Exiled.

Exiled.

Exiled.

"Exiled." Josiah spoke through gritted teeth, barely containing his anger and irritation.

Exiled. And for what? For trying to make their lives better? For trying to keep them safe? For trying to keep the bread their children eat free of mold and mites? To keep the cold out of their homes? Their clothing intact? Themselves free of disease so GOOD PEOPLE DON'T DIE AND LEAVE THEIR CHILDREN ORPHANED AND STARVING AND DEVOID OF HOPE?

He took a deep breath.

No, that wasn't it. They simply didn't know better. They were superstitious, scared of things they do not know about, things they don't understand.

While they may have exiled him, they were his people. He couldn't stand to be mad at them. They were unknowing and unwilling to learn, but one day he could come back and show them. He would show all of them.

He still remembered the faces of his friends. Distraught and disbelieving of what they were seeing. Good 'ole Josiah? A Wizard? Nonsense!

But he was exiled nonetheless. They saw him walk out the gates of their home. Down and away until they no longer saw him, and he no longer saw them either.

The wind blew, ruffling the leaves and ferns. He would have shivered if he wasn't wearing his bundles of cloth, looking more like a walking rag than a man.

Thank Thath that they at least let him get ready before he was forced to leave.

He glanced behind himself sheepishly.

Nothing. Nothing but the path and The Woods.

He conjured a small speck of light, big enough to light his hand but nothing else in this dark night.

Nothing but a mild comfort.

'Don't worry, Josiah,' he thought to himself, 'you're a Wizard. A Wizard! Any foul beasts that come upon you could easily be burnt to a crisp! Easily! You've conjured fire once, you could do it again.'

His lips tightened.

'Hopefully.'

He kicked a stone.

He kicked it again.

Again.

Again.

Again...

An owl hooted. He flinched.

He imagined what could be behind the brush. Just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Wolves gorging on his flesh. Spirits tormenting him and devouring his soul. Mad folk sticking thorns into his skin. Bone Faeries gnawing on his spine.

The Exile shook his head, as if to get the bad thoughts out.

He had no idea what to do. His best hope was to stumble onto another village and hope they let him in, either without question or believing his lies.

'But what about after that? What about your magic? Your studies? You can't start learning once more in another village, they would find out quickly! That's assuming you even find one! You've never even heard about how close the nearest one is, never!'

He groaned and rubbed his face.

He was tired. It was pitch black out.

Fall had just begun as well, what was he supposed to do about that then? He doubted he had enough gold to buy a room at an inn. When snow starts to fall, his pathetic excuse for proper clothing wouldn't hold up in the slightest to the biting cold of winter.

The pines loomed ever taller, as if judging him.

He swirled the crumb of light in his hand, willing it to fly and dance.

He would have made it larger if he hadn't feared something noticing him. Whatever was out here would take the chance to devour him. He doubted he had the slightest chance against anything larger than a fox.

He gripped his knife tighter.

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Every stick, pine needle, and twig made he stepped on made him cringe with anticipation, making him fear the worst every time, but each time was only met with silence.

Silence.

Silence.

"It's too quiet." He mumbled.

He spun around, looking at every direction he could until he almost made himself dizzy.

The Woods were quiet most of the time, but this just felt unnatural. There would be the sounds of crickets and the croaking of a frog every now and then, but now?

Nothing.

'This isn't good.' he knew, 'Silence is bad, very bad.'

He looked to the ferns and trees, barely even able to see at all.

'Something's here, I know it.'

He strained his eyes, trying his best to notice anything, anything at all.

A shape.

Barely perceptible, he saw a shape, a lump sitting just by a broken log.

Josiah's heart pumped, muscles stiffened and tight with fear.

'What to do, what do I do?'

He thought up a plan, a quick and poor one, but it was the best he could do.

His legs tightened slightly, ready to act.

The shape moved, just the slightest bit.

The pinprick of light flashed, growing bigger and brighter in an instant, no doubt surprising whatever thing was there.

And what a thing it was.

What he saw was a foul being, matted fur and milky white eyes. It had the body of a wild dog but crouched like a man. In its poor imitation of hands was what could only be described as the rusted corpse of a pitchfork.

Its teeth jutting out in places it shouldn't, claws that could rend flesh, an appearance only the mentally ill and disturbed could possibly create.

It shrieked, like nails on a chalk board.

Josiah turn and ran into the treeline, leaving the path behind him.

He could hear it behind him, the patter of its feet and snarls through its lips.

Josiah held his light in front of him and kept facing forward, trying not to run into anything as best he could.

After only moments, he started to hear more.

Giggling.

It came from the thing behind him, just barely trying to keep up. It came from his left, his right, he could even swear he heard it above him at one point.

He kept breathing, panting, just barely keeping tears at bay.

'Is this it?' He thought, 'Is this where I die? Not even a day out into the world, devoured and torn apart by savage beasts?'

No, no, it couldn't be!

He looked behind himself for only a moment, feeling the mana in his hands begin to churn and spin. He grind-ed and vibrated it with an incredible intensity, trying to replicate the same spell that got himself caught by the marshals.

Heat flowed, and then finally.

Fire.

He threw the ball of flame behind himself, and to his surprise he hit the dog-man thing dead on, right in its face where it just reached his waist.

It screamed. Josiah's ears throbbed intensely, but the beast was now groveling on the ground, trying to rid the flames from its face, but it was no use as it slowed and halted in its death throes as the Wizard ran farther and farther.

Josiah wanted to stop, he was tired and felt like he could drop at any moment. But he couldn't, he still heard the maddened giggling around him.

He conjured another ball of flames, and willed his orb of light to show him his next target to his left.

This one was just the same as the other, it darted through trees trying to get him but never quite reaching him.

Hold.

Hold.

NOW!

He threw the spell and hit its leg, charred flesh sizzled and popped.

It croaked an ugly cry and tripped, whether it was from the fire or a root Josiah didn't know.

To his right, the other beast cackled and closed in on him, ready to pierce his side at any second.

He hastily readied a fireball, but the thing threw itself at him, pitchfork in its hands.

He slammed his hand into its disgusting face, just narrowly dodging its poorly wielded weapon, but horribly burning his hand in the process.

It dropped and screamed like the other.

Josiah yelled, cradling his charred hand to his chest,

"AGH-SHIT!" He cried.

He couldn't hear anything else around him, but he kept running, unwilling to see if there was anything around.

How long has he been running? His legs felt like lead and his lungs like burning coals. He was getting tired. He felt like he would pass out any minute. No, he would pass out any minute.

He had to stop, but he just couldn't, he couldn't take the chance.

He looked behind himself.

The next moment he felt himself slam into something hard and cold.

He fell to the ground, the impact exacerbating his injury.

After a moment's rest he got up and groaned, looking at what he ran into and was surprised at what he saw.

A tower. A massive gray stone tower with a red cone cap at its peak. Each brick looked to be placed with purpose and care.

"What?" Josiah spoke, unsure of what to do for the moment.

He gathered himself and moved. Perhaps if he could find the door, he could knock and ask if he could stay? It was quite the tower, he was sure there would be plenty of space.

'But what madman would have a tower in the middle of The Woods?'

He stood still.

Yes, who would live in the middle of The Woods? No one sane, that was for sure, but something tickled the back of his mind, and he reminded something important.

'The only people who lived in The Woods were mad men,'

His eyes widened,

'and Wizards!'

He rushed to find the door, and came upon it moments later.

He rapped upon the door.

"Hello!" he shouted, "Anyone there? I'm injured and need a place to stay! I have gold!"

He waited.

Nothing.

"Hello!?" he tried once more.

Nothing.

The moment he tried to start again, he heard cackling in the distance.

He couldn't fight again, he simply didn't have the energy.

"Hello!? Please for the love of Thath there's something out here! Please, please let me in!"

Nothing.

Cackling.

He tried to open the door, but it was locked shut.

He slammed on the door, kicking, punching and ramming with his shoulder. Until finally the door gave way.

He rushed into the tower and closed the door, with the lock broken he brought the closest thing he could use to keep it closed, a sofa, and kept it against the door, making a barricade.

It was dark inside, he barely had enough energy in him to keep his light above a dim whisper.

He sat upon the floor and curled into himself.

Tired.

So, so tired.