The Chronicles of Krarshe: The Hearts of Men, Volume 1
Chapter 1

Krarshe sighed heavily as he stared up at the clear blue sky, his vibrant blue eyes wincing a bit in the sunlight. He sat there enjoying the placidity of the sky, watching the lone cloud go by as he absent-mindedly kicked and dug at the edge of his wagon with his boot, trying to get the caked mud off of them from when he helped push another wagon in the caravan out of a ditch the day before. The yelling and screaming seemed so distant as he watched the cloud drift by. Krarshe sighed again. “Must be nice...” he said.

Am I really envious of a cloud? Krarshe thought.

“Yer turn, ol’ man.” A gruff voice snapped him out of his reverie.

Krarshe turned to look at the man standing next to his wagon. He was balding, stout, and about as coarse as his voice would have led one to believe. His leather jerkin was in bad condition, likely damaged from years of use, and most certainly fitted well before the years of brew took their toll on his gut. Krarshe stared at him blankly for a minute as the meaning of the words didn’t register immediately. His thoughts were still on that one strangely envious cloud.

An ear-splitting scream drew his attention to one of the other wagons as one of the bandits was getting rough with a female traveller. Krarshe couldn’t bear to watch such a stomach-turning scene again, so he averted his gaze and gritted his teeth in reluctant acceptance of his own uselessness. His eyes came to settle on a cluster of bandits huddled around the body of an adventurer, one of the caravan’s hired escorts. One of the bigger, brawnier bandits in the cluster stood over the body, gloating as he rocked his axe back and forth, turning the adventurer’s head left and right where it was lodged. The others were sifting through his belongings like rats picking through garbage looking for food. Krarshe looked off in the distance, the few adventurers who escaped alive were mere dots on the horizon.

Why did we even hire them? Krarshe wondered to himself.

“Oy, ol’ man. Hurry up. Ah doh’t have all deh.” The bandit next to his wagon pointed his sword at Krarshe, this time more insistently than before.

What a rusty piece of junk. Does that even have an edge anymore? Krarshe thought. I figured people would treat the elderly better, but I guess I misjudged them. He heard another cry from the woman from before. At least a sword to my throat is better than that...

“Right, right. Just give me a moment, eh?” Krarshe said, reaching into the back of his wagon. “These old bones don’t move as quickly as they used to.” He pulled out a leather pouch and tossed it to the bandit with a clink of metal.

The bandit clumsily caught it, almost dropping his sword. He hurriedly tore open the pouch to count the three silver coins. “Dis it?” He was clearly disappointed, his grip on his sword tightened.

Another gangly bandit sauntered over, carrying a sword he foisted off one of the adventurers’ corpses. “Dat all yeh got off dis ol’ man? Not bad,” he said to the heavier bandit, readjusting the sword he had leaning over his shoulder in an exaggerated manner.

“I dunno. Is it, ol’ man?” the fat bandit said, pointing his sword even more aggressively at Krarshe. The tip was so close he could smell the old, rusty metal of the blade.

“Honest, that’s all I have,” Krarshe pleaded as earnestly as his meager acting skills allowed. He pulled the cloth covering his wagon back a bit to show the bandits the contents. “All I have left to offer is this.”

“Wheat?”

“Yes, I’m a wheat merchant. I got this from the east, out in Gagerith.”

The two bandits looked at each other. They turned away and started murmuring to each other. Krarshe couldn’t really care what they were saying. He was just tired of dealing with bandits who didn’t have a modicum of intelligence. He looked over the rest of the caravan. Or rather, what remained of it. Bandits continued to harass fellow travellers for money and goods, beating those that tried to defend themselves. A few of the merchants were dead, having attempted to protect their goods.

Mistake, thought Krarshe. Usually better to just let them have it.

Finally the bandits turned back to him. “We’ll be takin’ dat too,” said the stockier one. “An’ deh wagon ‘n’ horse.”

Krarshe sighed. “Thank you for sparing my life. I’m most appreciative, kind sir.” The words were sour, but he did his best to sound sincere. Bandits like being made to feel important.

“Yeh, now gitouda here behfore we change our minds.”

Krarshe climbed down from his wagon. A few steps away, he turned around quickly back to the wagon. “Almost forgot my staff. You wouldn’t be needing an old man’s walking stick, right? I know you’re not that heartless, kind gentleman.”

The bandit sneered a bit at him. Uh-oh, did I lay it on too thick there? Krarshe wondered. Then the bandit gestured dismissively and Krarshe grabbed the staff. He gave a brief, shaky bow as the bandit turned and yelled to the others about his haul.

Krarshe limped and hobbled his way down the uneven dirt road, looking back periodically to check how far he’d travelled from the caravan. When he was certain the bandits couldn’t see him anymore and that he wasn’t being followed, he un-hunched his back and stretched.

“That posture is rough.” He held his stretch for a minute before breathing a sigh of relief and tossing his staff aside. He threw his black traveller’s cloak open and reached into his old, worn brown robes and pulled out a leather pouch. He opened the drawstrings and checked its contents.

“One, two, three... Hmm... Seven Remonnet gold roses, three Remonnet silver roses, four Imperial gold seals and two silver seals, eleven Remonnet copper roses, and seventeen copper gerins. Well, no idea when I’ll be travelling to Gagerith again without a horse, so I should probably exchange those gerins. If I can replace an honest broker... Wait, where is-” He frantically started dumping the contents of the pouch onto the ground. A small metal plate fell to the ground. “Phew, thought I left that in the wagon.” He picked up the plate, which had his name and merchant details engraved on it next to an official Remonnet rose insignia, and stuffed it back into the pouch. “Would be problematic trying to enter the city without my identification plate.”

He took a moment to gather all of the coins and put them back in the pouch. “I should be set for a while,” he said, tossing and catching the coin pouch, listening to the coins jingle within. He looked up at the sky again. The lone cloud was a long ways away, nearly to the Molduhr mountains now. “How nice to not have to travel by foot...”

I wish I could fight like this so I could have dealt with those bandits. Krarshe held up an old, boney hand toward the cloud. Who knew being an old man would cause this many problems?

Krarshe shook his head. “That would cause too much of a scene, Krarshe,” he told himself.

Krarshe sighed again. “I feel like I’ve been sighing too much lately,” he said to no one in particular. “Well, let’s head back to the city. I’m sure I can replace some other work before I run out of funds. Hopefully something other than a merchant this time.”

Tucking his coin pouch away again, he continued down the road.

Krarshe closed in on the huge stone walls of the city of Remonnet. The massive fortified city sat on the Silver River. Its towers jutted out from the wall on both sides of the river, controlling the waterway and guarding entry into the city from its banks. Armed soldiers patrolled its walls and peered out over the battlements. Krarshe could make out scorch marks on the walls: cosmetic scars from battles past that weren’t important enough to repair. He looked up to see the flag of Remonnet, a thorny rose, fluttering in the slight breeze.

Krarshe got in the line of carts in front of the Imperial Gate, the entrance closest to the trade district which was strictly used as a merchant’s entrance. As he waited in line, he looked around uneasily, now conscious of how out of place he appeared. Surrounded by merchant carts, he was the only one in this line travelling by foot. The other peddlers kept shooting him inquisitive glances or scoffing. Hopefully the guards didn’t give him as much trouble as the merchants did. He unclasped his cloak and draped it over one shoulder, both because it was too warm and to make himself feel less awkward just standing there.

“Next!”

The line shifted forward slowly. Ugh, this will take a while... Krarshe thought. He looked around, trying to replace something to keep his mind busy. This would be far too painful to sit through, with only the thoughts of his own awkwardness.

He looked at the cart ahead of him, but the contents of the cart were covered by a cloth. It was standard practice to protect it from the elements and hide them from curious thieves. Too bad. He turned to the cart behind him. His eyes met the merchant riding the cart, apparently watching Krarshe himself. The man just smiled, nodded a bit in acknowledgement, and then looked away, trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring. Krarshe didn’t care, he knew people were looking at him. He turned back toward the walls. He was just barely in the shadow cast by the fortifications and would accidentally blind himself if he shifted slightly. The walls really were tall enough to make you feel insignificant. He couldn’t imagine sieging this city and how impossible it must seem.

“Next!”

Krarshe looked back at the cart ahead of him and watched it pass through the gates. Apparently he had distracted himself enough because it now was his turn. He slowly approached the stationed guard. The guardsman had his helmet off, revealing his reddish hair that was darkened with sweat. Krarshe didn’t envy having to wear heavy armor on such a hot day. The shade did little to help them escape the heat of the season of Sirnus, but they were likely thankful for the reprieve from the sun. Upon seeing Krarshe, the guard looked around slightly, almost imperceptibly. Krarshe just disregarded it and offered his plate.

“You’re a merchant?” he asked.

Krarshe nodded. “My caravan ran into a bit of... trouble on the roads.”

“Only a bit?” the guard asked jokingly, as he gestured to the absence of Krarshe’s cart.

Bit rude to laugh about a merchant losing his cart, isn’t it? Krarshe thought. “A group of bandits hit us pretty hard. Killed most of the adventurers we hired as escorts. Had to give up my cart and horse to get here alive,” he explained.

The smile fell from the guard’s face. “Oh? Would you mind giving me a few details about where? I’ll submit a report and see if we can deal with them.”

“Couldn’t have been more than a few days walk from here. We had reached the river’s bank already along the Imperial Road, and had passed the fork toward here.”

The guard nodded. He turned to a couple guards leaning against the wall to the side who were dousing themselves with water from a bucket they had. “Jauc, come here.”

A young guard, startled, jumped up and ran over, water dripping down his face. He attempted to wipe it with his forearm, but the metal of his armor just smeared it messily. “Sir!”

The guard relayed Krarshe’s story to the young guardsman. Is he old enough to be a guard? wondered Krarshe, studying the young soldier. What is he? Fifteen maybe? Either way, he’s young. Maybe that’s why he’s serving at a checkpoint. Krarshe shrugged and looked back as he waited. He noticed the irritable looks the other merchants were giving him, fanning themselves with their hands or tapping their feet impatiently. While he understood the importance of dealing with the bandit threat, holding up the line like this made the handling of the situation feel poorly managed.

“Right away!” The boy crossed his fist in front of his chest formally in a salute and took off through the city gate.

“Okay,” the red-haired guard said, turning back to Krarshe. “It shouldn’t be long before they’ve been brought to justice. Do you have an inventory list? Or, can you tell me what goods you had? Also, if you know where you’ll be staying while here, we’ll be able to get your goods back to you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Krarshe said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t have much. And, honestly, I was planning to step away from the business of travelling. It’s hard to do at this age.” The wheat would have probably brought in a good profit, as the conflict had halted any formal trade with Gagerith, the leading grain producer in the region. It was quite lucrative for independent merchants, but was no small feat to get it across the mountains into Remonnet. But he was done with the merchant business, emotionally, and wanted to just cut all ties with it. Frankly, he was too disinterested at this point to want to replace a good buyer.

“Very well. Do you grant Her Majesty all rights to the property then?”

Krarshe nodded.

“I guess that’s that then. Thank you for reporting this...” The guard looked at the plate again. “Karashee?”

“‘Krarshe’,” Krarshe corrected.

The guard continued looking at the plate, puzzled. “Karshe?” he attempted, still struggling with the pronunciation. “I’m not sure I’ve seen a name like this before.”

“It’s-” Krarshe paused. “I’m from the north.”

“Doesn’t look Talyrian, and you certainly don’t look to be from Dher Molduhr.”

“Farther north. Outside of Armia.”

The guard looked at Krarshe again, his eyes narrowed, clearly skeptical. He shrugged slightly and returned Krarshe’s plate. “Well, wherever you’re from, Karshe, enjoy your stay in Remonnet. Make sure you exchange your merchant plate for a civilian plate if you decide to quit the merchant life and settle down here.”

“Of course,” replied Krarshe, giving up trying to correct the guard’s pronunciation and slipping the plate into his robes. “Do try not to die of exhaustion in this heat.”

The guard chuckled and nodded to Krarshe. “Next!”

Krarshe made his way through the huge stone gate into the city. Without goods, he was able to skip past the secondary checks, freeing up potentially hours of his day. The hustle and bustle of it was dizzying, almost nauseatingly so. There were dozens of carts lining the edges of the exaggeratedly wide street. City guards looked through the contents of every cart, looking for contraband, verifying each merchant carried only what their identification plate permitted them to sell. One merchant argued with a guard as one of his barrels were carried away by another pair of guards, likely something in violation of his merchant plate. Another merchant handed a stack of coins to one of the guards, the tax on his goods. All in all, it was a tedious and exhausting process that took far too long. A loose chicken almost flew right into Krarshe as he looked around, followed by its seller almost crashing into him as he chased after it. Krarshe focused on where he was going after that reminder. If there was one good thing about losing his goods, not dealing with all the chaos here was it.

He hastened his pace, not wanting to dally and get run down by a cart. He turned down a side alley, then down another, and finally into the open plaza of Feyfaire; the primary market district in Remonnet.

The plaza was alive with commerce. Vendors called out to passersby and customers haggled with merchants. Novice adventurers tried to make their case to veteran armorers. Young apprentices ran to and fro, as they weaved around patrons trying to fulfill their master’s demands. Smooth-talking jewelers enticed every young maiden that passed by with charming words and glittering gold. Countless food vendors pushed their wares, as their fires released both alluring sizzling and the most delectable fumes. The myriad of smells from the food stalls hit Krarshe like a great wave, making his mouth water. He hadn’t been able to eat since his encounter with the bandits the day before.

Krarshe paused for a moment to think, then shrugged. “Not like I have anywhere to be,” he said aloud, not that he could hear himself over the noise that filled the plaza.

He passed stall after stall, appraising the selection. Bean dishes, fruits, vegetables. None of them appealed to Krarshe, not with the growing ferocity of his hunger. As he passed one stall, a large slab of meat was slammed on a table in front of him. After recovering from the shock, he gazed at the slab of meat, glistening enticingly.

“You rook rike yer crayvin’ somethin’ hearty.”

Krarshe reluctantly redirected his gaze to the man behind the table. Staring back at him was a large, hulking individual, two large teeth protruded from his underbite, pale green skin. The eyes, though, made Krarshe hesitate to reply; fierce, focused, like a hunter.

Krarshe finally spoke up after what felt like an eternity. “S-sorry, just been a long time since I’ve met an orc as a vendor. Don’t your folk tend to come down here for mercenary work?”

“Yeah,” the orc said in his deep, gravelly voice. “Usually. I couldn’t deal wif it anymoor, though. This war. It’s a roosing fight regardress of who you fight for. No honor in that.” He looked down at his hand, lost in thought. When Krarshe was about to interrupt him, he looked back up. “So, you buyin’?”

“Ah, yes. How much will this buy?” Krarshe pulled out his coin pouch and fished out two copper roses and put them on the table.

The orc hacked off a slab of the meat, the table shook with the force of his blade, and handed it over to Krarshe at the end of his large knife. “Enjoy.”

Krarshe nodded and took the meat. He wasn’t sure what it was. Venison perhaps? He didn’t really care, food was food. Walking away from the stall, he tore into his purchase, eager to fill his empty stomach. It was pretty obvious that the orc was a mercenary, but Krarshe was pleasantly surprised by his skill with cooking as the meat’s juices spread the succulent flavor throughout his mouth.

After feverishly finishing his food, Krarshe knew he had to replace lodgings. Ideally, he’d be able to get into a nearby inn before they filled up. He wasn’t keen on travelling all the way to South Bank for somewhere affordable, and wasn’t really interested in smelling fish all night. He could always cross over to Stormbridge, but those prices were exorbitant. Not quite as bad as Castle Ward, but he now had to think economically. His money would likely last a while, but not if he was spending forty silver roses per night. A place in Feyfaire was his only real option.

Once again, he found himself hurrying through the plaza, wiping his greasy hand on his robes. As he was looking around, trying to recall which inn was closest to the plaza, he felt a force slam into him, knocking him to the ground. ”Krun!” Krarshe grunted as he made contact with the hard stone street.

“Armand!”

Krarshe saw a boy in a white jacket run over. Rubbing the back of his head after hitting it against the cobblestone, he looked down at what hit him and saw another child in matching attire.

“Guh,” the boy on top of him grunted, lifting himself off Krarshe. “Curses upon you, you dreg! Watch out!”

I’m at fault?! Krarshe thought. He pulled himself up to a seated position. Getting a better look at them, maybe “boy” wasn’t right. They looked to be in their teens, though he couldn’t be sure. Judging ages wasn’t a skill he was particularly good at. Maybe around the same age as that young guardsman from before. What he was good at though was noticing small details.

“Remonnet Magic Academy?” he said, reading the emblems on their jackets.

The second boy, who he could only assume was the rushed one’s friend, nodded. “Sorry about that. We’re just trying to buy our spellbooks before they run out.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to miss them if we keep sitting around here!” barked the boy, Armand. He stood up, bowed the briefest of apologies, and took off into the plaza, nearly knocking over a vendor carrying a stack of boxes.

“Armand!” the other boy yelled out. He let out a sigh, bowed to Krarshe, and ran after his friend.

Krarshe watched them disappear into the crowd. He wasn’t aware that there was a magic academy in the city, though he wasn’t surprised. Being the capital of the Remonnet province, it would be strange if it DIDN’T have one.

“Oh, curses,” Krarshe exclaimed, remembering he was in a rush himself. He jumped to his feet and took off into the streets of Feyfaire.

Krarshe flopped into his bed. He managed to replace a room in the Five Barrel Inn, but it wasn’t as cheap as he was hoping for. Eight silver roses a night, but it did include a meal. Better than the alternatives. He rolled over on the lump-filled mattress and stared at the ceiling, the din of the streets fading away alongside his quieting mind until he was unsure if there were still people outside.

What now? he wondered.

He raised his hand toward the wooden ceiling, studying it, noticing each wrinkle. He curled his hand into a fist, one finger at a time as the joints cracked as each pulled itself into his palm. He thought back on his day. The sweaty guard at the gate, the orc merchant... That delicious meat.

And that brat who ran into him.

Krarshe sat up abruptly. Those kids. The emblem on their jackets. A magic academy. Yes, studying magic. He couldn’t become a guard, he had no interest in working for any faction. He was just a merchant, not a role he wanted to play again. The thought of selling the same products time and again, to the same people time and again. No. But, to learn spellcasting. Yes, this was it. He was already acquainted with magic; it was part of his life before setting out on his own, but he didn’t know how people here used it. If he became a mage he could have dealt with those bandits. He might have stood out a bit as a spellcaster, but not enough to cause a stir. No more than an adventurer at least. He’d just blend in with the other mages from around here.

This was perfect. Not only did it sound interesting, but it also would help him down the road. And it was another facet of life in this world he wanted desperately to see and explore.

Krarshe pulled his boots back on. If they were buying spellbooks, then it must be a new term. He shifted his foot in his boots until it felt that they were on properly and dashed out of his room. Downstairs, he weaved between the empty dining tables and cut across the room to the front desk.

“Excuse me!” he called out, trying to get the attention of the innkeeper.

“Yes-yes,” called a voice from the back room. Out stepped the plump form of the innkeeper’s wife. Her round, soft-featured face gave a warm smile as she dried her hands on her apron and approached the counter. “What can I help you with?”

“I was just wondering if you could tell me where the Remonnet Magic Academy is,” Krarshe asked hurriedly. He knew it probably wasn’t in Feyfaire. Probably in Castle Ward, or maybe even all the way in Stormbridge. Hopefully not, as it’d probably be too far to make it there at this time of day. And, judging by the rush of those two kids earlier, classes would probably be starting soon. If he missed the chance to enter now, he’d have to wait for longer than his finances would allow.

“The academy? It’s over in Castle Ward. Just head toward the castle’s plaza, then turn down the east main street.”

“Thank you!” Krarshe gave a slight bow.

“You better hurry, it’s getting late.”

Krarshe didn’t say anything in response. He quickly waved a hand in acknowledgement and ran out the front entrance.

Krarshe ran through the busy streets, nimbly evading fellow pedestrians. He chuckled a bit to himself, seeing the astonished faces of those he ran past. Must not be used to such an old man being this quick on his feet, he thought. Admittedly, it was likely pretty strange, and he knew he’d exhaust himself much quicker, but he didn’t care. He had a mission, and the gawking of strangers wasn’t going to faze him.

He made it to the plaza just outside the walls of the castle in what must have been record time. Krarshe took a moment to try to catch his breath as he surveyed the quiet square. He’d only been here a handful of times, and there were numerous streets leaving the plaza. Unlike the ever-busy streets of Feyfaire’s markets, there appeared to only be a few individuals mulling about here. The sunlight was beginning to stretch down the street from the west, reaching through the center of the cobblestone plaza, casting long shadows that grew ever so slowly. He had to hurry. He found the widest street heading east and guessed it was the one the innkeeper’s wife was speaking of. Not having time to think on it more, he sped down it.

He continued running down it for a few minutes, passing numerous homes as well as a sparse few high-end stores which were already closed for the day. Gradually, Krarshe’s dash slowed to a jog. He began to second guess himself, seeing nothing but small houses of what he assumed were wealthy merchants and lesser nobles. Finally, he came to a full stop and tried to assess his whereabouts. There were a few well-dressed men across the street who watched him quietly. Him, a disheveled old man, wearing his old cotton merchant robes. He suddenly felt very out of place as one of the gentlemen leaned in toward the other, clearly whispering something, eyes fixed on Krarshe.

Krarshe took a deep breath, brushed the long stray hairs from his face and called out to them. “Hello sirs! Perhaps one of you two gentlemen could lend this old man some assistance!”

The man who was whispering to the other stood upright. “Hail! What could I do for you?”

At least he seems nice? Krarshe thought to himself as he walked within talking distance. As he approached, the gentlemen backed up slightly, trying to hide their repulsion. Maybe not. “I was looking for the magic academy. Perhaps you could give me directions?”

“Of course. Continue down this road. At the next street on your right, its gates should be in view,” said one of the noblemen, pointing down the street.

Krarshe gave an exaggerated bow. “Thank you ever so kindly. You have saved this man this day.” Oddly enough, like bandits, rich folk like to be made to feel important.

“Yes, yes, we were happy to be of assistance. Now, we must be on our way,” said the gentleman with a slight bow, more of a nod. The two men continued down the street, perhaps a bit faster than they had previously. Krarshe watched them briefly, wondering why they seemed in such a hurry to get away from him. He lifted his arm slightly and sniffed.

“Mmm, maybe that was it,” Krarshe said with a laugh. “I should have probably washed myself off a bit, it’s been a hot few days...”

Not much he could do about it now. Knowing how close he was, Krarshe decided to walk the rest of the way. The sun had just perched itself atop the city walls, so he should have plenty of time. Plus, running into the academy, panting and tired, would probably garner similar reactions as those of the nobles. Perhaps worse. People, he found, hold first impressions very important. Too bad the smell was unavoidable. He’d just have to not get too close to them.

Krarshe turned the corner and, nearly immediately, stood before a great iron gate which bore the same design as on those boys’ emblem: a staff with a thorny rose coiling up it, along with the words Remonnet Magic Academy split between the top and bottom of the emblem. He let out a sigh of relief and walked in.

The academy wasn’t much to look at, once past the grand gate. It consisted mostly of one large, unassuming building. A few large windows dotted the walls, but it was too dark to see in. It also had a smaller, connected building jutting out toward the entrance. There appeared to be a large open-air enclosure attached to the back of the building, walled in with stone and plaster over twice the height of a human. There were also a couple smaller buildings within its walls, but nothing that impressive. One of them had what appeared to be a large smokestack protruding from it, and the other had numerous smaller windows that appeared to be on two floors. None of the other buildings appeared to be in use, or open to the public, so he walked around while looking for a place he could inquire about enrollment.

This is a lot more desolate than I expected, Krarshe mused, walking through the bleak, barren stone enclosure.

As he made his way toward the large, central building, he passed the smaller attached building. Inside, he saw a young human girl standing behind a counter, clothed in similar garb to those two boys from the market. Walking in, Krarshe saw numerous items lining the walls and shelves. He walked through the maze of items, gawking at the sheer quantity. Scrolls, staves, wands, armor, clothing, alchemical equipment, and things so alien to him that Krarshe wasn’t even sure what they were or how to describe them accurately. Krarshe guessed that the academy ran this store, likely leveraging their expertise to sell magical equipment. Perhaps employing the students helped them pay their tuition fees. After all, it wasn’t uncommon when he was travelling to see students and apprentices pay for their mercantile education with labor.

“M-may I h-help you?” stammered a small, fragile voice from behind him. Krarshe turned to see the girl had stepped out from behind the counter and snuck up on him.

“Oh, I’m not looking to buy. Sorry,” responded Krarshe. She looked down slightly, seemingly dejected. “B-but, you could answer a question for me.” At this, she perked up again. How strange people are, he thought.

“Absolutely!” she said excitedly, before quickly shrinking back to her timid self. “W-what k-kind of question d-did you have?” She didn’t appear comfortable dealing with customers, but desperately wanted to be helpful. He thought he saw her shoot a glance toward the store counter, but he wasn’t sure.

“When do classes begin for the year?” Krarshe asked. “Or, rather, when is the deadline for enrollment?”

The girl stared at Krarshe blankly, her eyelashes catching the few strands of chestnut-colored hair that hung as bangs in front of her face. “E-excuse me?”

Did she not understand Krarshe’s question? As he was about to respond, she spoke up again.

“I’m s-sorry,” she said, brushing the bangs out of her face to free her eyelashes, to no effect. “I just didn’t expect that question.” She laughed awkwardly. “Enr-rollment ends tomorrow evening.”

“Fantastic!” Krarshe’s excitement startled the meek girl. “Where could I enroll?”

Another blank stare. This was getting old. “U-umm...” she stuttered, bringing her hand up to her lip pensively.

“Aren’t you a bit old to be enrolling in this academy?” came a sharp remark from behind the counter. Krarshe turned to see a man step out from the back of the shop. His appearance was as sharp as his tongue: jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail revealing his receding hairline, tall, thin in face and body, his nose almost as pointed as his chin. Everything was sharp and clean, save for his long, unkempt eyebrows.

Whoa, those eyebrows... Krarshe tried not to focus on them too much. He cleared his throat. “Is that a problem?”

“We expect a lot from our students,” he said, placing, almost slamming, a book onto the counter as he made his way out from behind it. “I don’t think a man of your age would be able to handle it, is all,” the man scoffed. “And I don’t allow naps during my lectures. Not even for my elders.” He grinned mockingly.

Krarshe looked over to the girl from before. She was looking down, staring at her feet. She looked terrified of this man. Or maybe she just wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. He felt a bit bad for her, as she had tried earnestly to help him, and this supposed teacher was stomping all over that effort.

Krarshe took the hint. “I see, my apologies.” He sighed. “I guess I missed my chance, eh?” He let out a laugh, and glanced over to see the girl smiling gently, with a tinge of pity.

Having diffused the situation a bit, Krarshe said, “Thank you for your assistance, young miss.” He made sure to emphasize those last two words, making clear that he was addressing the young girl alone, disregarding the teacher. He bowed deeply to her, causing her to nearly stumble while trying to bow back to him. As Krarshe turned to leave, he thought he caught a glimpse of a sneer on her instructor’s face, clearly bitter about being ignored. Krarshe couldn’t help but smile.

Krarshe walked leisurely back to the inn. “Too old, huh?” he muttered to himself. After a long pause, he continued, “Well, I guess that leaves me with few options. I’ll do it better this time. I learned a lot from this first go at it.”

As he entered Feyfaire, he turned down an alley he knew to have several clothing stores. The sun was all but down now and the street lamps were beginning to be lit, so he wouldn’t be able to be picky. He made his way through the still-busy streets of the trade district and stepped into the first clothing store that appeared to be satisfactory and approached who appeared to be the last employee still working at this time.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you had any clothing for young men here.”

The man looked up from the shirt he was mending. “Certainly, just a moment.” He placed the shirt down and hurried over to Krarshe. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing special. A shirt, pants, shoes, the necessities, basically.”

“You said for a young man?”

Krarshe nodded.

“Do you know anything more? I wouldn’t want to sell you something that won’t fit the boy.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry,” Krarshe apologized. “About this tall, this wide.” Krarshe gestured with his hands. Judging by the puzzled look on the tailor’s face, maybe he didn’t explain it well enough. “I-is... Does that make sense? I’m sorry, I’m not sure how else to explain this.”

The man smiled. “It’s a bit tough to estimate, but I think I can provide you with what you’re looking for. Maybe for certainty, we’ll err on the larger side. Better to be loose than not fit at all,” he said with a laugh. Krarshe joined him with a chuckle.

The man went to the shelves in the store and started combing through the piles of shirts before pulling one out. It appeared to be a plain white, or perhaps off-white, linen shirt. He held it up, evaluating it before draping it over his shoulder. He repeated the process with additional shirts and pants before bringing them over to Krarshe for judgment.

After inspecting the selection, Krarshe holding each one up, feeling the texture of the material and giving them a tug to test the stitching, he settled on a few basic pieces of clothing. The shoes were a bit more difficult, as there was no way to try them on to judge feel and the employee wasn’t a cobbler, leaving him unable to discuss them in detail, so Krarshe just chose one that seemed to be in the best condition. In all, it cost thirty-eight silver roses. Not bad for a complete set of clothing, let alone ones that were this durable.

By the time he finished his purchases, the sun had set completely, and the night crowd now filled the streets. Many of the stores began closing shop for the night, and some of the less-savory street vendors began to set up shop. People were beginning to get rowdy. Makeshift outdoor taverns were setting up boxes and stools to serve as tables. A few men staggered through the streets, clearly having been drinking for a while now and not looking to stop yet. He watched one of them make a pass at a woman setting up the makeshift tavern, only to be smacked hard enough to be knocked to the ground. His buddies just laughed at him. Another two men were getting into a heated argument, the premise unknown to Krarshe. Before he knew it, a fight had broken out between the two. Everyone just cleared the way for them, egging them on, booze in hand. The streets of Feyfaire at night were no place for the faint of heart.

He heard one vendor yelling over the noise of the crowd about some cheap food. Speaking of food, dinner would probably be finishing up back at the inn, so if he didn’t want to have to pay for another meal at a street vendor, he’d have to hurry back. Gathering the clothes firmly in his arms, he rushed to the inn while trying his best to avoid the rowdy crowds.

Krarshe made his way down the street toward the academy, carrying a burlap sack with the clothes he bought the night before. He looked around, searching for the perfect spot. He found a small back alley that appeared to have a small alcove, out away from the street. He checked once more to see if there was anyone watching him, but the streets were silent, nothing to disturb the morning mist floating gently above the ground.

He stole down the alleyway and went into the alcove. He noticed a cat, lounging on a box at the back of the alley. At his approach, the cat opened an eye sleepily and yawned.

A witness! thought Krarshe with a grin.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He focused, thinking, visualizing.

An elf, he thought. It’s probably less work down the road.

“Hmm...” he said, thinking harder.

Male, definitely male. His mind wandered for a brief moment back to the attack with the bandits. I’m not sure how it would go otherwise. Young, maybe seventy? Or eighty? Let’s just split the difference and go with seventy-five.

He opened his eyes for a moment, inspecting the shoes he bought the night before, and closing them once again. Krarshe continued his visualization for a minute.

Krarshe exhaled, and nodded. “Okay. No turning back, Krarshe,” he said to himself, keeping his eyes closed.

Krarshe breathed deeply again.

At that moment, a bright light filled the alcove. The cat awoke with a fright, crying out before taking off down the alleyway.

A moment later, a handsome young man, an elf, stepped out of the alley. His unkempt blond hair shone bright in the morning light with an almost blue hue, his eyes a deep vibrant blue. He tugged at his clothes, and looked down at them. “Not bad,” he said, admiring them. “They feel as nice as I thought they would, and fit well enough. Except these shoes.” He looked down as his foot shifted in the shoe as he kicked the toe against the stone pavement. He checked the worn-out robes in the burlap sack he carried. Digging around in them, he pulled out his leather coin pouch and stuffed it in the pocket of his pants.

“Okay,” he said proudly. “Let’s go to school.”