ArtStation - Farmhouse Interior, Gustine Salomon | Fantasy treehouse, Interior concept art, Adventure art [https://i.pinimg.com/736x/1c/c7/af/1cc7afa0eb4166f1758e7a361e58cb2b.jpg]
https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/300333868907523320/
Bumping up and down on his horse as he rode for several more hours, Walter was beginning to understand why his father hated riding. His backside bruised, his inner thighs sore, and his spine covered in sweat, he eventually reached a grassy knoll and peered down at the dip in the valley.
Appearing much like a dark cloud off in the distance, the Forest of Blackwing was immense and stretched for many thousands of miles, while between them was a lush greenery, wildlife, and to the north-east a stream.
Half wondering if he should take this opportunity to rest for the night, Walter gazed up at the darkening sky and tried to remember the map he had seen his father pull out. Used as a way to illustrate the dangers of the world, his father would go into colorful detail as he described the different monsters, creatures, and devil worshippers that haunted the world.
Feeling a little nervous as he remembered one particular tale where ten foot tall giants ate a little boy alive, he nudged High Star into a swift trot, and headed towards the stream. If it was right, it should take him right to the edges of the forest. Hearing the burble of water as he drew near, he dropped down out of his saddle to scoop some water into his hands.
Splashing the refreshing cold water onto his face, he drank a few scoops, and felt High Star nudged him aside to get his fill as well.
Half chuckling a little as he patted the horse’s side, Walter decided adventuring was not so bad. Perhaps in time he would get used to having his backside beaten black and blue.
Giving the horse another pat on the neck, he clambered back into the saddle, and followed the stream north. Listening to the clip clopping of hooves as his mind began to wander, he thought about his home, and his father.
Not an especially talkative man, his father would spend most of his days in the smithy working on nails, horse shoes, and sometimes even swords. While his mother on the other hand, tended to her flock of chickens, a vegetable patch, and the laundry. They were to his mind an odd pairing with his mother chattering away most of the day, and his father listening with stolid patience he rarely reserved for anyone else. But whether he understood why his mother had married him or not, he did know that they worked really well together. Sometimes acting in concert with one another without ever having to really speak a word.
Which made life with them all the more intolerable. He had hoped for excitement in his life, a bit of adventure, and the opportunity to see the world. And yet every time he broached the subject of visiting another village, his father would get this look in his eyes, a look that only his mother understood as she would hush him to silence.
And now that he was away from them, finally living his dream, he had to admit he much preferred the quiet life. True, this land was beautiful, and he had felt satisfaction at saving that poor woman’s life, but this was not the story that he wished to live. He wanted something more, something even he didn’t quite understand. Either way, he was determined to go back home, beg his fathers forgiveness, and try working in the forge again.
With that thought uppermost in his mind, he was startled to realize that darkness had fallen in around him. Gazing up at the heavens that were now dotted with stars, he wondered how long he had been in the saddle, when he espied a farmstead on the other side of the stream. Which, if memory served him correctly, was Hycal’s farm.
Supposedly left abandoned many years ago, his father had once told him Hycal, a wealthy landowner as well as former soldier, had been living there with his family before he was dragged off in the night by a cannibalistic cult of elves. Strung up in a tree where he was later found that day, it was said his screams could be heard for many miles. A worrisome if terrifying notion, but not one enough to deter Walter as he urged High Star across the stream, and towards the farmhouse.
Illuminated by the moonlight as he entered a grove of trees, he was surprised to find that the fence that surrounded Hycal’s land was in good shape. Which was curious, however it was the newly thatched roof, and smoke coming out of the chimney that brought him to a sudden halt.
Studying the trees around him uneasily, Walter wondered if someone else had taken shelter here, when he felt the sharp press of cold steel against his hip. The gnarled voice that spoke up from behind him, hard as a tree root. “What are you doing here, boy?!”
Hands lifted up instinctively in fear, Walter slowly turned in the saddle to see a spear digging into ribs. Blood draining from his face at the mere sight of it, he followed the shaft down to see a short stout old man with a scruffy gray beard, and hard green eyes glinting up at him.
Mouth dry as he tried to speak, he managed to squeak out, “Apologies, sir, I did not mean to intrude. I thought Hycal’s Farmhouse was abandoned and wanted to rest for the night.”
Green eyes blinking up at him in surprise, the old man grunted, “You aren't by no chance kin to Grimwald?”
Trying to not let out a whimper of pain as he felt the steel draw a little blood, Walter replied hastily, “Grimwald is my father?”
With a look of astonishment passing across the man’s sun-weathered face, the old farmer withdrew his spear back and scowled, “what in the blasted hells are you doing out here, boy? I thought your old man had better sense than this.” He then gestured at Walter to follow him. “Come on then, but don’t expect to be fed. I don’t have much and what I have left will go to pigs. They’ll be sold off at the market come this winter.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Tugging at High Star’s reins as he spoke over his shoulder, the old man set off at a leisurely pace towards the farmhouse, while Walter, still in a state of shock, asked, “Who are you? And how do you know my father?”
Chuckling darkly in response as the old man led the horse up a dirt trail that was barely visible in the moonlight, he eventually replied, “You already know my name, boy. It’s Hycal, and as for your father. Blast the saints if I know why he didn’t tell you about me.”
“But you're dead?! Pa, said you got killed by elves.” The words had no sooner fell out of his mouth, when Hycal threw back his head and began to laugh.“Mayhaps that's what your father wanted, but I’m still very much alive. No thanks to him perhaps, but still very much alive.”
Shoving open the paddock gate, Hycal drew High Star inside the wire fence and snapped the gate shut behind.
Looking up at the two storey building that dominated much of his view, Walter was surprised to find that the timber farmhouse was covered in strange green vines that had not been there before. Growing up out of the ground like immense weeds that curled up around the house, Walter for the life of him couldn’t understand how he had not noticed them before. A question that seemed to have no answer when he saw Hycal turn back with a twinkle in his eyes, and mouth crooked in a grin. “A bit of old magic.”
The words no sooner had left the old man’s lips when Walter leaped off the back of the horse, sprained his foot in the stirrup, before he grabbed the rifle at his back. “By the saints! And all our holy ancestors, you're a mage?! An abomination of Preternia!”
Half laughing again as Hycal patted the startled horse around the neck, the old wizard replied, “Is that what they’re calling my kind now? Abominations?”
Panting heavily as he raised the barrel towards the man’s chest, Walter could feel his heart pounding, his body a nervous wreck as he sputtered, “Stay back! Or I will kill you!”
To which the old mage simply smiled. “Aaah the sweet taste of ignorance. I had forgotten what that was like, but then I suppose that you must have inherited that noble trait from your father. Put that rifle down, son, before you get yourself hurt.”
Mind numb as he tried to come to grips with what was happening before him, Walter snapped back, “Don’t you talk about my father! And I’m not your son! It's your kind that brought the monsters, the black plague, and famine.”
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully at that, Hycal replied with a toothy grin, “My, I have been busy haven’t I? What else have I done? It's hard to get news out here sometimes, and it seems you are the first traveler to cross my path in years. So tell me, son, is the Empire of Preternia still at war with the Republics.”
Fingers clenching and unclenching around the rifle barrel, Walter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had a weapon pointed at the man and he wanted to gossip about the latest news in the world. What kind of monster was he?
Mouth dry as he held the weapon tighter, he wondered if he should fire a warning shot to scare him away. But by the bored look in the old man’s expression, Walter began to second guess himself. What if that is exactly what the old mage wanted him to do? What if he was already under the wizard’s dark influence? Or worse, what if he was already dead?
Head shaking from side to side at the absurdity of it, he finally replied, “What do you want from me?” But if it was in answer to his question or simply out of boredom the old man turned away, picked up High Star’s reins, and continued walking towards the farmhouse.
Mouth gaping as he stared after him, Walter tried hard to think about what to do next, when the old man called out over his shoulder. “Are you going to stay out here all night? Or do you want to come inside and talk like civilized folk? Unless, you don’t consider yourself to be civilized?” The man finished with a smirk over his shoulder, before he tied High Star’s reins to a post, and stepped inside.
Still half in disbelief at what was happening, Walter wrung his hands in frustration, a part of him remembering every gruesome detail his father had told him. But as the moon began to wax brighter in the sky and rain began to sprinkle down, he couldn’t help but edge his way forward.
Near enough now that he could peek his head in, Walter looked in through the open doorway, and felt the air escape his lungs. The fireplace that roared in front of him, had tiny creatures dancing in the flames, while arranged along the mantelpiece above were portraits so real he thought they had to be other worlds. But ones he had never seen before. But perhaps the most disconcerting of this all was Hycal seated in a high backed chair made from the skull of a dragon calmly sipping tea as he waited. “Ahhh, so you’ve finally grown a backbone have you? Glad to see it, boy. Now come over here and have a seat.”
Waving his hand to another arm chair, Walter stared into the dead eyes of a bear, and wondered if he had just made a terrible mistake. Saints, he was probably going to be eaten alive by this demonspawn. But as he crossed the carpeted floors that seemed to be made from white feathers, Walter knew his curiosity had gotten the better of him. What’s more, as he gaped around at the dozens of shelves that adorned the room, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of wonder. How could any man afford such wealth? The only men he knew of that owned any books were the village mayor and the constable.
His arms now resting uncomfortably on the paws of the dead beast, Walter felt himself sink into the chair, and a part of himself began to relax.
Once seated across from him, Hycal smiled, and held out a mug full of dark brown liquid.
His wits stretched at any number of possibilities, Walter took the pewter cup from him, and gazed down at the swishing pool of darkness. What if the drink was poisoned? What if it was a trick to destroy his mind? His father had been adamant that no sorcerers or their ilk could be trusted. But as he sniffed the dark brown liquid, he thought he detected hints of cinnamon, coconut, and purpleberry. And whether it was thirst from traveling most of the day, Walter brought the cup up to his lips, and took a tentative sip. The burst of flavors that showered his tongue caused him to groan aloud as Hycal grinned.
Having never tasted anything so delicious, Walter swallowed another gulp, and felt the exhaustion leave his body. “What is this?”
Green eyes dancing in delight at his enjoyment, Hycal replied, “It's a little concoction of mine. I have been tinkering with it for a few years now, it will take care of your saddle sores and heal any wounds. Now it's time for you to tell me what you are doing out here. Don’t you know these woods are dangerous at the best of times.”
Still unwilling to let his guard down, Walter peered around at his surroundings. “I’m on quest for Lord Huxelberry.”