Unfettered - Part 3 - Travelling with halflings

Bryne hated humans.

He hadn't had the chance to realize the fact, similar to how he hadn't realized that he fancied a strong female elf. After visiting just one port town, Bryne was assured that humans were simply not worth the trouble. He already knew he'd need to make peace with  thousands of eyes on his back, as dwarves were a rare breed on any land but their own. This none the less hadn't prepared him for the sheer unease of being surrounded by hundreds of pompous, loud, greedy beings, each of them pointing at him behind his back and whispering "what is that doing here?"

When he passed by a half-orc, they exchanged knowing smiles. Bryne quickly understood that this was simply the norm. The Commonwealth, so named to commend the gathering of multiple races under one (regretfully human-dominated) government, was not a land that strictly encouraged the blending of races. It simply tolerated them better than others. The moment Bryne found a halfling caravan passing through the port town, he latched on.

Halfling caravans ran like blood through both the Commonwealth and Ogrimar, bringing humans mail and goods from coast to coast across their own land (Aside from hired mercenaries, it seemed humans were too lazy to traverse such distances themselves). In a way, Bryne had simply gone from one trading nomadic clan to another. The Honeyfin clan, as he'd come to learn, was a halfling family of entrepreneurs and experts of the market. They were also exceptionally friendly to outsiders, from the mysterians and strix to the plane-touched and orcs. In fact, they'd naturally assumed Bryne was some form of undine from the way he could manipulate waters and cold.

Bryne immediately requested passage with them to the orcish continent of Ogrimar. When asked for what service he could provide in return, Bryne immediately offered his services as both mercenary and sculptor. To his relief, it was the latter offer that inspired cheers and awe among the merchants. "Dwarven craftsmanship at last!" They exclaimed, "Who knew we'd find a Slag that was also a respected sculptor?" Immediately, the questioning began. Reversing his role among the water elves, Bryne found himself garrulously telling his life story to the halflings from noon to dusk. By the time he was finished, he already presented them with a beautiful engraved plaque featuring the Honeyfin insignia.

Traveling with the halflings was a pleasant experience for weeks on end. They knew their route. Their homemade brew was strong and their bread filling. At each stop, Bryne found himself amassing many clients thanks to their expert showmanship, even affording himself some basic goods and chainmail armor. They'd only ever encountered a problem once; a small camp of bandits mistook them for a much smaller force. When Bryne, a fierce and rare dwarf, poked his head out of one of the wagons, he could see the blood drain from the human bandit's face. Never before did Bryne have so much fun as that day, when he froze solid the human's feet to the ground and watched him struggle to get away. Despite earning some nervous glances from the littlefolk around him, eventually they all broke into laughter as the human lost their boots and pants.

Afterwards, all the halflings began to question and test Bryne's abilities. Bryne found this somewhat irritating, though he couldn't quite think why. Perhaps the private nature of his power made him nervous. Nevertheless, he accommodated their requests. To his surprise, their prodding proved exceptionally fruitful.

Bryne learned that he had the ability to heal, not just sap others' breath away. Moreover, when the halflings asked him to levitate a frozen apple, he found that he could. In fact, he could levitate just about anything once he discovered the right 'feeling'; Over the course of a month, Bryne trained. He bowed down in thanks to the halflings. They waved, cheered and laughed from atop a floating wagon. Bryne discovered a gift for not just water and ice, but telekinesis.

When the caravan began to near the borders of Ogrimar, Bryne decided a private chat with the wagon master was in order. A sickly halfling, the wagon master was rumored to be plagued by some sort of disease that caused him to breathe a faint black mist- something he was determined to hide as much as possible behind a scarf, despite occasional coughing fits. Whatever the case, it seemed the affliction was harmless and benign to others. Bryne asked this chief whether he'd ever come across an elven summoner paired with an air elemental. He did not. Bryne asked whether he'd heard of a possible mentor for kinetic abilities. With a shrug, the leader claimed he did not know, but that there might be plane-touched in the northwestern mountains with a better clue. After all, it was a sign one was connected to the elemental planes. Bryne took note of this, and built up his courage to ask the halfling his third and final question: the one that troubled him since youth.

With a grimace, the wagon master replied: "You may never find an answer to that question. Even so, you shouldn't let such things influence your life in any great amount. Besides," the master smiled warmly. "Why concern yourself with such things when you now know you have the power to heal? Why concern yourself with the wrath of winter, when you could become spring's touch?" Bryne knelt his head and smiled back politely. His soul did not share the sentiment. "Perhaps it's a lucky thing that you're headed towards Ogrimar, anyways," the wagon master continued, "Whatever the case, you're sure to find your answer there. Just be careful with your life."

When the halflings reached the town nearest the orcish border, a gorgeous town by an azure lake, Bryne took notice of something strange. With every mile closer to the border, less humans came to greet the caravan. Indeed, hardly anybody showed up. This blue town had tall stone walls, and a beautifully constructed church (Though Bryne found it funny that the humans worshipped but one spirit). Instead, a dozen mercenaries showed up, armored and armed to the teeth; Catfolk brandishing dangerous rapiers and ratfolk wielding potent firearms. Bryne took interest in the latter; It told its own story of the relations between humans and the technologically advanced gnomes. His kind resented such devices, aside from the Fortress's cannons, but relished the technology behind them. Before Bryne could even reflect on the matter, he was informed that the wagon master wished to set off for the border immediately. Confused, he obliged and packed his tools.

The road to Ogrimar was quiet. Bryne noticed that all his talkative friends suddenly kept to themselves. gloomy and stern looks did not belong on halfling faces. Beside their wagon, the marching mysterians (A term referring to all the bestial humanoid races from the Mysts) kept their weapons at the ready despite their brisk pace. Any hour now, that border, the fabled no-man's-land
between the Commonwealth and Ogrimar, would come into view.

Bryne's blood rushed with adrenaline and heat; The air around him grew cold.