The plains of Kelmo are one of the least inhabited regions of all Mirno, these wide grassy wastes support only a few farms, amongst the occasional roaming herds of Aurochs. Their lack of ability to support agriculture outside of a few select river basins was considered to be part of the reason the old empire had collapsed since it took too long to cross them and thus access its far-flung provinces.

Still, Stonebridge sat on one of those small river basins and was thus able to support the few dozen families living in the village despite the generally poor soil quality of the region. The village had expanded out from an initial enclosed-hamlet to include around fifty thatched stone buildings of varying sizes, though wood was a scarce commodity in the region the town hall had a second story built of wood that was rumored to have been provided by the famous Saint Eugene sometime many years ago, but most assumed that it was actually imported by boat, while the sacred mountain still stood on the horizon, The saint himself had last been active in the court of King Merl the Great some two-hundred years ago, and Stonebridge was at most one century old.

The Saint was undeniably a popular figure in the village. The local church was named after him, and it served as a common stop for those from further away, wishing to climb or try to climb the mountain themselves. Almost all of these miracle seekers failed, of course, the way would only open to those in dire need and strong faith, any other motivation would find one stumbling out of the mountain's stone gate not knowing how he had gotten there, or why he had wanted to climb the mountain in the first place. Or so the rumors went at least.

Still, they kept the trail to it open, the travelers were at least a fair source of coin for the town, and it helped them supplement their diet with foods that simply could not be grown on the barren plains.

Thus it wasn't that surprising to see wanderers come to stop at the church of Saint Eugene before they made their way to the holy mountain.

“Oh Great God, Lord of merciful light, grant unto me the strength to carry on.”

The young man prayed quietly, his green cloak and steel armor standing out from the whites and light browns of the marble church. Of his two hands clasped together in prayer, one was wrapped tightly in coarse bandages.

His journey had been long, and fraught with peril, as the battered nature of his gear and the rough beard that grew in spindly strands from his young face. His lips chapped from a lack of consistent hydration. A well-learned man might notice the Pironian Brooch that pinned his claim to his shoulders, a sign that he was likely an eastern mercenary.

He stayed there for several minutes silent before clamoring to his feet and making his way to the door, where he gathered his belongings, a rucksack and a spear, and exited the building out into the setting sunlight.

He soon made his way out of town, the small thatched huts stretching away behind him into the farm fields as the mountain that was his destination appeared in the distance. His footsteps were heavy as he felt the pain gradually begin to return to his arm, as it did every night.

The young man grit his teeth.

‘Just a little bit longer.’

______________________________________

I walked down the trail whistling, happy to be in a world where such a thing was likely not as odd as it had been in my home. The plains here were truly open things, reminding me of the Dakotas I had driven across a few times back home. A sea of stubby grass and patches of barren earth stretching far into the distance.

It was beautiful, though in a different way than the mountain.

Of course, it was somewhat distressing that I wasn't moving very fast, my legs being short as anything. I meandered across the wide-open prairie at a snail's pace, despite my best efforts.

Still, the horn held bread that suited my taste well enough, and I wasn't worried about water, so I just kept walking along for most of the day. I had departed just after dawn and it was already getting to be evening when I crested a ridge and looked down at a small town some miles away, surrounded by fields that had little in them as it was after the harvest already. It wasn't on my map, but Boris had told me about it, Stonebridge.

Honestly, it didn't look like much, a bunch of thatched huts, smaller than the village I lived within in Nottinghamshire in my old life.

Still, it was the first step I was taking into this new world, so I lit up my staph with a whispered “Flirmand” the tip glowing like a flashlight, and headed down the slope towards it.

“urgh”

As I descended the dirt path, I stopped, hearing a groaning sound from the ditch to the right.

Stepping over to the roadside I realized there was a man collapsed there.

“Are you alright?” I walked over to the man, he was a teenager, probably close to my age, though looking it much more strongly. With black hair and a red cloak, he seemed to be curled up into his best impression of an armadillo, clutching his arm.

“Go… Away…”

“Yeah, no.” I moved in, trying to pry him apart, but he only groaned again. “Oh C’mon, I'm a priest, let me help you.”

At that he actually looked up at me, before relaxing a bit, I got a flash of his wide blue eyes before he grabbed his arm as it spasmed again.

“m’cursed.” the kid, and he was a kid, now that I could hear his voice, spoke through gritted teeth. “Got stabbed by a Witchblade. Makes my arm hurt at night.”

His accent was thick, though I had no idea where it was from, and I suppose my father's accent might well be ancient. Still, I got the gist of it.

Kneeling down beside him, I channeled a little more magic into the staff, giving me a better view, one of his hands seemed fairly normal, but the other was wrapped tightly in bandages.

“Vildand” the spell let me enhance my vision to perceive magic, and the teenager seemed to be telling the truth, his hand was bleeding a poisonous-looking haze through the bandages.

I quickly began unwinding the bandages around his arm.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and I tried to keep my voice calm in response, he might already be suffering from shock.

“I need to see the curse to try to stop it.”

“ah…”

As I got down under the bandages, his reasons for covering the curse were apparent, as it turned his skin a hellish red cracked with black lines that seemed to follow no pattern.

“Alright, I think I know what this is, just stay calm.” I lied through my teeth, I had no idea what this particular curse was, but I knew how to fight curses in general. Father had instructed me on them and the tomes I had read on the matter confirmed it. Curses were normally associated with magical beings of some sort, in this case probably a demonic one. Or at least that was what I assumed given the appearance of his arm.

A curse was sort of like a virus in my previous life. Most magics cast on others would fade with time because the other person's magic would be incompatible with the spell, and thus as the spell fed off their magic it would cause inconsistencies until it finally broke.

Curses were a much more dangerous sort of thing, they contained a part of a magical being, that is a being whose body is made of magic, inserted inside of the host body. This served as an anchor for the curse, which would then convert the rest of the host body into a magical vessel to support itself. Perhaps the most famous type of curse is lycanthropy, in which a nature spirit turns someone into a physical copy of itself during the full moon.

This appeared to be far more diabolical in design though. Especially with the pain, it was obviously causing him.

“Can you point out where you were stabbed?”

“Eh, yeah… right here.”

The teen touched his forearm, just below the elbow, and I focused in on it. Trying to perceive where the magical residue was hiding. The curse would only return if it was not dealt with.

“There.” It was a tiny thing, smaller than a contact lens, but it was not incredibly difficult to detect because it sat the center of a web of black cracks that spread out from inside his arm. “This will hurt, grit your teeth.”

There was no way to really remove the thing from his arm, it wasn't a physical object, but as part of a magical being, it could certainly be destroyed by magic.

“Flirm.” I focused the beam of light as narrowly and cautiously as I could, I wasn't a surgeon exactly, but it was a lot like laser surgery in a way.

The teenager let out a pained scream as his corrupted flesh was burned away, the light digging into his arm towards the fragment of a demon.

“Flirm,” I said again, digging further, followed by another pained scream.

“Flirm,” I said a third time, and the light finally broke through, quickly incinerating the core of the curse, the magic quickly fading.

I looked back towards the young man, but it seemed he had fainted under the stress of the procedure. There was still more work to be done healing his arm, both from the curse and from my own magic, but the curse would likely not spread much more.

I squatted down, and tried to heave the kid up, but found my own childlike body unable to do the task.

Ultimately I settled on dragging the poor teen on his cloak back towards the town, I had seen a church of God in the village silhouetted by the setting sun’s rays earlier, and I could only hope that they would be receptive to a fellow believer.

______________________________________

Karsten woke up to a burning pain in his right arm, as he had many nights before.

Of course, what made it odd was the daylight streaming down onto him through the sunlight in the narthex.

“huh..?” Karsten tried to roll to his feet but found that he was instead tied down, looking to the side he found that he was indeed tied to the table.

The fact that his arm was unbandaged gave clear enough evidence as to why.

‘Damn it.’ Everywhere it was the same, everyone who saw his arm feared him as a monster, and how could he blame them. His arm was a horror.

Still, normally they tried to just kill him, so what was going on here exactly?

“Ah, you're awake.”

He lifted his head up and looked dead ahead, where he recognized the old man who ran the temple in the town he had left.

“What…”

“What happened? Well a child who has somehow already become a priest of God found you on the road and brought you here. Despite that dreadful arm of yours.”

“S’not mine,” Karsten grumbled underneath his breath. Though to his surprise, the old man nodded at that.

“Yes, he was quite insistent on that as well, that you were not, in fact, a demon, and that it was just a curse of sorts. Something your visit here yesterday seems to support.”

“Why the ropes then?”

“I'm not taking chances just because I don't think you're a demon. Elk-Men are still deadly even though it isn't their fault that they are what they may become.”

“ah…” He had heard of Elk-Men, a type of were-creature that lived on the plains. Karsten wondered if they would sympathize with him.

“Anyway, once he wakes up he may well be able to cure you, he said as much before. Actually, he says the curse proper is already gone, but that the damage needs to be healed. I can't tell. My experience on the subject is limited.”

“There's no shame in that Brother Atrianus.” a child’s voice, clear and sharp, rang out behind him, and he strained his neck to see. “It is our duty to learn in our endeavors, not to know everything the day we are born. I only learned as much as I have because of my father.”

The Child-priest looked like, well, a child-priest. Long and bright, platinum-blond hair framed a cherubic face with light skin, rosy cheeks, and large blue eyes. The boy stood half the height of a man, barely even coming up to the table that Karsten was laid on, and Karsten might have thought of him as a halfling were it not for the obvious youth in his tone, and his more human body proportions. He remembered seeing the child last night on the road, but then it was dark. Now it was like one of the childlike angels had stepped out of a painting into the marble temple, the soft sunlight filtering through the stained glass and giving the child something like a Halo.

“Ah, Brother Abbot, it is good to see you are awake as well. As you can see your patient here woke up some minutes ago.”

“Yes, I heard. Hello there.” the boy smiled a large smile and walked around him, eyeing his cursed arm before nodding and turning towards his face.

“err… hello.” Karsten had a hard time speaking as the child approached him so disarmingly. It was sort of surreal, like something out of a dream.

“My name is Abbot, what's yours?”

‘Isn't that just someone who runs an Abbey? Ah, whatever.’ “My name is Karsten Lanthorn.”

“Nice to meet you, Karsten, well, I guess I met you last night.” the child-priest scratched his head as he smiled nervously, before snapping into a more serious look. “How does your arm feel.”

The change in tone was abrupt, reminding him of him of the old doctor who took care of the militia sometimes. It was out of place from someone so small, but instantly recognizable as the tone of a doctor.

“Uh, it hurts I guess, though it shouldn't, it's daytime.”

“Actually it very much should. Your arm is heavily injured, and has been for some time, even before I burned the curse out of it.” the child gestured to a small blackened scab on his skin where he remembered faintly the child literally burning through his arm with magic, prompting a shudder which the child ignored. “The curse was likely just preventing you from feeling pain except when it was actively growing into the rest of your body.”

Karsten swallowed at that, he had known it was spreading over time, but to have it said that way…

“Of course, that shouldn't be too much of an issue now, the fragment of magic that was causing it is gone. I just need to fix the rest of you up.” Abbot turned to the older priest, Atrianus, who held up a bottle of some brownish substance. “Ah, sacred oil, good. Thank you Brother” the childlike priest smiled as he took the bottle before whispering something over it that made it glow with light. “I apologize again Mr. Lanthorn, this will likely make your arm hurt a great deal more.”

“What are you going to do?” Karsten asked, a bead of sweat dripping from his brow, he was used to pain more so than most young men his age, but the way that Abbot said it was a bit scary.

“Heal you.” then the priest took a dab of the glowing brown substance and smeared it in a straight line down his arm. It felt like a million bees stinging him at once as it dragged down his arm, the cracked flesh blistering and burning.

Naturally, Karsten screamed.

______________________________________

I finished the process of rubbing the purified oil into the skin of the teen, for someone who clearly dressed up like a tough guy he sure fainted easy, though maybe he just hadn't eaten in a while. Despite his obvious muscles, he was also rather clearly a bit malnourished.

Still, as the black creases disappeared, burned away by the purifying light, I whispered “Hasha” the spell of mending flesh, and ran my hands up and down the injuries, the torn skin knitting back together and smoothing down until his arm was as smooth and clear as a babies, if somewhat skinnier than the rest of his body’s musculature would suggest.

I noticed the local priest staring at the process curiously and smiled his way. “This is a property of the purifying light, Brother Atrianus. Once imbued into the oil it will see into the skin through the pores and expunge the damaged flesh from his arm before I heal it with the merciful light.”

The priest stared at me for a moment before nodding. “It makes sense then that I never learned this process, I have only learned to wield the forgiving and merciful lights since normally only the sacred orders learn to wield the purifying light. Is that the path you want to walk?”

I smiled a bit at that, nodding my head. “Want is the correct term in truth, but I'm far too frail just yet, I'm afraid that learning to wield the lights so young has preserved my youth to a greater extent than I might like. I may not look it, but I am fifteen as of two days ago.” I smiled lightly, it was an emotional subject for me. “I fear I may well remain this way for many years yet, but I want to walk the path of the purifier as laid out in the Songs of Light.”

The priest looked at me with a strange look before he let out a breath and burst into laughter.

“hahaha hah heh.” The man raised a hand asking for pardon “I'm sorry Brother, but I had never thought such a situation could take place. Most priests are old men precisely because the lights preserve what little youth they have left.”

“My father had a similar reaction when he realized my growth had slowed considerably.” It had been an awkward thing, earning my priesthood, my father had needed to go out and bargain with fairies and the like to get a set of vestments of my size. He had never laughed at it exactly, but I could tell he took some humor in my prolonged youth.

The man's eyes sharpened considerably at that, and I caught just a bit of the will that would lead a man to become the chaplain of a frontier church. “You mention your father a great deal… am I right in saying you are from the mountain?” He didn’t have to say much more, there was only one mountain near Stonebridge, at least as far as I could see.

I stepped back a bit at that, having not expected the question to arise so soon, but then I steeled myself, nodding. “Yes, though he passed away some months ago, my father was indeed who you suspect.” I tried to inject just a bit of levity into the situation. “Just so you know the statue at the door looks nothing like him, at least for the last few years.”

The man sighed at the news, but his eyes still filled with a bit of awe, at least until he pinched his nose and cleared his senses. “That certainly explains how one would receive God's blessing so young. It is a shame to hear that a living saint has passed from the world, but a joy to hear that he now sits by God's side.”

“Indeed.” It was the only appropriate response, and we both made the sign of God on our chests as a symbol of prayer.

The man sighed, stepping up from his seat. “I will need to write to the clergy in the capital informing them of this, they will toll the bell of the dead in his honor.” He turned to look at me. “What do you intend to do?”

I grimaced for a moment, centering myself for my answer. “I will follow in my Father's footsteps and become a traveling priest, aiding in the curing of ills and the vanquishing of evils wherever they may be found.”

The priest nodded at that, smiling. “A wise choice, one I also walked in my youth, well, I was never quite as youthful as you. I would caution you not to walk it alone, especially since you are still small.”

I was a bit shocked as a resolute voice spoke from up from behind me. “He won't walk it alone.” Turning, I saw that Karsten had awoken, and now sat with his legs hanging over the side of the altar. “That is if you'll have my oath. I’m not a knight or anything, but you could probably use an armsman all the same.”

I looked him over, matching his eyes, before speaking. “Know that you do not have to do this and that this should not be considered payment, Karsten Lanthorn. If you choose to follow me it must be of your own will, not out of a sense of debt. God forbids me from demanding anything other than the material cost of my healing, which in your case was next to nothing.”

“Yeah, well that ain't the way I do things.” the young man said, raising his thin arm. “ I’m a militia turned Mercenary, and if there's one thing I've learned is that you shouldn't be a thankless asshole. So it is my own will that I pay you back for this properly.” Then he chuckled to himself. “Not like I have anything better to do anyway.”

I glanced at Brother Atrianus for advice, and the priest simply shrugged. “Do not turn down a gift from God.”

I breathed in through my nose, trying to recall if this violated anything, but I drew a blank, so at last, I nodded. “Very well, Karsten, I will accept any pledge you deem appropriate by your will, your aid will be appreciated.”

The man seemed surprised for a second but then nodded to himself. He walked up to me, before kneeling in what I presume was the customary style in his homeland Both knees on the ground.

“I hereby pledge my spear and my self as a servant and shield for you, Father Abbot. Until death ends my service.” the man chuckled, standing up and leaving me a little blown away. “That good? Hah, I don't have time for all that flowery crap.”

I gaped at him for a moment before realizing he had just sworn a ducking life oath to me… ‘What kind of impulsive…’ “Fine, I accept your oath, Karsten, I just pray you considered it properly before swearing such a thing.”

The teenager just laughed at that.

I could only hope his faith in me turned out to be wise.

______________________________________

“You don’t have to follow directly behind me the whole way Karsten. Swearing to be my bodyguard doesn’t equate to swearing to be my Nanny.”

“The old saint on the mountain hired a Nanny?”

“No.” When I had accepted the oath, I had only been thinking about how much risk he was putting himself at by accompanying me on my travels. Not at the inconvenience of being followed around by a teenager.

At least he took the message and backed off my ass a little bit.

“So where do you plan on heading Father? You talked about walking the earth extinguishing evil and all that, but do you actually have a plan for it?”

I turned and stopped to look at him before nodding. “Do you know if there’s a tavern or something in town? I don’t want to take my maps out in the mud. They’re essentially irreplaceable.” The parchments were old if well-preserved things, and I had brought the more recent maps with me on my journey. Though they were still easily forty-fifty years old. Still, I doubted I would see better for some time.

“Yeah, I haven’t been in it, but I spotted it on my way into town. Follow me.”

We walked down the street at the center of the hamlet towards the large central building, which had a wooden upper story, and stopped off at the house next to it. It was a stone structure, like most of those here, and it had a thatched roof.

“In here.” He gestured and I followed him inside, it was a tight, smoky room, perhaps five meters across and stuffed with small tables where people sat and drank. It was fairly full, but we found a table quickly enough.

“Alright, so do you know roughly what Mirno looks like?” I asked, rolling out my map.

“Not really, no.” He said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. “Is that it? First map of the continent I've seen. Though I haven't seen many maps.”

“Can you read at least?” I asked a little irked, ‘I suppose literacy rates are literally medieval.’

“A bit.”

“Good enough then.” I pointed to the central plain of Kelmo. “This is where we are, in Eastern-Central Kelmo. About a months march, east of us is the Red-Tooth Mountain range. About 5 weeks north are the Sken Mountains, and to the west, about three months are the White-peaks, thus 3 directions from us are significant ranges of mountains. I'd rather avoid these for now, though we may well want to trod through them someday.”

I instead traced my hand down the rivers to the South. “Instead we're going to angle for the successor kingdoms, Bryndon, Veluca, and Polnia. They'll take the shortest travel time to get too since we can get passage on a riverboat downstream.”

“Huh, that's probably not going to be easy here, Stonebridge doesn't see much traffic, but Riverbelly is a more significant trading town and it's only about a day's journey away.”

I glanced down at the map before nodding, it looked doable. “Yeah, let's go with that.”

“Alright, we should leave in the morning then. The Orcs hunt at night, and we don't want to deal with them.”

I nodded at that, The nocturnal banditry of the Orcs generally had the run of central and southern Kelmo, with the Centaurs to the north being a similar, if diurnal, threat.

“We’ll stay in town for the evening then.” I nodded lightly. “I suspect Brother Atrianus will give us lodging if I ask him.”

“Sounds good, Father.”

“You can just call me Abbot, you know.”

“Nah.”