Chương 6: Small fishing village next to the Tiber River
'I need to gather herbs. Surely there is something here that would be useful.' He pondered and quickly went out to search for the materials. Fortunately for him, the forest was full of poppy seeds and lavender of sorts, and it was precisely what he needed. Both herbs are capable of treating his wounds. These types of lavender were quite different from what he knew of, but they still showed some similarities but still had impeccable medicinal properties.
It was only then that he remembered that this world has a variety of herbs that appear in different regions but retain the same properties. "Not quite the same as lavender, but I guess it should rather be called forest lavender. Or something of the sort," he thought while picking a few.
He needed lavender herbs to treat the wounds, while the poppy seeds would be used as painkillers. Although lavender may not ultimately help with the pain, it is meant for wound treatment.
While picking some of them, he added, "The lavender, with its antiseptic properties, should do the trick."
Not long after he had treated the wound, the darkness started to creep into the forest. The day had gone by extremely fast, and night had already arrived. Gresvin had no intention of venturing through the woods in the dark.
He followed the sound of the stream and returned to where he had left his horse.
Gresvin gazed at the beast carcass and thought to himself that he would spend the night here and then continue on with his journey early the following day. With his wounds this serious, he had no choice but to camp in the woods.
Gresvin's stomach rumbled as his eyes lingered on the beast. All he had was a few pieces of bread, and the sight of the beast made his mind wander. He had luckily refilled his flask, and he had enough water for a few days, but his food was what concerned him.
The beast was tempting; the possible meat he could scavenge from it made him drool, and after a few seconds of silent warfare, he decided to start a fire.
He would debone the beast and eat what meat he could after cooking it. He gathered the necessary pieces of wood, and after a significant amount of time, thanks to his wounded shoulder, he was finally able to get the pieces of meat on the fire.
He had made kebabs of some kind to the best of his ability. There was no spice for him to use, so he could only eat plainly. The food would provide the necessary fuel he needed to continue.
The night passed uneventfully, and Gresvin set off early in the morning. His wounds had not healed by much, but he expected it; he had guessed that it would take at least another week before the pain subsided, but for the wound to heal correctly was another matter altogether.
He did not really have a goal in mind, at least not currently. The information he had surrounding the Endless Plains was limited. As such, he decided to travel and see what he could find. He hoped to find some sort of town or something.
And after a short little rhyme, he had chosen to go southwest. His knowledge may be thin regarding matters of importance and powers in the Endless Plains, but when he was younger, he had seen a few maps of Aehtelgard. From what he remembered, his current position was along the border.
He soon set off, galloping over the plains into the horizon.
The incredible journey through the Howling Peaks could be considered fraught with danger, but the plains had their own set of problems—ones Gresvin would rather not encounter, especially in his current condition.
Nomadic raiders and plain bandits were common in the outer regions, and as you venture west and towards the coast, more sea raiders and Nordic bandits would appear.
He hoped he would not have to deal with any of the bandits; if he were to encounter them, he doubted that he could escape alive.
The journey towards the southwest was short; it took him about three days to arrive at the particular border. There, he headed west; he needed to desperately find a settlement. The medicine that he gathered in the small forest would run out soon.
***
It was only a short time after he continued west that he found a village, a small settlement banked on a vast river bend. The Tiber was a great river that stretched into Aehtelgard, dividing the Kingdom of Ostia and the Kingdom of Ardor.
Gresvin had arrived at sunset on the 7th day. He had just crossed a small hill when the smoke from the village rose in the air. He was overjoyed, and without a second thought, he spurred his horse down the hill.
The sight of the village had practically saved him; were it not for his not wanting to show too much emotion when entering the village, he would have cried barrels.
The village was not small; in fact, it was tiny. When Gresvin reached the road leading into the village, he had attracted all the villager's attention.
They were somewhat wary of him, seeing him wounded and all. The restless whispers did not go unnoticed, but Gresvin did not react; the village could be his saving grace, and he was not about to mess that up by scaring them.
He dismounted from his horse and raised his arm, "Do not be afraid. I only seek shelter for the night," he called out. He slowly moved forward so as not to alert them. But the people's whispers kept getting louder and louder while they, too, moved back with every step he took.
When Gresvin saw this, he could not help but sigh bitterly, 'It seems this place does not welcome strangers that graciously."
The commotion continued for a while when a soft, old voice sounded from behind the crowd. "Make way, what's going on here?!" a rather elderly man said, walking through the crowd with a sturdy walking stick thumping against the ground with each step. One of the village folk quickly bent down and whispered into the old man's ear.
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