Chapter Text
You are a hearth witch, living on the banks of the River Chionthar, making potions and herbal remedies for the small villages nearby. For the past three years, you’d been happier than you’d ever been in your life. You loved helping people, but you made sure not to reveal your real name, nor why you always wore long sleeves and gloves, even in the middle of summer.
But the nearby villages had been emptying as of late. News of the goblin camp that recently appeared nearby had first scared off the traveling merchants, and then the locals. You realized that you too should leave, otherwise you’d either have no more customers or goblins on your doorstep. You only had a dagger and a few spells that did little in ways of actual damage, so defending yourself against a horde of enemies was out of the question. So you began to pack up, figuring out what you could bring with you, and what needed to be repurchased once you reached your new home, wherever that might be.
On a warm sunny day, you decided that this would be your last day here. Your pack was filled, your cottage cleaned out. Tomorrow morning, you would take off to the east, following the river to the next closest town. For now, you decided to grab a few more ingredients for the road, and so, you were out by the river bank, gathering fresh herbs and mushrooms.
A booming sound followed a strong gust of wind that whipped around you, twigs and grass flying everywhere. Then you saw a ship crash nearby, the land and water being torn asunder, debris flung in all directions. After the chaos died down a bit, you went to go check for survivors. You couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away if someone might need help.
That was a poor decision on your part.
The first survivor you found was a young, dark-haired woman, passed out on the shore. She seemed standoffish, but after helping her up and giving her a drink from your waterskin, you convinced her that the best thing to do was to get out of the area and rest at your cottage while she regained her bearings.
A little while later, the two of you came upon the strange sight of a single arm, sticking out of a glowing purple rune. You and the young woman, Shadowheart, pulled the poor man out. He introduced himself as Gale, and also joined your party.
As the three of you continued back to your cottage, you came across another stranger. Skin as pale as marble and hair to match. Had some scars on his neck. Perhaps he got them on the ship? He seemed harmless enough. Another escapee of the craft that fell from the sky.
That is, until he tricked you into looking for something in the bushes.
If only he hadn’t touched your exposed neck with his bare hand. Then you wouldn’t have felt the fear, underlined by a desperation you knew all too well.
The leash is cut.
It made you empathize. And that was one rule that had been burned into your mind at a young age.
Do not empathize with the enemy.
Fortunately, Gale and Shadowheart talked him down from stabbing you. The man even apologized to you, though it seemed more for show than for sincerity.
Astarion was his name. He introduced himself with aplomb and decorum, and your hackles raised at the sight. A noble.
After a bit more conversation, they agreed that their shared affliction was enough of a reason to travel together and find a cure.
Swallowing down your general prejudice against nobles, you ignored him and made small talk with the others as you led them back to your cottage.
***
Your cottage had only one room, enough space for your bed, some storage for herbs and tools, and a work table for your alchemy. Most of your things were packed, but you pulled out enough to take care of your guests.
The yard to the side of the building was set up as a small campground for travelers to rest. You had figured out a couple years ago that for a small fee, traveling merchants would gladly rest on your land where it was safe, while you made them fresh, nourishing meals and cast spells on their bedrolls to make them feel warm and comfortable. You even managed to get a small tub built in the back to provide a warm bath for an extra fee.
It had been a lucrative idea, one that made you enough money to be quite comfortable out here in the sticks.
You may only know a few cantrips, but you had manipulated them beyond what most people did. Your mending cantrip could fix whole swaths of cloth, your prestidigitation cantrip could keep bedrolls warm all night, or baths hot for hours. It was why you had several repeat customers, traveling merchants who would alter their routes to come to your place to rest.
You told them of the surrounding area and cooked a meal for them, a simple stew with seasonal vegetables and herbs.
The noble said he wasn’t hungry. You supposed your poor peasant food wasn’t to his taste.
He can suit himself.
While the others were eating, you set up the campground. While you were quietly casting the comfort cantrip on each bedroll, you sensed someone watching you.
“Yes?” you asked, biting the inside of your mouth to keep from being snippy.
Astarion stepped closer to you. He remained standing, looking down on your kneeling form. “What an interesting way to use prestidigitation.”
You shrugged. You had nothing to say to a noble.You finished your spell and started to shuffle over to the next bedroll, but he remained standing in your way.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all, darling.” He didn’t budge.
You let out a short huff and crawled around him. One bedroll left. Ignoring the man, you began the cantrip.
By the time you finished, you looked up to see all three of them watching you.
“What?” you asked, a little disturbed by the attention.
“I hadn’t thought to use that cantrip like this before,” Gale said as he knelt down to touch the bedroll. “How long does it last?”
“All night,” you responded, feeling a little proud of yourself.
Shadowheart was already crawling into the bedroll. “This feels amazing.” She buried herself into the cloth. “It feels like I’m sleeping on a warm cloud.”
Gale shrugged and followed suit. “Gods, you’re right.” He sat up and looked at you. “I don’t know how you manipulated that spell, but it’s absolutely brilliant.”
You felt a zing of joy. Your little custom cantrip impressed a wizard!
The noble watched you for a few more moments before he too, crawled into a bedroll. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh. My, this is rather comfortable.”
You jutted out your chin, but refrained from being too catty about it. Instead, you switched to being polite.
“Sweet dreams,” you said to everyone, and went about cleaning up around camp. By the time you were done, the three of them were fast asleep.
***
The motley crew thanked you and took off in the morning to explore the area, seemingly never to return.
You looked around at your unpacked things, and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to start off tomorrow morning instead.
Your plans were sidetracked once more, however, when the group returned that evening with a fourth member, grouchy and prickly as a threatened porcupine. After a couple of bowls of your herbal soup, she became a little bit less prickly. Lae'zel was her name, and she punctuated her Common speech with her Githyanki tongue. You found it a bit endearing, the way one finds a stray animal that always hisses at you endearing.
You cast a warming spell on their bed rolls once more, burned incense to keep the insects away, and made sure they were all comfortable in your little camp area outside of your cottage before going to bed.
The next morning, you got up early to make breakfast for them before they left to explore the ruins that they had found the day before. As you checked your rabbit traps, you noticed one of them was tripped, but the rabbit within was a mere husk, as if it had been dehydrated.
Curious.
You reset your trap and returned to camp.
“What’s that?” Shadowheart asked when she saw the husk of a corpse in your hand.
“A dried up rabbit.”
“That doesn’t sound appetizing,” Lae’zel remarked.
You shrugged. “I can at least sell the pelt later. Sorry, you’ll have to make do with another vegetable stew tonight.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “That is, if you’re coming back here.”
The four adventurers looked at each other.
“I think we’ve taken advantage of your hospitality long enough,” Gale said. We’ll start heading west from here.”
***
The group had finally left, and you had finished packing. You had been delayed by their arrival, but no longer. They truly seemed gone now, with the sun setting and no sign of their return. Tomorrow for sure. Tomorrow, early in the morning, you would set off—
You heard your name being called. Off in the distance, you could see Gale, waving sheepishly at you, followed by the others.
You sighed. Biting back your annoyance, you smiled and waved back. A customer was a customer. At least this group was entertaining, and quite generous with their gold. And this time, they brought you back some boar meat.
There was one new face, a man with a stone eye. He introduced himself as the Blade of the Frontiers, Wyll. He seemed nice, charismatic even. Someone who had the manners of a noble but the heart of a commoner.
They set up camp once more in your yard, and you unpacked just enough of your supplies to make them a meal.
"You look like you're ready to go on a journey," Gale commented as you all sat around the campfire, eating a boar roast with herbed potatoes.
"I'm moving. Many people have moved away because of the increase in goblins in the area, and a lot of my business has dried up. And having goblins this close doesn't make me feel all too safe."
“Any plans on where?”
You shrugged. “Not really. I was just going to travel until I found a place to settle.”
"Well, why don't you come with us?"
Everyone looked at Gale in shock, but then they all looked at you.
"You do make camp much more comfortable," Shadowheart finally said.
“And one of us would be standing guard at camp as well, so you would be safe,” Wyll added.
You saw no reason to decline. You liked most of them, save for one snotty noble. A constant flow of income would be nice, for once. You negotiated a decent wage and agreed to head out with them at first light.
That, dear hearth witch, was your second poor decision.
