Chapter 4: Goodwill Never Hurts

In the heart of the night, a young boy found himself seated beside a man, who exceeded him greatly in years. The man bore a wound upon his stomach, concealed by weathered and soiled bandages. Unconsciousness held sway over the man, his brow glistening with an unnatural sweat, while his breath came jaggedly, akin to one ensnared in a tormenting dream.

Uncertain of his next move, the lad faced a sight that tugged at his heartstrings – this man before him was none other than his father, the sole kin he could lay claim to. He had implored every villager, searching for a remedy to alleviate his father's suffering, yet their efforts had been in vain. The villagers, though willing, possessed no healing prowess. At best, they could only offer a few herbs to assuage his father's pain, acknowledging their inability to effect a lasting cure.

Yet amidst the gloom, a singular voice emerged from the crowd, advising the lad to seek out the 'wizard' who had suddenly materialized near their village. They recommended he present something of intrigue to capture the wizard's attention, whatever that might entail. In times past, the lad might have quivered at the prospect of approaching such an entity, but desperation compelled him. The fate of his father hung in the balance; his demise would render the lad bereft, navigating this world's challenges alone with no family, a daunting prospect for a youth of his tender age.

"Pa, ye should hold on…" he whispered to the man. "I'll go to the wizard tomorrow, maybe he'll have somethin'."

His gaze then wandered to the window, where the full moon cast its luminous glow upon the firmament. Resolute in his decision, he resolved to make his way to the wizard's dwelling at first light. Yet, a quandary vexed him – what offering could possibly pique the wizard's interest?

—

In the morning's light, Argus found himself on the lowest level of his tower. He awaited the arrival of the villagers bearing rare materials for his arcane studies. However, after a wait of approximately two hours, it appeared he had underestimated the villagers' fear of the unknown. Yet, Argus did not dwell on this for long. He resumed his spellwork experiments, all the while keeping an ear out for an anticipated knock at the door.

At this moment, Argus no longer clung tightly to his spellbook each morning, for the need to commit every incantation to memory had vanished, as Mystra's Ban was no more to him.

In his grasp, he held a precious, clear diamond of considerable worth. He sought to conjure a Dimensional Door that might transport him back to Faerûn. Although his business in this realm was far from concluded, as he yearned to unearth more of its enigmas, he felt compelled to test if he could return to his own world or if he remained trapped here.

He clutched the diamond and commenced the incantation, uttering, "Si nif sva wer trelk!" Alas, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Despite the diamond's exorbitant value, no door opened. Argus could only sigh at this disheartening sight, realizing that he was indeed ensnared in this realm. Nevertheless, he harbored other methods to explore for his return, which would have to wait for another time.

Suddenly, a knock resounded at the door. It appeared that someone was finally approaching after all.

Gradually, his steps led him closer to the door. With a careful motion, he swung it open. Gazing downward, he beheld a young lad, perhaps around nine years of age, clutching a basket of herbs.

"Well, good morning to you, young one." spoke Argus with a warm smile.

"'L-Lo…" the boy stuttered. "I-I was told that you could h-help me if I gave you something."

"Indeed." affirmed Argus, his head nodding. Stepping aside, he gestured for the lad to enter. "Come in."

Nervously, the lad crossed the threshold of the tower. His wide eyes took in the opulent embellishments that adorned the chamber; clearly, he had never encountered such grandeur.

"What is your name, little one?" Argus asked, placing the diamond in his hand to his material pouch.

"R-Roy," came the lad's reply.

"Well, Roy." Argus continued. "What brings you here, do you need anything?"

"My Pa... he's taken ill," the lad responded.

"Ill?" mused Argus, his brow arching. "Could you expound on his affliction?"

"W-Well… He's got a wound on his belly" Roy said. "H-He's been shivering for a day now, he sweats a lot."

"I see… an infection's clutch," acknowledged Argus with a knowing nod.

"C-Can you heal him, Master Wizard?" the boy pleaded. "I-I brought some things… I dunno if it's enough for ye…"

"While I am no healer, little Roy, I happen to know some things about alchemy." Argus smiled. "Come with me upstairs."

Argus started to walk up the stairs, and once he reached the upper floor, he noticed that the boy didn't follow him. Argus called him again. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

"Y-Yes…"

Quickly, the lad ascended the steps. Upon reaching the upper floor, he was greeted by a spectacle that dazzled him. Staves, cloaks, robes adorned the room, interspersed with portraits of the wizard himself and an elder figure.

Observing, Roy watched as Argus approached a specific corner, deft hands gathering a medley of items: a jar laden with ash, a vial housing a gray liquid. Intriguingly, he saw Argus mix, boil, and incorporate further ingredients into the elixir. An enchantment seized Roy as he beheld this display—a sight unlike any he'd witnessed in a world where magic existed but remained rare.

Argus detected the fascination in the lad's eyes. That enraptured gaze, that profound attention, it all resonated; after all, Argus himself had once been that very lad.

"What thoughts occupy your mind, Roy?" queried Argus as the concoction simmered once more.

"Ye really are a mage, are ye?" He said. "Pa said mages are dangerous, they could kill many people easily."

Argus raised his brow. "Oh really? How does your father know about that?"

"My father fought in the war years ago, at Sodden Hill." Roy said. "He said the sorcerers slaughtered their enemies, but even their own people were killed because of that spell."

Argus chuckled—a universal trait between sorcerers from this realm and his own, it seems. "Though a mage I am, a sorcerer I am not."

"Is there a difference?" Roy asked, his nervousness seemed gone.

"Of course there is." Argus scoffed. "Sorcerers are spellcasters that have been born with the ability to do so, they can sense, they can see, they can control magic since birth. While mages and wizards cannot, wizards rely on their intelligence, through study and understanding."

"Really? So you can't cast spells like those sorcerers?"

"Of course I can, much better than them in fact." Argus smiled. "Sorcerers are often vain and arrogant because they think they needn't have the need to study the very spells that they cast in detail, they are reckless, and don't know the true essence of how magic is supposed to be used. At least, that's what the sorcerers of where I came from acted."

The boy looked 'enlightened', he looked around again, seemingly absorbing the scenery in front of him. "Can I be one like you?"

"With diligence, and determination," consented Argus, his nod sagacious. "Any can be a wizard if patience abides." And wealth to bankroll it.

From his palm, Argus conjured flames that startled Roy, causing a slight recoil. But wonder swiftly eclipsed fear, replaced with elation as the flames hovered above Argus's hand.

"W-Would you teach me?"

Chuckles resonated as Argus poured the crimson elixir into a flask, proffering it to Roy. "One step at a time. Give this to your father, bid him drink—it'll heal him swiftly."

Roy's trance broke, his hand seizing the flask. "Thank ye, Master Wizard! And—my offering."

Taking the basket, Argus examined its contents: familiar herbs and exotic greens that are unfamiliar. Swift study needed before his impending journey.

"Now then, hasten to your father," urged Argus with a parting smile.

"Right!"

Without another word, Roy dashed towards the stairs, out of the tower, on course for the village beyond.

Descending the steps and sealing the door, Argus watched as the lad receded, merging into the distance.

—

The young Roy rushed to his home. He practically slammed the door open and walked towards his father, who was still sweating in pain on his bed. He closed in on him, before opening the bottle the wizard had given him.

"Pa, drink this!" Roy hastily said. "The Wizard said it could heal ye!"

Naturally, his father remained ensnared in the realm of unconsciousness. Thus, the lad took it upon himself to guide the elixir to his father's lips. The potion's essence permeated his form, eliciting groans of anguish from his father. In the initial moments, trepidation gripped the boy, for fear that the wizard's words might have concealed deceit, a toxic concoction instead of salvation. However, in an abrupt twist, his father's eyes burst open, his body convulsing as he ascended from his bed.

"Wha—" the father's voice began, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. Yet, his utterance was curtailed by Roy's ardent embrace from the adjacent space.

"It worked!" Roy shouted happily.

"R-Roy! What's happened?" his father asked in confusion.

"Y-You were sick!" Roy answered. "A-And the wizard— he—"

At this juncture, his father's recollections come surging forth. He recalls the wound incurred whilst hunting, the very moment when the boar's tusk pierced his belly, he thought the certainty of his impending demise. Yet here he sits, alive and well.

"Wizard?" inquires his father.

Roy harbors a plethora of explanations to convey to his father, for a multitude of events have transpired since his father's incapacitation due to injury.