Wystan, Somewhere in Barrus

  Wystan had found himself outside the walls of the city amongst the farming community, it almost felt like home. One thing that stuck out was the fact that this place had a great deal more elves. There was no village green, and there were several roads one could walk along. He could also see horses hitched up to wagons full of hay and grain.

  A while later, Wystan happened upon a few elves his age huddled up near a well. Back home there weren't many eighty-eight-year-olds to talk to, and he definitely was not going to miss a chance to make some friends. He approached the youths.

  "Aye, my friends, would you care if I joined you?" he said with a smile.

  The young elves gave each other a look, then looked Wystan up and down.

  "Not from round ‘ere, are ya?" said a particularly short one, in a high-pitched voice.

  "Names Lon. ‘Ere is me little brother, Jon, and that's Don, and me youngest brother, Tim." said the little elf, pointing to the other elves.

  It seemed odd to Wystan that the eldest brother was the shortest of the lot. It only became more strange when he noticed that each brother was slightly bigger than his elder, with an abnormally tall elf being the youngest according to Lon.

  "What's your name then?" asked Don, the second tallest elf.

  "My name is…” Wystan thought for a moment, surely these young elves meant him no harm. All the same it would be best to keep some things to himself he thought. “I am called Dale, I come from the village of… Well, I come from a village in the north"

  "Ahhh, I was right. You ain't from round ‘ere." said Lon.

  “Er, aye, I am not.”

  “That’s Great!” Exclaimed Jon, “Let me and my brothers here give you a tour of our great city!”

  The brothers excitedly began to lead the way for Wystan. First stop, the markets.

  * * *

  The brothers had a strange aversion to the guards, and would often try to keep themselves as far away from any elf in a uniform as possible. Wystan soon found out why. The shortest of the brothers, Lon was quite adept at relieving stands of their excess produce or products. That is to say, he was good at thievery. With quick and nimble fingers he would snatch up whatever would fit into the palms of his rather small hands. Wystan did not see this as a bad thing. After all, he got to partake in some of the retrieved goods, a fruit that, while small, was remarkably sweet nonetheless.

  Don, on the other hand, was very loud, and very good at standing in the way of people who might see Lon and his sticky fingers do their deeds. Meanwhile both Jon and Tim would sit nearby to watch out for a guard or keen eyed elf who may pose as an obstacle. All in all the brothers were very good at teamwork. Much to the detriment of any legitimate business in their vicinity.

  “O, lookie ‘ere, I found an elf selling figs Lon, be a dear and grab us some of those ey? I’m sure Dale ‘ere has never even seen a fig, since you come from the north an’ all.”

  Wystan had in fact seen figs before. He had not however tasted one, the traders that went through Southwold would sell them for far more than what he or his family could afford.

  “Isn’t that a shame, right then, I’ll get us a few. Don, go stand over there would ya?”

  Don responded quite quickly and stood very nonchalantly next to the fig seller. The elf running the stand took immediate notice of the elf and began to converse with him about the goods he had. Don conversed back in a loud voice. Once the distraction was set up, Lon got to work, coming up behind his brother and nimbly plucking a few of the fruits from the pile while the seller tried to do his job.

  Once Don got the signal, a quick tap on his shoulder, he immediately broke off the conversation and bid the elf manning the stand farewell. The poor elf looked a bit disappointed that he wasn't able to sell his goods.

  The brothers and their new friend found themselves quite filled by the end of their tour. By the time their little escapade of petty thieving was over, the night had already begun. The brothers were now of the mind to return home. A home they referred to as “The Hideout”, which seemed a little odd to Wystan.

  Lon, Jon, Don, and Tim had taken Wystan down some narrow dirt paths that wound through the buildings outside the city walls. Eventually, they happened upon a shoddy looking shack near the edge of the outer city.

  "This 'ere is the ‘ideout," said Lon.

  "Not very hidden, is it?" replied Wystan.

  "Not very nice to say, is it?" said Jon.

  Lon ushered the elves inside.

  * * *

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  Paul, on the streets of Barrus

  Paul struggled to locate the inn. His forgetfulness leaving him without a clue of the street he had been on before. After some time of aimless wandering, he eventually stumbled upon it. He peered around and saw the innkeeper.

  "Greetings, I must ask- could you tell me how much I'd have to pay for an extra night here?"

  "Ah, hasn't your father informed you? He has already covered the rent for a month, and asked us to shift your belongings over to your room. I assumed since he is your father and all...”

  "What? Well... I guess that's alright - thank you."

  "It's no trouble at all! A good evening to you."

  Paul trudged upstairs to his room. The mule's pack sat next to his spear, propped against the wall. Inside were tongs, a hammer, various pieces of soapstone, files, and a sack of coins. Not bothering to count them right away, Paul sank into the bed and tried not to remember the events of today. He felt weak, tired, and just wanted to sleep for a while.

  * * *

  Paul awoke to the morning sun, and sedately grabbed the coin sack and the bag of hand-me-down tools. He stopped by Wystan’s room and knocked. There was no answer, which only added to the stress that he felt. He could use a friendly face at this moment so he tried again. After the second attempt failed he decided he would try again later, right now he needed to do something, anything, something to distract himself from the reality of being alone in a strange land with strange people.

  As Paul toured around the city, he noticed that most of the buildings were either housing or property of the local guilds. The shops had odd pictures above their doors, so it was difficult to tell what kind of establishment he was entering. His aimless wandering eventually brought him to an unassuming building made from thatch and plaster. Above the door hung a sign that resembled a vial. Paul stepped inside and found himself surrounded by shelves full to the brim with glass containers, each with a small label. In the center of the room was a desk, and hunched over it was an elderly elf, engrossed in his work. In his hands he held a bottle filled with a powdery substance, which he slowly poured into another bottle containing a yellowish liquid. In a few moments, the concoction began to smoke, then fizz, then suddenly stopped - leaving behind an odd grayish sludge. The elf seemed highly disappointed and Paul, curious, decided to approach him.

  "Hello? Sir?"

  The old elf nearly jumped out of his own skin, and turned around in the chair to face Paul, "Erowin carry me, you shouldn't sneak up on someone like that!"

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to ask what it was that you sold here? If this is a shop...and I think it is..."

  "Oh yes, you are correct. This is an Apothecary. Do you have any ailments you need help with?"

  "None that I know of, but nevertheless, would you show me around?"

  "Of course! You see, not many elves come in these days. Sure once in a while someone will want a miracle cure for drooping ears or what have you, but never very often!"

  "I see..."

  "Ah, so here on this shelf, we have nymph-root. A fantastic remedy for colds. Over here, we have wolfsbane, particularly useful for poisoning enemies. Finally, over here we have brimstone. It smells nasty, I know, but it can balance out your humors!"

  Paul looked closer at the 'brimstone', opened the bottle, and immediately recoiled. That, without a doubt, was sulfur.

  "Where do you find this, uh, brimstone?"

  "Ah, you know, I'm not sure... I just buy it because elves will use it once in a while."

  "I see. Well, I think I'll have to come back here. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name. My name is uh, Hayod"

  "Very good to meet you, Hayod. I am Benham. I do hope that you would choose to come here should you need any medicine!"

  "I am certain I'll be back. Farewell, Benham."

  "Farewell, Hayod!"

  The stench of rotten eggs hadn't yet left Paul's nose as he strode out into the street. He took out his journal and replicated the symbol on the sign, with a caption that read "Apothecary."

  So far, Paul's day had been rather productive. After stumbling upon the Apothecary, he had found himself back at the smith’s guild. The ring of many hammers could be heard from a good distance. He checked in at the office, and was directed to the Iron Monger. After retrieving his allowance, he approached a free anvil. He thought of the many advancements that mankind had made. There were a variety of tools, machines, and other inventions that set modern man apart from his ancestors. Many of them, however, required precision and a good deal of resources. Finding one that would be simple enough to make with his rather unskilled hands would be a difficult task. He had never worked a forge, the most he had learned from Dallin was how to work the billows hold iron.

  Well, that's something atleast… Maybe just something small and simple for now then…

  He took the iron ration and placed it into the coals to heat it. This process would take a few minutes so he had a little more time to think of something.

  I could make a sword maybe, it looked simple enough watching Dallin do it… But what the hell would I do with a sword? No, what about a… oh! I know just what to do.

  The metal had begun to glow, telling him it was ready. He wasn't sure how exactly to make what he saw with his mind’s eye, but perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to just try and fail a few times.

  * * *

  Paul put down his tools, and sat on a nearby stool. His arms were weary, yes, but not nearly as useless as he would have expected. His breathing was normal and he wasn't fatigued, but the strain of the hammering had taken its toll. As he sat on the stool, someone spoke from behind, he swiveled around to see who it was.

  "Sir? Would you mind telling me how you did that? You see, my friends and I watched you, seeing as you're a new face and all. After two hours we were astonished. Sure, you're a big elf, but even big elves get tired right? Would it have anything to do with your time serving the king? Sorry to ask, I know that's rude but I simply must know!"

  "Uh, no... I've just always been like this I guess? Sorry, that's probably not a good answer."

  "Well, no it isn't. It dosn’t really answer much"

  The elf nodded and gave Paul an awkward smile before scurrying away. He was certain that what little progress that was made today would be fine. His arms were tired, his eyes were tired, he was tired. It wasn't until he was on his way out of the guild that he remembered something.

  He had forgotten to look around for Wystan, lord knows what that brat had been up to. Paul would have to put off sleep for now. Both Dallin and Garrett had asked him to watch over the young elf.

  Just great, He had best not have gotten himself in any trouble.