Chapter 3
A Good Night In A Garden
Trog felt much better once Bowen fell asleep. Once Trog had mentioned he had farming magic and would be looking into life as a farmer, the boy wouldn't stop asking questions.
"Is it true you can identify any plant? Can you enrich the soil? Will things grow even if you don't water them? How much land can you use your magic on at once?"
Trog always answered, "I don't know; I have not used my magic yet."
Bowen was the grandchild of a pair of alchemists with a small garden. He had been trying to help them grow rare ingredients so they wouldn't have to buy them anymore or travel to the north to harvest the wild herbs since they were getting too old to make the journey, and the prices had been increasing. Trog didn't have to put up with the questions long; after the ordeal Bowen had been through and the use of healing potions, he passed out within an hour. Allowing Trog to watch the prisoners and enjoy the peace of the night and the glow of the 6th moon. The 6th moon was his favorite, with its red light and the dark clouds that shifted along its surface. It added 30 feet to his night vision, a perk of being a goblin.
Before long, the sun began to rise, and Trog brought out his travel rations. While he ate, his ears twitched as he heard the rhythmic pattern of boots coming down the road. Focusing on the sound, he couldn't help but smile; this was a march, and judging by the sound, these soldiers were well-disciplined. To his surprise, another sound caught his attention, coming up on his right flank further in the tree line. These troops were on patrol and had more units ready to close in from the flank. Trog approved of the commander and stood tall, presenting himself to the patrol approaching him. When he first saw the commander, he knew his assumption was correct. The leader's leather helmet had a green tassel, a sign of their rank as a lieutenant. The troops stopped once the lieutenant was within easy speaking range, and Trog's instinctive training kicked in. He stood at attention and waited until the lieutenant gave him a nod.
"Sir, Trog of the 3rd Dragonbane Regiment wishes to report the capture of four armed bandits and the rescue of one injured young halfling named Bowen Thornside. The boy needs a mid-level healing potion for a broken forearm. The three bandits are in marching shape, and one cannot walk due to a shattered kneecap. I formally request that you transport them to the nearest garrison for sentencing." Trog remained standing at attention and awaited the lieutenant's response.
"I, Lieutenant Garlan of the Sunhallow Village, agree to take charge of these bandits and the young halfling." Garnal took notice of the burns on the forearms and hands of the goblin before him. He had never seen wounds this horrific on someone not screaming in pain.
"at ease, soldier."
The goblin visibly relaxed, but Garland saw that his arms were still dripping small amounts of blood.
"Are you sure you do not need a healing potion as well?"
Trog shook his head.
"No need; the skin never fully heals."
Garlan stilled his face, not wanting to grimace at the sight. He had heard of permanent injuries suffered by the vanguard due to breath attacks, but he never imagined they would look like this. How often would you have to have your skin melted off before this happened? The only human he had heard of with this problem had chosen to have his arm amputated instead of suffering the pain for the rest of his life. He ordered his men to take charge of the prisoners and for his healer to attend to the boy.
"Where are you headed? If you come to the village, there is a small bounty for capturing these men."
Trog nodded. "I will come to the village. I promised Bowen I would have a look at his grandparents' garden before I headed further south."
Trog fell behind the troops as they marched back to the village. Bowen was in the center with the healer, but he looked back to ensure Trog was still following occasionally. It was a peaceful march, and Trog quickly fell into step with the rest of the troop. The land was lush and green, with spreading fields and meadows that seemed to shine as the sun hit them. The troop's pace had the village come into view a few hours before sunset. The town was like any other. The military garrison was within a stone-walled portion of the village; the rest had sturdy wood buildings. Trog noted the tavern's location as they marched down the street; nothing would end the day like a nice mug of ale. Trog and Bowen waited at the garrison's entrance for the lieutenant to return with the bounty for the bandits. When the lieutenant returned, another man was with him. The blue band on the man's arm let Trog know this was the captain, who most likely had overall command of the garrison. The captain was an older human with sharp features and a scar across his left cheek.
"I am Captain Holt; my lieutenant says you served in the 3rd Dragonbane Regiment. I wanted to offer you a position in the garrison if you are willing. I know you were discharged for personal injury, but we would be honored to have someone with your experience here."
Trog felt his heart jump before it plummeted down. He removed his pack and pulled out his Military Identification scroll. He didn't say anything; he just handed it to Holt. As the captain read to himself, his eyes widened, and he started to smile, seeing the two war titles. The smile left his face as his eyes reached the bottom of the scroll.
"You used a Farming magic awakening stone," he said in a tone that didn't hide a little resentment.
"Not by choice, sir. I was offered a stone on the condition that I use it immediately by a commander of reinforcements heading to the front lines. I thought it might get me back in the war, sir," Trog looked heartbroken and more than a little angry. "I didn't even think to ask what kind of stone it was."
Holt's expression changed to fury. " Was he a young elf by any chance?"
"Yes, sir."
Holt clenched his fist as he swore. "That miserable, worthless excuse of an officer. To trick a soldier with a war title into a life of noncombat should be a hangable offense." Holt looked back at Trog and then gave him a salute. "I thank you for your sacrifice, and I wish there were a way I could still allow you to fight. However, the laws are clear. Please refrain from seeking to collect bounties in the future and redeem your land to begin farming when you find a place to settle. Sadly, we do not need magic to grow in this area. I take it you are headed further south."
"Yes, sir, I hope to settle in the orcish lands."
"That is a good choice. Your skills and war titles will give you more respect from common folk than elsewhere. Here, this should help in your travels. It's not enough to get a mount, but it will help with expenses." Holt handed Trog a small coin purse.
Trog thanked Captain Holt and Lieutenant Garlan, and then he and Bowen left and headed to meet Bowen's grandparents.
The Thornside Alchemy shop is one of the older buildings in town. It was built by Bowen's grandparents when they were first married. Bowen held the door open for Trog and called out his greeting to the old halfling woman behind the counter. The look on her face went from pleased to worried to confused as Bowen started talking rapidly.
"Grandma, I'm back, and I would like you to meet my new friend Trog. He saved me from some bandits and earned war titles fighting the dragonkin. Captain Holt wanted to recruit him to work with the garrison, but he was tricked into using a farming magic awakening stone, and now he isn't allowed. Can he stay for supper? I am starving."
Grandma Thornside had heard her grandson excited before, but this was a whole new level. She took a good look at the boy and saw that his shirt had been cut down the front, but there were only light scratches on his skin. The goblin man next to her grandson had the look of a soldier about him. He was bold like most goblin men, and his large ears looked like they had been cut numerous times with swords or spears. Most goblins develop a pot belly as they are out of adolescence due to the last activity needed to survive these days, but this man was very trim. Not much taller than a halfling, he stood like a straight and tall soldier, if you could call him five feet tall. Then she noticed his arms and a pained look came over her face.
"Draconic Burn Syndrome?" she asked, hoping she was wrong and maybe she could do something to heal him.
Trog nodded his head. "Yes, mama, but I have learned to deal with it."
She nodded back at him. "Well, seeing that you saved my grandson, the least I can do is feed you a good meal, and if you need a place to stay, we have room."
Trog smiled and slightly bowed to the woman. "Thank you. I will be pleased to join you for dinner, but I must insist on sleeping outside. Sleeping in a bed leaves a mess in the morning."
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Dinner was a feast compared to the trail rations and frogs of the past few nights. Bowen's grandfather, Tumass, was a sturdy-looking halfling with gray hair and a boisterous laugh. Trog heard it firsthand as Bowen told of how he stood up to the bandits and then again when he described the look on the leader Owen's face when Trog had landed the final blow to his groin. Tumass's wife was Tiani, and she did not laugh hearing about Bowen's journey. The fury on her face made Trog afraid she might break the mug she was holding. When Bowed finished retelling his tale, the conversation moved on to Trog's plan for the future.
"So, Trog, you're thinking of starting a farm in the eastern lands?" Tumass inquired, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.
"Yes, I have been told that orc lands have more land in need of magic farming. The problem is I have not done anything more than check my status with my magic. I don't even know what other abilities come with farming magic."
"Well, I can help you a little with that. I have known quite a few magic farmers in my life. I even hired one to help with the soil of our garden when we first built our shop here. First off, you should be able to identify any plant you focus on; I was told by one farmer that he could even tell what the plant needed once he had leveled the skill to tier 1. Now let's see what else would be helpful?" Tumass tapped his finger to his bottom lip as he thought, and Trog noticed his wife roll her eyes.
"Tumass, would you stop acting like you know more than you do? I doubt you remember anything else about that man who helped with the garden. You just stared daggers at him because he commented on how lucky you were to have such a beautiful bride." Tiani folded her hands under her chin and batted her eyes at her husband.
Tumass lost the look of concentration and slammed his hands on the table. "He was a scoundrel that wanted you for his own! He is lucky I didn't bury him in the garden when he finished! The way he looked at you and offered to come back every season if we needed him to."
"Yes, he was a kind soul to make the offer," Tinai giggled at her husband's red face. “Is there anything else you remember that can help our guest?"
Tumass grumbled under his breath about good-for-nothing elves before speaking up. "Of course, I remember more; I remember how the elf spread his fingers wide to cast the magic over more of the soil, and.....and....ok, that's all I remember."
"That is very helpful to know," Trog said, hoping to calm the old halfling down. ”Tomorrow, I would like to use your garden to test my skills. Having a garden of plants to identify will help me unlock tier one."
Bowen sat up straight. He had an idea. "When you finish with the garden, I can take you into the woods nearby and show you where many water plants grow best along the river. There will be enough to unlock tier 1 by the end of the day, so maybe you can help me with the herbs I am trying to grow. You would be able to verify my theory on what they are lacking to grow with a simple touch."
Trog nodded to Bowen, "That sounds like a great idea."
With plans for the next day, they decided it was time for bed, and Trog made his way into the back garden. The air was crisp and smelled of the herbs and flowers that were in bloom near him. The seventh moon was out, and its green glow quickly led him to sleep.
Trog awoke to Bowen calling his name. Sitting up, he saw the boy walking out the back door, holding a plate that smelled like cooked sausage.
"That smells wonderful, Bowen. Thank you."
"Well, we can't start a day of skill training on an empty stomach now, can we."
Trog ate his sausage as he and Bowen walked through the garden. Bowen ensured Trog touched each plant at least once to identify it. It was a simple task. All Trog had to do was touch a plant and think, Identify.
Skill Plant Identification
Name: Lavender
Skill Plant Identification
Name: Green Lock
Skill Plant Identification
Name: Black Root
Skill Plant Identification
Name: Red Poppy
It was a very dull process for Trog, but he knew how skills worked in general. He would need to complete the task 100 times to unlock tier 1, and for something like this, it would have to be 100 unique plants to count. It didn't take long to finish with the entire garden, so Bowen led Trog out of town and into the forest nearby to head towards the river, pointing out new plants to Trog along the way. Once at the river, it only took about an hour until Trog felt a change. He took a moment to bring up his status.
Personal Status
Name: Trog
Age: 27
Skills:
* Precision Brawler Tier 5
* Goblin War Cry Tier 5
* Shield Wall Tier 1
* Litreen digging Tier 1
* Logging Tier 1
* Armor Repair Tier 1
* Weapon Maintenance Tier 1
Titles: None
War Titles:
* The Burned Fist
* Low Blow Legend
Military Status:
* Position: Vanguard Footman
* Affiliation: Joined Kingdom
* Status: Permanent Injury Discharge
Magic Class: Farming
Magic skill: Grow Anything
Farming Magic Skills:
* Plant Identification Tier 1
Trog let out a long sigh; he was finally finished. He tested the skill once more to see the difference.
Skill Plant Identification
Name: Cat Tail
Requires: Constant Sunlight and moist soil or shallow water
Needs: Nothing all requirements met
Growth: 15 days or 25% mana til harvestable
Well, that was the information he was expecting: to see what the plant requires and lacks to finish its growth.
"Well, Bowen, I have unlocked Tier 1, so let's head back and see what those unique herbs need to grow in the garden. However, before we do that, how about we stop by the tavern for an ale to celebrate, my treat."
Bowen flashed Trog a large grin. "I was hoping you would make that suggestion. Most people that are not halflings assume I am still a child."
"I know the feeling. It took me over a year to convince the humans in my unit that I was an adult. They can't seem to understand what marks us as adults if they don't live in areas where we are prevalent."
Bowen looked a little ashamed. "I am afraid I don't know how to tell an adult goblin from a child Trog; I would never mistake you for a child as you are now, but without your scars, I don't know if I would be able to tell."
Trog let out a laugh. "Ha, it is understandable this far north. Not many goblins travel this far away from the great swamp. As children, we have some dark patches of skin, which act as a natural camouflage to keep the little ones safe in the swamp. Once your patches are gone, you are seen as an adult. Mine faded in my 16th year, and I joined the military in my 17th year."
Bowen looked shocked. "You are only three years older than me. I figured you were closer to 35 or 40."
"No, just war aging." Trog gave Bowen a grin, and they focused on getting to the tavern.
The tavern was called the Tall Goat. It had a giant wooden statue of a goat just inside the door, and a vast goat's head mounted above the bar. The man behind the bar was human and gave them a welcoming smile.
"I'm Glad to see you made it back safely, Bowen. We started to worry when reports of Bandits came to town."
"Oh, I ran into those bandits, Marcus; lucky for me, my friend Trog here ran into them right after I did, with his fists."
The man's eyebrows rose. "Is that so? Then, friend Trog, your first drink is on the house. However, I will want to hear the tale."
A good hour later and more than a few ales, Trog and Bowen returned to the Thornside shop. Both Tumass and Tiani laughed at them, and they swayed a little as they walked through the shop to get to the garden in the back. Bowen told Trog to go ahead while he went to get a few things from his room. Trog sat on a bench near the garden and took a deep breath, enjoying the smells from the garden. When Bowen came outside, he had his travel pack and a bottle of what looked like hard spirits.
Bowen held up the bottle. "For every theory I got right, we each get a shot."
Trog felt the smile grow on his face. "I hope you are as smart as you think you are."
Bowen was more than just smart. He was brilliant, and with every plant and seed Trog touched, the requirements were almost precisely what Bowen had theorized in his notes. By the end, Bowen was tossing random plants to Trog, and when Trog said the requirements, they would cheer and each take another swig from the bottle. Then something unexpected happened. Bowen tossed Trog the small hand spade from next to the bench, and without thinking, Trog used his skill.
Skill Plant Identification
Name: small hand spade
Requires: any soil and mana
Needs: mana
Growth: 100% mana til harvestable
Trog drunkenly called out to Bowen. "Requires soil and mana."
"Well, give it mana and put it in the dirt," Bowen said, laughing.
Trog focused on the hand spade and tried to push his mana into it. He felt a question as he did. How much mana did he want to use? Trog thought back to the Identification prompt and thought, "Well, it said 100% till harvestable. Let's use that." With that thought, though, Trog felt his mana flow into the spade, and it started to glow. He then slammed the spade into the soil and felt his head spin as he passed out.
Bowen laughed as his new goblin friend passed out in the dirt. Then he stood up and immediately fell over, snoring once his head hit the ground.