(Charles)

  Seven hours ter.

  It was early m. Charles sat in the driver’s box of his arborhearth. [Summon Arborhearth] nt ability from his Dark framework; a ste and transport ability in the shape of an anically ornate carriage, pulled by two bramble spawn.

  The vehicle ambled down the road, its pitch-bck wood paneling adorned with intricate leaf and vine carvings. The left side of the carriage featured several ets installed above a rge chest, while an oval dranting access to the sat on the right. Another chest and a spigot were located at the rear.

  The carriage body was shaped like a round nut, with thick roots sprouting from the underside f the frame. Four spoked wheels lifted the carriage off the ground, and the root frame extended forward, creating the carriage shaft that grew and fused into the bramble spawn.

  Bramble spawn, pntlike creatures of darkness, resembled rge quadrupeds with antlers and cloven hooves. Dark, thick, and thorny brambles kightly together to form muscles that covered their frame. Fine iferous needles sprouted from the brambles, repg fur and f a protective coat against the sun.

  Their color-shifting eyes pulsed between bd evergreen, glowing at night. Branches repced their antlers, blooming with shades of ruby, amber, and emerald—a stark trast to their dark, muted bodies. These beautiful creatures of the night sustaihemselves through umbrasynthesis, a process by which they gained energy from the absence of light.

  Charles quite liked the creatures. They were hardw, low-maintenance, and quiet. Bramble spawn weren’t native to Xel’oria, having e from a tidally locked p whose name Charles could never remember. The universe held an untable number of ps, and remembering them when he’d never left his own seemed unnecessary.

  At an early age, he decided there was a signifit amount of essential information to remember: how to kill an arc beetle, when to use a backstitch, and where to source running water. Information such as birthdays, names of ps, and which fork to use for dessert was trivial. He wasted little thought on things that weren’t directly impactful to him.

  His Summon Arborhearth ability doubled as both ste and transport, with the bramble spawn included with the summoning. He could summon it once a night, and they would st until dismissed or destroyed.

  Charles enjoyed his uninterrupted quiet time, but he kept his mind occupied with thoughts of improved designs, materials, and stitches he wao try. If not, his thoughts might drift back to his past, spoiling his mood. W with his hands and creating useful items gave him a sense of aplishment.

  This territory was intimately familiar to him. He had grown up and spent many decades at the nearby Ebonscale guild chapter, one of many adventuring guilds on Xel’oria and the closest form of civilization. Traveling this road always brought him a mix of mencholy and nostalgia. It would take him only a few hours to detour and visit his old guild.

  He harrumphed at the thought. Growing up as a ward of the guild, he had long since wanted nothing more to do with them. It had taken him decades to earn enough to buy his way out. Fortunately, he was an elf with a lifespan measured iuries, not decades.

  The arborhearth rounded a bend, and Charles spotted a pants-less, round stranger scurrying off the road and into the bushes. Gently pulling ba the reins, he sighe bramble spawn to slow down.

  Charles frowned. ‘That’s unfortunate,’ he thought. Vermillion ivy ervasive along this stretch of road, its oils leaving a nasty rash on most folk. Quickly parsing the situation, he wondered what would drive someoo dive into the toxidergrowth. Charles sloroached the stranger, who remained poorly hidden in the roadside bushes.

  His mind worked through the possibilities. ’Ambush? No. Bandits would never set up so close to Ebonscale. Bounty hunter? No. Haven’t done anything in a while that would warrant a tract.

  ‘Lost traveler? Pusible, but why run and hide? If they don’t mean any harm, then they’re simply i and might need assistance. Also, where are their pants?’ There were too many unknowns for a logical clusion. Charles sighed; he would have to i with them to find out more.

  The arborhearth pulled off to the side of the road on the right, just past the stranger huddled in the bushes on the left. Treating them like a timid animal, Charles moved slowly, giving them space.

  He hopped down from the driver’s box, nding lightly on his feet. Feigning an impromptu iion of the chests and ets, he purposely kept his back toward the strahis was a tactic he often employed—pretending to be unaware.

  [Proprioception] was the passive ability from his Melee framework; it gave him the ability to sense what was going on around him without relying on his sight. He closed his eyes and focused on the stranger with his other senses while he preteo check straps and locks.

  Proprioception revealed a poorly dressed and ht individual. He also detected the shape of a small bde in the cloak, though he would have been more ed if they had no way of defending themselves in the middle of a forest. However, the first two observations were at odds in his mind. Only three types of people got that ht: royalty, off-world ambassadors, and astral merts, and all of them could easily afford det and plete outfits.

  ‘Royalty, ambassador, or astral mert. This person is most likely rich, obviously lost, and no dao a themselves. There might even be a reward for helping them,’ Charles thought, deg it would be wetting involved.

  “You’re standing in vermillion ivy,” Charles said loudly, tinuing his farce. “That’s going to leave a nasty rash…” He waited patiently for a response.

  Unsteady words emerged from the bushes a moment ter: “I’m sorry, but I ’t uand you. Please, I don’t want any trouble.”

  The voice was mase, something his ability hadn’t been able to decipher. Charles heard the apprehension and exhaustion in the man’s to was baffling how anyone could lose a transti—they were such a prolific magic item that most people sidered them mundane, hardly worth stealing. Double-cheg, he used Proprioception and firmed the man wasn’t wearing a ring.

  Thinking of a transti, he used his mental e to his ste ability to retrieve one. He kept a few in stock for the occasional ing-of-age ceremony, where their parents would present them with a ring just before starting their first year of school. They were inexpensive gifts, but it was difficult to get even basic supplies to the more remote vilges he serviced.

  The rings were a erstone of gactic society, providing universal unication. They magically transted spoken words so the wearer could uand, though the transtion wasn’t alerfect—occasional errors could slip into the interpretation.

  Charles opened a small et, retrieved the transti that appeared, and turoward the stranger. He held out the ring, signaling his iion, and slowly crossed the road, stopping just before the vermillion ivy.

  He didn’t want to get the oil on his pants—it ain to wash off without getting it on your skin. Vermillion ivy was an insidious yet beautiful pnt, causing blisters along with insatiable burning and itg, and this poor soul was crotch-deep in it. With his free hand, Charles motioned for him to e closer.

  Close enough to make a visual assessment, Charles examined him from head to toe. The stranger was male, with an average smooth elven skin tohough he was very short for an elf, Charles stood only three-quarters of a head taller. He wore a hooded e cloak, a typical staple among travelers, good for keeping dry when it rained. Hiding uhe hood, the man cealed more of his facial features at the cost of his peripheral vision, which Charles found unnecessary, si had stopped raining ho.

  ‘Is that a bed sheet?’ Charles wondered. At first, he didn’t reize the filthy garment ed around the man’s torso and hips. And then there was his distinct ck of pants, revealing angry, reddening skihe vermillion ivy was fast at work. Even his shoes were a poor choice, being a size too small.

  Hesitantly, the man approached. Charles took pity on him as he awkwardly made his way out of the bushes, rough foliage catg and scratg tender pces as he whimpered and gasped.

  Once clear of the vegetation, Charles held out the ring for him to take. The man looked down at the transti as if he didn’t know what it was.

  “I’ve got nothing to give you for it,” the man said.

  Taking advantage of people in need was a trigger for Charles—he hated it. Orphaned as a yearling, Ebonscale had taken him in. As he grew up, the guild meticulously ated for every bite of food, drop of drink, and piece of clothing or lodging. It was years before he was even old enough to train as a Crafter—his only way to work off the mounti. They had taken advantage of him simply because they could.

  He didn’t believe it was right to withhold food, water, clothes, or respite from someone in need simply because they couldn’t afford it. It was one reason he became an adventurer, even if he was just a crafter. Purchasing his freedom and leaving the guild had cost him his Adventuring lise, but he was tent helping people as a simple traveling mert.

  He found it strahat most people wouldn’t accept help without something in exge. As a promise, he’d tell them he’d put it oab—not that he ever kept tabs. He had magical abilities, several ways to make gems, and a responsibility to help those less fortunate.

  Charles ched his teeth and sighed. If this was going to work, they’d o unicate, and he his man to take the transti. So, he stepped forward and dropped it into the man’s hand.

  “Thanks,” the man said, and then, to Charles’s disbelief, slid the unication devito a pocket inside his cloak.

  Astonished by the man’s ignorance, Charles’s mind worked to process another piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. He was good at puzzles and would eventually figure this o, given enough time. He made logical corres based on this test information.

  ‘Didn’t demand help, suggesting a ck of entitlement. That rules out royalty. Didn’t offer reimbursement—not an astral mert; they’re notorious for settlis. Doesn’t reize a transti. No way he’s an off-world ambassador. Maybe the patriarch of a secluded tribal vilge that only uses one spoken nguage?’ Charles guessed, after excluding all his previous possibilities.

  ‘By the Mother, who is this man?’ Not giving up, Charles took off his riding glove and held up his hand. He poio the transti he wore and then pantomimed taking it off and slipping it ba, gesturing for the man to do the same.

  He seemed to uand. Taking out the ring, he slipped it on and held up his hand for Charles’s approval.

  “Where are your pants?” Charles asked.

  The man’s eyes went wide with awe and uanding. “Sacred excrement!” he excimed. “I uand you!"

  Charles thought that was a weird respohe man reached up and pushed back his hood, revealing his face. Charles deduced from his short, blunted ears that either he’d been wrong in assuming the man was an elf, or he was a victim of child mutition. Every iion with this man only led to more questions.

  Motioning to the man’s bare, red, and scratched legs, Charles waited for an ao his inal question. The man looked down at his legs, then at the ring, and finally over to the bramble spawn—a cssic sign of being woruck. He absentmindedly bent over to scratch his leg.

  “I—” the man halted. Charles waited patiently as the man collected his thoughts. “I don’t know where my pants are,” he said despoly. “I don’t even know where I am.”