A few days after their meeting with Dea, Baladin and Moromir came upon an inn. It was the first sign of present civilization they had seen in a long time. Once they were seated on dry seats, and were given warm food with spices, Baladin realized how much he had missed this life.

The inn was built in one of many ruined watchtowers standing along the Great South Road. About half of the patrons, sitting along a long table stuck awkwardly on one edge of the circular room, were from the local lumber mill. They were discussing deflation and developments in the industry (of which there were few). Normally, they would have filled the room with loud voices. But today, their sound had been stowed away.

Because in addition to Baladin and Moromir, there were seven other foreigners staying in the inn. Baladin had never actually seen people from other parts of the Empire, but it was easy to tell that they weren’t locals.

First were a group of four men and women, armed with shoddy mail and rusty weapons, all wearing sunglasses and studying tourist maps of the area (Found by the door to the watchtower. In addition to marking the inn and the lumber mill, it contained information about the eastern Southern Plains Area’s sixth largest boulder, some distance away).

An incredibly tall and muscular woman, to the point where Baladin didn’t know if she was human (nor, indeed, if other races than humans existed), sat on a small stool with her eyes closed. Leaning against her shoulder was a spear of pure metal, thick and so tall that it could not be placed upright below the low roof.

By the bar was a tall man with arms like twigs struggling to lift a horn of mead to his lips.

Finally, in the exact center of the circular room, a nobleman wearing colorful clothes of silk with uncountably many necklaces around his neck, rings on every finger, and so much metal in his ear that it could count as armor. His skin was very pale and clear of imperfections, and his thick, brown hair was colored with blonde stripes. His name was Tune, which Baladin knew because he was playing the lute and singing with a soft, wounded voice:

“I am Tune, Tune am I.

With skin of snow and eyes of sky.

I am Tune, Tune am I.

On western winds I swiftly fly.”

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And so on, repeating the same four lines every time, for as long as Baladin and Moromir had been in the inn.

Baladin and Moromir, sitting in what amounted for the darkest corner inside the brightly lit, had just finished their stew. The innkeeper, a stocky woman, came to collect their dishes.

“That was a mighty fine meal,” said Moromir, patting his stomach. “Too bad we cannot eat like this every day on the trail, huh? Tell me, miss innkeeper, what is this fine meal called?”

“Oh, sorry, we are low on meat, so we had to give you travel provisions,” said the innkeeper.

“Travel provisions, eh? Magnificent!”

“You know,” said Baladin, “if you like them so much, maybe we can buy some for the road?”

“Why would the road do with these travel provisions?” asked Moromir.

“We could eat them, for one.”

“Eating travel provisions while traveling? Risky! No, I think we shall stick to our current solution.”

“Come on,” said Baladin. “Innkeeper, how much would it cost for, say, three weeks?”

“Next week is a leap week, so that would work out to around six copper pieces per person.”

“Look at that! Twelve copper pieces, that’s nothing! Moromir, what say you we splurge?”

“Nonsense. I thought you loved picking blueberries.”

“I’ve literally done nothing but complain about it. And imagine how fast we could move if we didn’t have to spend eight hours every day picking blueberries!”

“Picking blueberries builds character. And you will need a lot of character when you defeat the dark lord.”

“About that... What’s the whole deal about killing the dark lord? Is that where we’re going right now? Because I don’t even have a sword.”

“I wish I could tell you…” said Moromir.

“You can.”

“No. You are not ready. Premature information is the number one killer in the Empire. That is how your father died.” Moromir looked into the distance. Then he added. “Obviously, I did not know him. But statistically speaking, it is probably what happened.”

“But you do have a plan, right?”

“Of course. This plan has been developed by the wise elders of my order for many centuries. But it is vitally important that you be left in the dark.”

At this point, the innkeeper, who had left with their dishes, climbed on top of a table. The conversations died down quickly, with the exception of Tone, then nobleman, who kept singing quietly.

“Alright everyone! I am very happy to see so many people show up to the annual Lumbervale festival. We’ve got a great program set up, starting with the prophecised weapon hunt. If you want to participate, please add your name to the form by the bar. Thank you!”

“That’s interesting. I didn’t know there was a festival,” said Baladin.

He looked over at Moromir, who has sweating.

“Oh cruel fate! Baladin, quickly, you must add our names to that list.”

“Wait, this is the plan?”

“Yes. I now realize I have kept you in the dark for too long. I just hope it is not too late… If we do not win the prophecised weapon hunt, the entire world is in danger!”