Chapter 1 - Thus it Begins
from Travelers Tales: Simon Barter
Simon Barter hastily crammed two of his precious three pairs of trousers into the leather bag, a purchase he had made with his hard-earned savings. He tried to maintain an air of composure, even as the open window ushered in the salty sea breeze from the Northern Ether Sea. The sea air rustled the parchments beneath a smaller bag and tousled his brown hair. Inside, he wrestled an urge to glance up, fully aware of his father's imposing frame in the doorway, arms crossed in disappointment and anger—a familiar look for a young man who often veered from conventional decisions. However, this time was different; Simon wasn't being caught in the back courtyard with the Fisherman's daughter, even if he swore he had no inkling of her intentions.
“Henri,” came the soft voice of Simon's mother, always striving to mediate. This time, Simon could not resist. He met his father's stern gaze and swiftly averted his eyes to the thick black beard, then to his mother. At her side stood his young sister, with the youngest clutching her skirts.
He returned his gaze to the bag, its meager contents squeezed within—clothes, a few shirts, a small bag holding the rest of his money, and various knick-knacks. Amid these possessions, he discovered a small, red duck toy, stealthily stowed by his younger sister. A fleeting smile tugged at Simon's lips.
“I could forbid you to go,” rumbled the voice of the master carpenter from his imposing chest.
“I'm of age, Father,” Simon responded firmly, his eyes fixed on the open flap of his bag. He pondered whether anything else remained to be packed. Anything to delay this conversation.
“Nothing is out there.”
“Everything is out there.”
Silence descended between them, encapsulating the long-standing conflict of the winter. With the retreat of snow from the houses of Eldertide and the fishermen venturing farther out to sea, Simon's yearning for adventure had intensified.
“It's extremely dangerous out there,” Sidi, his sister, added to her voice. “The garrison is warning against the eastern road.”
Simon gazed at her with brown eyes filled with heartache. His pregnant twin sister had crossed town to persuade him against this path.
“I'm taking the southern road. I'm heading to Oakridge.”
When he voiced his decision, it sounded unyielding, final. The spark in his father's eyes confirmed it.
“I just,” Simon started and ran a hand through his hair, steadying his voice. He pondered whether explaining was worthwhile. “I can't sit here without at least trying to try my luck. I want to be more than a carpenter.”
“What's wrong with being a carpenter?”
“Nothing,” Simon replied, his voice determined yet soft. “I just... I'm not sure it's for me. Please, I need to do this.”
Henri shook his head with a huff, his black mane of hair almost coming undone.
“I've been out there. It's a world of death, destruction, and horror. If you aren't killed, you'll be corrupted. I know. By the Goddess, I know.”
Simon knew his father's stories all too well, tales from his time in the White Castle Garrison. Whenever Simon expressed interest, he heard of charmweavers enslaving people or the brutality of the Equipeds.
“I'll be careful,” Simon Barter asserted, pulling the drawstrings and sealing his bag. “Plus, there's no guarantee the Traveler's Guild will accept me. If not, I'll come back.”
“If you think you can defy my authority and then come back,” Henri's voice grew stern, “you are mistaken. Every choice carries consequences. Step out that door, and you're on your own. I won't indulge your idle fantasies.” “Henri!” Gava warned, Simon's mother turned to ice. A silent understanding passed between them when his father looked at him.
“If you make your choice,” his father finally said, “you must face the consequences.”
His father departed, the heavy thud of his boots reverberating on the wooden floor as he retreated to the wood shop adjoining the house. Simon hung his head, but the warm arms of his mother enveloped him. “Mother,” he began, holding her. “I need to—”
“I know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Your father loves you, but he's witnessed things that haunt him. So many young men leave for the Guild and never return.”
“I'm not seeking a battle with Nagaith or something like that,” he protested, gently pulling away. “I just want to explore the world before it's too late.” “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, tears in her gray eyes. She adjusted his shirt, smoothing the wool material. “I understand. Your father and I dreaded this day. Just... please, be cautious.”
After a final embrace from his mother and well-wishes from his two sisters, Simon hefted his bag and approached the door. The creak of the board and the house's hushed sounds conveyed a sense of finality. Stepping out the door, he knew the world would change profoundly. A mix of fear and anticipation gripped him, causing a moment's hesitation.
“Just remember, regardless of what your father says,” his mother's voice wavered, “you can always come home.”
“I love you, Mom.”
Simon pushed open the front door, and life's vibrant sounds engulfed him. The smooth white cobblestones of the slanting road led to the bustling naval docks below. People from all walks of life moved about, dodging carts bound for parts unknown. As Simon stepped forward, apprehension gave way to a sense of adventure and the knowledge that a new world awaited him. He glanced back once more at his mother at the door, the tears in her eyes catching the mid-morning sun. He raised his hand with a wave and then took off up the road for he knew if he looked again, he would never leave.
Simon ran. Maybe he ran longer than he had to but after narrowly missing a cart or two, he decided that he was risking death before he had even got out of the city limits. Slowing his pace, he moved up onto one of the wooden walkways that lined the larger main streets that fed people and cargo from the entrance of Eldertide to the merchant docks on the other end.
The city sprawled out before him, a breathtaking panorama of grandeur. Pastel-hued spires, reminiscent of the iconic structures in Tormina, the Capital, stretched skyward. Banners and pennants, each bearing the marks of lively celebrations past and present, danced in the gentle breeze. With every step, the coastal winds whispered through the labyrinthine alleyways, carrying sweet melodies from the street musicians. Simon's ears delighted in the soft plucking of lutes, the serenading flutes, and the melodic voices of bards spinning tales of daring adventures.
He allowed himself a moment of indulgence, a familiar daydream he'd held close since childhood. “Maybe one day, they'll sing tales of me,” he thought. Seagulls circled overhead, their haunting calls mingling with the joyous laughter of children hidden within the crowd. Occasionally, a stray ball would escape the children's control, and a chorus of squawks would follow its erratic path.
As the alluring scents wafted from a myriad of street vendors and inns, Simon knew he had entered the bustling market district. He savored the aroma of freshly grilled seafood over a street-side fire pit, enhanced by the subtle zest of citrus. The coastal city's markets overflowed with a colorful array of fruits and spices, offering a culinary journey from creamy indulgence to invigorating zest.
For Eldertide, there were three pivotal destinations: the bustling wharves in the morning and afternoon, the vibrant marketplace in the evening, and the lively taverns at night.
Simon had heard whispers of a mysterious place in the city, the Celestial Emporium, where his mother had warned unfaithful men to lose their fortunes, and his father had threatened severe consequences if Simon ever ventured there. Despite his curiosity, the fear of his father's wrath kept him from seeking it out.
A gust of wind, laden with the scent of saltwater and the sweet, earthy fragrance of blossoms, rekindled thoughts of adventure. Should he have considered life on the sea? No, he had set his sights on the Traveler's Guild, earning that coveted pendant to explore the vast world beyond.
A screech of indignance snapped Simon out of his reverie. His head swiveled sharply toward the commotion across the street, where two brawny men were forcibly dragging a petite woman out of a tavern. At first glance, she seemed out of place amidst the bustling street. Clad in a deep green tunic and dark trousers, she sported a sturdy, brown leather cuirass protecting her chest and abdomen. A small dagger hung from one hip, while a sheathed short sword adorned the other. Her inky black hair cascaded in a long braid over one shoulder, crowned by a vibrant red scarf.
Without hesitation, Simon darted across the street, circumventing a cart whose agitated horses voiced their displeasure with a resounding neigh. He didn't pause to ponder his intentions – he simply moved towards the woman.
By the time he reached her, one of the men had collapsed, clutching his injured arm, while the other was grimacing in pain with his arm twisted behind his back. He cried out in anguish.
“When I said, 'don't touch me,' I meant it, you scoundrel,” she snarled, delivering a final, painful twist to the man's arm.
Satisfied that her point had been made, she shoved him forward, and he crumpled to the ground. The woman brushed herself off, and as she looked up, she locked eyes with Simon.
“What?” she demanded.
“I...uh...thought you needed help?” Simon stammered, unsure of what to say.
“Does it look like I need help?” the woman shot back, her dark eyes flashing with challenge.
“No, ma'am.”
“Good.”
With that, she turned and marched down the street, away from the two fallen men. They cast uneasy glances at Simon, who quickly distanced himself and feigned ignorance, not wanting to draw their attention either. Hastening his steps, Simon found himself on an unfamiliar road, surrounded by dilapidated buildings teetering on the brink of collapse. Suspicious onlookers gazed at him with a mix of curiosity and malice. He realized he had taken a wrong turn and unwittingly entered the shadow district.
“Oh, I need to get out of here,” he thought. Simon pivoted to retrace his steps but found only labyrinthine alleyways, offering no clear route back. A creeping sense of dread overcame him as he anxiously surveyed his surroundings, taking a step back. It was then that he collided with someone behind him.
“Easy there!” the person said, reaching out and gripping Simon's arm. Dazed from nearly stumbling into the busy street, Simon made no objection as he was firmly pulled away from the edge. The one holding on to him was the woman he had seen earlier.
“You, boy,” she said with a smile. “Are in the wrong part of time.”
As Kit Morigin pulled him deeper into the heart of the shadow district, Simon didn't offer resistance. It was only later that he'd learn her name, his savior, but at that moment, he couldn't fathom mustering the will to break free from her iron grip. Her fingers clamped firmly around his wrist, compelling him to tread the path she had set before him.
The sun, climbing toward its zenith, cast a diminishing array of shadows from the towering, decrepit stone structures. The district earned its name for the rare sunlight that breached the overhead canopy only when directly overhead. The intricate network of sky bridges connecting the buildings created an intricate labyrinth. In this place, Simon knew escape was improbable.
Deep within the district, where multiple sky bridges converged to form a domed ceiling, the stony world took on an eerie twilight. The only sources of light emanated from dim storefronts and a scattering of feeble lampposts, their meager, orange glow absorbed by the pervasive darkness. It was here that Kit pulled him into an establishment, the faded name of 'Enchanted Chalice' barely visible, having eroded with age and neglect.
The exterior of The Enchanted Chalice was unpretentious, its modest façade veiled by layers of ivy and the relentless march of time. Weathered wooden boards groaned beneath the weight of entering patrons, shrouding the atmosphere in perpetual twilight. The air bore a heavy scent of aged oak, incense, and an elusive aroma that eluded Simon's senses.
Dimly lit lanterns dangled from the rafters, casting a warm, amber radiance that danced with the encroaching shadows. The walls featured tapestries displaying mythical beasts, ancient maps of uncharted territories, and other enigmatic subjects, their details obscured by the dense smog from the fireplace and lit pipes.
Simon's gaze darted around the establishment, attempting to take in the surreal scene. He pondered if he would ever emerge from this place. Behind a scarred bar counter, the innkeeper, a weathered woman swathed in a patchwork cloak, served a bubbling concoction to a patron who appeared to float, the lower half of their body resembling that of a serpent.
In another corner, a fortune-teller hunched over a deck of well-worn cards, her eyes aglow while she animatedly conversed with a disinterested companion.
Kit unceremoniously thrust Simon into a corner booth, its rough-hewn wood offering minimal comfort. He scooted to the farthest corner as she slid in beside him. A striking, dark-skinned girl approached, clad in a faded blue skirt that cascaded to her feet, a soiled white chemise, and a dark lace bodice that scarcely contained her, its loose strings dangling at the sides. “Didn't expect to see you back so soon, Kit,” the young woman drawled, her tresses resting on her shoulders.
“Hey, Nidi. Negotiations with the Fen didn't go as planned,” Kit grumbled as she accepted a flagon of ale, thumping it down in front of her. “He's as stuck up as Tavith thought.”
Nidi gestured toward Simon, who was doing his best not to seem like he was cowering in the corner. “Who's the kid?”
“Simon Barter,” he replied, striving to mask the tremor in his voice.
“Found him wandering the shadows,” Kit explained, taking a few swigs of her ale. “The idiot thought he could rescue me from Fen's bruisers. I suppose I took pity on him.”
“You could have just shown me the way out,” Simon suggested.
Kit raised her gloved hand, silencing him. “Hush.”
Nidi interjected, raising an eyebrow, “You want a beer? If you're old enough to drink, that is.”
There was no way Simon was about to reveal his money pouch. “No, thank you,” he added quickly.
Nidi giggled, resting her hands on her hips. “Oh, we've got a polite one. You should keep this one.”
Simon retorted, “I'm not anyone's property.”
Kit, in the middle of her drink, pointed to the door. Thumping the flagon down, she wiped her mouth. “There's the door, kid. If you think you can find your way out.”
Simon surveyed the space between him and the exit, populated by a motley crew of unsavory characters. “I'll stay here. I'm tired.”
“Tired, right.”
Those condescending smirks grated on him, but what other option did he have? He had left home and already found himself in the seediest part of town, where a single misstep could spell his disappearance, never to be seen again.
“Let me know if you want any food, Kit,” Nidi finally said as she turned to walk away. “On the house for ya.”
Simon couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips as she departed. “She's quite easygoing,” Kit interrupted his thoughts, a touch of mirth in her voice. “Fifty silver talons, and she'll show you her bed and a good time.”
“No!” Simon balked at the woman's crudeness, his face turning scarlet. “Uh... I mean, no thank you. I'm just trying to get out of the city.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Kit said, leaning back and propping her feet on the table. “The new bag, your age, your sheer bewilderment, and your apparent fear of women.”
“I just got turned around,” Simon attempted to defend himself. “And I'm not scared of girls.”
“Sure.”
Doubt dripped from that word, but he didn't have a chance to respond before Kit downed more of her drink. Silence settled between the two, and during this lull, Nidi returned, placing a plate of steaming potatoes and slices of meat in front of him.
“I didn't order—”
“Shut up,” was Nidi's curt response before she walked away.
The smile on Kit's face grew a bit. “I guess she likes you. Eat up. Don't insult the tavern by turning down their gift.”
“Oh.”
The concept of a “gift from the tavern” had reached Simon's ears before. It was the practice of offering travelers and nobility complimentary items as a form of respect. He couldn't fathom why this particular tavern had extended him this courtesy.
“Kit Morigin,” the woman said, leaning forward, her feet off the table. “Where are you headed?”
“Simon Barter,” he replied, with a mouthful of potato. “I was on my way to Oakridge.”
“Why?” Kit inquired.
“Why do you ask?” Simon countered.
“I'm bored,” Kit admitted. “There's nothing to do until a friend of mine returns. Why are you heading to Oakridge? It's larger than here, and the chances of getting lost are pretty high.”
“The Traveler's Guild.”
Both of Kit's eyebrows shot up, her beautiful yet well-worn face reflecting surprise. “You're a Traveler?”
“I want to apply to be a Traveler,” Simon confessed. What else could he say or do? He was at the mercy of this person.
Kit erupted into laughter, earning curious glances from a few hooded individuals who then returned to their conversations. “What's so funny?” “You. You want to be a Traveler? You're an idiot.”
“Hey!” Simon protested, his anger beginning to surface. “What do you mean by 'idiot'?”
“Where's your weapon, boy?”
Weapon?
“Uh... what?”
“Do you know how to wield a sword? A dagger? A bow?”
“Ummm... no.”
Kit's grin widened as she leaned back. “The Traveler's Guild isn't a social club, cub. It's composed of men and women seeking their fortune through cunning or combat. You possess no skills that would interest them.”
“How do you know?”
With a swift motion, she reached into her cuirass and retrieved a medallion. It was as battered as her other equipment, but Simon recognized the silver piece bearing the symbol of an eagle—the Traveler's Mark.
“You're a Traveler?” Simon exclaimed in shock.
“Yeah, I've been one for quite a while. Earned my silver a few years back,” Kit said with a nonchalant shrug. “It's no walk in the park. It'll devour dreamers like you.”
Why had that not dawned on him? Simon looked down at the wooden table that had seen many years of wear, tear, and knife points. He had some basic sword steps from a few guards when he was younger but that had been more to amuse themselves than to actually teach him. He looked up to see the keen look on the Traveler crossed from him. Simon took in a breath and nodded with resolve.
“I can learn. My father used to say that the most useful skill is to be able to learn, then nothing is impossible.”
“You're willing to learn as you go? That's a great way of getting killed.” Simon frowned and folded his arms.
Kit seemed to contemplate something, then stood and made her way into the crowd. Simon watched her vanish in the crowd, fear spiking being left alone.
Like a predator though, Nidi slid into the booth by him.
“Hey, sweetie,” The barmaid said with a grin that now made him more nervous than scared. “She left you all alone.”
“She'll be back.” Goddess, he hoped she would be coming back.
“Was the food good?” She asked. “Made it myself. Thought you deserved more than Thrak would slop on a plate.”
Simon swallowed and glanced down at the plate. She scooted closer and leaned over giving him a full view down her chemise. The young man immediately found something interesting on the table beside her.
“Anything else I can do for you?” She cooed.
“I'm good. Thank you.”
“We could go upstairs. I can let Kit know you and I want to get 'better acquainted.'”
Simon's throat got dry at the proposition. The thought of this young lady without clothes on a bed caused his heart rate to jump. She giggled seemingly reading his mind.
“I appreciate it but...”
“You got a maid waiting for you?” She quizzed letting her hand creep on top of his.
“N..n...no.”
“Then why not? I think you're cute. Plus, I like giving young men their first 'experience'. Free of charge!”
“Hey! I'm not—–”
Nidi's laughter tinkled around him.
“It's written all over your face, my hero. Come. I promise it'll be memorable.”
Simon was now praying he was facing the shady people instead.
“Nidi!” Kit had returned and whatever trance she had on him broke. She sighed.
“Leave the poor boy alone. He looks like a rabbit about to run.”
Nidi sighed and scooted back.
“I was just being sociable, Kit.”
“Sure,” Kit responded sitting down across from him again. “And I'm a priestess of the Cult of Purity. Be gone harlot.”
Simon winced at such a strong word, but all Nidi did was give his arm a squeeze, laugh, and flounce back to work.
“Sorry, forgot to warn you she's a bit of a predator.” Kit laughed and dropped an item on the table.
“What's that?”
Kit leaned back in her chair, her eyes glittering with a mix of nostalgia and mischief as she gestured grandly at the weathered scabbard, which lay like a slumbering guardian between them on the rugged, wooden table. Its leather surface, once vibrant and polished, had seen its fair share of battles and adventures.
“This,” Kit said, her voice a warm, inviting drawl, “is your first sword. I convinced Thrak to give it up as he's too old to be adventuring anymore.”
Simon's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as he glanced at the scabbard, then back at Kit. “Thrak? The Cook?”
A fond smile tugged at Kit's lips as she began to weave the tale. “Oh, yeah. Thrak used to do a lot of adventuring until an unfortunate incident when a new initiate wasn't being careful. Poor guy took an arrow to the knee, and he hasn't been the same since,” she continued with a wistful sigh, her eyes dancing with a hint of mischief. She pushed the scabbard closer to him, the leather surface bearing the scars of countless journeys.
Simon intrigued and somewhat baffled, reached for the weathered scabbard gingerly. His fingers brushed over the rough surface, feeling the history it held. Carefully, he gripped it and pulled the blade gently out of the leather sheath, which held it securely in its embrace. The blade that emerged was simple, only about twenty-four inches long, with a hilt that was a quarter of that size. It had only one cutting edge, with a slight curve near the point. The crossguard was simple black steel, unadorned and utilitarian, yet it felt surprisingly solid in his hand.
“Thrak says her name is 'whipped cream',” Kit explained, her tone laced with humor.
Simon blinked in confusion. “I'm sorry, what?”
He turned to see the massive green hulk of a person in the doorway, a goblin named Thrak, his imposing presence contrasting with the cozy atmosphere of the room. Thrak's four long braids of black hair ran down his back, his stained shirt, and wide, unblinking eyes fixed on Simon, his massive arms crossed over his chest.
Kit shrugged and offered a cryptic smile. “Don't ask me. I don't know goblin culture. He expects you to do honor to his 'sword wife.' He expects you to take care of her, make sure she stays sharp, keep her close, and give her a kiss before you sleep. Thrak says she will serve you well if you do.”
Simon's curiosity got the better of him. “Is...it magic?”
Kit chuckled heartily. “Oh, hell no. Goblins are just particular about their swords.”
Simon slid the blade back into her...its sheath and set it down on the table. “I don't know if I could do her justice for Thrak.”
Kit slid the scabbard back to him, her tone serious. “Too late. You can't turn her down. Thrak would take that as a severe insult.”
Simon, realizing he had no choice, accepted the sword, looking over to Thrak and bowing in respect. In return, the goblin did the same and lumbered back into his kitchen, a gesture of trust and camaraderie.
“Now, you have a sword. You can have this from me,” Kit said, her voice shifting to a more business-like tone. She handed over a sealed piece of parchment with a wax seal on it. Simon raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“This?”
“A letter of introduction from me to the Oakbridge Guild,” Kit explained. “It'll guarantee you at least one mission to try it out. You aren't accepted; it just asks that you be allowed a trial before consideration. Better put your best foot forward. Leader Hordak is not one to suffer fools.”
Simon's eyes sparkled with gratitude as he accepted the letter and placed it in his pouch with great care. But then, he hesitated, studying Kit with suspicion.
“Why are you helping me?”
Kit leaned in, her gaze piercing. “Because, unlike what you might be thinking, I don't like the idea of pretty boys getting slaughtered because they're damn fools. At least this way, I have a bit of salvation in case you wind up impaled on an Elven death pole.”
Simon hadn't thought about that aspect of his future adventures, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
“Now!” Kit exclaimed, her infectious enthusiasm returning. “Let's get you going!” She stood abruptly, ready to usher Simon into a world of uncertainty and adventure.
Simon hesitated and she looked over to Nidi who was watching them.
“Unless you'd like to take an hour with Nidi! She's been salivating since we arrived.”
Simon hopped up.
“Let's go!”
Kit laughed.
