Happy Diwali To You All.
*****
Henry's druidic gifts were a sign—he had been recognized by the Balance, the eternal rhythm between creation and decay. The divine arts he now possessed were not granted by some celestial being but were gifts of nature itself.
He flexed his fingers and tested a few words, his voice trembling. The world responded faintly, like ripples across a still pond. Power—real, tangible power—flowed through him.
He smiled faintly, though pain lingered in every breath. "So this is how it feels…"
He only had one arcane spell slot for now—barely enough to defend himself—and three divine slots for simple healing. Not much, but enough to survive if used wisely.
As the exhaustion from his injuries caught up with him, Henry whispered a prayer—not to any god, but to the world itself. "Let me live through the dawn."
He didn't notice the faint shimmer of green light wrapping around his broken arm, nor the way the nearby leaves swayed without wind. Nature was listening.
Moments later, sleep took him once again, his breathing slow and steady as the stars of Faerûn watched silently above—a mortal soul reborn between worlds, holding within him both the logic of a man and the instincts of the wild.
The first rays of dawn stretched over the forest, painting the treetops in gold and amber. The night had retreated, leaving behind the scent of dew and damp earth. Kagan stirred first, a groan escaping his lips as he yawned. His hands worked with practiced efficiency, extinguishing the smoldering embers of the campfire and packing the remains of their meager campsite. The dwarf moved with a rhythm born of years on the road, every motion precise and deliberate, yet there was a weight in his movements—a quiet anxiety that he didn't bother hiding.
Henry blinked awake, his head pounding like a drum, and sat up slowly. Every movement sent a dull ache pulsing through his skull, and the faint metallic taste of blood lingered on his lips. He rubbed at the back of his head, attempting to make sense of the fragmented memories and sensations that seemed at once familiar and alien.
"Kagan… where are we?" His voice was careful, calculated. In his mind, his twenty-one-point intelligence and meta-knowledge screamed a warning: revealing too much too soon could be fatal. The world he now inhabited—Faerûn—was not forgiving to naïve truths, especially from someone who knew far too much about its lore.
"Oh, by the forge! You're awake!" Kagan's relief was almost comical in its intensity. His eyes shone with an unusual warmth, a stark contrast to the gruffness he normally carried like armor. "If something had happened to you… I don't even want to think about it. I swear, I don't know how I would go on living."
Henry pressed a hand to his temple, wincing. "My head… it's still pounding, and I… I can't remember a lot of things."
The dwarf's expression softened with pity, his voice lowering as he spoke. "Of course. You were struck by the ogre's club—a monstrous thing, bigger than a wagon wheel. Even a small scratch would have been serious. If it had hit you directly… even a golem might have been laid low."
"Kagan… what day is it?" Henry's question was hesitant. "What year? I… my concept of time… it's all scrambled."
The dwarf shook his head, his eyes heavy with a mix of sorrow and patience. "Poor lad. May 12, 1356 DR. I hope you remember your mother."
Henry's mind raced, evaluating the implications. DR1356… still over a decade before the story of Baldur's Gate begins… Aberdare and little Imoen… there's time. Time to level, to survive… to learn. A small sense of relief washed over him—but it was incomplete. He had knowledge, but not memory; intelligence, but not instinctive something.
Kagan's voice pulled him back. "Your arm's broken. I set the bones and put a plate in place. You can heal it with your magic."
Henry flexed his fingers, feeling the pain still throbbing faintly. Concentrating, he cast three healing spells in succession, murmuring the divine words that his druidic training and his system-assisted magic made second nature. Warmth spread through his arm, the bones knitting together as if guided by unseen hands. The pain dulled, though he knew the injury still limited his combat ability.
As for using weapons—forget it; broken bones don't heal that quickly with a basic spell
"Alright," he said, flexing his newly healed hand. "Let's move today. We'll rest properly once we reach Friendly Arm."
Kagan hoisted their packs with ease, his movements echoing strength and confidence. "Lead the way. According to our plan, we rest at Friendly Arm for a few days, then head north to hunt burrowing worms. Tyrone Fulong of the Thundergod Blacksmith Shop pays well—500 gold per shell. The druids nearby also give rewards for the hunt. A chance to profit and gain favor with the local nature sects."
Henry smiled faintly. There was a strange comfort in the rhythm of normal adventure—the mundane tasks of travel, the hunting of monsters, the careful weaving of magic and muscle. It grounded him, despite the ever-present unease gnawing at the edges of his consciousness: the missing pieces of his self, the inexplicable gaps in his memory, the faint, alien sense of being both here and elsewhere.
After washing quickly in the clear, cold river, the pair set off along the coastal road. Sunlight filtered through the tall oaks and pines, illuminating birds flitting through the branches and small animals scurrying among the roots. Henry's druidic senses hummed faintly, attuned to the rustle of leaves and the faint, distant calls of wildlife. The forest felt alive, protective, and yet distant—like a world observing him without judgement.
If only I were higher level… he thought. A druid of sufficient skill could become beast or bird, manipulate water and wind, speak fluently with all creatures. For now, his knowledge was basic. He could understand the language of animals—but could not command them. A small limitation, yet it underscored his mortality in a way he couldn't yet fully articulate.
Suddenly, Kagan froze, crouching low. "Quiet… now."
Henry mirrored him instinctively, heart racing. From the underbrush emerged a small patrol of hobgoblins—five in total. Their mottled gray skin shimmered in the morning sun, pig-like pink eyes darting with intelligence and malice. Military-style helmets and crude, gleaming armor revealed their discipline. The stench of decay and stale blood wafted in the air, making Henry's stomach churn.
Hobgoblins… Faerûn's true horrors begin so early.
"One, two, three… five," Kagan murmured, his voice tight with controlled anger. He gripped his battle axe, knuckles white. "Aside from the Drow, I hate hobgoblins the most in this world."
The dwarf charged, moving with a lethal grace honed by countless battles. One precise swing later, a hobgoblin's head was severed, rolling across the grass like a grotesque trophy. Its body crumpled instantly.
Henry froze. Damn it… he just charged ahead without warning. My arm… I'm not ready. I've used all three divine spells already…
Instinct and desperation took over. There was no other option left—his final spell was all he had. With grim determination, he began to murmur the incantation under his breath. Kagan's sudden assault had distracted the hobgoblins, leaving them oblivious to the shadowy figure crouched behind the tree. Within moments, Henry's spell reached its climax. Henry had successfully completed his spell. "Sleep" was unleashed. A wave of shimmering magic erupted outward, and the remaining four hobgoblins' eyes grew heavy. One by one, they succumbed to an irresistible drowsiness, collapsing into a enchanted slumber.
Henry exhaled slowly, feeling the adrenaline ebb from his body. Relief, yes—but also a strange emptiness, as though a part of him that should have screamed in fear, joy, or even triumph was… missing. He had saved the day, yet a hollow echo lingered inside him, whispering something…
Henry forced a smile, flexing his still-healing arm. The sun climbed higher in the sky, illuminating the forest path ahead.
'I am here… in Faerûn… alive… but not complete.' That will have to be enough for now.
Kagan's eyes scanned the forest clearing, narrowing as he took in the four hobgoblins sprawled across the grass, fast asleep under the effects of Henry's spell. He grunted, a low sound of approval rumbling from his chest.
"Well… that worked," he said, nodding slowly. Then he turned back to Henry, his gaze sharp, almost teasing. "Clever lad. I never knew you were a wizard."
Henry's lips curved into a small, self-conscious smile. "I… learned it from a traveling wizard at the Red Scroll Inn. I've always been… well, smart, I suppose."
The dwarf chuckled, hefting his battle axe as he approached the nearest fallen hobgoblin. With a swift, practiced motion, he swung, separating the creature's head from its body. The sound echoed faintly through the trees.
"Yes, yes," Kagan continued, shaking his head with a fond grin. "Our little Henry is a genius… and mischievous as a sprite since he could walk. I still remember when you were a child, sneaking up onto the roof to block my chimney. You actually lit pine resin to smoke me out. Coughing for a week, I was!"
Henry scratched the back of his head, heat creeping to his cheeks. "Hey, Kagan… I was just… helping! Can you stop embarrassing me like that?"
The dwarf laughed heartily, the sound carrying over the stillness of the forest. "Helping, eh? Aye, you've always had… unconventional methods. But clever nonetheless."
Henry's thoughts drifted for a moment. Unconventional… clever… smart… the words resonated strangely, as if someone else had said them before. He could recall flashes of the boy he had become in this body—the reckless, curious, sometimes arrogant child—but the details felt distant. Names, faces, the warmth of being cared for—they were smudged.
He shook himself and focused back on the present. Kagan, meanwhile, had dispatched the last of the hobgoblins with a swift, clean strike. He wiped his axe on the grass, grimacing at the faint stench lingering in the air.
"Now," Kagan said, crouching over the fallen enemies, "let's see what we've got here."
Henry followed, crouching beside him. The dwarf picked up a battered, dull helmet, inspecting it. "Five intact helmets. Could fetch a few gold coins each… yes, five." He moved on, counting slowly. "Two pieces of chain mail—fifty gold. Three leather armors… ugh, that smell… probably been worn by these brutes for weeks. Six gold coins if we can clean them." He sniffed and made a face.
Henry suppressed a shiver, grimacing at the lingering stench. "I think I'll handle the cleaning," he muttered, trying not to gag.
Kagan rummaged through the remaining spoils—a few rusty swords, a purse jingling faintly. He lifted it and peered inside. "Damn it," he muttered. "All silver… forty gold coins in value. Still, not bad. Between loot and gear… seventy gold coins. Not a bad start for the day."
Henry nodded, exhaustion tugging at him. The energy expended casting a Level 1 spell weighed heavier on him than he had expected. One more mistake… and I'm done for. He could feel the gap in his humanity, a faint hollow where instinct and emotion should have flourished—pride, fear, thrill—all muted, filtered through a strange, calculated lens.
"Let's camp here tonight," he suggested softly. "Once we get a fire going, we can clean the armor and weapons. Otherwise… nobody would buy them." His voice betrayed a hint of fatigue, though he tried to sound practical.
Kagan grunted agreement but gestured toward the nearby riverbank. "Aye. We can't linger here too long. The smell alone would chase us from the forest before nightfall. Come on, lad. Let's move."
They found a spot near the river, where the water ran clear over smooth stones, glinting in the morning sun. Birds sang in the trees, their songs vibrant and insistent, a gentle reminder that life continued, indifferent to death. Henry's druidic senses tingled faintly as he scanned the area—the whisper of water, the rustle of reeds, even the faint murmur of fish beneath the surface.
Kagan set to work, methodically cleaning the weapons and inspecting the armor for damages. Henry knelt by the river, washing the leather and chain with care, noting the way sunlight caught the water and reflected tiny rainbows on his hands. Every stroke of cloth, every careful adjustment of gear, grounded him a little more in the reality of this world.
He glanced at the hobgoblins, still sleeping where they fell, and felt a small pang of… what? Empathy? Guilt? The sensation came unbidden, unfamiliar, fleeting. Perhaps it was residue of the boy who had lived here before him. Perhaps it was a fragment of his own self trying to surface. Whatever it was, he shoved it aside.
"Catching some fish for dinner," Henry said after a moment, plucking a few small river fish with ease. Even at Level 1, his druidic affinity allowed him to sense where prey gathered. He smiled faintly. "Better than scavenging."
Kagan grunted in approval. "Good thinking. Eat well tonight; we'll need strength for the road north. Burrowing worms don't hunt themselves, and the Thundergod shop won't pay for excuses."