Chronicle: The Heroes Return

Truss Wilven had done all he could to help the poisoned children. His day was spent gathering some select herbs from outside the village, looking specifically for a certain root that was known to slow blood flow. It was a common remedy for slowing poison until an antidote could be found, and a common poison applied to the blades of assassins. Too much would be quickly fatal, and a tired doctor could be a dangerous killer at this perilous time.

There was no danger though, Truss himself had quaffed an entire pot of some of the most vibrant tea he could brew, and as such would be livelier than a stampede of tigers. The potion was made, and the children had taken their share. The first of the children turned pale almost immediately. He looked half dead, unable to move save for some slow, light breaths. The four of them were almost entirely unconscious, and not one would see their demise just yet.

Wilven made his way to the battlements by the north gate, where he would sit and wait. A haphazardly armored young guard stood by him as he crouched, leaning over the edge of the stockade wall.

"There's goblins out there, Larr." Truss said to the guard, eyes glazed, and mouth hardly moving.

"'s true doc, worried?" Larr Catyk replied.

Truss sighed, "No. But I'm wondering if I should be." He took a deep breathe and leaned against the back shelf of the battlement. "Everything I've ever believed in, which has not included any god or immortal that you could name, is telling me that these kids aren't going to die yet. I just can't believe for a second that they wouldn't survive."

"I believe it, doc. They're young, and don't deserve it."

Wilven shrugged, "How old are you?"

"Old enough to know when to run from a critter in the hills. 17 now."

Wilven stood up, and looked Larr in the eye, "Daniel is 15 now, son. I'm 34. We live in the hills, and any one of us could die any day to a number of things. But we're not going to run from everything that looks at us funny. We stand and fight, and we lick our wounds when we win, and we bury the dead when we lose. But either way, people are going to get hurt, and get sick, and they're going to die. But they're not going to die if I can help it. That's why every town needs a healer, even if they have to settle for one of those god-loving clergymen."

Larr slinked back, and looked off into the hills to the north. "Hey, hey doc! It's them! And it looks like one of 'em has a full sack! I bet it's the mushroom!"

Wilven was ecstatic. There was nothing he wanted more than to forget about the reality he just painted for the boy next to him.