Flowers. Puh.
Teph grumbled as he trudged over the uneven ground. The tended dirt path was long gone by now, and his boots felt every bump of root and pinch of pebble. In the distance, well past the canopy and out of sight, thunder growled. The boy pulled his jacket tighter, hoping the storm would miss them tonight; he still had one more task before he could return home.
Gathering splitheart flowers.
The spiky, red flowers were a favorite of Mom’s, and they had just started to burst, revealing their perfect, crimson seeds. The seeds fight off mosquitos. The leaves you boil for fevers.
Also, Teph noted, Mom liked to turn the petals into a paste to deepen the shade of her lips. He’d even tried it once himself, but found it altogether unpleasant; it smelled funny and he didn’t like how dark it made his mouth. He liked his lips just fine the way they were, thank you. Why did girls even like lip-color?
He arrived at the patch of splitheart and drew out his gathering pouch. Selecting only the ripest of the prickly flowers, he gathered each with a pinch of his fingers and a quiet word of thanks to the earth.
He arrived at the patch of splitheart and drew out his gathering pouch. Selecting only the ripest of the prickly flowers, he gathered each with a pinch of his fingers and a quiet word of thanks to the earth.
Flower picking. Teph rolled his eyes. This was not what heroes did.
The thought lingered as Teph wound his way back home. Real heroes got to solve mysteries, fight evil creatures, and save the day. Some day, he’d be a hero, like the ones in his favorite book, The Grand Adventures of the Golden Wayfarers. He’d be fast like Celadir Wind-Blown, dancing from rooftop to rooftop, his arrows always finding their mark. He’d be strong like Ukhul the Just, defending the helpless with a swing of his mighty sword. And he’d be wise and magical, like Zuridani Sunborn, summoning the elements themselves to help him win the day.
Teph painted his fingernails silver so they glittered when he moved his hands—just like Zuridani’s hands sparkled when he cast his spells. He even knew what his familiar would be: a fae dragon with one of its insectile wings blue and the other green—just like its eyes would be. Just like Teph’s were.
With his heroic heart and brave soul, he’d solve the world’s mysteries and save the day, and everyone would finally welcome him in the city instead of stare, distrusting. He wouldn’t have to keep a low profile or avoid the city at all; instead, they’d build him a tower of his own right in the middle of town, and his dad would never have to leave home again!
He’d make them welcome his mom, too, and make everyone apologize to them—for everything. For the ugly names they called him. For the horrible accusations they leveled at her.
The air grew colder, as did the boy’s mood; Teph knew in his stomach that the storm would arrive before dawn. Best not to dawdle. He skipped his usual extra stop at the eldest annon tree, and instead retraced his steps to the dirt path that led home.
The cottage just within the woods’ edge had been carefully built between the trees, with wild grasses and long stalks of cultivated herbs bending lazily in the chilling wind. The area was thick with the smell of herbs, intermingled with the sharp, stinging scent of the coming rains. It was usually a comfort. Usually a feeling of safety.
Right now, though, it was...off.
The heavy front door was halfway open, and no light could be seen from within. The decorative wreath and spiraling horn they kept on the door had been knocked off and lay, unloved, in the dirt. The comfort of being home disappeared, sinking heavily into his stomach with the weight of fear. What happened? Where was Mom? Did she need help?
The butterflies in his stomach warred with the excitement pounding in his chest. This was his moment. The first of many. He could be a hero, if he could just push back his fear.
Steeling himself, Teph crouched low, like Celadir might. Moving slowly, carefully, he approached the cracked door, senses alert for anything off.
One step. Another. And then he was at his door.
What would Celadir do? Right. Check for traps. Trip-wires. Sounds of monsters past the doors.
…There was nothing.
Silence lay in wait just beyond, a stillness that made him hold his breath to quiet his own heartbeat. Fear was okay. Even Dad had said so. Fear was okay as long as it didn’t stop you completely.
He reached for the spiraling horn, the only potential weapon nearby, and his fingertips winked silver at him. His “magic,” there with him. It seemed to settle his heart and bring additional resolve; he knew this place inside and out. He would be okay. He would find whatever had broken into his home and bring it to justice.
One day I will save everyone. Let it start with this.
His fingers tightened around the curled horn, and with a mighty roar to make Ukhul the Just proud, Teph knocked the door completely open and charged inside, ready to fight.
The burst of sound startled the large figure shadowed in the corner, and it jumped to attention. Drawing itself to its full, massive height and towering over the boy, the shadows rolled off of a bent, pockmarked hide. The wrinkled, gnarled face loomed large, glowing, green eyes placed low on the face and emphasizing a hunched back and strong muscles. Magic gathered at two gnarled, meaty fists, and mighty Teph…screamed a high-pitch scream.
So did the figure.
The book the figure held flared as an illumination spell revealed the craggy, lined face of the green hag made plain. Teph barked out a surprised yelp and launched himself at it, dropping the curved horn and winding his arms tight around her.
The hag’s arms matched the boy’s, wrapping him up tightly. With the shock melting from her face, she squeezed him. “Sprout! You scared me.”
“Mom,” gasped Teph. “I saw the door and it wasn’t closed right and the wreath and knocker were on the ground and—”
Mom chuckled softly at the stream of words flowing from Teph’s mouth. “There, there, Sprout. All is well; I was just resting a bit. Catch probably just knocked the wreath loose trying to get in.” She looked around, her vivid, emerald eyes landing on her familiar. The spindly monkey drew the edge of the tablecloth around himself and chittered guiltily.
“See, there you go,” Mom said. “Did you bring the splitheart? Your father’s sure to be home soon.”
Teph nodded, handing over his collecting pouch and immediately starting for the bookshelf. He was safe, Mom was safe, and The Grand Adventures of the Golden Wayfarers called to him.
“Ah-ah,” Mom croaked, re-lighting the room’s mirrored lantern and letting her illumination spell fade. “Bath first. Story time later.”
“Mooooom,” whined Teph, giving up the path to the bookshelf even as he complained.
Several scrubbings later, after a change into fresh clothes, Father was home and the family basked in the glow of an over-full dinner table and a warm fire in the hearth.
Mom always made fantastic dinners, but they especially shone when Dad came home. The flatbreads were rolled tight and sliced extra-thin. She’d roasted peppers and tomatoes, skewering them between perfect, tender squares of meat. Roast honey-squash sweetened the air and lent a mouth-watering contrast to the sharp spice of the peppered rice. And for dessert? Hot cassava cakes with cold custard.
It almost made it worth the icky stuff.
Teph knew he should be happy; not everyone had parents who loved each other so much. Not everyone even had parents. And especially someone like him, a callow may with a human father and a hag mother; the relationship that birthed the changeling was something special. Something genuine.
Illustration by Rashad Pozdnyakovfrom Pathfinder Lost Omens Ancestry Guide.
That didn’t stop him from being grossed out every time Dad came home, all lovey-dovey kissy-sissy. Tonight, it had been flowers and a poem.
“From seven bright meadows I gathered you flowers,
From seven great trees I gathered the dew,
And long have I been gone, just counting the hours
And following my heart’s Call here, home to you.”Eww.
After clearing the food from the table, Teph grabbed The Grand Adventures of the Golden Wayfarers and high-tailed it into the garden. The rain hadn’t started yet; he could still get a few stories in before they called him for bedtime. He lit his lantern and settled onto the cracked stone bench near the weeper tree.
Partway through the second story, the trees groaned suddenly, snapping the boy’s attention as something at the edge of the garden erupted from the ground. Twisting, sharp, and half-hidden by the shadows, the thing creaked and crackled, sinews twisting in the dim light of the boy’s lantern.
And then it was silent again. Still. And not for the first time today, Teph’s heart raced as he faced down a potential danger. Hiding in the weeper tree’s folds, he carefully aimed his lantern in the direction of the thing, and paused as he tried to understand the sight.
It was…a tree, but not. Spiraling grains of branches twisted about themselves over and over, like a strange series of veins making one large, tall structure. The wood looked old and petrified, as though it hadn’t just been born from nothing.
Was it….a tooth? It couldn’t be; it was definitely wood. He knew that much at first glance. A giant, petrified wooden tooth, swirling and vein-like.
No, something in his mind insisted. Not just a tooth. Something far better! A mystery!
Real heroes solve mysteries, fight evil, and save the day. Let it start with this.
Eyes wide, heart pounding excitedly, Teph stepped toward the tree.
About the Author
Rachael Cruz is an award-winning writer / game designer. Her TRPG work can be found in numerous properties, including but not limited to Conan: Adventures in an Age Undreamed-Of, Corvus Belli’s Infinity RPG, Dune: Adventures in the Imperium, Fantasy Age, RuneQuest, and Star Trek Adventures. She has been helping people play pretend before it was cool. She also believes in you. Yes, you. Follow her on Twitter at @Witchwater!
About Tales of Lost Omens
The Tales of Lost Omens series of web-based flash fiction provides an exciting glimpse into Pathfinder’s Age of Lost Omens setting. Written by some of the most celebrated authors in tie-in gaming fiction, including Paizo’s Pathfinder Tales line of novels and short fiction, the Tales of Lost Omens series promises to explore the characters, deities, history, locations, and organizations of the Pathfinder setting with engaging stories to inspire Game Masters and players alike.
