He was old and wrinkly, but Escott’s memory was clear. The stories sounded fantastic, but of their truth, I was sure. Escott sold my father his first goods: 3 iron pots. And here stood I, maybe 30 or 40 years later, telling Escott of my plans to become a traveling merchant. Escott smiled bleakly, he knew as well as I that I couldn’t persuade anyone of anything, let alone to buy goods from me.
“Wait here a moment.” Escott croaked. He soon returned with an old bag and a few items under his arm.
“Your father sold me this bag. Charged much too much. There is some metal inside. It won’t be much after you’ve bought your supplies, but it should help you get started. Ah, and here, a couple of things your mother sold me. A grappling hook to help you get out of sticky situations, and a bedroll to keep you warm at night. It’s not much, but it should help you on your way.”
“Go to Alvenmar. There are a few craftsmen there you can get your first goods from. Be brave, but be wary. Your father’s bravery and your mother’s careful nature saved them many times.”
I nodded my head, I had heard stories of them from Escott many times. I smiled with joy as I walked out. I felt close to them in a way I never had before. I was now a traveler, and though I could not remember them, I got to see what they had once seen, and feel what they had once felt. Every step I took was a step they had once taken. I squared my shoulders. To Alvenmar then.