Last Respects

Haalfrin has several weeks ahead of him before he reaches the northern front, and he uses that time to practice his magic. He knows what the Rune in his soul realm says, and he has a basic understanding of its meaning.

"I kill stuff, they release that black energy, right?" Of course, he finds out he was correct after he hunts his first meal that day. The moment his blade silences the trapped rabbit, there's a tiny puff of black, ethereal smoke seeping out of its corpse..

More than that, Haalfrin feels the black smoke gravitate towards him, sink into his skin, then gradually seep into his heart. Maybe it's because the rabbit gave such a small amount of Death Energy, but he's unable to notice any difference in his Soul Realm.

For now, that strange spell in his soul seems completely useless for now; he hasn't learned any real spells yet, and he likely hasn't accumulated enough death energy to do anything useful…

Besides, the spell in his Soul is only good for scaring his opponents, and what's the point in scaring away all the meat in the forest?

He still wants to be able to use his new magic though, so he tries to remember the feeling of energy moving around in his body while he was gaining his magic before.

Sitting down, he tries to get the feeling for it. After failing several times, he tries calling out his Name aloud.

Immediately, his consciousness gets sucked back into the soul realm…

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While inside that dreary place, Haalfrin looks up and tries studying his Name in the sky some more, but it seems to be having… no effect at all. Instead, he keeps seeing the same visions over and over again - the same image of his future self being helplessly slaughtered.

'At least I know that I become a powerful mage in the future,' he concedes, 'though that's hardly useful right now.'

After finally giving up, Haalfrin just goes back through his soul gate and continues on his journey North. Of course, his old clan home is on the way, so the young mage decides to pay his respects one last time.

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After arriving, it surprises Haalfrin how unaffected he is when he looks over the burnt buildings and pile of charred skeletons. 'Maybe this was the real effect of my new Name? Things like corpses and death don't startle me anymore.'

He spends a few minutes poking around the ruins and mutters, "Of course, the place is looted. What makes those 'law-abiding citizens' any different than a raider?"

He looks up. "Probably because they took these to return to the citizens, huh? I guess that DOES make them different. Yeah, whatever."

Just to be sure, Haalfrin counts the skeletons, and he doesn't find a single one missing. "So Reeda really is dead… I mean, I already knew that."

Looking across at the pile of disassembled bones, Haalfrin stands up and puts his hands on his knees – already anticipating the hard work ahead of him. "Mind as well bury them all."

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Since he doesn't have a shovel on hand, he just uses his sword to dig up loose dirt.

Of course, the blade is enchanted to be hard and durable – a prize from one of his raids back in the good old days, after he and his friends killed a mage…

... To be fair, the mage was sleeping…

After several hours, he finally digs a hole just large enough to dump all the bones in, as well as Reeda's dress and bent dagger he managed to recover.

Once he finishes the job, he rubs his sore, blistering hands, and he stretches out his painful back. "Oh, goodness. Why does this make my bones feel old again?"

He then looks around and goes to the old chief's ruined house. After prying up a few boards, he pulls out a large box. Inside are a few more enchanted trinkets that the old clan chief used to war - rings to help him stay up longer without growing tired, as well as a few amulets made to help dull his own sense of pain.

Lastly, there's a pendant that slows his heart rate - something handy to use when you're about to bleed out and need to stall just long enough to get medical attention.

Once he's all set, Haalfrin continues north on his journey towards the war between his own Alsta kingdom and their Alsa'ree neighbors.

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On the road north, Haalfrin stops by a town and sees that several caravans are loading up. A few even have hecklers in front shouting out the destinations they were headed to – safety in numbers, and all that.

"Shy Rock! We're going to shy rock! Anyone who with coin can come with us to Shy rock!" a young woman announces to passerbys from atop her wagon. Of course, there are several other similar notices, but this lady is the loudest.

"Mind as well check them out," Haalfrin thinks. So, he goes up to the woman and asks, "You hiring any guards?"

The woman looks down and notices the blade on his hip. "Sorry. We've got our own company of guards. They don't accept freelancers… But if you're looking for work on the way, you can always help take care of the horses?"

Haalfrin looks down for a moment. He does have experience with horses… the only problem is that he wants to have an excuse to use his sword and do some work he's actually comfortable with.

So, he promptly turns her down and moves on to the next person.

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After another hour of pestering people in the busy city and visiting tavern after tavern, he finally finds a small ale merchant taking supplies all the way up to the war front. Alcohol in all forms sells for a lot in any army; soldiers who might die the next day are usually free with their coin, and the generals like to buy a lot of it as leverage with the soldiers, or for tactical morale boosts.

Either way, wars are good business that a lot of people take part of, so Haalfrin doesn't have a hard time having his pick of which caravan to travel with.

While Haalfrin is looking over his new employment contract, the caravan leader leans forward and points at the top of the page. "So," the merchant says, "the Contract is basically just a receipt of payment. The terms are written on here, they say…"

"Enough," Haalfrin interrupts him, "I know how to read."

The caravan leader instantly backs on – very embarrassed, too... and a little angry. "Oh. Sorry."

Haalfrin sighs. "I'm sorry for interrupting you. I didn't mean to be rude."

The merchant's face relaxes, and he reaches his hand out for a shake. "Make yourself welcome over there. It's the wagon with a pair of black horses."

After that, there aren't any hiccups in the preparations for their journey… and off they go.

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During their first night camped on the side of the road, all the other hired hands – the merchant's own personal assistants are gathered around in the middle of the encampment, and the guards are sitting on the carts circled around the perimeter – their faces directed at the forest around them.

With nothing to do, most of the guards aren't vigilantly looking at the forest; instead, they're befriending each other and getting a little rowdy.

A few of the more extroverted ones start making jokes, telling stories about past jobs, as well as the women they've slept with – all boring talk to Haalfrin.

Haalfrin is getting ready to kick back and go to sleep (as it's not his shift for watch duty) when one of the men turns to him and says, "What about you? Got any girls for you waiting back at home?"

"No," Haalfrin replies tersely.

He'd always figured he'd end up with a sword in his gut one day, and he didn't want to leave any hungry children behind. Thus, he kept his belt in his younger days, then spent his older days regretting how he missed that part of his life.

'Should I find a girl and get married? I wouldn't want to miss out again; I'm done with regrets...'

'Nah,' he concludes. 'I'm going to war in order to get killed. It would be even more wrong for me to get a woman pregnant than get myself killed in a ditch.'

While Haalfrin is busy thinking about his own life, one of the other guards bumps his friend, "Dude. I think he's ignoring us."

This makes the other men feel uncomfortable, and they stop trying to include Haalfrin in their conversations.

Maybe this 'Haalfrin' is just shy? Maybe he doesn't like them? Either way, it's none of their business, so they stop trying to be friends with him.