Chapter 12: the town of glowdale


    "He left the village behind, beginning his eight-hour journey on foot toward town. The road stretched endlessly before him, and as the hours passed, the town slowly began to take shape on the horizon. At first, it was just a silhouette, but as he walked closer, the details became clearer. The outline of wooden buildings emerged against the backdrop of rolling hills, smoke curling lazily from chimneys into the sky. The sight of the town filled him with a quiet sense of relief, a distant memory of what it felt like to see structures standing tall and sturdy once again. It was a sight of civilization at last, standing still against the vast open world. He paused for a moment, taking in the view, a slight smile tugging at his lips. Finally, he was close to the familiar hum of life once more."


    "Before stepping closer, he opened the portal, summoning the Chimera to enter. With the bundled pelts retrieved and everything in place, he continued his approach, ready to step back into the world he had left behind."


    "The town’s entrance was guarded, with a line of travelers waiting for inspection. Ezren walked forward, drawing the attention of one of the guards. The man’s gaze swept over him, taking in the tattered, dirt-streaked clothing and his overall disheveled state. He then gave Ezren a pointed look, his eyes narrowing as he stepped forward, clearly checking for signs of illness. The plague had made the guards wary of anyone who might be carrying sickness."


    "Halt." The guard raised a hand. "Where are you coming from?"


    Ezren stopped a few paces away, adjusting the pelts over his shoulder. "From the woods. I was hunting."


    The guard narrowed his eyes. "Hunting? Looking like that? You look like you crawled out of a grave."


    Ezren gave a faint shrug. "Got caught in a mudslide a few days ago. Took me a while to dig myself out."


    The guard glanced at his companion, who gave him an uncertain look. "You got a name?"


    "Ezren, sir."


    "And you''re carrying?"


    "Pelts. Elk and wolfs. Planning to sell them, sir."


    The guard glanced at the bundled pelts and then at Ezren again. "Entry toll is five coppers. You got coin?"


    Ezren patted his belt pouch, then shook his head. "Not on me, but I can sell a pelt to cover it."


    The guard considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Hand over one of the smaller ones."


    Ezren unrolled one of the wolf pelts and passed it to the guard, who inspected it briefly before looking up at him again. "Alright, but before you go, step back a moment."


    Ezren raised an eyebrow, but the guard motioned for him to comply. With a brief sigh, Ezren stepped back. The guard nodded to his companion, who stepped forward with a simple wooden rod, its tip dipped in a fragrant mixture of herbs.


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    "We’ve been dealing with some illness among travelers," the guard said, his tone steady but cautious. "Just a precaution—hold still."


    Ezren felt the cool touch of the rod as the guard waved it lightly near his face and neck, checking for any signs of fever or distress. The smell of the herbs was sharp, almost bitter, but it seemed to ease the guard’s nerves as he observed carefully.


    The guard leaned in a little closer, scrutinizing Ezren’s eyes and skin, looking for any signs of pallor or sweating. After a moment, he pulled back and sniffed the air around him.


    "You seem fine," the guard said, nodding as he returned the rod to his belt. "No sign of sickness, but it’s best to be cautious. Keep an eye out for symptoms, and don’t go spreading anything if you start feeling ill."


    Ezren gave a brief nod, relieved it hadn’t turned into a more involved inspection. The guard handed him back the pelts with a quick, professional nod.


    "Fair trade," the guard said. "Next time, bring some coin."


    Ezren nodded again, stepping past the checkpoint and into the town.


     Civilization welcomed him back, but for how long?


    Ezren entered the town, his boots stirring up dust as he stepped past the wooden gates. The streets bustled with merchants, travelers, and common folk going about their business, but he had no idea where to go.


    Near the entrance, a scruffy beggar boy sat on the edge of a barrel, nibbling on a stale piece of bread. His ribs were visible beneath his tattered tunic, and his hair was a tangled mess. Ezren walked up to him and crouched down.


    "Kid, do you want to earn some money?"


    The boy stopped chewing and looked up, his wary eyes flickering with interest. "Depends. What do ya need?"


    "A guide. Take me around town, show me where to sell some pelts, and answer a few questions. I''ll pay you when the job’s done."


    The boy grinned, shoving the rest of the bread into his mouth. "Easy work. I''m your guy. Name''s Tobin." He held out a grimy hand.


    Ezren didn''t shake it. "Lead the way."


    Tobin shrugged and motioned for Ezren to follow. They weaved through the crowded streets, past stalls selling fresh produce, dried herbs, and cheap trinkets.


    As they walked, Ezren spoke. "What''s the latest news?"


    Tobin smirked. "You ain''t from around here, huh? Alright, let’s see... The biggest news? A new portal showed up in a mine near the border of a neighboring kingdom. Ain''t like the old ones either—this one''s fresh, untouched, and full of who-knows-what. The kingdom to the south—King Varkas’ lot—claimed it as theirs, said the land belongs to them now. But the kingdom to the north—King Halvorn’s people—aren''t havin'' it. Now they’re sendin'' soldiers to take it by force. Just like that—boom, war."


    Ezren frowned. "They''re fighting over a portal?"


    Tobin scoffed. "Course they are. Dungeon portals ain''t just holes full of monsters—they change the land around ''em. And this one''s inside a mine. Give it time, and the minerals, the stone, maybe even the air down there could turn into somethin’ else. Something valuable. Plus, you got all the stuff that comes outta the dungeon itself—rare beasts, magic loot, who knows what else. No way a kingdom''s just gonna sit back and let the other take it."


    Ezren absorbed the information. "So they''re risking a war over a gamble."


    "Sounds dumb, right? But if that mine turns into a gold pit of magic ore or somethin’ crazy, whoever owns it wins big."


    Ezren frowned. "And here?"


    "The plague''s slowin’ down, thank the gods. People say some great healer showed up, fixin’ folk like magic. Dunno who she is, but if she''s real, she''s got the whole town talkin’."


    Ezren absorbed the information. "Anything else?"


    Tobin chuckled. "Plenty of gossip if you like that sort of thing. The mayor’s daughter was seen sneakin’ off with a knight—real scandal, since she’s supposed to marry some rich merchant. Oh! And get this—couple days back, folks say a dark mage got caught and killed. The church took his body. Stuck it in the crypt beneath the cathedral."


    Ezren’s steps slowed. "The church?"


    "Yeah. Thought they’d burn him like usual, but nah. Some priest insisted he be kept there. Maybe they’re scared his magic ain’t done with him yet. Or maybe they wanna study him—who knows what those robed lot are thinkin’?"


    Ezren kept his face unreadable, though his mind raced. That had to be Orin’s master. But why would the church preserve his body instead of destroying it?