As the woman pulled him deeper into the heart of the shadow district, Simon didn't offer resistance. It was only later that he'd learn her name, his savior, but at that moment, he couldn't fathom mustering the will to break free from her iron grip. Her fingers clamped firmly around his wrist, compelling him to tread the path she had set before him.
The sun, climbing toward its zenith, cast a diminishing array of shadows from the towering, decrepit stone structures. The district earned its name for the rare sunlight that breached the overhead canopy only when directly overhead. The intricate network of sky bridges connecting the buildings created an intricate labyrinth. In this place, Simon knew escape was improbable.
Deep within the district, where multiple sky bridges converged to form a domed ceiling, the stony world took on an eerie twilight. The only sources of light emanated from dim storefronts and a scattering of feeble lampposts, their meager, orange glow absorbed by the pervasive darkness. It was here that Kit pulled him into an establishment, the faded name of 'Enchanted Chalice' barely visible, having eroded with age and neglect.
The exterior of The Enchanted Chalice was unpretentious, its modest façade veiled by layers of ivy and the relentless march of time. Weathered wooden boards groaned beneath the weight of entering patrons, shrouding the atmosphere in perpetual twilight. The air bore a heavy scent of aged oak, incense, and an elusive aroma that eluded Simon's senses.
Dimly lit lanterns dangled from the rafters, casting a warm, amber radiance that danced with the encroaching shadows. The walls featured tapestries displaying mythical beasts, ancient maps of uncharted territories, and other enigmatic subjects, their details obscured by the dense smog from the fireplace and lit pipes.
Simon's gaze darted around the establishment, attempting to take in the surreal scene. He pondered if he would ever emerge from this place. Behind a scarred bar counter, the innkeeper, a weathered woman swathed in a patchwork cloak, served a bubbling concoction to a patron who appeared to float, the lower half of their body resembling that of a serpent.
In another corner, a fortune-teller hunched over a deck of well-worn cards, her eyes aglow while she animatedly conversed with a disinterested companion. Kit unceremoniously thrust Simon into a corner booth, its rough-hewn wood offering minimal comfort. He scooted to the farthest corner as she slid in beside him. A striking, dark-skinned girl approached, clad in a faded blue skirt that cascaded to her feet, a soiled white chemise, and a dark lace bodice that scarcely contained her, its loose strings dangling at the sides.
“Didn't expect to see you back so soon, Kit,” the young woman drawled, her tresses resting on her shoulders.
“Hey, Nidi. Negotiations with the Fen didn't go as planned,” Kit grumbled as she accepted a flagon of ale, thumping it down in front of her. “He's as stuck up as Tavith thought.”
Nidi gestured toward Simon, who was doing his best not to seem like he was cowering in the corner. “Who's the kid?”
“Simon Barter,” he replied, striving to mask the tremor in his voice.
“Found him wandering the shadows,” Kit explained, taking a few swigs of her ale. “The idiot thought he could rescue me from Fen's bruisers. I suppose I took pity on him.”
“You could have just shown me the way out,” Simon suggested.
Kit raised her gloved hand, silencing him. “Hush.”
Nidi interjected, raising an eyebrow, “You want a beer? If you're old enough to drink, that is.”
There was no way Simon was about to reveal his money pouch. “No, thank you,” he added quickly.
Nidi giggled, resting her hands on her hips. “Oh, we've got a polite one. You should keep this one.”
Simon retorted, “I'm not anyone's property.”
Kit, in the middle of her drink, pointed to the door. Thumping the flagon down, she wiped her mouth. “There's the door, kid. If you think you can find your way out.”
Simon surveyed the space between him and the exit, populated by a motley crew of unsavory characters. “I'll stay here. I'm tired.”
“Tired, right.”
Those condescending smirks grated on him, but what other option did he have? He had left home and already found himself in the seediest part of town, where a single misstep could spell his disappearance, never to be seen again.
“Let me know if you want any food, Kit,” Nidi finally said as she turned to walk away. “On the house for ya.”
Simon couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips as she departed.
“She's quite easygoing,” Kit interrupted his thoughts, a touch of mirth in her voice. “Fifty silver talons, and she'll show you her bed and a good time.”
“No!” Simon balked at the woman's crudeness, his face turning scarlet. “Uh... I mean, no thank you. I'm just trying to get out of the city.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Kit said, leaning back and propping her feet on the table. “The new bag, your age, your sheer bewilderment, and your apparent fear of women.” “I just got turned around,” Simon attempted to defend himself. “And I'm not scared of girls.”
“Sure.”
Doubt dripped from that word, but he didn't have a chance to respond before Kit downed more of her drink. Silence settled between the two, and during this lull, Nidi returned, placing a plate of steaming potatoes and slices of meat in front of him.
“I didn't order—”
“Shut up,” was Nidi's curt response before she walked away.
The smile on Kit's face grew a bit. “I guess she likes you. Eat up. Don't insult the tavern by turning down their gift.”
“Oh.”
The concept of a “gift from the tavern” had reached Simon's ears before. It was the practice of offering travelers and nobility complimentary items as a form of respect. He couldn't fathom why this particular tavern had extended him this courtesy.
“Kit Morigin,” the woman said, leaning forward, her feet off the table. “Where are you headed?”
“Simon Barter,” he replied, with a mouthful of potato. “I was on my way to Oakridge.”
“Why?” Kit inquired.
“Why do you ask?” Simon countered.
“I'm bored,” Kit admitted. “There's nothing to do until a friend of mine returns. Why are you heading to Oakridge? It's larger than here, and the chances of getting lost are pretty high.”
“The Traveler's Guild.”
Both of Kit's eyebrows shot up, her beautiful yet well-worn face reflecting surprise. “You're a Traveler?”
“I want to apply to be a Traveler,” Simon confessed. What else could he say or do? He was at the mercy of this person.
Kit erupted into laughter, earning curious glances from a few hooded individuals who then returned to their conversations. “What's so funny?” “You. You want to be a Traveler? You're an idiot.”
“Hey!” Simon protested, his anger beginning to surface. “What do you mean by 'idiot'?”
“Where's your weapon, boy?”
Weapon?
“Uh... what?”
“Do you know how to wield a sword? A dagger? A bow?”
“Ummm... no.”
Kit's grin widened as she leaned back. “The Traveler's Guild isn't a social club, cub. It's composed of men and women seeking their fortune through cunning or combat. You possess no skills that would interest them.”
“How do you know?”
With a swift motion, she reached into her cuirass and retrieved a medallion. It was as battered as her other equipment, but Simon recognized the silver piece bearing the symbol of an eagle, the Traveler's Mark.
“You're a Traveler?” Simon exclaimed in shock.
“Yeah, I've been one for quite a while. Earned my silver a few years back,” Kit said with a nonchalant shrug. “It's no walk in the park. It'll devour dreamers like you.”
Why had that not dawned on him? Simon looked down at the wooden table that had seen many years of wear, tear, and knife points. He had some basic sword steps from a few guards when he was younger but that had been more to amuse themselves than to actually teach him. He looked up to see the keen look on the Traveler crossed from him. Simon took in a breath and nodded with resolve.
“I can learn. My father used to say that the most useful skill is to be able to learn, then nothing is impossible.”
“You're willing to learn as you go? That's a great way of getting killed.”
Simon frowned and folded his arms.
Kit seemed to contemplate something, then stood and made her way into the crowd. Simon watched her vanish in the crowd, fear spiking being left alone.
Like a predator though, Nidi slid into the booth by him.
“Hey, sweetie,” The barmaid said with a grin that now made him more nervous than scared. “She left you all alone.“
“She'll be back.” Goddess, he hoped she would be coming back.
“Was the food good?” She asked. “Made it myself. Thought you deserved more than Thrak would slop on a plate.“
Simon swallowed and glanced down at the plate. She scooted closer and leaned over giving him a full view down her chemise. The young man immediately found something interesting on the table beside her.
“Anything else I can do for you?” She cooed. “I'm good. Thank you.“
“We could go upstairs. I can let Kit know you and I want to get 'better acquainted.'“
Simon's throat got dry at the proposition. The thought of this young lady without clothes on a bed caused his heart rate to jump. She giggled seemingly reading his mind.
“I appreciate it but...“
“You got a maid waiting for you?” She quizzed letting her hand creep on top of his.
“N..n...no.“
“Then why not? I think you're cute. Plus, I like giving young men their first 'experience'. Free of charge!“
“Hey! I'm not—–“
Nidi's laughter tinkled around him.
“It's written all over your face, my hero. Come. I promise it'll be memorable.“
Simon was now praying he was facing the shady people instead.
“Nidi!“ Kit had returned and whatever trance she had on him broke. She sighed.
“Leave the poor boy alone. He looks like a rabbit about to run.“
Nidi sighed and scooted back.
“I was just being sociable, Kit.“
“Sure,” Kit responded sitting down across from him again. “And I'm a priestess of the Cult of Purity. Be gone harlot.“
Simon winced at such a strong word, but all Nidi did was give his arm a squeeze, laugh, and flounce back to work.
“Sorry, forgot to warn you she's a bit of a predator.” Kit laughed and dropped an item on the table.
“What's that?“
Kit leaned back in her chair, her eyes glittering with a mix of nostalgia and mischief as she gestured grandly at the weathered scabbard, which lay like a slumbering guardian between them on the rugged, wooden table. Its leather surface, once vibrant and polished, had seen its fair share of battles and adventures. “This,” Kit said, her voice a warm, inviting drawl, “is your first sword. I convinced Thrak to give it up as he's too old to be adventuring anymore.”
Simon's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as he glanced at the scabbard, then back at Kit. “Thrak? The Cook?”
A fond smile tugged at Kit's lips as she began to weave the tale. “Oh, yeah. Thrak used to do a lot of adventuring until an unfortunate incident when a new initiate wasn't being careful. Poor guy took an arrow to the knee, and he hasn't been the same since,” she continued with a wistful sigh, her eyes dancing with a hint of mischief. She pushed the scabbard closer to him, the leather surface bearing the scars of countless journeys.
Simon intrigued and somewhat baffled, reached for the weathered scabbard gingerly. His fingers brushed over the rough surface, feeling the history it held. Carefully, he gripped it and pulled the blade gently out of the leather sheath, which held it securely in its embrace. The blade that emerged was simple, only about twenty-four inches long, with a hilt that was a quarter of that size. It had only one cutting edge, with a slight curve near the point. The crossguard was simple black steel, unadorned and utilitarian, yet it felt surprisingly solid in his hand.
“Thrak says her name is 'whipped cream',” Kit explained, her tone laced with humor.
Simon blinked in confusion. “I'm sorry, what?” He turned to see the massive green hulk of a person in the doorway, a goblin named Thrak, his imposing presence contrasting with the cozy atmosphere of the room. Thrak's four long braids of black hair ran down his back, his stained shirt, and wide, unblinking eyes fixed on Simon, his massive arms crossed over his chest.
Kit shrugged and offered a cryptic smile. “Don't ask me. I don't know goblin culture. He expects you to do honor to his 'sword wife.' He expects you to take care of her, make sure she stays sharp, keep her close, and give her a kiss before you sleep. Thrak says she will serve you well if you do.”
Simon's curiosity got the better of him. “Is...it magic?”
Kit chuckled heartily. “Oh, hell no. Goblins are just particular about their swords.”
Simon slid the blade back into her...its sheath and set it down on the table. “I don't know if I could do her justice for Thrak.”
Kit slid the scabbard back to him, her tone serious. “Too late. You can't turn her down. Thrak would take that as a severe insult.”
Simon, realizing he had no choice, accepted the sword, looking over to Thrak and bowing in respect. In return, the goblin did the same and lumbered back into his kitchen, a gesture of trust and camaraderie.
“Now, you have a sword. You can have this from me,” Kit said, her voice shifting to a more business-like tone. She handed over a sealed piece of parchment with a wax seal on it. Simon raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“This?”
“A letter of introduction from me to the Oakbridge Guild,” Kit explained. “It'll guarantee you at least one mission to try it out. You aren't accepted; it just asks that you be allowed a trial before consideration. Better put your best foot forward. Leader Hordak is not one to suffer fools.”
Simon's eyes sparkled with gratitude as he accepted the letter and placed it in his pouch with great care. But then, he hesitated, studying Kit with suspicion.
“Why are you helping me?”
Kit leaned in, her gaze piercing. “Because, unlike what you might be thinking, I don't like the idea of pretty boys getting slaughtered because they're damn fools. At least this way, I have a bit of salvation in case you wind up impaled on an Elven death pole.”
Simon hadn't thought about that aspect of his future adventures, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
“Now!” Kit exclaimed, her infectious enthusiasm returning. “Let's get you going!” She stood abruptly, ready to usher Simon into a world of uncertainty and adventure.
Simon hesitated and she looked over to Nidi who was watching them. “Unless you'd like to take an hour with Nidi! She's been salivating since we arrived.”
Simon hopped up.
“Let's go!”
Kit laughed.