I trudged through the mud. My pack weighed on my shoulders and I leaned heavily on my walking cane. It was early spring. The rain season had turned the paths into one big mudslinging. I was soaked and sullied and my old bones creaked from the wet cold. I dragged my left leg with its useless knee joint behind me. One step at a time I came closer and closer to the half timbered house that was my target for the day. The boar’s head inn.

At least the sun dared to break through the cloud cover now and then. But the sun rays only delivered false hope. They were not strong enough to dispel the cold that existed at this time of year. Especially with the wind blowing into my face. I sighed. Sometimes I asked myself why I did all this to myself. Why did I take on these burdens? Why, when I could sit in front of a warm and dry fireplace right now with a nice cup of tea in one hand and my cat in the other?

Thirst for knowledge. Thirst for knowledge and the indoctrinated thinking that there was no giving up, no surrendering, no stopping. Whoever stands falls back. Whoever stops learning forgets. Whoever stops challenging himself, stops reaching for new heights will never blossom again but wither like an old flower. And old I was. Eh, but still kicking’!

Finally I reached the inn. It wasn’t run down like I had expected for a small village this far up north. Wasn’t the governor's palace either but it would do. The window shutters and doors looked like they had been painted fairly recently. Same with the wooden beams. I pressed the latch and with a slight squeak the door opened.

It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the sparse light inside. A fire blazed in a fire place to my left. A few candles lighted up the corners furthest away from the chimney. Close to a dozen massive wooden tables filled the room. Oak. Made for eternity.

On the far end I saw a counter. The inn keeper was cleaning a tankard and now looked up from his work to examine me. He was a stocky. Probably used to throwing out troublemakers. I’d estimate him to be in his forties. He wore an apron to protect his simple yet high quality clothes.

Besides him the inn was mostly empty. It was still early. A few bells until evening would arrive and with it laborers, farmers, craftsman, artisan and other hard working people that thirsted for an after work beer.

My first target however was the fire pit. I dropped my pack on a nearby chair and peeled myself out of my cloak revealing the armor that I wore underneath. It was a good cloak. My favorite. Still my armor did not stay completely dry during my journey. I decided to let it be for now. I pulled over another chair and dropped on it, as close to the fire as I could manage.

Hah, now I had my fireplace. I was only missing the tea and a cat!

Absent minded I massaged my left leg. A greenskin had shattered the knee nearly thirty summers ago. No healer I met had been able to properly fix it. Now the pain was a constant companion. I think it somehow kept me sane with everything I have experienced in my life. A constant reminder that I had survived where others have not. That I have prevailed.

The inn keeper approached me. “Can I be of service, my lord?”

“I am not a lord, just a lone wanderer.”

“Ah, excuse my ignorance. I just thought with the armor… Anyway. What can I do for you?”

“I need a room for the night and something to eat. Also a tankard from the barrel would be most welcome.”

“Of course, my wive prepared a lintel stew and baked fresh bread for today. Is that to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, that sounds most excellent.”

“I will be right back to you and will prepare the room afterwards.” The inn keeper left to go about his business.

I stared into the flames. Fire had always fascinated me. It is our friend. Our sign in the dark. Our protection against the cold and the forces that nature threw at us. And at the same time it was so very scary. It could be used as a weapon. As a most cruel form of destruction and torture. I have seen fire mages going about their gruesome work on the battlefield. I have seen thousands perish inside flames just like the one I was staring at right now. A flame, that I was enjoying right now.

I never had a significant talent for fire magic. A fact that sometimes bothered me. It was just enough to help with the day to day hardship on a campaign. Enough to boil a kettle or to start a camp fire. But never have I been able to enforce enough control over the flames for even slightly advanced spells. I still could conjure them in great quantities. A fact that had saved my life once and led to the scarred tissue on my left upper arm and chest.

No, the element that had truly chosen me at birth was the air. Invisible. Underestimated. A constant companion. A friend, at all times around me. I could feel it like my own skin. I didn’t control it. I didn’t have to. When I wanted something from my friend I just had to ask it for a favor. A favor the wind knew it would be compensated for in the form of my life power.

I startled slightly when the inn keeper returned with a tankard and a plate. I had nearly fallen asleep. He placed both at the table behind me. “Come to me when you are ready and I will show you the room. Enjoy your meal” He said and left again.

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I turned my chair around. Like a suckling pig I turned over the fire that was now behind me. I grabbed the tankard. There was a perfect whitecap. I took a deep gulp. There was nothing more refreshing than a good, cold beer after a long day on the road. I placed the tankard on the table again and turned my view to the plate.

Lintel stew. It was one of my favorites. I poked the spoon into the stew. There was even some meat in there. Probably pork. I should make sure to pay the keeper a little tip. Such extras should be honored. The stew tasted as good as it smelled. It had been a long time since I had such a simple yet great meal for myself. I enjoyed every spoon full of it. The bread was soft and still warm. It completed the meal perfectly.

I tried to take my time. I had the bad habit of wolfing down my food. But this meal was just too good to not be enjoyed. Even tough I slowed myself, everything will come to an end eventually.

I placed my cloak near the fire, so it would be dry by tomorrow. I grabbed my pack and walking stick and limped over to the counter. “Good man, what do I owe you for the meal and the room?” I asked the keeper.

“Six silver. Did you enjoy the meal?”

I grabbed my money bag from my pack and started to count the money. “It was most delicious and worth every copper.” I gave him seven silver.

“Thank you. My wive will be glad to hear that. Shall I show you the room?”

“Please, go ahead.”

I followed the inn keeper to the side where stairs lead to the second story of the building. Stairs… how I hated them. It was kind of an awkward situation as the keeper had to wait while I fought my way upwards step by step.

Finally upstairs he showed me along the hallway. The keeper pulled a key chain from his belt and unlocked the second room on the left. “Here we are. Please let me know if there is something not to your liking.” He said as he reached me the key. “I wish a restful night.”

I closed the door behind me. The room was simple. A small bed with a straw mattress with a wool blanket as well as a small writing table with a chair, completed by a bucket of water for personal hygiene were the only furniture. I didn’t mind. The cleanliness of the room was more important to me. The mattress looked fine, no signs of bed bugs.

I let myself drop on the chair. I was exhausted from the day, from the whole journey. From my old injuries. I started to peel the armor from me bit by bit. Gloves and arm protectors. Boots and leg armor followed by the brigantine that would protect my upper body. I stacked it all neatly on the floor. The armor was old. It was littered with patches that repaired old damage. It had saved my life countless times over the last decades and it still served me well. I didn’t mind that it had lost its glossiness. There was nothing shiny about war. Nothing heroic. Just suffering. I finally got rid of the gambeson that I wore below the metal armor.

I grabbed the water bucket and my tooth brush from my pack. I cleaned my teeth and followed up with the reminder of my body. It wasn’t exactly a hot bathtub – the water was ice cold – but it did the job done. Done cleaning myself I started to clean up my gear. Wherever mud or other dirt had sullied the metal or fabric I went to work. As the last step I cleaned by boots. By the end the water was all murky and I threw the buckets content out of the window.

I also checked my other equipment to make sure it was still in order. My axes and knives were all neatly stored in their scabbards as was my sword. My alchemy satchel with all the flasks and tinctures was still intact. Nothing had been broken on the way. My set of books was still dry as were my rations and spare clothes. With every nook and cranny of my equipment checked I could somewhat relax.

Done with my evening routine I went to bed. There was a long day ahead tomorrow. I’d need all the rest I could get. I feel asleep in a moments notice.

---

The sun stood high in the sky and burned down on us. A hot summer day. Normally I’d like to just lay down on the meadow before us and enjoy the warmth of the sun. Sadly, ‘normal’ wasn’t granted to me in my lifetime. At the other side of the meadow our enemy moved into formation. The sun reflected on the metal of thousands of sets of armor and above it all the purple flag of the Grendu Federation swayed.

I looked to my left and tapped on the shoulder armor of the man beside me. “Are you ready, Geurt?”

My apprentice turned to me and gave me a thumbs up, wearing that signature grin of his on his face. “Born ready, Master”

“Be careful and stay behind me.” I said to him and looked towards the enemy again.

It was time. I pulled down my visor and I drew both of my axes from their leashes that had fastened them to my armor.

“ATTENTION!” Yelled the lieutenant. “CHARGE YOU BASTARDS!!”

The whole company moved as one body. We ran over the meadow, that had looked calm and comfortable before we had arrived. I could see the enemies archers getting ready in the distance. A few more steps. The heavy stomping on the ground. A cloud of deadly needles was released into the sky. Time to earn my place. I asked my friend for a favor and paid what he asked for. I could feel the power leave my body. I could feel how I became weaker, but I continued running and I saw how the arrows were pressed down into the ground way in front of us by a gust of wind. As if by pure accident. We continued our storm.

The enemy archers switched to fire at will. Keeping an air shield active was possible but it would take too much energy. Energy that I would need in the melee. So the arrows reached us. They impacted the innocent meadow. They impacted shields and armor. And they hit the guilty humans that were trampling through nature. Screams were added to the stomping and the heavy breathing of my comrades.

And finally we reached them. We crashed into them and rolled them down like the metal avalanche we were. I hit whatever I could get with my ax high over my head. The pressure and pushing from the people around me severely limited my freedom of movement. But also the enemies possibilities to evade my attacks. Relentless I lead my ax down on their heads time again and again.

The crowd thinned. Soon we were all trapped in mostly individual duels to the death. Hah, these poor fellas. They didn’t stood a chance against me. I zig zaged through their rows with my axes. My old companion air speeding me up or slowing me down just as needed. I was to fast for them. Or were they simply to slow? What does it matter? Blood was gushing out!

I worked myself into a rage and I didn’t even feel when someone managed to injure me. Yet, as the battle continued the injuries started to mount, as did the exhaustion. I fought on. I fought on like my life depended on it, because. Well it did! You or me. I will chose me. You can die!

As suddenly as the melee started it was over. I dropped to my knees. Dropped back into reality. Dropped out of my rage. Dropped into the horrors of war. The meadow was strewn with dead bodies and destroyed equipment. Blood was everywhere. On the ground, on the grass, on the dead, on my ax, on my armor and in my face.

I noticed that my apprentice wasn’t with me. I couldn’t remember when he had left my side. Unsteadily, I struggled to my feet. I stumbled over the field, supported by the spear that I had ripped out of the hands of an collapsed enemy soldier. He had still been alive. I slit his throat. He was maybe seventeen.

I stumbled over the field of death that was strangely calm. Only the one or other wounded that screamed on the top of his lung disturbed the silence. And then I had found him. Geurt. My apprentice. The man who became for me the son I never had. The man that I had taught everything I knew about the world, war and magic. He was laying on the ground. Almost peacefully. A bolt had penetrated his visor and entered his eye socket. Below the cracked open visor I could still see the stupid grin of his.

I woke up with tears in my eyes.