Where did your father go, Kal?” asked Eranor as he sat down on the railing.

“Most likely to Miss Isolde, since I was supposed to be gone by now; he has to do the grocery shopping himself,” he said and took his usual stance.

“He doesn’t like Raione, does he?” asked Eranor as he casually kicked his legs back and forth.

“No, he doesn’t,” he answered and pulled a pipe from his staff, “He hasn’t liked her since she arrived here. Claimed she is a demon-possessed orphan from the far east. I always told him that he couldn’t be such a bigot and a priest, but I have to agree with some points he made,” said Kaltmund and pressed his thumb on the tobacco. A few flames were conjured from his thumb, and soon he puffed smoke.

“Few points such as?” enquired Eranor, leaning his head back against a support beam.

“She is a wild person. Dangerous even in some instances, but what he fails to realise is. She's also protective. Kind at times even,” He answered and for a short moment looked exactly like the wise wizards in old tales. Puffing smoke from a pipe while trapped in a cloak.

“She is rather an unruly being, but can you blame her? Gelebor brought her up, and that man is more part animal than anything else,” added Eranor.

“Yes, he is,” said Kaltmund in his usual stoic fashion, “Strange then that she would have such lofty ambitions. I mean, Gelebor did teach her to be ambitious but to be a hero? Now that is some high standards for a refugee,” he said, taking a deep pull of his pipe.

“Sure is," he concluded before pausing for a brief second. Studying his friend smoking in front of him. "You think you could blow some smoke rings? Or even something more difficult?” asked Eranor. Dropping his head on his shoulder.

“Small rings. Nothing more, maybe if I used my magic. I could shape it, but that was never my forte,” he said and showed how he could puff out a tiny smoke ring.

“Impressive, maybe one day you could do a nice big one,” he said and smiled as they watched the sun creep ever higher. “You think we’ll return one day? To Blackbough, I mean,” he asked.

“I do, but if that means we return empty-handed like Yonamir or heroes, we’ll have to wait and see,” he said. Eranor could not help his mind but think of the prospect of failing. Yonamir was a talented swordsman with decent attributes, yet he only got one audition.

“I hope we get more than one,” he said and stopped his kicking.

“One what?” asked Kaltmund and continued to smoke.

“One audition. Yonamir said he was so tough. He tried so hard, but he was not good enough. I’d hate to think I failed my only shot at becoming a hero,” he said. The door of the chapel creaked open.

“Yonamir failed because no one could train him. We have each other and our master’s training,” said Kaltmund before turning around, “Feeling better Raione?” She stood with her robes on and her backpack over her shoulder. Her hair was done up into a ponytail with large bangs. She also had her bow on her back with her trusty axes on her hips.

“Much better, Kal. Thanks, Eranor. I guess I’m not going to knock your block off. Let’s get going. We’ve wasted enough time,” she declared before stepping off the porch.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” added Eranor before dropping off the railings.

“It seems we finally set off then,” said Kaltmund as he cleaned his pipe while walking. The three young heroes set out on the road to Loffenten. They had decided that it would be best to get something on the repertoire. Also, the quarts they could make from the jobs would be beneficial. The added experience they could gain could also be crucial as every level they can climb with their skills could mean the difference between being accepted or rejected.

The day had dragged on, their shadows grew long, and they decided it would be time to set up camp for the night. The road to Loffenten was not a long one as it would take three days of walking from Blackbough. The road was also paved, so travel was easier, and when they spotted a little clearing next to the road, they immediately decided this was where they would set up camp.

They unrolled their sleeping bags, Raione gathered wood, Kaltmund unpacked what was needed from the backpacks, and Eranor scouted the area for any dangers. The tree line wasn’t thick, so Eranor moved with ease. The day was also surprisingly clear, so he could go on unhindered. The crunch of a few twigs under his boots and the orange tint in the sky made him glad to be seeing the world. The town of Blackbough fell in the southern region of the first wall. It was a beautiful land. Scattered woodlands and lazy rolling hills. It was home to some of the largest towns and cities inside the wall. Eranor loved growing up in such a picturesque part of the world. The far-off mountains, the warm summer days, and stormy night. It all was perfect for him. It was the one thing he most feared about the road he is travelling. That these scenes would never again be seen. The north is an icy realm, or so Kaltmund says. The west has a massive ocean, many say that the west has the better weather. He agrees that the perfect days in the west are pure bliss. The rarity due to the fickle weather is what he hates. They do not get proper thunderstorms like the south. They have a drizzle that lasts for days. He has grown far too accustomed to the heavy downpour, the cracking thunder, and the fierce enveloping noise of it all.

While daydreaming and comparing the weather in his head, Eranor saw something. He stopped dead in his tracks. A little onwards from him was a cave entrance. He took a deep breath, and in an instant. The whole world grew more vibrant. The orange tint in the sky became more saturated. The thin, light brown trees grew more detailed. Their green leaves were more potent—the far-off chirping of birds enclosed around him. The occasional rustling leaf multiplied. The waves from the sun were washing over him. He could feel the heat of the setting sun. The faint sound of his lungs filling with air could be heard. The beating drum of his heart and whirling wind in his sinus. It all could be heard. He could smell the leaves and grass. As if he had the right against his nose. Then he focused his heightened senses. The overwhelming sense of everything disappeared. Everything returned to normal. Except he focused on the cave entrance. He could smell wet fur. Canine, to be precise. He saw their prints on the floor glimmer. It was highlighted as silver would glow under candlelight. He concentrated harder. Then a growling could be heard echoing deep from within the cave. He listened closely and started to count.

“One,” he said, and he turned his head so that his ear was directly towards the cave. 

“Three,” he said. He closed his eyes. 

“Seven,” he whispered. He dulled all his other senses before listening again. 

“Twelve,” he thought before re-opening his eyes. He kept his senses dulled except swapped hearing for sight. He could peer closer to the tracks than where he stood. He saw the size and shape. 

“No doubt about it,” he said to himself before returning his senses to their base form, “Dire wolves.”