The Tales of a Confused Apprentice

The Meeting

Approx. 5 weeks ago-

She bolted out of the barn doors, a badly aimed arrow flying past her head, and a group of farm-boys with pitchforks and farm tools coming after her. Their shouts chased her as she ran, fast as she could. Panting, she cursed the farm-folk in a language that she knew they couldn’t understand, and slipped into the bushes before they could find her to shoot at her again. Yet another place that was an unwelcoming as any other, though at least they were not yet calling her drow-child. Her eyes shimmered with only barely controlled anger, knowing that she had no spells prepared that would do any damage of the sort she wanted to fling back at the barn that had been her hiding spot.

Shimmer Shaecayrn sighed as she slid from shadow to shadow in the swiftly falling twilight. She had lost count of how many towns she had tried to make a home in that she had been run out of. Even Waterdeep had cast her out, after one rival street-gang caused her own to believe her untrustworthy. But Shadowdale was the quickest yet. She had hardly been in the town for two days before the parents of the children she had been around chased her away with drawn weapons. Anger became her refuge from the disappointment and sadness that lurked on the edges of her mind. Curses were her weapons, for she had too few to fight back against a whole town.

The twilight came, and she slipped from shadow to shadow, hiding as best she could, cast out once again. Her stomach grumbled in hunger, and she held back her whining, searching for scraps as she moved through the tall grass and brush. It didn’t take long before her wandering led her to the sight of a crackling fire. A set of lean-tos and a tent were set up around the fire in what looked like a semi-permanent camp. The fire had a cauldron hanging over it, and as she sneaked closer, the smell of the food within it made her mouth water.

Quickly, she scanned the camp, seeing what appeared to be two woodsmen, idly sitting about, and a brightly armored figure that seemed to be tending the pot, occasionally stirring whatever was in it. The smell teased her, making her stomach growl again, and the small woman almost stepped out into the light to ask for food outright. Suspicion kept her still. What made these people any different from those in the town? They weren’t so far away. Perhaps they were just as suspicious and inhospitable.

Scanning over the camp once again, Shimmer’s eyes caught sight of a pack, half tucked underneath one of the lean to’s, within easy reach from the shadows. Slipping from shadow to shadow once again, she crouched in the shadows by the pack, and pulled it gently open. Almostly silently, she started to rummage through the pack, looking for food.

As she rummaged through the pack she didn't notice the slight tip of the head, the slightest of shifts in his body. His armors material and layered enchantments keeping his movements silent to all but the keenest of ears. Curious thoughts ran through his head at the appearance of this strange hin with elven features.

Several pouches were looked into, and her brow furrowed as she recognized spell components. Swiftly, she glanced around, but none of those present looked like a spellcaster to her. Perhaps they were simply selling them? Shrugging to herself, she moved on. A smile brightened her face as she found a gem, rough-cut but still shining. She thanked Tymora for the luck and continued, still looking for food. Instead, a few moments later, she found a pouch full of a variety of gems, and the tiniest sound of excitement escaped her.

Quietly the ladle ceased its movement in the pot, the crackling of the fire hiding any sound it would make as it came to rest against the side of the pot. The squeak telling him she had found something of interest, likely of value. A swift debate ran through his mind of the value of what was taken versus how bad this waifish being might need them for survival. A moment later a decision was made. His low melodic voice uttering incantations to spell, with a gesture of forcing his hand palm first towards the girl.

Swiftly, she stifled the squeak, and moved on, thinking herself quiet enough to have escaped notice. She began to tuck the pouch into her own small pack, and then stopped in shock, her ears picking up an all-too familiar sound. The steady chant of an arcane spell made her shoot to her feet and begin to bolt. Even as she scrambled away, something slammed into her and flattened her to the ground. Breathless, it released, and the tiny woman tried to get up, gems forgotten, and found herself slammed back into the ground.

A couple more attempts to get away, and then she gave up, laying there and watching the tell-tale, barely visible outline of a giant hand. Muddied orange eyes turned, searching for the wizard, and still all she saw was two woods-folk and an armored warrior. Confusion won over anger, her expression baffled as she searched for the spell-caster.

The Watcher turned his impassively masked face to the girl, eyes glowing red from saturation of magical sight spells, cold and calm. “You steal from me, not a wise plan.” His voice was calm and even, melodic in the elven way. “Did you not consider, perhaps, that in such a place as this open camp one such as I, might be willing to share what I have?” He turned back to the stew and resumes stirring it, the ghostly hand holding her firmly down.

Her eyes widened, the glowing eyes causing the realization that it was the armored one who was the caster, making her speechless. Casters did not wear armor… at least, not metal, which was what his looked to be. Shock running through her, she struggled for a moment against the hand holding her down, and then lay on the ground, sighing in surrender.

With the sigh, her eyes locked upon the strange, blue-armored figure. “Wot’re yous gon’ do t’me?”

Fear ran through her eyes. Wizards and sorcerers alike had never been the most forgiving of trespassing or theft, in her experiences. This one was strange in the fact that he was wearing armor, but the glow of his eyes spoke of magic that has been used so often as to permanently affect the body. Such a powerful magic-user would hardly be one she could expect to simply allow her to go after her attempt at theft.

An unseen smile crossed his lips, reflecting slightly in his eyes. Curious, this small elven looking being was indeed. Elf children were hardly, if ever, without companionship. Her movements were not those of a child, but of those trained, either through circumstance or by mentor, of one used to hiding. However her speech was childish, broken as it were, like those children of the larger cities who lacked education of any formal type, if even from a parental figure. He lifted the ladle near his face as if to smell the stew, then returned his attention to the “girl”.

His voice was quite calm, and even. “I have already done it, child. You are stopped and my mushrooms are once more safe from sticky fingers. Anything further would be cruelty, though if you are disinclined to run, there is plenty of stew for every one here.”

His left hand gestured to those in the camp, the movement revealing the pouches, wands, rods, sword and daggers strung from his waist. His spell still held her in place, the firm pulsing pressure from the ghost like hand keeping her from escaping into the darkness.

She looked at the man oddly, counting the magical items and pouches upon his belt, and taking note of the weapons. Did he fight as well as use magic? A shiver ran through her at the thought. What was worse than a wizard who could also hack you down with a blade? But his answer drew her attention more than what items he had with him. He seemed unconcerned, even kind.

Confusion still running through her, she felt the need to clarify. “Yous gonna feed me? Affer I… “ She decided to go along with his words. “ Tried t’steal yer mushrooms? Why?” Her voice held a hint of demand within it, confidence growing with the fact that he had done nothing more than hold her down, rather than truly attack her.

The sound of an amused huff of air through a nose escaped the expression obscuring mask. Taking a bowl that had been warming from beside the fire, the Watcher filled it with some stew and produced a spoon from one of the crates near the fire. Seemingly soundless he moved about the fire as he worked. After he set the bowl on a crate several feet from his own, leaving another crate between them.

With a slight inclination of his head he replied in the same calm speech. “Our kind shares what we have, and aid those in need. Obviously if you would risk robbing me in front of so many watchful eyes, you must be in need.” He sat down and watched her face as he spoke again. “I will release you, it is your choice to flee or eat. Which will you choose?”

A flick of his wrist and the green ghostly hand flared and ceased to be and she was free once more. The rangers watching the ordeal visibly relaxing as things seemed to return to normal.

The pressure released, Shimmer sat up, narrowing her eyes in suspicion for a moment as she debated between fleeing or not. But the rumble of her stomach decided for her. Cautiously, she pushed herself to her feet, the dirt on her cloak only an added layer to what was already there. The scent of the stew made her stomach rumble again, and she slipped up to the crate, picking up the bowl and sniffing the stew. A slightly familiar scent teased her nostrils, but she couldn’t place it as she sat on the edge of the crate, her eyes scanning over both the caster and the rangers in the camp.

He simply sat and waited as she came to her own decisions. He exchanged glances with the rangers and then continued to study this mini elf. Never before had he seen such a thing. No magic permeated her form, no amount of face paint could achieve this look on another race. She was the size of a gnome or a hin, yet when her physical features were distinctly elven, as if a half elf had been under the effects of a reduction spell; and a half elf of the darker persuasion at that.

After the first, hesitant bite of the stew, she bolted it down like a starving dog. For all that her manners were next to non-existent, she didn’t drop a single drop of the stew. She bolted her way through a second bowl, and was halfway through a third before she slowed down at all. The two rangers, having ladled themselves bowls, were halfway through their first, eyes watching her with slight surprise at her small figure putting away so much so quickly.

Chewing slowly now, she eyed the masked man cautiously. The rangers were a known and measurable danger. He was the only wild card.

“Well, I believe that is a record for consumption amounts and rate of my stews. I know my cooking is better than average but i would not have thought it that good..” The words seemed almost a jest though his voice remained mostly flat save to all but the trained ear. “There is always food here, you will have no further need to steal such again.”

He took a small pouch of gold from his belt and lightly tossed it at her feet, the coins making their unmistakable clatter as they hit the dirt. Gold had little value to him, perhaps it would keep her from getting into trouble from those less…. forgiving than he. The Watcher closed his pack securing the drawstrings and buckles.

She froze with the spoon halfway to her mouth as the gold clinked at the base of the crate she sat on, her eyes suspicious once again. Though she herself did not care for gold, she had found the surfacers valued the ore, and having some on her would not be a bad idea. Finishing her bite, she set the bowl down, and then reached down, picking up the pouch and tucking it away on her belt before he could change his mind. No thank you came, but she returned to the stew, watching the Watcher, unsure what to say to him now.

Standing the armored mage looked once more to her. “If you wish to learn a better way to survive and protect yourself, seek me out.” He said. “There are many ways you can use your talents and intelect to live with out risking inprisonment or death for stealing.” Lifting his pack and he swung it under his cloak and it seemed to vanish. With a final look at her he stepped away from the fire, the shadows enveloping him as he vanished from the camp without a sound.