Raze

Reis awoken to the smell of burning wood.

He rubbed his eyes and cracked his stiff neck, after spending the night in the wilds again. He rose to his feet and scanned the horizon. Scant motes of ash were floating in the air, swept by the wind across the meadows. There was no mistake – it was the smell of burning wood, and pitch. Reis walked about to determine the source of the fire. He drew his eyes across the tree lines and soon after, he spotted a column of black smoke rising in the air. He pondered for a second, and he looked up at the sun to decide his bearings. It was then a cold shock grasped Reis like an icy claw to the spine.

Fieri.

Sabre’s lush coat was glistening with the beast’s sweat as both him and the rider tore through the forest, crushing the ground following their trail back to Fieri. As they race through the forest, Reis felt a looming dread hung around him. Whatever lies ahead, it would not be good. He urged Sabre some more.

The smoke got thicker as Reis cleared the forest. Ahead, the black column of smoke gave no mistake to the source.

The town of Fieri was razed.

A Tale.

The light from the scant coals in the fireplace flickered across the goblin's creased, ancient face as he spoke.

"Your father lived in this town in a time long forgotten, back when it was a bustling center of trade, and not this sorry excuse of a horse's watering hole. But I suppose you knew that, didn't you?" He peered sharply at her.

Shierra nodded briefly. "My mother spoke of this place once, when I was but a child. I believe she has forgotten that she ever mentioned it, but I never forgot. My father was born and raised here, and it was not far from here that they first met, whilst she was on her own pilgrimage all those many years ago. But I know nothing else. All I know was that, being a human, his life was brief, and that he was no more long before I was old enough to remember him."

"And you came here, hoping to learn more about him, I suppose?" Morohtar asked. He scrutinized her face carefully. She appeared to be telling the truth. He was still rather distrustful, although Kraeven apparently knew her. If he had his way, he would have slit her throat the moment he had shut the door behind her, no questions asked. Better safe than be the sorry receiving end of another assassin's knife. But the goblin apparently had other plans, and he grudgingly complied. It was not his abode, and therefore not his place to interfere, however decrepit the place might be.

"Yes... I did," Shierra said, replying his question. "I thought I could find some hint here, some clue as to who he was, what he was like. But it was so long ago, not even the oldest man in this town would be able to remember him. Human memory is so short-lived." She turned sharply to face the goblin. "But you tell me you knew him."

"Indeed, I did," the goblin said, making a horrible sound that may have been a chuckle or a snort of derision - it was hard to tell. "Back when he was nothing but a village wiseman of sorts, treating people for warts and curing diseased crops. He used to come to me to purchase... ingredients." His black eyes glinted, but he spoke no more of the nature of his business. "Hah! All that changed after he met Kirriana."

"My mother," Shierra gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Indeed." He grinned at her, his sharp teeth displayed to their fullest. "He felt he had to prove that he was somehow worthy of her... some nonsensical human notion. Of course, any kind of relationship between a human and an elf is a ridiculous idea to begin with. But he studied the arts more diligently after that. Your mother taught him a few tricks, but he eventually became so adept that he came up with more of his own."

Shierra listened intently, her attention focused on the goblin. She did not notice when Morohtar left his seat by the dying embers of the fireplace, nor when he disappeared into the next room.

Kraeven's beady eyes briefly followed Morohtar's movements, but he continued with his story. "Once he was able to do more than just cure warts, people started coming to him with more and more complicated problems. Eventually, people wanted love potions, poisons for revenge..."

"Idealistic human that he was, he refused some of these customers, but they continued to grow in number. Eventually, when they realised that he would refuse them still despite the gold they offered him, they became enraged. Rumours started spreading around, and all ills that befell anyone in the town was blamed on him."

"One night, your father's house, which was located on the outskirts of town, was burnt down. Nobody knew who started it, but most people could guess why. Your mother managed to escape, but no one ever heard of your father again after that night. Odd, though. Although the house was located on the outskirts and downwind, the rest of the town caught fire as well. People say it was as though the fire took on a life of its own. And once most of the town had been burned to the ground, any attempt at rebuilding it or restoring it to its former glory has failed."

"Cursed, the humans in this town say," he sneered. "Anyway, I don't think your father ever knew you existed... you were born after the fire, I believe."

"Fascinating tale, o ancient one," a voice sarcastically interrupted. Morohtar had returned to the room. "I had no idea you were such a gifted storyteller."

The goblin cackled. "But of course. I do what I must to earn a living."

Shierra looked up, startled and confused. "What?"

"You tricked me, you foul creature," Morohtar snarled. "And you had me running errands all these past couple of days, making me think that you actually needed dried up old herbs, when all this time you were just buying time until they came!"

The goblin grinned. "What made you realise? Ahh... they are here already, are they not? I can sense it from that panicked tone in your voice."

"Be damned with you. I knew something was up the moment you let her in and fed her some long-winded tale. You weren't much of a conversationalist last I checked."

Shierra had gotten up and backed away from the both of them. "Was any of what you said true?" she asked, her tone desperate.

The goblin laughed. "Some of it, some of it. Maybe all of it, maybe none of it. But what does it matter now? They are here, and I shall have the reward on both your heads!"

Morohtar turned to look at Shierra. "There is a bounty on your head as well?" he asked, surprised. Indeed, she did not look the type. But you could never tell with some folk.

"There... is?" She was just as surprised as he was. What had she ever done to earn a bounty on her head, having lived naught but a quiet existence in her village?

But there was little time to think now. Morohtar raised a hand for silence, his weapons readied. Nervously, Shierra tightened her grip on her staff.

"Here! In here!" Kraeven shouted.

A Fleeting Moment

“Will I ever see you again?” Rianna asked. Her eyes welled with tears.

“Of course. I’m a journeyman, and I will make haste to see you whenever I’m here,” Reis told her.

The two of them stood by Reis’ mount in the stables. The young knight has enjoyed the civilization compared to the bare wilderness of his travel, but he is a knight errant, and he must move on to his next stop – the Sovereign City-State of Nadaran.

The City of Magi.

Sabre snorted, eager to get a move on. Two days of being hold up in the stable was enough for the horse. He was fed, freshly groomed, and the brass buckles of the saddle burnished. The saddlebags were refilled with fresh supplies, and the armour and everything else Reis possess were in order and accounted for.

“Whatever your quest is, I wish you all the best. I am but a simple serving girl; paled in presence of your lordship, but in my heart, I pray for your safety and quick return,” she told him.

Reis’ never had felt this way. He was suddenly humbled by this commoner who prayed for his safety. In all truth Reis had known that Rianna may has consorted with men before, nor this may not be the first time she has prayed for the safety of the man she has bedded, but somehow Reis has a feeling that what she has told him was more than just a play. An instinct told him that her intention was pure – for him.

“Don’t you say that! God does not listen only to prayers from the wealthy. If your heart is true, God shall grant your prayers – so I could safely, and quickly return to you,” Reis said, as he brushed off a rogue tear from her cheek.

Rianna managed a smile, and took Reis’ hands into hers.

“You are a lot..different from the men I’ve met. You’ve got a good heart, Reis,”

Reis took her into his embrace. The two stayed in the embrace for a few fleeting moment, then Reis let her go, and then mounted his horse. With a last sad look of goodbye, Reis nudged Sabre and the horse trotted once again onto the cobbled streets of Fieri.

As he passed through, the town was the same as the last time Reis remembered it yesterday, save for two differences – Frederick’s store was closed; and as he passed by a few shabby houses after that, one of them has a broken fence. Then Reis felt a faint presence of magic. It was the lingering residue of mana noticeable to those of the mage blood, or magic users. To Reis, the lingering mana is like the smell of a land after a thunderstorm – faint, yet clearly indicated that a magic user was here recently. Like before, Reis paid no heed to it, as he was certain a mage or two passes by Fieri en route to Nadaran to the north.

Moments later, Reis reached the Northern Gate of Fieri and the two guards nodded to him as Reis rode by. In front of him, a long stretch of road lay ahead, and the spires of Nadaran could be faintly seen in the distance, about two day’s journey on foot. Mounted, Reis would made considerable speed, and he liked that idea. Fieri was a charming little town for what was it is worth, but the City of Magi is truly a spectacular visit, and the young knight was very eager to reach it. With that thought, Reis set off towards Nadaran.

* * * *

It has been four hours since Reis has left Fieri. He stopped by a grove by the side of the road for rest. Under a shady tree, Reis stretched out his legs to ensure proper blood circulation after the hours on horseback. His stomach reminded him that it was due for the midday meal, and a quick glance at the position of the sun overhead confirmed that it was slightly after noon. Reis took the saddle off of his horse and let the beast graze on the green grass. From his saddlebag, Reis broke out a package wrapped in waxed paper. He unwrapped the paper to get to his meal – sliced roast beef, and some grilled vegetables.

Reis packed the remnants of the beef into his larder bag. Whilst going through his other bags, Reis found something that did not belong there; a small object rolled in a scarf. Carefully, Reis unraveled the scarf. The cloth smelled of Rianna’s hair, and the object that nested in it was a corked phial. A piece of parchment was rolled around the cylindrical phial. Unrolling the parchment, Reis saw a clear liquid, but upon closer inspection, the liquid was shimmering. The young knight could sense powerful magic infused within the liquid. He inspected the parchment. The package was indeed from Rianna – she knew that the attendant has saddled the knight’s horse for his journey today, thus she has slipped the package into Reis’ saddlebag he was having his breakfast.

There was writing on the parchment. Reis read the lines carefully;

Ancient stars shining the way,

Lighting the road of whence fate lay.

Moonlight’s silver calms the soul,

Sunlight paves the way in gold.

Life chances this fate to me,

The wind sings the songs of glee.

My crying heart sets within his,

Every moment a joyous bliss.

As the rain comes, so shall it leave,

Just another pattern of Fate’s weave.

A solemn heart, left alone,

No brighter shall the stars shone.

A prayer I seek, sincerely for him,

To be the light, when others dim.

For him I gave the Maiden’s Kiss,

For grave tidings when he needs this.

No other treasure I have to spare,

Only a sincere wish, for all to be fair.

His warm heart makes this fire burn,

And this longing heart awaits his return.

Reis read the poem again and again. Again, he felt something which he never had experienced before; he felt a kind of warmth spreading within him, glowing in his inside. The warmth uplifted his spirit, and renewed his vigor. He never felt more determined since he began to set foot on this quest from the gates of the White City. The feeling of being cared for is a wonderful sensation, and Reis knew that when he sleeps alone in the wild country,

he was never truly alone.

Dreams.

Pequat, 10th day of the Nara, year of the 21st Water Lion
Fieri
Note Reference Index: A0001-FE1-A0003

“Seven vials, Frederick. I cannot go running out now, can I?” Frederick knew he was not to cross the gnome with who spouted quick orders and straight to the point requests. Sure, he never skipped on the pleasantries like most customers do, but this one seemed too efficient and orderly. The gnome had come to him from time to time for supplies and always knew what to buy and in what quantities. When he did come, he would work Frederick to the maximum of his capabilities as a shopkeeper.

“Give me two more of those and we're done.” commandeered the short fellow. “Done indeed”, thought Frederick, who had never seen someone buying as many things at once. He had gone through most of the store, choosing an assortment of gadget and weaponry. The reagent drawers had mostly been emptied out and the containers once filled with various potions had been stripped off completely. If one were to enter the store right now, they would have thought poor old Frederick got robbed.

Alas, it was just Dashiel, the scholar gnome, who always purchased as many things as he had required on his long journeys. He would always use the many screws, pins, and pieces of wood he bought to tinker and work on new inventions and he would find ways to mix new potions with the parts from various animals and reagents. Somehow, Dashiel had always found being thrifty to be of no concern, and would often splurge for more supplies everytime he got to another shop.

Once the last vials have been stuffed into the gnome’s giant pack, it marked the end of the shopping spree. “Thank you, Fred.” he says, while flashing a smile to the now exhausted Frederick. “I am one satisfied customer.” Frederick received a bag with a lump sum of gold, and a huge sense of accomplishment. This would feed him and his family for a long time!

Dashiel too felt happy as he left the shop. He felt wonderful, getting all the things ready for his next adventure. Buying new items always made him feel warm and fuzzy, and made him forget about all his problems. Certainly, he needed to find some calm after the previous night.



* * *


From the starlight comes to thee,
Into woodlands young and free,
Together with the sorrowed knight,
Face the face of evil might.

The words of a short poem echoed into the head of the tired little gnome. He had heard those words before in his dreams and they never ceased haunting his every sleeping moment. But this night was different, and the dream brought upon more meaning than ever before. The dream now showed him clear, what the next path was to be.

Let her meet the goblin!

Dashiel woke up with a cold sweat, like he did every Pequat.


* * *


Now strolling down the quiet streets of Fieri, Dashiel thought back to the dreams that he had experienced. The gnome could never fathom why his dreams could not have come with more details. The fates do love a challenge, he bemused. Maybe it was one of their petty little games with him, or maybe a punishment of sorts. All he knew is that he was to follow these dreams. They had no rational backing, but many things in life do not. Besides, what harm could they do?

But all the dreams had given him this time was one measly new statement. “Let her meet the goblin?” he asked himself. “Well, she does deserve to know the truth about her lineage, about her father and about her powers. Who better than the Kraeven to explain?” he thought further. Many more questions filled his head about this odd turn of events. As he walked toward the abandoned house in the outskirts of Fieri, he wondered why the fates had chosen to assign him three charges this time. One was troublesome enough.

Nevertheless, he quickened his pace, hoping that by the time he reached the house, Morohtar and Kraeven had not already driven the girl to insanity with their revelations.

Acquaintance

Morohtar was heading back to the safe house and Kraeven the goblin was expecting him to return with the Direweed. Morohtar was careful to keep himself concealed, as dark elves were not readily welcomed as the wood elves or high elven ‘cousins’. He kept to the shadows of the alleys, when he heard the sound of wood breaking, like the snapping of dry twigs when trodden upon, except much louder. Morohtar quickened his pace as he knew that the sound came from the goblin’s place, and when the safe house came to view, he spotted a lone wood-elven girl by the destroyed gate of the safe house.

He tapped her shoulder, and the elf-girl shrieked whilst swinging her staff reflexively in a wide arc. Morohtar caught the staff in one hand and cupped her mouth with the other, silencing her.

“Shh! Silence, girl,” Morohtar said, releasing his hold on the staff, and removing his hand from her mouth. The elven girl took a step back, and wielded her staff across her defensively.

“Don’t you dare do me harm! I may be just a girl, but I am a mage,” the girl protested.

“I do not intend to harm you–” Morohtar said, then took a look at the broken gate. “– though it seemed that you have indeed struck down this aggressive old gate,” he continued.

“I did not destroy it!” the elven-girl squealed. Morohtar cocked an eyebrow with a bemused expression.

“Okay, it broke when I touched it, but I did not hit it,” she said.

“Fine. But what are you doing here anyway? You’re a long way from home,” the dark elf asked.

The elven girl took a look at him. Under his hood, she noticed his dark, almost purplish complexion and the faint, silvery glow of his eyes – much like her own. At that instance she knew that Morohtar was a dark elf; the warmongering cousin of her kind.

“Speak for yourself. You’re a long way off yourself. Who are you?” she inquired.

Morohtar looked around, and after certain that no one who would care less is looking, he removed the hood of his cloak concealing his face. A long lock of silver hair fell free.

“My name is Morohtar Darkbrood, a dark elf of the Darkbrood clan from The Sable Glades,” the dark elf said with a curt bow.

“I am Shierra, from the Levianna Clan, on a—pilgrimage of sorts,” she said.

Morohtar knew of Levianna Grove; the fabled home of the wood-elves, sun-elves, and the Elders of the high-elves. However, Shierra’s slighter darker complexion, and her slightly shorter height even for a wood-elf her age portrayed another lineage. Not of elven blood.

“You are headed for this house, I presume?” he asked

“I’m not quite sure. Do you live here?”

Morohtar weighted carefully the question and the answer for it.

“I..am visiting a friend, who lives here. In fact, why don’t you come inside for awhile, out of this bright afternoon sun?” he beckoned.

The elven girl pondered, and then said “I have a friend who might be looking for me, so, I’m afraid I would have to decline the offer and resume my journey about town. Though, I would like to meet your friend.”

Morohtar nodded and led her to the entrance of the shabby house. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but suddenly, the door opened before he could do so. Behind it, Kraeven stood, grinning at the two.

“I have been watching you two,” the goblin said. His beady eyes darted at the two elves. “I hope you don’t make it a habit of bringing strangers to this place. Though this one time, it’s an exception,” he continued.

“Exception?” Morohtar asked.

The goblin nodded. He averted his eyes to the elven girl.

“Because, this girl is no stranger to me as I know her”

Shierra was astonished. “You do?” she asked.

The goblin nodded, and then chuckled heartily.

“More precisely, I knew your father,”

Outskirts.

When she woke the sun was already high up, its rays sneaking int her room through a gap in the curtains. For awhile, she lay still in the bed wondering where she was before she remembered; the noisy tavern, the strong smell of tobacco smoke and ale, the unwelcome stares from people who had apparently seen few elves before. The meal she had eaten had been far heavier that that she was used to, and as such she had slept longer than she usually did.

Once she had dressed, she left the room and made her way downstairs. The tavern looked desolate compared to the night before, and there was naught but the odd few people at their daily chores. The barkeep looked up as she came down.

“’Ere, miss. Your friend went out, said to tell you he’ll be back later and that you can do what you like in the meantime.”

She nodded briefly. “If he comes back before I do, please inform him that I have gone to explore the town.”

The barkeep laughed. “Ain’t nuthin’ much to see in this town, miss, other than a few crummy ol’ buildings.”

Nodding curtly at him, she left the tavern.

Sure enough, the town was as empty as the barkeep had said it would be. She wondered where all the people that she had seen last night had gone, and realized that few people lingered in this town for long.

Something happened here, long ago, she mused. Once, the town had been alive and full of people, but after the incident, something changed. There was something in the very atmosphere of the town that made it feel empty, devoid of feeling, a welcoming place for no one. Whatever it was that had happened had marked the town as a place of neglect and ruin.

She walked around the broken remnants of a fountain, gazing at the buildings briefly as she passed by. A few of them had been partly mended, a couple even freshly painted, as though to salvage what was left of the town’s former glory. Her gaze fell upon the window of one of these buildings, a shop of some sort apparently. As she walked by, the door suddenly opened, and a large, well-built man came out, his arms full with his purchases. The proprietor stepped out shortly after, cheerfully thanking his customer and bidding him goodbye.

Shierra was amused. Evidently customers in this town were rare and few in between, particularly ones that would make purchases as large as this. She noted with some interest the man’s garments as he walked off. Although simple, they were well-made; a sure sign that he was of a wealthy family, if the large bundle he had been carrying out of the store was not already an indicator of this. Wondering why such a person would be in this near-forsaken town, she watched him head off in the direction she had just come from, evidently lost in thought.

Her footsteps continued leading her towards the outskirts of town, where the buildings were more derelict.

Which one of these houses was it? She wondered, glancing around at the buildings around her. Is it even still standing? Her father had lived in this town, resided in one of these buildings. Which..?

She leaned against one of the fences, peering at the boarded up windows of one of the houses. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a figure moving inside, past the only window not quite boarded up…

The fence gave a loud, protesting creak and collapsed under her weight, its rotten wood splintering at its base.

Shierra sat up, a little dazed, all thoughts of mysterious shadows banished from her mind. “Why does this always happen to me?” she muttered, picking a few splinters out of her hands. At the very least, she thought, nobody had been around to see her make a disgrace of herself yet again.

Dusting herself off, she got up, carefully examining her staff to make sure that it wasn’t damaged in any way. Thankfully, it wasn’t.

It was just then, as she was pondering what to do next, that a hand landed on her shoulder from behind her. Caught off-guard, she shrieked, swinging her staff around.

One More Night

The Rumbling Din was different during the day. It was just around sun-up, and the place was unsettlingly empty. Just last night, almost every table in the tavern was occupied, and all sort of creatures occupying them. From the kitchen, the cook could be heard chopping some foodstuff for the afternoon meal. A pleasant aroma wafted deliciously from his stovetop. A barmaid was sweeping the floors, and the barkeep was restocking his bottles and kegs. At the middle of the tavern, a man was bent over some stools, busy at work nailing and mending them, most probably due to a recent tavern brawl. The small man was hammering furiously, struggling to punch the last bit of a stubborn nail through. Reis approached the man.

“Where is everyone?” Reis asked. The man paused his hammering, and looked up, revealing a familiar face. It was the attendant of the stable, and apparently he attended beyond the stables too.

“Good morning, good sir. Most folk stop by here nary a night or two, resting, then to gather supplies, and restock. Fieri indeed is a town along the way of the Travellers’ Road, and the folks you met last night would probably have been well on their way by now,” the man explained.

Reis walked to him, and beckoned for the tool. Warily, the man handed it to him, and after a careful look, Reis raised the hammer and with one swift stroke, the tough nail struck home.

“There,” Reis said, returning the hammer. The man took it and grinned toothily.

“Where could I gather some trail rations to restock mine? I need about a week’s worth,” Reis asked.

“There is a little store around the next block that sells what a journeyman’s needs. It has big green sign hanging, so you won’t miss it,” the man told him.

“Right. But first, how does one get a breakfast around here?”

* * * *

After a hearty breakfast of spiced porridge, Reis decided to explore the town and restock his supplies. Before that, he stopped by the stables to see to his horse. Sabre was munching on some fresh hay, and his brushed black velvety coat glistened brightly in the sun. Reis walked to the town centre opposite of the Rumbling Din, made certain by a non-working fountain and a few broken long benches encircling it. A few cobblestones are missing here and there, but otherwise, Reis could imagine the town in its glorious heyday – placed in the middle of a crossroads of three kingdoms – now replaced with alternate routes and teleportation spells.

It was not long before Reis spotted the shop with the green sign on it.

“Frederick Fourwind’s Adventurers’ Supplies,” Reis read the sign above the door. Another sign on the door says ‘Open’, and he stepped inside.

An old man was dozing when Reis stepped inside. A little bell that hung on the store-side door jingled and woke him up.

“What the– Owh! Jolly! A customer!” the spritely old man sprang up, ran from beind the counter and shook Reis’ hand.

“You look like a young endeavouring adventurer, so welcome to Frederick Fourwind’s Adventurers’ Supplies. I’m Frederick Fourwind Sr., at your service,” the old man said with a curt bow.

“Right. I’m Reis Alderron, and I was referred to this place when I asked for some trail rations to be restocked.”

“Trail rations? Aye! We have aplenty. I’ll get those from the back. Feel free to browse around,” Frederick said.

Reis looked around. Shelves, albeit dusty, lined the store, holding a myriad of gadgets well-suited for any adventure one might encounter. Hunting knives, sharpeners, flint steel, and wire snares lined one shelf, while leather bags, saddlebag attachments, belts, and ropes lined another. Other shelves contained assorted gadgets that some Reis knew and some he had never seen before. Reis picked a medium sized four-pint leather waterskin and studied it. It was a bit dusty, but it was of good quality and would be a good addition to the existing smaller waterskin he already has. He took it and placed it at the counter. Reis walked over to the shelves with the odd gadgets on them. He saw a clockwork trinket, which he did not understand what function it serves, some phials, specimen collection tools, and more ticking gadgets with gears in them.

“I got what you need right here,” Frederick said with armfuls of packages. “I got my supplies from those traders that came through here, and you’re in luck. These came in yesterday,” the old man said as he laid the packages on the counter. He took one and undid the string that bound the package. He opened the beeswax coated heavy paper to reveal a thick sweet-smelling loaf of bread, dotted with nuts, raisins, berries, and some other dried fruits.

“’Tis a fine bread right here. Hard to come by, as those bakers from Vangia makes so little of this. Finest wheat, barley, oats, and rye milled for their flour; kneaded with honey instead of water, then ‘ya throw in lotsa nuts and them dried fruits and bake. Glazed with more honey after, this is worth its weight in gold!” Frederick proudly proclaimed. He took out a clean knife and cut a small chunk.

“Here. Have a taste,” the old man offered. Reis took the small chunk and ate it. At that moment, sweetness exploded in his mouth as he chewed on the chewy bread.

“Finally, a new trail ration I could live with. How long will this bread last?” Reis asked.

“If ‘ya keep it here in this paper, and keep it from getting wet, it’ll last you for three weeks,”

“Excellent. I’ll take it,” Reis said.

“Absolutely. That’s three silver pieces a slice. How may slices do you need?”

“I’ll take two loaves,”

The old man shot a very surprised look.

“And this waterskin,” Reis added.

* * * *

After keeping the item he had bought in the locker near the stables with the rest of his belongings, Reis returned to his room at the inn above the tavern. When he left that morning, Rianna was still asleep on the bed, but Reis returned to an empty, well-made room. He sat on the bed and took out a map and a piece of graphite stick wrapped in leather strips from one of the leather pouches on his belt. With his knife, Reis sharpened the graphite strip slightly, and wrote markings on the map that was laid out on the bed. He marked out his travel thus far, stopping at the town of Fieri, and plotted his route to Nadaran at dawn tomorrow. Satisfied, he kept the map and the writing instrument back to its place. Reis decided to spend some time by doing maintenance work on his gear. He drew his broadsword and tested its sharpness. Reis produced a whetstone from a flap on the scabbard, and then he took some water from the porcelain washbowl and wetted the whetstone. After that, Reis spent the rest of the evening sharpening and oiling his sword, knife, and dagger.

He would spend one more night in the relative luxury of the inn, and ate another supper in the relative luxury of the tavern. He would eat hot meals and drink more of the excellent cold ale and wine in the company of the travelers for one more night, and sleep in the soft, thick down mattress for one more night. If he is lucky, Rianna will join him again, all in all for just one more night, before hitting the road again tomorrow for Nadaran in the bare wilderness.

Another.

Tujo, 9th day of the Nara, year of the 21st Water Lion
Fieri
Note Reference Index: A0001-FE1-A0002

The travel from Levianna to Fieri took Dashiel and his female acquaintance a day and a half on foot. Dashiel opted for the Queva Highroads, a path which was the quickest and safest route, which went through nothing but the hills and fields to get them to their destination. The good news was that wary of the pair of eyes that were following them since the grove had stopped following them once they got to open areas of the highroad. The gnome contemplated, “Not the last of them, is it?”

While walking westbound, Dashiel made observations and notes about Shierra and wrote these in parchments. She paid the gnome’s quirky behaviour no mind. As they talked, the conversations allowed the two to understand each other better. She was a young half-elf with ambitions of becoming a good mage to prove herself to her elven tribe, and he was a weird little gnome, who had travels around Thorreon to gather more knowledge. No longer strangers, these two begun to form some trust in each other. Shierra sensed that Dashiel had no ill intention and he thought her to be quite an interesting travel mate.

The whole trip did not take long. The girl insisted on moving along quickly, even after numerous offers from Dashiel to take longer stops to rest. She was probably excited to get to Fieri as soon as possible, he hypothesized. The two reached Fieri just before the second night of travels, passing by the tired, apathetic guards that were on duty.

Straight away after going through the gates, they headed to a small tavern cum inn, which was located in the middle of the town. They entered the cozy little building and sat down to enjoy some rest and a meal, things which had been neglected while on the Queva Highroads. The tavern was loud and busy, but Shierra managed anyway to fall asleep, putting her head on the table. “Poor girl must be really tired”, thought Dashiel.

Dashiel proceeded to look around the place. Dusty old furs hung across the ceiling, and the red and black brick walls which looked like they were once very exquisite pieces of masonry, were now faded and dull. Still, it was pretty bustling and was even hosting a large crowd of people enjoying themselves. However old and dilapidated this tavern was, it probably served most of the populace in Fieri. Barmaids and musicians were the focus of the locals, starving of entertainment

“Rianna!” called Dashiel to one particular barmaid tending to the unruly swarm of dwarven archers. The girl quickly responded with a scream which blared through the whole tavern. “Uncle Dashiel!” she answered while penetrating the wall of men that surrounded her earlier. When she reached beside him, they both gave each other a warm embrace, which was difficult due to her being much bigger than the small creature. Once they let go, the barmaid sat down at the table and they began talking.

“It’s been ages!” she proclaimed to the gnome.
“Where have you been Uncle Dash?” she asked inquisitively.
“Oh. Just around Thorreon, dear child. My friend and I have just traveled from Levianna” replied the gnome.

They continued on for a few more minutes where they talked about topics like the weather and the current state of Fieri. Laughing and smiling together, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and it looked to be just a barmaid having a chat with an old family friend. Ordinary, until the conversation suddenly turned to a different tone.

Dashiel began to soften his voice and ask, “Is he here yet?”
The girl nodded silently and said, “Yes.”
“Good.” he replied “make sure we all get to eat well and rest well tonight.”

The girl nodded to acknowledge Dashiel’s orders. She understood his requests very well, and required no further explanation. She proceeded to leave the table and bring back a bowl of beef stew for the gnome and the half-elf before leaving to talk with her customers. The smell of the food woke Shierra and they began to eat the first meal they’ve had since their last stop on the Queva Highroad. Speaking in an unusually quiet manner, Dashiel informs Shierra of her lodgings in the second storey of the tavern. She wishes the gnome goodnight and walks toward her room.

Dashiel, also deciding to retire for the night, suddenly spots a lone male figure talking to Rianna. He had forgotten that since the last time he came to Fieri, Rianna was still a young little girl, helping out in her father’s inn. She was now all grown up, consorting with the strange men, probably having her fun. Curious to see who she has picked as her latest companion, Dashiel took a look at the face of the well built figure behind her. But when Dashiel looked into the eyes of the Rianna’s new friend, he immediately froze.

Weak in the knees from shock, Dashiel grabbed onto the table to avoid from falling down. “Oh no!” he cried out “Not another one!”