Roderick takes a stool from the nearest vacant table and places it at the very end of the group's, allowing him face perpendicular to them, adjacent to the knight and team leader.

“So, you all plan to continue north?” Roderick cuts to the chase.

“We do.” Veros answers bluntly.

“All the way to Armasstadt?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” The captain leans back a bit, dejected at the thought of seeing more travelers head into the treacherous north. “Most who reach us simply have the sense to turn around and head back to the barrier – grab that Mistwalker wage with all the bonuses obtained by stopping at each checkpoint on the way. It's extremely rare to see people determined to continue north, and even rarer for them to come back. Obviously, considering the rotting brute you brought with you, you intend to come back. But how confident are you, really?”

The six Mistwalkers all look around the table at each other, unsure of how to feel. They're all well aware of the increasing danger as they progress north, and they don't know what sort of horrific beings they could encounter past the Rosemont line, but they've resolved themselves all the same.

“Confident enough.” Veros responds after the moment of deliberation. “We've made up our minds, and we want to reach Armasstadt.”

“Very well.” Roderick nods. “Then I'll give a bit of assistance.”

“How so?” The veteran wonders, curious as to what sort of help could possibly be offered.

“Another forty miles north is a settlement.” The captain speaks as he leans in. “A village named Terrance. The Legion hasn't yet committed to any sort of plan to expand northward, so a group of Mistwalkers did it in their stead.”

“How were they able to manage such a thing?” Atticus wonders aloud.

“We helped them.” Roderick immediately gives a concise answer. “Over the course of several weeks, my men helped them fortify the village. We continue to send a portion of our food supply up to them every two weeks, as well.”

“How many other Mistwalkers are there?” Veros asks.

“Fourteen, last I heard. If you reach them by nightfall, you'll have another reasonably safe place to sleep.”

“Alright.” The team leader nods with great consideration to Roderick's helpful information. “Thank you for telling us this.”

“No problem.” The captain stands and returns the stool back to its original spot. He turns to discuss one more minor thing before leaving. “Also, there are warm baths available behind the barracks. There's a pond connected to a river nearby, so we took some water in unused troughs, and heated them. You can ask for cloths to dry yourselves with at the barracks.”

“Thank the Gods.” Royd's voice carries a heavy sense of relief at the news as he lets out a long breath of renewed hope.

“Feel free to help yourselves.” Roderick departs the dining hall with those closing words, leaving the group to finish their meal.

Afterward, they've finished completing the second part of their daily checkpoint ritual: setting up camp. Their tents and bedrolls were collected in the usual cluster in a small clear area next to the barracks, and a tiny bonfire was once again lit in front of them to offer the journeyers an opportunity to rest their bodies and appreciate its warmth.

Atticus, Veros, Kellar, and Zyra sit around the bewitching flame while Royd and Erik have decided to go become intimate with the hot baths they were informed of, as the group can only go in pairs, due to only two tubs being available.

“I'm finally startin' to feel homesick.” Kellar suddenly comments in a melancholic tone. “Which is odd, because I've been away from home longer than this before without feelin' it at all.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I know what you mean.” Veros replies with equal somber. “I think it's the mist. It lowers our visibility to such a small area and saps the color out of our surroundings, it feels like we're in some sort of prison.”

“It definitely gets into your head.” The rogue gives a listless nod. “I know this might be hard to believe, but I'm not actually afraid of dyin'. We all die eventually, often when we don't expect it. I accepted that back in my mercenary days, where you had to accept it or you couldn't do your job. What I'm afraid of is dyin' specifically in a grim place like this.”

The other three, listening to Kellar spill his thoughts, silently agree with the sentiment.

“I don't like the idea of my body comin' back to life as some mindless husk, tryin' to kill other people as they pass by. I don't want my whole bein' to be relegated down to a card, because my reanimated corpse is considered less than human now.” Kellar takes his own Mistwalker card and stares down at it for a moment. Without lifting his head up, he continues. “You think their minds are still in there? When someone becomes undead, do you think their minds still function, but they have no control over bodies? If so, that's a fucked way to go out.”

“There's no way to know such things for sure.” Veros interjects before the atmosphere becomes too sullen. “It's hard not to entertain such morbid ideas while we're out here, but if we let it get the better of ourselves, we'll succumb to the psychological torture that prevents most Mistwalkers from making it this far to begin with. Mental fortitude is half the battle on this side of the barrier.”

“True.” Kellar nods. “It's good I'm not traveling alone. My pessimistic thoughts definitely would've convinced me to turn and run by the end of day two, and that'd only put me back where I started.”

“Being in a group certainly takes the edge off a bit in this place.” Veros agrees. “Loneliness can break a person down just as efficiently as any undead could, if not more so.”

Atticus, who originally intended on traveling alone to begin with, ponders what his fate might have been if he had proceeded on his own after that first day. His journey – and life – probably would have ended at Levinburg if he wouldn't have the sense to go around Tumarda River. Even after that, would he have still been ambushed by those ashen remains at Legarthat? And after that, would he run into the hulking undead brute by himself? Visions of potential outcomes start to flood his mind. But at the end of the mental slideshow, the fact remains that he was aware of high dangers at the start, yet still continued onward. He reflects on this as he quietly stares at the small, but lively bonfire.

Meanwhile, behind the barracks is the surprisingly elaborate bathing area. It consists of a wooden platform under a square gazebo-like structure, illuminated by an oil lantern on each corner pillar, with two metal troughs repurposed into tubs in the center, elevated by stone blocks, and under each of the tubs is a fire to heat the water. Royd and Erik are comfortably submerged to their necks in the tubs, and while sliding curtains along the edge of the wooden roof are meant for privacy, the men keep them open for the sake of having an open air experience. The expression on their faces can only be described as complete bliss. As steam from the water rises into the air, Royd takes an appreciative deep breath.

“I've waited days for this.” The brawny woodcutter utters mid-exhale. “That Roderick fellow truly knows how keep morale up.”

“Agreed.” Erik responds, keeping his eyes closed in total concentration on the cathartic sensation of the hot water against his skin.

“While we're relaxing here, I have a question for you.” Royd picks up an inquisitive tone. “This is rather personal, so I won't blame you if you'd rather not discuss it, but I've been thinking about the reasons you gave for going on this little adventure with us.”

“Yes?” Erik stops his therapeutic focus momentarily to give his attention to his comrade, not knowing where the conversation is leading.

“I was curious as to why your father wouldn't leave anything to you.” Royd gets to the point quickly. “You said your older brother would receive all of your father's properties. Why aren't you getting anything?”

“Oh.” Erik rests his head back at stares at the foggy distance beyond the magical barrier over the checkpoint. “I don't have a great relationship with my father. He's not a bad person, but his expectations of his children don't really align with my expectations of myself.”

“How so?”

“He's the type of noble who insists on constant socializing and making connections.” Erik's blank expression slowly shows hints of equal annoyance and dejection. “He's always doing favors for other nobles in expectation of favors in return. Says it helps him expand his influence. He's always insisted to my brother and I that this is how we're to guarantee that the Rocheford name would live on in the community even after we're gone. It's not as if I've been written completely out of his will or anything; I'm still to inherit certain possessions. But he'd rather leave our properties to my brother, who takes after him more.”

“Ah, so your old man's the type who's concerned about how far his name reaches, huh?” Royd summarizes in a sympathetic tone, nodding to himself.

“Basically.” The noble heaves a small sigh. “I'm not as proactive as him or my brother when it comes to expanding our influence. I quietly took up different hobbies and spent time in the library. It's just how I am.”