He had been nearly to New Aplista by the time he discovered that the Talon of Erabos was missing. No doubt it had been stolen by that wizard back in Maplebrook, as there wasn’t a single buyer between that little town and the city of New Aplista who would have found an inkling of interest in such an item.
The scandal had rightly ruined his trade route. Sure, he had had items nicked from him before, but never an item so valuable as that, especially not one he’d secured within his cart; typically thievery was done while the delinquent held the item for inspection, and thought to run off with it. No, this case of theft had to have been done by a wizard or some sneaky creature, the scythe stolen right out from behind him.
Now it makes sense! A wizard with no gold, bah! I should have seen it for the ruse it was. He simply wanted a handout and stole the thing once he realized he wouldn’t get none from me, Marvin thought.
Well, word was the wizard had taken up as mayor in the sleepy town of Maplebrook, and so once Marvin planned on having some words once he returned.
His wagon creaked along as his two mighty horses carried along the dirt road south.
After a bit, there was some figure standing on the side of the road. Well, scandal or not, Marvin had a living to make. One quick buyer, and then he’d drive to Maplebrook to give that wizard a piece of his mind.
***
===
Jevrick’s Main Quest: Restore Maplebrook
- Earn Maplebrook’s trust.
- Rebuild houses.
- Restore population.
Side Quests:
- Who are they?
- Restore Atan to good health.
- Where is Nora?
- Is that really Clyde?
- Find out who burned down the chapel.
- Fulfill obligation to Atan.
===
Maplebrook’s Population: 392
===
It had been some time since I stood amongst the people of my town—far past time that I had. So, I donned my visage form and strolled into the Sleeping Dragon. I was instantly greeted with the pleasant aroma of sausages and eggs sizzling, and the lazy murmur of morning conversation and settled glasses.
The tavern was reasonably populated with people rubbing tired eyes and sharing light conversation. Some looked at me as I walked in, but most kept to their own conversation. Those who did spare me a glance gave a polite nod as well; some of these patrons included the hunters and woodsmen I’d worked closely with in the last week.
The wood of the tavern was old and withered in some places, with grafted on beams and planks where repairs had been made in the wake of the battle with the Greenfolk.
I stood in the main barroom, where tables and chairs were spread throughout. At the far right was a crackling furnace with a buck’s head mounted above it. To the left was a covered staircase that went up to the guest rooms. Directly ahead was the bar counter where Bano worked pouring small-beer from barrel taps and sliding foaming glasses to patrons as they came—men, women, and even some children.
Children! Oh how the next generation was a curious sight, fat ones and scrawny ones, waddling or skipping with un-proportionate sized plates as they followed their parents to one table or another. How long ago had I been a child? I could not remember.
I of course did not need food or drink to sustain myself, but I thought it would be fitting for a mayor to partake in the morning customs of his people. So, I made my way to the counter and sat at a stool there.
Bano cleared his throat. “Morning, Master Mayor. What can I get for you this morn’?”
I shrugged. “Your most standard of dishes and drink, if you would kindly!”
He nodded, took a wooden red token from a spike and placed it at the window behind him. “Breakfast for the mayor,” he said to the back. Then he took a foggy glass and slid it under a barrel’s spout, flipped the tap, and waited as the bronze liquid from within trickled out. Once the drink had filled to the brim, Bano slid it over to me; some of the foam splashed out on the counter, but the tavern keep wiped it away with a rag on his shoulder.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
I thanked him and took the solid glass by the handle and sipped from the bubbling brew. I did not often drink, and in truth the substance would simply dissipate from my body once reaching my ‘stomach.’ Still, I enjoyed the warmth of the humble drink, its bitter taste reminding me of a time when I would have welcomed its effects most happily.
“Say,” Bano leaned over the counter and spoke in a hushed tone. “What’s the deal with Junior?”
I set my glass down and wiped my lips with the back of my wrist. “Deal? I might have been inclined to ask you the same question, since I would have thought you knew him long before I did.”
Bano titled his head side to side. “Eh, once. But that man isn’t the same as the one who grew up here. Hasn’t quite been since he returned from that excursion South to deal with Dread and the like, truth be told.”
Now I was mighty curious. “Is that so? What can you tell me about our dear hero?”
“Well, for starters, he was always a coward if you asked me. Thought he was a bloody fool to go marching off with those Old Guard sods.” The tavern keep shrugged. “But I guess I was proven wrong when I saw the lad return as the lone survivor. His father had been the only one who believed he’d return, had a statue made of him almost as instantly as he came back.” He chuckled. “Cheeky boy lost me some good coin too. Guess that served me right for betting on his death.”
I looked at the stairs, which I knew led to the rooms where Clyde was staying. “Bano, why did you ask me if I knew what was going on with Clyde?” I turned back to him.
He sighed. “Well, last night he came stumbling down the stairs, yelling for me to fetch him a drink. Was bloody inconsiderate of my guests, but seeing as who he was, I didn’t refuse his request. Thing is, the man tumbled down the steps and started demanding I pour the drink in his lips. Normally I’d tell a man like that to go to Infernos, but there was something about him that told me I better do what he asked.”
“What something?”
“This look in his eye. It was like he was going to die if I didn’t do it. Freaky thing, hadn’t seen him like that ever in my life.” Bano squinted. “Well, not like that anyway. Like I said, he was off when he returned. Wouldn’t talk to nobody, would hardly look you in the eye. I just thought whatever he’d seen had done a number on him. I mean, you’d probably been a shadow of the man you were had you faced whatever he did down South. Eh, well, maybe not you, but you get what I mean.”
Very curious.
A plate clattered at the window.
Bano took it and placed it in front of me, a steaming platter of golden eggs and glistening sausage. A very familiar cook, in fact. “Good Bano, who is your cook, might I ask?”
He smiled. “Hughie. Good lad. Used to struggle quite something fierce before, practically drove half the town away if I had to say—certaintly wasn’t doing you no favors. But something finally clicked during the election, and ever since I haven’t heard nothing but praise for the lad’s cooking. Makes a man bloody proud, I’ll tell yah.”
I smirked. Something gave me the feeling that my littlest friend might have had something to do with the sudden raise in food quality. “Well,” I said, “I am happy to hear that.”
Bano nodded. “Say, one last thing, if you don’t mind me asking, Master Mayor.”
I shrugged. “Ask away, good Bano.”
“Them kobolds, how long will they be sticking around?”
I gave a light chuckle. “They will be leaving tonight, not to worry.”
He nodded. “Good thing, make my skin crawl every time I see the lot of their scales, eh not that I’m ungrateful for their partnership or nothing.”
I waved a hand. “It’s no insult. I understand that it must be quite an odd thing to share a life with creatures that were once enemies.”
“Eh, I suppose that’s the lot of life, isn’t it? Friend or foe, it’s only a matter of time ‘till one becomes the other.”
***
A few days ago. . .
Paladin Sergeant Drake clambered down the dungeon stairs, cursing his bloody feet for being so large and loud. He prayed he’d wake none as he made his way to Atan’s cell. In one hand was a torch that painted the stone corridor with its warmth, and in his other hand were a set of jangling keys that he had nicked from the jailer while he slept.
Something was foul in Knightshelm. Atan had nary been given a chance for trial before being tossed in these dark cells. Drake had tried to make a plea to the High-Council, but the three leaders refused to meet. Refused to meet? Had they already passed judgement on the veteran knight? Atan had deserved far more grace than that, he was a bloody war hero and one of the most noble men that Drake had ever served with. Not to mention that they had hidden away that girl! Something was very, very wrong, and Drake feared Atan might not survive long should he be forced to stay in Knightshelm.
Drake rounded a corner to the hall where Atan had been placed. “Zyon!” Drake swore.
Atan lay at the front of his cell, arm splayed under the cell bars.
Drake rushed over to his brother-in-arms. The light of the torch waxed and waned over the fallen paladin’s body. His face was bloodied, his eyes swollen, as if he’d been beaten near to death.
“Hold on.” Drake slipped the keys into the cell’s lock and swung the gate open. He knelt down to the honorable paladin and placed a hand on his throat. The man was still breathing. “Good, good. Let me heal—”
Shik!
Drake looked down to his arm where there was a gap between his pit and torso. A blade stuck into it, his blade. Blood gushed out of the wound, running down his side, down the weapon, spilling across the stone floor. The hand that gripped the killing vice? Ser Atan. The paladin had stolen Drake’s dagger.
Atan squinted up from his prone position. His eyes were rolled back, the whites taking the fullness of his gaze.
Drake could barely mutter, let alone speak. All he could manage before he collapsed was, “Alaesh. . .”