Baern, Dive Bartender

Baern looked over the mound of gravel as it rested, still freshly disturbed. The moonlight reflected off the stone at the head of the site, rendering the text visible even at this dark hour:

CESSA STONEWARDEN
GIVER’S LIGHT UNTO THE WORLD

Baern wondered to himself how many times he’d done this. The ceremony had ended days ago, and yet each night he found himself returning to sit alongside her once again as he had done so often before.

He spoke aloud to the stone as he sat, his voice soft and trembling as if he was trying not to wake a sleeping child.

“Hello darling,” he began as he always did, “Brought you one of yer favorites tonight.”

He reached for the pack slung over his shoulder, producing a book from inside. The cover was bright and cheerful, depicting a stylized image of a dwarf hero standing before a fallen monster.

Baern cleared his throat, and began to read from the tome in his native tongue. With each word that left his mouth, his lips began to tremble. His eyes watered, and slowly as each guttural syllable became more difficult to pronounce, he stopped and allowed the words to turn to pained sobs, the tears finally cascading down his face like rain.

He allowed the book to drop to the ground as he continued, and soon he surrendered his muscles to the entropy of his emotions and fell to the ground himself. His wails echoed softly off the stone that had been so carefully carved by his family to rest here in the sand eternally.

He laid like this under the moonlight a while, caring little whether or not time dared to pass between his sobs.

--

He hadn’t cared to be a father, but it had been one of the greatest joys of his life thus far. Cessa had always managed to do what so few others had managed to do—she made him smile.

“Da,” the young dwarf tugged at Baern’s arm as the two walked through the market street of Grundiksholm, “Can we please see the priests of Gaea at the church again today? I want to see if they’re blessing another crusader.”

Baern grumbled, “Come on now, Cessa. Yer ma sent us to get vegetables fer dinner. Don’t have time to see no holy men about crusaders.”

“But look,” she continued to tug, pointing with her other hand, “There’s another one right now!”

In the middle of the bustling market was a shrine to Favem. The bronze image of the god of mercantile wisdom shimmering in the heat of the desert sun had been built relatively recently, the merchant’s guild having decided that divine intervention would be the only thing that could save their slowly dwindling profits from the crushing grip of the new government’s taxes.

Standing adjacent to the statue was a lone human man resplendent in white and gold robes, his face alight in a friendly grin as the heavily armored dwarf slowly approached him. As he got closer, his movements seemed to grow heavier and more stilted.

The plated dwarf said a few words—Baern couldn’t hear what they were—to the priest, whose smile quickly shifted to a sour frown. The pair exchanged heated words under the watchful eye of Favem’s likeness, until the priest shouted a curse at the crusader. The dwarf had already turned his back to walk away, brushing past the father and daughter as Cessa looked on with star-struck eyes. She let go of Baern and charged forward towards the priest, much to Baern’s chagrin.

“Hey! Get back here ya little weasel!” he called after her as he jogged to catch up to her.

Cessa peppered the priest with questions. “Uhm, excuse me father! What was that? Did that crusader not like your blessing? He seemed angry about something.”

The priest crossed his arms, doing his best to maintain his composure in front of the child. “There was no blessing to be had, my child.”

“No blessing?” Cessa blinked, “But why else would he come looking for you?”

Baern caught up with her and snagged her hand back, looking at the priest with steely eyes, “Apologies. Young’n gets ahead of ‘erself sometimes. We’ll be on our way,”

The priest replied, “It’s quite alright, sir. On most days, I’d be happy to talk to a curious child of the boons the gods provide.”

He stared up at the smiling statue of his god above him. In this moment, the generous grin seemed to bear down on him as a mocking smirk. He continued, “But it seems us faithful are no longer welcome here in Grundiksholm.”

“What did he say to you?” Cessa asked, frowning.

The priest sighed, and looked at the father and child with tired eyes, saying nothing. After a moment, he smiled at the pair and asked, “Sir, would you like me to bless your child? It will be the last blessing I am to provide to the people here.”

Baern grumbled, “What’ll it cost me?”

The priest smirked, “Favem is the source of all generosity, sir. I would not dare charge a copper to speak in his name.”

Crossing his arms, the elder dwarf replied, “Fine. If that’s what she wants,” he nodded his head towards his daughter.

Cessa hugged her father’s arm and said, “Thank you, Da!” before sheepishly standing before the priest.

Raising a talisman from around his neck and placing a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, the priest began to speak his incantation softly, as though he didn’t wish anyone to hear but himself and his god.

“…bless upon this girl your guidance, and your wisdom. May her heart remain generous, with a spirit of love and giving. May her family’s endeavors be fruitful. May she find herself always among friends. May her father and mother—”

The prayer was interrupted by belligerent shouting and the clanking of metal boots.

Baern could hardly get out of the way in time as the crusader came barreling towards the priest, his sword raised for battle.

As the armored dwarf charged, he cried, “What did I just tell you, blasphemer?! Now die for your sin!”

The strike was brutal and lethal, but not to its intended target.

--

He found his voice again after his sobbing slowly faded into broken whimpers. After another moment, the only sound that remained was the cold night wind whistling across the desert sands.

“’m sorry, Cessa,” he croaked at the stone, pausing for a moment before continuing, “Damned Inquisition. Damned priest. Damned city.”

He sat up, staring across at the horizon, “It’s all just damned. What kinda world would allow such cruelty on a… sweet little angel? Why bring ‘er into my life in the first place if yer just gonna… take ‘er away.”

His question lingered on the night air until it went answered by a voice floating on the wind.

Her life was not in vain.

Baern wasn’t certain whether he’d heard the voice in his ears or in his heart. Regardless of which, he croaked out a response.

“It wasn’t? What d’ya call bein’ cut down as a kid? It’s pointless. She’s died a pointless death.”

Perhaps. But that does not mean that her life was without purpose. She brought you such joy during her brief time.

“She did… I’d never been prouder of anything I’d ever made in all my years. Brightest kid in all of Elora. Smile that just melted yer heart…”

Then why are you crying, Baern?

His voice filled with anguish, “’Cuz… ‘cuz she’s gone…” Tears began rolling down his face once more, “And I’ll never see ‘er again.”

Would she want you to be crying?

Baern stopped, his sobs trailing off as he stared further off into the horizon. In his mind he saw Cessa’s smiling face once more, her arm holding his as her voice soothed his soul: ‘Don’t worry, Da. It’s gonna be okay!’

“No,” he finally replied, “No, she wouldn’t.”

What would she want you to do?

Baern sat up straight. He scanned around, as if searching for an answer. He looked at the grave. The priest had sent his talisman to adorn it in order to guide Cessa’s soul after her passing, and to ward off those who would desecrate it, lest they dare to earn Favem’s scorn.

He recalled the priest’s prayer on that day. ‘May her heart remain generous, with a spirit of love and giving. May her family’s endeavors be fruitful. May she find herself always among friends.’

He finally stood up and spoke to the voice, a newfound resolve returning the strength to his muscles.

“She’d… want me to keep going. Follow my dream. Make somethin’ of myself, not be just some peddler in Grundiksholm.”

I think so, too.

Baern nodded and wiped the final tears from his face. He placed the book just below the gravestone and closed his eyes. He said a silent prayer to Favem and Ryoth, and thanked them for sending her to lighten his life, no matter how short her time was.

He turned his back to the site for the final time, his mind alight with dreams of making a name for himself. For his family.

For Cessa.

Potion of Everchanging Color

“Aha! I’ve done it!” cried the alchemist as he saw the mixture begin to bubble and change color.

He’d spent the better part of the last five years working on this project off-and-on. It had cost him his savings, his family home and even his marriage, but it was finally about to pay off; Quinton Feneril was going to be the most famous potions man in all of Freecloud.

His assistant, a dull little creature animated from sackcloth and hay, cocked its lopsided head to the side as it sat on the table and watched the mixture roil with curious sewn-on button eyes.

Quinton lifted his assistant into the air, a smile of celebration growing wide on his face.

“Do you see that? It’s working!” he exclaimed to the creature, “The moment we’ve been waiting for all these years is finally almost here!”

The creature waggled its stumpy appendages in approval of its master’s success. Quinton could’ve sworn he saw it try and form a smile across its canvas face. He set it down on the table as the pair began to watch the mixture further, the assistant’s leg-stumps kicking back and forth over the side of the table in excitement.

The mixture turned from a deep red to a light blue, then to green and yellow. With each moment, the bottled liquid continued to rapidly shift in color and increase in temperature. It came to a boil, and foam began to rise inside the bottle. Before either could react, the foam expanded into a thick, multicolor smoke that filled the room.

“What in the hell--!” exclaimed Quinton, coughing as the smoke began to infiltrate his sinuses.

Reacting quickly, his assistant grabbed the still-smoking bottle and hobbled towards the window. It used all its might to shove open the pane, and out the thing hopped.

“W-wait!” coughed Quinton, running to the window to try and snatch it. He looked out at the cobblestone road to see his assistant running as fast as its little stumps could carry it down the bustling city streets, holding the still-smoking bottle.

“Come back!” was all he could choke out as he reached his hand fruitlessly out the window, watching as the creature disappeared among the bustling crowd in a technicolor haze.

--

The assistant wasn’t entirely certain where it was going.

It wasn’t entirely certain it was, in general. Thoughts did not come easily to the little thing, but it didn’t seem to mind. It always felt that it preferred listening over thinking, anyway. However, in this instance, there was one thought in the creature’s mind: Run.

As the sack-creature ran its best through the busy streets of Northon, the mixture in the bottle continued to smoke, causing passersby to cough and shout curses at the strange thing hustling through the street. It did not stop to listen, not that it would understand, but instead continued on as though its life depended on it. Maybe its life did depend on it, it tried to think, but decided it was much too occupied to think that and opted to keep running instead.

It ran underneath a moving carriage of cabbages, causing the driver to attempt to swerve around it. Some cabbages broke free of their restraints and began to rain upon the creature like boulders. It tried to dodge them, but its limited form left its movements futile against the hail of green.

The cabbage came tumbling down upon the assistant, knocking it to the ground and sending the bottle rolling across the stones and into a nearby alley, smoke trailing behind it as it spilled its contents. As the assistant struggled underneath the leafy orbs, the driver angrily hopped from the carriage and stormed towards the rear to find out exactly what the fuss was.

“Good gods,” he exclaimed, “My produce! Look what you’ve done, you little wretch!”

He reached down and snagged the assistant, lifting it up to get a better look at it. It kicked and squirmed in his grasp, but the gap in strength between the two was too vast.

“You’re gonna pay for each and every cabbage you ruined,” grumbled the driver, “If you even have money…”

The assistant shook its head.

The driver grumbled, “Of course you don’t. What exactly do you have?”

It looked towards the alleyway, now filled with multicolor smoke, and motioned its stump towards the bottle.

“Huh?” the driver looked, and dragging the assistant along with him, walked into the alleyway. He picked up the bottle, still half-full of liquid, various colors surging and reflecting inside. He weighed it a bit in his hand, tossed it up and down lightly a couple of times, before he finally released the creature in his grasp.

“Well, well. You fancy yourself some sort of alchemist, do ya? Looks good. Looks powerful…”

The creature jumped up as high as it could to try and claim back its prize, but the man lifted the bottle aloft.

“Oop!” he teased cruelly, “Going to have to jump a little higher than that if you want it so bad. That is, if there’s any left when I’m done with it. Consider this a down payment for my cabbage.”

Before the creature could jump again, the man had gulped a mouthful of potion into his gullet. His self-satisfied smirk quickly melted as he began to belch up multicolored smoke. He coughed, his eyes beginning to rapidly change color and his form slowly diminish.

The hair on his body grew rough and leafy, as his skin became greener with each passing moment. He curled up into a neat little ball as he continued to shrink further and further, the bottle falling out of his now-nonexistent hands and back into the clutches of the assistant. He let out one more gasp of smoke as his mouth disappeared underneath a large, green leaf.

He had turned into a cabbage.

The creature took a step back, its feeble mind incapable of processing what it had just witnessed. Where there had once been an ornery delivery driver was now a still-smoking piece of produce.

The assistant poked the cabbage with one of its stumps. It rolled back and forth harmlessly against the cobblestone, showing no signs of life. The creature stepped closer to it to inspect it, its mind trying its absolute hardest to think something.

It felt dampness around its leg-stumps, and looked down to find it had stepped into a small puddle of the potion’s liquid that had spilled over the ground moments ago.

Its stumps tingled and began to smoke as it watched with curious button-eyes. It wished it could think. Maybe thinking something would allow it to escape this situation. It felt a lightning shoot up from its legs to its head. Fear coursed through its straw, fear of nonexistence. Fear of not seeing Quinton again.

In that moment of fear, it finally thought something:

I want to go home.

Another zap of lightning, and another thought came forward:

Did I just think that?

The zaps increased as the puddle began to boil and diminish with a puff of smoke.

What’s happening? Am I thinking? Are these thoughts? Are these my thoughts? I want to go home! I don’t like it out here. That cabbage person was mean. I didn’t like him. Why did I run off? I just wanted to keep Quinton safe…

On and on the thoughts rolled through the creature’s mind as the puddle finally vanished. It stood there staring at the dark cobblestone for what seemed like a lifetime, before it finally looked up at the rest of the world with bright, fresh eyes.

I think it’s time to go home now.

With that, the assistant began to walk away from the cabbage in the alleyway and back towards the direction it had come from. This time, however, it took the time to observe everyone and everything around it. Faces wrinkled and young alike discussed the news of the day. The sun shimmered in the vast blue sky. Birds flew overhead on the warm summer winds, carrying along with it the smell of salt from Northon Harbor.

As it took its stroll and truly saw the world for the first time, it noticed among the crowd a figure it recognized, charging towards him. It smiled. It had never smiled before, but it was especially happy to be doing so now that it could.

When Quinton caught up to it, he was out of breath. He bent down to scold it for running off, but before he could, it waddled up next to him, placed the potion bottle gingerly on the ground next to him and hugged him tightly.

Quinton was taken aback. His assistant had never shown this sort of complex behavior before. He wondered if he should take it back to the enchanter to observe the deviation, but his line of thinking was cut short by the next thing he heard.

“I missed you,” the creature croaked out. Its voice was small, no more than a raspy whisper.

Quinton stammered, “W-what?”

“I missed you,” it repeated. “Can we go home?”

He picked up the thing and held it aloft as he had done so many times before, but this time he stared in wonder, “When did you learn to talk?”

The creature wiggled its legs happily and replied, “The potion let me. It helps you get what you want.”

Quinton placed the creature on his shoulder and picked the potion carefully off the ground, “You mean… it can grant wishes?”

The creature smiled again, even wider this time, “I think so. I mean, I think… so it must grant wishes. Can we go home now?”

Quinton smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. His only companion had returned to him safely and his life’s work was—at last—complete.

“Yes, Patch. Let’s go home.”

Patch smiled wider. For the first time in its life, it couldn’t be happier.