It’s been three days since Reegar departed from the village. His feet have taken him across the land, following the unpaved road.

  He set up camp next to the road as the sky lost its azure color and slowly it turned red and finally black as night greeted the land. Light of the campfire reflects on his armor and helmet, creating shadows around its shapes and dents. He quietly sips on the hot cocoa, with dried meat and bread as his dinner.

  He pulled out his pouch and poured the contents out. Silver and gold coins rested on the ground.

  The gold coins are heptagonal with the obverse reading “Lycia” and “Rugum.” Engravings of a royal griffin adorn the back of the coins. This winged lion-eagle hybrid is the symbol of the League.

  The silver coins are rectangular with a similar obverse as the gold coins except for the word rugum. Here, they stamp it with the word Temne, which is an old dwarvish word meaning barter. The back of the coins features an engraving of a dwarf riding a helmeted bear. An old dwarven legend about a dwarven king riding an armored bear into battle.

  He realized he is worth two rugum and fourteen temne.

  “Well, at least I can rub two rugums to my name,” he sighed, and he looked up to the heavens.

  Far above, the light of the twins illuminated the sky. Purnama glows with its glimmering silver with her viridian sister, Lunaria, partially hiding behind her. They said the twin moons acted as eyes for Selune, Goddess of the Night and Dreams, where she kept watch, providing guidance for travelers and sailors at night. And give dreams to those who slept beneath her glow. Or something along those lines.

  Almost cloudless, stars dotted the night sky. His eyes lingered. Although he wasn’t an astrologist, he could still marvel at the vastness of the night sky. He remembered the lesson from his childhood about the stars. The ocean of stars is the hunting ground for Sol-Amaran, The Great Wyrm of Dawn and Lunadella, the Great Wyrm of Dusk. The sight of Daelzana’s Gate, the brightest star in the night sky, assured him where the north was.

  He shivers for a moment as icy winds blew in his direction. Embers from the flame fluttered around him and his eyes traced their movement, fluttering about before disappearing like the petals of camellia he summoned.

  He pulled his rug-blanket and noticed several holes in it. He let out a sigh and wrapped himself. His eyes continue watching the flame. He can feel the heat but not the warmth.

  Fall is ending, and winter is coming. That means one thing. He needs to find shelter from the cold.

  Unwilling to move, he used his sword to pull his bag closer and took out a map.

  The map has some scribbles and notes attached to it with the words Lycia League written as the title. It’s a very rough and general map of the nation, pointing to several other notable locations around the league. The cities, the Silver Route, the inland trading route linking the Kingdom of Mes in the west to the Obren Republic to the east. South lies Storvak Sea, north holds Great Grassland and Blue Mountains.

  Reegar remembers buying it from a merchant near the Mes border, adding a few notes of anything interesting he saw, exploring the frontiers.

  Sitting cross-legged in front of the map, Reegar used the stars and other notable landmarks he passed. He pressed his finger on the map, pointing at a city symbol. Stormpoint. A major city in the league. Five to six days of trekking.

  If I took a few jobs, I can expect a roof and bed for the whole winter. And food. Real, delicious food. Well-prepared, cooked in a kitchen with salt and sugar. And spices. And no chewing roots and hunting rabbits for at least four months.

  He lays his head down, still in full armor, and slowly drifts into a dreamless sleep.

  The next morning he sets out, following the map. He noticed a high number of caravans using the road. A company of well-armed guards guarded the larger ones. Some are in matching uniforms, others are clearly adventuring parties. Some nodded at him, others gave him a wide berth.

  On the second day, he continued along a forested trail until open fields greeted him. Cattles graze on the open meadows. One can observe several shepherds either leading them or sleeping under a tree. Few of them noticed a single armored man on the gravel road. Reegar’s nose caught a noxious smell assaulting his olfactory. The smell of a tannery. An odoriferous smell, but it means you are nearing a community.

  The unmaintained gravel road leads to a group of buildings huddling together surrounded by farms and ranches. The trail has a crooked sign next to it that reads Crestwood.

  A few buildings became visible, far from the town. Reegar noticed the tannery workshop near the town. He saw stacks of treated and untreated leather, some of which were left hanging. Reegar noticed several workers soaking the leather in a large pot.

  Reegar found himself near the gate of Crestwood. Wooden walls surround the town with a pair of towers at the gate. A pair of guards, wearing modest padded armors and pot helmets, stood near the gate. Their spears are well-made and they eyed the paladin, but allowed him entry.

  Past the gate is a large building with a red roof. A sign hangs above the door that reads Kayle’s Workshop. It seems this is the local smithy. The smoke rises from the furnace. A red-haired woman hammers at her anvil while a pair of children play nearby.

  I probably should check out their swords later.

  Reegar passed the blacksmith’s shop and several buildings. Their design is straightforward, prioritizing practicality over embellishments. They are a few townsfolk, each tending to their daily lives. There are adventurers walking around, armed. Maybe they too seek shelter from the coming winter. But why come to a small town? Less competition?

  Reegar’s eyes turned to another building nearby. A three storied inn. The owner must handle significant traffic. The sign above the door reads, The Immoral Priestess. Complete with a picture of a well endowed skimpy nun holding a pair of mugs.

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  What a charming name.

  Beside the door, there’s a wooden cat statue. That is to be expected. Most merchants worshiped Ticari, The God of Coins, Trade, Wealth and Labor. Also known as the God of Civilization. And he loves cats. Merchants believe putting a statue of a cat next to their shop’s entrance means you are inviting prosperity. And why cats are considered sacred by merchants.

  As Reegar entered the inn, everyone turned their eyes on him. From their garbs, he assumes most of them are merchants or caravan guards. A few glanced at him, their eyes fixated on his weapon. The smell of cheap ale filled the air and the sound of conversations, laughter, the bard’s lute, and the wooden floor creaking at each step he took filled his heart with some joy. It’s been a while since he entered such an establishment.

  He approached the bar and saw a white cat lying on the table. Behind it stood the bartender, a dwarf with a salt-and-pepper beard, expertly poured drinks for the customers, his experienced hands moving with precision. His eyes locked on Reegar and he handed him a mug of ale.

  “Ye looked like ye need ‘em.”

  Reegar took a seat on the stool and smiled. “Appreciate it, chief.”

  The dwarf coughed and straighten himself before looking at Reegar directly. “Well then. I never saw that mug before, even with that helmet of yours, so let me set you with some ground rules. Welcome friend to the Immoral Priestess. I am Vorgahn Strongbeard, the owner of this remarkable establishment. There are four rules in this establishment. No magic. These include but are not limited to throwing fires, lightning, acid. No contracts nor pacts with devils, angels, feys, or any beings will be signed here. No summoning either. Three, no weapons in a brawl.”

  “And the fourth one?”

  “In this establishment, my words are law.”

  Reegar shrugged his shoulders, agreeing with the bartender. But it raises a question. Why doesn’t he hang the words by the door? He asked, and the dwarf explained that most adventurers either can’t read or won’t.

  “So,you’re here for the forest?”

  Reegar shook his head. He has no interest in going into the forest. He doesn’t care if there’s a princess trapped in a tower. All he wants now is food, bed and comfort in a big city. Until spring. This inn looked acceptable. Sturdy foundation, sturdy walls. He taps on the table, solid. Hopefully soft beds and good foods. Maybe a wash tub. With soap.

  He asked for a room.

  His jaw dropped at the exorbitant cost of the rooms. Premium costs one rugum and common is six temne. No breakfast. The reason for the expense? Protection. This town borders Nagannum Forest. Reegar recognized that name. A famous, or infamous forest said to host scores of monstrosities and ruins that cover the central part of the league. The Green Tomb, they called it, the burial site of countless adventurers, treasure seekers and fools.

  Reegar felt his coin purse and clicked his tongue. “That is quite expensive, chief. How’bout a discount? I’m Reegar Greywalker. A monster hunter and a pally of Eris. You’ve heard of me, chief?”

  “No.”

  He let out a sigh. Negotiating with a dwarf is like squeezing blood from a stone. As he reached for his pouch, his ears picked a new sound amidst the chaos of the tavern. Or the lack of it. His gaze shifted to the stage, where he noticed a woman walking to the stage. Her steps are graceful and precise, drawing the crowd to her. Her raven hair flowed down to her shoulder. She is of medium height, around five foot six. Her slightly tapered ears mark her as a half-elf. A pair of green eyes met the crowd, who silently watched, anticipating her next move.

  She sat on a stool in the middle of the stage. She wore a white blouse with a blackish green leather corset wrapped around her abdomen. It formed an open skirt that covers the side of her waist that extends down to her knees. She wore a long white skirt in contrast to her armor, with a pair of leather boots and gauntlets.

  Her hand softly brushed the lute. Her voice is beautiful, clear, angelic and haunting is how Reegar would describe it. She sang a bloody tale. The tale of Dirk Sunrise. A braggart, a bandit, a scum, and his demise by Solitaire Hellmagus. A good story and some swear it is historical. But he doubts the validity. For one who named themselves Solitaire Hellmagus? It’s like calling yourself Midnight Rosedark or Bloody Chastity.

  The song gave him goosebumps despite hearing it and its variations many times over. Is it talent or magic? Or a bit of both?

  The crowd gave a roaring applause after she finished her song. Cheers echo the tavern hall, vibrating the paintings hanging from it.

  She walks among the crowd with an iron bucket. Grateful patrons and fans placed coins in it as she smiled and greeted them. A bard way of life.

  She walked towards the bar and sat next to him, raising her finger. “The usual.” She said, and Vorgahn handed her a cold, sweet tea.

  She noticed the amulet on Reegar’s neck and smiled. “A new face, and a paladin of Eris.” she extends her right arm. “My name is Aveline Yimras, a teller of tales, master of the lute and flute, and by the gods, a prisoner of tales. Nice to meet you.”

  “Reegar Greywalker.” He accepted her hand and noticed she had quite the grip. Her complexion is pale, and she has a reddish cheek.

  Vorgahn tapped his finger on the table and Reegar knew what he meant. He handed six temnes to the dwarf, and he shouted something in dwarven to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a good meal, ser paladin. A Priestess’s Bun. You’re going to love it.”

  “You pay for your own room. I’m guessing you’re not a part of any of these troupes.” Aveline spoke. Reegar introduced himself and explained that he is a monster hunter. Her gaze remained fixed on Reegar. She couldn’t see anything behind his visor. Normally, she sees the wearer’s eyes, but with this paladin, there is nothing behind the visor but darkness. She is curious. She wriggled her finger at the amulet around Reegar’s neck. “Only a paladin or a cleric of Eris can wear a steel amulet. So, tell me, oh holy warrior of the Red General, where are you heading?”

  Reegar took a sip from the mug and uttered a single word. Stormpoint. She understood his answer. A shelter against the coming winter. But this is an opportunity. A monster hunter. Those are rare. At least rarer than caravan guards. And a paladin to boot.

  “Ser paladin, would you indulge me with the tales of your exploits?” she asked. “I’m running out of materials. One could only repeat the bloody tales of Dirk Sunrise before everyone is bored.”

  Reegar felt his coin pouch, and a realization appeared before him. Tales of one grandeur can’t only be told by farmers and fishwives. A bard could spin it more. Spread it more, make it more grand than it was. If he’s famous, maybe he’ll get a discount. He agreed.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with something easy. What is the last creature you kill? Spare none of the details.”

  Reegar began his tale. On how he stumbled upon Crestwood, a small village close to the Ruggadagga River. The elder promised him food in exchange to get rid of something foul terrorizing their graveyard. And the foul thing is a ghoul. A creature born of consuming sentient flesh, cursed forever of hunger, cursed to consume carrions. He continued to describe the battle as Aveline took notes, happily scribing on a piece of paper.

  “You encounter a tragic maiden looking for a hero to save her village, no to save her father’s grave from being desecrated.”

  “I don’t recall meeting such a maiden. Why are you asking?”

  “Artistic creativity. People gobbles the story of hero and distress maiden. Don’t worry about it.”

  Reegar looked at her with amusement. He remembered the saying, if you want the truth, find a journalist. You want amusement, find a bard.

  Vorgahn returned and placed large circular bread on the table with smoke coming out of the cover. He placed a knife and fork next to the bread. “This is the Priestess’ Bun. Its bread, hollowed out, plastered with butter and filled with meat, mushrooms, meat again and cheese. Sweet, juicy and meaty,” he explained and handed a spoon and fork to Reegar, who gratefully accepted it.

  “Finally, food.”