“... it was then that monstrosities breached the demonic realm and into ours. With the help of Lady Rutley, I was able to reach the top of Goldenlight tower and assist the prince in subduing the sorcerer. He… they were guarded by traitors and a horrific bone monster the size of house with features so horrid I dare not describe it. Thankfully… the prince managed to reach the crystal atop Goldenlight and shattered this devilish ritual with a spell… taught to him by the druids. It unfortunately… sent a ripple of magic throughout the land, including down into the tower itself. With a mighty rumble, the entire place came crashing down with us still on top of it. When I awoke, I found… that Lady Rutley had died protecting me. The prince too, perished during… the descent. Only Duke Haukr and the sorcerer and his champion remained. The sorcerer fled leaving only the duke and myself after we cut down his champion. After that? Well… Prince Edward arrived and the rest… is history, I suppose. ”
- Sophie, “Campfire Conversation”
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Why did I lie? Sophie looked away and fiddled with her ponytail.To make them feel good? To hide myself? To make it believable? They wouldn’t believe a stupid idiot like myself was the one who stopped the crystals. Not that I would want them to know either. She sighed, catching the redhead off guard by wordlessly leaning against her, resting her head on Aryana’s shoulder.
It had been an exhausting night. What first started with only the sergeant peppering her with questions about the exact nature of the fall of Melisgrad, soon evolved to the small group interrogation around the fire. They asked her about the fight, the sights, and everything in between. On some level, Sophie found kindred spirits who enjoyed tales of adventure and travel. On the other hand, she could sense that part of it was also them trying to size her up, to determine if she was truly an adventurer knight or not. She answered what she could, censoring whatever was necessary to paint herself as both present but not pivotal to the events of Melisgrad.
Now that the duo were back in the wagon, she found herself feeling immensely tired yet decidedly affectionate. She coquettishly smiled at Aryana, planting a quick peck on the girl’s soft cheek. Aryana purred at her, nuzzling her back with a fond look on her face. The two softly giggled before rearranging a few boxes to set up their pillows.
“Sorry.” Sophie whispered.
“It’s okay.” Ary cooed as she coquettishly smiled, “I get it.”
“Mmm, you’re the best.” Sophie hummed.
The two cuddled closer together, the uncomfortable wooden boards of the wagon creaking as they shuffled. Sophie felt apologetic for asking unreasonable things and was mostly just grateful that Aryana was so accommodating. It wasn’t that Sophie was afraid of camping in tents, she just wanted to avoid the crowd of soldiers and caravaneers as much as possible.
Sophie let out a small yawn. Aryana followed soon after but bopped Sophie on the nose, prompting her to return the gesture in kind. The two stewed in their own thoughts, passing around little gestures of affection until sleep slowly claimed them.
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The next two days passed by much the same. Long bouts of waiting around in the caravan until a rest stop in which they could hop out and stretch their legs. Hundreds of boots marched alongside them, the caravan now having fully integrated into the volunteer force’s baggage train. As day turned to night, the routine they shared grew similar too. The caravan would camp out alongside the troops, and a few soldiers would visit to trade stories or goods. The Meltonian sergeant also often sought her out, inquiring about the state of affairs up north, revealing that it’d been half a decade since he had moved away.
It had been a fascinating experience. Allowing Sophie to learn that the Arterian volunteers were being deployed as a defensive troop to plug some gaps in the Abenstadtian defensive line. The war, it would seem, was getting dangerously close to expanding even further if more of Abenstadt’s fortresses were to be destroyed or taken. For now the status quo held as Traxian legions grinded themselves against Abenstadt’s ducal guard. But as both sides edge closer to a resolution, everyone knew that sooner or later, one side would falter and then all hell would break loose.
It was a sobering thought. One that weighed on the fringes of her mind as she cast her eyes along the road. Things seemed so peaceful and jovial for now, but soon most of the soldiers they traveled with would be dead or scarred by battle. As I have too, she had glumly thought.
Her mood only lasted until the next head pat, her mind immediately filling with thoughts and worries about Aryana instead. That joy however, only lasted until the caravan finally arrived at Festheim. The caravaneers had described it as a minor fortified trading town located along the Angel’s Tear river that ran alongside it. That now seemed like a woefully inaccurate statement when they crested over a hill and the city came into sight. Hundreds of tents, makeshift structures, and fortified barracks dotted the fields all around the city. Thousands of troops already wandering all around as mercenary officers galloped to and fro on horseback. Siegeworks and trenches were dug further behind, having excavated a treeline and turning those into more reinforced earthworks. Catapults, onagers and trebuchets loomed over the town walls. What she saw wasn’t a town and the troops guarding it, what she saw was stuff that she’d only ever read in books. War, it seemed, was getting far closer than she had ever expected.
As the caravan rolled by the troops, she noticed a different air about them. Unlike the Arterian force, the Abenstadtians were born and bred for war. Their demanours were blunt, cold and concise; their moves calculated and impactful. Where the Arterians still remained cheery or at least optimistic, the mercenaries worked as if death loomed right around the corner. A group of Arterian officers were meeting with Abenstadtian ones and they could not look more different. The Arterians were equipped with a mix of chainmail and leathers, but their overall aesthetic remained as cohesive as their benefactors back in the city state. Plain undecorated armour with a dash of the colours of their respective trading house sponsors. The Abenstatian’s on the other hand, were thousands strong but an eclectic mix of whatever attire was approved for each individual mercenary company, whatever a militiaman could provide for themselves, and the odd detachment of state troops wearing armoured doublets and leather jerkins sporting the insignia of the Grand Duke. A two headed crow.
Disembarking their wagon at long last, both Aryana and Sophie took the time to survey the lands of Abenstadt. King in all but name, the Grand Duke of Abenstadt rules from a fortress city that also saddles the Angel’s Tear River. If mercantile wealth, trade, and guilds aplenty meant that Arteria was a lively, arguably still cheerful place in the face of danger, then Abenstadt was its distant cousin who thrived on conflict. The very air they breathed felt dreary, fueled by the taciturn nature of its inhabitants. Where gaudy, opulent and excess dominated the Arterian philosophy of design. Just from looking at the buildings surrounding the town and the walls alone, there was a sense of utilitarian pragmatism in the blocky, nearly lifeless looking design. Thick chunky walls surrounded thick blocky buildings, with only the occasional differently shaped structure to break the uniform arrangement of the town. In the land of mercenaries, luxury was reserved for those who fought and plundered, the rest it felt like, were left to their own devices.
“We certainly aren’t in Arteria anymore.” Sophie grumbled to herself, stretching her tired limbs.
“Everything’s so… square.” Ary cooed.
“I reckon it’s because everything is modelled to be a fortress.” Sophie chuckled.
“Is it really?” Ary gasped. No way.
Sophie suppressed a snort and just nodded, “Why else does everything look like they’re built to withstand a siege.” Not like I would actually know, never even been here before.
Aryana accepted her word as fact and marvelled at the structures around them. Squares of all angles, colors and decorations dotted the streets of Festheim. The people too, dressed their part in the display, looking more like sad peasants than burghers or merchants. Every once in a while they would spot a few more well dressed individuals, sporting capes, robes or something that set them apart from the tunic clad commoners. The sour faces of the people here also kept her alert, primed to respond to any trouble. Though I suppose anyone stirring up trouble here might probably just get executed on the spot. There’s more than enough mercenaries and guards walking around. So why do I feel so uneasy?I
“Sophie, there.” Ary whispered, pointing at a large square with a sign jutting out of it.
“The Threshold Inn.” Sophie read the words, “Guess we made it.”
Aryana nodded, a grim look of determination on her face.
The caravan master had directed the duo here, telling them that all he was told was to point them in the right direction. He had also given them a small envelope meant for the Southshore captain that was supposed to pick them up in about two weeks time. An envelope that Sophie promptly handed to Aryana for safekeeping on the off chance they got separated. That way, Ary can at least enjoy herself. Sophie shuddered at the depressing thought, and what happens to me? I’m just stuck somewhere or half battered to hells?
“Sophie.” Ary asked.
“Yeah?”
“Who are we meeting?”
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“I… I don’t actually know. I…I uhh, I think I paid attention, and no one got mentioned. At least not that I recall. Unless, you heard a description that I missed? Besides the captian in two weeks time.”
Aryana shook her head.
“Well… shit.” Sophie cursed before sighing, “Let’s get on with it then.”
A tiny nod.
The duo pushed open the door to the inn, finding their senses instantly assailed by the strong scent of booze and gruff laughter. Peering within, Sophie found two immediate oddities. Firstly, that the interior reflected the exterior with pinpoint accuracy, for it was drab, dreary, and just as depressing. The second was that just with a glance alone, she could tell that the inn was mainly filled with bearded dwarves. Their short stocky stature fit surprisingly well with the angled ceilings and rooms, Sophie biting her lip to suppress a giggle from the thought.
Aryana meanwhile managed to flag down the innkeep, a heavy set more mature dwarven woman who turned her curious eyes at the duo. A handful of the dwarves also looked over, more than a beards were stroked as they coldly analysed the new arrivals.
“Welcome to The Threshold. How may I help you?” The lady smiled warmly.
“Uhh, can…” Sophie paused as she looked around, unsure if she should ask about the inquisitor, probably not, the dwarves don’t look too happy to see us right now, “can we get a quick bite to eat?”
“Oh of course, dear. Today’s special is grilled spear carp, is that alright?” The lady asked.
“Uhh, yeah.”
“Lovely! Please go take a seat, your table will be number seventeen, at the far side by the stairs.” The lady pointed to a desolate looking corner of the inn. Great, as if we don’t already stand out enough.
The two shuffled their way over to the table, all too aware of the hushed whispering and eyes that followed their every move. The inn itself was comfortable enough even though the atmosphere was lacking. A few rustic looking tapestries sat solemnly on the walls, their worn appearance suggesting that the institution was both old, but also unable or unwilling to replace their aging decor for some reason. However, Sophie noted how most of the tables, chairs, and even wall lanterns seemed to be designed immaculately, without a shred of the battered and bruised nature of most tavern furniture. She would’ve overlooked this detail if not for the fact that when she pushed down onto the table, she could feel the almost overly sturdy nature of it. Made with care and effort, that’s for sure. But then why do the walls look so drab?
Aryana didn’t seem bothered, and for that Sophie was grateful. A happy if somewhat subdued expression rested on the girl’s face. Aryana was on alert, just like Sophie, but also enjoying immersing herself in this strange new environment.
“Sophie.” Ary quietly squeaked.
“Yeah?”
“Someone’s coming.”
Sophie nodded, nonchalantly leaning backwards before feigning a yawn to sneak another peak around them. True to her word, out of the corner of Sophie’s eye, she could spy a stocky dwarven man heading towards them. Well… shit. She flashed a small smile at Aryana, offering the girl what little reassurance she could as the heavy thud of footsteps got closer. The moment he got ready to speak was when Sophie watched Aryana’s eyes transition away from her to a figure standing close behind her.
“Oi, you two wonderful ladies.” A gruff but neutral voice called out, “Got room for a third?”
Sophie turned to look at the dwarf proper. He was a muscular and burly dwarf with his beard separated into three brownish braids. His eyes carried the hardened look of someone who just wanted to get things done, though his stance suggested a more curious aspect hiding behind the facade.
“Of course, please sit.” Sophie grunted, continuing to scan the area just in case.
The dwarf plopped himself down with a hearty thud, his weight making the chair creak, the noise making Sophie wince as she half expected him to fall. Giving him another once over, Sophie noted the small knife tucked into its small sheathe by his waist. His outfit consisted of a lightly but elegantly decorated orange yellow tunic, yet, underneath, she could see the outline and top of a padded armour poking out from his collar. So he expected a fight of sorts… great. Sophie hid her anxious sigh with a yawn.
“Tired, madam?” The dwarf asked.
“A little, it’s been a… long journey so far.”
“Aye, the roads are getting rough with the war ongoing. Make way for the military and what not.” He chuckled, “So if knowing that, what brings the two of ye here to this… illustrious town.”
Sophie and Aryana traded glances, the redhead shooting her a look that said, ‘your problem’. Sophie smiled, making Aryana feign a small pout in response.
“We’re actually here to meet with someone.” Sophie finally answered.
“Oh? Are ye? Funny choice of meetin’ spot I’ll say. Ain’t nothing but fish and grass here. Any idea who you’re meeting?”
Sophie shook her head, “Not a fucking clue.”
The dwarf seemed a little caught off guard by her anwser, but quickly burst out with a hearty laugh that almost made her jump.
“So yer don’t even know who ye looking for? Just shimmey out here on a whim like?” He clapped his hands together.
“Well, we were told to meet here.” Sophie rolled her eyes.
“And ye’d come, just like that?”
Sophie shrugged, “I guess.”
“Hah! Amazing. Ye must be a young one then. Fool of child to be so trusting and the like.”
“That might be the case, but who are you to question two travelers on their business?” Sophie remarked snarkily.
“Hoh! Getting antsy are we?”
“Perhaps. I’m not exactly a fan of entertainer strangers.”
“Sophie! That’s rude.” Ary let out a small gasp before immediately looking apologetic.
Sophie almost let out an instinctive snarl before freezing, I… I almost snapped at Ary. Horrified, she bit back any retort and just mumbled, “Sorry.”
“Getting reigned in eh? But I suppose the little lady has a point. Where are my manners? Uldren Holsgrim. At your service. Though I must say, Sophie is a strange name for a twiglet.” He huffed.
“Twiglet?”
“Aye, you with your pointy arse ears.” He chortled, wagging his finger at her, "Built like a twig, look like a twig."
“Right. Are you trying to pick a fight?” Sophie bristled, “Who the hells even are you? As in, why the fuck do you matter?”
“Ye think you can take me and my boys, eh? I just happen to be the co-owner of this establishment.” He grinned, a look of challenge in his eyes, “So I can pick whatever fight I wish, heh.”
Sophie slowly looked around, finding the rest of the inn was listening intently on their argument. She also saw how the other dwarves seemed ready to pounce, their hands in positions ready to pull out their weapons. Sophie looked back to Aryana to find the girl looking somewhat frightened, an air of concern radiating around her. Tch, if she wasn’t here… Goddess no! What am I thinking?
Sophie’s fingers drummed against her own sheath, clicking her tongue in annoyance before leaning back on her chair.
“I… I can probably take half of you before I get knocked out.”
“Half? Half?! Hah… hahah!” Uldren laughed, slapping his knees with a jovial grin on his face, “Got a lotta spunk for a twig. How about we take this outside and find if you fight as good as you-”
“Holsgrim. You start any shit and you’re not sleeping in the bed for the next month.” The innkeeper returned, the bark of her voice making the dwarf stiffening up.
“Th-” Uldren tried to speak.
“You shut that rock stuffed mouth right now.” The innkeeper snapped.
Uldren mutely obeyed.
“And you two dearies. Your food.” The lady smiled warmly, “Don’t worry, ol’ Holsgrim will cover your bill.”
“I-” Uldren didn’t have a chance to speak before he received a glare that shut him up. He nodded.
“Good. Now get moving, you old coot.” She berated the dwarf.
“Y-yes dear.” The dwarven warrior hopped off the chair, his head hung in shame as his comrades all burst out laughing.
Satisfied, the innkeeper nodded to herself before taking over the dwarf’s seat, setting the two plates of food down in front of them. With a matronly smile, she gestured for them to begin and the duo offered a small thanks before tucking in. The carp was well seasoned though a bit spongy and carried a fresh earthy if somewhat mineraly taste. The vegetables offered a nice contrast to the flavor and texture of the carp, giving the crunch that was missing from the fish alone. Once they were mostly through their quiet silent meal, the innkeeper cleared her throat, as if asking for permission to speak.
As Sophie moved to speak, Aryana practiced her newly acquired skills and glared at her. Almost like she blamed Sophie for the tension that was brought about in her interactions with the dwarf. Now it was her turn to be cowed, and she sighed before meekly raising her hands in surrender, giving the redhead the floor. How the tables turn heh, though I guess I wouldn’t try to defy Ary either. The idea of her being mad at me makes me feel ill at ease.
“H-hi. I’m Aryana, that is Sophie. Sorry for the trouble.” Ary bowed her head. Sophie following in turn.
“Oh, it’s alright dearie. Uldren is a bit of a hothead sometimes, and like most of us, he shares a… small level of distaste for the highborn. No offense.” The innkeeper tilted her head at Sophie, “He was just tryna rile you up. Don’t give him no mind.” She proclaimed the last words loudly, prompting some chuckles from the other dwarves in the inn.
“No worries. It’s fine.” Ary spoke for the duo.
“Aren’t you lovely? The name’s Tilda Holsgrim, how can I help ya?” She smiled.
“We’re… waiting or looking for someone really. We got told to wait here.”
“Oh? Could ya describe them? I have a good eye for folk coming and going.”
Ary tried to hide her uncertainty and frowned at Sophie. Alright, alright, Sophie nodded.
“Black hat, black coat. Hawk like eyes, kind of looks like he’s up to no good.” Sophie answered.
Tilda seemed to think for a moment, before the knitted frown on the dwarven woman’s face turned into arches holding up the flicker of recognition in her eyes. That burst of hope deflated just as quickly. She sighed and seemed almost disappointed, casting a small look back at her husband and then turning back to the duo with a resigned look in her eyes.
“Well… I have some good news and bad news…” Tilda began.
Great. The dwarf that wants to fight me is our escort, isn’t he?