《D&D - The Curse of Sedgemount》


 Character Intro - Leoparin Lalane

    The first breath of morning found me nestled among the leaves, cocooned within the embrace of my treehouse. The wooden walls¡ªgrown rather than built, shaped by careful hands and older magics¡ªstirred faintly with the sighing of the wind, their gentle creaks and whispers part of the morning¡¯s daily songs. It was a familiar sound, a grounding one.


    I sat up, the woven blankets pooling around me, and stretched with a languid ease. The morning light filtered through the wide, leaf-framed windows, dappling the floor with golden-green patterns. Outside, the city of Sedgemount stirred in its quiet, graceful way, the rustling leaves and distant birdsong a softer kind of awakening compared to the clamor of less fortunate cities.


    Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I took a moment to compose myself before rising. A gentleman ought to greet the day with dignity, even when there was no one to bear witness to his dishevelment.


    The room itself was a reflection of my own sensibilities : finely kept, arranged with a care that meant taste without ostentation. The furniture¡ªgrown from the same living wood as the walls¡ªwas polished smooth, the surfaces adorned with books, trinkets, and the occasional well-placed plant. A small writing desk stood near the window, an inkwell and quill resting upon its surface, though today, the pages it waited for would have to remain unwritten a while longer.


    Dressing was a ritual of its own, a matter of habit rather than indulgence. I stepped over to the standing mirror, its frame entwined with ivy, and regarded myself. My hair had, predictably, fallen into a state of unruly elegance overnight. A nuisance, but one easily remedied.


    With practiced hands, I set about making myself presentable. The basin of cool water by the window was a welcome wake-up, the splash against my face shocking away the remnants of sleep. I reached for a comb, taming my hair into something more respectable before moving on to the matter of attire.


    The garments laid out were practical yet refined¡ªdeep greens and earthen hues that marked me as a man of the city but not of excess. A high-collared shirt, snug vest, well-fitted trousers, and a long coat of woven fibers, light yet sturdy, meant to withstand both the elegance of company and the demands of the day ahead. A final adjustment of cuffs and collar, and I was ready.


    A man ought to prepare himself for whatever the day might bring, and I had learned well enough that appearances were part of that preparation.


    Stepping out onto the wooden platform that extended from my home, I took a breath of Sedgemount¡¯s crisp morning air. The scent of damp leaves and sun-warmed wood was familiar, grounding. A soft breeze stirred the canopy, shifting the play of light and shadow across the tree-bound city. Below, the waterway gleamed, carrying along the hushed sounds of morning¡ªboat paddles dipping into the surface, quiet conversation, the distant, rhythmic pounding of a craftsman at work.


    With the same measured grace I carried through all things, I descended. Bridges of woven branches and sturdy wooden paths linked the treehouses above, some stretching between trunks, others spiraling downward like staircases of living wood. I took the latter, preferring to walk among the people rather than simply observe from above.


    The Central Glade was already alive with movement when I arrived. A few merchants in the Bountiful Reed had begun setting up their stalls, their tables laden with fresh produce and bundles of fragrant herbs. Water dripped from crates of morning-picked fruit, the scent of citrus and forest berries thick in the air. Farmers and gatherers bartered, exchanging roots for grains, mushrooms for fresh honeycomb.


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    I walked at an unhurried pace, letting my eyes wander, letting my mind take note. There was a rhythm to Sedgemount¡¯s mornings, a somewhat predictable flow of people and goods, and yet, if one knew where to look, there was always something interesting happening beneath the surface.


    A silver amulet glinted on a merchant¡¯s table, catching my eye. Ornate, well-crafted, enchanted, most likely. Not the sort of thing a simple fruit vendor ought to possess. A puzzle. I filed it away in my mind, adding it to the quiet, mental ledger where I kept track of such curiosities.


    I did not steal out of necessity¡ªoh, no. Sedgemount provided for its people well enough, and I was no starving child with empty pockets and desperate hands. No, the act itself was the draw. The thrill of it, the delicate ideas of risk and success, the quiet satisfaction of taking without being taken.


    And, of course, I did enjoy knowing things others did not.


    Near the Craftsmen¡¯s Cove, I passed by the bowyer¡¯s shop¡ªWhisperwind. Syl was at work already, shaping a length of wood into what would soon become a bow of enviable craftsmanship. A skilled artisan. A sharp eye. I had taken a small quiver of arrows from him once¡ªnot out of spite, merely to see if I could. He had never noticed, or if he had, he had never let on.


    Further along, I lingered near the Mistveil Apothecary, watching as Fen¡ªthe ever-meticulous alchemist¡ªarranged vials of shimmering liquid onto his shelves. A few were particularly rare, difficult to make. She would guard them well. That only made the idea of acquiring one all the more tempting. Not for use, not even for sale¡ªjust to have, to prove it could be done.


    But no, not today. Today was a day for watching, for gathering, for listening.


    As I moved through the marketplace, exchanging polite nods and the occasional word of greeting, I let my good eye do its work. Faces, expressions, the weight of coin purses, the absentminded way a vendor reached for their wares¡ªthese were all pieces of a greater whole, telling stories most never stopped to read.


    I adjusted the cuffs of my coat, pausing for a moment beside a woman selling finely woven scarves. My fingers brushed over the fabric, feeling the texture, noting the skill in its creation. She smiled at me, offering a pleasant, practiced greeting. I returned it with equal measure, exchanging a few words before moving on.


    A nice scarf. Perhaps I would take it later. Perhaps not. The thought itself was enough to entertain me.


    After all, a man must find his amusements where he can.


    I paused, blinking against a sudden shimmer at the edge of my vision.


    For a moment, the world around me grew distant, blurred¡ªnot in the way of fatigue or drink, but as though something thin and transparent had been draped over it, distorting the lines of reality. A veil, shifting and rippling. The vibrant greens of Sedgemount deepened, touched by an unnatural luminescence, while the golden morning light took on a strange, silken glow.


    A faint hum filled the air, just beneath the threshold of hearing. A headache stirred at the back of my skull, dull but insistent.


    Not again.


    I exhaled slowly, steadying myself, fixing my gaze on the familiar surroundings of the marketplace. The trees, the people, the wood and stone and water¡ªall the things that made up my home. But there, in the corner of my sight, a trace of something else lingered. The shape of a tree that should not be, its bark smooth as glass. The flicker of movement where nothing stood. A thread of silver light that stretched across the air, vanishing when I tried to focus on it.


    I ran a hand through my hair, rolling my shoulders to shake off the strange tension creeping up my spine. It passed, as it always did, leaving only a faint, nagging discomfort.


    This had been happening more frequently. It should have concerned me more than it did, but¡ªwell, it wasn¡¯t exactly the worst thing to happen to a man. I was no stranger to dealing with inconvenient afflictions.


    Still, I did not like mysteries that involved myself.


    With one last glance at the market, I turned on my heel and strode away, letting the sounds of the city pull me back into the present. There were things to do, people to watch, pockets to weigh.


    Whatever this was, it could wait.


    For now.

 Character Intro - Finlay Fergus the IIIrd

    Ah, piss on me luck. That one was wide.


    I set me feet firm, steadyin¡¯ the bowstring, the twang o¡¯ the arrow still hummin¡¯ in me fingers. The shaft thunked against a crystal tree¡ªway off the mark, nowhere near the target I¡¯d carved in the trunk across the clearin¡¯. Shite. That¡¯d be an ugly shot in a real fight. I clicked me tongue, rollin¡¯ me shoulders as I reached for another arrow.


    ¡°Right, ye wee bastard,¡± I muttered to the bow, givin¡¯ it a good glare, ¡°this time, straight an¡¯ true.¡±


    I pulled the string back again, feelin¡¯ the tension in me arms. Held it, breath steady. Released.


    This one hit better, right near the center o¡¯ the knot in the wood. Not perfect, but good enough t¡¯ kill a man.


    I let out a breath, glancin¡¯ around the Crystal Clearin¡¯.


    The whole place shimmered, bathed in an eerie light. The trees were like glass, their trunks smooth an¡¯ faintly glowin¡¯, their leaves swayin¡¯ with a sound like wind chimes. The ground was firm, dark soil, broken by patches o¡¯ moss an¡¯ ferns. A fair place, aye, but strange if ye weren¡¯t used to it. A relic o¡¯ the old magics, or so they said.


    I set me bow down an¡¯ stretched, flexin¡¯ me wings a bit. Been at this a while now, and me muscles were burnin¡¯. Had t¡¯ switch it up.


    I reached for me battleaxe.


    Now, this¡ªthis was me real weapon.


    The haft fit in me hands like an old friend, the weight o¡¯ the steel comfortin¡¯. It had seen fights, this axe, felt the heat o¡¯ battle an¡¯ tasted blood. Not just any tool, no¡ªit was a warrior¡¯s weapon. An¡¯ by the gods, I¡¯d be a warrior worth it.


    I set meself in a stance, gripped the haft tight, an¡¯ swung.


    The blade whistled through the air, bitin¡¯ deep into a stump I¡¯d set for practice. The thunk rang out in the stillness, wood splinterin¡¯ under the force o¡¯ the strike. I pulled the axe free, adjustin¡¯ me grip, feelin¡¯ the balance.


    Again.


    The next swing was cleaner, more controlled, the kind that¡¯d take a bastard¡¯s head off in one go. Then another.


    I kept at it, shiftin¡¯ between me weapons. A few more shots with the bow. A couple throws with me handaxes, some better than others¡ªone got lost in the ferns, but I found it easy enough. Then back t¡¯ the battleaxe, workin¡¯ through swings, footwork, breathin¡¯.


    All o¡¯ it was messy. Sloppy in places, clumsy in others. But I weren¡¯t soft. I were strong. An¡¯ strength could make up fer a bit o¡¯ roughness.


    Still, it weren¡¯t enough.


    I knew that better than anyone.


    I swung again, puttin¡¯ all me weight into it, an¡¯ me breath came heavy as the axe bit into the stump.


    Weren¡¯t enough then. Weren¡¯t enough when he needed me.


    I pressed me lips together, jaw tight. I didn¡¯t stop, didn¡¯t let the thought sink too deep.


    Me hands tightened round the haft o¡¯ the axe.


    Not this time.


    Never again.


    I set me stance an¡¯ raised the blade. Time t¡¯ keep goin¡¯.


    The clearing weren¡¯t a place fer the likes o¡¯ me.


    Aye, it was on the edge o¡¯ town, close enough that folk could wander up if they felt like it, but it was mostly the druids an¡¯ magic folk that came ¡®ere. Meditatin¡¯, chantin¡¯, whatever it was they did. The crystals hummed with some kind o¡¯ energy, old an¡¯ deep, an¡¯ those that knew how t¡¯ tap into it could do all sorts o¡¯ fancy tricks. Not me, though.


    I were just here t¡¯ train.


    Stretched out me arms, feelin¡¯ the ache settlin¡¯ in, then cracked me neck. Felt good t¡¯ move, t¡¯ keep pushin¡¯ meself. I rolled me shoulders, takin¡¯ up me two handaxes. Time t¡¯ get back to it.


    Twin blades, light an¡¯ deadly. A man could do a lot o¡¯ damage with these if he knew how t¡¯ use ¡®em right. I weren¡¯t quite there yet, but I was gettin¡¯ close.


    I sank into me stance an¡¯ let the axes fly.


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    The first one spun clean through the air, stickin¡¯ deep into the same stump I¡¯d been hackin¡¯ at before. The second¡ª


    ¡°Y¡¯know, I don¡¯t think the druids¡¯ll like it much if you start chopping up their sacred trees.¡±


    I blinked, just barely stoppin¡¯ meself from lettin¡¯ go o¡¯ the next throw. Me grip tightened round the haft, and I turned me head.


    There he was, standin¡¯ just outside the clearin¡¯, leanin¡¯ against a tree like he belonged ¡®ere.


    Leoparin.


    His sharp eyes were on me, watchin¡¯ with that usual mix o¡¯ interest an¡¯ quiet amusement, like he¡¯d caught some inside joke that no one else knew. He weren¡¯t smirkin¡¯, not quite, but I could see the ghost o¡¯ it in the corner o¡¯ his mouth. His golden hair caught the dappled light, but it was his eyes that always stood out¡ªone bright, one darker, both takin¡¯ in far more than they let on.


    ¡°Ye again,¡± I huffed, shakin¡¯ me head an¡¯ pullin¡¯ me axe out o¡¯ the stump. ¡°Thought ye¡¯d be sneakin¡¯ about somewhere, fillin¡¯ yer pockets with things that ain¡¯t yers.¡±


    Leoparin made a face, feigned offense. ¡°I take great care in what I steal, thank you.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Aye, an¡¯ that makes it all better, does it?¡±


    He shrugged, steppin¡¯ further into the clearin¡¯. He walked light, quiet¡ªlike a man who didn¡¯t like bein¡¯ heard unless he wanted t¡¯ be. Probably outta habit.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of taking anything from this place, though,¡± he went on, glancin¡¯ around. ¡°Crystals like these are worth more than gold in the right circles, but I imagine the ones who guard them would turn me inside out if I so much as laid a hand on one.¡±


    I let out a low chuckle. ¡°Aye, an¡¯ I¡¯d pay t¡¯ see that, lad.¡±


    He rolled his eyes. ¡°Mm. I¡¯m sure you would.¡±


    He stopped near the center o¡¯ the clearin¡¯, peerin¡¯ at the trees, the crystals, all of it. Weren¡¯t just lookin¡¯, though. Nah, Leoparin didn¡¯t just look at things¡ªhe studied ¡®em, picked ¡®em apart in his mind, put ¡®em back together before he even blinked. Always watchin¡¯, always learnin¡¯.


    A good skill fer a thief, I supposed.


    Still, I didn¡¯t like it much when he turned that look on people. On me.


    I swung one o¡¯ me axes again, mostly t¡¯ break the silence. ¡°So what brings ye here, then? Ain¡¯t like ye t¡¯ come wanderin¡¯ about a place like this, unless ye got somethin¡¯ in mind.¡±


    Leoparin¡¯s gaze flicked back t¡¯ me. He hesitated a moment, then¡ªjust barely¡ªwinced.


    Narrowed me eyes. ¡°Havin¡¯ a headache, are ye?¡±


    He sighed through his nose, pressin¡¯ his fingers against his temple like he could push the pain away. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°¡­Happens a lot?¡±


    Another pause. Too long fer me likin¡¯.


    ¡°No more than usual,¡± he said lightly, but I weren¡¯t buyin¡¯ it.


    He blinked, an¡¯ I swore fer a moment there was somethin¡¯¡ªsomethin¡¯¡ªin his eyes. A shimmer, almost, like he weren¡¯t just seein¡¯ what was in front o¡¯ him, but somethin¡¯ beyond it. The air around him felt different, just fer a breath. Then it was gone, like it¡¯d never been there at all.


    I frowned. ¡°Lad, ye feelin¡¯ alright?¡±


    He exhaled, straightenin¡¯ up like nothin¡¯ happened. ¡°I¡¯ll live.¡±


    Didn¡¯t like that answer.


    Didn¡¯t like a lot o¡¯ things about him, really. How he walked so light, how he spoke so smooth, how he lied so easily. But he was me friend, in a strange way. An¡¯ whatever was goin¡¯ on in that sharp head o¡¯ his, it weren¡¯t just somethin¡¯ he could shake off.


    Still, weren¡¯t much I could do if he weren¡¯t gonna talk about it.


    I shook me head, spinnin¡¯ me axe in me hand. ¡°Right. Well, if ye start collapsin¡¯ or seein¡¯ spirits or whatever the hell it is yer doin¡¯, try not t¡¯ land on the weapons, aye? I¡¯d hate t¡¯ have t¡¯ pull an arrow outta yer arse.¡±


    Leoparin huffed a laugh. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±


    Aye. An¡¯ I¡¯d keep an eye on him.


    Leoparin sat himself down on one o¡¯ the flatter rocks near the edge o¡¯ the clearin¡¯, stretchin¡¯ out like he hadn¡¯t a care in the world. He had that look about him¡ªlike a cat in the sun, just lazin¡¯ about but still listenin¡¯ to every sound around ¡®im.


    I let out a long breath, shakin¡¯ the sweat off me arms before sittin¡¯ meself down cross-legged in front o¡¯ one o¡¯ the bigger crystal formations. Up close, they shimmered in the soft light, faint magic hummin¡¯ through ¡®em like the deep, slow breathin¡¯ of somethin¡¯ old an¡¯ vast.


    Weren¡¯t sure if I liked ¡®em or not.


    Still, I didn¡¯t come ¡®ere fer the crystals.


    I pulled me bag onto me lap, loosin¡¯ the straps an¡¯ diggin¡¯ through ¡®til I found what I was lookin¡¯ for. A leather-bound scroll case, well-worn an¡¯ a bit scuffed from travel. I flicked open the latch, pullin¡¯ out one o¡¯ the parchment rolls inside.


    Me quill came next, though it gave me a bit o¡¯ trouble. Damn thing always got stuck in the case, an¡¯ I had t¡¯ wrestle it free with a bit more effort than I liked. Finally, I pulled it loose, lettin¡¯ out a satisfied huff before settin¡¯ the parchment flat against me knee.


    Dipped the quill into me inkpot¡ªcareful, careful, the thing was near empty¡ªan¡¯ started scribblin¡¯.


    Sketches, notes, whatever came t¡¯ mind.


    A rough outline o¡¯ some o¡¯ the critters I¡¯d seen on the way here. A few small fairy folk, the kind that flitted about in the deep woods but never let ye get close. One o¡¯ the bigger beasts, a great elk with silver antlers I¡¯d spotted from a distance. Details on their movements, their sounds, anything that seemed important.


    An¡¯ then, without even thinkin¡¯ much on it, I started drawin¡¯ somethin¡¯ else.


    A sword. A shield.


    A man.


    He stood tall, strong, like he always did in me mind¡¯s eye. A warrior¡¯s stance, ready fer battle, but there was warmth in the set o¡¯ his shoulders, a kindness in the way he held ¡®imself.


    I swallowed hard, lettin¡¯ the quill pause.


    Wasn¡¯t like I needed the drawin¡¯ t¡¯ remember him. I could see ¡®im clear as day even now. Could hear his voice, steady an¡¯ sure, tellin¡¯ me t¡¯ watch me footin¡¯, t¡¯ stay quick, t¡¯ fight hard. Could hear the way he laughed after a battle, the way he made even the darkest days feel like they¡¯d pass.


    An¡¯ I could hear the scream.


    The roar o¡¯ somethin¡¯ terrible. The crash o¡¯ waves, the feel o¡¯ salt an¡¯ blood in the air.


    Me grip tightened on the quill, ink smearin¡¯ a bit on the parchment.


    Leoparin¡¯s voice cut through the quiet.


    ¡°You should be careful with your ink.¡±


    I blinked, glancin¡¯ up. He weren¡¯t lookin¡¯ at me, but I could tell he¡¯d been watchin¡¯. Always watchin¡¯. His expression was unreadable, his gaze flickin¡¯ to the smudged ink, then back to the crystals.


    I let out a slow breath, shakin¡¯ me head an¡¯ fixin¡¯ up what I could on the page. ¡°Aye. I know.¡±


    He didn¡¯t ask about the drawin¡¯.


    Didn¡¯t have to.


    I rolled up the parchment, slidin¡¯ it back into the case. The wind shifted through the clearin¡¯, hummin¡¯ against the crystals, an¡¯ I let meself sit there fer a while, just listenin¡¯.


    Someday, I¡¯d prove it.


    Someday, I¡¯d make it right.

 Character Intro - Earl Damon

    Some mornings, I woke up before the sun, just to remind myself I still could.


    It wasn¡¯t anything grand¡ªno big poetic meaning behind it¡ªbut there was somethin¡¯ about seeing the world before most folks did. Before the noise and the rush, before the streets filled with people too busy with their own lives to notice much else. Mornings were quiet, and I liked quiet.


    Sedgemount wasn¡¯t a big place. Not a small one, either. Just big enough to be busy, but small enough that you still saw the same faces most days. The kind of place where folk knew each other by name, or at least by reputation.


    I stretched my arms out, shaking off the last bit of sleep, then ran a hand over my horns. One of ¡®em still had a small chip in the side from when I was a kid, back when I thought runnin¡¯ full speed through narrow alleys was a good idea. Lesson learned, I guess.


    Didn¡¯t have much to my name. Never really had. But that was fine. I made do.


    The streets were still mostly empty as I made my way through town, hands shoved into my pockets, eyes flickin¡¯ over the buildings and the few folks already up and about. A baker setting out fresh loaves. A couple of dock workers, still half-asleep as they made their way toward the harbor. An old woman sweeping the steps outside her shop.


    I nodded to her. She nodded back.


    That was how things were.


    I¡¯d grown up here, give or take. Didn¡¯t have much of a family, but I had people. Other kids like me, mostly, scraping by however we could. Some were still around. Some weren¡¯t.


    Didn¡¯t think too hard about that.


    Instead, I kept moving, stepping over a loose cobblestone and weaving my way toward the market square. It wasn¡¯t open yet, but that was fine. Wasn¡¯t lookin¡¯ to buy anything, anyway. Just watchin¡¯, listenin¡¯, getting a feel for the day.


    That was the thing about places like this. If you paid attention, you could learn a lot. Who was arguing with who. Who had coin to spend. Who looked like they¡¯d had a bit too much to drink the night before and wouldn¡¯t notice if their purse was a little lighter than usual.


    Not that I was planning anything. Not yet, anyway.


    I leaned against a wooden post, watching as the first few merchants started setting up their stalls. Smelled like fresh bread and salt air, like the town waking up bit by bit.


    Yeah. Some mornings, I woke up early just to remind myself I still could.


    The water was calm this morning. A smooth mirror of the sky, rippling only where the boats glided through, their oars dipping in steady rhythm.


    I made my way toward the waterway network, sticking to the edges of the streets, weaving through alleys where I could. Wasn¡¯t in a rush, but old habits die hard. The waterways were the best way to get around Sedgemount if you knew ¡®em well enough. Most folk just stuck to the main routes, hiring boats or takin¡¯ the long way around on footbridges, but me? I liked to walk the stone ledges, balance my way across stepping stones where the water ran shallow.


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    It was quiet here, just the sound of lapping water and the occasional call of a ferryman offering rides.


    Survival.


    That had always been the thing, hadn¡¯t it? I never wanted much¡ªnever cared about being rich or powerful. Didn¡¯t need all that. I just wanted to get by. Keep my head above water.


    Didn¡¯t always have the luxury of doin¡¯ things the right way, though.


    I glanced down at my hands. Rough palms, calloused fingers. Hands that had taken what they needed more than once. Wasn¡¯t proud of it, but I didn¡¯t dwell on it either. I did what I had to. What anyone would¡¯ve done.


    And now? Now I tried not to.


    The city had its fair share of street kids, just like I was back then. Most folk ignored ¡®em, pretended they weren¡¯t there, but I saw ¡®em. Knew ¡®em by name, even if we didn¡¯t talk much. Gave ¡®em a hand when I could. I wasn¡¯t some saint, wasn¡¯t out to save the world, but if someone had helped me when I was younger, I figured I could do the same.


    Didn¡¯t take much. A piece of bread, a coin here and there. A word of warning if I knew somethin¡¯ they didn¡¯t.


    Not everyone makes it out.


    Didn¡¯t think too hard about that, either.


    The footbridge was empty when I crossed it, the morning mist still hanging low over the water. Another few turns, and I was almost there.


    Grove of Renewal.


    Still a bit early, but work was work. And I had to get to it.


    The grove was still cloaked in morning mist when I arrived. Dew clung to the petals, making the air thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh greenery. This place was quiet, a sort of untouched quiet¡ªthe kind that settled in your bones, made you feel like you were intruding on something older than yourself.


    I pulled on my gloves, shaking off the chill, and spotted him among the wildflowers.


    ¡°You''re early,¡± the young elf said without looking up. His voice was light, easy, like everything in the world was exactly where it needed to be.


    ¡°Figured I¡¯d get a head start,¡± I replied, rolling my shoulders. ¡°You complainin¡¯?¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Hardly.¡±


    Herdan, that was his name. Druid of the Circle of Bubbles¡ªodd name for a druidic circle, but I never asked. They were the ones that kept Sedgemount and most of the province in balance, making sure the land and the people stayed in harmony. Not that I understood all of it. Magic types were like that¡ªalways talking about balance, roots, and energy.


    Herdan was younger than me, but only just. He had that easygoing nature that most druids seemed to have, always with a small, knowing smile like he understood something I didn¡¯t. Maybe he did.


    ¡°C¡¯mon then,¡± he said, handing me a small woven basket. ¡°Let¡¯s not waste daylight.¡±


    So we worked.


    Harvesting flowers, herbs¡ªthings I didn¡¯t know the names of, but Herdan did. He told me about ¡®em sometimes, what they were used for, what properties they had. I listened. I wasn¡¯t one for druidic teachings, but it never hurt to know a thing or two.


    Sometimes we talked about other things.


    ¡°Seen a couple kids hanging around the piers lately,¡± I said, pulling up a stalk of something green and fragrant. ¡°New faces. Young.¡±


    Herdan hummed in thought. ¡°Runaways?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. They look lost.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll mention them to Elder Willow.¡±


    That was the good thing about Herdan. He listened. Really listened. And when I told him about the kids, the ones scraping by like I used to, he made sure someone knew. Elder Willow, the old druid that watched over Sedgemount, would hear about them soon enough.


    It was small, but it was something.


    By the time we were done, the sun had climbed high enough to burn away the mist. My hands were sore, dirt under my nails even with the gloves. But the work was honest, and Herdan made sure I left with a few coins and a small bundle of herbs wrapped in cloth.


    ¡°Tea,¡± he explained, pressing it into my hands. ¡°For the colder nights.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°What, you think I get cold?¡±


    ¡°I think you pretend you don¡¯t.¡±


    Fair enough.


    I tucked it away and slung my bag over my shoulder. Another day done. Another step forward. Maybe not much, but for now, it was enough.

 Prologue - The Driftwoood Tavern

    The Driftwood Tavern stood at the heart of Sedgemount, the light from its windows spilling onto the cobbled streets like a warm hug. Constructed from the dense, water-logged timber of the nearby forest, the place had an air of permanence, like it had been here long before the town itself. The smell of spiced stew clung to the wooden beams, the hum of conversation never truly faded, and where stories¡ªboth old and new¡ªwere passed around as freely as the ale (to the great interest of the traveling bards in search of inspiration.)


    Inside, the fire crackled in its stone hearth, casting long shadows against the walls lined with trinkets from travelers and old relics Maris (the owner) had picked up in her younger days. She moved about the tavern with practiced ease, weaving through tables with a tray in hand, trading laughter and remarks with regulars as if she had all the time in the world.


    At one of the corner tables, tucked away from the livelier crowds but close enough to catch snippets of conversation, three friends sat together, sharing a well-earned meal. They weren¡¯t adventurers in the way people liked to sing about¡ªnot yet, at least. There were no grand quests, no fated prophecies hanging over their heads. Just three people bound together by familiarity, trust, and the unspoken understanding that only came from shared years.


    Leoparin sat with his usual composed air, his hands resting neatly on the edge of the table as he idly turned a spoon between his fingers. His clothes were well-maintained, carrying the air of someone who still held onto the refinement of his upbringing despite the path his life had taken. He had chosen a soup, its creamy surface rippling as he scooped up a portion. A dish suited to his tastes¡ªsubtle in flavor, crafted from ingredients that were rare yet not ostentatious.


    Across from him, Finlay ate with far less grace, hunched slightly over his bowl of sunken stew as he tore off pieces of bread to dip into the thick broth. The scent of dark ale and slow-cooked game rose with the steam, burrowing into his nose. Finlay was a man who appreciated simple, filling meals¡ªthose which stuck to your ribs after a long day¡¯s work. His twin axes were propped up beside him, their handles worn from years of use, though for once, they weren¡¯t in his hands.


    Earl, leaning back in his chair, had a fork hovering over a plate of forest berry pie. The crumble of oats and nuts dusted his fingers as he plucked a piece from the edge, chewing thoughtfully. The tartness of the berries was balanced by the sweet, golden crust¡ªa rare treat, considering his usual meals were whatever he could afford or barter for. He wasn¡¯t one to indulge often, but tonight, perhaps, was an exception.


    The conversation between them was easy, meandering through topics with the unhurried pace of those who had all the time in the world. They spoke of the people they had seen throughout the day, the small happenings of Sedgemount that were only important in the way familiar places made even the smallest events feel worth noting.


    But amidst the clinking of mugs and the murmurs of other patrons, a different conversation caught their attention.


    ¡°The forest is changing,¡± an older man muttered at a nearby table, his voice low, as if cautious. ¡°Too fast. Faster than any of us have seen before.¡±


    His companion, a younger woman in a weatherworn cloak, nodded grimly. ¡°The druids are struggling to contain it. Whatever¡¯s happening in the deep woods, it isn¡¯t natural. Should we be worried?¡±


    Earl¡¯s fork paused midair.


    Leoparin set his spoon down, his brows knitting together ever so slightly.


    Finlay, never one for subtlety, turned his head toward the voices without pretense, listening openly.


    Maris, passing by with a fresh round of drinks for another table, glanced toward the hushed conversation. Her usual easy demeanor didn¡¯t falter, but there was something in the way she lingered¡ªhow her gaze flickered toward the speakers, how she didn¡¯t immediately move on¡ªthat hinted she had heard similar whispers before.


    The Sunken Forest had always been a place of mystery. Dense, ancient, full of forgotten secrets... But this was different. If even the druids were struggling, then whatever was stirring within its depths was no small thing.


    The three friends exchanged glances, each one gauging the others¡¯ thoughts without needing to speak. They weren¡¯t adventurers. Not yet. But the world had a way of pulling people toward its troubles, whether they sought them out or not.


    It was then that the presence of another made itself known.


    A man, an elf, approached their table. He was not imposing, nor did he carry himself with the air of someone looking to make an impression. But he had presence. His armor, blueish in hue, bore signs of wear¡ªnot of neglect, but of use. Moss clung to his left shoulder, as if the forest itself had left its mark upon him. The white symbols etched into the apron-like cloth draped over his armor and onto the metal itself were unfamiliar to most, but their purpose was clear to anyone with even passing knowledge of druids. They marked him as one of them.


    His face was open, unguarded, with sharp elven features softened by sincerity. His brown hair, cropped short, barely fell past his ears, and his blue eyes were striking, in the way of clear skies after a storm. He was, for lack of a better word, nice-looking. In appearance, yes, but mostly in the way he held himself, in the way he moved as he pulled out a chair and sat without presumption, only intent.


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    ¡°You are adventurers, aren¡¯t you?¡± His voice was steady, confident but not forceful. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of you three.¡±


    Leoparin¡¯s brows lifted ever so slightly, exchanging a glance with Earl and Finlay. The latter grunted, setting his spoon down.


    "Depends who''s askin''," Finlay said, tone neither welcoming nor hostile.


    The elf bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect rather than submission. "Arlen Elmaris," he introduced himself. "Of the Circle of Bubbles.¡±


    That earned him a few thoughtful looks. The Circle of Bubbles was no small name in Sedgemount¡ªits druids were the reason the waterways remained clean, the reason the surrounding lands were livable, the reason Sedgemount even had a leader today. Even those who had no dealings with druids (which was rare in these regions) knew that they mattered.


    ¡°You''re one of the druids keeping this place standing, then,¡± Earl noted, sitting up a little.


    Arlen inclined his head. ¡°Yes. And that¡¯s precisely why I¡¯m here.¡±


    He looked at each of them in turn, gauging them, not as warriors, but as people. The brief pause before he continued spoke of someone weighing his words, not out of fear, but out of the genuine need to convey something important.


    ¡°The Sunken Forest is changing,¡± he said. ¡°Something deep within is corrupting it. We¡¯ve sent druids to investigate¡ªskilled ones¡ªbut none have come back.¡±


    A beat of silence.


    Finlay¡¯s expression hardened. Leoparin exhaled through his nose, reaching for his drink but not taking a sip. Earl frowned, fingers idly tracing the rim of his now-empty plate.


    ¡°That¡¯s not something you just say casually,¡± Leoparin noted. ¡°What¡¯s in there?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± Arlen admitted. ¡°Precisely what makes it dangerous.¡±


    ¡°That, an'' the fact that anyone who goes in doesn¡¯t come out,¡± Finlay said bluntly. ¡°That¡¯s a problem.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Arlen agreed. ¡°It is. Which is why I need help.¡±


    He let the words settle, allowing them to consider rather than pressuring them with urgency. ¡°I want to go myself,¡± he continued, his voice unwavering. ¡°But I won¡¯t do so without the right people at my side. I am no fool¡ªI can fight, I can wield magic, but I am not a warrior. I need adventurers.¡± His eyes gleamed. ¡°I need you.¡±


    Leoparin studied him carefully, as if weighing his intent, before leaning forward slightly. ¡°And what¡¯s in it for us?¡±


    There was no hesitation in Arlen¡¯s answer. ¡°Elder Willow and the Circle would reward you appropriately.¡±


    Leoparin¡¯s brow quirked slightly, but before he could push further, Arlen continued. ¡°And if they didn¡¯t, I would.¡± He met Leoparin¡¯s gaze with resolve. ¡°Regardless of outcome.¡±


    The answer seemed to satisfy him, for now.


    Finlay exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders as if stretching out unseen tension. ¡°Someone¡¯s gotta deal with it,¡± he muttered. ¡°Druids don¡¯ just disappear. Not like that. I''ll rise me axe for ye, friend.¡± His fingers drummed against the wooden table before he gave a firm nod. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡±


    Leoparin smirked slightly, shaking his head. ¡°Well, if there¡¯s coin to be made, I¡¯d be foolish not to.¡±


    Earl hadn¡¯t spoken yet. He looked between his friends, then at Arlen, and then at his own hands, fingers stained with the last traces of berry crumble. He had seen enough of Sedgemount¡¯s struggles to know that sometimes, waiting for others to act wasn¡¯t enough.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go, too,¡± he said at last. ¡°Because it¡¯s the right thing to do.¡± A small, lopsided smile. ¡°And because these two are going, and I¡¯d rather not let them run off without me.¡±


    Arlen exhaled, the faintest trace of relief passing over his features before he smiled¡ªa genuine, warm smile, not of victory, but of gratitude.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He dipped his head. ¡°Meet me tomorrow at the Healing Pools. I¡¯ll tell you everything you need to know then.¡±


    He stood, reaching into a pouch at his side, drawing out enough coin to cover their meal. He set it on the table with a light clink of metal against wood, offering one final nod before taking his leave.


    The three friends sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their decision settling in. Then, slowly, Finlay picked up his mug, raising it slightly.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°guess we¡¯re adventurers now.¡±


    The tavern¡¯s warmth held them a little while longer. Even with Arlen gone, his words lingered, settling into the quiet spaces between conversation.


    Finlay scraped the last of his stew from his bowl, Leoparin leaned back in his chair, and Earl sat with arms crossed, listening as their talk drifted back to the familiar.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯ve ever worked with a druid before,¡± Leoparin mused, tipping his mug toward Earl. ¡°What do you make of him?¡±


    Earl thought for a moment before shrugging. ¡°Seems honest.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Finlay agreed, setting his spoon down with a dull clatter. ¡°Doesn''t strike me as the type to lead folk intae somethin¡¯ blind. If he says it¡¯s bad, then it¡¯s bad.¡±


    Leoparin tilted his head slightly. ¡°And yet, he¡¯s asking us.¡±


    ¡°Who else is he gonna ask?¡± Finlay gestured vaguely with his mug. ¡°Half the folks ¡®round here are fishers ¡®n merchants. The rest are too smart to go chasin¡¯ after missin¡¯ druids.¡±


    Earl huffed. ¡°And us?¡±


    Finlay grinned, slow and sharp. ¡°We¡¯re just the right kind of dumb.¡±


    Leoparin smirked, shaking his head. ¡°Well, if nothing else, I suppose we¡¯ll have quite the story when this is all over.¡±


    The conversation lulled after that, the weight of the coming task pressing heavier now that their stomachs were full and the night had settled in. Eventually, they paid Maris their farewells, stepping out into the cool beyond the door.


    The night was thick with mist, curling along the waterways like something alive. Lanterns, dim and flickering, cast pools of gold against the dark, an array reflections stretching and wavering in the slow-moving currents below.


    Peace.


    Sedgemount at night was quiet, but not silent. Water lapped gently against moored boats, the occasional creak of wood and rope breaking the stillness. Somewhere in the distance, a lone flute played¡ªwandering melody, lost and found again between the winding streets and water channels.


    Earl took his usual route home, stepping carefully over his worn footbridges and his narrow stone paths. The city never truly slept, but it did rest, and tonight was no different. He passed shuttered windows, wondering what laid behind tonight. In an alley, a pair of urchins huddled close, sharing warmth beneath a cloak. Earl made a note to bring them something tomorrow.


    Finlay walked with his hands in his pockets, boots scuffing against the damp wood of the docks. The mist clung to him, to everything, but he paid it little mind. The Sunken Forest was already creeping into his thoughts, its name heavier now than it had ever been before.


    Finally, Leoparin, ever watchful, moved with the ease of someone who belonged to the night as much as the day. His path wound through familiar streets, past shops locked up tight, past the flickering lights of a sign marking an old altar. He liked the quiet, the way the world seemed to shrink in the dark, making things simpler.


    The three had parted ways without ceremony, each retreating to whatever sleep they could find.

 Chapter 1 - Preparation

    The morning air was fresh, the mist still lingering along the waterways as the three made their way toward the pools.


    Sedgemount was waking up¡ªfishermen loading up their boats, shopkeepers setting out their wares, and the ever-present hum of city life picking up its pace. But here, in this quieter corner of the city, things moved slower. The Healing Pools were some sort of sanctuary, here.


    The path leading to the pools was lined with thick, twisting vines, their leaves heavy with morning dew. Beyond them, the pools stretched out in serene, glassy basins, their surfaces undisturbed. Druid healers moved gracefully among the pools, their robes whispering against the ground as they tended to those resting by the water¡¯s edge. It was a place that felt almost separate from the city, a hidden pocket of calm nestled in the city''s edge.


    Near the entrance, waiting with his arms crossed, stood Arlen. He straightened as he spotted them, offering a small, polite nod.


    ¡°You¡¯re early,¡± he remarked.


    Finlay smirked. ¡°Aye, we¡¯re professionals now, are we no¡¯?¡±


    Arlen chuckled at that but didn¡¯t argue.


    Before the conversation could go any further, Earl took a step forward, eyes locked onto the shimmering pools beyond them. ¡°Wait¡ªcan we go in?¡±


    Arlen blinked, caught off guard. ¡°Well, yes. If you want, we can discuss things in the water¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hell yeah!¡± Earl was already moving toward the nearest pool, hands poised to yank off his coat. ¡°I wanna splash around a bit first.¡±


    Before he could get any further, a firm hand clamped onto his shoulder. Leoparin, ever unimpressed, shook his head.


    ¡°We are not splashing around, Earl.¡±


    Finlay folded his arms, nodding in agreement. ¡°Aye, we came here for work, no¡¯ a bath.¡±


    Earl groaned but relented, kicking at the ground as he stepped back. ¡°You guys are no fun.¡±


    Arlen, still looking vaguely amused, gestured for them to follow. ¡°Come on. I have a room set aside for us.¡±


    They trailed after him down a narrow path that wound alongside the pools, eventually stopping at a modest stone room built into the landscape. Inside, it was simple¡ªwooden chairs, a sturdy table, and the faint scent of dried herbs lingering in the air.


    Arlen settled down at the table, pulling a rolled-up map from his satchel. As he spread it out, the parchment crinkled, revealing the familiar shape of the Sunken Forest, its sections marked with distinct, looping ink.


    ¡°The Sunken Forest,¡± he began, fingers trailing over the map, ¡°is divided into three sections. It was once watched over by a guardian¡ªa Treant. A powerful one. It kept the balance, ensured that the deeper parts of the woods didn¡¯t grow¡­ well, beyond control.¡±


    Leoparin arched a brow. ¡°And now it¡¯s gone.¡±


    Arlen nodded. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been seen in months. And in its absence, things have started to shift. Faster than we ever thought possible.¡±


    There was a pause as that settled in.


    Earl leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. ¡°You think something happened to it?¡±


    ¡°I know something happened to it,¡± Arlen replied. ¡°The corruption spreading through the deeper woods is not natural. The druids have tried everything, but whatever this is, it¡¯s beyond our magic.¡±


    Finlay exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°So, we¡¯re tae go in there an¡¯ figure out what¡¯s what, aye?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And if we¡¯re lucky, we¡¯ll find the Treant before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    Arlen¡¯s finger moved across the map, tapping three separate points. Each was marked with a faint symbol¡ªthree spreading stains against the parchment.


    ¡°We¡¯ve managed to trace the corruption back to three cores,¡± he explained. ¡°The further in you go, the worse it gets, which means whatever is fueling this is strongest at these locations.¡± He sat back slightly. ¡°If we can even reach the center of just one, we might be able to understand how this works, what¡¯s causing it, how it spreads.¡±


    Leoparin¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°How far has the Circle managed to go into the forest?¡±


    Arlen¡¯s jaw tightened, and for the first time, his calm exterior wavered. ¡°Not far at all. The scouts never came back, and neither did the druids that went after them.¡±


    That set a quiet over the room. The weight of it pressed down on the air between them, but Arlen didn¡¯t let it sit long. He straightened, drawing a slow breath before continuing.


    ¡°The three affected areas are distinct. The corruption has taken hold in different ways, but all of them are unnatural.¡±


    Arlen gestured to the first marked area.


    ¡°The boglands. This section of the Sunken Forest has always been the wettest... lowland terrain, heavy with mist and marshes. You can guess how still waters might be bad for us. Those who step in for too long have reported seeing things turn before their eyes. Living things¡ªfrogs, fish, even plants, twisting as though reshaped by...well, magic.¡±


    Earl wrinkled his nose. ¡°Sounds pleasant.¡±


    Arlen ignored the comment, pointing to the next mark.


    ¡°Then there¡¯s the thicket. The undergrowth has always been dense, but the plants are now far more hostile than before. Thorns have spread in unnatural patterns, growing against the vines, against the trees, as if something is forcing them into knots. The deeper you go, the more tangled it becomes. The first scouts were lost there, probably caught by the thorns and ambushed by...whatever else is roaming now.¡±


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    Finlay frowned. ¡°Sounds like a feckin¡¯ nightmare tae navigate.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Arlen admitted, before moving to the last marked section.


    ¡°The sporewood.¡± He exhaled. ¡°This area was once home to a thriving ecosystem of fungi¡ªMushrooms, thick carpets of moss. Now, it¡¯s completely overtaken. Spores hang in the air so thick you can barely see. We¡¯ve seen plants¡ªsome animals too¡ªgrow strange limbs, take on new shapes...¡±


    Leoparin drummed his fingers against the table, brows furrowed. ¡°And you want us to walk into one of these places blind?¡±


    Arlen shook his head. ¡°Not blind. I¡¯ll guide you as best I can. But yes, this will be dangerous. Even still, if we reach the heart of one of these zones, we might be able to disrupt whatever¡¯s causing this. Or at least understand how it spreads.¡±


    A silence fell over the table. Each of them weighing the risks, turning over the possibilities.


    Earl leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. ¡°Well, none of those sound fun. But if we gotta pick¡­¡±


    Leoparin tapped the boglands on the map. ¡°The water¡¯s dangerous, but it won¡¯t choke us like the spores. And it won¡¯t box us in like the thorns.¡±


    Finlay gave a slow nod. ¡°Aye. The bog seems the best choice.¡±


    Arlen studied them for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Alright. The boglands it is.¡±


    He rolled the map back up, standing. ¡°We leave at midday. Use the early hours to prepare¡ªget supplies, weapons, anything you might need. I¡¯ll be waiting at the eastern gate.¡±


    He paused, then added with a small, earnest smile, ¡°And¡­ thank you.¡±


    A few hours to kill before midday. Might as well prepare.


    Finlay strode through Sedgemount¡¯s morning bustle, boots scuffing against the stone streets. He made a stop at the market first, securing dried meats, hardtack, and a small pouch of herbs for brewing tea¡ªnecessities for the road ahead. But his real destination lay further in.


    The shop was small but well-kept, the scent of polished wood and resin filling the air. Bows of varying sizes lined the walls, while bundles of arrows stood in neat rows above. Behind the counter stood Syl, the shop¡¯s owner and artisan.


    Syl looked up from fletching a fresh arrow, his long blond hair tucked behind one pointed ear. He gave Finlay a smile. Easygoing, yet professional.


    ¡°Ah, Finlay. Not often I see you in here.¡±


    Finlay gave a nod. ¡°Aye, well, I figured I¡¯d take a look. Got a bit of a venture ahead.¡±


    Syl set the arrow down, resting his arms on the counter.


    ¡°A venture, huh? You thinking of trading in that old thing?¡± His gaze flicked to Finlay¡¯s bow, slung over his shoulder.


    Finlay huffed. ¡°She¡¯s still got life in her yet. Jus¡¯ thought I¡¯d see if ye had anythin¡¯ useful fer the road.¡±


    Syl chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Fair enough. Your bow¡¯s got character, I¡¯ll give it that.¡±


    He turned, grabbing a quiver from a nearby rack. ¡°If you¡¯re heading somewhere rough, barbed arrows might serve you well. Good for anything that doesn¡¯t want to stay down.¡±


    Finlay examined one, running his fingers over the hooked tip.


    ¡°Aye, these¡¯ll do nicely.¡± He counted out the coin, wincing slightly as he handed it over.


    Syl gave him an amused look but took it without comment. ¡°Try not to lose too many in the mud.¡±


    ¡°No promises.¡±


    With a nod of thanks, Finlay slung the quiver over his back and stepped out, heading toward the next errand.


    <hr>


    Leoparin walked through the streets, weaving past merchants hawking their wares and townsfolk starting their daily routines. His coin purse felt lighter than he¡¯d like after buying rations, but he had one last thing to take care of before they set off.


    The Looming Reed stood proudly at a bustling corner, its sign carved with elegant, twisting vines. The shop¡¯s exterior was decorated with fine fabrics draped over wooden beams,  catching the light to show their patterns. Leoparin stepped inside, immediately greeted by the scent of fresh linen and...lavender? Or was it something else? Who knew.


    ¡°Taryn!¡± he called.


    From behind a curtain, a figure emerged¡ªTaryn Goldthread, the tailor himself. He moved in a theatrical stride, dressed in a tunic of deep violet and embroidered gold. His blond hair, streaked with purple, was adorned with silver chains and small charms that jingled lightly as he moved.


    ¡°Ah, mon ami ! What a sight for sore eyes,¡± Taryn exclaimed, clapping his hands. ¡°And what brings you to my humble shop?¡± His sharp eyes gleamed with excitement as he took in Leoparin¡¯s worn cloak. ¡°Wait¡ªdon''t tell me. You¡¯re finally ready to shed that drab thing you call outerwear?¡±


    Leoparin smirked. ¡°I¡¯d call it practical.¡±


    Taryn gasped dramatically. ¡°Practical? Practical is a butcher¡¯s apron, dear. You, my friend, deserve grandeur.¡± He motioned for Leoparin to follow, gliding over to a row of fine cloaks displayed along a curved rack. ¡°Now, let me see¡­ You need something that speaks of mystery, of adventure, of...Leoparin.¡±


    He sifted through the collection, his fingers dancing over fabrics until finally he stopped, eyes lighting up.


    ¡°Ah! This.¡± He pulled forth a hooded cloak, light in weight but with a fine texture.


    It shimmered slightly in the light, woven in forest green and midnight blue. Spider silk, it seemed.


    Leoparin reached out, letting the fabric slide between his fingers. It was smooth, really soft, and yet...surpisingly strong. He swung it over his shoulders, the fit near perfect (as to be expected of Taryn''s work), and when he pulled the hood up, it settled comfortably, without covering his eyes.


    Taryn beamed. ¡°C¡¯est magnifique. This one, I think, was made for you.¡±


    Leoparin chuckled, already pulling out his coin pouch. ¡°You flatter me, but you¡¯re right.¡± He handed over the required gold, feeling the weight of his purse dwindle even further.


    Taryn winked. ¡°All part of my expertise, friend. Now, wear it well, and do visit again. You must tell me all about your next great adventure¡ªI insist.¡±


    Leoparin gave a nod, adjusting the cloak one last time before stepping out. It felt good, comfortable. Fitting.


    Now, he just had to see if Earl had bankrupted himself on nonsense before they left.


    <hr>


    Earl wandered through the Bountiful Reed, the ever-busy marketplace of Sedgemount. Of course, there was that...caracteristic, distinct smell. The scent of fresh bread, roasting nuts, and sweet herbs, mingling with the smoke of a blacksmith¡¯s forge. Lovely. Vibrant stalls lined the stone paths, merchants calling out their wares¡ªexotic spices, fine textiles, enchanted trinkets that probably weren¡¯t actually enchanted.


    He glanced down at what little he carried. His old dagger, tucked securely at his belt. The rations he¡¯d bought earlier. The small pouch of tea that had been given to him¡ªa thoughtful gift for sure, but not exactly adventuring gear. He frowned slightly, tapping his fingers on his coin pouch. Not much left to spend¡­ but he could at least get something before they left.


    His eyes scanned the stalls, skipping over weaponry and armor¡ªhe had what he needed there. No need for extra supplies, either. But then, something caught his attention¡ªa stout wooden sign etched with barley and berries, standing over a cart stacked with bottles of deep amber and rich red liquid. A small gnome stood behind it, adjusting his oversized goggles while humming a tune. The gnome did not know how to sing.


    Earl grinned and made his way over. ¡°Well now, what¡¯s this?¡±


    The gnome looked up, his eyes magnified large behind the lenses. ¡°Eh? Oh-ho! A man of taste, I see!¡± He whipped off his goggles, revealing a scruffy face framed by tufts of curly hair. ¡°You¡¯ve stumbled upon Dalan¡¯s Fine Ales and Elixirs! Strong enough to put hair on your chest, smooth enough to make you forget why you needed it in the first place!¡±


    Earl chuckled. ¡°That so? And what¡¯s this one?¡± He motioned toward a set of bottles with dark, bramble-colored liquid inside.


    ¡°Ah, Berry Bramble Ale! Brewed with the finest wild berries, hand-plucked by only the most reckless of foragers, because the best berries grow where the wolves really don¡¯t wantcha!¡± Dalan waggled his eyebrows. ¡°No but seriously, this is great stuff.¡±


    Earl raised an eyebrow. ¡°You always talk like that?¡±


    Dalan grinned. ¡°Only when I¡¯m awake!¡±


    That was good enough for Earl. He pulled out what coin he could spare and placed it on the counter. ¡°I¡¯ll take a few bottles.¡±


    Dalan scooped up the coins with surprising speed, then passed over the bottles, giving a wink. ¡°Nothing brings people together like a good drink.¡±


    Earl nodded, tucking the bottles away. ¡°Ain¡¯t that the truth.¡±


    With that, he made his way out of the market, satisfied. He might not have gotten himself any fancy new gear, but he had food, a blade, and now, booze.


    That was plenty.