In the enchanting land of Shineholm, the sunsets have always held a special kind of magic. As the golden rays cascade over each rolling hill, the atmosphere transforms into an exhilarating tapestry of warmth. At the same time, the air is so crisp and clear that you can hear the gentle call of the Frasian lark echoing in the distance, saying its last goodbye to the sun as dusk encroaches the cascading hills. In those breathtaking moments, every worry and concern feels like a distant memory, momentarily forgotten.
Yet, here I was, navigating the challenges of an exhausting fetch quest. As I finally secure my footing on a ledge wide enough to support my weight, my gaze shifts upward toward the sheer stone wall before me, a daunting reminder of what lies ahead. Taking a deep, invigorating breath, I lean into the wall, feeling a rush of determination wash over me. With a swift motion, I free one hand from the edge of the cliff, adjusting the heavy straps of my bag that have been digging into my shoulders since the climb began. Unfortunately, I hadn't found a safe moment to resolve this issue without risking a tumble or endangering my precious cargo.
Speaking of cargo, what am I risking my life for? It's a box containing eleven gleaming gold bars, a thoughtful gift from Lord Verinson to Lord Fairvin. Apparently, these two lords have been at odds, and this delivery was intended to mend their frosty relationship. And here I am, the one chosen to take on this daunting mission and ensure its safe arrival. I, Vartin Taivinson: Adventurer, rat exterminator, champion of lost cats, and now—dare I say it—a deliveryman, am here for the task wholeheartedly. I used to dream of grand adventures that felt more significant, perhaps with more daring escapades. Monsters to slay, people to save. Something more than rescuing cats from trees, or setting out mouse traps, or carrying a box of gold from one out-of-touch noble to another because of some petty slight that's not really important.
As I steadied myself for the descent, I prepared for the familiar strain of the weight pressing down on my arms. It felt like a race against time; the faster I got down, the better. The Prince of Prowess smiles upon those who exert their utmost efforts, and I believed wholeheartedly that even if I fell short of my goal, the very act of giving my all was worth its weight in gold. With gritty determination, I forced my feet to navigate the jagged rocks, and my arms held their ground, steadying me as I descended step by agonizing step.
Finally! The moment I was longing for—my burden was lifted as the ground welcomed me back. I released the rope, watching it gracefully uncoil from my waist and gently fall to the ground like a ribbon unwinding. Climbing that last stretch felt remarkably easier without the heavy gold pressing down on me, though I could hardly mask my fatigue the moment my feet met solid earth.
And just like that, laughter bubbled up within me. I had longed for adventure, and here it was, right before me! Why hadn’t I thought to pack more rope? If only I had picked up another hundred feet of sturdy hemp in the last town, I wouldn’t have had to tackle that cliff with my cargo secured around my waist. Instead, I had a magical rope. However, it seemed that while it was durable, it lacked the stretch I’d hoped for, something that felt a bit disappointing considering the twenty gold coins I spent on it. But hey, at least it was still useful in its own way.
Looking around, I realized this area was well off the beaten path. My initial instinct was to search for the main road, but not at night, and definitely not while carrying someone else's gold and my gear. It was time to set up camp, and before anyone could wander by, I needed to find a secure place to conceal the precious cargo. Better get started—adventure awaits!
After a brief search, I found the perfect spot to set up camp. Although the weight of the gold pressed heavily on my weary arms, I was determined to avoid staying out in the open, which would surely attract the nearby creatures. The Prince understood my fatigue, and I knew I had to be cautious tonight. The forest floor beneath me was a wonderful mix of solid, hard-packed earth and scattered stones, interspersed with patches of dried moss that thrived in the dappled sunlight. Thankfully, the small critters of this forest were busy and alert, keeping their distance but reassuring me that no significant predators were lurking nearby. Nestling between a cluster of trees, I squeezed the box into the gnarled roots of an impressive old tree, creating a cozy little campsite.
While my camp wasn’t extravagant, it felt just right for the night—a warm spot for my bedroll, even though I couldn't help but think of that tent I’d seen back in Flamburge. It was a tempting thought, but I realized that carrying it down that cliff would have been a challenge I wasn’t ready for. As I settled in, my only wish was for a rain-free evening. The journey ahead to Shineholm wasn’t long, but facing it, soaked to the bone, would surely change the experience! Plus, I needed to look presentable when I delivered to Lord Fairvin.
Since I wanted to avoid a fire—its flickering light could attract more trouble than I needed—I resigned myself to a simple dinner of the last of my dried rat meat and the remaining water in my waterskin. It may seem unappetizing to many, considering its strong, gamey flavor, but I’ve surprisingly grown fond of it. The first time I tasted it after leaving Savith, it was quite a struggle to keep it down, but over time, it became a strangely comforting staple in my diet. I know I must restock my supplies once I reach Shineholm.
I’m hopeful that Lord Fairvin will reward my delivery efforts with a little extra, allowing me to treat myself and pick up some much-needed supplies before embarking on my next adventure. The thought fills me with excitement! Each experience and challenge brings me closer to my goals, and the opportunities that lie ahead are endless. I can't wait to see what awaits me in the bustling city of Shineholm! With every step I take on this journey, I feel more prepared and eager for the adventures still to come.
As night fell across the land and the world grew silent, I could hear the distant chirping of insects and the croaking of the strange little frog I’ve come to know as the Bulvin. Its sharp, creaking croak echoed like a hundred creaking doors swinging open in the wind, reminding me once more that there are far more dangerous things in these wilds than just the chill of the night. I wrapped my old, worn woolen blanket around myself and listened intently.
Traveling alone is risky; without anyone to keep watch, I would have to sleep at some point. Even now, the tired lids of my eyes drifted slowly closer, as the dream of sleep beckoned to my weary, aching body, lulling me into a sense of tranquility amid the sounds of the critters around me.
As I blinked awake, I found myself enveloped in an intriguing darkness that felt deeper than the night before. A curious stillness settled around me; the usual sounds of the forest were curiously absent. With a rush of instinct, I reached for the trusty blade I had tucked beside my head during the previous night. Its cool leather grip was a reassuring touch, grounding me in this reality.
Before I could take stock of my surroundings, I felt a surprisingly gentle but urgent pressure at the nape of my neck—sharp and unyielding, yet not piercing. It was a quiet reminder to stay still and aware, or I might cut my adventure short right here. From behind me came a voice—soft and surprisingly inquisitive.
"Hold on there, friend. Let’s not rush. Just drop the blade, and then we can chat. I could have taken your things or left you to face the Cougar alone, but here I am, offering a chance for some breakfast as we talk."
I took a deep breath, understanding that tempting fate further wouldn’t be wise. Slowly, I eased my fingers from the blade, lifting my hands in a gesture of peaceful surrender. That’s when I really noticed the extraordinary dome that surrounded me—it was like a dark glass, shimmering softly as if lit by distant stars that twinkled with whimsical charm.
Through this transparent barrier, I could see the forest glimmers beyond, even if their sounds were muted. It was a wonder, and my curiosity only grew as I looked up and spotted a small creature perched atop this unusual structure. It was a delightful sight—small and furry, with curls that hinted at a magical realm far from home.
With my hands raised high in a gesture of surrender, I found the courage to speak up, filled with excitement about the hidden surprises this unexpected encounter might bring. "What an intriguing situation we have here! No need to worry—I’m unarmed except for this dagger." I explained, shrugging off the notion of danger. "I lost my spear when the vines attacked, so this is all I have.”
As the pressure of the blade eased from my neck, I seized the moment to slide out of my bedroll, turning to face the unexpected visitor to my campsite. To my astonishment, it wasn’t the rough exterior of a bandit I had anticipated, but rather a striking Elven woman with enchanting pink skin. She wore a delicate green silk dress intertwined with ivy and vines, giving her an ethereal appearance that nearly made her blend into her surroundings. It was a beautiful sight that astonished me—if not for the texture differences, she might have been one with the landscape!
Her shoulder-length hair was slightly darker than her skin and framed her face beautifully, while floral arrangements decorated her hairstyle, bringing a splash of life to the otherwise stark environment near Shineholm. As I took in her appearance, I realized that time was moving on, yet she remained curious and relaxed, tilting her head with soft, rounded features. Her large doe-like eyes, the only contrasting color on her face, narrowed playfully on me, accompanied by a gentle laugh. It was clear she held the dagger defensively, yet there was an intriguing softness to her demeanor.
From my training and experience, I could sense that the situation was ripe for change, and I felt a budding sense of hope and curiosity about what was to come.
“Hey there! You know, staring isn’t really the best way to start a conversation, and it’s quite the bold move to mention being defenseless. But I appreciate your honesty. Just so you know, I chose this pink look for a reason. Elves aren’t always just what they seem!”
I’d been genuinely curious about her unusual appearance, but I hesitated to ask a stranger, especially one who had just had a blade so close to me moments ago. Honestly, I was taken aback, but I felt the urgency to understand what was going on. Sitting idle wasn’t going to get me any answers.
“If it’s alright with you, would it be okay if I carefully place the dagger on the ground? I would love to put my boots on before our little chat, Lady Elf.” It was a straightforward request, but in the chance she turned out to be up to no good, I definitely preferred having my boots on for a quick escape. Fortunately, she nodded, and as soon as I set my dagger down and moved away from it, she sheathed her own stone sickle. I quickly pulled on my boots, tugging each lace tight for security.
“So, Lady Elf, what brings you to me? I must say it’s an honor.”
Her laughter was warm and genuine as she pulled out a wooden bowl, steam wafting up into the cool air. Behind her, a cozy fire crackled within a shimmering glass dome. I was both intrigued and a bit bewildered; the magical sight was breathtaking, yet the smoke drifting through the dome challenged my understanding of reality. But I couldn’t let myself get lost in wonder; I still had to figure out if I was in any real danger.
Without hesitation, she produced another bowl, set it gently on the ground, and nudged it toward me with her foot. “Let’s enjoy breakfast first—it’ll get cold if we don’t eat it, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Her surprising demeanor kept me on my toes, especially with earlier events still fresh in my mind. I took the bowl she offered, filled with a clear, slightly yellow liquid adorned with various mushrooms and herbs. Although I was no expert in botany, my instincts kicked in as I hesitantly sniffed at it, unsure if it was safe to consume. She rolled her eyes in a playful manner, gesturing for me to take a spoonful.
With a deep breath and a hint of trepidation, I followed her lead. Tentatively, I brought the spoon to my lips and tasted the broth. It turned out to be a delightful light mushroom soup, though I couldn’t identify the mushrooms. My training had always warned against foraging mushrooms—one wrong choice could lead to disaster. But thankfully, this was a comforting and warming soup, perfect for the cool morning air.
I finished my bowl quickly, glancing over to see the elf savoring her soup delicately and slowly. After she had finished, she set her bowl aside and looked at me with bright eyes. In that moment, I felt a sense of curiosity blossom within me; the uncertainty of our encounter was slowly transforming into anticipation for what lay ahead.
"I couldn't help but notice you scaling down that cliff! What led you to take such a daring route? And resting right beneath a tree favored by cougars? That seems a bit risky, doesn’t it? I’m really glad I arrived when I did and managed to distract that majestic creature. If I hadn’t intervened, who knows what might have happened!"
Speaking of that tree, I realized how intriguing it was as she referred to it. I looked up at its magnificent gnarled branches and, to my amazement, saw the evidence of its past—what appeared to be deer-sized bones scattered about and those unmistakable claw marks etched into the bark from numerous animals over the years. I can’t believe I missed all those details earlier.
“You know, I was just too exhausted to notice my surroundings,” I admitted sheepishly. “As for climbing the cliff, I definitely took a wrong turn there. I was actually part of a caravan when we were ambushed by a mass of vines; they stole my spear. In a moment of panic, I thought if I could lure the vines away from the group, they’d be safe, and I could find them later. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to track them down, and that led me to make the impulsive decision to set up camp alone right near the cliff. But what about you, Lady elf? What’s the story behind your journey?”
With a warm laugh that resonated like a gentle breeze, the elven woman looked at me, her posture relaxed and inviting. “Oh, please, no need for formalities! My name is Nimue Ravarona, but feel free to call me Nim; it’s a lot easier! I’m on my way to Shineholm, sent by my circle to search for some rare seeds. Though to be honest, I’m not sure I’ll find what I need there, I figured I might as well give it a shot since it’s closer than Coastavale. Assuming you’re headed there too, it would be wonderful to have some company. Would you be willing to help me get into the city?”
I know that gaining entry to major cities often requires ID or some sort of bribe—neither of which I had on hand. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this elf had possibly saved my life.
“Alright, Nim, let’s keep it friendly,” I smiled, “My name is Vartin Taivinson. I’m going to guess you lack identification. As much as I’d love to help, I’m afraid the wall-climbing route might not end well—you know, arrows and jail cells and all that fun stuff. Unless, of course, you have some brilliant plan.”
A bright smile spread across Nim’s face, and she jumped to her feet, radiating an infectious enthusiasm. “Oh, I have a fantastic idea! You see, pets are welcome! I can be your pet!”
I must have looked rather startled, as she raised an eyebrow in confusion before playfully rolling her eyes. “No, no! I can transform into animals! I wasn’t suggesting that you literally bring an elf into the city as your pet.”
Her laughter was like music, light and joyful. In that moment, I felt a surge of excitement and hope; perhaps this journey would lead to unforeseen adventures after all!
Several hours later, we walked through sparse woodland and low, rolling hills on our way to Shineholm. Shafts of weak sunlight slipped between the thin, leaf-littered branches, and the air held the damp chill of ground that never quite dried.
A blur of pink and black flickered between the trees ahead of us, darting from trunk to trunk. The creature nosed at fallen logs, then vanished into narrow hollows and shallow burrows, hunting with frantic, single-minded purpose for what I could only assume was some unlucky rodent. Nim called the creature Pork. It was a strange name, but who was I to judge?
Weasels weren’t known for growing to the size of a mastiff, but apparently it happened. More honestly, its colour was what struck me as truly strange. Very few creatures grew in such a brazen, unnatural hue. When Nim had first revealed Pork was hers, I’d wanted to ask questions—where she’d found him, what sort of creature he truly was—but who was to say his colour wasn’t from the same source as Nim’s own soft pink skin? So I left the questions alone for now. We had places to be, hills to cross, and it wasn’t as if lingering in conversation would keep bandits away; if anything, it would only draw them closer.
Crack.
The sharp snap of a twig stole my wandering thoughts and dragged me back into the moment. My hand crept toward the dagger at my belt as I spun toward the sound. Instinct tightened my muscles, pulling me down into a crouch to hide my outline among the scrub and fallen branches, in case whatever stalked us hadn’t seen me yet.
I dropped too fast. The extra weight strapped to my back and the few metal plates I wore as armor dragged me lower than intended. My knee slammed into the packed earth with a dull thud that rattled up my spine. Damn this gold. If something truly meant to hurt me, I had only two choices: drop the load or fight while half-hobbled by the weight.
As my eyes lifted toward the noise, the only thing I found was Nim’s enigmatic weasel. Pork watched me from a few paces away, his black eyes narrowed to slits as his head tilted at an impossible angle that made my own neck ache in sympathy. His fur clung to his sides in dusty curls, streaked with soil and tangled with twigs. Whatever his coat was made of, it wasn’t anything like the coarse guard hairs that kept debris off ordinary animals.
A mottled collage of browns and greens smeared over the almost pastel pink and stark black stripes of his body, as if the forest itself had tried to claim him with its colours. The black markings curled over his face into something like a burglar’s mask, a permanent disguise that made him look both comical and sinister. From this angle, with my body forced low by the weight on my back, Pork actually loomed over me. Those sharp teeth—so small and unseen at a distance—glinted clearly now, and for a heartbeat I understood how the rabbits and voles he hunted must feel.
Just as the first flicker of fear tightened my chest, the strange weasel twitched an ear and bolted away into the underbrush. The low, reedy trumpeting of a Frasian lark cut through the tension, its call echoing faintly through the thin woods.
A light tap on my shoulder came from behind, followed by Nim’s inevitable singsong lilt.
“Hey, Vartin, whatcha doing? We’re not going to get any closer to Shineholm like that. Do you need a break?”
As much as the load dug into my shoulders and the long journey had chewed blisters into my patchwork leather boots over the several weeks since I’d started this exhausting trek, the end was finally in sight. I was tired, but I was far from finished.
Grunting with the effort, I forced myself upright. The straps bit into my shoulders, and pain flickered down my thighs as my legs straightened under the weight. I could already tell how much I was going to feel this tomorrow.
“No, Nim, I’ll be fine. I just thought Pork was something dangerous—like a bandit, or a monster. Without my spear, I don’t know how much of a fight I’d be able to put up, so staying hidden seemed like my best option. I was about to call you to do the same if what I saw turned out to be a threat.”
The pink elf laughed softly, the sound bubbling up even as her round face twisted into a brief, thoughtful grimace. Her laugh returned a moment later, bright and musical, as if my worries slid right off the surface of her mind. There didn’t seem to be room in her for fear.
“Well,” she said, “actually, Pork would be quite dangerous if he wanted to be. But normally he’s a sweet boy. I’d suggest you don’t try to feed him until he gets to know you, though, Vartin. I’d hate for you to lose any fingers.”
It wasn’t exactly surprising after my last encounter with the creature—and the memory of those teeth—but the casual way Nim spoke about her lethal little companion was unnerving. If the weasel was truly that dangerous, how could she treat him like a pet? Still, if Nim wasn’t worried, then I would at least try to banish the same worries from my own mind.
“Don’t worry, Nim, I don’t really plan on it. Pork is yours, and I’m not even sure he likes me.”
With heavy, uneven footfalls under the weight of my burden, I followed the faint path Nim had been kind enough to pick out for us earlier that morning. We were well away from the caravan roads; no stone-cut tracks or wagon-carved ruts would appear out here. Instead, Nim had discovered an old game trail that wound between the low hills and sparse trees.
She’d pointed out the deer tracks earlier—the delicate cloven prints pressed deep into the damp soil—but that only shifted my worries. If deer used this path, then something larger and hungrier might use it as well. Predators followed their prey, and in our tired state, we’d make easy quarry.
Nim held none of those worries. She skipped ahead with a soft hum on her lips, slippers barely whispering over roots and stones, as if she weighed nothing at all. Her humming swelled into a sing-song verse as she twirled around a bramble patch.
“Come on, Pork, we’ve got things to do, We’ve got people to see, we’ll find something new. Seeds that we will find, that we can bring back home, Wherever we may roam, we might even find a gnome.”
As she continued to skip forward, the strange weasel burst from the undergrowth and bounded after her, hopping at her heels in exaggerated, playful lunges. A few bright purple feathers from a Frasian lark clung to the fur around his muzzle. Nim just bent slightly as she moved, brushing them away with gentle fingers without ever missing a beat of her song.
To my surprise, the knot of worry in my gut began to loosen. Even as exposed, weaponless, and burdened as I felt, something about Nim’s unshakable cheerfulness and Pork’s ridiculous, bouncing gait lightened the weight in my chest, if not on my shoulders.
Maybe we would reach Shineholm without incident—no bandits springing from the brush, no monsters stalking the deer trail behind us. Maybe we’d actually stumble into town with all our fingers and all our gold. It seemed almost too much to hope for, but as the hills rolled on and Nim’s song drifted through the thinning trees, the thought didn’t feel quite as impossible as it had that morning.
It didn’t take long for the storm to roll in. One moment, the sun hung high in the azure sky, bathing the landscape in a brilliant light, with not a single cloud to mar its perfection. The very air around me shifted as the winds began to howl, and in an instant, the brilliant blue above transformed into a churning expanse of ominous black. The stormfront surged forth like a wave threatening to engulf everything in its path, and soon the dry earth beneath my feet was drenched, darkening to a rich, moistened soil as the first droplets of rain began to fall. We had hoped, optimistically, that the rain would relent as quickly as it had arrived, but our hopes were dashed, and the downpour continued unabated.
An hour into the muddy slog towards Shineholm, with no end to the tempest surrounding us in sight, Nim finally suggested seeking shelter until the storm passed. As much as I wanted to protest and push forward to the distant glow of Shineholm, my body, weary from the trek, protested in earnest. The heavy straps of my pack dug painfully into my shoulders, and the muddy trail offered little purchase, making each step feel like an immense task. The ache that began in my legs and feet had climbed up to my back, a relentless reminder of my exhaustion. I realized I needed to set down my burden before I collapsed under its weight.
Now, nestled in the protective embrace of the cave, I watch as thick smoke drifts lazily from a small fire, winding its way up to the cave's high ceiling and escaping through crevices like serpentine wisps. The smoke twists and coils, conjuring images of a monstrous, headless white snake, its massive form moving through the rocky caverns above. The relentless rain at the entrance acts like nature’s guillotine, severing its head from its body the moment it seeks to emerge from the shadows.
Nim had remarked on how the cave, with its near-perfect formation, was a blessing in this tempest. The hill outside redirected the torrential downpour away from our refuge, while the walls, crafted from solid stone, surrounded us like ancient fortifications. I couldn’t recall the name of the stone she had mentioned, but I remember her cheery note about its lack of limestone—what she humorously called “popping stone.” I regretted asking her about it when she explained how that particular type of limestone was prone to cracking or exploding under fire's heat, resulting in catastrophic cave-ins.
It took an age for me to free myself from the cold, curved embrace of my metal breastplate, clinging with tenacity to my drenched woolen tunic. The weeks of relentless travel wore on my body, robbing me of the agility needed to navigate the intricate buckles. Each movement sent sharp twinges through my sore muscles, as I forced myself to stretch and twist to loosen its grasp. The leather straps of my wrist bracers and greaves were far simpler to remove, and I found solace in that small victory. I needed to dry them out before they succumbed to rust; I simply couldn't afford that kind of repair. Admittedly, I might have lingered too long tending to my gear, but I believed that if I placed my life in something’s hands, it was only right to treat it with the respect it deserved.
As I turned my attention to Nim and Pork, I was drawn in by the sight of a peculiar creature nestled in the elven woman's lap. Its head drooped over the edge, while she gently pulled a wooden comb through its soft, fluffy fur, which was still damp from whatever escapade had transpired. Nim must have either prepared a drying rack beforehand or crafted one in haste; her dress hung limply across a slender wooden beam nearby, absorbing the warmth of the crackling fire. The Pink Elf, no longer adorned in that dress, now wrapped herself in the comforting embrace of the thick woolen blanket I had offered the moment we sought refuge in the dry cave. Her rose-colored hair clung to her face, accentuating her large, doe-like eyes that sparkled like twin stars against the flickering flames—an enchanting glow she likely conjured with a touch of magic.
While I was distracted she must have lit the fire; one second I was rummaging through my belongings for my tinderbox, and the next, the cave was awash in a warm crimson light, bathing everything in its fiery glow.
I left most of my gear in a haphazard pile and cautiously approached the fire, ensuring to maintain a respectful distance as I settled onto the opposite side. My initial inquiry about the creature’s presence had earned me a sharp glare from the large weasel resting in Nim's lap, a clear reminder of our uncharted territory. Though Pork had behaved admirably so far, I didn’t yet feel confident enough in our relationship to test his patience; I rather fancied having all my fingers intact. As I sat on the cold, unforgiving stone beneath me, my body released an internal sigh, appreciating the sturdy surface more than any chair I could recall. I let out a deeper sigh as I stretched my tired shoulders, finding a delicious relief as the familiar tension melted away and my joints popped pleasantly in the gentle light of the fire.
With a contented breath, I turned my attention back to my companion. “Not that I want to look a gift horse in the mouth, Nim, but how did you manage to find this cave…”
Just as I met her gaze again, I found my thoughts adrift. It felt as though time itself had paused when her large, doe-like eyes locked onto mine. Her damp, darker hair framed her round face, slick against the soft pink of her skin, while her delicate, pointed ears peeked through the veil of deep rose draping her neck. The rich brown of the woolen blanket contrasted strikingly with her bright complexion, and the flickering light from the fire danced around her, casting moving shadows that played across her features. Her innocent smile and melodic laughter filled the cave, pulling me from the spell cast by her enchanting presence and snapping me back to reality.
“Oh, well, I asked one of the birds that were hiding in the leafy canopy above us. They chirped happily in exchange for a small handful of seeds I had gathered the day before. Uhm? Vartin, are you alright?”
Nim tilted her head in pure confusion, her expressive eyes wide. I felt a rush of warmth flood my cheeks, reddening my face in the soft glow of the flickering flames that danced in the hearth before us. I really needed to rein in my wandering thoughts; one of these days, they were bound to get me into trouble. Thankfully, Nim was remarkably understanding about my momentary lapse in composure.
“No, no, yes, I'm fine, Nim,” I replied hurriedly, shifting slightly in my damp clothes that clung uncomfortably to my skin. “Other than being soaked to the bone and sore all over, I’m as good as can be. I’m glad you had a change of clothes so your dress could dry by the fire. I, for one, am stuck here, dripping in my wet garments, waiting for the fire to draw the moisture away. It’s pretty incredible that the birds shared news of the cave with you. I’m assuming that’s some magic you possess? I apologize if I’m mistaken; I have no experience with such things. I once tried to conjure a spark, but all I ended up with was a lot of smoke and no fire at all. By the way, I think I still have some cheese and hardtack left in my supplies if you’d like a bite to eat while we wait for the storm to blow over.”
Nim's head tilted even further, making her look adorably curious, and she let out a soft, melodic laugh that warmed the chilly cave air.
“Change of clothes? I have just this one dress and my bags. Where would I even put another dress? The birds? Oh, right, I did use a spell for that. The grandmothers made sure I mastered that incantation better than any other. I miss them dearly, but they’re busy with their own matters, and so am I. I have Special Seeds to find!”
Feeling my cheeks heat further, the crimson flush creeping up my neck, I turned my gaze toward the cave entrance, where a torrential wall of rain awaited just beyond the threshold. Nim must have noticed my sudden shift in demeanor, as I could hear her making an effort to rise but ultimately giving up, which sent Pork, her little creature companion, letting out a squeaky protest at her movement and the abrupt end to the gentle hairbrushing she had been indulging in.
“Vartin, are you sure you’re alright? You’re looking a bit flushed. Humans don’t turn red when they’re sick, do they? Were we out in the rain too long? You should really get out of those wet clothes, silly. I’m sure we can share the blanket to keep warm.”
As tempting as her offer was—and it truly was enticing—I needed to keep my cool. I took a deep breath, savoring the warming aroma of the fire as I steadied my thoughts. “No, Nim, that’s...” I hesitated for a moment, trying to pick my words carefully in this delicate moment. “That’s quite alright, it’s just... I’m not sure how it is in elven culture, but among humans, we tend to keep our clothes on when in mixed company. Not always obviously, but generally speaking. I was trying to be courteous and look away; I wouldn’t want to accidentally peek at you. And sharing a blanket in a situation like this, well, let’s just say we usually reserve that kind of intimacy for more private settings.”
Nim only seemed to become more perplexed, a furrow knitting her brow as she pondered her response. I could almost picture the adorable little grimace forming on her face. What was wrong with me? I needed to collect my wandering thoughts. I had just met this enchanting elf who had saved my life, and here I was taking her to buy some seeds. That was it. We would likely part ways afterward; she certainly wouldn’t want me harboring these thoughts about her. But as she spoke again, I found myself just as bewildered.
“Oh, well, I’ve noticed that humans tend to wear a lot more clothing than the elves I know. Unless they’re in armor, of course.” Her laughter resonated warmly in the cave, filling the space with an inviting light-heartedness. “Did I make a mistake? Are you upset with me, Vartin? You’re wet and cold, so I thought it would be best for you to get dry and warm up. Was what I suggested not the simplest and easiest way to do that? You can look at me, you know; the blanket covers everything, anyway.”
Clearly, a cultural divide existed between us, yet it was important to note that Nim was not to blame. She sensed my discontent and felt guilty because I was making a mountain out of what she considered a minor issue. In her perspective, her solution was simple and practical; however, crossing that boundary was not something I felt comfortable doing so soon after meeting her. Usually, I would have dried off without hesitation, but I needed to reassure her that she hadn't committed any egregious error. I turned back to her, allowing a gentle smile to crease my lips.
“You’re probably right, though I only have you as a reference point, Nim. I’ve never encountered another elf before. You didn’t make any mistakes, and I’m not upset, truly. You’re likely correct about how easy and simple it could be; it’s just a notion I’m not quite at ease with, especially on our first day together. I’ll dry off quickly enough; that storm doesn’t seem inclined to let up anytime soon.”
As I glanced back at Nim, her soft smile appeared like a fragile bloom in a harsh, muddy terrain. I recognized that she was puzzled, yet my words seemed to dissipate any lingering concerns she had about having done something wrong. Wrapped in the heavy blanket, she resembled a delicate flower fighting to thrive in a world where nothing else dared to grow; defiant, yet exquisitely vulnerable.
Suddenly, a cacophony of grumbling voices and the squelching footsteps of drenched boots pulled my attention towards the entrance of the cave. Three figures emerged: two men and a woman. The first man was a hulking figure, reminiscent of a raging bull, with the torn sleeves of his tunic draping off his muscular arms and shoulders, exposing skin etched with the traces of countless battles. The second man was slender, his attire a patchwork of mismatched colors and fabrics that curled and twisted around his neck and mouth, obscuring most of his face, save for his sharp eyes and the stark white scar that ran along the curve of his cheekbone, a silent testament to hardships endured.
The woman stood taller than average and possessed a muscular build that rivaled my own height and weight. But it was the audacious grin that spread across her face as she caught sight of our trio by the fire that sent a chill racing down my spine.
“Look at this, Arik," the thin man mockingly called to the larger, more formidable figure beside him. "Looks like the day hasn’t been a complete waste.”
“Da, I see them,” the massive man responded, casting a scrutinizing glance in our direction. “Look at that dress over there—must be the elves. Elven fashions are sure to fetch a decent price. You’d better hand over anything of value you possess, or Savira is going to relish the opportunity to rid you of your lives.”
With that, the large man reached for a heavy club that was strapped to his rucksack. He nimbly untangled the straps, and the bag—minus the club—plummeted to the stone floor of the cave with a resounding thud, the sound echoing ominously in the dim light.
Jumping to my feet, adrenaline coursed through my veins as I seized the dagger from my belt, its cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light. They couldn't discover the gold I was carrying, a treasure too precious to lose. I had carefully crafted my cover story, weaving a tale of a shipment of iron ore traveling between cities that would satisfy any curious onlooker. But even if they remained oblivious, they still couldn't possess it—not now, not when I was so tantalizingly close to reaching the safety of Shineholm. The endless struggle and pain I had endured to guard this fortune weighed heavily on my mind, and Nim... she was utterly defenseless. Just the thought of the horrors the Bandits could inflict upon her sent a chill down my spine, igniting a fierce determination within me to hold my ground.
The woman who must have been Savira stood before me, a predatory grin spreading across her face, the corners of her mouth curving into a sinister line that threatened to shatter my resolve. As she advanced, the low light glinted off the two hand axes she expertly pulled from their loops at her hips. She held her ground with the poise of a seasoned warrior, neither charging at me recklessly nor pulling back to give me space; I understood that this was no ordinary fight. The tension in the air crackled around us, making it clear that survival wasn’t just uncertain—failure would likely come at a deadly cost. When she spoke, her voice dripped with a confidence that was palpable, leaving me with the grim realization that I might not see the end of this storm.
“A Brave one, good. This didn’t have to end in bloodshed, but I'm so glad that it did. At least try and make it entertaining, boy.”
