For the last time, I sat down on this crumbling wooden porch.
It made its usual sound giving way to what little weight I had, almost as if to wish me farewell finding a new home. Years of use by an unwavering torrent of young lost souls seeking shelter. This splintering wooden construction was attached to an even older Orphanage.
As dark as dirt and just as welcome, this building made almost entirely of abandoned ship parts fit right into the town of Tyrants Rest.
Piss and unkept fish filled the air with the welcoming scent of another night spent drinking away the never-ending problems of an overtaxed settlement on the brink of falling apart. All that kept this place afloat was the traffic of travelers passing along the trade route between nations.
"Do you ever feel like the world is working against you?"
All I could do was talk to myself, wishing someone would answer my never ending questions. As long as I could remember, I was told I was a 'Blessed Child'.
What a joke.
If only being blessed meant I was lucky, then maybe it would live up to the name.
To be blessed is to have a power bestowed upon you by the spirits, beings who saw through the very hearts of others in service to the world. For some that could mean they could follow the traces left by another without need to even glance at the ground, for others they could force another to tell them the truth.
For me I could feel the intent of anyone I looked at.
On the surface that sounded great, and yet I wished I wasn't blessed.
Sure I can tell when someone wants to pull something shady, lie and cheat to my face, however, the problem was that it didn't reveal the deception itself. I often found myself in more trouble for speaking out about what I knew than if I'd not said a thing.
I'm an unnamed orphan in a world that valued such a standard practice.
First names meant a legacy to which your deeds would be recorded down in history, and last names meant you were part of something greater. My importantly, I would mean I wasn't nothing. Trash to be discarded with everyday waste.
I tried to find a family, be granted a name, but the only time that truly felt possible, I was left alone and felt abandoned. A promise of apprenticeship and home had faded two years ago.
And now today was my last day in this orphanage, so maybe it never mattered in the first place.
I gave up on fighting fate, I had given up on everything in this backwater town.
In our overcrowded Orphanage, we have an unspoken rule.
If we reach 16 unadopted, we would leave before Harvest, the second last season of the year. Sometimes it was hard to keep track of our own age, we didn't have the luxury of celebrating something so basic, so instead we tallied every Harvest, and my markings would be left under the very plank squeaking its farewell.
Winter is fast approaching, and because we live in an area that snows heavily, food has to be rationed. Growing up in a house with too many mouths and not enough food led to problems that only got worse year on year.
Stale bread and vegetable scraps had been the extent of my pallet for the sixteen years.
Just enough to get by, not enough to grow more than muscle, skin and bone.
Mother Zoe, the oldest Sister and head of our Orphanage, refused to turn down anyone child in need. Hence the food shortage, with all meat prioritized to Beast-kin children and some races completely allergic to eating certain food, we played it safe.
At night, every floor was lined with sleeping bags and hammocks. Any space we could use, was used. Continuously cramped rooms and a higher number of kids that needed a home to those who found a new family.
I don't want to add to that burden, so I have to run away. Better off I left without saying a word. Just one more teenager taking a stroll at night never to return, only dawn was about to break.
"Food, shelter, work. That's all I need. One step at a time"
Not exactly a perfect plan, but it had all the important stuff. First, I'd check a few of the stores on this side of the river, mainly a baker, fishmonger and second hand equipment shop.
About ten years ago my town had a large influx of non-human species, people with fluffy ears, tails, horns and sometimes, scales.
I was around six at the time, yet even at that age I remembered all the conflict that came from it. While over time that anger faded, each side of the river was still split, human on one and beast-kin on the other.
Come on, get up
Mother Zoe told us not to run away, that she was working on something that should help. That something never came, at least not yet. I hoped she could find that help someday.
Maybe that was the point? To give us a little bit of hope, it would be just like her.
As a woman of the cloth, she had traveled all over the world when she was young in a pilgrimage. She made friends and connections wherever she went. At night she would often tell us about these stories, even if those stories often repeated night after night.
She cared for us, even as her memory started fading, the stories of the people she met never changed. Remembering every adventure as if it were yesterday.
"I'm going to miss this place... thanks for everything"
It was all I could muster under my breath. Saying nothing would leave me with the feeling of a knife in my gut. The unrelenting love from the Sisters despite knowing that someday they'll never see us again, was something I admired.
"We'll all miss you know. Promise me you'll visit"
Sister Naji, a pale blue Daemon, fitted in personally adjusted gray robes, poked her head out of the side of the dirty Orphanage as I got up. An ex-adventurer who lost her party, joined our home about four years ago.
It was an oddity for such a race to be a woman of the cloth. She wore a grey robe indicating zero affiliation with any pantheon, same with the rest of our house. The robe was a pledge to serve others, instead of a god, although she did modify it to be vastly more revealing.
Once a monk, always a monk, she'd always say, meaning the traditional dress restricted her legs too much. Some say her thighs are 'the pride of Tyrants Rest' right before having their lights knocked out and learning some things are best not said within earshot of who it was about.
She pulled out a cigarette, no doubt wrapped by herself, and hovered it over my face as she leaned on the pathetic excuse of a railing from the outside.
Out of respect, I reached out with three fingers like I was mimicking a bird beak and cast Sparks from my fingertips. A beginner level spell that created tiny streaks of flame for the purpose of starting a fire.
"If I can, I will"
"You're an odd kid, that's why I won't stop you. People without a home tend to find people and places they can call that anyway. You know, I'm pretty sure you're the only one here that never complained about my smoking, why is that?"
"I don't know, I guess it doesn't really bother me. I'll catch you later Naji"
"One last thing, I hear a pair of famous travelers might be passing through. If I were you I'd try get some work out of that blessing"
I got up, with nothing but the ragged clothes on my back, shorts held up by string and falling apart leather shoes to my non-existent name and set off.
Her advice was always worth listening to. Despite her long and messy deep purple hair with ever present dark rings under her bright yellow eyes, she'd always help me whenever she could, even in ways I never expected.
In the end it felt kind of funny how things turned out; I'd worked more jobs than most would in a lifetime. I knew how to succeed in each and every profession within our river crossroads town, and it still wasn't enough to get adopted.
I didn't exactly excel in any of the jobs I worked, but I wasn't bad either, just perfectly in the middle.
The problem was that in the middle is not the front, and only those that stand out get adopted into families. I guess I just don't have the heart for it.
No, instead I wanted to be an Adventurer. Freedom, exploration, never being tied down to the world, fighting monsters and having your name cheered by common folk.
Maybe it was Mother Zoe's stories?
On days when I couldn't find work, or train with the guards, I talked to the travelers hanging out in the Guild Hall.
I can't remember the first time I was rejected by the Adventurers guild, I was too young. And yet, that motivated me to learn everything I could about the profession.
Sometimes I practiced magic or learnt from the guards when they trained.
I couldn't learn much outside of the basics of magic. The ability to instantly cast basic spells wasn't uncommon, although everyone started by chanting the spell to learn it, and the more complicated the spell the longer it took to cast.
With enough practice, any beginner to advanced spell could be cast instantly, and what people referred to as 'mastering a spell'.
But I found it wasn't really true mastery, not even close if you ask me. That came with being able to manipulate the spell. Size, speed, strength, range and the like, could all be changed, and I had gotten rather good with basic spell alteration.
"Maybe I'll just go to the bridge then..."
It was a change of plans, but Naji's words are best not ignored, she's odd like that.
A large river flowed through the middle of town, while a paved stone road ran perpendicular. Each side of the wide river was connected by a single large stone bridge.
High enough to let large boats through underneath with a lowered mast, while built wide enough above to be used as a major trade route between the Eternal Empire and Holy Boree Kingdom.
Our Orphanage was on a muddy road a single turn off from the highway. Made through an ancient recipe combining strange crushed green stone and yellow clay, it was dubbed 'Roman Cement', the Eternal Empire's old name.
Thanks to an explosion that shaped the area itself, our town was built with the combination of rubble and terrain shaping magic.
As the perfect middle ground between kingdoms, stone walls were erected and it became a strategic checkpoint. However over the course of many years, all but a few sections had completely collapsed. The river itself acted as a trade route by boat, all the way towards the Nala Mountain Range and Dragons Mort, while following the river down to the sea would result in ending up at the free port of Concordia.
As I walked along the paved road towards the bridge, I passed an old destroyed smithy. A workshop that lay in ruins. It always brought back memories of the past, thoughts of the woman that had once made me a promise, and her unique circumstances.