Today I decided to take a walk down the street to start my day, walking through the sand dusted courtyard, pondering what made the landscape outside the town so hellish.
People say that once upon a time, huge trees littered the land, plants and animals thriving.
Whether it's true or not is unknown, the only beings thought to have been settled are legends themselves these days.
People talk of giants roaming the land, living peacefully among the forest, but like the grandiose bastion of nature, the giants and the legacy seemingly fell with it.
My mind often wanders when I walk the town.
I've grown accustomed to the giant walls that guard it, the plots of sand sprinkled throughout, with the occasional green garden that always seems to catch my attention.
Perhaps an addition of a garden could serve well within my own property, but the matter of its conception would be a problem around here.
An arid landscape with mountains in the distance, it only tends to rain once every few months, a day I surely look forward to.
The one time I do see abundant water is the extravagancy that is the fountain that lays in the centre of town, the spritzing of water through the warm sky allowing for glimmers of colour in the air.
Continuing my walk, I spot many other shops and establishments.
Much of the economy is propped up by the lucrative trade that is adventuring.
People all over the continents endeavour in the trade, travelling from place to place fulfilling requests.
One kind of trade very localised to Ching Dingo is the arena, where gladiators, or just ballsy adventurers, go to die while the crowd cheers on.
My theory is that with the prevalence of death and injury, coupled with the by no means sparse number of healers, people have just grown more accustomed to the gruesome nature of such entertainments.
In fact, right when I got back and picked up a tome, ready to study its contents, a woman burst into the shop.
Her hair black with streaks of red, eyes big and green, skin smooth and pale.
She wore a black blouse with roses on either side of the drawstrings, a skirt and fishnets to match.
Immediately, her look caught my eye, her beauty unmatched.
I wonder what business she brings.
"I was wondering if you could help me with," she spoke softly.
But without thinking, I answered,
"Of course I can."
Now, that may have been the least slick course of action, but the words fell from my mouth before my brain got a chance to catch them.
Luckily, it was well received.
The woman explained that she was a powerful healer.
She then leaned in closely, her cheeks glowing a light red with embarrassment.
"I was cursed," she whispered in my ear.
"I was healing a man of his ailment, attempting to clean him of a curse of his own, but all I achieved was passing it along to myself."
"Interesting," I said, slightly confused.
"You understand that I deal in magic items. While I can do my best, I'm not sure I'm the right person to attend to your issue."
The words, while true, brought a dreary tone to my feeling. I definitely wanted to help her, but what could I do?
"The curse, it came from a cloaked man who said his curse came from an item. I searched everywhere for someone who might know what to do. No one could help me, until I found myself talking to a young knight with a surprising dose of aged wisdom who recommended you," she explained, desperation clear in her voice.
She spoke of Charles, an act of recommendation I would have to repay him for.
One thing stuck out from what she told me, the fact the curse came from an item.
That made the problem much easier, because it meant that a clear imprint of a magic rune pattern would have to be utilised in order for the curse to be removed, something that could be decoded.
"I can help you," I said, cheer seeping back into my voice.
Her eyes began to tear at the idea of ridding herself of the curse.
Ideally, I'd like to ask her what the curse's symptoms were, but the question seemed rude. People don't tend to ask those kinds of questions.
From in my desk, opening the drawer and pushing the acid steel knife to the side, I pulled out a flat metal pad with two hand shapes imprinted into the surface.
Placing the item on the counter, I gestured for her to place her hands upon it.
On my side of the counter, as her hands hit the pad, straight away a circle with complex linework and symbols appeared before me, the code that would need to be reversed.
I began the process, looking back and forth between a tome and the pad, drawing the beginning of a reverse to the curse within my notebook.
The woman fainted.
If my hands had not met hers as she fell, her skull would have collided with the counter.
I'm glad she was a half foot, I thought, as I picked her up into my arms, carrying her up the stairs and laying her in a guest bed, tucking her in warmly.
"Doughy," I yelled.
"Make cave carrot and red sun snake cactus soup for our sick guest, and take some of this harp herb and make tea, please," I added.
Looking at the harp herb, I placed it in my palm, bringing my now balled fist to my lips, tightening my grip and casting Flame Hand, lighting the medicinal herbs before taking a large inhale of the smoke.
Tranquility and clearness of mind followed.
Cracking my knuckles and rolling my wrists, I began to cast an earth based healing.
My pupils rolled back before returning a shining blue, then slowly dissipating back to a deep coal black.
The woman awoke.
She opened her lips to speak, but I put my hand to them.
"Save your strength," I sternly whispered.
"I would like to propose a deal. This curse may take some time to reverse, and I can tell it's eating away at your mana and energy, so you'll need me to heal you."
"I can pay handsomely," she replied meekly.
"Let me finish. I'm willing to do this for you, but I'd like you to work within my business, doing whatever jobs you see fit for your skills," I proposed.
She nodded solemnly.
"You'd receive a full pay of 2 gold coins a week, housing, food, and of course the benefit of medical care, along with a weekly pouch of harp herb," I added.
Her eyes widened and analysed the situation as if there were an added catch, but truly, we just make good money here, so benefitting the staff was no issue.
She nodded and began to speak, but was again interrupted by Doughy, placing the tray of food on her lap, a bountiful meal uncommon in the wasteland.
Doughy had even included freshly made white bread and a small dish of oil.
A meal above and beyond expectation, one I was thankful for, for the hands that prepared it.
I patted Doughy on the back and he nodded at the woman respectfully before taking his leave.
"Thank you, Gnumplin," I said to Doughy on his way out, a nickname for him since childhood I usually reserve only when we are out adventuring on the odd occasion.
"What do we call you?" I asked the beautiful half foot laying before me.
"Nymira."
"A lovely name, but an unusual one for a half foot," I replied, deep in thought.
She spat her herb tea back into the clay mug.
"You think me a half foot?" she said, my eyes widening, realising my words were again not as smooth as intended.
"I'm a druid. I'm just short," she chortled, a smile creeping across her face.
As she drank the tea, she relaxed into the bed, resting her tired frame.
I began to tell a story.
They say the Wasteland wasn't always
just sand, snakes, and sunless days.
Once, trees rose past the clouds,
so high, no eye could trace their shrouds.
Fungi glowed in shadowed light,
creatures thrived beneath the night.
A forest vast, untouched by flame,
until the First Mage came.
Weary, old, and near the end,
he turned his page, broke what couldn't bend.
That night, the sky was split by sound,
a boom that shook the sleeping ground.
Colors danced where stars once stayed,
as ancient roots began to fade.
The trees fell silent, one by one,
devoured before the rise of sun.
Mana surged, wild and cold,
new beasts rose to feast on the old.
Though called a tale, too strange to hold,
some swear by its words it may just be real if truth is told.
Nymira's eyes had closed sometime during the story.
Her mind was at rest for the first time in a long time.