So Much Money

An older Osric stands ready, facing down a slightly taller boy across the yard, wooden sword in hand. His black cloak flaps in the wind behind him. His longish blonde hair blows in front of his eyes, and he takes a moment to push it aside. In that split moment, the boy rushes him, his sword raised above his head.

“Don’t take your eyes off the enemy, Osric!” Randolf yells, observing the mock battle from a distance.

Osric stumbles backwards as he raises his sword in an attempt to block the incoming strike. He steps on the toe of one of his leather boots and falls onto the grass like a stiff plank of wood. The older boy, now on top of him, strikes him in the head with his wooden sword.

“Ow!” Osric cries out as he fails to block the swing.

The onslaught of overhead strikes continues.

“That’s good, John, he's dead. You win the battle.” Randolf walks over, waving his hands to call off the beating.

“Ha ha, I win again, Osric,” John says triumphantly. “You’re too easy.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Osric abashedly replies, rubbing his head.

“Alright, go on home and get ready for the church service, John.” Randolf walks over.

John scampers off down the dirt path. Randolf offers Osric a hand to stand back up.

“What was that I told you about keeping your eyes on his sword.”

“Yeah, and I told you swordsmanship just isn’t my thing,” Osric says in an attempt to shut down the incoming lecture he knew followed.

Osric sighs. It's not like I can tell him that my terribly unathletic genetics probably carried over from the previous life. It would break his heart to have an unathletic son.

"Osric, when someone apporaches you with an overhead swing—"

“Listen, Father,” Osric interrupts him. “I think this sword training is a waste of time, I’m not cut out for it. I want to spend my time researching magic."

"When a boy turns five he should learn the blade. Even mages carry a dagger," Randolf argues.

Catalina walks through the front door and greets the two. “You boys working hard out here?”

“Something like that,” Osric answers.

"We'll talk more later." Randolf walks over to Catalina now at the fence

She turns to look at Osric, “I feel bad you can't come to the church with us, are you sure you don't want to do some prays when we get home?”

“No, I’m good,” He replies bluntly.

“Alright dear,” she says with a tinge of melancholy in her voice as she starts down the road with Randolf.

Osric's heart pangs for a moment. She always looks so sad when I say no. It's nice they respect that I don’t want to go, but does she think I’m gonna change my mind?

Now that they’re gone, it's time for the best part of the day! Osric happily scurries into the house to grab a wooden bucket of water. He struggles to carry it out the door, plopping it down onto the grass just before he collapses.

He stands bent over, admiring his reflection in the water as he catches his breath. Wow, I am so much more good-looking this time around. Definitely going to be an attractive young man. And this black cloak-and-shirt combo? Super look cool and mysterious — thank you, Angus.

He goes back into the house once again, this time emerging with a log in one hand and a book in the other. He places the log down a good distance from the bucket. He walks back over to the bucket while flipping through the book, looking for a certain page. After finding the page, the book is set at his feet. He points the palm of his hand at the wooden log, grabbing his wrist with his other hand to reinforce it.

He chants an incantation, “Divine Wisdom, light this flame, Ignis Pila!” A small glowing ball of red flame fizzles into being at his palm. The ball swirls as the flames grow in size. It gets two times — three times bigger as the chant finishes. The flame is launched at the log.

The ball vanishes and the log has been set ablaze.

He watches in astonishment. Whoa, that was so huge! I think I’m getting it now, the chant is what makes the fireball, but the size is determined by how much mana you channel into your hand.

He walks over and kneels by the flaming log.

My theory from yesterday seems to be correct too. Once the spell is over, the element created by the spell disappears, but the effects it has on its surroundings linger. That's why the fireball is gone yet the log is still on fire.

Why does my knee feel hot? Osric looks over. His brown breeches are on fire. Scampering over to the bucket, while squealing, he dunks his leg in the water.

Ah, that's better — there seem to be too many flaws with how magic works in this world, though. Having to say a chant like that means I can’t just use a water spell to extinguish my pants, not if I don’t want to get burnt.

Osric pitifully carries the wooden bucket over to the smoldering log he pants. And another thing — the fact that elements you create disappear after the spell. You can’t cast water ball and then shoot it into a bucket to drink. It dematerializes back into mana and disperses in the air — how lame.

He dumps the water onto the log, extinguishing it.

Osric, now sitting, reads his magic book. Loud thuds, almost like galloping, catch his attention. He stands to look down the dirt path. Running down the main dirt road is a bear. Nothing like the bears Osric had known, this bear had a horn on its snout, much like a rhinoceros. Its deep green, almost moss-like fur sways as it barrels down the road.

A well-built woman chases after it, her ginger-red hair in a ponytail flowing behind her, her armor clanging as she sprints after the bear.

Following behind her is a mage in deep purple robes. She grips her long brimmed and pointed mage hat in one hand as it fights with the wind. A wooden staff with a purple crystal on the end, in the other hand, swings back and forth as she tries to catch up to the armored woman.

Behind her, another woman wears an exasperated, clearly breathing heavily. Her short blonde hair, long red pleated skirt, and brown coat all flow in the wind. She flails her arms erratically, accidentally flinging a black-stained wooden staff from her hand. She rushes after it, a leather bag falls out of her coat as she turns around. She stomps the ground before picking it up.

A woman holding a child screams at the sight of the bear and runs into the house across the road. Osric, however, stands watching curiously as the chase reaches the front of his house.

The bear turns around, abruptly, facing the armored woman behind it. Vines sprout from deep green fur on its back. They shoot towards the woman, wrapping her up and lifting her into the air. She tries to reach for the sword at her hip, but her arms are tied down too tightly by the vines.

Osric gawks at bear, jaw agape. Okay vines? Can I shoot vines like that?  

“Margery! Do something about these vines,” the armored woman shouts as she wriggles in vain.

“On it,” the purple robed mage shouts back as she raises her staff towards the vines.

“Divine wisdom, guide this gale, Ventus Pila!” she chants as her robes begin to rapidly flap about.

The crystal on the end of the staff glows a beautiful deep lavender color as a ball of visible wind currents begins to form. The white streaks of wind circle around each other, spinning into a ball as if dancing, and none of the currents leave the orbit of the circle.

The ball is fired at the vines, tearing through them before flying further into the sky. The armored woman is now separated from the bear. She slams into the ground. Her armor clattering as she rolls. The bear charges, not giving her the time to react. She cuts free from the vines — yet she is too late; the bear has sinks its teeth into her leg before she can stand up.

The bear lifts her off the ground by the leg. Her armor is crushed in its jaws, and blood dribbles through the gaps, rolling down her chest plate and onto her face as she hangs upside down. The bear shakes its head violently, tossing her body around.

Osric winces, as the bear tosses her helplessly like a ragdoll. Ooh — is she gonna make it?

She somehow manages to get two hands on her sword, and with a well-timed thrust sinks the blade into the bear's chest.

It stops moving. The woman pulls her sword out. Blood pours out of its chest as it collapses on its side. The woman pries open the dead bear's mouth pulling out her mangled leg, and limps in the direction of the other two ladies.

Osric stands in his yard, awestruck. That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen! That wind magic, the crazy sword lady, and a bear that shoots vines out of its back?

“Mira! Where did you go?” The woman limps down the road.

“She's back there looking for her staff,” Margery, the robed mage replies, pointing her thumb behind her.

“I found it,” A cheerful voice calls out.

“Mira! What did I say about running off when we engage a monster? Also, stop dropping your staff.” The armored woman’s deep and commanding voice rings out as she shouts in Mira's face.

Tears well up in Mira's eyes as Melina moves even closer. She tries to hold back the waterworks.

“I’m sorry, Melina! I dropped it! I didn’t mean to.” Her efforts fail as tears pour down her cheeks.

Mira’s sobbing stops as Melina collapses to the ground, a pool of blood around her leg.

“Aaaah!” Mira screams. “Let me heal you, Melina.” Mira kneels down and tugs at Melina’s armor.

“Margery, come help me with this.”

Margery hastily walks over to assist in removing Melina’s armor.

Osric's curiosity is piqued. What — heal? I gotta see this. Osric strides down the road a bit to observe the healing ritual.

The books Angus gave me on magic don’t say much about healing magic — all it says is it you have to be a part of the church. He now stands just a few strides from them.

With the armor removed from Melina’s lower half, the two examine the wound. Bone pokes through her skin. Deep gashes, seen through the torn pants, are spitting out blood, soaking into the dirt.

Mira stands, pointing her staff at Melina’s leg.

“Heavenly parent, bless us with charity’s health, Heal!” Mira chants.

The lantern-like end of her staff glows golden, and so does Melina’s leg. As it glows, the bones move back into place and the cuts close up as if time were reversed.

Osric's eyes widen. Okay, that leg looked really gnarly. Learning to heal an injury like that could come in handy. I bet it has a long cooldown, though.

Osric confidently struts over to the three ladies.

“Greetings, ma’am, are you perhaps looking for an apprentice? I would love to learn healing magic.” Osric attempts to deepen his voice.

“What — me?” Mira points at herself. "I—I'm no teacher."

Osric steps in closer, posing — His hand on his chin. "I'm sure you are more than skilled enough."

“No, I can’t teach you healing magic — you have to go to a priest.”

Osric drops his act. "Huh? A priest — how come?"

“Please, boy, we don’t have time to play with children,” Melina snaps at him.

Osric scoffs at her. Well, excuse you, lady, I wasn’t even talking to you. He wants to say.

“Sorry, we took on a quest to get the hide of a thicketbear, but it ran from us in the forest and ended up here. If we caused any damage, we will pay — we have the money,” Melina shouts to a half-open window across the road where a trembling woman peers out.

She makes her way over to the thicketbear and begins to skin it with her sword.

Just as Osric turns toward his house, something flashes in the corner of his eye. He looks back; off to the side of the road, he sees gold coins spilled out of a leather bag. Taking a closer look, the bag is full of gold coins.

He gasps. Oh. My. God. This is so much money. Maybe I can buy my cat girl with this. If I combine it with the “spending” money Angus gave me, it just might be enough.

He glances at the three women standing around the downed bear. Don’t tell me this is their money — maybe it's not — they haven't said anything about it...

He looks back over at the three skinning the bear... That red-haired lady is awfully rude.

Osric slinks over to the bag, looks around, then frantically puts all the loose coins back into the bag and shoves it in his pocket. He nonchalantly strolls back to his house.

***

Melina, Mira, and Margery sit in the back of a horse-drawn wagon. Melina, with a green bear pelt rolled up over one shoulder, flicks a silver coin to the farmer driving the wagon.

The three sit in silence, calmly riding along.

Mira touches the side of her jacket as she shifts her sitting position. Her face turns pale. She frantically starts patting herself down.

“What — what’s wrong?” Melina asks.

“I must’ve dropped the gold coins we got for that last quest!” Mira exclaims.

“No, you didn’t,” Melina says, disappointed.

Margery facepalms.