The perception among younger mutants was that the Silvermist Academy contracts all involved some sort of fighting. This was far from the truth. There were many ways even the most pacifistic mutant could aid the academy’s causes, and although Shimon didn’t much care for the academy, he would take any excuse to get outside. Perhaps it was an effect of his growing mutation, but these days Shimon relished any time he got to spend in the great outdoors. The Underground Garden was a wonderful place for a tree-creature to make his home, but deep down Shimon couldn’t shake the feeling of artificiality. No matter how similar the earth felt, no matter how rich the soil was and how well-hydrated his roots were, Shimon felt constricted.

One does not usually think of plants as having instincts, but Shimon felt as though he had been neglecting his. A tree was supposed to grow taller, reach the sun and spread its leaves far and wide. If it were up to Shimon, he would return to the little village outside Prague where his family and friends lived. He would increase their harvests and the harvests of everyone in Bohemia, and then travel east to Poland. He would see Prague and Krakow and Warsaw and then do it all again until his limbs grew too large to move without exhaustion, then plant his roots permanently in his hometown, providing the village with all the food they could need and moving only to protect it if they came under threat of pogrom.

But then there was the human side of him. Trees might not be social creatures, but humans definitely are. Shimon yearned to feel like part of a community again, and would never get that if he simply stopped suppressing his growth, acting no differently than any other plant. If he stayed just outside the school and rooted himself in the courtyard, he would certainly get more sunlight, but he would also be apart from the thing he missed the most while he was underground: people. This would be especially true in the winter. So instead, he gathered up the contracts he intended on completing: three in total. Perhaps by completing contracts in lieu of his normal hibernation, he could send some money back home to Bohemia... assuming his family was still alive, of course.

The first was less a contract and more a hastily-scrawled note from the Academy’s kitchen staff, requesting that someone from the Garden help to restock their pantries. One of these requests came every two weeks or so during weather like this, and Shimon had helped with them several times before. It would not take long.

The second one was simple, something that Shimon had done dozens of times before. In the winter or during times of famine, villages would send out requests to local lords and institutions for aid. Some of the more desperate ones would even send for aid from mutants. He’d dealt with the tiny village of Whitewood before, and they had treated him fairly (although with extreme caution). There was a rumour that the mayor’s daughter was a mutant studying at the academy, but it was just that: a rumour.

The last, while not difficult in the traditional sense, tested Shimon on a more... personal level. It was not a difficult mission. [i]A harsh winter has killed off the vital medicinal herbs used to dull pain for surgery, treat illness, and heal burns and infections. We require a mutant with the ability to heal, or give us the ingredients we need.[/i] The contract’s mission was not an issue: it was the folks giving the assignment. Monks or no, Shimon instinctively distrusted any representatives of the church. Their schools and monasteries were harmless enough, but their knights and priests thought of mutants as despicable devils. Still, most peasants had no other means of accessing medical care, and completing this contract would almost certainly save lives. Sighing, he gathered up the papers and stuffed them in a hollow wooden cavity in his torso, then sealed its opening with vines. These were all jobs he could technically complete without even leaving the Academy, though. Shimon thought about taking on a fourth contract, something a bit more... adventurous.

The words of Dante echoed in his mind, however. [color=228b22][i]Me, a fighter? Preposterous...[/i][/color] But Shimon’s new acquaintance had a point. Shimon’s new body was, if nothing else, well-suited to violence. His skin was now bark, and could shrug off the hardest of blows. He could regenerate any injury given enough time, and he could pulverize any knight who dared stand against him no matter how heavily-armoured. [color=228b22][i]The Academy would not waste my time with a small contract. They would give me something that they would risk losing a less hardy mutant on.[/i][/color] His mind still had doubts, and yet his roots betrayed them, as he returned once more to the counter where an old man with glowing eyes sat, pouring over contracts and distributing them to various mutants. [color=228b22]“I want one more contract. Something more... action-oriented.”[/color] It was almost as if the words belonged to someone else.

The man monitoring the Board simply shook his head. “We have nothing that suits you, for the moment,” he replied. The same person had been managing contracts at the Academy for as long as anyone could remember, to the point where some simply referred to him as “Board Man”.

[color=228b22]“Nothing? That’s unheard of,”[/color] Shimon replied, confused, [color=228b22]“Surely you must have--”[/color]

“Sorry, Shimon, but there’s been a bit of a drought lately,” Board Man explained, “I heard you talking in the corner, and I doubt anything I have will really interest you.” He placed what few combat contracts he had on the table. As Shimon looked through them, he was disappointed to find that the assumption the Board Man made was correct.

[color=228b22]“I... see. Thank you, Board Man,”[/color] Shimon mumbled disappointedly, [color=228b22]“I don’t know how you manage the load of this job.”[/color]

Board Man smiled. “So long as Board Man gets paid, Board Man will do whatever the Fates ask of him.”

...

It took Shimon under two hours to complete the three contracts with food and herbs grown in the garden, courtesy of his mutant powers. He handed off satchels of herbs and baskets of freshly-grown fruit and veg to outbound couriers along with the paper copies of the contracts. In exchange, he was given a portion of the promised reward; the rest went to the couriers, with a small amount for insurance should someone successfully intercept the packages. Given that the couriers were also highly-trained mutants, this was unlikely. Even if Shimon had been denied his adventure, perhaps it was for the best. He needed training if he was going to use his sheer size and strength in a real fight.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, Shimon arrived in the mess hall carrying what could have easily been two-hundred pounds of various vegetables and spices in large burlap sacks. [color=228b22][i]I will go to the training center after this. Maybe. Perhaps I will replant myself in the garden for another day or two instead. My classes are all down there anyways...[/i][/color] Shimon had to take these things slowly, after all. Or maybe he was just making excuses for his lack of progress. He did eventually reach the kitchen to drop the food off. He glanced around the hall, lamenting how he used to enjoy cooking and eating so much, two things which he would never be able to experience the same way again. Sighing, he sat down on one of the mess hall benches, silently wishing for a return to the normalcy which had been stripped away from him years ago...