The mid-morning sun filtered through the uniquely macabre canopy of the northern Deadwood Forest as Tro'go followed his nose rather than his sense of direction. He'd planned to head east towards the distant mountains, but the faint smell of cooking meat had lured him northward, his feet following where his nose led.

Wolf's Bane rested comfortably on his shoulder, the broken sword's reassuring weight a small comfort as he navigated unfamiliar territory. He hadn't been to the northern outskirts of Deadwood Forest before; hadn't been this far from his home until recently. Until he'd had to run.

Did he have to? He could have gone back, but the noise, the flame, they were already...

His dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices ahead.

Tro'go crested a small rise and found himself looking down into a natural bowl that had kept the settlement completely hidden from view. A few dozen or so rough wooden buildings clustered around what appeared to be a natural spring, with smoke rising from several chimneys; the source of that enticing smell.

"—telling you, Marta, the water's gone wrong," a grizzled man was saying to an equally gnarled old woman. "Look at it yourself if you don't believe me."

Tro'go crept closer, his small stature and green colouring making him easy to overlook amongst the scattered shrubs and new saplings that had begun to take root between the ancient, petrified trunks.

"It's gone a funny colour," the woman, Marta, was saying, peering into a bucket. "And the smell..." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Can't cook with this. Wouldn't give it to the pigs."

More villagers began to emerge from their homes, drawn by the increasingly agitated voices. Soon a crowd had gathered round the spring, and panic was beginning to set in.

"Where are we supposed to get fresh water from?" demanded a younger man with arms like tree trunks. "The river is too far, this is all we've got!"

"Must come from somewhere to the east," said an older woman, pointing vaguely towards the forest. "Underground, like. But how are we supposed to find where?"

"Can't be his doing," muttered someone from the back of the crowd. "His trolls would just take what they want outright. This is something else. Some evil spirit. Some bad sort who's set upon poisoning us all."

"Aye," agreed another voice. "Who's to go find this evil thing? Someone's got to."

Tro'go stepped forward from his spot at the edge of the clearing. He hadn't been hiding exactly, but being so small and green, he'd been completely ignored by everyone. Now he planted Wolf's Bane's broken end firmly into the soil and rested his elbow upon its hilt, striking what he hoped was a properly knightly pose.

Several villagers whispered and gasped. They'd never seen the like of him before, but then, in all of Talam, who had?

"I can help you with your problem," Tro'go announced in his most heroic voice. "I am a knight, and I would be happy to assist you in your time of need."

The villagers stared at the three-foot-tall slender figure in makeshift dinner plate armour and the tattered rags that were typical greolen garb.

"A knight, you say?"  Came one questioning voice.

"Yes! Well, I'm going to be a knight. I'm practising." Tro'go straightened up as tall as his small frame would allow. "And knights help people who are in trouble."

A few of the villagers exchanged glances. There were plenty of strapping men and able-bodied women in the crowd, but nobody seemed eager to volunteer for what sounded like an urgent mission.

"So you'd go looking for this... evil spirit?" asked the man with tree-trunk arms.

"Or witch," added someone else helpfully.

"Or monster," came another voice.

Tro'go felt his confidence falter slightly as the reality of what he'd volunteered for began to sink in. An evil spirit? A witch? A monster? He scratched his head while thinking deeply.

The villagers waited, clearly expecting him to make excuses and back down.

Instead, Tro'go surveyed the group with genuine curiosity. "Which way should I be heading again?"

A short while later, Tro'go was practically skipping through the forest, his feet dancing over roots and stones as excitement bubbled up inside him. His first real quest! He was going to be the hero of the hour!

He wandered this way and that, following what he hoped were the right directions, until he heard the sound of splashing somewhere ahead. Following the noise, he pushed through sparse undergrowth, mostly hardy shrubs and young trees that had somehow found purchase amongst the bleached bones of the ancient forest, and emerged into a small clearing where a brook bubbled up from underground springs. Here, at the northern edge of the Deadwood, life was slowly returning. Fresh green shoots pushed up between the petrified stumps, and the parched earth had given way to richer soil fed by the underground springs.

And there, in the middle of the brook, was a man. A completely naked man, washing himself with considerable enthusiasm. He was scrubbing at various parts of his anatomy with what could only be described as overly keen attention to detail.  The man was remarkably hairy; not just his head and face, but seemingly everywhere. Tro'go had never realised humans grew so much hair in so many unexpected places.

Tro'go coughed politely to get his attention.

The man turned with a cheerful smile, completely unabashed by his state of undress. "Oh! Hello there, young fellow. Didn't see you arrive."

"Um... hello," Tro'go managed, trying not to stare.

"Terribly sorry about my state," the man said cheerfully, reaching for some of his clothes that were clearly soaking wet from recent washing. He pulled on the dripping garments without any apparent discomfort. "There, that's better. Don't want you to be embarrassed."

The man continued his washing routine, now working on what appeared to be his only cloak. "I do enjoy the feel of the fresh spring air, don't you? Particularly lovely after weeks of travel without a proper wash."

"Weeks?" Tro'go asked.

"Oh yes, I've been on the road for quite some time. Finally reached this delightful spot this morning and thought it was time for a proper clean-up." The man held up his cloak to examine it in the sunlight. "Sometimes one must take advantage of what the world provides."

There was something about the way the man spoke, as if his words carried meanings that Tro'go couldn't quite grasp, like water slipping through cupped hands.

"You wouldn't happen to have seen any suspicious beings lurking about, would you?" Tro'go asked, remembering his quest. "Evil spirits, witches, that sort of thing?"

The man paused in his washing and gave this serious consideration. "Suspicious beings? In all my travels, I've found that things are rarely what they first appear to be. Sometimes what appears evil is merely... misunderstood. Sometimes the solution to a problem is simply allowing things to find their natural course."

"Oh," said Tro'go, not understanding at all but nodding politely.

"Tell me, young knight," the man continued, wringing out one of his socks, "what brought you to this particular place on this most lovely of mornings?"

"The village," Tro'go explained. "Their spring water has gone bad. Funny colour, terrible smell. They think it's caused by an evil spirit."

"Ah," said the man, and something in his tone suggested he understood far more than he was letting on. "And you've come to help them?"

"I'm trying to. But I don't really know what I'm supposed to do. I've never fought an evil spirit before... or a witch."

The man’s features softened with kindness. "Perhaps the spirit isn't something to be fought, but simply... encouraged to move along. Sometimes the kindest thing one can do is help someone find their proper path."

As he finished up his washing, the man suddenly began searching around with mild concern. "Oh dear, I seem to have lost something."

"What is it?" Tro'go asked.

"A sock. My other sock. Must have fallen when I was washing." The man began searching the immediate area.

Tro'go joined the search and soon found the missing sock near where the stream disappeared underground. As he picked it up, he noticed it smelled particularly foul; much worse than anything he had smelled before.

"Here it is!" Tro'go called, holding up the offending sock.

The man's face lit up with genuine gratitude as he accepted the sock. To Tro'go's surprise, he bowed deeply, a formal, respectful bow that seemed far too grand for the simple return of a lost sock.

"Thank you, young knight. You have been most helpful in my time of need." The man gathered his belongings, now properly clean, then reached into his pack and withdrew an old iron pot. It was battered and well-used, with a few dents here and there, plus some leather straps and a buckle, though Tro'go was not sure what that was for.

"I'd like you to have this," the man said, offering the pot to Tro'go. "Consider it a token of my gratitude."

Tro'go accepted the pot, turning it over in his hands. "It's a cooking pot," he said, not wanting to seem ungrateful but confused by the gift.

The man's features brightened with something deeper than just amusement. "Before it was a pot, it was just some iron in the ground, waiting to be found and now it's a helm of a knight, mighty and feared he will be. Names of things are just our perception and that can change with deed and tale."

Tro'go studied the pot carefully, still not sure its new function, then placed it on his head. It fit surprisingly well.

"Perfect! Now there's a sight. You couldn't be a knight without a proper helm! Now you look fit to grace the halls of any castle."  The man remarked smiling broadly.

"I'm just a Greolen," Tro'go said quietly, touching the rim of his new helm.

"You're not just a thing, you are you, and therefore important," the man replied, his voice taking on an almost prophetic quality. "I don't believe in fate but instead a grand design, all planned and mapped out. You were meant to meet me and I was meant to meet you on this day. All the decisions and choices, chances and luck, good and bad, led us to right now. Isn't that wonderful?"

Tro'go thought a moment. "I suppose," he murmured.

"Now, now, friend, we are both of the wandering path, but we're not lost, we have our destination, we may just not know exactly where it is yet." The man beamed.

Tro'go frowned. Did he know his destination? He wasn't sure, he wasn't sure of much at the moment, apart from how this man’s thinking rather hurt his head. But something about their shared wandering made him curious.

"You see this tree, when it started life it didn't know how it would end up, but it landed in just the right place, just the right time, the right soil, light and water to grow into this mighty tree.  Magnificent.  The seed doesn't fear the dark. It pushes through to the light."

"My mother used to say that."

"She must be a wise woman," the man replied.

"She was," Tro'go added quietly. 

The man gave him a reassuring smile.  "I'm sorry to hear that, I'm sure she is missed."

"Is anyone looking for you?" Tro'go asked suddenly. "I mean, why are you all alone out here?"

The man paused in packing his belongings, a gentle expression crossing his face. "I'm not alone. I'm here with you."

"I meant when you're travelling," Tro'go clarified.

"Ah," the man nodded thoughtfully. "I’m a bit of a hermit, I enjoy the quiet, simple life. Others can bring distraction and conflict that affect my peaceful days. But I do enjoy seeing people sometimes; when I want to." He watched Tro'go, a faint smile spreading across his face. "Such as now."

Tro'go kicked at a stone with his foot. "No one's looking for me. Or will miss me if I disappeared."

"Now, now," the hermit shook his head firmly. "I would miss you, and many others would too. You'll never know your worth and what others think of you, but if you weren't there, you would be missed. You may not think it, but this quest and others I'm sure you'll take will be small stones thrown in a deep still lake; those ripples will spread far and wide. These ripples are the tales told by those your deeds will touch; the centre of those ripples is the ones who'll miss you."

Tro'go studied the hermit, not entirely convinced but touched by the kindness in his words.

The hermit shouldered his pack and gestured towards a barely visible trail leading through the trees. "I find good things happen to those with a good heart, but sometimes terrible events occur to push them on their path to greatness. Now, young knight, I believe you should return to your village and see what has changed. Follow this path; it will lead you true."

"But shouldn't I—" Tro'go began.

"Trust the path," the hermit said simply. "And trust yourself."

"Will I see you again?" Tro'go asked.

"Maybe you will. Maybe you won't. That's not for me to decide." The hermit considered a moment. "I feel I will see you again. Though maybe not as you are now." He smiled. "I shall look forward to that, all the same."

<continues to part 2>