Alton Wynter
Never before had the road felt so long. Alton’s feet had carried him through most of his life with ease. Through cold mountains, hot sands of beaches, even slums and sewers. But now they hurt. On the familiar trade road and soft grasses near the Golden City.
He was sure that the aching wasn’t from fatigue or rocks digging into his bare soles — he was more than used to that, and was numb to most physical feet pains. This ache felt distantly familiar, like a memory forgotten until something triggered it. He felt this ache once before in his life: when he was first making his way into the Golden City. Then it had been purely by accident. Now he was going of his own volition, and regretting every step. But going down this road was what he needed to do. He needed to take care of his own personal business before anything else could be tackled. Figuring himself out was the only way he could do that, and he was heading to the one place where he could do that.
Alton was used to traveling. He was used to the sights that came with hiking through nature. The fresh air, the beautiful river valleys, the sweeping forests and grasslands that covered the continent. But cresting the last hill on his journey, seeing the rolling fields of gold around the city that he used to call home, gave him a small moment of respite. Seeing his goal — the Golden City spreading itself out over the hundreds of square miles on the coast — also helped substantially. The familiar buildings in the distance made his heart ache for simpler times. Of course, simpler relatively. Thinking it over, Alton thought of his entire life as a struggle for survival in one way or another. Hopefully, if everything ended up working out in his favor, things could be simple for a while. He wouldn’t have to worry about his past or the goings on of modern day. He could sit, relax, and figure things out by himself.
Alton finished up his journey, and his feet seemed to relax for a bit. The constant, throbbing pain that had once been there was replaced by a slight stabbing in his arch. He could finally put the walk on autopilot. His thoughts wandered in perfect circles, continuously asking whether or not he should continue on this journey rather than some other, more important mission. He constantly weighed the same reasons for either side, not finding any rebuttal for doing his own personal mission before the other things he had on his conscience. So he kept walking, thoughts ceaseless and constant in his head.
By the time he made it to the small towns outside of the walls, it was dark. The buildings had popped up one by one, many were homes holding various lowly farming families that tended the fields so that the rich in the actual city could continue to feed themselves while they built their wealth. Then came the bigger buildings. Trade shops, general stores, bakers. But he didn’t care about those. He didn’t want to spend any more time in Golden City proper than he had to, so he needed to find an inn outside of town. When he was finally able to find one, he saw “The Crimson Lady” painted in fine calligraphy over the front door. Definitely a whorehouse, and a relatively new one. He could tell by the amount of sickly-sweet perfume that poured out of the windows as he passed, and the fact that the paint on the outside of the building wasn’t destroyed. The thought of having sex made him feel sick, but he needed some place to rest his aching feet before he finished the trek into town tomorrow. The building looked nice enough; the wooden walls were painted over with maroon, which made it stand out amongst the dark, dreary wood of the surrounding buildings. The windows had beds of dark red roses in raven black window boxes. The perfume had already given him a headache, but he could deal with that slight pain. His throbbing feet were causing him more anguish than a headache ever could.
Alton opened the door to a wave of perfume. He saw the greedy gaze of all of the show girls on him for a split second before they turned away. He couldn’t blame them. He looked absolutely ratty in his grease-stained trench coat and potato sack shirt. His hair didn’t help either. He hadn’t washed it for two weeks.
The brothel looked like any other brothel he’d been in. The first thing he noticed in the hearth hall was the stairs going up into the rentable rooms. He then noticed the dark brown chairs and tables with scarlet cushions on top of them, and muscled farmers on top of those cushions. Most of the other patrons here looked worse than he did in the clothing department comparatively. Alton climbed onto a barstool and beckoned the bartender over.
It took a second, but the bartender made her way over. She wore nothing but a crimson apron with a pocket stretched over her left breast. The outlines of two large coins could be seen pressed up against the cloth of the pocket. Someone had tipped big. “Hey honey,” she said. Oh god. Her voice crawled out of her throat in a voice that could only be replicated by a sentient rat. Alton’s headache immediately trobbed. “Almost didn’t see you, so short. Are you a halfling?”
Small town girl right outside the Golden City had never seen a halfling before? Falsehoods couldn’t be more obvious.
“Good acting. Can I get a room?” Alton said. His voice carried out emotionlessly.
She pursed her lips. Alton heard the jingle of keys as the barkeep opened a drawer under the bar. “Alright. Would you like any company with the room?” Her voice now copied Alton’s, lack of mousiness apparent. Alton appreciated the gesture of business.
“No, thank you.”
She placed a key onto the table. “Two silver.”
He placed the allotted amount onto the bar, and grabbed the key while he was there. He turned and jumped off of the barstool and walked towards the stairs up.
“Thank you for your business, small man!” She shouted at him. The mousiness returned to her voice. She waved extremely energetically, letting the other men bask at the sight of her breasts as they flailed with every wave. A few even got up and went to talk to her. Good for her.
He made his way upstairs into his room. Luckily he heard no one fucking in the rooms beside him. As Alton opened the door, he saw a figure sitting on his bed. He had very ostentatious leather armor — frills and baubles covering pretty much every part of the armor. He had two cutlasses on his belt, and, most identifiably, a necklace with a red charm on it. Alton didn’t need to see the design on the necklace to know what was inscribed on there. It was a skull with daggers for a jaw and two swords crossed behind it. The gang symbol for the Crimson killers. As soon as he saw the necklace he knew who the man on his bed was. Azmodoth Profiteer.
Alton’s past always seemed to haunt him.
Azmodoth Profiteer
Azmodoth had been waiting for Alton for a while now. He had gotten the news that a halfling matching Alton’s features was coming out of the mountains a fortnight ago, alone. At first Azmodoth didn’t believe what he had heard. Alton had been traveling with a party of five or six (the solid number never quite grasped Azmodoth) people whom he seemed to enjoy at least a bit. He had been staying with them for months prior to the dwarven mountains. When he got information confirming his suspicions, he had to follow through with it. After all, Alton showed plenty of promise in thieving the few times he had demonstrated in front of Azmodoth.
Alton’s eyes felt empty as they continued to match gazes. He felt Alton’s hazel eyes pierce his soul. After a few seconds of unbroken silence, Alton turned around and began to leave the room.
“Alton,” Azmodoth said. The broken silence somehow stalled the halflings expeditious retreat.
“What do you want, Azmodoth?” Alton said. “Make it quick. I got a headache and that bed you’re sitting on is calling my name. If you don’t move soon, I may just have to move you myself.” Alton’s hand went to the pepperbox strapped to his upper thigh. That was always a strange device to Azmodoth, especially for someone as gifted in stealth as Alton. Whenever it went off, the thunderous noise it made immediately attracted the attention of any guard within a mile radius, including the guards around this establishment, who would quickly call for backup from city proper. Alton definitely wouldn’t shoot him, too much risk. But, Azmodoth needed the halfling civil in order for both of their interests to be met.
Azmodoth stood. His hand went out to offer the halfling the bed. Alton sized up the situation, looked for any weapons on Azmodoth’s person, then stood his ground near the door.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Alton said. “What do you want?”
Azmodoth took a breath. “As of right now, I’m interested in what you want.”
“Bullshit. You only do things that benefit you.”
“Calm down, Alton. All I want to know is why you left the Mountains without your troupe of good-doers.” Alton looked away from Azmodoth at his mention of his friends. But, Azmodoth knew the reason he left. He wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of paying the barmaid if he didn’t know he had some kind of leverage to get what he wanted. Alton wanted to find his family. Alton moved past him to take a seat on the bed.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong Alton. As far as I’m concerned, you are my business, and if your schedule just freed up, then it would be against my interests to not pursue that opening.”
“Well my schedule isn’t open.”
“And what currently fills your schedule, Alton?”
“None of your business.” Alton’s tone was firm and unmoving.
“Ah. I see.” Azmodoth moved to sit next to the halfling on the bed. “You know your problem, Alton?” Alton continued staring at the wall he’d been looking at for the past five minutes. “You never let anyone in.”
Alton furrowed his brows.
“If you actually wanted to hear me out, you might find that I have information that could help you on your own… personal quest.” Alton broke his staring contest with the wall and turned to face Azmodoth.
“What do you have?”
“The location of your family.”
Alton’s eyes widened. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“How?”
“Two of your brothers happen to be under my employ, and they recently went home to take care of family business.”
Alton’s head went into his palms. His long greasy hair flowed over his hands. “Where?”
Azmodoth stood from the bed and began to make his way to the door. “Ah-ah-ah… when does your schedule free up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do I have to gain from giving you this? We both know you don’t have the kind of money that would satiate my hungry pockets.”
Struggle spread across Alton’s face. Perfect.
“Tinkering. I can create traps and weapons for the Crimson killers.”
“We already have tinkerers, Alton. You know this.”
“Tinkerer’s you have to pay. You wouldn’t have to pay me, it would be a favor.”
“Ah… a favor you say?”
Alton realized what he had just said. He shook his head. Alton’s finger came up and pointed angrily at Azmodoth. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
Azmodoth shrugged it off. “But just one favor wouldn’t be a problem. I can assure you that this favor won’t be anything that risks your life.”
“No.”
“It wouldn’t be immediate, just a future ‘I owe you,’ if you will.”
“Azmodoth.” Alton glared at Azmodoth. “No.”
Alton’s face said another story. His brain was clearly jumbled and weighing out the two options. The ‘no’s’ were his automatic response to something he’s iffy on.
“I see that you’re still on the fence,” Azmodoth said. Alton glared at him, and could almost feel the dagger being drawn across his neck. He turned to the door and began to open it. “I’ll let you sleep on it. Have an answer by tomorrow morning, or my deal is off the table.”
Azmodoth made his way out of the room, winking to Alton as he closed the door behind him. He had planted the seeds of an idea. Now he had to wait for the idea to flourish.
Alton Wynter
Alton woke up to someone fiddling with the lock on his door. Before he opened his eyes, Azmodoth waltzed into his room. Alton saw him slip his lockpicks away into his pockets.
“Goddammit.” Alton said, pulling his covers up over his thin form. “The door was locked.”
“And?”
“Having at least a second of privacy to compose myself would’ve been nice.”
“Then wake up earlier.”
Alton’s hazel gaze stared daggers into Azmodoth’s eyes.
“Have you sat on our deal long enough?”
If Alton was completely honest, he had completely forgotten about his family until Azmodoth had brought them up the previous night. He was going to try figuring himself out on his own. But he hadn’t seen his parents or either of his two brothers in anywhere between thirty and forty years. Maybe Azmodoth introduced this to him because he truly believed that was what Alton was coming south to do — maybe Azmodoth wanted Alton to improve himself. He couldn’t tell.
But he didn’t know where to start on either path he could take. He didn’t know how to fix himself alone, but when he tried to fix himself with the party, it didn’t work. When he left them behind it had utterly destroyed him mentally while he traveled to the Golden City. For all he knew, his family had forgotten him. Their oldest son, lost in the fields. Potentially survived off the crops before getting caught by guards and thrown in prison for stealing. Most likely dead by now.
If only it were that simple.
Sapphire Wynter
They had never forgotten him. On this day thirty-five years ago, Sapphire had lost their firstborn son. She and Fatch had prayed to every good god and goddess every day since his disappearance for him to come back. However, they had spent long enough dwelling on what Alton could’ve been if he hadn’t been lost all those years ago. Today she and Fatch would let go.
She was lucky enough to have all of her children with her today. Stellurn and Stor-ei had come home from their jobs in the Golden City — they had been home for a few weeks, making sure that their parents were alright in the time of turmoil that surrounded the region. Gnolls — giant creatures that looked like they were the result of if a man and a hyena bred — had been attacking the rolling hills that surrounded the town the Wynter’s had called home since before Alton disappeared. Stellurn and Stor-ei needed to make sure their parents were okay. Luckily, no gnolls had attacked their home, and even if a gnoll attack occurred, Fatch and her had their ways of defending themselves.
Sapphire carried a tray of fruits out onto the porch with her. The first thing Sapphire saw walking down her porch was Stellurn and Stor-ei caught in their eternal argument. She could never keep track of what it was about. This time, potentially who got to set the forks instead of the knives? Izami — the youngest of the young — was pulling extra chairs over for the two arguing brothers. She looked like she was struggling, so Sapphire helped by picking up a chair on her way over. How old was she — fourteen? That must’ve been how old Alton was when he was lost. It seemed only yesterday she was giving birth to either child.
She shook away thoughts of Alton. The boy had been beautiful, but she had to let go of him. He had a tinkering mind like that of his fathers. She had to be fair to her other children. Stellurn and Stor-ei had to be the only children to remember him. Kigimin was only a babe when Alton was lost.
“Gosh, what do I keep telling myself?” Sapphire mumbled under her breath as she arrived at the dinner table.
“What’s that, Mama?” Izami said. Izami’s innocent deep blue eyes stared up into Sapphire’s. If only she truly could understand the implications of tonight. She wasn’t even twinkle in Sapphire’s eyes when Alton was lost.
Sapphire sighed. “Nothing, dear. Run along and get me a rag, would you?” Sapphire smiled. Izami ran off into the house.
Sapphire looked up from the bowl of fruits that she brought from the house. She saw Kigimin and Fatch at the barbeque — they were probably pestering each other about how they were grilling the meat wrong. In reality, they knew they were jokes, and they knew that the family would eat the food no matter how it was prepared. It was just their way of building a relationship with each other.
It truly was a beautiful evening. Behind the grill, the sun was beginning to set over the hills, which gave their pestering a nice backdrop. The grass on their lawn was the greenest it had been in a long time, and spring had brought fruitful harvests to their fruit trees. If she could ever say goodbye to the memory of Alton, today was the day to do it.
She sighed and began to cut up the fruits into a fruit salad. She kept it simple: cherries, apples, grapes fresh from the vine, and oranges. She put the juice of a quarter of a lemon on there just to keep it fresh. When she was finished, Izami was waiting next to her with the rag she asked for in hand.
“Thank you, Izami,” Sapphire said with a kind smile.
Izami gave a full-toothed grin and ran off towards Stellurn and Storei, who had taken their argument to the porch.
Sapphire scraped all of the chopped fruits into a large wooden bowl and set it in the center of the table. “Hey honey, how’s the grilling going?” Sapphire called to Fatch. She walked over to them.
“Oh… uh good.” Fatch said, his cheeks began to grow red. “Your son keeps grilling my form though.”
“I only correct you when you’re doing something wrong, Dad,” Kigimin said as he elbowed his father and chuckled. “And didn’t you say I was your son last week?”
“Hey, we all have different methods. And you are my son, just not while you’re insulting the art of barbecuing.”
Sapphire laughed. “Alright, when you two are done pulling a Stellurn-and-Stor’ei, bring the food to the table.”
“Alright honey.” Fatch leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the lips. She felt the tickle of his shaggy beard on her upper lip. His hazel eyes then looked into her emotions. “You doing alright?”
She pushed her lips together. “Not entirely, but I’ll manage.”
“Hey,” Fatch said. She saw someone walking up their yard behind Fatch. Neither Fatch nor Kigimin had noticed him yet. “He would want you to let go, you know that right?”
She didn’t respond. She was focusing on the person, who she could clearly see was a halfling, as he walked up to their house. He looked somewhat put together — he wore what looked like a new dress vest. His pants — also new — were rolled up. His face was clean-shaven, and she could tell this was the first time this man had shaved in a long time, as the skin where his beard would be was paler than the rest of his face. Fatch had that problem whenever he decided he wanted to be clean-shaven. But something strange hit her when she looked him in the eye. Something vague but familiar returned the eye contact. She recognized this look, and it took her breath away.
The look was one Fatch had given her many times. One of a yearning for acceptance.
Fatch and Kigimin looked up to the figure, who was still making his way up their yard. She vaguely heard them begin to ask who he was. As the questions came, the man stopped in his tracks. The questions turned into shared unknowing of the halfling. They began to shout at the man.
She began to make her way over to the increasingly familiar figure.
His eyes were so similar to Fatch’s, it was uncanny. But there was something else there. A certain sadness. The melancholy of a broken soul. A pet when they knew they had done something wrong — no that wasn’t it. A child begging for forgiveness.
Then some memory inside her clicked.
“Alton?” Sapphire’s voice came out in shakes. Teardrops began to form in her eyes.
As soon as Alton realized the gasp was a gasp of recognition and not of disgust, tears flooded his hazel eyes.
Suddenly Sapphire’s knees were too weak to support her. She collapsed into the grass, and Alton quickly rushed over to stop her from falling. The sensation of his able hands sent confused fireworks off in her heart. She still only half-believed this was happening. There was no way her child — her son — had survived this long without family. What had kept him alive? She couldn’t wrap her head around the possibilities.
“I-I… I thought you were dead…”
He smiled at her. That smile, those eyes that she thought she had lost a lifetime ago, was real. She felt his embrace. She relished in it. Her son was back. He wasn’t lost to time, or taken by some frightful creature in the night. He had, after all these years, come home. She felt warm tears pour down her cheeks and wrapped him in a warm, motherly embrace.
He hugged her back. “Not yet, Mom. Not yet.”
