The Merchant
Kale climbed the ruined wall of the church, his fingers finding purchase on weathered stone. He moved quietly, his route practiced and efficient. He reached the top of the wall, balancing his body over the ledge. Earlier efforts saw Kale climb to the very top, where the church bell once hung, but he found that such heights were unnecessary for the task at hand.
On the wall, Kale scanned the land around the church. He did this every morning. The sunlight was gentle, filtered through the fading mist. Goats and boars grazed through the foliage. Rabbits darted from the brush, pursued by foxes. The woods brimmed with soldiers, even at such an early hour. They were loyal to the mad lord of that rain drenched castle to the north. Kale avoided them. The Kaiden sellswords could sometimes be traded with, but Godrick's dogs were not worth the hassle.
He looked at the ruins, sunken into the earth, and at the cliffs nearby. Sea birds flitted through the air and he could hear the faint rolling of waves. A troll had taken up residence on the path to the beach, making it a perilous destination. Kale had enjoyed walking along it at dusk, skipping stones along the blue sheet of water.
The golden knight still roamed lazily down the path in front of the church. The knight carried a large, menacing halberd and a shield that covered nearly his entire body. He had been there for over a week at this point. Another merchant had called these knights tree sentinels, defenders of the remnants of the Golden Order. He hid from its sight, but Kale suspected the sentinel knew that he camped in the church ruins. The sentinel had other prey.
His gaze fell on the ruins directly to the south, a great tomb of sorts. The man in the white mask was talking to someone else. A figure draped in a black hood, with a matching cape. The white mask gestured dramatically, his conversational partner still. A Tarnished, perhaps? He had witnessed a handful emerge from that ruin. Kale welcomed the prospect of a new customer. It had been ages since another of their kind wandered through Limgrave. They were a restless people like him, but they were prone to blundering into horrible deaths. He heard the Spider of Stormveil hunted them, their bodies fuel for grotesque rituals.
He did not trust the white mask. The man had spoken briefly to Kale when first he arrived in the area. His gloves were stained with blood and his eyes were hollow. The man lurked near the ruins for days, sometimes vanishing into the night. Kale kept close to his fire on those evenings.
Limgrave was growing more dangerous than Kale liked. Godrick's men patrolled further and further from the castle, looking for new victims. Beasts and ghouls stalked the ruins, dragging the unfortunate away to grisly deaths. He had seen a dragon flying low over the lake, it's wings kicking up great waves of water.
His other options were not ideal. The muddy, miserable Weeping Peninsula to the south was cut off, the bridge blocked by soldiers. It was plagued by feral Misbegotten rampaging across the countryside, according to another merchant.
Eastern Limgrave was rife with demihumans, antagonized by the arrival of Godrick's men. Kale knew a fellow that camped in those woods, trading with the demihumans for meat and berries. He was a scrawny, nearly starving mess of a man.
Kale's brief time in Caelid had nearly ended in disaster, his donkey hounded by bloated crows with carrion filled beaks. Liurnia was a possibility, though he would have to pass dangerously close to Stormveil. The Altus Plateau had it's charms. Mt. Gelmir wasn't even a consideration. Those merchants that made their way into that hell had Kale's respect, if not his confidence in their sanity. There were other, stranger destinations. Lost cities in the depths. Perhaps, even the lands beyond.
The Tarnished departed the conversation abruptly. The hooded figure began walking towards the golden knight, a short sword clenched in their right hand. Kale sighed. Another fool, rushing to an early grave.
The tree sentinel took his time before he noticed the challenger. The knight cocked his head, appearing almost confused, before raising his halberd to the sky, his horse reared back. The sentinel charged the Tarnished, hooves thundering across the ground. The Tarnished tensed and rolled to the side at the last moment, the halberd sweeping overhead. A snap pierced the air, as a tree toppled, a victim of the charge. The Tarnished regained their footing and readied for another attack. They appeared small before the mighty sentinel.
Kale realized he was gripping the edges of the church wall tightly. He relaxed, took one more look at the ongoing skirmish, and climbed back down. He had seen enough Tarnished trampled and slain in his travels. Kale had little stomach for violence, but the Lands Between rarely gave you a choice in the matter and he bloodied his blade when the moment called for such an action. Many mistook the merchants for easy prey, an observation he could not reinforce. No mercy was permitted.
Kale walked back to his donkey. He pet her neck, keen on keeping her calm. She shook her head lightly at his touch. The donkey was the only constant in his life. He retrieved his staff and instrument and sat by the remains of his campfire, alongside his wares. Kale traced his finger along the string of his instrument. It had been a long time since he played it. Music drew unwanted attention in these parts.
The fight carried on beyond the church. He could hear its rhythms in the crashes of falling trees and the gallop of the horse. Occasionally, the very ground shook as if something heavy smashed into it. He tried to ignore it, using the time to take stock of his wares. He had arrows, daggers, various armors, (stolen from corpses and cleaned up, the runts of the vagabond militia could be useful in their own twisted way), loose tomes of recipes bought off of travelers or found in decrepit huts, a sketch of ruins, a satchel for crafting supplies, pots made for mixing ingredients and a telescope traded by a starving Carian noble. All this meant little at the moment. Kale's stomach protested. He would be forced to scavenge soon.
Movement by the entrance of the church disturbed him from his task. Kale was so lost in his inventory of his goods that he hadn't noticed the sounds had ceased. The Tarnished slowly entered the church, their hand pressed to their side, a crimson stain spilling through the black cloak. Kale held his breath, his hand brushing along the knife under his cloak. They took in the church and Kale, then pulled a red flask from their pouch and pressed it to their lips. The Tarnished exhaled and removed their hand from their side, the wound gone.
The Tarnished approached cautiously. Their sword dangled on their belt. Up close, Kale could see that they were a man, his tanned, young face under the hood, a tangle of reddish hair framing his head.. His eyes glinted a deep blue, hooded by thick eyebrows. The face held no apparent malice, but there was no warmth either. The Tarnished was sizing him up.
Eager to break the silence, Kale said,"You are a Tarnished, I can see it. And I can also see... That you're not after my throat. Then why not purchase a little something? I am Kale, purveyor of fine goods."
The Tarnished blinked, almost as though he was surprised. He nodded. Kale laid out his wares for the man to examine.
"Payment is in runes. A man must eat, after all."
The Tarnished silently appraised the goods. He lingered over the telescope.
"A fine piece of equipment that. Perfect for scouting ahead, seeing danger before it spots you," Kale said.
The Tarnished picked it up. He looked down the scope, then handed the runes over to Kale. Kale enjoyed their glow and put them in his pack. He might fill his stomach yet.
"You know, if you can spare the runes, you should buy yourself a crafting kit. A crafting kit allows you to make basic items on your own. Essential really, if you intend to survive out here for any duration. The kit costs a bundle, and I admit, I do take my cut. But the important thing is that you survive. Every customer counts, after all," said Kale. He did this song and dance with all who looked over his goods. Many refused, insistent they could make it on their own. He didn't have many repeat customers.
The Tarnished hesitated, before taking the satchel and a handful of the cookbooks. He slung them under his cloak. Kale recognized some of the symbols on his cape as being similar to that of the Golden Order insignia he saw in his travels. One of the faithful, even in these times?
"You are welcome to rest here for a while. I don't have much food, but I'll give you a bite to eat since you've been such a good customer. And you got rid of that brute who was ruining my view. He give you much trouble?"
The Tarnished said nothing and sat down a feet feet from him. Kale split a piece of stale bread, some of his last. The two ate in silence. Kale was used to the quiet. Many of his fellows were fond of silence, unable or unwilling to fill the gaps in conversation. It made up for the others who wouldn't stop talking.
"I don't mean to pry, truly. But I am curious… what is your purpose in the Lands Between? My people are nomads. Our lot in life is trade. Other Tarnished like you are all that keep things from drying up completely in these broken times," Kale said.
The Tarnished remained silent, face in shadow. Then he spoke, "I do not know. I follow the golden light." His voice was softer than Kale expected, but it made him shiver, like a cold wind. His eyes met Kale.
"Ah, the guidance of grace. My people have been long spurned by it," said Kale. "If you meet any of them, treat them well and give them some trade, won't you? We have been forced into this unceasing journey. Your people and mine are kindred spirits now, spurred on by this pitiless world. And see to it that no harm comes to them. We have a saying, we wanderers. Lament not your solitude. Expect no sympathy. No regard. Nothing. But if anyone dares harm us, show them no mercy. That is our code, so to speak. Just the way we are. Deeply... unforgiving."
The words spilled out of Kale with more force than intended. He recognized the bitter tang of venom in his speech. He did not mean to, but he resented this Tarnished, the Tarnished more than he cared to admit. They were hunted and reviled, but at least they had purpose. They could aspire to something greater. Kale's people were cursed to wander, carving out an existence on the edge of the world. There was no great victory to seek, no monument to their struggles. Only the endless road.
He thought of his fellow merchants. The sole balm for Kale's hurt was the time spent in their company. How they spoke of braving the lost cities, deep below the earth, skies illuminated by stars unseen. Of the scorched and rotting landscapes of Caelid. Of the lighting swept plains of the Altus Plateau and the fissured, treacherous climbs of Mt. Gelmir. They were awkward, eccentric, more than a bit mad, but they had seen sights no mortal lived to tell about, held secrets no lips had granted to the world.
Kale clutched his instrument tight. He allowed his mind to wander to the Great Caravan, their birthright ,that which was denied to him and all his compatriots. It roamed the Lands Between and regions farther still, offering their goods and services. He imagined the rumbling of the wagons, the smell of the hide tents. The great bonfires his ancestors would dance and sing around at night, their music ringing out. They protected one another and made a home wherever they ventured.
Then it vanished, the tracks worn away by time, the stories fading, kept alive only by hushed whispers around the fire. The others spoke of it, but when talk turned to finding out what happened to their ancestors they went silent. They were an echo, losing clarity more and more as it rang. Kale had chased that ghost his whole life.
He was stirred from his thoughts by the Tarnished, who stood. "Thank you for the bread. I will keep your people in mind."
Kale observed him. There was a firmness to this one, a strength of purpose even if they didn't yet know the specifics of it. This Tarnished was liable to meet the usual fate, but… if he didn't, then maybe, he could be of use. A tool to unlock Kale's past, to find the Great Caravan, to end the emptiness.
"Do come back. We're nothing without our customers."
The Tarnished nodded, then left, pulled along by his thread of golden grace. Kale smiled and picked up his instrument. He played, an old song, a familiar song. A song that spoke of home.
Thanks for taking the time to read my story. I appreciate it.
This is the first chapter of a story that examines the protagonists journey through the eyes of a variety of side characters. I've seen similar takes on this site, but I wanted one that wasn't from the point of view of the Tarnished, but rather their allies and enemies.
