Holder's Calling

Holder’s first week in Mythrite was plagued with nightmares. He had been fine on the caravan ride up, a little nauseous sure, but eagerly imagining what sort of town would appear on the horizon. Did they have fish, like Yartar? Would the residents be welcoming and warm, the community tight-knit, and the streets, for once, safe? He hoped so. He hoped he would finally have a place to belong, and a purpose to work towards. He didn’t say any of this to his mother, who kept careful watch from the back of the caravan. Her mouth, too, stayed shut the entire ride.

His and his mother’s lodgings, a cheap room they rented in the Halberd, were a little too similar to the inn in Yartar for Holder’s tastes. It was a little more comfortable-- they had been able to buy blankets, a necessary expense in the cold winter-- but every time he closed his eyes Holder could swear he heard light footsteps, coming to throw the door open and arrest his mother. Of course, in reality there was no such thing; nobody had the slightest clue who either of them could be. His mother took advantage of this fact to join the caravan guard, who were desperate for any help, even from a gnome with only one working hand. Meanwhile Holder sat at home, struggling with internal turmoil. What could he even say to his mother? Even now, she was working to support the both of them, in spite of her injury and the danger of the position she chose. What right did he have to be mad at her? But he was. How could she go so long without telling him where their money came from? That she was a thief?

Holder needed a change of scenery. In this room he was just running down the same trains of thought over and over; his brain felt stuffy. What was the point of coming to Mythrite, starting a new life, if he was just going to sit indoors all day, driving himself mad? There was nothing to hide from here.

Nothing to hide from, except the drunks in the main hall. He averted his eyes from the gnome dancing on a table and the day-drinkers egging them on as he made his way onto the unfamiliar streets of Mythrite. Have some decency, he thought. In previous towns he would simply ignore the rabble rousers, but this was his first real home in all his life. Holder wished his co-inhabitors had more respect for it.

For the time being he elected to wander until he reached the edge of town, at which point he would return home. The winter sun shone an empty brightness-- the air was frigid, the ground dusted with snow. Holder squinted as he made his way past small shops and the dwellings of the middle-class. The air tasted good. Maybe it was the altitude.

Holder’s wandering took him close to the town guard’s training grounds, from which he could hear the shouts and clangs of a mock battle.

People always resort to violence to solve their problems, don’t they. Even my own ma is no different… He sat under a barren tree, watching the guards skirmish. I’ll never fight, he thought. There’s never anything worth hurting someone else over. If only everyone understood that… The world would be so much better. Everyone would be so much happier. I would be so much happier.

He jumped at a voice to his right. “Thinkin’ ‘bout joining, kid?” The source of the voice was very tall. A human? His face was scarred, and he wore the uniform of the town guard.

Holder replied with noises that could have belonged to some goblin language. It had been days since he’d last had a conversation, and he wasn’t expecting to have one now.

“Just watchin’” he stammered out.

“Nothin’ wrong with that. But we’re always lookin’ for new recruits.”

“I ain’t much of a fighter.”

“Suit yourself. With some training, though, even a little guy like you could be a fearsome guardsman.” The guard waved as he walked back to the training ground. “And feel free to watch us train anytime.”

Holder hardly processed these last words, he was so focused on his own poor conversation skills. As soon as the guard had disappeared, he got up and hurried off, turning his face away lest someone remember it. He wasn’t ready to go home yet, though, so he picked a direction and walked.

The path he followed took him towards Gardeners’ Row, the heart of Mythrite’s farming economy, located just outside town. He could feel his embarrassment fading as the buildings grew more sparse, replaced with wide fields and the skeletons of trees and shrubs. Huge swaths of land spread out before him as he finally grasped with his eyes the possibilities of Mythrite.

Winter crops swayed in the breeze with a calm that was infectious. A halfling girl toiled by a shed, polishing the hoes and scythes propped up against its side. Holder knew instantly that this was the peaceful life he wanted. This was why he came to Mythrite.

He made his way down to the shed to ask about becoming a farmhand.