The Longest Journey - A mushy start

Vitugár was his name and his name was good. It had honour with it and fitted him perfectly, since he was a scholar and the name meant "those who are of a sharp mind". He had a sharp mind and his field of research was as dangerous as it was delicious sometimes. Because his research led him into terrain the normal Stonekin dwarves or even his Copperkin folks hadn't dared to explore, since his research concerned mushrooms.

And not only normal mushrooms or expensive mushrooms like the Golden Embrace or the Red Blinder, no no. All mushrooms. The normal ones, the dangerous ones, the lame ones, the delicious ones, the bored ones and the excited ones. So as he was approached by the High Trade merchant Helgír to write THE BOOK OF MUSHROOMS, as he called it, he didn't hesitate to accept.

The price? Enough to fill the vaults of Vitugár ten times and more. He could buy entire families, half a city or feed a small army for a decent amount of time. He could basically retire if he would finish this book and just live off his savings for the rest of his life.

Vitugár accepted the offer and said he would bring the letter of introduction - which was a requirement if the contractor wouldn't introduce themselves to the guild - to the guild office in Mearis. He was greeted by a new receptionist.

"Greetings, young fellow. Me has a letter of introduction from a potential client here. Can ya direct me to the board members for a decision?"

"You are a dwarf."

"And ya eyes do work, very good. So, can ya relay me to the board members?"

"Oh, uh, ah..." The young human stuttered and searched in a large ledger in front of him. "Suuuure... what topic do you have?"

"Mushrooms."

"And who is your potential client?"

"Helgír from the High Trade in Eirskjöldr."

"Helgír... from the High... Trade in...Eier..."

"Ei...R...Sk...j..." spelled Vitugár patiently for the human. Dwarven tongue was sometimes complicated, even for dwarves.

"Thank you. Do you have the letter at your person? Ah, splendid, thank you again. Take a seat, I take care of it. Do you want to drink something?"

"Ale would be good. Hot, if ya can." said Vitugár as he placed his weary body in a huge armchair. The leather creaked and made a noise like it would sigh. Vitugár noticed the dirt, the dust and the traces of the roads he had travelled during the last days. His emerald green robe with the silver cowl had seen better days but they would be enough for the moment.

After a few minutes a human woman brought him a can and a cup. In the can was steaming hot red ale and Vitugár thanked her enthusiastically with his heart before he poured himself a cup. The ale was good, a bit too weak for his liking, but it was warm and that was good. Not that it was cold in Mearis, oh no, not even the ocean could shoo away the sun and the heat. Warm drinks were better in the heat than cold drinks. The young human appeared at his desk again to greet potential visitors.

An hour later the woman appeared again, bowed and asked him to follow her, which he did. Vitugár felt the weight of his short axe at his hip and was somehow relieved that it was still there. The woman led him into a large office where two men and a woman sat at a round table, the letter of introduction and a few notes in front of them.

"Thank you.", said the man with the long grey beard, the woman bowed again and vanished. "So, you are Vitugár?"

"That is ma name, aye."

"Hm. Your client wants to contract you for a Book of Mushrooms. His payment is a tad higher than usual. Who is he?"

"He is of the High Trade caste."

"Meaning?"

"He is rich. Very rich. Like a king without the title." helped the woman out with a soft voice, but her eyes were grey and hard as iron. "Trading caste, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Aye, ma lady." nodded Vitugár, noticing that his beard was dry like dust. Again. Damn it.

"And", asked the second man, "how much time do you think you will need for this task?"

"Oh, how should me know this? A rough estimate? Five years at least. Me can compile the entire list of all dwarven mushrooms in roughly about a year."

"And how do you plan to achive the desired outcome?"

"What are those questions?" asked Vitugár with a scowl. "The last time me was here noboby asked me about ma plans or how to do ma work."

"Last time you were dealing with a lot less money than now." said the woman with ice in her voice, even when it was soft as silk. "So, what is your plan?"

"Ma plan? Me would start with Pisocenia, venture east to the Garladans and the Underlings, give Vrinis ma regards, avoid the Spiral and then try to survive the Emerald Planes. If me succeed me can meet with the Esatini, go to Hulwar and than north before me returns alongside the western coast to Eirskjöldr. Or to ya, if ya have that in mind."

"And what about the Oldrir?"

"Uh, me has no plans to go to the cursed city, if thats what ya asking. If ma client want to have cursed 'shrooms for his business, he can search for them by himself."

"Hm... fitting. We wouldn't go there as well, but it might be an opportunity."

"If ya give me a few ironclad Stonekin, with weapons, food, dirty and ready for a fight, then me is willing to take the risk."

"I see." She looked at the first, older man. "You have any more points?"

"No. This offer is accepted, we can set up the contract."

---

The meal was hearty, the tea was good and sweet and true, the company splendid and soft and giving. It was a nice evening. The contract was sent with a messenger, a copy resided on the huge bed with the linen sheets. His skin was getting soft as the steaming hot water released him from the dirt and the weariness of the roads, the sponge got rid of more clingy spots.

With a relaxed groan Vitugár leaned back in the copper tub, his skin clean and with a freshly lit pipe in one hand. The tobacco tasted like berries, mead, tea, and sugar, the thick smoke smelled like cherries and a woody bonfire. He also bought a few phials of beard oil from a dwarven merchant who gifted him a big block of self-made soap which smelled like roses and honey.

He had earned it. That was probably the last rest of luxury he would get in the next years. And after that... he would retire.

Maybe.