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“They said I’m a coward, oma…”
“Nonsense. There’s a difference between cowardice and caution. About the same difference, I’d say, as the one between recklessness and courage. Now… don’t you cry, those pretty eyes of yours shouldn’t be all puffy and swollen because of some thoughtless boys. Come here, help me knead this and then we’ll have some nice fresh cookies to take your mind off it, yes?”
“Yes oma!”
oOo
Days like these, Pallad was glad to be an adventurer, despite all the associated occupational hazards.
Unwrapping a sandwich and eating it with one hand, he enjoyed the sunlight and gentle breeze against his skin and the soft sounds of ruffled grass and fluttering windwheel asters as he used his free hand to note down the rough location, size and population of the ‘churl camps he could see from his perch atop some of the weathered ruins of Old Mondstadt.
It was probably an aqueduct, once upon a time? Pallad was by no means an expert, but they had to have gotten the water around the place somehow and the deteriorated canals below wouldn’t have been able to serve a city that was mostly built on struts or carved into the mountainsides. No, those canals had probably been for farming; all those wild oats and rye had to have gotten started somehow, and he’d definitely seen potato leaves in the tangled underbrush, too.
It made sense, Decarabian had trapped his citizens in here, so they had to have had some way to feed themselves.
…he should draw a rough map of where the canals and aqueducts had probably been originally and see if he could get some mora from that historian for the info once he got back. Two slimes, one arrow and all that; earning some extra mora on the side of a commission was allowed, after all.
Anyway, the ‘churls here were a problem, to put it mildly. The whopperflowers and slimes were to be expected; once fertile land, overrun with elemental energy from a berserk god? Yeah, the usual pests were unavoidable in those circumstances.
The Guild had not expected these sorts of ‘churl numbers, however. Yes, they’d been informed that the abyss order had been behind one of the Four Winds going berserk, so a couple of camps were to be expected, but the commission’s danger level had been listed as moderate , not high , and he was definitely seeing numbers that would warrant a high or very high , here.
Especially with at least one still-active ruin guard lumbering about…
Peeking over the edge of his perch, Pallad confirmed that yup , it was still there. Very much active. His only saving grace was that it had apparently spent its missile load a long time ago. Either that, or the launch tubes were gunked up and the whole thing would explode spectacularly once they got a vision bearer here to take it down.
It may be a nice day, but Pallad was, as per usual, not getting paid enough for this .
Good thing he’d brought plenty of rations. He could wait it out. Probably.
He also, as per usual when things like this happened, cursed the fact that most of the Knights’ remaining roster was taken up by the ruin-averse.
A year ago, the Knights would have simply taken a squad to survey and clear this place up, but ever since Grandmaster Varka left with the expedition, recon had largely been outsourced to the Adventurer’s Guild. The remaining Knights were hard pressed to even keep the major roads patrolled and safe with the manpower they had left, so the less combative tasks fell to the Guild to keep running… at least somewhat.
Listen, Pallad (contrary to what most people thought about him) actually knew his limits, ok? And he was 100% sure a properly trained knight would have been able to do a better job at this than he currently was, but Pallad was also the only Investigator available and able to take this commission, so the Knights would have to live with the results.
Either that, or find a way to deal with the fact that ruins made most people feel ‘extremely uncomfortable’.
Pallad had seen people go white and start to sweat as they got close to a cluster of ruins (even vomit and faint on a couple of rare occasions), but he’d never really understood it, to be completely honest.
It was just rocks .
Swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, he poured the remaining crumbs and a stray onion into his mouth before packing away the beeswax cloth and focusing back on his surroundings.
…that made three samachurls in that camp now, what the fuck. He did not envy whoever was sent out here to clear that up, he’d seen how those things could tagteam people. Pallad sighed and amended his notes.
Oh, hey, at least the ruin guard was further away now! Maybe he’d even be able to get down from here before nightfall!
oOo
“Oh, you’ll be the deathof me, you reckless child. Come here, come here, what happened to my little adventurer?”
“‘Twasn’t reckless, oma! It’s just… the kitten was stuck and no-one else was helping it, so I had to, but then the branch was rotten and I…”
“Well then, you’re quite right; that was very brave of you and not reckless at all. Still, perhaps test the branch before putting your entire weight on it next time, hmm?”
“Yes oma…”
oOo
He did not get down before nightfall.
The night was cold and windy and miserable , even if his bedroll helped against the worst of it. There had been nothing to start a campfire with on his part of the broken-down probably-aqueduct and his joints made the most abyssal sounds when he woke up.
The only good thing about the horrible night was that the discomfort of it all had let him wake up well before dawn, find the ruin guard gone and sneak past the slumbering ‘churls with no mishaps.
Ok, almost no mishaps, but the honorary knight had been there to rescue him from the soup of slimes, so it’s all good!
…weapons and weapon maintenance were expensive , ok? Not to mention the risk of injury and death with combat. He’d much rather rely on running away and getting to safety, thanks. It’s worked this far!
Anyway, thanks to the honorary knight, he got down from the tree before noon, so he still made it to Springvale by sunset, by which time his back and neck and… all his joints, really, now that he was thinking about it? They were all fairly screaming at him after a night of cold stone followed by several hours of tense balancing in a shaking tree.
It’s been a while since he felt this lousy, actually, was he about to get sick or something?
Pulling out his journal and flipping to the last few pages, he looked over the numbers again… he could squeeze in a night’s stay at the local inn, as long as he only paid for the room and made do with the last of his depleted rations for tonight… and then maybe some filched or foraged apples on the way back to the city.
They weren’t really ripe yet, but he could put up with that.
…he shouldn’t have insisted on paying the honorary knight for the rescue after they tried to decline, but damn it, they were also a registered adventurer and the Code was there for a reason .
Anyway, he wasn’t even that hungry (actually a little nauseous, maybe?), just bone-deep tired , so it’d be fine .
It would!
He just needed some rest and then he could be back at his apartment by late lunch (you know, provided check-in at the Guild went somewhat smoothly) and eat something then.
And then he could tuck himself up in bed for a week and only leave it to make sad puppy-eyes at Michelle next door so that she might take mercy on him and pick up his groceries, too.
Yeah, that sounded like a wonderful plan.
Goal in mind, Pallad made his way to the local inn, only to find the courtyard overrun by a merchant caravan and all the rooms booked.
Because of course they were.
Sighing (because it was a deep, mature sigh, not a pitiful whimper, damn it, no matter how much he wanted to), Pallad resigned himself to a night in the hayloft of the inn’s stable instead of a bed.
Hey, at least the hayloft was free!
Silver lining!
Just as he was about to make his way up so that he could go to sleep already , one of the merchants who had filled up the inn stopped him.
Feeling increasingly like crying, Pallad put on his best I’m-a-responsible-and-competent-adventurer face and asked if there was anything he could help with, because he might be tired, but he’s not about to allow a paycheck to pass him by if he had any choice in the matter.
Turns out the man just wanted a message delivered to the Merchants’ Guild in the City since his caravan had run into a streak of bad luck in the form of an unusual amount of ‘churls on the road, and would be stuck in Springvale with three too many broken wagons until the local carpenter could rig something up for them.
Easy money, Barbatos bless, he could stop by there on his way back to his Guild.
Thankfully, taking a direct commission is an easy habit by now; just show Guild credentials, bring out two copies of his standard commission-slip, get commission details, get payment details, fill in the slips, sign, give the merchant one, keep one, done .
Sweet pile of hay, here he comes.
oOo
“Oma? Why… why are you awake?”
"Oh, it comes with age, dearest, I find I’m awake before the sun and then desperately need a nap in the afternoon. What are you doing up, is the question?”
“I was thirsty…”
“Let’s get you some hot milk so you can get back to sleep, then, hmm? Growing boys need their sleep, after all. Let me just clear this away.”
“I can help!”
“I’m sure you can, but it’s just some papers, dear, your oma isn’t that old yet that she cannot clear away some papers.”
“But-”
“Hush now, sit down, let your oma pamper you a bit.”
“...oma? Why does this person want money from you?”
“Because he is a rude, inconsiderate man, that’s why. Now give that here so I can put these away and get started on that milk, hmm?”
oOo
Most days, Pallad loved the Guild headquarters. They were warm and lively and he always felt welcomed no matter what kind of clusterfuck his commission had become.
Sure, the oldtimers would start on their own adventuring stories for the hundredth time and Alfry would heckle him over it and Fischl would go on one of her spiels about how no bumbling squire could ever be expected to perform on the level of Her Highness the Prinzessin der Verurteilung (or something), but Oz would simply politely state that they were glad to see he was alright and Cyrus might laugh at him, but he’d also throw an arm around his shoulders bustle him off to the Guild doctor, and-
And it was just nice , okay?
The headquarters were nice, and he loved being there, but today his head and joints and muscles were murdering him and he’d really rather just skip the whole circus and go to bed and sleep for a decade, thanks.
Deep breath. He can do this. In, leave the commission slip for the merchant’s message at Cyrus’ desk, toss his investigation journal at Alfry, out, bed.
Bed and a bucket.
Oh, he really wasn’t feeling good.
He just needed to get this over with.
He slunk through the doors, desperately hoping he could evade notice… and then the next thing he knew, he was sitting in front of the glaring guild doctor, being forced to chug some unholy concoction on pain of the terrifying woman’s displeasure.
Which, okay.
Fair.
He really should have recognised the beginning symptoms of elemental energy poisoning.
But in his defense, he’d had elemental energy poisoning.
Which might not sound like it made a lot of sense, but it really was kind of hard to focus with your body trying to scream at you that it was approximately one elemental exposure away from completely breaking down on you.
Once he’d somehow managed to get the abyssal witch brew down his throat and the – not at all scary, very nice and lovely, he can’t be held accountable for things said while poisoned! – doctor had given him a bottle of the horrid mixture to take home, Cyrus swept in like the particularly blond and jovial thunderstorm he was, bundled him up and bustled him home, somehow managing to pick up a basket from Good Hunter along the way.
Which he refused to let Pallad pay for!
He wasn’t a lost teenager anymore Cyrus, he could take care of himself!
He made a mental note to sneak the next relic he found onto his desk when he wasn’t looking. Just watch him. He’d find the shiniest, most obnoxious thing ever and then he’d polish it just to make it even more insufferable and only then would it match the Guildmaster.
He’d get Fischl in on it. He’d get Cyrus a Fischl Monologue and a shiny relic.
oOo
“You’re spoiling him rotten, is what you’re doing!”
“Quite right I am! What else do you expect me to do, you old badger? Toss him out into the wilds and hope that Barbatos has the mercy to watch over him, like you did with Cyrus? It’s nothing less than an archon-given miracle that that boy of yours still lives!”
“ Bah! He grew up fine, didn’t he? My son is a shining example of adventurousness and skill! Your grandson, on the other hand, is going to get himself killed the first time he finds a slime!”
oOo
Thankfully, he woke up a bit more coherent the next day.
More coherent and less nauseous, thank the Thousand Winds, because he’s not sure if he would have been able to take the medicine if he’d been coherent enough to think about how truly awful it was and still queasy enough to throw up at the mere thought of putting anything into his mouth.
Ugh.
Well, on the bright side, his pay had been doubled, on account for how the commission should have been tagged as “for vision bearers only” from the start, so he actually could curl up in bed all week without worrying.
Ugh .
The quicker they could get Mondstadt sorted after the dragon, the better. Grandmaster Varka had really picked the worst timing to be gone.
And he had apparently picked the worst timing to get poisoned, because the water still wasn’t running and he wanted to cry at the thought of going to collect more water tomorrow if it took much longer. He desperately needed a bath, but when his current water supply came from a barrel… yeah, no, not happening.
Pallad sighed, willing the cream stew to heat up faster.
He might have been a bit delirious yesterday with the specifics of how to repay Cyrus for the food, but he really should do something for the man in return once he was feeling better.
He already owed the man too much.
Not that the Branchmaster would ever agree with him on it, and for all that Pallad was grateful for how skilled the man was at driving away his doubts and fear through sheer volume of bullheaded cheer, it was incredibly annoying.
Once the stew finally got to a temperature above lukewarm, Pallad took a spoon to eat with and a worn towel to place the pot on and sat down with a blanket to keep the persistent chill away.
He hated elemental energy poisoning.
Once had been more than enough, he didn’t need to ever experience this hell again.
oOo
“Hey lad, how are you holding up?”
“...”
“Ah, silly question I see… we’re missing you down at the guild, Pallad.”
“...”
“Hrm, well! I can’t imagine this is good for you, either. An adventurer cannot simply sit around like this! We are built for adventure, for the vast wilds!”
“...”
“Come on now, lad, have you at least eaten? Your oma wouldn’t want to see you waste away like this.”
“...”
“Alright! Up you get! We are going to Good Hunter for lunch! Let’s get a sticky honey roast in that belly, get some adventurer’s courage back in that heart of yours. It’s on me!”
oOo
Pallad almost cried when Michelle stopped by to let him know that their windmill was back up and running.
Water!
Water that didn’t taste like wood!
Running water!
A bath!
Honestly, he had no idea how the woman and her crew had fixed the thing so fast; he’d seen the state of it after that twister had hit the city. The arms had been completely wrecked from the sudden force of it and he’d been expecting it would take them at least another week to get around to it, given that the local windmill was one of the lowest-priority ones.
Throwing open the window to take a look in person felt… amazing.
The gentle breeze felt so good against his clammy skin, and something in him finally settled down at finally hearing the low, steady grinding noise of it as a counterpoint to the neighbourhood’s wind chimes.
He smiled and whistled a short ditty to the wind in thanks as the great shadow of a sail passed him by.
The people of the land of Freedom had always been good at picking themselves back up after something tried to knock them down.
Little by little, one scouting mission and fixed windmill at a time, Mondstadt was getting back to normal …and despite the poisoning, Pallad felt like things might get better for him, too.
oOo
“Hi… hi, oma. Sorry I haven’t… I’ve just… I was-
Sorry, let me start over. You’d think I’d be good at this by now, but I don’t think talking to a stone and hoping Barbatos carries my voice ever gets easier.
You were the only one I had, you know? And I think I forgot that you were human, too, not just… not just oma, oma who made everything better.
I think I’ve learned more about you since you died than I ever knew while you were still alive, and I was so angry with you for that.
So angry that I forgot that you were still oma, and that all the debts and lies don’t… they don’t change the fact that you loved me. And that I love you. So much.
I just… I wish I could have helped. I didn’t really need a big house, or nice clothes, or… or much of anything, really, except you, oma, and to know that my parents loved me before… before.
Death really doesn’t get easier to deal with with habit, does it?
Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I’m doing ok, and that I forgive you, and that I love you. I’ll… I’ll try to come back and talk to you more often. Sorry I couldn’t get you a spot next to mum and dad, the Cathedral plots are a bit… Yeah, you’d know, wouldn’t you? So it’s a bit of a trek, but I’ll come by, I promise.”