Later, as daylight slowly begins to fade, the six Mistwalkers make their way to the eatery to indulge in a hearty dinner – their last before they'll need to start rationing in the dangerous cover of the mist the next day.

Inside the eatery, they're greeted by the same sight as yesterday's: about a dozen Terrance residents selecting their food, eating, and talking – including Vincent and Misha, who aren't late tonight. Again, Lena is seen sitting at the far end of a long table at the center of the room. She notices the group immediately and beckons them to join her just as before.

“Come, join me!” She calls to them with a smile while waving her hand in an inward motion. Considering their need to talk to her anyway, the group obliges.

After they collect their food, they sit at Lena's table in the same spots they chose the previous evening.

“I hope you've all been able to keep yourselves occupied today.” The chief makes small talk before they dig into their meals. “There's not much to do around here in terms of entertainment. We all have to keep ourselves busy with duties or whatever tasks we can invent.”

“We did take the opportunity to walk around the perimeter of the town.” Veros responds. “The walls around the area are air tight and very sturdy.”

“Yes, we couldn't afford to rush it, knowing what dangers lurked around us. But at the same time, the careful construction contributed to an extended building time. It was quite exhaustive. Were you able to introduce yourselves to any of the others here?”

Veros nods, but curls his mouth downward in a non-commital expression. “Some small talk here and there, yes. Most of them seemed busy, as you said. Our archer, Erik, ran into Vincent today, who mentioned the fact that the individuals who patrol the roads north and south tend to pick up the equipment of fallen undead and bring them back here. Is that true?”

“Yes, it is.” Lena gives a straightforward answer, likely knowing where the conversation is heading. “While everyone typically already has their own equipment, it doesn't hurt to stockpile extras.”

“In that case, we'd like to ask a favor.” Veros wastes no time in reaching the point.

“I'm all ears.”

The team leader looks up at her with pleading eyes. “We'd like to borrow some swords, shields, a bow, and arrows for tomorrow's journey. We've talked amongst ourselves, and we've decided that the only way to truly increase our chances of survival is to acquire any useful equipment we don't already have.”

Lena nods without a hint of reluctance. “I'll give you whatever you need.”

“Really?” Veros is surprised at how easily she accepted the request. “I must say, I expected at least some semblance of pushback.”

She laughs softly. “I would have no reason to deny you. I'm the one who's trying to help, remember? Tell me, how many swords and shields do you need?”

“Four shields and three swords.”

Lena nods. “Alright. Four shields and three swords, it is. I'll take you to the armory myself after you've finished your meals.”

The six Mistwalkers look at each other, bewildered at the woman's no-nonsense approach to helping them, but they're thankful all the same. She suddenly continues.

“Oh, and speaking of preparation tomorrow, don't forget to talk amongst yourselves about what foods you'd like to take with you. You'll need to haul a decent amount if you want enough to last the minimum four days' travel.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“You're very right. And thank you for accepting our request. We hope we haven't proven to be a handful.”

“It's no problem, really.” Lena casually waves her hand to dismiss any idea that they're a bother. “Please, finish your meals. The sooner you're done eating, the sooner I can take you to the armory.”

Not wanting to dawdle and unnecessarily waste any time, the group complies and begins to scarf down their food.

After the quickly paced dinner, Lena leads the crew back outside by lantern light, to another house that's pressed along the northeastern corner of the fortified perimeter of the village. She retrieves a key from a pocket in her robes and uses it to unlock a large metal padlock that keeps the building's front door tightly secure.

“Don't feel like you need to rush yourselves. Take your time in selecting whatever it is you need.” The chief announces as she removes the padlock and pushes the door open. She steps in and immediately turns to light another lantern by the door, illuminating the room just enough to reveal a shockingly large collection of weaponry, shields, and even pieces of armor.

“Goodness...” Veros utters in amazement. There's easily enough equipment in here to fully arm an entire platoon of soldiers. There isn't just swords, but also spears, axes, hammers, and maces. Shields vary from all shapes and sizes, ranging from small bucklers to full-sized parmas to a few massive greatshields that rival the size of a grown man.

“How the hell did you end up with so much stuff?” Kellar asks, as equally flabbergasted at the quantity as everyone else.

“Don't forget, we've been here for some months now.” Lena begins a rather obvious explanation as she hangs the lantern in her hand on a beam near the center of the room. “We've come across many undead since that time, and you'd be shocked at how well some of them have armed themselves while they were still among the living.”

“You'd think that the people who had equipment like this would be among the ones who didn't get killed in the mist.” The rogue responds with a judgemental tone, critical of the skill of the people who held such armaments yet still fell.

“If you stay out here long enough, you either meet your end, or you save Yhordran.” The chief casually responds. “There isn't much middle ground. Plus, some commonfolk with no real training would spend money on quality weapons, thinking it would help them survive by simply being on their person despite not knowing how to use them. It's quite unfortunate.”

Veros picks up a sturdy-looking shortbow from a table, and pulls back the string while taking aim, as if to shoot. Satisfied by the draw weight, he takes a moment to closely examine the physical quality of it. He feels along every inch of the limbs, looking for damage of any sort, but finds none. He notices a collection of quivers next to the table, already full of arrows. He takes a single arrow out of the quiver nearest him, and examines the shaft, fletching, and iron head, which isn't too wide. Like his bow, everything seems to be in good shape. He nocks the arrow into the bow and draws the string back again, maintaining his aim for a moment before slowly undrawing. Content with everything, he ultimately decides that these will be the bow and arrows he'll use.

“I'll take these.” Veros announces aloud to anyone listening.

“I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be looking for.” Zyra stares perplexingly at a collection of swords of different lengths. “I've never held a sword in my life, except for the occasional wooden toy when I was little.”

“Here.” Atticus responds as he approaches her. “This should suit you fine.” He pulls a two-edged shortsword with a tapered point out of its scabbard, revealing a clean blade with little signs of usage. It's total length is no more than about thirty inches. He points the hilt towards her, offering for her to hold it. She carefully complies.

“Oh, it's light.” The mage comments as she lifts it up and down with ease. “It's not as long as yours or Veros's. Is that okay?”

“Should be.” The knight casually responds. “If you're lucky, you won't be in a situation where you'd have to pull it out anyway.”

“I guess you're right.” Zyra agrees, remembering that, as a pyromancer, her optimal fighting range is at a bit of a distance. “And what about my shield?”

Veros walks up with a parma in his hand. “This should be ideal for you. The face is wooden, but there's a layer of metal at the back, for extra protection from thrusts, stabs, and arrows.” He holds it out to her, and she takes it.

“Oh, this is light, too.” Just as she did with the sword, Zyra lifts the parma up and down. “I always figured that carrying these things must be cumbersome, but they're not bad at all.”

“So you're fine with the shortsword and parma?” Veros asks for clarification.

“Yeah.” She replies with a confident nod. “I won't have a problem holding on to these.”

Veros smiles and pats her on the shoulder. “Good.”