After a long and arduous journey, Silas and Rowan finally reached the gates of Impsbane, a wave of relief and anticipation washing over them. Impsbane, nestled within a dense forest and flanked by towering cliffs, exuded an air of mystery. The towering stone walls of Impsbane loomed ahead, The sun began to dip behind the mountains, casting shadows that stretched across the land like sleeping giants. Quite an ironic sight for a city named after an imp.

Silas and Rowan passed through the gates without incident. As they entered the city, the bustling streets quickly enveloped them in a whirlwind of activity. Merchants called out to potential customers, and the scent of various foods wafted through the air, mingling with the smell of earth and moss from the surrounding forest.

Rowan’s stomach growled audibly as they walked, earning a chuckle from Silas.

Rowan shot him a mock glare. “Can you blame me? We’ve been living on dried rations for days. I need real food.”

“You sure do complain a lot,” Silas remarked with a smirk.

“Well, I’m a growing man and need some real food,” Rowan barked back, rolling his eyes. “Not this dried-up excuse for rations.”

Before they could continue their search for sustenance, Silas suggested, “Alright, alright, but first let’s find a stable to secure our horses. They’ve carried us a long way and deserve a well-earned rest.”

Rowan agreed, and they followed the signs toward the stables. The stable was a sturdy building, its wooden roof sheltering several well-maintained stalls. A stablehand greeted them as they approached.

Welcome to Impsbane Stables,” the stablehand greeted them with a nod. “Looking for a place to rest your horses?

Silas and Rowan explained that they needed to stable their horses for the night. The stablehand nodded and led them to two empty stalls. As they unloaded their horses, the stablehand offered to feed and water them.

“Thank you,” Silas said. He paid ten bronze grand-era coins for the day and continued, “We’ll be back later to check on them.”

Silas and Rowan turned their attention to finding a place to eat with their horses settled in. They wandered through the city, taking in the sights and sounds.

They made their way through the marketplace, and the sights and sounds of Impsbane’s diverse populace filled their senses. The market was a chaotic blend of stalls selling everything from exotic fruits to strange magical trinkets. As they passed a stall selling roasted meats, Rowan couldn’t help but stop and stare, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the sizzling food.

“This is it,” Rowan said, eyes lighting up as he reached for his coin pouch.

Silas nodded, distracted. “You go ahead. I’ll check out that tavern. It should be a good place to gather information,” he added, nodding toward the building.

Rowan waved him off, too focused on the food to argue. “Sure, sure. I’ll be here with Goldie.”

Silas pushed open the wooden door of the tavern, the warm, dimly lit interior contrasting sharply with the bustling market outside. The scent of ale and raucous laughter filled the air, mixing with the low hum of conversations among seasoned travellers scattered around the room.

As Silas made his way to the bar, a different sound caught his ear, drawing his attention to a small stage in the corner. A bard, clad in worn leathers and a traveller’s cloak, stood there, strumming a lute with practised fingers. The tavern’s noise quieted slightly as the bard began to sing a familiar tune, known across the Amberfell continent as ‘A Heroic March’. The song was a staple in taverns and gatherings, a tragic tale that resonated deeply with those who lived in the shadow of war and conflict:

“A bold warrior, a noble by birth,

Renowned for bravery, his strength and his worth.

His weapon a blade of legend’s name,

Never did this warrior sully his fame.”

Silas paused, his hand hovering over the bar as he listened. The bard’s voice had a haunting quality, a resonance that seemed to touch something deep within each listener’s soul. Silas ordered a drink, his attention divided between the conversation around him and the unfolding tale in the bard’s song.

“But fate, it would seem, had a cruel design,

To test his spirit and break his spine.

A deranged ruler consumed by jealousy and spite,

Forced him to fight with all his might.”

The words struck a chord with Silas. The tale of a warrior trapped by the whims of power, a tragic story indeed. He sipped his drink, letting the bitter taste of ale mix with the bitter truth of the song.

“The warrior’s kin, now in dire plight,

Feared the ruler and his ruthless might.

With hearts of treachery and voices low,

They forced their own to face the foe!”

Silas glanced around the room, noticing the expressions of the other patrons. Some listened intently, while others appeared lost in their thoughts, gazes distant. Clearly, the song had cast a spell over the tavern, each verse pulling them deeper into the tragic story.

“For his friends, for his kin,

He waged a war he knew he wouldn’t win.

His spirit torn, his heart dismayed,

He fought the fight, his soul dismayed.”

The bard’s voice softened, sorrow threading through each note as he continued:

“He clashed with power, he clashed with pride,

Yet, he knew his fate was already tied.

A single act of kinship had its cost,

Whatever he loved and cherished was thus lost…”

Silas felt a shiver run down his spine. Maybe this would be a fate that awaited him someday. He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling, but the bard’s final verses held him captive.

"A tragic hero who stayed brave and true,

Whose tales were lost to the morning dew.

Forced by kindness and his duty’s snare,

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

His legend is now only heard in whispered prayers!!”

Silas found himself deep in thought as the last notes of ‘A Heroic March’ faded into the tavern’s stillness. The bard’s tale was a reminder of the harsh realities that warriors faced—sacrifices made in the name of duty, with little more than whispered prayers to remember them by.

He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, the warmth of the ale doing little to dispel the chill that had settled in his bones. With a nod to the bard, who acknowledged him with a sombre smile, Silas turned back to the bar, ready to gather the information he came for, but now with a weightier heart.

Meanwhile, outside in the market, Rowan had just finished paying for his food when something caught his eye. A man riding a large tiger was making his way through the crowd, the massive beast moving with a grace that belied its size. Rowan’s eyes widened in amazement. “Wow,” he breathed, utterly impressed by the sight.

Goldie, nestled in his arms, seemed less enthused. The little cub let out a disgruntled huff, his tiny face scrunching up in annoyance. After a moment of trying, the cub managed to mimic Rowan’s exclamation with a surprisingly clear “Wow.”

Rowan blinked, startled. He looked down at Goldie in confusion. “Did you just…speak?” he asked, though the bear cub ignored him, now fixed on the nearby food stall. Goldie began to squirm in Rowan’s arms, letting out more insistent “wow”s as it reached out toward the sizzling meat.

Rowan, still flustered, followed Goldie’s gaze and spotted a girl standing by the food stall. She wore black attire that contrasted sharply with her golden hair and eyes. The sight of her took Rowan’s breath away, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Wow,” again, completely swept off his feet by her beauty.

As he continued to stare, his mind raced. ‘Could she be the owner of this stall?’ He wondered. It would explain why she was standing there so confidently, overseeing the cooking with an air of authority. The thought only made her more intriguing. ‘A beautiful girl who also knows her way around good food?’ Rowan felt like he’d hit the jackpot.

Sensing Rowan’s distraction, Goldie grumbled in frustration and continued to reach for the food, his “wow”s turning into whines as he tried to get Rowan’s attention back on the important matter of eating.

Rowan snapped out of his daze, suddenly feeling a pang of nervousness. ‘Should I say something? Maybe compliment her cooking?’ He hesitated, glancing between the girl and the food stall, unsure of how to approach her. His usual confidence seemed to evaporate in her presence, replaced by a mix of admiration and awkwardness.

Just then, Silas returned from the tavern, his expression curious as he approached Rowan. “Find anything interesting?” he asked.

Rowan turned to Silas, a dazed look on his face. “Oh, I found something alright,” he said, his voice dreamy. “Silas, there’s good news for you. You’re getting a sister-in-law soon.”

Silas froze mid-step, his words caught in his throat. “...What?” he exclaimed after a moment, blinking at Rowan as if unsure he’d heard correctly.

Rowan nodded, his expression far too sincere for Silas’s comfort. “You’re getting a sister-in-law soon, she’s perfect.”

Silas burst out laughing, clapping Rowan on the back. “Does the unfortunate woman know this yet?”

Rowan’s face turned beet red, and he stammered, “W-well, not yet, but she will. Eventually…” He glanced back at the girl, still wondering if he should strike up a conversation. ‘Maybe I should ask her about the food first…’

Before Silas could respond, Goldie, who had been ignored for far too long in his opinion, decided to make his presence known. The bear cub let out another perfectly timed “wow,” his small voice cutting through the moment and leaving both boys momentarily stunned.

Silas looked down at the cub, his jaw-dropping in disbelief. “Did… did your bear just talk?”

Rowan, equally taken aback, could only shrug helplessly. “I… I think so?”

Goldie, clearly uninterested in their shock, continued to squirm in Rowan’s arms, his eyes fixated on the food stall as he let out more “wow”s, this time with increasing urgency.

Silas shook his head as the situation’s absurdity sank in. “This day just keeps getting stranger.”

Snapping out of his stupor, Rowan couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “Alright, alright,” he said, finally relenting as he handed over a piece of meat to Goldie, who eagerly accepted the offering. “Let’s focus on the task at hand.”

Silas nodded, though his smile lingered. “Agreed. We’ve got a trial to prepare for.”

As they walked back through the market, Rowan couldn’t resist glancing back toward the girl with golden hair, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘I’ll talk to her next time’, he promised himself. Silas noticed but decided to let it go for now. There would be time to tease him later. For now, their minds needed to be on the trials ahead.

They made their way toward the outskirts of Impsbane, the sky growing darker as night began to fall.

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

As Silas and Rowan exited the bustling marketplace, the anticipation of their upcoming trial hung heavily between them. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, entering the cold embrace of the night. The city was alive with the sounds of merchants closing up shop and the evening crowd beginning to gather in taverns and around street performers.

Silas turned to Rowan, his expression more serious than before. “I spoke to some adventurers in the tavern,” he began, his voice low. “According to them, the ruby-eyed serpent was last spotted near the southern edge of the city, in a place called Smith Street. A customer visiting a blacksmith’s shop claimed to have seen the serpent coiled up among the weapons.”

Rowan’s ears perked up at the mention of the blacksmith. “A blacksmith’s shop? That sounds like a solid lead,” he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. “Maybe the serpent was drawn to something in the shop.”

Silas nodded. “Exactly what I was thinking. The adventurers said the customer tried to capture the serpent, but it slipped away before anyone could get a good look at it. Still, it’s the best lead we have.”

With their destination set, the two made their way through the winding streets, heading toward the southern part of the city. As they approached Smith Street, the crowd thinned as they moved away from the market, replaced by the clang of metal and the hiss of steam. The air grew warmer, filled with the scent of burning coal and hot iron. Blacksmiths lined the street, their forges glowing with heat as they worked late into the evening.

It didn’t take long to find the shop they were looking for. The blacksmith’s sign hung above a wide entrance, the name “Ironhand Forge” etched across a wooden plank in bold letters. Inside, the rhythmic pounding of a hammer on metal echoed through the air.

The blacksmith was a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and powerful arms that spoke of years spent at the forge. He looked up as Silas and Rowan entered, wiping sweat from his brow with a rag.

“Evening, lads,” the blacksmith greeted, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for some information,” Silas said, stepping forward. “We heard that someone spotted a serpent in your shop earlier today. A ruby-eyed serpent.”

The blacksmith’s brows furrowed in thought. “Ah, yes. That would’ve been earlier in the day. A customer was in here looking for armour when he spotted the thing. Slippery creature, it was. Vanished towards Pine Street before anyone could get close.”

Rowan leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Do you remember what you were working on when the serpent appeared?”

The blacksmith scratched his chin, then nodded. “Aye, I was making a set of poison arrows. Special order for a hunter passing through town. Had to coat the tips with Feverent Venom. Nasty stuff.”

“Feverent Venom?” Rowan repeated, his interest deepening. “That’s made from Fever Fig, isn’t it?”

The blacksmith looked puzzled by why Rowan asked these questions but answered nonetheless. “Aye, fever fig is the main ingredient. The stuff’s powerful—Causes a rapid rise in body temperature—and can be fatal if not treated. It’s the kind of stuff hunters and assassins play around with.”

Rowan glanced at Silas, the pieces starting to come together in his mind. “Thank you for the information,” he said before leading Silas out of the shop.

Once they were back outside, Silas turned to Rowan, curiosity evident on his face. “What’s on your mind? You seemed pretty interested in that Feverent Venom.”

As Rowan's father was a merchant, he knew about various goods, including rare herbs, exotic fruits, strange creatures, medicines, and plants. This knowledge proved invaluable as they investigated the Feverent Venom. Rowan, drawing from his father's expertise, quickly realised the connection between the Fever Fig and crimson scale pythons.

Rowan nodded, his thoughts racing. “Fever Fig is a rare fruit, but it has a very strong scent. It’s known to attract certain creatures, particularly crimson scale pythons. They can smell it from a mile away. But here’s the thing—crimson scale pythons don’t have ruby eyes.”

Silas frowned, processing the information. “So, you think the serpent might be a crimson scale python, but something’s off?”

“Exactly,” Rowan said, still puzzled. “The fact that it was drawn to the shop makes sense if it’s attracted to the Fever Fig. But the ruby eyes… that’s strange. It could be something else entirely, or maybe it’s a mutation.”

Silas considered this, then nodded. “Well, it’s the best lead we have. If the serpent was attracted to the Fever Fig, maybe we can use it to lure it out.”

Rowan grinned, his confidence returning. “That’s what I was thinking. Let’s find some Fever Fig and see if we can’t draw this serpent out of hiding.”

With their plan set, the two left Smith Street, intent on gathering the Fever Fig they needed. The city of Impsbane held many secrets, but Silas and Rowan were determined to capture the ruby-eyed serpent.