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  [Sigurd]

  Morning bloomed as bright and early as it always did in early summer. The cold chill still present but being burned up quickly by the morning sun.

  The light filtering through the curtains seemed to lash into Sigurd’s eyes, making him from a very peaceful sleep.

  He rolled over, hiding his eyes.

  Didn’t work.

  Next he tried pulling the blanket over his head.

  It seemed to work but after a few minutes he felt stuffy and hot.

  He sighed.

  There was only one option left.

  Getting up.

  It wasn’t a good option, it definitely wasn’t an option he was excited for but it was what he needed to do anyway. Knowing that sleep was pushed away, he rolled out of bed, got changed and flung the curtains open.

  It had been too dark to see last night, but the view from his window was nice. Down below he could see the private courtyard of the inn, fenced in with a nice tree and pond in the back. Lounging around there at the tables with a nice meal and cold ale would be a great evening, perhaps tonight.

  Further afield he could see the few houses between the inn and the wall and above that the rolling hills of the plains that followed the river down towards Barkamstead.

  It was that river he would be following. He followed it until it faded away into the horizon.

  Today though, today was about one thing, getting healed, relaxing and getting ready for the rest of the trip. From Littlebrook to Oar’s Rest was a two day journey, and though Barkamstead was a similar distance in a straight line, crossing both rivers to get to the front gate would extend that to a late three day trip or even early four day trip.

  Dexter would be getting a good workout for sure. Which was probably a good thing, Sigurd didn’t really use his horse when in Littlebrook, there was no need.

  Still, he hadn’t had the heart to turn away his long lived friend and the use he got when riding to Oar’s Rest was worth the cost.

  Dexter was an old horse now, 10 years he had been with Sigurd. He had been to many of the dungeons, though never inside of course, and had taken Sigurd across the country many a time.

  Sigurd, stepped back from the window, rifled through his bag to find his money, locked the room, and went downstairs.

  Thorl greeted him with a big smile.

  “Ho Sigurd, sleep well.”

  “Not too bad Thorl. Good bed, just a shame about the blasted light in my eye.” He responded in a cheerful manner.

  “Well that’s life, anything I can do for you this morning?”

  “Ha, ha, that is life. Breakfast and another day in that room if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Sure thing, that’ll run you 32 coppers please.”

  “No worries, here you go.” Sigurd replied fishing in his money pouch for the change.

  “Breakfast options are cold meat cheese and bread. Soup, today its leek and potato, or, and I think this’ll be your choice, leftovers from last night. You seemed to enjoy that. I’ll heat it up for you in a pan if that sounds good?”

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  “Yeah, let’s go with that. It was great.” Sigurd replied, already savouring the taste of last night’s meal. A good start to the day.

  Sigurd devoured the meal in no time at all, wished a good day to Thorl and set out. It was still a bit early, but he figured by the time he managed to amble over to the healers, it would be opening time.

  He was correct.

  It took a good 20 minutes for him to make it. The healers in Oar’s Rest was run by an alchemist. He crafted good healing potions and supplemented them with a few choice spells to create an effective and relatively cheap healing solution.

  Potions that could heal a person properly were expensive to create, requiring tricky and rare materials, that contained sufficient mana to do so. Spells that did the same job also required lots of mana but were hard to learn due to the complexity of the human body.

  By combining the two, you could get the self-targeting that potions seemed to possess, with the magical power of a spell such that a cheap potion to restore scrapes could suffice.

  It was a genius solution and Sigurd was thankful that Oar’s Rest had one such alchemist. If he had had to suffer for another three to four days in the saddle with a fractured rib he would have been in a much less cheery mood.

  The building itself was short and squat, just enough space for the alchemist to have a room in the back to craft potions, a small shop front to sell bandages, salves, remedies, tonics, elixirs and of course potions.

  In the front of the shop a small sign outlined the services offered that were not items you could buy.

  It would cost him one whole gold! Take back what he said about it being cheap!

  But, this far out, he understood the costs, and if it healed the pain, he was willing to pay it, if slightly begrudgingly.

  Sigurd approached the counter, looking at the man behind it. If you could picture what an alchemist might look like, the man was the epitome of that. Thin and scraggly with hair that looked like it had been blown out by some sort of failing exploding potion and a slight whiff of burning. Yep, this was a true alchemist. Slightly mad, slightly genius, all weird.

  He was wearing a purple robe with a lot of patches of discolouration and repair, presumably from that aforementioned failing exploding potion. A curly beard framed his jaw and completed the look.

  “Hi good sir, welcome to Warren’s Warehouse of Healing, how may I help you today” he said as Sigurd approached.

  “Yeah, I’m looking to get a moderate healing, I have a fractured rib, fell down you see.”

  “Of course, of course, I’m sorry that happened to you sir. A moderate healing will be 1 gold please.”

  He handed it over.

  “Come in, come in and let’s get that sorted for you, which side?”

  “Right”

  “Ok, come on back here” he said leading Sigurd through into the back room. Off to the left, there was another small room with a high raised bed.

  “Onto the bed now and lie on your left side if you would.”

  The alchemist carefully prodded him, feeling out the extent of the injury.

  “Mmm, Hmm, ah, yes…” the alchemist – Warren presumably – said. “I see, yep… ok.”

  “Right, sir, what I’m going to have you do is pull the shirt up so I can get to your rib. I’ll make a small incision pour some of this potion here,” he said pulling one out from somewhere, “into the wound to direct the healing, you can then drink the rest to get the healing medicines down you, eh.” Sigurd nodded.

  “And then, I’ll bolster that healing with some use of magics and spells from myself. Sound good?”

  “Alright” Sigurd replied, rolling up the shirt.

  The alchemist ran over to a drawer, pulled out a knife and cleansed it in a small flame he produced from a finger.

  “Now this might hurt a wee bit.”

  Sigurd nodded, clenching his teeth in preparation. It was always amazing how knowing you were getting cut was so much worse than a far greater, but unexpected, injury. He tensed up, grinding his teeth together as the blade slit into his flesh.

  The Alchemist, unstopped the potion, pouring a bit around the skin and into the cut before handing it over to Sigurd. The skin had already knit itself back together by the time Sigurd swallowed down the potion.

  The wash of mana felt like a heavy blanket had been draped round him as the alchemist’s spell took over. Sigurd could feel the magic in the potion and the magic in the spell connect to his wound, restoring him by the second.

  After a few minutes it was done.

  He sat up, rolling around his hips and arms feeling the skin stretch and relax, the muscles tighten and the breathing expanding lungs press on the rib. Perfect, no pain in the slightest.

  “Thank you, no pain at all now.”

  “My pleasure my good man, anything you need to buy from me as well?”

  “I think I’m good, I’m on my way to the capital but I’ll step back in on my way back through for sure.”

  “Lovely, I’ll be waiting,” he replied showing Sigurd to the door again.

  “Thanks” Sigurd replied, walking off with a fresh spring in his step.”

  The next task was to buy some supplies, he needed a couple days’ worth of food to take for the journey to Barkamstead, as well as a horse blanket and food for Dexter.

  From Barkamstead, he would be taking the transfer pads to the exchange and then to the capital. As such, Dexter would be waiting in Barkamstead for him to get back and he would need a nice blanket and some food to see him through a few weeks. The stables would take care of it, if required, but they always overcharged the caring costs for food and whatnot, it was a business after all.

  The general store in Oar’s Rest was small and well stocked. On the south side of the town, next to the wall it had a small courtyard in which several of the larger items were out for display. Including the horse blanket that Sigurd was looking for.

  He browsed for a while, picking up the horse blanket, and food without much trouble, getting them sent to the inn cost a few copper, however he was happy to pay it to avoid lugging it around with him. A couple items also caught his eye. There was a beautiful knife, angular with a long shiny bevel leading down to the edge. The tip was fashioned in a drop tip style with a touch of recurve enhancing the lines of the point. Sigurd was a fan of knives, weapon-smithing in general had always interested him, perhaps due to his half dwarven nature.

  He had to fight hard not to buy the knife, settling instead for the food and horse blanket. Also tempting was a nice artistic wall-mounted piece, made with twisting angular copper metal sheets that had been cut into strips to yield a tessellating pattern that he found pleasing.

  Perhaps on the way back he would buy that, and come admire the knife too, if it hadn’t sold.

  He wandered the town for the next few hours, stopping for a bite to eat at a small delicatessen near the gate.

  Oar’s Rest was small but interesting. He toured the other shops, looking and browsing to fill up his day before going back to the inn and getting another great dinner. Thorl was absent that evening, so he ate and went to his room to get some rest. Healing always took it out of a person and he felt tired to his bones. He was thankful that he had not decided to leave today, sleeping rough would not have been fun. Besides only Littlebrook knew about the dungeon so there was no rush.

  It was ten in the next morning when he set off, picking up a quick breakfast. Thorl was back then and he wished him well as he went, packing his stuff onto Dexter and leading the horse through town. It was often considered rude to ride in town, so he walked out through the gates, nodding to the guards before mounting the horse.

  “Gee-up Dexter” he said kicking his heels.