Between appreciative mouthfuls of the hearty stew, you glance towards the kind-faced woman who served you, then look back at Elder Rowan. "This stew is incredible," you say genuinely, then gesture slightly towards her with your spoon. "Might I ask who prepared such a welcome meal?"
Rowan smiles faintly, a warmth touching his eyes. (Proud of her... good daughter.) "Ah, that is my daughter, Meredith," he says, nodding towards her. "She looks after this old man, and keeps the best cook pot in Oakhaven simmering."
Meredith ducks her head slightly, a pleased blush rising on her cheeks. "It's simple fare, Elder, but thank you, stranger."
You meet her eyes directly. "Simple fare tastes best after a long road, Meredith. Thank you truly, it's exactly what I needed." Her smile widens, her initial curiosity softening further into kindness.
You finish the last of the stew, using the crust of bread to wipe the bowl clean, feeling warmth spread through you, dulling the sharp edges of exhaustion and hunger. Setting the bowl down, you look back at Elder Rowan, your expression turning serious again.
"Elder Rowan, Torvin," you address them both, "I know I've just arrived, and I'm a stranger..." You pause, taking a breath. "But as I mentioned, I lost everything in the attack on my caravan. I have no coin, no possessions to speak of beyond these clothes and..." you pat the pocket containing the goblin dagger, "...a blade taken from necessity. I must ask for your continued generosity – would it be possible for me to find shelter somewhere in the village, just for tonight? I understand completely if payment is required, but I have nothing to offer at this moment."
You lay it out plainly, relying on their gratitude and the truth of your current penniless state.
Rowan looks at Torvin, who gives a slight, affirmative nod. Rowan then turns back to you, his expression firm but not unkind. (Expected this... Fair request... Saved the village from bloodshed... Cost is nothing compared to that... Can't turn him out now... Practicality dictates keeping him close anyway... Safer for everyone.)
"Put away thoughts of payment, young man," Elder Rowan says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Tonight, Oakhaven owes you. Shelter is the least we can offer. We are a simple village, we have no inn like larger towns might, but we have space."
He glances at Torvin again. "Torvin, the old Fletcher cabin near the south gate has stood empty since Bran passed last winter, hasn't it? It's small, but sturdy enough and has a cot. See that it's prepared for our guest. Perhaps find him a spare blanket as well."
Torvin nods crisply. "Aye, Elder. It's dry and clean enough. I'll see to it right away." He gives you a look that's shifted significantly from wary suspicion to grudging respect. "You rest easy tonight, stranger. You earned it."
Meredith speaks up softly, "I can fetch a blanket from our stores, Torvin. And perhaps a waterskin?"
"Good, good," Rowan approves. "See to it, both of you." He looks back at you. "Torvin will show you the way when you're ready. For now, rest by the fire a moment longer. Let the meal settle."
Relief washes over you. You have food in your belly and the promise of a roof over your head, however humble, without needing coin you don't possess. Their gratitude seems genuine, tempered with a pragmatism that makes sense. They helped you, and in return, you helped them significantly. For now, the exchange feels balanced.
"Thank you, Elder Rowan. Torvin. Meredith," you say sincerely. "I am grateful for your kindness." You lean back slightly on the stool, allowing yourself to relax more fully, the warmth of the fire and the full stomach working their magic.
Meredith returns shortly, carrying a neatly folded, thick wool blanket – rough-spun but clean and smelling faintly of woodsmoke and dried lavender – and a simple leather waterskin, stoppered and full. "Here you are, Keelan," she says, handing them to you with a small smile.
You stand up, taking the offered items. The blanket feels substantial, promising welcome warmth against the night chill. "Thank you again, Meredith. For everything."
You turn to Elder Rowan. "Elder, thank you for your hospitality. I will trouble you no longer tonight."
Rowan gives a slow nod. "Rest well, young man. Tomorrow, perhaps, we can speak more. There are... matters to discuss, about the goblins, and your future path." (Future path... Need to know his intentions... Mercenary? Wanderer? Threat persists? Assess tomorrow.)
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"Of course, Elder," you reply, acknowledging his unspoken concerns.
Torvin steps forward. "Ready, then? The Fletcher cabin isn't far."
"Lead the way, Torvin," you say, gathering the blanket and waterskin.
You follow Torvin out of the Elder's warm house back into the cool night air. The village is quieter now. Most doors are closed, though muted light glows from behind wooden shutters or oiled parchment windows. The sky is darkening rapidly, a few stars beginning to prick through the deep twilight blue. The discarded goblin torches near the gate have burned down to smoldering embers, casting only a faint, dying glow. A couple of villagers quickly collect the goblin corpses, dragging them away presumably for disposal outside the walls, their movements swift and grim under Torvin's watchful eye before he focuses back on you.
As you walk along the main track towards the southern part of the village, you openly look around, taking in the details you couldn't see clearly from your hiding spot outside. The houses are clustered closely, separated by narrow, winding paths. You see shuttered market stalls in the small central square, now empty. The smell of sawdust and lingering smoke marks the blacksmith's shop you passed earlier – Borin's workplace, likely attached to his home. Everything speaks of functional simplicity, a community focused on essentials.
Torvin notices your attentive observation. Perhaps deciding that a little information might ease lingering suspicion or simply out of ingrained habit when guiding someone new, he begins pointing things out gruffly as you walk.
"That's the square," he gestures back towards the center. "Market days are twice a week, farmers bring in surplus, sometimes a peddler passes through. Borin's smithy, you saw." He nods towards the sturdy building. "Good smith, Borin, just... temperamental, especially about payment." He shakes his head slightly, recalling the earlier incident with the boy. "Well's over there. Communal stores behind the Elder's house." He points towards a larger, windowless building. "We keep grain, preserved meats, tools..."
He leads you down a slightly narrower path diverging from the main track. "This way. The south gate is smaller, mostly used for accessing the lower fields and the stream."
Taking the opportunity, you ask the questions burning in your mind. "It seems a well-organized village, Torvin. Self-sufficient. But... where exactly are we? Geographically speaking? I lost my bearings entirely after the ambush." You pause, then add, "And how far is it to the next major settlement? A town, or city?"
Torvin glances at you, likely gauging the innocence of the question. Your story of being lost makes it logical. (Lost... needs direction... Normal questions for a traveler...)
"You're in Oakhaven," he confirms, stating the name Elder Rowan used. "We're nestled here in the Greenvale region. Mostly farming villages like ours scattered through the woods and hills, east of the Greyfang Mountains." He jerks a thumb vaguely towards the west, where the land likely rises towards unseen peaks.
"As for a major town..." He scoffs slightly. "Depends what you call major, stranger. There's Bridgetown, couple of days' walk south-east down the Vale path. Got a proper market, maybe a hundred families, stone bridge over the River Swift. Biggest place for miles around here." He considers for a moment. "Beyond that? You're talking Silvercliff City, way south past the marshes. That's a week's hard travel, maybe more. Big walled city, run by nobles, got a proper Garrison, thousands of people. Not really our sort of place."
He stops before a small, dark cabin tucked away near the inner side of the southern palisade section. It's clearly old – the timbers weathered grey, the small door slightly crooked – but it looks intact. "Here we are. Old Fletcher's place." He pushes the door open; it creaks loudly. "Basic, but it's shelter."
The information is valuable. Greenvale region, east of mountains. Bridgetown is the nearest significant place, two days away. Silvercliff City is the major hub, but a week or more distant. This gives you a much clearer picture of your immediate surroundings and potential destinations.
"Thank you again, Torvin. For everything," you say, giving the guard a nod of gratitude. "I appreciate the shelter."
Torvin grunts, a sound that might be acknowledgement or just dismissal. "Bolt the door from the inside. Simple bar latch. Should keep the drafts out, mostly. Don't wander around tonight. Stay put." He gives you one last look, then turns and walks back towards the main part of the village, his footsteps fading on the dirt path.
Time: Late Evening (Approx 8:15 PM)
Date: 01/05/1042
Status:
- Health: Healthy
- Hunger: Satisfied
- Thirst: Hydrated (Thanks to Meredith's waterskin)
- Stamina: Full
- Injuries: None
Inventory: - Currency: 0 Copper, 0 Silver, 0 Gold
- Clothing: Black shirt, black sweatpants, black weatherproof sports jacket, athletic sneakers.
- Worn Accessories: Silver watch, Silver ring (sports club logo).
- Bum Bag: Smartphone (50% charge, no signal), Small foldable solar charger, Lighter, Small pocket knife, Basic modern medication (Painkillers x10 doses, Multivitamins x30 doses), Full sports water bottle.
- Weapons: Rusty Goblin Dagger (wrapped in rag, stored in jacket pocket).
- Other: Common Roots x6 (Stored in jacket pocket), Wool Blanket (New), Leather Waterskin (Full - New).