[Teregor Eltherian][Session 1 - Level 0][Part 1]

[Teregor Eltherian] looked up from the fields of rye. His sweat-covered cloth shirt, his torn breeches, and his basic boots weren’t exactly the greatest clothes. But his hard work had earned him actual clothes. Half the people in Belrond have rags, most of them don’t own shoes. Teregor had bought his own off a traveling cobbler. His clothes were impressive in this town, not just the ones he was wearing, but the fact he had three whole outfits.

A group of field hands walked down the rows of rye with sickles in hand. They slashed at the crops, collecting the harvest, as they continued through the fields. The majority of the field hands were halflings while a couple were human. Teregor felt pride in making much more progress than anyone else.

One of the other fieldhands, a halfling, started to catch up to the younger human as he went through his section. The halfling had cloth wrapped around his feet, a dirty white shirt with a hole in the right armpit, and overalls on. He flicked his blonde hair out of his eyes as he looked over at the young human.

“You aren’t really saving up all your money to be an adventurer, right El?” The halfling asked.

“I am.” Teregor “El” Eltherian continued to harvest the field of rye.

“Shame, poor Arkin is gonna lose his best field hand.” The halfling rolled his eyes.

“Top, mind your own business.” Teregor glared back at the halfling.

“Of course, Master El.” The halfling bowed and smiled.

“You just wait. Next adventurers to come through town I’ll join.” Teregor said while puffing out his chest.

El finished his portion and bundled up the rye he’s harvested. He slowly transferred the rye to a cart. Standing next to it was the farm owner, Mr. Arkin. He smiled as Teregor threw the last bundle of his on the pile.

“You work harder than my oxen.” Arkin said.

Arkin had a bright smile, his cheeks were flushed red, and his hands rested on his belly. Under the layers of fat he had in his old age was still a considerable amount of muscle.

“The oxen don’t get paid.” Teregor smiled and Arkin let out a chuckle.

“Here’s your wages for what you gathered today.” Arkin handed Teregor two silver coins.

“Thank you sir.” Teregor bowed his head before moving on.

He headed towards the barn. The place he had called home for years, or at least the hayloft. Though it’s not how he left it. There was an ashen hole through the roof.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

El rushed to the building and threw the barn doors open.

To his surprise he found a man laying in a pile of straw. The man appeared to have fiery red hair and shiny black eyes. He was muscular, a moving statue of manly physique. He wore a chain skirt, leather sandals, and had a belt across his chest.

The boy rushed forward to check the man for injuries or burns. But he seemed almost unscathed. There were only traces of ash on his skin and old scars. His eyes slowly opened as he groggily looked around.

“Ugh,” the man held a hand to his head, “be useful and get me a drink.” The man crashed his head back down into the straw.

“Yessir.” Teregor replied.

The young man ran off to the well, fetching a bucket of water, his thoughts running wild. Could this man have been shot out of a cannon? Was he a shooting star? Or something else. Whatever this man is, it's the most interesting thing to ever happen in El’s life.

El returned to the barn with the bucket of water. He set it down next to the stranger from the sky. The man opened one eye and took a look at the bucket. His expression grew sour.

“I meant a stiff drink.” He groaned.

“I’ll get you that as soon as you tell me your name,” Teregor said, with a hand near his sickle.

“You wouldn’t be able to touch me, let alone kill me, kid. I am Bandlor, the God of War.” The man puffed his chest out as he sat straight.

“Right, because a God would crash down into my barn.” Teregor raised an eyebrow. “How can I trust you?”

“You can’t. My powers were taken from me and I was cast out. I have no evidence for my claims.” Bandlor looked at the bucket of water.

“Well you did fall from the sky. I think that's what the hole in my roof implies.” Teregor shrugged.

“It was a long fall. Thankfully I survived that, but I feel myself growing mortal.” Bandlor rubbed at his throat. “I haven’t had to drink water in a millenia. Do you have any cups?”

“I have a mug in here somewhere.” Teregor turned and climbed up into the rafters where his bed was.

The boy retrieved a tin mug and climbed back down with it. Handing it to Bandlor, the God-man, used it to scoop some water for himself.

“You said you were the God of War?” Teregor crouched down next to him.

“I am the God of War.” Bandlor huffed. “I have led a thousand armies and slain thousands more.

“Then could you train me to fight?” Teregor asked.

Bandlor side eyed El, taking in his appearance, and shook his head.

“I want to fight for my town, for my friends. You may not have your powers, but you've been in a thousand fights. You could train me!” Teregor argued.

“A million.” Bandlor leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "But I'm not gonna bet on some kid from a tiny hamlet."

“I don't understand magic, so what. I don't know what makes adventurers special, who cares. I'm going to fight anyway and I need your expertise. I need help.” Teregor pleaded.

“Have you even spilled blood before?” Bandlor raised an eyebrow and looked the kid over.

“Rats.” Teregor shrugged. “Or maybe they were mice. I don’t know.”

“Do you have any money?” Bandlor asked.

“Ton’s. I have been saving for twelve years.” Teregor said.

“You haven’t even grown any chest hair yet.” Bandlor called him out.

“I started working the day I moved in. Eight years old and already applying myself to a trade.” Teregor narrowed his eyes.

“Sure, you have money, let's go to whatever passes for a bar here.” Bandlor pulled himself up to his feet.

“Drig’s Tavern. It’s my favorite place in town.” Teregor started to leave the barn with a bit more energy in his step.