Cinder barely noticed when the big man walked into the tavern. A trio of ships had docked just before sunset, a coincidence that had made for night of great tips. But with all three crews now well-fed and supplied with more ale than Cinder could remember serving in one night, she was ready to be off her feet. The latecomer settled into as quiet a table as was available in the still-crowded main room and sat uncomfortably.
It finally registered that there was another customer to be served, and Cinder made her way across the room, dodging a pair of sailors fully engrossed in reenacting some recent swordfight for the entertainment of their companions, using the tavern's wooden cutlery as mock weapons. Cinder hoped they wouldn't break too much of it. Or escalate into a real fight. More than once, she'd stepped into an altercation and put the combatants on the floor until they settled down, and she felt certain she could subdue both of these men at the same time. But she'd rather not have to.
"What can I get you?" she asked the newcomer. His face and body were mostly obscured by the ragged cloak that he wore, but something seemed incongruent about him. Cinder had worked one tavern or another since she'd been old enough to hold a tray, and could read almost anyone at a glance. But this man was a puzzle.
"I require nourishment," the man said in a deep voice, "but I have no currency." He paused awkwardly, then continued. "Perhaps there is a service I could provide in exchange for a meal?"
Now Cinder was truly interested. The man's accent was unfamiliar, and after twenty years in a tropical seaport town, Cinder thought there was no accent she hadn't heard. His speech patterns were formal, even noble. Yet his cloak was little better than a beggar's. What was he wearing under it? Was that armor? Normally, Cinder would have turned out a customer who couldn't pay - the tavern wasn't a charity after all, and Cinder had an obligation to its owner - but it had been a good night, and there was something about this man, something she couldn't quite place.
"I never do this," Cinder said, "but okay. I'll buy your dinner myself if you'll do something for me first." She looked him up and down slowly. Despite the cloak, she could tell that he was clearly a powerful man. His broad chest and thick arms spoke of strength, and his tapered torso spoke of conditioning. He was exactly what she wanted right now.
"Come with me to the storeroom in the back," she said. "I need something that only a man of your size can do."
At this, the man lowered the hood of his cloak, and Cinder saw his face for the first time. His head was clean-shaven, and he wore a neatly cropped beard and mustache. His dark skin was clear, his cheeks healthy and full. Whatever the reason for the ragged cloak, nothing in his features carried the marks of poverty or want. He carried several visible scars, the apparent result of old battle wounds. But even to Cinder's untrained evaluation, the injuries had been expertly treated. His most notable attribute, however, was his remaining eye, which seemed to pierce right through Cinder. When he spoke again, his voice was steady and clear, with no hint of hesitation or uncertainty.
"I am not given to casual liasons," he said. "If that is your intent, then I shall remain hungry."
Cinder sighed and shook her head. "Just come on," she said.
"That's the spot," Cinder said. "Right there."
"I'm not sure I can reach it," the man said.
"A big guy like you?" Cinder said. "I think you can."
"Very well," the man said. With a grunt, he lifted the large cask of ale above his head and, with arms outstretched, extending onto his toes, he placed it on an upper shelf. "This is not what I thought you meant when you said you needed a man of my size."
"I normally put them up there myself," Cinder said, "but tonight my feet have had enough."
"You put these up there?" the man asked doubtfully.
"That's what the ladder over there's for," Cinder said. "I can carry them, I'm just not tall enough to lift them that high without climbing. And tonight, it's worth it to me to buy your dinner instead of going up and down that ladder on my sore feet. You see, if I don't put the good ale up high where nobody else can get it down, it'll be gone before it should be."
The man's expression was still dubious, so Cinder walked to the back of the room, where three more casks sat just inside the alley door, freshly unloaded by the tavern's ale supplier, a special shipment to bolster the tavern's dwindling reserves after the busy night. Cinder grabbed one of the casks and, with effort, lifted the cask to her shoulder and carried it to the man. She handed it to him and, with his pride now at stake, he placed it on the shelf without complaint.
"Satisfied?" she said.
"Impressed," he answered. "Your appearance belies your strength. Was one of your parents equally gifted?"
"Wouldn't know," Cinder said as she retrieved another cask. "My mother died when I was a child. My father ... well ... my mother was a woman of high morals, not, how did you put it? Given to casual liasons? But I guess everyone can be forgiven an indiscretion, and apparently my father was a smooth talker. All I really know about him is his name, and that he was a traveling adventurer. He never knew I existed. But if you ever run into a 'Brand Swift', you can let him know he has a daughter named Cinder, and that she has a knack for lifting heavy things." As if to emphasize the point, she gave the cask a little bounce in her hands, then gently placed it at the man's feet.
The man chuckled, and for the first time smiled. It was a warm smile, at odds with the serious expression he had worn until then, and for a moment Cinder glimpsed an ocean of warmth and kindness behind his severe exterior. She'd never really understood how her mother had fallen for a passing adventurer, but now it made sense.
"I, for one, am pleased to know your name, Cinder. And if I ever do encounter your father, I will ensure he knows his daughter is a stalwart woman." He paused for a moment, then added, almost as if telling a secret, "I'm Kildall."
As he bent to pick up the cask, something slipped from under his cloak, a silver medallion on a thick chain. Cinder took a step backwards in shock.
"What's that?" she asked urgently, pointing at the medallion.
Kildall, who had not realized the medallion had been revealed, looked down. Realizing what had happened, he grabbed it and started to secure it again within the cloak.
"Please don't put it away," Cinder said, almost desperately. "I've seen that symbol before."
"You cannot have," Kildall said, his voice now serious. "It has never before been to these shores."
"I've seen it in my dreams," Cinder said. "Over and over, for years."
Kildall paused, considering, then proceeded. "Tell me of these dreams," he said.
"I see a place I've never been," Cinder said. "A strange city. People in need. A sickness that must be healed. And over it all, that symbol, again and again. I've had this dream for as long as I can remember."
"This is an unexpected and significant development," Kildall said. "I'm sorry, but I must test you."
"Okay," Cinder said, unsure what that even meant. But Kildall was already stepping forward, the symbol now raised in his hand. He placed it on her forehand and began muttering. And then something happened.
The storeroom was gone. Kildall was gone. Cinder saw a city by the sea. But it was neither her city, nor her sea. The air was crisp and cool, but the city, sitting atop what appeared to be a mountain, was warmed by heat from within. Its tall spires reached to the sky, its expansive districts like nothing Cinder had ever imagined. As she watched, she was swept into the city, and she saw that its once orderly and beautiful streets had become places chaos and suffering. A plague raged. The city would soon fall, and with it this corner of civilization. And then what? How far might this plague spread? This was the place of her dreams, but never before had she seen it in such clarity. As the vision began to fade, one word reverberated in Cinder's mind: Neverwinter.
Then suddenly, Cinder was back in the storeroom, standing before Kildall, who was staring at her appraisingly.
"You speak the truth," he said. "I had not anticipated revealing myself so soon, but I have no choice." He took a step backwards and threw aside the ragged cloak, revealing a magnificent suit of plate armor underneath. Its value easily exceeded that of the entire tavern, perhaps this entire block of the city. And that was before even considering the glistening sword at Kildall's belt. Cinder had never seen such a weapon.
"Clearly, I am not what I appeared," Kildall said. "I am sorry to have misled you. It went against my nature, but my mission demanded it. I am a Paladin of the Unknown God.
"I come from a land far across the sea, where I was a soldier, heir to a noble house, a general in my country's army. My future there was bright and secure. But on the night we celebrated our greatest victory, my god called me to a new mission. I, alone, with no army, no wealth other than the equipment I wore, was to cross the sea and destroy evil, to prepare my god's way in these lands.
"Others will come after me, to preach, to teach, and to reveal my god's ways. That is not my calling, and he has not even allowed me to speak his name on these shores.
"I would not have revealed my true identity to you, but my god's call is on you as well. My path leads a different direction than yours, but you share my mission. You must journey to this Neverwinter and deliver them from their plight."
"I- Deliver? Journey?" Cinder's mind was awash in conflicting emotions. "How can I journey to Neverwinter? I don't even know where it is. How can I deliver anyone from their plight? I serve drinks! Yes, yes of course I have to do those things. Everything I feel tells me so. But no, I can't because I don't have any idea how to start, and I couldn't afford a trip to anywhere, even if I knew where I was going!"
"I, too, was surprised when I was called to my mission," Kildall said. "But ultimately, I left that very night, without telling anyone. It was the only way. You must do the same."
"But I- I can't-" Cinder stammered incoherently, then finally mananged to say "How?"
"I do not know," Kildall said. "I can offer only one thing." He reached into a pouch at his belt and took from it a second, identical symbol on a matching chain. Gently, he placed it around Cinder's neck, then let his hands rest softly on her shoulders. Somehow, the cool metal felt pleasantly warm to her, as if it were emitting a penetrating, healing light. His hands felt warm and pleasant as well, but in a much more personal way.
"All I can tell you, Cinder Swift, is that as I started to leave my home, as I placed my symbol around my neck, my god spoke to my heart and simply said: 'take two'. And so I did. I carried this across the sea, and I now know it was for you. I wish you well, my sister in faith. Perhaps someday..." His voice trailed off and once again Cinder saw the compassion behind his resolve. He cleared his throat and finished. "I hope that we will meet again."
Kildall stepped back, bowed gracefully, wrapped himself in his ragged cloak, and walked to the back door. But as he was raising his hand to open the door, he stopped. Without turning around, he unbuckled and removed his swordbelt and leaned the sword, still in its scabbard, against the wall by the door.
"Allow me to correct myself," he said. "I can offer two things. You have more need of this than I," he said. He patted the pommel of the sword softly, almost lovingly, then opened the door and stepped out into the night.
Cinder stood for a moment, stunned, then raced to the door. She flung it open and darted into the alley.
"Wait!" she cried. "Come back!" But he was already gone. She ran down the alley to the front of the tavern and looked both directions down the street. Seeing nothing, she ran back down the alley the length of the building and looked behind the tavern. But Kildall was nowhere to be seen. Returning to the storeroom, Cinder looked in disbelief at the magnificent weapon. She pulled it from its scabbard and raised it, expecting it to feel heavy or clumsy in her untrained grasp. But it did not. It felt ... right. She swung it a few times experimentally, sure that she would slice open a kask of ale, or her own leg. But instead, the blade flowed smoothly and gracefully, as if she had trained with it for years.
Cinder replaced the sword in the scabbard and placed her hand over the holy symbol hanging against her chest. Her entire life had just changed without warning. And Kildall had never gotten his meal. Was there really a chance she could see him again someday?
For now, though, what was she to do? She'd heard sailors mention Neverwinter, and had a vague idea it was to the north. That seemed like very little to go on. She considered brushing off the entire event as an abberation. She could hide the sword, return to the main room, where her customers were bound to be clamoring for refills by now, and continue her life as she always had. In a week, this might all be a fading memory.
But no, she could not ignore this. It had been an awakening, and something within her had irrevocably changed. She could sense there were more changes to come, many more, and much for her to learn. But the fundamental transformation was complete, and she was no longer the person she had been. If she turned away from this, she would be betraying everything she now realized she had always believed, everything that had been calling to her since before her earliest memories.
Finally, she spoke softly to herself. "If this is truly my calling, then there will be a way." Buckling the sword around her waist, she stepped back into the tavern. She might be going alone, and she might not know how she would reach her destination. But she was taking the tip jar with her.
Here is roughly how I imagine Kildall:
(Image generated by OpenArt.ai with the prompt "Full body portrait of a young, Black, African, male, dark skinned, paladin, bald, beard, moustache, roman style scientific body armor and wielding a god-slaying sword, D&D, fantasy, elegant, hopeful, muscular, gothic, futuristic, intelligent, serious, highly detailed, digital painting, artstation, concept art, artisan, smooth, sharp focus, illustration")
And here is one for Cinder, after she's a bit into her adventurering career:
(Image generated by OpenArt.ai with the prompt "Full body portrait of a Caucasian, white, female, reddish brown hair, muscular, adult, sturdy, strong, paladin, roman style scientific body armor and wielding a god-slaying sword, D&D, fantasy, elegant, hopeful, gothic, futuristic, intelligent, serious, highly detailed, digital painting, artstation, concept art, artisan, smooth, sharp focus, illustration")
Also, I'm pretty sure these will turn out to be Coal's parents so, spoiler alert, I think they do find each other again.