Five people had been taken by the Mist, mostly the old and infirm. A short service was held by the Navigator, consigning their souls to the World's embrace. The phenomenon had begun and ended so swiftly; the victims disappearance so complete, that Exill started… no, wanted to believe it hadn't been real.
The caravan of refugees continued to trudge along the road. To their left was an expansive plain of tall, wild grass, gently sloping down as far as the eye could see. A shallow ditch ran adjacent to the road on their right, a basic safety measure against beasts and brigands who could leap out of the dark forest. In these times of unrest, they amounted to little more than a nuisance to the true horrors that had slowly begun to manifest.
Verill motioned to catch Exill's attention and quickly leapt over the ditch, easily crossing the gap with his long legs. Some turned to look at him in vague interest before returning their focus to the trek ahead. Exill nervously crossed the ditch, struggling slightly since he was shorter, and traced the Hunter's footsteps into the forest.
The woods were dark, cool, and quiet, the sound from the road muffled and he had to strain to even hear the squealing axles of the carts. Verill motioned Exill to follow him and they proceeded along the difficult undergrowth while taking care to follow the road.
"Isn't this… dangerous?" Exill asked in hushed tones.
"It's no more dangerous than travelling by road if you stay vigilant. Stick with me."
Verill pointed out strange herbs that grew on certain trees as well as mushrooms hidden under the foliage. Exill took care to assign [Forager] as his second job and harvested materials in the Hunter's stead. He slowly began to relax as the dark forest became more familiar. Checking his Card, Exill was pleased to find [Forager] had rose a level.
Forager: level 2, Passive Buff: +10% quality of harvested materials (scales with level).
"What level is your [Forager]?" Exill asked, while digging up the roots of a nearby plant.
Verill looked back, confusion evident by his expression, "Level? How would I know that? If you are asking about my competency I've been foraging for 6 years. That should put me in the low-mid level of mastery."
Exill bit his tongue at his mistake. So people cannot see their levels and instead measure their skill by length of time practiced. It explained why the women were arguing about their cooking skills last night! He needed to be more careful to avoid suspicion.
"I heard [Forager] raises the quality of ingredients harvested…"
Verill grunted, then tapped the side of his eyes, "For sure, but your eyes grow more discerning with experience. It is natural you get better at spotting herbs." After a while, he continued, "My old man used to swear he would pick an herb, only to find two leaves perfectly overlapping each other, or a place he had foraged would quickly grow back in just a few days. The World works in mysterious ways." Verill tapped his left breast twice at the mention of the World Spirit.
Exill ruminated on his new findings. Normal people could not see skill descriptions. It also appeared that new skills and perks were unlocked as the job levelled up. He was lost in thought when Verill motioned him to stop.
Before them stood an ordinary tree, and mounted on its trunk was an indescribable visage of knotted wood. Exill felt the hairs on his arm rise. There was something appalling and revulsive about the tree. With feet frozen in place, his eyes were forcibly drawn to the strangely textured deformity gracing the surface of the smooth bark. Verill gripped his arm and whispered in his ear, "It's okay, it is still asleep, lets return."
They crossed the ditch and walked double time for an hour to catch up with the rear of the caravan. Exill kept looking over his shoulders for the withered monstrosity... waking up and stalking them under the cover of the forest. He watchfully eyed the tree line as they travelled.
They were sorely in need of rest as they helped the group set up camp. The refugees lined the carts like a wall that stood between them and the forest. A campfire was erected and the group huddle around the flames, their faces miserable and tired. A few men were carving stakes to place around their camp and Exill reluctantly helped despite how tired he was. He remembered to assign [Crafter] as his primary skill and whittled into the late evening.
Crafter: level 2, Passive Buff: +10% crafting speed (scales with level).
He was so tired he failed to notice [Crafter] had gone up a level. Slowly nodding off to sleep, he had an uneasy dream of twisted visages formed of unnatural wood.
***
The next morning, a stiff and tired Exill fell into step alongside Verill. His mentor and guide exuded a cool easy-going confidence with his long strides, and appeared to be lost in thought. Exill tried to clear his own muddy thoughts by thinking of questions to ask the Hunter. With danger around every corner only knowledge could provide him strength.
"How do you become a [Healer]?"
Verill shot him a receptive smile, the bags under his eyes clearly visible, "It is not easy becoming a [Healer]. You need aptitude. Talented people can apparently say the word 'heal' and cast the spell – automatically earning their job." His dark eyes twinkled with hidden mirth as he glanced at Exill, "Why don't you give it a shot?"
With some trepidation, Exill outstretched his hand and said, "[Heal]!"
Nothing happened. The refugees who had been eavesdropping, grinned at Exill and someone even patted his back, "Ah, if only life were that easy m'boy!" they exclaimed. Exill's face reddened in embarrassment, which only prompted those around him chuckle as they reflected on their own hopeful incantation of [Heal] when they had turned 17.
"Do not lose hope, I hear there are enchanted items that can raise your aptitude and nobles often use this to get magic related jobs for their children." Verill tried to assuage him.
Exill nodded, allowing his embarrassment to subside before asking his next question, "You said a healer set your bone. Why didn't they heal it all the way?"
Verill hesitated for a bit because even he didn't understand the mysteries behind magic. He simply answered what common folk took to be the truth, "There is a limit, I think… There must be a fair exchange of life. The healer works by sacrificing part of their vitality, or that of their patient. It can be dangerous for either party. A balance must be struck."
"What other magic related jobs are there?"
"Hmm… the most common starting jobs are [Healer], [Wizard] and [Priest]."
Exill committed this to memory. He was determined to use magic in this new life! Verill companionably jostled Exill's mousey brown hair as an older brother would. He recognised the glint of determination in his eye. Who would not love to cast magic in this world? A healer was a respectable job and guaranteed a stable income well into your twilight years.
He tried to console Exill by adding, "You might not become a healer right now, but I can teach you the next best thing - how to craft basic medicine. You can have this old poultice pot I no longer use."
Exill was overcome with gratitude as he accepted the wooden pot.