The Dead World

A Journey

Hardwin woke, as he always did, at dawn. It was still quiet in the monastery, but he was used to being alone. He preferred it, in fact. As soon as those bloody nuns were up, they'd give him some half-trained "cleric" and send him packing. If it weren't for the fact that he was absolutely sure that he needed magical help (and he had sworn never to attempt magic again), he wouldn't even be in this dreary place. He heard movement, and saw the sour-looking bitch he'd had to kowtow to last night, dragging along the skinny girl who'd been staring at his unkempt appearance when he walked in. The girl was towing a large chest on wheels. A sense of dread filled Hardwin.

"Here you go! One trained cleric. Now go away, and don't come back."
"Her?! You're giving me her? How long has she been with you? A year?"
"Alys has been with us well and long enough to help you."
"Maybe she could stop arrows..." Hardwin muttered as he began staring at the girl. Alys. She was small. Skinny. Wearing a white robe. She looked useless. "Ditch the chest." Hardwin ordered, his voice hard. "Bring only what you can carry in a bag on your back, leave the rest in your room. It'll still be there if you come back."
"You mean when?" The girl asked, her voice nervous.
"Yeah. Sure. You have ten minutes. Go!" The girl scampered off, and Hardwin sat down. He could wait.
Twenty minutes later, the girl reappeared, still wearing a thin white robe, but, except for that stupidity, she looked packed.

"You know what you're doing?" Hardwin inquired, his voice slightly gentler as he realised that the girl may have just been told to pack.
"I'm... Coming with you. For training?" The girl clearly had no idea what she was doing, but Hardwin supposed he'd prefer her to no one at all, even just for conversation.
"I'll explain as we go. Come on!" As he finished his sentence, he began striding away from the monastery, forcing the girl to run to match his pace.
"Are we getting horses?" She asked, visibly confused.
"No. We walk. Horses are useless for what we're doing."
"Which is..?"
"Order rules dictate that anyone fighting the undead-"
"Yes, I heard that much. What are we doing, though?"
"Fighting the undead."
"Why?"
"They're evil enough bastards."
"But to what end?"
"There's a necromancer I'm hunting. Until we destroy its foul presence, we kill any of its kind we find. That is our 'quest'. That is our journey."
"Where does the necromancer live?"
"In the north-west. The other side of the continent."
"You want us to walk the entire way there?!"
"I've been doing it for three years already, trying to find the necromancer's lair. Now that I know, we move in a straight line. It's not that hard, if you have proper boots..." Hardwin glanced down at the thin leather shoes that the girl was wearing. "We'll get you kitted out at the next village."