At the Merton tavern, Eugene sat in his usual spot, with a pint of beer in front of him. His red, curly hair hung over his round, cheerful face. Eugene’s gentle, hazel eyes watched merrily as more and more people began to flood in. For a small town tavern, it was impressively busy.


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    The village was littered with wounded villagers, blood, and weapons. Logan’s head throbbed. Her usually soft, blonde hair hung stiff from the blood. She and a comrade, Demitri, had been passing through the small village of Acrine, when a group of 20-30 goblins suddenly ambushed. The battle was over, but Logan could not find Demitri.