Ereshk yawned sleepily as he strolled through the busy market streets of Charten. The thin tendons of his pale wrists were bulging and trembling from the strain of his overloaded grocery bags. The largest sack, right in the middle of the cluster of bags, was full of bright red apples harvested from the southern plains. The rest of the bags had ears of corn, a dozen eggs, and a plucked chicken. On his own this would have easily kept him fed for a week, maybe two, but the mage was part of something bigger now. He had joined a family; or at least, that's what mister Carthul had called it. Ereshk still wasn't entirely sure what he had gotten himself in to.
The past week had been full of learning experiences. Lesson one was that a company of mercenaries ate more than a swarm of locusts, and in half the time. Exhausted, the frail scholar hoisted his bags onto a park bench and sat down beside them to catch his breath. He looked over the groceries he had acquired thus far, and his shoulders sagged in dismay. This wouldn't even be enough for one meal. What would have lasted Ereshk days would be gone in a matter of hours once he returned to camp. That is, if he could return to camp. The flesh on his palms were red, raw, and sore. The scholar sighed, gently rubbing his aching hands on his cloak. His thoughts drifted to home, and to his Master back in Vinsenia. The old king had still been alive back then. The Vale had been a simpler place, a peaceful place. Why all this turmoil and bloodshed? What did this new king hope to achieve?
Ereshk gathered up his bags once more. Every muscle in his upper body ached from the strain, but he was determined to make it back to camp with tonight's meal. Or, well, maybe half of tonight's meal. Tonight's snack? He started going over the list of fellow mercenaries that he could remember from camp.
Well, at the very least, there should be enough apples for everyone to have one.