Charles Whitmore peered around the market square of Bentbranch village, a note clutched in one hand. He ran his fingers through his dark hair once more, smoothing back the unruly locks that always tumbled into his face. He was a Hyur, fair of skin, and common enough in the forest lands of the Black Shroud.
In his white robes trimmed with scarlet embroidery, he was a comforting sight to the villagers going about their business that morning. As a White Mage and professional healer, Charles's skills were always welcome. People tended to instantly trust him with their health concerns, which was awkward, at best. He knew more about who had warts and the local crow-cough than he ever wanted to find out.
But Charles wasn't working in the infirmary today. He'd received a note under his door the night before requesting that he appear at the market square at eight o'clock the next morning. A job offer, it said.
Charles didn't exactly need a job, but he was curious. He'd not left Bentbranch in two years, and his feet itched for new roads and fresh vistas. His magic, drawn from local nature, had grown too familiar, like consuming the same meal day after day. A job offer might take him out of town, into the mountains, or deserts, or down to the coast and beyond. By the gods, he'd love to see the sea again.
The brightly-painted market stalls and their colorful awnings didn't seem to hold any job offers for a White Mage. They held everything else, though. Charles sauntered among the stalls, studying the shoppers and wares. Piles of melons and squash, pyramids of early corn fresh from the fields, bags of wheat ready for the miller. Lots of women in homespun shawls and dresses, enthusiastically shopping and gossiping with the merchants. Charles bought a couple of peaches, stashed them in his belt pouch, and wandered on, enjoying the sweet, succulent fruit. He threw the pit over the fence, into the woods behind the market. The pit lodged in the ground and immediately took root.
"Nice toss," said a voice.
Charles looked up. Behind the nearest stall, in the shadows between it and the fence, stood a man in dark armor. He stood head and shoulders taller than Charles, his pale gray skin mottled with black scales along his jaw and nose. Horns curled on either side of his head, black as ebony. He gazed at Charles with glowing blue eyes set in black sclera, like an animal's. This was an Au Ra of the Xaela tribe, and an especially villainous looking one, at that.
Charles tried not to stare. He had seen a few Au Ra around the city of Gridania, but only from a distance. He had heard that the men were tall, but he had not realized the truth of it until this moment. His gaze rested particularly on the hilt of the greatsword protruding above the man's right shoulder.
"You wouldn't be the writer of this note, would you?" said Charles, holding it up.
"I am," said the Xaela. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Bayan Avagnar, hunter of evil. I find myself in need of a healer, and I wish to secure your services."
"Very well," said Charles cautiously. He looked Bayan up and down, but the Au Ra didn't seem injured, leaning casually against the wall with his arms folded. His armor was a dark pewter color, and aside from a few ornamental designs along the shoulders, carried no insignia. He could have been an ex-gladiator, or a sellsword, or a runaway knight from Ishgard, for all Charles knew.
Charles ventured, "You require my assistance immediately?"
"Not now," Bayan said. "Several people were taken prisoner by the Ixel and dragged into their lair beneath Direroot Hill. It'll be a fight to rescue them. I need a capable healer who can watch my back and keep me on my feet."
Charles had never tried combat healing before. His specialty was treating the sick and injured, working alongside doctors or other healers. However, he knew the theory of combat healing, and he knew a couple of offensive spells that he practiced with friends on the weekends.
He saluted, straightening to his full height and pressing his right hand to his heart. "Charles Whitmore, White Mage, at your service!"
"Excellent," said Bayan, straightening. "Make your preparations. I wish to depart in an hour."
Charles nodded and returned to the marketplace. Excitement and apprehension fizzed through him like too much wine all at once. What had he just agreed to do? Journey with a stranger straight into a town of hostile beast men, intending to fight them all? He'd heard about the people who had been taken prisoner, of course. It was a whole family of farmers who had been kidnapped right off their ranch and dragged off, and their cattle, too. The Ixel may be bird-like, but they enslaved humans and ate their animals. Hopefully they had not eaten the prisoners, too, but it had only been a day and a night since the raid. Likely the Ixel were still celebrating and praising their god. The Serpent Guard had so far done nothing, and rumors said that the Seedseer, ruler of the forest city Gridania, wouldn't react in time.
Charles hastily returned to the little medical house, which he shared with three other healers, and collected his equipment. He carried a branch from the Great Tree in the center of the forest, which he used for conjury. He also had a box of ordinary medical supplies, such as bandages and medicines, for when healing magic fell short. One could never be too prepared, especially around the Ixel.
An hour later, Charles Whitmore and Bayan Avagnar set out for Direroot Hill. They rode side by side on chocobos, which were great flightless birds trained to carry riders. While Charles's was a common yellow color, Bayan's was jet black. Bayan's chocobo seemed to share its master's disposition. It pecked furiously at Charles's bird whenever it came too close, and snapped its beak threateningly at Charles.
"Yin is combat-trained," Bayan said, stroking the bird's neck feathers. "Keep your distance or lose a limb."
Charles prudently steered his chocobo a safe distance away. He rode a big female named Goldie, and they were very fond of each other. She wasn't used to rough treatment, and chirped and muttered to herself about Yin. Charles stroked her neck reassuringly and let a little healing magic trickle from his fingertips. It never failed to have a calming effect on animals, especially Goldie. She quieted at once, blinking over her shoulder at him with a liquid, friendly eye.
"Have you much experience in combat healing?" Bayan said.
"I know the theory," Charles confessed. "This will be my first time working with a Disciple of War like yourself."
"It's simple enough," said Bayan. "I will rush in and attack. You follow behind and mend my wounds as they occur. If we are attacked from behind, use your spells to hold them off until I can see to them. Understand?"
Charles nodded and cleared his throat. "Yes. Um. Have you worked with many healers?"
"Several," said the Au Ra, unsmiling. "Some better than others. I don't have high hopes for you."
Charles glared. "Why not?"
Bayan held up a finger. "One. Inexperience. If you can keep from running away, I will be most surprised. Two, you're no adventurer."
"How do you know?" Charles said. "You know nothing about me. I am a fully-trained White Mage." He gestured proudly at his white robe of office.
Bayan snorted. "Healers are soft. Especially town healers. Keep me on my feet today, I'll pay you, and we can go our separate ways."
"It's a deal," said Charles. He was liking this Au Ra less with every word. It was a shame that his first encounter with such a noble race was turning sour so fast.
Direroot Hill was a couple of malms from Bentbranch, out toward Greentear. The stately oaks and pines of Bentbranch gave way to towering beech and hickory, the ground on either side of the road carpeted with leaves bigger than Charles's head. They passed the occasional farmer on the road, sometimes on foot, or driving a chocobo cart. Bayan nodded to them, unsmiling. Charles called greetings and waved. Each farmer took one look at his white robe and waved back.
The road began to roll up and down, following the hills as they climbed toward the distant mountains. Charles tasted the local aether, drawing the magic in and letting it swirl through him. While there was plenty of earth and nature magic here, it had a different quality to it, reminding him of roasted hickory nuts. A faint earthy scent of mushrooms and decayed leaves came with it. In back of this was a rotten odor, and a stench of armpits. They must be nearing the den of the Ixel.
As if in answer to his thought, Bayan pointed to the left. "This way. Keep quiet." He guided his bird off the road and up into the trees. Charles followed, heart pounding in excitement.
Direroot Hill loomed a short way from the road, swathed in dark trees. The Ixel had surrounded it in wooden stockade walls, with pointed wooden stakes slanting outward. The hilltop was carved with totem poles and hung with trinkets, declaring this to be the territory of their tribe. Woodsmoke filled Charles's nostrils, along with the scent of cooking meat. Human or animal? /Please let it be animal.
Bayan halted and dismounted from his chocobo. He pulled the bird's bridle off and stored it in his saddlebag. Then he stroked the bird's fierce head and the huge, thick beak. "Time to fight and kill," he murmured. "You know what to do, my friend. We have come to rescue people. Watch for anyone who is not Ixali and whistle if you see any."
The bird crooned in its throat.
"He understands you that well?" Charles asked, dismounting from Goldie.
Bayan shot him a sideways look with those feral blue eyes. "He is a very intelligent bird."
Charles shrugged and turned to Goldie. "Linger," he whispered. "Come at my call." He stroked her head with a touch of his magic. She closed her eyes and drank it in, then chirped and trotted a few feet away, where she began to scratch in the undergrowth and hunt for worms.
"Waste of a chocobo," Bayan muttered. "Follow me. Stay quiet."
Bayan lifted his sword from its shoulder straps and unwrapped the blade. It was eight feet long and solid steel, and looked heavy as a load of bricks. Charles watched respectfully as Bayan took a few practice swings to loosen up. His own rod of conjuring felt light and feeble by comparison.
Bayan held out a hand. "Cast a healing spell on me. I want to know what it feels like."
Charles disapproved, but drew on the local aether and cast an invigoration spell on him. He swirled his rod around in the flashy motions people seemed to expect with magic. "There, have extra strength. Healing a person who is not injured burns your body's reserves."
Bayan closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, savoring the magic. After a moment, he said, "Good enough," and walked off toward Direroot hill. Charles followed, faintly nettled. Why did the man need magic at all? What was the point?
As they neared the gate through the stockade, three Ixali guards dropped out of the trees, screaming battle cries. Two went for Bayan, while one attacked Charles.