Garrick, threading his way through the dense forest in an effort to shave some time off his journey, was suddenly drawn to a commotion up ahead. A series of shouts pierced the otherwise tranquil woodland ambiance, prompting Garrick to exchange a puzzled glance with Ember. With a shared sense of curiosity, they veered towards the noise, navigating through thickets and underbrush.

The source of the disturbance was soon revealed: a vast expanse of mud lay before them, at the center of which a hapless individual found himself in a predicament that was as precarious as it was pitiable. The man, half-elf by Garrick's estimation, with a wild mane of tawny hair, was ensnared up to his chest in the mud, thrashing about and yelping for his life. Upon noticing Garrick, he seized the opportunity to cry out for assistance, his voice laced with desperation.

"Oh, thank Bazerak! Hey, you—grandad! I'm stuck! Help me out, would you? This blasted Devouring Mud Pit is going to gulp me down whole!" he exclaimed, his attempts to free himself only causing him to sink further, emphasizing the urgency of his predicament.

The Devouring Mud Pit—the scourge of any traveler—was technically a monster that took the form of…well, a mud pit. It would lie in wait until some hapless individual came upon it and then take the opportunity to slowly devour them as the traveler gradually sunk into its murky depths.

Garrick, unfazed by the man's plight, turned to Ember with a thoughtful look. Then, with a deliberate calmness, he set his pack down and began the methodical process of building a cook fire right at the edge of the mud pit. The half-elf's incredulity at this unexpected turn of action was loud and bombastic.

"What are you doing, grandad!? I'm sinking here!" the man protested, his bewildered tone growing into panic. "This is no time for a cookout!"

Yet, Garrick proceeded unhurriedly, arranging kindling and striking flint to steel with the precision of someone well-versed in the art of fire-making. The absurdity of preparing for a leisurely meal while someone was ostensibly on the brink of being devoured by mud was not lost on either party, yet Garrick's actions seemed to convey a message all their own.

As the first flames licked the air, crackling softly in the quiet of the forest, the man's pleas for assistance escalated, each more desperate than the last.

"If you can't pull me out, at least find someone who can! Do something, anything!" he implored, eyeing Garrick's deliberate preparations with growing despair. "Why aren't you doing anything?"

Finally, Garrick, having skewered some meat and set it over the flames, turned his attention back to the man.

"You're not being eaten by a Devouring Mud Pit," he stated plainly, causing a momentary pause in the half-elf's frantic pleas.

Confused, the man spluttered, "What do you mean? Of course, I am! Look at me! I'm half swallowed already!" His voice was tight, clinging to the belief of imminent doom.

Garrick, with the patience of someone accustomed to explaining the simpler things in life, clarified, "You're in a regular mud pit. And not a particularly deep one at that."

The man, still in disbelief, countered, "No, it's a Devouring Mud Pit, I tell you! I read in a book once that they're indistinguishable from the regular ones until it's too late!"

With a sigh, Garrick suggested, "Try lying flat, go horizontal. It'll distribute your weight and make it easier to pull yourself out."

But the half-elf was stubborn. "Horizontal? In a Devouring Mud Pit? That's how it gets you quicker!"

Garrick chuckled.

“Look, try it my way, and if it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll get you some help.”

The man, red faced and out of breath, cursed.

“Gods damn you, grandad—fine!”

He sloshed forward. Garrick watched as two boots squelched into view. Looking behind, the man noticed his legs were indeed poking out of the mud, a revelation that brought a flush of embarrassment to his mud-smeared face. With relief and mortification, he followed Garrick's instructions and gradually made his way to the edge of the mud pit, emerging completely covered in muck but otherwise unharmed.

Garrick watched as the man kicked his boots off, then tilted both upside down to shake mud from within. Then, as if the last few moments of his own abject terror had not just been witnessed by the old man, he adopted a casual tone, beginning to unclasp his now filthy doublet.

“So…where are you headed?” the man asked.

“Bellwater,” Garrick said. “Are you familiar with it?”

“I am, in fact. Was there just yesterday. Lovely place if you’re into…rural things.”

The half-elf scrunched up his face with those last words, making it clear how he felt about them.

“However…it’s a ways off,” the man said, finally getting the garment off and hanging it on a nearby low branch. “But, are you sure you should be traveling in your…condition?”

“And what condition is that?” Garrick asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Advanced age?” the man suggested as if it was obvious. “Not to be rude—”

“Too late on that,” Garrick chuckled.

“ —but you’re very old to be traipsing along muddy forest trails, grandad,” the man continued, undeterred. “It’s dangerous out here. What would your family say?”

“I’d suspect they’d be wondering why I helped you when you’re just taking shots at my general existence,” Garrick said, smirking at the man.

“Well, I am sorry if it’s harsh,” the man continued—in a tone that indicated he was not feeling very apologetic at all. “But someone had to say it.”

“Well, you’ve said it,” Garrick said, lifting his skewer to examine it for doneness. Satisfied, he set it upright against a rock to let it cool. “So it doesn’t need to be said again.”

Ember, eyeing the stake of meat greedily, stayed close, her gaze never leaving the piping hot kebab.

Garrick watched her before clicking his tongue. She looked up guiltily at him.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get some,” he said to her with a knowing smile.

“Do you have any more?” the man asked, sitting down next to Garrick and eyeing the skewer.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I’m sorry?” Garrick asked, not sure if he heard him correctly.

Is he really asking for food?

“Ah, yes, I see. My grandmother is nearly deaf as well—DO. YOU. HAVE. ANY. MORE?” The man demanded loudly, causing Garrick to wince. “OF THE MEAT. ON THE STICK?”

"Oh, well," Garrick began, feigning a thoughtful look as he glanced at the skewer, then back at the half-elf. "You see, this particular cut of meat," he picked it up and waved the skewer slightly, "is part of a very specific diet I'm on. Very particular. Doctor's orders, you know."

The man's face fell, skepticism and hunger marring his mud-streaked visage. "Doctor's orders? Out here?"

Garrick nodded solemnly. "Yes, quite strict about it too. Terribly sorry."

With a grumble, the half-elf resigned himself to his fate of watching Garrick and, presumably, the fox enjoy their meal. As Garrick delicately removed the top portion of the meat, tossing it to Ember—who caught it with a grace that belied her earlier mischief—he began to munch on the remainder with a contented air.

“Whats, uh…in the box there?” the half-elf wondered, pointing to painted cargo resting on the ground next to Garrick’s pack.

The old man shrugged. “Tomatoes.”

“You have tomatoes in the box?” the man asked. “Why?”

“They’re a gift,” Garrick said, still munching on the food.

“Customs in Bastion are quite unique, then,” the man continued, scowling at the box. “If I received a package full of veg, I’d wonder as to the wits of the individual handing them to me.”

Garrick didn’t say anything at all. He'd have preferred to carry it in the satchel, but the...nature of the thing, the astaran workings that made it so spacious would interact quite aggressively with the enchanted paint of preservation and the results might be disastrous. No, it was better to just avoid that altogether.

Precious cargo.

Clearing his throat, the half-elf adopted a friendlier tone. "I'm Sylvester, by the way," he introduced himself, apparently trying to salvage some dignity from the situation. “And you, grandad?”

Garrick, chewing thoughtfully, nodded. "Garrick. And this little thief is Ember."

Sylvester's gaze flickered between Garrick and Ember, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, perhaps the first genuine one since their encounter. "A pleasure, despite the circumstances."

In that moment, Garrick felt a flash of something just barely perceptible. His eyes flicked toward the half-elf, but the man was just grinning wide at the two of them.

I see… Garrick thought. Interesting.

No, it wasn’t interesting—it was especially strange. The half-elf had registered, even if just briefly, a low Tower Sphere of strength to Garrick's senses.

Is this some kind of ruse?

After a moment of chewing-filled quiet, Sylvester spoke again.

“So, you said you’re heading to Bellwater?” he asked.

“Huh?” Garrick wondered. He’d been trying to untangle the mystery of the man’s apparent strength—did he not know? Was it a mistake? It had only been for a fraction of a second, after all. However, Sylvester seemed to still think he was hard of hearing.

“I said—YOU’RE. HEADING. TO. BELLWATER?”

Garrick winced again.

“Yeah,” he said. “I have a job to do there.”

“WHERE. ARE. YOU. FROM. ORIGINALLY?” Sylvester asked loudly, before launching into his own tale. “I’m from Valorant Province—perhaps you’ve heard of it? Anyway, I’m making my way to Fable Province to participate in the Seven Heroic Feats Tournament. Of course, I’d initially only been intrigued because I’d misheard the barkeep who’d told me about it and thought the name was the ‘Seven Heroic Feasts.’ Still, a tourney’s a tourney, as they say. So, I grabbed my stuff and hit the open road—only to discover that some of the roads in these parts are really nice. Have you seen them? Don’t suppose you would, tumbling through the leaves like you’ve been. They are quite something, I’ll say, though. Nothing like it in Valorant—that’s for sure. Regardless, I was planning to be there already—Fable, that is—but a troupe of miscreant bandits stole my horse.”

He paused to catch his breath, and then gave a sidelong look that Garrick caught. “...And my food.”

His pitiful look was more than Garrick could bear, and he sighed, reaching into his pack and producing a strip of jerked beef. He held it out for the half-elf, who swept forward eagerly and snatched it up, immediately stuffing it into his mouth.

“Ah! T’ank ‘ou!” he exclaimed, tearing pieces off with reckless abandon. In moments, the strip of beef was gone. “Id been dayd ‘ince I’b eaten.”

The man swallowed his food, and flashed a wide smile at the old man.

“Splendid bit of beef, grandad. Much obliged.”

Garrick raised an eyebrow at this, but carefully finished his skewer, then he picked some of the meat out of his teeth with it.

“So…where did you say you were from, again?” Sylvester asked, his tone much more agreeable now that he’d apparently resolved what Garrick considered a case of full-blown hangry.

“Near Maretown,” he answered. Ember hopped up onto his lap and he smiled, petting her and she stretched out languidly across his legs.

“Maretown?” Sylvester asked, his eyes wide. “That’s nearly twenty miles from here!”

“Is it?” Garrick asked, pretending to be shocked. “Guess these legs just don’t know when to quit.”

“Did you…walk all night?” Sylvester considered, before sounding a bit panicked. “And without any weapons?”

Garrick smiled, his unoccupied hand resting against the satchel at his waist.

“And what would I need a weapon for?”

“Defense?” Sylvester said, his eyes wide. “Wait a moment… Grandad, are you lost? Is someone going to be looking for you?!”

Then, he paused, as if considering, and Garrick saw the barely concealed smirk cross his face. “Is there a reward for your return?”

“Unfortunately, Sylvester,” Garrick said, suddenly standing. “I’m on my own—save for Ember here. And no one’s looking for me, because I’m not lost. But, I’ve loitered here too long, so I should probably be getting to Bellwater—got to reach it before the third morning bell.”

“W-what?!” Sylvester exclaimed, standing as well. “That’s…grandad, you are clearly quite confused. You couldn’t make it to Bellwater that quickly unless you were on horseback.”

“Is that so?” Garrick asked amusedly. “Suppose I should get to it, then, eh?” He gathered up his belongings and slipped his pack back over his shoulder.

“Wait…do you honestly think you can make it in time? I’m sorry, but I feel as though it is my duty to—

“I have my ways, Sylvester,” Garrick said. “Never you worry.”

Instead of hanging around any longer, he motioned to Ember, and the two began to depart.

Sylvester, stunned, simply gestured at Ember.

“Your ways? What in the world does that mean? Sir, are you planning to ride that cat?”

But Garrick was already on the move.

“Goodbye, Sylvester,” he called politely, waving vaguely. “Careful not to fall into any more mud!”

“Grandad!” Sylvester called back. “Sir—um, Garrick! Wait a minute!”

—

Just two hours later, Garrick arrived at the gates of Bellwater, his pace unhurried yet purposeful. Bellwater laid out before him, larger than Maretown but far from the sprawling metropolises he'd visited in his youth. Yet, it held a unique beauty, a welcome charm. The town nestled comfortably between rolling hills and the placid waters of Bell Lake, put his old heart at ease. Buildings of wood and stone, adorned with flowering vines and bright murals, gave the town a vibrant, almost whimsical atmosphere.

Garrick wondered, briefly, if his friend Kilbourn still manned the library here. The last time they’d seen one another…well, it had been under different circumstances, but surely the old coot was still strolling along the aisles of books, reprimanding youngsters and shushing people who spoke too loudly—whom the man had considered ‘ne’er-do-wells.’ Worse yet was the fate of those who were tardy in returning borrowed books. The old mage was particularly prickly about that sort of deviant behavior and the methods of the mage’s reprisal for such a grievous crime were what many might consider ‘cruel and unusual.’

If there’s time, I’ll look him up, he promised himself. Then remembered he was technically still in the possession of several books he’d checked out years ago and shivered. But…only if there’s time.

Just as he stepped through the gates, the second morning chime sounded across Bellwater, its melodic ring echoing off the stone pathways and timbered houses. Garrick smiled, a quiet satisfaction settling within him. He had arrived early, despite the unexpected detours. He thought back to Sylvester's baffled expression when he mentioned his intention to reach Bellwater by the third bell.

I may be old, Garrick mused, but I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeves.

He patted the tortoise shell pendant beneath his shirt, thankful Claudette had seen fit in designing it to run off of its own storage of astara. In his current state, he doubted he’d be able to manage more than a short skip over a shallow puddle—let alone the feats he’d been enacting all morning.

In any case, the half-elf hadn’t been able to catch up to him—something he’d been dreading—and Garrick assumed that business was well-sorted. Yet, as he reflected on their encounter, an ornery thought tugged at the back of his mind.

It was odd, the man’s struggle in the mud. Not just because it was downright laughable to have so grossly miscalculated one’s own danger. How a man who had passed the Filter like that could be so easily waylaid by a regular patch of mud was beyond his comprehension.

Well, there was nothing for it. The world was full of mysteries, and this was hardly the oddest Garrick had encountered in his long years.

With a shrug, Garrick dismissed the thought. There were always going to be peculiar happenings, and not all warranted further pondering. What mattered now was the journey ahead.

Turning his attention to Ember, who peeked curiously from his bag, Garrick's gaze softened. Bellwater, bustling with early risers and the promise of a new day, was the largest settlement Ember had ever seen. He knew this first stop was a significant step into a broader world for her.

Well, no going back now, old man.

"Ready for this, Ember?" he whispered, more to himself than to the fox.

Ember's bright eyes, reflecting the vibrant life of Bellwater, seemed to sparkle with excitement—or perhaps it was the tantalizing aromas that wafted their way through gates? Either way, Garrick felt a surge of anticipation. Together, they were about to embark on their new duty, their adventure.

And if fortune favored them, it would be a worthwhile one.