Joe lay on his back in the soft cool grass of the village green nursing a slight headache. He had left a [Heart Fire] burning nearby for anyone who came by but it would not help his head. At least this time the dry, gritty, pinched feeling had not shown up until he had drained his mana down to below 10%. Joe knew he was getting better at healing and casting spells. He wondered why the system put a penalty on casting at all. Maybe it was to teach casters the vulnerability of low mana. Maybe it was to make it comparable to the other pools. Low health had physical pain. Low stamina had exhaustion. It made sense that low mana would have some type of discomfort too. Joe felt, with a bit more practice, the mental fatigue would not be as rough on his head. Just like how people learned to dismiss the little body aches, he was pretty sure he would get to the point where the mental aches would be ignorable too.
The good news was, thanks to [Mystic], his mana recharged more quickly than it had before, which meant his headache was swiftly fading away. He planned on wrapping up his impromptu clinic soon anyway. Rhiley had returned an hour or so ago with the mended kettle. He had guessed correctly as to what job he would be given. The boy had small downy feathers caught in his hair and cuffs and reeked so badly of chicken poop that Joe sent him home to wash and change. He would follow shortly, both to check on Sarsa and because they offered him a place to sleep. He thought about staying at the inn, but he was a little dubious about public lodging. Even though Crowfield seemed like a sweet, sleepy, little town, Joe could not count the number of D&D games that had started with the new players entering an inn just before all hell broke loose. He was pretty sure this world was not that simple but Joe was feeling a bit superstitious given the strangeness of this day.
He had garnered a great deal of appreciation from many villagers over the last few hours and could probably find welcome in several other homes, but he never considered going anywhere other than the Dellhams. He had already had more “human” contact in the last few hours than he had had in years back on earth, discounting doctors and nurses. He was completely peopled out by this point. This was the reason he had not headed back to the Dellham farm already. For now, he was enjoying a quiet moment alone, with nothing but the green grass and the waning sun.
At least he was until a boot jabbed him sharply in the ribs. “The village green is no place for vagabonds. Arise and begone, stranger.”
Joe cracked open an eye but was not at all surprised at the sour face looming over him. “Grover! Long time no see.”
“It is Sir Groven, you impudent vagrant,” the knight barked with another kick, this one with a good deal more menace. Thankfully Joe knew the next pulse from the [Heart Fire] would take the sting from the strike any second now.
“Technically, since I now have coins, I think that upgrades me from hobo to traveler.”
“I will not tell you again,” he growled. “Get up and leave.”
“Jeez, Grov,” Joe exclaimed, getting to his feet. “I really hope you are not part of the Welcome Wagon here in Crowfield. You are not very welcoming.”
Joe did not even see the blow. He was just straightening up when his face exploded in agony. His head turned so abruptly that he heard a repulsive snapping sound coming from his neck. Black blotches and blinding flares of light filled his vision as he tumbled back to the earth.
“How dare you address …,” the violent warrior shouted before his voice faded away. And then it returned as the bloom of health radiated out of his [Heart Fire]. “... insolent manner, you worthless mongrel!”
Joe couldn’t move while the enraged nobleman frothed over him. He could only hope that another kick was not forthcoming. Joe looked and saw he had just 2% of his health, which means that he had been dead a second ago. Again. The second time in the same day. Feeling like an utter idiot, all he could do was lay there waiting for his healing AoE to release another wave. He did not even dare to use [Healing Hands] for fear it would provoke Sir Groven. He prayed the knight would not kick him again. In the state the raging man was in, he would do real damage and Joe knew he had gotten lucky with the timing of the [Heart Fire]. One more strike and it would be the end of him.
“I am not some backwoods bachelor to be treated with disdain by the chaff and chattel. The House of Suttrel has served the peerage of Amberwroth for centuries. Stand worm, so that I may show you the folly of your offense.”
“He can’t, Sir,” a voice cried out. “You have nearly slain the young man. He is a newcomer. Freshly crossed. I’m sure he meant no insult.”
“Then he is ill-suited for this world if he believes he can besmirch his betters and not hang for the impertinence. His actions have earned him a place in the Master’s dungeon tonight and, if I have any say in the matter, he shall meet the gallows on the morn.”
“That would be ill-advised, Sir Groven,” a deep yet familiar voice interjected. “This man has been brought to us by the One Above today and has been blessed with the hands of a healer,” Gurda continued. “A goodly number of Crowfield’s citizens have had their ills lifted this day. I am quite sure the rest of us would be most displeased should your heated pique rob us of our chance to be cured as well.”
Voices from all angles murmured their agreement with the giantess. Joe was still afraid to turn his neck but he cracked open an eye to see dozens of feet standing in a ring around them. Looking as far up as he could, he saw both faces he knew but many more he didn’t. The baker whose burns he had healed earlier stood next to the wheelwright who had a broken finger that had healed badly. The digit had to be rebroken but as hard as Joe tried he did not have the stomach for snapping the fingerbone. Thankfully the baker and craftsman were good friends. One good whack with a rolling pin and Joe could heal the finger correctly. The rest of the villagers in Joe’s limited field of vision were unknown to him, yet they stood beside their neighbors in a resolute ring around him.
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“Is this man in your employ, Madam Eldauk?” the nobleman asked.
“He is not.”
“Then what concern is it of yours? He likely is taking money from your coffers. Take your rabble and I will dispose of this huckster.”
“Did you not hear me? This is no snake-oil salesman. I have seen the benefits of his gifts. Just this afternoon Madam Spooner walked through my door with a spring in her step of a woman half her age. Why not chalk up this ill encounter as a spell of poor judgment from a newcomer? I am quite sure the young man has learned his lesson. Is that not correct Joe?”
Spitting out dirt and grass, Joe managed to grunt out a muttered “Sorry” before wincing due to the wave of torment issuing from his jaw.
“See he is contrite and already well chastised. Any further abuse would surely be excessive.”
A long tense pause filled the green until finally, Sir Groven spoke. “This is the very last time I will forgive his insolence. I have endured his ill-mannered judgment and familiarity twice. There will not be a third stay of execution. If you hunger for his hedgemage healing, then I suggest you teach him his place here in Duskurg.”
Joe was curious about that last bit. ‘What is Duskurg?’ he thought but that question fled his mind as he heard his tormentor tramp away. No longer afraid of retaliation, Joe clenched his hand, causing his fingers to touch his palm.
You have restored 76% of your total health. Your current health is at 82%.
Your skill [Healing Touch] has increased to rank 10.
You have restored 18% of your total health. Your current health is at 100%.
With only two points of vigor, Joe had a measly 29 hit points. Getting back to full health was not difficult but clearly, getting one-shotted was a real danger. He sat up and gingerly stretched his neck from side to side. There were a few pops and crackles but he no longer felt like his head was about to fall off. Even though his health was at full, much of the pain in his jaw remained. As he had seen with Maddam Spooner, healing did not just erase the pain instantly. It would take a little while before the aching would fade away completely. Until then his face felt like it was on fire.
He stretched his jaw and found where the point of impact was. A sharp throb brought his hand to his mouth, both in reflex to the pain and to check for loose teeth. As he wiggled one of his molars, he glanced up at the circle of villagers surrounding him. Front and center was the giantess, who looked both concerned and annoyed at the same time.
“I warned you, Joe Healer. The aristocracy of this kingdom is not to be trifled with. They are a proud and waspish caste. What possessed you to be so flippant with a fortieth-level Knight of the Golden Edict?”
“Sorry. Culture shock. My country does not have kings and knights. We have politicians and policemen, who only get as much respect as they earn. No freebie groveling required.”
“Well, you were surprisingly lucky you did not get yourself killed.”
“I’m pretty sure I did get myself killed. At least for a second or two,” he mused, continuing to stretch his neck. The gasps around him caught his attention. The villagers were all staring at him with a mix of emotions that Joe couldn’t read. “What? What did I say?”
“It is an old parable,” Thornon replied. Joe carefully turned his head to see the dwarf standing in the circle. “People have started telling again since the newcomers started arrivin’. It goes ‘The Fool was born both babe and man, after Death had let him go. He met Death again that day and Death said Walk with me and know peace. Walk from me, if ya can, and be born anew.’ We’ve been kind of a wonderin’ what would happen if a newcomer died the same day he or she crossed through a Valkyrie Gate. Yer the first who has done so and not stayed dead, as far as I know. Ya have any word from the One Above?”
“What do your scrolls say?” asked a young man Joe did not recognize. This comment was hushed by a number of those present.
“Scrolls?” Joe asked.
“Like yer slate, Joe. The words from the One Above. We call em Scrolls. Ya gotta have seen em. Ya only can see your own but everyone gets em.”
“This is true,” Gurda voiced. “The One Above speaks to us all, but,” she said giving the young man a pointed look, “it is considered poor manners to ask for the words given to us from the One Above. Please do not feel you are under any obligation to divulge what has been sent to you.”
“Oh, those. Let me check.” Sure enough, Joe had several windows at the edge of his vision but he had been ignoring them due to the threat of death hovering over him. He somehow knew exactly which one referred to the topic the villagers were referring to.
You have unlocked a Prophetic Quest. Choose between the following options.
Two symbols appeared in the window. The first was a coin bearing the face of a skull on it. It immediately brought to mind the Greek myth of Charon and the coin for the dead. The other was a tarot card depicting a skeletal knight holding a large flag on the back of a horse. The card made Joe think of Sir Groven with his steed and banner. This caused him to almost instinctively reach for the coin but Joe stopped himself. There was more here than his prior achievement awards. Joe could feel a heaviness in the air as if the world was watching this choice. Joe pulled his will back from the window.
“I have been offered a choice,” he said out loud to no one in particular. “My options are definitely related to death. Thank you all for saving me but I may need a minute by myself to sort this choice out. I promise I will explain it when I know more.” It was clear the villagers understood. Muttering to each other, they moved off, giving him some privacy. Joe waved at them not taking his eyes off the screen. He was not sure what would happen if he just let it close. Would it make the choice for him? Would he get neither of them? Would he just drop down dead? He walked over to his borrowed stool. Dropping a [Heart Fire] by his feet, Joe sat down and pondered the choice.