As the morning sun rose over the horizon, a golden hue spread over the farmland, and revealed the weathered shack from the darkness. The cries of roosters from the surrounding lands woke up the humble farmer.

Pell sat up from his bed, groggy and tired, just like he always was. This was the mundane repeated cycle, of his daily morning routine. He washed his face in the basin filled with rain water from the heavy storm that had passed by a few days prior. He adorned his coveralls and grabbed his old, but reliable, straw hat. It had a few holes, but it still covered him from the searing scorch of the bright sun.

Pell left his small abode, a small shack that could barely count as a home, and walked along the short dirt path that had long since become beaten.

He approached his shed. Entering through the rickety door, he placed his palm on the small blue transparent crystal that lay in the room's corner. The crystal flickered with a slight glimmer before shining and illuminating the entire room with a bright glow.

Moving over to the bench in the center of the shack, Pell picked up the tools he needed: a handheld sickle and a metal hoe that hung neatly and unfettered on the wall. He grabbed a small spray bottle half filled with a green liquid and fastened it to the holster on his belt. With a smooth motion indicative of routine and mastery, Pell spun around, swiping the tips of his fingers across the blue crystal causing it to flicker and gradually dim. He walked out of the shed while drifting his other hand across the door's lock stile, guiding it to follow behind him before snapping shut with a clink.

He wasted no time in getting to work, as he made his way toward the small plots of toiled land that he had. First, he used his hoe to cultivate the well-worn soil that had weathered from the rain. His arms worked and sweat dripped down his face as he focused on plowing. He completed the various required tasks over the next few hours. From plowing the soil, to sickling the tall plants that had grown above satisfying heights, and using the growth spray on the youngling rittertops.

As the day wore on, Pell found himself lost in the rhythm of his work, the worries and cares of the world slipping away with each stroke of his hoe. His morning work concluded as the sun hit high noon. Pell turned to his other patch of farmland, with ripe and ready-to-harvest vegetables.

He walked over to the dainty patch of easy-to-grow, and easy-to-manage, rittertops. A native vegetable that was eaten in abundance. It was very similar in shape to potatoes, but grew much faster. They were planted in a line, equidistant from one another, allowing for easy and organized harvest. They tasted a bit bland, but combined with some salt, they tasted quite hearty and fulfilling.

Pell bent over and plucked a rittertop out of the ground, roots snapping at the bottom of the vegetable's base. Rittertops grew many long branching roots, with the same root spreading out and growing multiple rittertops. He pulled two more remaining rittertops and walked over to the next small patch. Pell continued to sweat as he continued pulling a few more out of the soil. The rittertops required quite a bit of effort to snap from their roots. For the ones that he wasn't strong enough to snap with his arms, he simply used his scythe to cut at the base.

More and more experience notifications rang out in his mind. Yet he didn't care, dismissing the noise like an annoying fly he couldn't begin to catch. After all, who cared what level a farmer was? It was useless to know. Just plant and grow crops, and make a barely livable wage.

Sometimes, drawing the short stick made it hard to appreciate progress, no matter how many steps forward you took.

As he finished on his fourth patch of rittertops, his sack of vegetables had grown quite large and heavy. Using the string at the sack's opening, he tightened and knotted it to secure the bag. He hefted the bag over his shoulder and laid it strewn across his back. He looked up at the sky. The sun was at its highest peak. He looked off toward the forest. Past the dark trees and gloomy, poorly kept path that only he ever used was the town village.

Pell packed up the vegetables and began to move. He stepped into the forest and followed the rough path. Sounds of birds chirping, and the occasional annoying mosquito buzzed around his face. Pell constantly swayed and swerved as he moved. He couldn't swat at the mosquitoes since his hands were full heaving the bag. All he could do to avoid them was clumsily dance as he moved.

Occasionally along the path, a rabbit would jump out to investigate the noise of Pell's footsteps hitting the dirt path. Upon seeing the man carrying a large brown sack, the rabbits would immediately hop away, spooked by the tall man carrying a large object on his back.

Soon, Pell saw the view of the village appear in his sight. The large stone walls encasing the village signaled an impression of fortitude and reliability. He heard the voices of two men. The sound of Pell's footsteps soon merged with the sound of broken twigs, branches, and gravelly rocks. This was an outer layer of defense to warn the outside guards and patrols of any approaching monsters or people.

Two guards stationed at the gate flinched upon hearing the noise. They gripped the sharp spears they held in their hands. The tips of the spears vibrated with a powerful energy as mana filled them. The two guards had already suspected who it was, but one could never have their guard up often enough. That's how they were taught, after all. One mistake or excessive carelessness could lead to death.

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As Pell inched closer to the main gate, the guards relaxed their weapons and started conversing with one another again. As Pell walked past them, he gave them both a slight nod. The guards both responded with a nod back. They knew Pell. Although Pell wasn't a resident of the town, they'd seen him plenty of times and knew he wasn't a threat. They didn't particularly like him, but as long as he didn't cause trouble, they couldn't do anything to him.

Quite a few people in town were just like this. They knew of him, but didn't care to make acquaintance with him. Whether Pell was acknowledged or respected by the townspeople was a different question.

He made his way toward the town's tavern.

It was hard to miss. A large wooden signboard hung up in front of the building that read "Meer's Mugs". He walked in through the front, where the doors had already been set open inwards.

The sound of people talking and laughing filled his ears. Several round tables and bar counters were already filled up with customers. Although it was noon, many people still visited the tavern.

Pell was one of those people.

A few people shot glances at the new arrival before returning to their drinks.

Pell walked up to the counter, and slung his bag next to his side, resting it on the wooden floor. Pell whipped his leg up and around the bar stool as he hopped to sit on the stool. He rested his elbow on the cold black stone top counter, before calling out to the man that was busy wiping glasses.

"One glass of seryl grass wine," Pell said to the bartender. The man before him nodded, as he grabbed a clean glass and started over to the back counter filled with various liquids and cylindrical devices. As Pell watched the man, he heard footsteps behind him. Pell had spied this man in the corner of the room talking to a man and woman, but had ignored him.

Apparently, the man had also noticed Pell and decided to not ignore him.

"Getting drunk again, Pell? Your lil 'ol lady would be disappointed in you visiting so often ya know" came a rough voice from behind him. Pell glanced back at looked at the tall and burly man. He had a full beard, short unruly brown hair, and carried a broad sword holstered at his waist. He wore an unblemished leather tunic, with various straps and sashes across his front that wrapped around to his back. Although Pell never asked about it, he was sure that the inner layer of the man's tunic was laced with chainmail or other durable lightweight metals.

"It's one drink. Who the hell gets drunk over a single drink?" dismissed Pell. Pell fully turned, arching his elbows behind him on top of the counter, as his hands drooped off the edge.

"Sure, you say that. But that's for regular drinks, you ass. Who the hell orders Seryl Grass this early in the day," He retorted.

Pell rolled his eyes, "I do."

The man walked forward next to Pell and stepped on the lower rung of the stool beside him, before hoisting himself to sit on top. Pell whirled back around towards the counter.

"Also, she's not my lady," said Pell.

The man raised an eyebrow. He tilted his head slightly toward Pell, while keeping his gaze at the bartender in front of him, "Really now?" he said with a fake air of surprise, "Could have fooled me. She must be a really good friend of yours then, for you to go out of the way to go harass those buffoons that were causing a ruckus that day," he continued, before softening his voice to a whisper, "you really fucked their day up, y'know."

Pell had been tapping his fingers on the counter the entire time when he came in. It wasn't loud, as the only person who could hear his fingertips was himself. But now, he had stopped upon hearing his friend's remark. Well... friend was a bit of a strong word.

"Gaius..." Pell warned, his voice soft but threatening. He kept his gaze forward as he watched the bartender mixing the drinks. The blue glow, the dim green, and the grassy leaves that the man mixed started to sizzle.

Gaius straightened his head. "Yeah, yeah. Hear nothing, see nothing, do nothing," he replied nonchalantly.

Gaius also ordered a drink. A mug of Brewer's Ale. A specialty mix recipe from Meer, the owner of the tavern. It was tasty, but also several leagues less alcohol dense than the Seryl Grass that Pell had gotten.

They both drank in silence as the noise of the rowdy tavern patrons lauded over them. Pell was the first to finish his drink. He placed his glass in front of him and pulled out one silver coin from his pocket, and placed them next to the glass. Pell bent over to reach for the crinkled top of his sack, before noticing that it had been opened. Pell glanced up at Gaius. And Gaius, was already staring back at him.

"My bad," He said, as he chomped down on one end of a rittertop. "You still didn't pay me last time for helping you out," Gaius said, with a mouthful of Pell's hard-earned harvest, "Oh, and this won't cover it by the way. Just letting you know".

Pell grimaced as he watched the man eat and talk with his mouth full. Losing a single rittertop didn't matter much to him. They were quite dirt cheap and easy to farm. Although he was annoyed that Gaius just took one without at least asking. But he did make a good point. Pell still hadn't paid him back for helping him with the unruly people.

He couldn't complain.

"Fine, whatever," he said, as he got up and refastened the strands to secure the bag once again.

Standing, he hefted the bag around his shoulder and sent a quick glance to Gaius. "I'll pay you back in a few days," he said, already starting back towards the tavern's entrance.

After just two short steps, he heard Gaius' voice call out from the counter.

"Hey. Amberdean's going to be increasing the taxes of the orphanage again soon." He said sternly.

Pell paused upon hearing this.

He thought about Gaius' words. In truth, he already knew this. But being told it again, only made him more furious. Amberdean had been the cause of her grief. The cause of his grief. There wasn't much Pell could do. At least, not now.

"Thanks," Pell said plainly, before walking out of the tavern.

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