Graff studied the charts in front of him. 16 years old with a body honed by constant sparing, he was a tanned and muscular sight to see. Yet despite his apparent leather armor, he had very little fighting experience. Despite this, he was itching to go out and spar some more. Practice the basics and gain a few new tricks.
"Graff, you need to pay attention." Grinning good-naturedly at his mentor, Graff stretched and pulled the chart closer. His mentor continued, "If you are going to join any human society, you need to make sure the persona you use matches what you look like. You are clearly a fighter, so I would stay away from trying to claim to be a mage, Herald, or one of those who uses wild magics."
Sunlight filtering through the trees, Graff contemplated, "It would probably not be wise to join a mercenary company right away either. I don't know which ones have what kind of reputations well enough." Glancing over at his mentor he added, "And if I housed in a mercenary fort over the winter, hiding you would be impossible."
Laughter on both sides filled the air. His mentor suggested. "Perhaps you could be a bodyguard for hire. Or a wanderer..."
"No. I can't be a wanderer. I need something more legit. I wouldn't pass for a holy person or a healer either." He gave a wicked grin, "though you could be a healer on vacation Thorn."
Thorn glared, "I'm not fat if that is what you are implying. Healers have to eat. Everytime they use their wild magics they lose so much energy - "
"Some are Heralds," interrupted Graff pointedly.
"Yeah, well, please point out where my Companion would be and I've never heard of anyone in my race being a Herald." Thorn said icily.
Graff laughed and looked over the chart again. He would need something plausible. A profession that matched as closely as possible to the truth without giving away his past or his mentor. "What about a treasure hunter?"
Thorn nodded in approval, his golden scales rippling in the sunlight. "It is a sound plan. Now I need to rest. You pack and head on down the mountain. Avoid any borderholds and villages. We want to meet people in a town that is used to strangers."
Grinning, Graff held out his hand. Thorn, rose from where he had been resting to stand about waist high to Graff. Stretching out his dragon body one last time, he leaped at Graff's hand. As he came in contact, he disappeared beneath Graff's clothing. If anyone saw Thorn now, he would appear to be a tattoo. That is, as long as he didn't move.
Graff packed up the camp quickly and efficiently. His sword strapped to his side and daggers in his boots were his only blades. Bow and quiver on his back his only ranged weapons. Who needed to be a mage or make contracts to use wild magic when he had a T'kesh for a mentor.
A remote mountain village known for their ability to produce rare pieces of art, they had never seen or suspected raiders would attack. Their hidden companions had and when the surprise attack occured, their T'Kesh friends had ripped and shredded every single raider to shreds. However few humans had lived and fewer T'kesh had returned in time to fuse on a human friend. Dependent on humans to live, they had died.
Unlike the other survivors, who had relocated on to a hidden location, Graff had decided to head out and find out who had sent the raiders. Maybe even chop off the head of their band. Thorn insisted on coming along, pointing out that worldly experience was sadly lacking on Graff's part. It would be hard keeping the T'kesh's existence a secret. But that was nothing compared to the revenge Graff sought. Both burdens he was willing to carry.
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