A Path Home - The Continued Journey of Chresh Pt3

A green eyed halfling sneered at the line of traders and customers lined up along the Coast Way heading into the city. Chresh sat under a shade tree overlooking the hustle and bustle on the hillside.
"Ants marching" Chresh looked up as a half elf sat next to him on the tree, "They all do it the same way."
Chresh smiled, "I like that. Did you come up with it yourself?"
The half elf nodded as he pulled a lute from behind him and handed it to Chresh, "It's my way of relating mundane life to music. It keeps me sane." He leaned back and stretched out, "I used to sing, and strum or tap on anything that made a sound."
Chresh nodded. The story felt familiar to him. He loved music too. He wanted to become a musician, and still might someday. "I'm sure you'll make it out of here, Doggo!"
"But I don't want to go alone! I've never been away from the Gate!" Doggo looked down sheepishly, "Would you come with me? I'd feel better if I had a friend on this adventure."
"My whole life is here. I don't think I'd be able to leave my parents on their own."
"Well I'm sure you want to go too. You've always talked about how much your mother talks to you about the church and how it's not the path you'd want."
Chresh sat for a minute. Doggo was one of his oldest friends. Chresh knew once he had something in his head, he was going to follow through. He was always talking about forming his own club and going on grand adventures. It always sounded so fun. He was so charismatic when he spoke that he sparkled. He put his goggles on as the clouds moved away. The light always hurt his eyes, and he never went anywhere without his hat or dark goggles.
"I can't very well let my best friend go on an adventure without me!"
"It's going to be so much fun! You're going to have so much fun. We're going to be inseparable!"

Indoctrination comes in as many shades as a tiefling. Pale shades as benign as repeating a mantra over and over eventually rubbing off on your friends. Or it can be deep shades or reds and blues, like being chained in a small cage for two weeks and having a vampire visit you nightly, re-upping an incredibly powerful charm spell warping your reality to the point where you can't tell if the man that had you execute someone is your oldest friend or the most evil man you've met. Alright, admittedly the second option is flat out brainwashing, but people have ways of dealing with mental trauma, and denial was the dim candlelight illuminating what was left of Chresh's fractured psyche.

Twenty Five Years had passed since the second night to define his life. He had now been away from home longer than he had lived in the shadow of the Gate. He was a husk of his former self, spending so many years sitting around the camp fire staring lifelessly at the flames licking at the burning wood. Flames. Those held some significance once, although he couldn't tell why. Whenever he shut his eyes all of his life would cycle through. He was living life in a fog. Pockets of clear air would open, uncovering a memory of his life, but couldn't trust it's validity. Flashes of silver. Faces of those he may or may not have killed for the Empty Hand. A halfling woman nuzzling a newborn. Glowing eyes of a vampire torturing someone in a cage. They swirled constantly, making him dizzy, keeping him from sleeping well, which broke him down further. Retreating to the local taverns when the crew made it to town, downing as many drinks as it took to black out, the only time his mind quieted enough to sleep through the night. It was a sad existence, half waking, half walking. It was easy to be uncaring within the group, devoid of anything that reminded him of his old life. Tonight was no different. A wealthy farmer stepping out of his home like he always done on this day of the week. Was it to tend to his flock? Was it to tend to his mistress in town? It made no difference. The arrow didn't ask questions and neither did Chresh.

He sat around the camp fire as he always had, absentmindedly toasting with those around him, as they counted their gold for their smaller missions for the night. Chresh just put his small bag in his pocket. The inner circle of the Empty Hand never counted their money among the uninitiated members of the group. The pay disparity would only cause problems, and Doggo always mused that he didn't want to kill anyone unless it made cents. He quietly ate the bland food that he hadn't cooked. No smiles this night. Tonight was a work night. He never relished these nights, but never shied from them either. The sparkling half elf materialized out of the shadows, smiling at his initiates. He chatted with each of them, to make sure they were happy with their shares from, politicking as he always did. After he had finished with everyone, he folded his legs and flopped down next to Chresh against the tree.
"Why so glum, my lucky charm?"
"I'm always glum, and you know that." He looked up and craned his head toward him, "You cast your disguise spell a bit hastily this morning? I can see some blue behind your ear."
His hands swept up quickly to cover his ears, "And you let me walk around like that all day?" Chresh smiled a bit. He knew when Doggo was in a good mood after a pay day, you could poke fun at him without fear of reprisal. "You little imp! I knew my spell was flawless!"
"You've been casting it for a hundred years or so. You'd think you'd have a little more confidence in your work."
Doggo's hands reluctantly came down, "Chresh made a joke!" He patted and messed his hair, "those are in short supplies, buddy. You used to always joke at home."
The smile immediately left his face, but he looked away to make sure Doggo didn't notice. Those words felt hollow. Anytime he mentioned a memory, the words sounded different. The words felt like a lie, but he could never quite know for certain. But anytime he mentioned their past, the halfling's mind hurt. "Never been very funny. I'm your lucky charm, and your medic. If you want a bard, you should have trained me to be better with a lute than medical knowledge when we first left the Gate." He grabbed his bag, "Speaking of, was there any trouble today? No one's come up to me with any ailments, so I'm guessing things went surprisingly by the book?"
"No, my friend, you have the night off!" He took a big bite of cured owl bear, and talked with his mouth full, "you really are a good cook."
Chresh didn't look up, "you're going to run out of that and have to eat this slop if you don't slow down. I can only cure so much of that at a time, and take it with us."
"I just have to make sure the next time we take one down, you get the night off, so you can prepare more!"
"Speaking of food, we're running low. That orc you brought on is crap at cooking food. He destroyed half a rack of stag. You really need to hire someone that doesn't have carnivorous teeth. He has no idea how to tenderize or spice meat. He can tear through this shoe leather that used to be jerky."
Doggo laughed and smacked him on the back, "You're always right about food." He shouted at back toward the campfire, "Oh Grug, Grug is it? I never really learned to speak orcish." He smiled at a joke he no doubt came up with in his head. Chresh barely saw him move, but noticed the glint of steel dart out. It landed with a squish through the eye. The force was so strong, he fell backward off the log he had been sitting on, the gruel in his hands falling into the fire with a sizzle. "You're fired." His smirk faded, "darn, I threw too hard. He was supposed to fall into the fire!" He walked over, ignoring the shocked and scared faces around the fire, as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the his share of profits for the night. "Why so shocked? You tasted that slop! Do you want to eat any more of that?" Nervous laughter started but was quickly drowned out by the ruckus laughter from the inner circle. Another chef down. "We were picking up new crew anyway, and let's all be honest, he smelled."
Chresh didn't look up as he picked at the last of his food "I thought you always say..."
Doggo giggled, "It made cents." He tossed the bag at him, "I know you don't count your take, but you were short a few silver, and I take care of my friends." He flopped back against the tree and ground, "Besides, we're resupplying in a few days, and might as well pick up a few new members. I'm getting bored of some of these guys. That, and I killed our newest employer. I hate being shorted for a job. We're professionals after all."
"We're really far south this time of the year, there aren't many places we're welcome. Where are we picking up new crew?"
"Oh there's no where we're really welcome this far south, but we haven't been home in decades, and I'm getting homesick."
He froze. "Home?"
"Yes, home! Don't worry, it's been thirty years, I doubt your parents are even around anymore. No one's going to notice a half pint like you, and I have a special spell to keep me safer than usual while we're in the city. You haven't really spent any money in years. Baldur's Gate has some great places for you to blow some cash, and you know how much I hate people that squirrel things away."
Chresh's back bristled. He didn't know which memories were his own, but whenever his body stiffened like that, he knew Doggo said something that had a grain of truth to it, and knew not to let it get to him. "Well the Gate has to have some good spice shops. If it's going to be another thirty years before we're home, I'm buying a pack mule to handle all the spices I'm going to carry out of that place."
"That's the spirit! We move out in the morning, get some sleep!"

It was a three day journey, and not a direct path. Chresh had several spots he placed his money for safe keeping. He always let Doggo know where and how much he was putting away. He was trusting of his inner circle, but thirty years have taught them the hard way, that trust wasn't absolute. Three members 'left' the group. Despite being his lucky charm, he still knew to keep his guard up to not be the fourth. The initiates were far more expendable. Nearly four dozen faces came and went over the course of his tenure that he never really learned names, or never gave it enough effort. He was deep in thought as he always spent daylight hours on the back of the supply wagon trying to organize his thoughts when he was tapped on the shoulder. A burly initiate gestured forward and pointed. As the wagons cleared the woods, and over the bluff, the great Gate came into view of the crescent city. Despite living there for twenty years, it looked so foreign, despite nothing having changed within the city in centuries.

He walked with a purpose within the walls. He had no illusions of how the Flaming Fist and the Watch would handle with the Empty Hand. No one paid much attention to the halfing as he made three runs from the spice market to the stables to unload his hauls. It wasn't till the fourth run that he broke down and just made a full purchase and had them deliver it all themselves. He had the money to splurge. While finishing his list of items to pick up, a familiar smell wafted past his nose. He hadn't had a gourmet meal since the last time he was in Beregost, if that could even be considered gourmet. He darted in and out of the crush of people as he followed his nose toward the most heavenly stew he'd ever smelled. He turned the corner, nose first and slammed head first into two heavily armored men. He couldn't tell if the ringing was in his head or coming from the plate mail that brought him to a dead stop. He worried this could be trouble, and quickly got to his feet, smoothing out his clothes and apologizing while keeping his head down. He could see by the heavy armor and the odd tingle of magic about them, they were strong paladins. He recognized the insignia on their hilts and knew they were Paladins of the Song of Morning and knew he was safe and his demeanor relaxed. If they were the short tempered Paladins of Conquest, there might have been a problem for entering their personal space without a fight. He quickly turned in the opposite direction to leave and knocked over a woman's basket. Luckily the food didn't spill out of the bags and cloth satchels, so he wouldn't have to offer to replace any of it. He set about quickly gathering it all and putting it in the basket, without realizing the woman was just standing there looking at him. Did he hit her harder than he thought? He got the last wrapped baguette into the basket when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He froze. That touch. That warm touch. It was so familiar, so inviting. That touch conveyed more love and affection than he could even remember. He started to tremble, as his mind spun like a dervish trying to make sense of what was happening. He finally had the strength to look up and see the woman, with tears streaming down her face, a tremble that matched his. She seemed to fight emotions between crying and smiling. Familiar. He had seen that face in a dream. One of the many that burned brightest through the fog of his mind.
"Do I know..." his sentence was cut short as she smothered him with a hug, her small arms barely able to get around him, but with a vice like grip he wasn't expecting. Her happy sobs turned into unbridled crying, not letting him go. Who was she? Despite how tightly she held him, it still felt tender. He could feel his own tears running down his face and couldn't understand why he was crying too. Everything felt so foreign and he couldn't make sense. He knew her. Someone knew him, and the only way he could describe her embrace was love.
"I knew you'd come back to me."
The voice tore through the fog. He knew her. He knew that voice. That voice. Everyone always knows the sound. It's undeniable. He could have been away for a hundred years, and he'd recognize it. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. His whole being was frozen in place. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him. Finally after a third time, he was able to squeak out a faint but audible word.
"Mom?"

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