The uneven cobbles were not an ideal path to walk on for hours. The sun was streaming through the canopy of leaves and spreading its light across the road, bathing it in gold. The day was waning, and Paul hadn't seen a single soul since he began his trek to Southwold. Brother Knox had told him a bit about the place. They didn't care for strangers, though they weren't hostile, and many of the brothers would make trips to Southwold for supplies. The monk had told him to look for the tavern, he knew the elf who owned it and assured Paul that he was a "Damn good elf, pardon my swearing."
The trees here were normal-sized, and there were stumps here or there along the road. This indicated that he would soon find civilization, and that meant beds. This prospect tugged Paul along at a quickened pace. After a few moments he began to see smoke rising above the trees. It was hard to see it in the fading light, but it was most definitely smoke.
The village of Southwold sat just at the edge of the forest. It overlooked some grassy knolls and in the distance, there was a mountain range jutting out into the sky. It was a humble village, the few large buildings he could see had a base made of stone, and the rest was thatch and log. As he came closer he noticed that some of the populace seemed to be gravitating to one particular building. He wagered that it must be the tavern.
Up close, it looked like a rather sturdy building. The front entrance was merely a rectangular hole in the wall with a set of stone steps. He could hear the sound of copious drinking, which would be to say there was laughter and far too much yelling. This changed when he stepped into the establishment. Many of the patrons stopped mid-drink, and others got an elbow to their rib telling them that a stranger had appeared. Paul wasn't sure what to do, so he did what anyone would do in this situation.
"Uh, greetings and fair wea-" the commotion had picked up suddenly, they apparently didn't care so long as you spoke the language. Paul walked over to the counter, behind it stood a portly elf. He eyed Paul as he made his way to the long counter.
"Hello, would you happen to know the owner of this place?"
"Aye, that'd be me." Said the elf who, was apparently the one Paul was told to look for.
"Wonderful, I require a place to stay the ni-"
"Five erahd." The elf snapped
Paul had been told of the currency, though the monks weren't keen on lending any to Paul.
"Ah, y-yes about that"
"No money, no room."
He could feel the fatigue threatening to pull out his legs from under him. Bartering wasn't a course offered by CSU, which made Paul feel wholly unprepared.
"Look, sir, Brother Knox told me that you were a good elf. I'm willing to work for my stay if you'd be so generous..."
The large elf studied Paul for a moment. Then grunted in what could be assumed as approval.
"Fine, there's a barn out back. Try not to scare the animals." With that, the elf turned and started to converse with one of the drinkers at the counter.
* * *
Paul was laying back atop some hay. A mule loitering next to him, was trying to eat his bed. Hay did not make a great bed, and the animals didn't help the situation either. Even though it wasn't comfortable, it was a far cry from sleeping on the bare ground in the forest. Another mule walked over and joined the first one in feasting on his bed. He sighed and rolled over, far too tired to care.
Paul felt a rough nudge against his boot, startling him into consciousness. It was the owner, with a look of annoyance across his face.
"Oie, sun is up. Time to work for your stay."
Paul scrambled up, out of what was left of the little pile of hay.
"Right, what do you n-"
"First things first. My name is Garrett. Today, you will start by cleaning out the manure here. There's a pile out back, take it there. Ol' Benwick needs it for the fields. Do you understand?"
Paul nodded, "Yes, oh, I'm Paul by the way, Paul Jackson."
"Right, Better get to it then."
Paul had been working for hours, and the smell of manure was finally starting to get to him. He could see an end in sight, and he was ready to be done with this mess. Garrett had come about to check on his progress. As he finished up the last bit of work, the heavy elf approached him.
"Aye, so you finally finished your labor. Alright, that would take care of last night's stay. Will you be joining us again?"
"I don't have many options, I'm afraid."
"Then tomorrow you will unload the beer cart. My cellar's almost dried up, myself and the missus are getting too old to carry that many barrels. That would be enough for, oh I'd say, four days."
Paul sighed, it wasn't a terrible deal, but he could feel the aching in his legs already.
"Yeah, alright, sounds good"
The owner gave him an odd look.
"Ya know, you talk rather funny. Where are you from, stranger?"
Paul wasn't sure how to respond, he pondered his answer for a moment then spoke.
"I'm from a faraway land, and I have no way back home. You could say I'm something of an unwilling traveler."
"Pff, I've wagered you were running away. Lotsa folk like that come through here, wayward souls. Most of those type like to take off before sunrise."
"Well Garrett, it would just so happen I have nowhere to take off to."
* * *
There was a brook near the village. Garrett had pointed Paul in its general direction. Apparently, the owner didn't want him scaring customers away with his foul smell. He didn't mind, in fact, he had been hoping there was some way to clean himself after having to shovel muck.
The water was shallow, and it flowed lazily by, like a sine wave that curved around the little hills. Thankfully these hills offered a modest amount of privacy while Paul washed himself. The water was cool and pleasant, even though it was a bit turbid. After Paul was done he decided that the village needed some exploring.
On his way back to Southwold the sound of metal striking metal could be heard. Curious, he followed the sound and came upon a small and shabby smithy. There was an elf hammering away at an anvil. On closer observation the blacksmith was an old man, not frail or meager, just old. The hair that wasn't singed black was a pale white, and the elf's ears were shorter than the others had been. About halfway to where the tips of his ears should have been they stopped abruptly as if they had been cut off. Once the elf noticed Paul, he put down his hammer and placed his work into the coals.
"Aye, what is it?"
"Hello, my name is Paul Jackson."
"I'm not asking your name boy, I'm asking what are you? You canny be an elf, your ears are all funny."
"That was rather rude, I'm a human."
"What's a heman?"
"No, it's hu-man."
"Oh, sorry, what is a hoo man then."
The elf said this mockingly, Paul thought he might understand why this elf didn't live in the village.
"Well Paul, son of Jack, what do you want?"
"What can you smith?"
"HA! What can I smith? I can smith anything you need. If I had to wager I'd say you want a... Dagger?"
"Uh, no not really."
"Aha! Broadsword then?"
"No, actually I-"
"Nay don't say it, I'll get it eventually. Hmm, a felling axe?"
"No, listen please, I just wanted to ask if you had an apprentice."
"Nay, and you don't look like apprentice material."
"Ah, I imagine not. I've never touched a forge, but I would love to learn!"
The grouchy old elf laughed once more.
"Oh you would, would ya? Well, if that's the case then… no."
With that, he picked his hammer back up, took out his work from the fire, and paid no more of a mind to Paul.
Paul however, was not going to be dissuaded. He knew he would need some sort of skill to make money, and being a farm hand didn't sound nearly as appealing as being a blacksmith.
The graying elf continued to work, pounding away at the hot metal. All the while, Paul was standing about. Observing the elf shape the metal.
It wasn't long before the blacksmith stopped abruptly and turned his head to him.
"Oh fine!" He said, dropping the hammer dramatically and throwing his arms up.
"You want to be an apprentice so bad? I'll tell you what. You come over here and press down on this here."
The elf pointed to a lever that stuck out from under the forge.
Paul looked down at it, the lever was perhaps a foot off the ground. He stooped down to push in it.
"Nay, boy you never told me you were daft. You push on it with your foot, watch!"
The elf put out his boot and pressed down on the lever. The result was a sudden surge of flames springing from the forge.
"See? How can ya smith something if you canny see it eh? This way you can heat it up and keep an eye on her color."
The blacksmith pointed to the metal that sat in the coal. Indeed it was glowing a different color now. Brighter, more orange and much unlike the dull red hue it had before.
"Oh, it's a billows." Said Paul
"Aye, it's a billows, very observant. Now push down the billows you discovered, then let it refill, and push it again. Keep it up, if I end up cracking this piece because you let it get cold, you'll pay for more material. I assume you know what money is aye?"
Asshole or not, at least paul was getting somewhere.
* * *
Paul trudged into the small village, exhausted. His leg felt like lead. He made it back to the village just after dark. The place was alive once more with the sound of merrymaking and excessive alcohol consumption. He paused briefly, steeling himself before going inside. This time the patrons paid no mind to him as he entered the tavern. Wearily he slid into a stool at the bar.
"I thought you left for a bath. Why are you covered in soot?" Said Garrett while cleaning a wooden mug.
"I ran into a blacksmith, just over the hill."
Garrett grunted, "Hmm Dallin? That old grouch? What the damn would you bother him for?"
Paul shrugged, abit too worn out to really care.
Garrett grunted again and looked over to a pot that was over the fireplace, someone was stirring its contents.
"Ella, fill a bowl for this fellow here!"
A moment later a tiny elf handed him a bowl. It was watery and white, and there were what looked like cut potatoes.
"Here, mother filled this for you!"
The little elf was barely half the height of Paul, Her red hair was made into a single braid and her green eyes watched Paul with apprehension.
"I take it this one is yours, Garrett?"
"Ha ha, aye, that would be my little Isabetta."
Paul took the food from her, smiled, and thanked her before she scurried away next to her mother by the fire.
He spent the remainder of the evening watching the villagers. Most of them were playing games of dice and cards while they drank, some were off talking amongst themselves and the rest were strewn about, apparently unconscious.
This time Paul had a bed to sleep in. Yes, it was filled with straw, which is basically still hay. However, with a sheet covering it, he at least wouldn't have anything stuck in his trousers. He found a comfortable position, and trying not to think about the heavy barrels he'd have to carry tomorrow, let himself be carried off into sleep.