The distant sunset cast a cloud of glittering lights across the breadth of the Yulei river. Each glistening pinpoint shimmered in and out of existence as the water gently rippled through its course. Kelek sat, his knees tucked up under his chin, drinking in the gorgeous landscape from atop a grassy hill near his humble house. He had seen the view countless times over his twenty three years living in Barkroot, but it still captivated him. The small farming village had been his birthplace, and home, for the entirety of his life. However, he now had to grapple with his decision to leave his life behind and start anew. He sat in quiet contemplation, listening to the distant river steadily charge along while he thought back on the life he was walking away from. He was a single child, raised by a doting mother, and gruff farmhand father. Despite his father's protestations, Kelek never took to farm work. He would much rather spend his time exploring the countryside and indulging in his imagination. As a child he would run around windswept fields with a stick in his hand, playing at being a glorious hero and slaying fearsome beasts played by mossy boulders and the occasional hay bale. Other young boys would often be too busy with chores and work to join him in his playing, and their parents quietly judged Kelek's own for his aloof and carefree upbringing.
His mother, Gloria, nurtured his active imagination. She and Boris had attempted four times to birth a child before Kelek finally held fast in the womb. She had more love for him than any other mother in the village could possibly muster for their children. Boris' affections were more tempered. He had hoped to raise Kelek to be a reliable and respectable farm hand, as was his family's tradition. However, Kelek's strengths never lied in physical labor. His temperament was simply not suited for the work. Not ten minutes after seeding a field, Kelek would be lost in his mind, concocting epic tales of intrigue and mysticism; the likes of which could never possibly occur in a lowly village like Barkroot. It wouldn't take long before he would be lying in the field focused on nothing but the ephemeral theatre in his mind. Boris would never go beyond lightly chastising him though. Despite his reserved mien, Boris was eternally grateful that he had a son. There were those in the village with similar luck that the farm couple had, and no heirs to replace them as age claimed its toll. Even if Kelek would never carry on the farm, Boris had hoped that he might sell it, and use the investment to carry on a life that would make him happy.
Boris' hopes had been dashed. Upon his twenty-third birthday, Kelek had announced to his parents that he would be applying for the Brandt Adventurer's Guild.
"Have you taken leave of your wits, boy?!" His father protested.
"I have done nothing but support you your entire life. I know who you are, and I love you son. I do not expect you to follow in my, nor my father's footsteps. But you must listen to reason! There must be dozens of far more qualified mercenaries willing to throw their lives to some godsforsaken beast in the name of glory, you need not count yourself among them."
"Your father is right dear." Gloria chimed, her worry was plain upon her face.
The Brandt guild had a reputation for daring and dangerous missions that would send anyone who had the will into unknown territory, often filled with frighteningly gruesome monsters.
"I understand your desire to break away from the village and explore the world, but please, don't do anything so rash. There are plenty of safer options, y-you could be a merchant! Yes, a merchant! You've the charm and charisma for it, why you could sell rotten meat to Barthael himself and h-"
"I've made up my mind." Kelek interrupted with a sense of finality.
He stood with uncanny resolution. The young man had always carried a meek appearance. His dark brown hair wistfully breezed away from his head, his bangs coming to a small point jutting out and away from his forehead. His jaw was distinct and strong, and he had a signature smirk that the milkmaids of Barkroot had come to grow fond of. His mother had not lied, he was indeed charming. The time taken off from labor had afforded him ample opportunity to practice the trade of persuasion. He would spend weeks wooing the most obstinate of bachelorettes, just to prove to himself that he could win them over. Once they had fawned, Kelek quickly lost interest and moved to his next quarry; a practice which infuriated many a farming father. Kelek held himself much like a nobleman. His attire was never too opulent, his family had little money after all, but he would try his best to ensure that he was the most well dressed man in the village. Many of his male peers jeered at his wardrobe. It wasn't the sort of thing a respectable man of labor would ever wear. Kelek had a fondness for the color purple. He had crafted a lavender dye from berries and weeds that grew along the nearby Yulei river. He treated his leather tunics with it, until they carried the ostentatious hue such that no person could possibly mistake him for anyone else, even at a distance. He took up sewing as another pastime, so that he could finely detail his clothes to his liking. Many of his shirts were adorned with gold colored leaflets of dyed string woven into fanciful patterns along his shoulders and chest. He kept his shoes well polished and free of dirt, and wore a necklace he had fashioned himself out of smooth stones he had strung together. He had hoped that given enough polish, he might be able to pass them off as pearls. His clothing seemed to jump out at him even more as he looked down, partly in shame and partly in frustration with his parents arguing across from him in their living room. He was different. He was not cut out for this life, and he has done everything he could to make that clear.
"I've made up my mind" He said again.
"The new guild hall just got finished in Tynemouth. I won't be more than a days travel away, I'll come visit often!" Kelek's parents stood, shoulders tense as he pleaded his case.
"I'm a grown man anyway, you can't treat me as a child forever, I should be able to live my life as I desire. Let's be honest, I'm more cut out for the life of an adventurer than some farmhand, and I have no interest in hawking wares and ferrying supplies over beaten roads."
His words were earnest, and his mother could sense it. She knew convincing him to be a trader would be a fool's errand, but she wanted desperately to keep him from endangering the life that she tried so hard to foster.
"And what makes you think you'd fare better as some wandering sellsword, eh!?" Shouted Boris, his anger caught both Kelek and Gloria by surprise.
"You couldn't lift a scythe to a cornstalk, and you expect to be able to drive a sword into some lizardman's hide? Beh!"
Boris threw his hands at Kelek in a dismissive fashion and took a seat at the dinner table standing against the far wall. As he sat and fumbled in his shirt pocket for his pipe he added "Tynemouth is only two days from Vencollis, proper city like that is bound to have much more suitable warriors, and wizards besides. You'll get turned down the second they catch your scrawny hide walking through the door."
Boris mumbled vague curses into his pipe as he set it alight using the already lit candle in the center of the table. Kelek smirked as he laid eyes on his father's pipe. He leisurely lifted his arm and flicked his wrist toward with a flourish. A chill gust suddenly washed over Boris' face, and extinguished his pipe.
"What are you playing at, boy?" Boris spat out through gritted teeth, anger mounting in his eyes.
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"You mean to tell me my son is some spell weaver?" He rose to his feet with startling quickness. "Tell me true, boy. Have you been meddling around with that evil blaspheme?"
Boris held a view common to many of the villagers in Barkroot. Though magic was by no means unheard of, it was a rarity in the humble village. Little of its nature was comprehended by the locals. Many of them were superstitious, if not outright religious, praying to gods such as Hespora to bless their crops that they might have a good harvest. They would lay out offerings of fruit and vegetables in woven baskets at a small shrine in the nearby forest before each growing season. Villagers that didn't were often shunned in the past, so over time it became a custom observed by nearly all inhabitants out of tradition. Along with this tradition came various small rituals meant to ward off bad luck or illness. If a black cat ran in front of someone on the road, they would beat their fist against their chest three times and hold their breath as they walked past where the cat crossed. They also had a curious habit of hanging a single onion attached to a string in front of their doorways, as it was said to ward off evil spirits from invading the home and giving children the plague. Chief among these superstitions was a fear and distrust of magic. Wandering traders would stop in Barkroot thrice per year to stock up on food for their journeys. At least one of these caravans would invariably harbor a magician of some sort. The citizens of Barkroot were wary of their power. When Boris was a child, he had witnessed a travelling sorcerer attempting to entertain a group of small children from the back of his wagon. The sorcerer had conjured up a ring of golden flame that he twirled around his arm, accelerating its spin as it threw off incandescent sparks. One of these errant sparks had been flung further than the sorcerer had expected, and found purchase in a pile of dry straw alongside a farmer's house. A panic had erupted as the conflagration claimed the stockpile in seconds, the sorcerer frantic and apologizing before he could extinguish the blaze with a conjured deluge of water. It had taken that single moment to earn the scorn of every villager. The fact that months of toil and effort could be obliterated with a single snap of the finger was viewed as devilry. Villagers would refuse to treat with those who openly used magic. It didn't take long for the roving traders to abide by their rules, and travelers that were abnormally quiet were assumed to be magicians, letting their more mundane travelling companions handle the bartering.
“Come now, that was just a harmless little trick, you don’t need to get so defensive, father.” As Kelek lifted his hands in a reassuring motion, he could see a hint of fear in Boris’ eyes. Though he didn’t show it, seeing his normally resolute father fear his sudden display of power gave Kelek a rush of pride and excitement.
“HARMLESS?!” Boris roared. “You could kill a man messing around with that evil witchcraft! How long have you been dealing in this filth?”
Kelek began to speak, but his words caught in his throat. Just how long HAD I been able to do this? He thought to himself. He had first become cognizant of his magic ability three weeks prior to his birthday. He had been weeding the vegetable patch behind the house, lost in thought, when an overturned rock revealed a coiled snake protecting her brood. Kelek scarcely had time to identify the animal before it lunged out with a desperate bite. Though the snake appeared to be non-venomous, the two gashes left in Kelek’s ankle inflicted a great deal of pain. He let out a whispered curse as he rolled down his sock that was quickly blushing with a light cloud of crimson. As he covered the wound with his hand to prevent the blood from needlessly spilling out, Kelek felt a surge of warmth. He brushed it off as part of his body’s reaction to the attack, but as he lifted his palm, he was shocked to find that the scarlet pinpricks had completely vanished. The only evidence of the incident were the small bloody smears that stained his sock.
His heart racing at the thought that he could be a spellcaster, Kelek quickly tested the limits of his newfound ability. Eyeing the rake that he dropped after the bite, he held out his hand and willed it to leap into his grasp. He stood there, tensing his arm and undulating his fingers for two minutes before abandoning the attempt. He hadn’t thought the task to be anything too arduous or beyond his ability, but he was still unsure if it would be possible. His hesitation was not present in his following attempt.
I already did it once, and I wasn’t even trying. He thought to himself as he proceeded to bite a small gash into the side of his left index finger. A light bruise appeared, and the faintest trickle of blood began to seep from the half-hearted wound. Kelek focused his thoughts, closed his eyes, and eclosed his finger in his right palm. To his delight, Kelek felt that surge of warmth yet again. In an attempt to see the magic- his magic- in action, he removed his hand immediately after the sensation began. He observed the darkened mark on his finger glow dimly and the broken skin stitch itself together. The small strings of flesh criss crossed over the bitten chasm until a perfect continuous shell of flesh replaced his wound.
Kelek thought back to his experience in the garden as his father stood near the table, staring daggers of both anger and fear deep into Kelek’s face.
“Just under a month ago,” Kelek started “In the vegetable patch. A snake bit me. I was able to mend myself with nothing but my hands. Honestly I’m not too sure how or why I’m able to, but I’ve been practicing ever since! Just two days ago I found out I can heat and cool things!”
Though he tried to hide it, Kelek’s excitement at sharing his secret shone through in his voice. His father was not amused.
“It isn’t all bad. The most impressive thing so far has been my ability to heal wounds. Hell, I could stitch up a cut from an axe in seconds! I don’t need a physic or any poultices, I can just lay my hand o-”
“ENOUGH!” Boris interjected. “I don’t care if you could regrow an arm, I will not stand to have that unnatural devil-work under my roof, blood be damned!”
“Boris, how could you?” Gloria turned to her husband and balked “He is our son!”
“My son may not be a farmer, I’ve come to terms with that. I’ve come to terms with the fact that he may not even sire me any grandchildren, aloof as he is.”
Boris stepped toward Kelek and stopped less than a foot from his face, then said in a near whisper directly toward him
“But I will not abide by some Ether wielding fiend consorter. As far as I’m concerned, I have no son.”
Gloria let out a cry and struck Boris along his broad back, though her blows were like raindrops splattering across a roof. Boris paid her no heed, and turned to climb the stairs to their bedroom, leaving Kelek standing in the living room. Gloria turned to face him with tears in her eyes.
“Why couldn’t you just keep quiet about something like that? Surely you knew how he would react.” She wiped her face and continued to whimper.
“I’ll try to calm him down, but I think it would be best if you stayed out of the house tonight. I love you dear, but please, for everyone’s sake just put this foolish magical trickery behind you. It isn’t normal.” Before Kelek could respond Gloria hurried up the stairs to join her husband. A single tear began to well in Kelek’s left eye, but he composed himself before it fell. His mother had spoken true. He knew full well how much his father feared and loathed magic, more so than most of the villagers. But he had to show him his abilities. As far as he knew, Kelek was the only resident of Barkroot to carry any semblance of magical adroitness. Eager to be free of the tension that still pervaded the room, Kelek turned and left his family home.
The sun had fallen low into the distance, and barely peeked over the distant Berestra mountains. Kelek paced away from the woods until he came to a grassy hill that had become a favorite spot to observe the sunsets. Sitting upon the grass, Kelek breathed in the crisp evening air that blew in from the valley. It carried a pleasing scent after passing over the immaculate waters of Yulei river, further down the valley.
It’ll take some time. He thought to himself. But they’ll come around, I’m sure. They’re just simple farmers. They can’t comprehend the potential of magic like this. Once I get to Tynemouth and join the guild, I’ll be able to practice under a real sorcerer, and show them just what I’m capable of. They’ll respect me then. Everyone will respect me then. My name is going to be written about by bards for generations! I am going to become the most powerful wizard in existence! I’ll weave magic that’ll change the very foundation of Panpatriam!
Kelek laid back and let his mind race with grand plans as the evening twilight began to dwindle and the sun disappeared under the horizon.
They just don’t see the potential yet.