The Winds of the North

5

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Jason walked down the path from Aaron's house, his thoughts already planning out what supplies he would need in the coming days. Lost in his thoughts, head down, he wandered until the soles of his deer hide shoes sunk into the soft mud of the riverbank, the place where Malcolm had originally found him. Looking around, he could see no trace of the struggles he so vividly remembered remained. Long grass flowed in the breeze, and a part of Jason broke in that moment. Sarah was gone, and would never be back again. What might have occurred between the two would now no longer come to fruition, and the thoughts of lost friends and futures accompanied him on that riverbank until the sun had begun to set.

"Jason."

A deep gravelly voice sounded behind him. He turned, surfacing from the deep well of emotions that had come with being in the place Sarah had died. Denn Collins loomed over him, the setting sun casting long shadows across the clearing and leading a certain mood to Denn's scowling face.

"Denn. It's good to see you. I…"

He didn't know how to continue, never in his life had he experienced any situations like this.

"It's okay lad, you don't need to say anything. I know how much you cared about Sarah. Sometimes there's just not words to express from here-" He tapped on his head, "-for what you're feeling in here." He tapped his broad chest. Sitting down next to Jason, they both were silent for a moment before Jason spoke.

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Where're you going?" Denn was slow to speak, almost contemplative.

"I'm going to go to the capital, find Malcolm, and make him pay for all that he's done to Sarah and this town."

Denn sat quietly for a moment, and then slowly nodded his head and gave an affirmative grunt.

"You approve? You don't think I'm crazy to try and do this?" Jason was incredulous.

"Don't act so surprised boy, she was my daughter after all. I think you're absolutely mad to try it, but I have to say I'm impressed by your courage. If you're really going to do this, stop by my smithy one last time before you leave, I'll try to aid you as best I can. If my wife didn't need me right now, hell I'd probably go with you."

He rose, and started to walk before pausing for a moment.

"Oh and Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"Go tell Crall before you leave. He'd be devastated if you left without saying goodbye. No need to worry about his well being, I'll take him in and feed him myself."

Tears came to Jason's eyes, a huge relief and burden taken off his shoulders. He had been secretly worried he wouldn't be able to leave, simply for the fact that Crall depended on him to survive on a day to day basis in doing labor and hunting. The thought of possibly never seeing the man who had become his father was honestly terrifying. He had been there for Jason his entire life, and he would agonize leaving him even though it was necessary.

"Thank you Denn. If I make it out of this alive I won't forget this."

"Remember to come by my smithy tomorrow before you leave, goodnight lad." Denn walked off into the distance, hands in his large leather aprons' pockets, whistling to himself in the cool night air.

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Jason pushed on the front door of his house, the old wood grain a familiar sense to his hands. He walked into the house, the only one he had known since childhood, and took in the familiar sights. On his right, the rickety old oak dining table he had put together himself after the old one had broken. Around it sat three chairs, mostly just for show but for the occasional guest such as Willem Tanner. In the back corner his fur bedroll lay on the hard packed earth, one of few possessions to his name. On his left, the cracked mud-brick hearth sat, its' bottom full of softly glowing coals and the one metal pan in the house sat beside it. Finally, his view came to land on the old wicker chair that Crall seemed to inhabit as the one comfortable place he could be without pain from his leg. His father stared back at him, eyes full of emotion, neither one quite sure what to say. Crall finally broke the silence.

"You're finally awake. I'm so glad you're okay. Has anyone…has anyone told you about, well…"

"I've heard about Sarah dad. I have something I need to tell you, it's because of what happened to her."

His father waited patiently, while he struggled to find the right words to justify what he was going to go do.

" I'm leaving tomorrow morning, at first light so I can track down Malcolm. I have to pay him back for this, I can't trust the royals to serve him a just punishment like he deserves." His father still stared, silent as the night outside.

"Dad, I have to do this. I know it'll be tough here without me but Denn said he would take care of you while I'm gone. I know it sounds crazy bu-"

Crall cut him off with the raising of his hand, palm still wrapped firmly around his spruce cane.

"Come here Jason."

Jason moved closer to his father, nervousness sending a slight nausea through his body as he waited for the next words to leave Crall's lips. He was surprised however, when Crall suddenly stood up, and wrapped his arms around Jason's torso, relying on his son's strength and balance to keep him from falling. Head close to Jason's shoulder, Crall whispered into his ear, but with a tone of both love and concern in it.

"I don't want you to leave, and I don't approve of this path of revenge that you want to take. That being said you're a man in your own right at this point, and I know nothing I say can stop you from taking this course. The only thing I can do is say how proud I am to have been able to take you into my life, and see the man you've become. If you ever need anything at all, just come home, and I'll be waiting for you with open arms."

The two stood there, embraced for a few moments before Crall finally broke away.

"There's one other thing, the day I found you, you remember how I said you had been with a couple who had died?" Jason nodded " I took some of their possessions before I buried them. I've been saving them ever since I found you, as they're not rightfully mine to sell and I thought they could be of help when you're in a bit of a pinch with money."

He turned and shuffled over by the hearth, pulling out a piece of brick seemingly at random which revealed a small cavity which contained a dusty wooden container, stained dark and cracked from age and so many years spent near the heat of the firepit. Crall pulled the box out, and dusted it off on his hide pant-leg, then offered it out towards Jason palm up.

"Go on now, look inside."

Jason hesitantly plucked the box from Crall's hand. Although he knew his true parents had died when he was just but a babe, he had never thought he needed to ask who they had been or what they had been like besides the story of his finding that Crall had recounted to him a multitude of times. In his eyes, Crall had always been his father and that was enough for him. Now, with the box of his dead parents possessions literally sitting in the palm of his hand, he grew anxious and curious to see if these items would shed more light on his ancestry.

Jason lifted the simple wooden cover off the box, looking down into the container to see its' contents. Inside were three rings, each of them completely different from the others and unique. The first ring was made of some blackened substance, the color and texture similar to some river stones Jason used to find as a child, worn smooth and cold to the touch. In the center of the ring, was a small, almost unnoticeable dark grey crystal or gem. It looked tarnished, and a crack ran through the left side of the gem. The second ring was almost the complete opposite of the one before it. Where the first ring had been dull and simple, the second ring was made of beautifully polished silver, its' entire surface covered in thousands of small marks and ridges to give it the appearance of a rose bush in bloom. Each of the flowers carved out onto the silver had just the slightest tint of red, and when turning the ring, the colors seemed to flow, giving Jason the impression that the rosebush was moving with his hand. The third ring was the strangest of all though. It was a deep green color, the same shade as the spruce needles seen so often in the far north. It's surface was coarse and rough like the old oak door to his house, yet warm to the touch, as if heated from within. The rings were the most breathtaking objects he had ever seen growing up in the small village of Helsdam.

"They're so beautiful, Da' I….Why didn't you ever sell them? They could've paid for food or supplies I'm sure they're worth something from what they look like."

"They weren't mine to sell Jason. After I injured my leg-" he tapped his cane on the floor, " I couldn't make any money to save for you once you eventually wanted to move out, whether that be just to another house in the village or to the city. These rings are the only thing I can give you, and they belong rightfully to you. Enough of the debating. You have a long journey and day ahead of you tomorrow, best get some sleep before the sun rises." Crall turned and shuffled back to his chair, sinking into it with a sigh.

"Goodnight Da'"

"Goodnight son."

Jason went over to the corner, and slid into his bedroll, the familiar musky scent of the fur lulling him to sleep along with the warmth of the hearth.

It was black as pitch outside, no stars shone in the sky and the freezing wind tore through the open clearing with wild abandon. Screams of pain could be heard in the distance, drifting on the wind, from what seemed like every direction he turned. A sense of wrongness pervaded every inch of his body, and his flesh was covered in a prickly sensation. He was in the middle of the clearing, a massive black spire rose there, so dark it was as if he were looking into the void of all light, that nothing would escape once it touched the tainted structure. He felt himself being pulled to it, something within him rising up, welcoming the embrace of the spire's blackness to feed its' powers as tendrils of shadow whipped towards his body.

Jason jolted out of his bedroll, covered in sweat and heart pounding ceaselessly while he looked around frantically with crazed eyes before realizing it had all just been a nightmare. Something felt off though, about the dream. It had seemed like he had truly been there, had felt the chill wind on his skin and the heavy atmosphere of the air. A lingering sense of dread still crept in on his mind, but was banished as soon as he realized hazy reddish light had begun filtering in through the bottom slat of the house door.

He rose, dressing quietly in the pre-morning light. He packed the bedroll together to make it more portable for travel, grabbing his waterskin and slinging the ash longbow and eight iron tipped arrows he had inherited from Crall over his shoulder, which he had used for hunting his entire life. Grabbing some meat that his father had cured from the deer he had shot, he packed it into a small canvas sack he wrapped around his belt. Finally, he slipped the three rings from the night before onto the index pointer and middle finger of his right hand.

They fit perfectly, almost as if they had been made specifically for him, and he took another moment to marvel at the craftsmanship that had obviously gone into putting the pieces together. He was loath to give them up, but he knew that with no money on hand, things could quickly become desperate once he reached the city unless he could find ways to earn cash while still looking for Malcolm.

I'm thinking too far ahead at this point. I can worry about money troubles and how to get to Malcolm once I'm actually in the city, no use getting worked up over nothing right now.

Taking a deep breath, Jason took one last look around the home he had grown up in, embers glowing in the fire and his father snoring quietly in his wicker chair. He treasured the sights, which he knew he might not see ever again, and left the only place he had ever called home, the creaking of unoiled hinges the only sound to mark his passage.

The day was bright and clear, but had a sharp sting to the restless wind. Winter had finally begun to set in whilst Jason had been injured, and frost now covered the ground, crunching whenever his feet stepped on the patches of grass on the side of the dirt path.

Picked just about the worst time to start out on a journey without knowing what I'm getting into. Snowfall can only be days away at most. Just means I'll have to travel as quickly as possible before it starts really coming down.

Far north as Helsdam was in, the winters were brutally cold and lasted for months without end. From as long as he could remember, only one thing was said about the winter, and it was a warning to all who might try to brave the freezing winds.

Only specters walk nights of bitter cold

Heroes forgotten

Young and old.

The saying was used as a way to warn the children, and even adults, travelers to Ostenfield to seek shelter as soon as night fell in the winter. Not a single person to brave the storms of the north had ever survived if they had been out for more than an hour in the Calithins. No one. There had been tales of men who had walked within the storms for more than a span of minutes, but they all came back...changed.

For some, it was less noticeable. They had problems with remembering who they were, or were simply slow to react to situations. These lucky ones would continue their life without more than minor impairment.

Others lost their minds completely, and came back gibbering and screeching with an inhuman pitch so high it had been known to make the people who found them go deaf. They would scream for days until their vocal chords ruptured and split, forcing them to stop. They refused to take nourishment of any kind and wasted away over a period of about two weeks. Any banshee that came back to a town was put down as quickly and humanely as possible to avoid undue suffering of the victim and their family.

The rarest and most unsettling of cases though, was the ones who came back to shelter seemingly unchanged. They would go about their daily lives no worse for the wear except for mild frostbite or the chills. Many families thought nothing wrong of them, and were simply happy to accept them back home.

However, as soon as the light left the sky the day after they had returned, these survivors of the Calithins would change rapidly yet subtly. Their eyes would dilate, their fingers lengthening as their nails would sharpen into claws which were strong enough to put furrows in steel and shred a victim in only seconds.

Most unsettling about these affected however, was that fact that these creatures killed with complete silence. Not once in all the history of Ostenstein had anyone heard a Kivitock speak, giving them their namesake. Another behavior that was so odd about Kivitocks, that many in the north still pondered is that they only ever took the life of one victim a night. After a kill, they returned back to their homes to wake up the next day with seemingly no recollection of what had occurred. The only way to prove someone was afflicted was to check their mouth, for during the night Kivitocks ground their teeth so hard together they were worn down to bloody sockets.

Occurrences when a Kivitock escaped notice for a night could prove to have deadly consequences, with every night that passed meaning another body ripped apart and strewn in the streets. They didn't just go after those who left their homes at dark however, Kivitocks were still smart enough to open doors and lay traps for the unsuspecting household occupant.

These were the reasons that King Garon had laid down a law as solid as bedrock, that any person within Ostenfield to return from a Calithin was to be placed under immediate solitary confinement for a full cycle of the sun, to ensure safety to the general town. In every town, village, or city, there was at least one cell made almost coated entirely in obsidian except for a small grate used for observation. For some reason unknown, the creatures hated even the smallest scrap of the material. Covering every square inch of the entire cell in obsidian ensured no possible escape for the afflicted.

The cells were a monumental cost to the crown, and thousands of warins, which was the standard gold currency of the kingdom of Ostenfield, were spent each year maintaining the cages. Jason was glad for it though, he had seen a Kivitock only once, and it had been enough to wake him in a cold sweat for days.

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It had been a bitterly cold day. The winds had kicked up into the afternoon, blowing flurries of frozen sleet and ice into the eyes as one walked. Jason was sick and tired of the deep cold within his bones that so often came with winters in the North. Crall had sent him out behind their shack into the woods to collect firewood, and he had amassed a small pile he was dragging back to the house with significant effort. At only about ten summers old, his body was already lean and tough from a lifetime of backbreaking labor, but he was malnourished and his muscles struggled to move in the biting winds.

He finally reached the front step, panting from exertion and sweating slightly despite the cold. Taking a few pieces off the top of the pile, he went inside and placed the wood in the hearth, gone cold, only white ashes remaining in the cavity. Jason reached around the right side to where the flint and small steel fire-starter was. It was one of their most valuable possessions, as metal couldn't be made in the village during winter because it would warp from the quick change in temperature. He struck a few precise strokes on the rod, sparks catching on the dry inside bark of the trees and a small flame flickered into existence.

The door opened behind him, snow rushing in behind to reveal the tall form of Willem Tanner. He stomped his boots on the packed dirt of the floor. His face was covered by a thick wool hood and scarf, its edges rimed with frost. Wrenching the scarf from around his mouth off, he took a few deep breaths before opening his mouth to speak.

"Jason, where's your da' at? I brought some smoked fish for you, looks like a Calithin's about to blow through and I wanted to make sure you'd have enough food to last for the next couple days."

Jason looked around, suddenly noticing the distinct absence of his usually housebound father. The chair he usually sat in was empty, and come to think of it Jason hadn't seen him when he had woken up either. He had just assumed that Crall had gone out to the refuse pit to relieve himself and had left without thinking any deeper than that.

Now though, a growing concern crept into his mind, his thoughts racing about what horrible things could've happened while he had been gone. Crall could have fallen or slipped on the sleet outside, unable to get upright and get back into the safety of the cabin, exposed to the elements. Seeing the obvious worry on the boy's face, Willem grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him lightly.

"Snap out of it son. How long have you been gone for?"

"Just about an hour sir. I.. I woke up this morning and he was gone but I thought he had just gone to relieve himself."

Jason trembled at the thought of the closest person he had ever had to family out in a Calithin and was alarmed at how unsure of what he was supposed to do without Crall.

"Look, Jason, Crall's only been gone for a short time most likely, and he can't have gotten very far anyways on account of his body. Let's go out and search the main paths and forest for him."

"Okay, just let me put the cookpot on quick, Da' always says I need to do it early in the day or the stew tastes like watery mud."

"Ay, your father's a right good cook. Go on now."

Jason hurriedly went about the cabin, grabbing ingredients from sparsely stocked shelves and mixing in some of the dried fish that Willem had brought with him. As soon as he had the pot sitting comfortably above the hearth, he rushed to the door with Willem and headed out into the increasingly cold and zephyrous afternoon.

They had been searching for at least an hour before they began to see signs of another person. Crall's boots could be seen depressed into the snow, his cane leaving a small puncture in the snow besides where his feet had landed. It led up over a hill which was to the south of Jason's house. Crall seemed to have gone in a wide circle around the outside of the forest, before abruptly entering.

The wind now picking up to a howling fervor, Jason and Willem ran as quickly as they could with continually diminished eyesight through the heavy snowfall. Jason pushed up over a snow covered log and there he saw them. Crall was trying to support a man who looked to be almost frozen, his lips blue and skin peeling from the face as his body succumbed to the intense conditions of the wilderness. He was wearing nothing except a small ripped pair of old leather pantaloons, and seemed dazed and confused.

Crall looked up, and seeing Jason and Willem looking down at him gestured angrily with one quick hand motion for them to come closer.

"Come on now, help me out! We have to find shelter before the Calithin hits!"

Running over to Crall, the two each supported one side of the frozen man, his body going limp as they held his weight up. Fueled by adrenaline and fear of the incoming storm, they make huge leaping strides dragging the man between them with Crall not far behind, necessity forcing his body to work faster despite its shortcomings. The wind was howling so fast now that Jason felt the air being stolen from his lungs every time he tried to take a breath. Icy pains shot down his throat as he gasped in fear and exhaustion trying to force his muscles to work ever faster.

The mad dash through the forest and road had likely only been minutes at worst, but Jason felt like the cold would never end, that he would be doomed to stay out in a Calithin, spelling certain death for the whole group. Barely able to concentrate from panic, they stumbled as looking up they saw the village proper appear in front of them. Soft yellow light shone from the aranth lamps that sat outside the village inn. Aranth rock was mined from a quarry in a remote mountain range to the east. Jason had never been there, but had been told that many went to work there, mining for the luminescent material that was used in all corners of the kingdom for lights that lasted years if coated in oil regularly.

They struggled up to the front step of the inn, fighting against the mounting storm with each step they took. Reaching the door, Willem slammed on the door with his right fist, bellowing with all the air in his lungs for the innkeep to open the door. Nothing could be heard over the screaming of the wind, but the occupants must have heard him, for the bolt was thrown off the door as it suddenly cracked open. The innkeep, Quire, swung the door open and quickly shoved the group into the inn, slamming the door shut behind him and replacing the heavy spruce log over the door bolt, securing it so as not to open from the force of the storm outside.

"Storms Willem, what in the everliving hells were you doing out there! Calithin's almost reached us, you would've been done if you hadn't made it here in time. What of the boy!"

Quire gestured wildly with his hands, exasperated at the thought of any child out in the storms. He had lost his own daughter to a Calithin many summers ago, and had lost some of his jovial personality with her.

"I wasn't doing anything but trying to help Jason find his father Quire, now quit assuming anything. We still haven't been able to talk through how Crall found this man."

Quire turned towards Crall, meaty arms crossed over his broad chest as his eyebrows lifted, waiting for an explanation to what had occurred.

"I was sitting inside early this morning as I generally do during the winter. My leg had been acting up and I felt I needed to move around a bit so I went outside to walk around. When I got near the forest as I was looping back, I heard something moving in the trees. I went over to check what it was, and I found this man-" he gestured towards the form lying on the floor dazedly,"- stumbling about in the snow. He looks like he hit his head pretty hard. That or he was caught in a Calithin somewhere else a few days ago. I don't recognize him but he seems to be slowly recovering. I-"

Crall was cut off from his speech as the man on the floor started writhing in pain, his face contorting, jaws thrashing together with a speed that bordering on manic. His body jerked, and he shot upright unexpectedly. His body seemed to still, freezing as if locked within a moment of time.

The inn was silent, the only sounds to be heard was the roaring of the great commons fire, and the shrieking of the wind tearing at the structure from all directions. The man looked up, his face a grotesque parody of a human countenance. His mouth moved with his eyes, but they were the eyes of the abyss, cold and calculated, chaos held just below the surface. Everyone within the inn was silent, and the moment seemed to warp with time, to never end, an image that would forever be burned into Jason's mind and soul. They all watched in horrified fascination as the man's hands slowly elongated, nails turning into jagged claws that were black as the pitch of an endless night.

Held within that moment of silence, all hells broke loose. The man turned, looking back and forth as if scanning the room, its eyes landing on a small child in the back corner, Yon Wendly, the son of two local farmers who had provided the village with grain for years. They had been ecstatic to have a child after so many years without one. Yon had grown up with no older siblings to play with, and so had turned to playing small pranks on others in the town for his amusement. Many an adult might grumble about how he interfered with getting work done properly, but the village loved him for bringing some childish antics into their lives.

Now however, they all looked on in frozen horror, breaths held in anticipation as the Kivitock fell to all fours, and started sliding across the floor towards Yon, never blinking its eyes as the grating of its teeth sent out small pops and cracks.

Yon's eyes widened slowly, blood draining from his face as realization dawned upon him. He backpedaled quickly and stumbled into the stool behind him, crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He rose in a panic, eyes wild as searched an escape path to avoid the creature creeping towards him on all fours.

"HELP ME! MOM! MOM! WHERE ARE YOU!"

Yon screeched hysterically over and over, tears falling in cascading runnels down the side of his face as he looked around for someone to come to his aid. His usual smile of sureness was gone, and had left behind what he truly was despite his antics, a child.

Quire was the first to react, a snarl of rage twisting his face as he pulled a hunting knife from his belt and bellowed, charging the beast and stabbing viciously at its turned back. His blade sunk into flesh, again and again, but the Kivitock's small shudders with each impact seemed to do little more than annoy it. Within the blink of an eye, each of the wounds on it's spine were healed, gone as if never there except for a silvered line of scar tissue.

The Kivitock turned from the target it had been so intently set on before the attack, moving so quickly it was impossible to react to the incredible speed. Its arm reappeared, still now as its neck twisted to an impossible amount to look behind itself towards Yon. On its arm, Quire struggled, thrashing about in unspeakable pain. Jason looked towards him and realized with horror that the Kivitock's talons had punched through the entirety of Quire's body, holding him upright now as his strength began to fail him with blood foaming out of his mouth.

Everyone within the inn stood frozen, faces drawn into masks of shock as the creature lowered its arm and Quire's body slid off with a sickening squelch, falling limply to the floor, lifeless as an autumn's fallen leaf.

The figure of the Kivitock blurred again, and another meaty thunk sounded as it reappeared with Yon held high on it's claws, already dead from the impact. It lowered its arms again, and turned without looking towards any in the inn as it padded over to the open door silently. Within seconds, it disappeared into the raging Calithin outside of the glow of the Aranth streetlights, and only the screeching of the cold wind could be felt within the hearts and minds of all who had witnessed what had occurred.

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Jason would still occasionally remember the day that he had seen the horrors that a Calithin storm created firsthand. Before, he had led little credence to the gravity of what could happen. After the attack in the inn however, he had never strayed more than an hour out from any sheltered house during the winter. He would have to break his precautions however in the days to come. Shelter could not always be guaranteed during the winters, and every day that he was out in the wilderness would be an incredible risk to his life.

He shook the dark thoughts of that night from his head, dropping to the ground for a minute as a gust of wind blew by, almost throwing him bodily into the air. Such winds were common in the early winter of the North, where full grown men would be tossed about like skipping stones across a lake. To dismiss the strength of the winds was to walk at your own peril, and all children learned at a young age how to drop into the snow and cling as the winds blew overhead.

With the squall having passed, Jason pushed off from the stiff frozen grass below him and continued walking towards the village proper. As he passed into town, he briefly looked towards where Quire and Yon had been killed by the Kivitock. After that night, no one had been willing to set foot in the inn, for it was well known that any creature twisted by the winds was abomination. The ground had been too cold to dig graves, so Yon and Quire's bodies had been laid inside and burned, along with the rest of the inn. This insured that they would could be given the proper dignity with which they were owed, not left instead out to the scavengers.

Now, all that remained of the inn that had once been a meeting place for the lonely and hungry was a small stone foundation, rocks slightly discolored from age and char. He still missed Yon and Quire, but their deaths had taught him a lesson that was burned into his mind; never risk walking into a Calithin storm.

But that was exactly what he would be doing, against all reason in his head that was screaming telling him to do otherwise. He had nothing left to lose at this point,

Except Dad...

But he would do anything to get back at Malcolm. First however, he would have to stop by Denn's smithy.

Turning down the main path, he walked for a short while before reaching the smithy. It was a short and squat building, made almost entirely of stone that was smoothly melded together, with a large chimney stack running out the top of the building that was currently blowing clouds of billowing black smoke out into the chill air. Sounds of metal clanging and the rhythmic beat of Denn's hammer strikes could be heard dully from within. Grabbing the iron knocker inlaid on the door, he pulled, entering a room dimly lit by the glow of cherry red coals.

Denn was bent over the anvil, currently in the process of twisting a large piece of metal over the horn. Jason stood quietly, knowing that Denn wouldn't even realize he was there until he had to look up from the piece

After a few minutes of grunting, straining, and slamming of his hammer on the metal pole, Denn stood up and brushed the sweat from his brow, putting the piece back into the forge as he did so. He looked about and realized Jason had arrived while working.

"Morning lad. Glad you stopped by before you left."

"Of course, I owe you at least enough to say goodbye." There was an awkward pause, as neither knew how to continue. Denn spoke.

"Jason… I wish you the best of luck on your journey. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're going to avenge Sarah. I scraped together as much as I could since yesterday in order to help you. I know it's not much, but it's the best I could do."

Denn turned around, and walked to the back of the shop, reaching under his workbench and retrieved a small leather sack from the floor. He turned and walked back to the anvil, and set the sack on top of it. Jason walked over towards Denn, curious as to what might be within the sack.

"Again, sorry lad, but it's the best I could do with such short notice. I've packed some things that I think might be useful on your journey." While speaking, Denn opened the sack and pulled out its contents to be set on the table. On the anvil now sat a smaller sack, tied together by a rough slipknot. Jason picked it up, feeling the shifting weight of coins inside. He opened the bag and was amazed to see almost a full handful of gold warins. It was the most money he had ever seen in his life, each coin worth almost a week's stay at an inn. While staring in utter disbelief, Denn pulled out the last two items within the bag.

"Denn… I can't possibly accept this much money, this could feed your family for months." Jason looked towards Denn, who was now staring him straight in the eyes.

"It's my money to give lad, and you'll take it whether you want to or not. I won't have you going out alone into the winter without a sure way to secure lodgings. Besides, I'd pay every last warin I owned to take down that piece of scum Malcolm, The Connory family's gotten too bloated on their own success, think they can treat us village folk like waste just because they're on the good side of King Garon. Now, take the rest of what I can give you and go. You're losing daylight standing here talking to me."

Denn gestured down towards the anvil, and Jason looked as he slid the coins into his pockets, seeing a small black leather sheathed dagger and a strange ball of what looked to be packed mud and ash. He picked up the dagger, sliding it out of the sheath to reveal a simple straight blade about two hand spans long. The blade shone even in the dimly lit room, and upon touching his finger upon the edge, a drop of blood welled up from his finger. A small sliver of blackened rock ran through the center of the dagger. A spruce wood handgrip with a small crossguard made up the lower half of the blade, and was smoothed and comfortable to hold in his hand. The blade was obviously of excellent craftsmanship, made of steel, which was in very short supply in Helsdam. Jason knew little of blacksmithing, but he understood this was an incredibly valuable piece.

"Denn, how long have you had this dagger?"

"Ah, well, it's been in my family for quite some many years now. My da' gave it to me on my seventeenth summer. Said to pass it down through the family. I was going to give it to Sarah but….. Well, she'd want you to have it, I know you two were close. Besides, the obsidian in the blade will help you. Just in case you do need it, better to be safe."

Having heard this, Jason was filled with a well of confusing emotions that was part gratification towards Denn, and part sadness on how the dagger had meant to be passed on to Sarah. He sheathed the dagger again, looping it through the side of his belt quickly, then picked up the last item on the anvil, the strange clump of what looked like mud and ash. Oddly enough, it felt prickly and rough, and was much heavier than it outwardly looked.

"Denn, I'm sorry, but what exactly is this?" Jason continued to move the ball around in his hands, examining it.

"That, lad, is an invention of my own device. I won't get into the complications but it's a mixture of coal, steel dust, and ground aranth. I-" Jason cut him off with look of disbelief.

"You put aranth in this?! Why would you use something so expensive on this useless piece of scrap!"

"Shut your mouth boy, I spent good time and money making this! Let me explain how it works."

Jason stood with arms crossed, obvious disbelief at what possible justification Denn could make to waste such precious materials.

"Now, listen here and listen to me well. That material, arcmach I call it-" he gestured towards the ball in Jason's hand."- is incredibly flammable. If so much as a spark hits it…" He lowered his voice." Well, you wouldn't want to be within fifty paces of it." He chuckled gruffly.

"Denn, what in the everlasting hells would I do with something like that."

"Well lad, that's up for you to decide. Although if I'm being truthful-"His eyes narrowed. "I'd like you to use it on Malcolm when you find him. Should ensure that the job gets done."

Jason nodded, now understanding why Denn would go to such great lengths to procure such a material. He slipped the ball underneath his mound of furs, careful to situate it so as not to fall out while moving. It sat against his back, heavy and strangely reassuring.

At least now I have some means to defend myself, even if I don't know how to fight with a dagger, or how to use the arcmach without killing myself. Thoughts for another time, I need to be moving, I've spent too much time talking in town already.

"Denn, I just want to say thank you one last time. I.. I don't know if I'll make it back, so know it means the world to me that you're taking care of Crall while I'm away."

"Not a problem lad, you're a good person for trying to hunt down the wicked. Now be on your way, no reason I should keep you here any longer while a Calithin might be brewing overhead.You'll want to keep moving without stopping for at least a day and night to ensure you'll make it out before the snowfall gets too heavy. Head west on the side of Mount Jeorn once you make it through the mountain pass for about a day or so and you'll find a small village named Caerean. There's an inn there named the Frostbitten Fae. It'll provide a place for shelter to weather a week or so in while you recover from braving the wilds. May not be the safest place around, but it'll keep you warm. Best of luck to you." He clapped a hand on Jason's shoulder, then turned, moving back towards his work at the forge.

Jason took one last look around, to remember in his mind the kindness Denn had shown him, as a reminder that there were still good people in the world, however black with corruption some might be.

He walked along the riverbank, water flowing in slow chunks down the bend. His feet no longer sank into the mud, frozen solid with the onset of winter. Carrying the most items he had ever owned in his life, and with the reassuring weight of the dagger at his belt and the feeling of the coins within his pockets, Jason felt like he might actually have a chance at avenging Sarah. He knew the chances were slim, and the road ahead of him would be incredibly difficult.

That was why he was walking along the path towards the clearing. The place where Sarah had died. Something inside of him drove his footsteps ever closer to that area, where it seemed like his old life had ended and his new one began. Some part of him was still caught in that clearing however, and he needed to go there one last time before he left, to steel himself for what was to come.

His foot came down, and he stopped. Early morning light peeked out from behind the right mountain pass in the distance.

This is where it all went down. The last place I ever saw Sarah.

Looking about, he saw nothing to mark the clearing as a place as any place of importance. Sarah's blood had dried and been absorbed long ago, the furrows of their struggles in the mud against Malcolm erased by the passage of time. Grasses stood stiff and straight, yellowed and lifeless from the cold.

"Sarah, I'll avenge you. I'll make sure he pays."

He spoke to the still clearing, but no answer ever came.