The golden light of dawn spread across the open plains as I took my first wary steps into the village, casting an orange glow over the dewy ground. A narrow wooden bridge groaned under my weight as I crossed the gentle river that wound around and through the settlement. Its waters flowed lazily, glittering in the sunlight and bringing a constant murmur to the stillness of the morning.

Beyond the bridge, the village emerged—a collection of humble stone and timber houses scattered along a winding cobblestone path. Smoke rose from chimneys, curling into the crisp air, and the distant bleating of sheep mixed with the faint clang of metal striking metal.

I hesitated at the edge of the path, clutching my makeshift walking stick as my eyes darted over the unfamiliar scene. The people here were just beginning to stir.

A man as short as he was wide trudged past, carrying a sack over his shoulder that looked like it weighed a ton. His thick arms and sturdy build gave him the appearance of someone who could wrestle a bull if the need arose. An impressive beard framed his round face, braided neatly and held together with metal rings and leather cord.

Type: Dwarf

Details: Renowned for their resilience and craftsmanship.

Not far behind, a diminutive fellow darted through the cobblestone streets with startling agility. At first glance, I might have mistaken them for a child, but their movements were too purposeful, their face too sharp and focused. They nimbly carried a precariously tall stack of firewood, as though it was no burden to them at all.

Further ahead, a taller figure leaned casually against the edge of a well, chatting amiably with another villager. This one was more familiar to me—a human, their medieval-style tunic and breeches looking like something plucked from the pages of a history book. The faint murmur of their conversation reached my ears, though I couldn’t make out the words.

I lingered at the edge of the road, my chest tightening. The open expanse of the plains behind me and the bustling life of the village ahead left me feeling out of place and vulnerable. I kept my head down, feeling smaller than ever in this place full of stocky, broad-shouldered people.

I probably look insane, wandering around in pyjamas in the middle of nowhere. What if someone gets offended by me and attacks me? What if the people here are dangerous?

Glowbug hummed lightly next to my ear, and I shuffled forward, my shoulders hunched and my gaze fixed on the cobblestones beneath my feet, trying not to draw any attention to myself. Not really possible when you are wearing the world’s shiniest rainbow around your neck.

“Mellos, eilrathen!” a cheerful voice called out. I froze, panicking a little about having to interact with a stranger, and in a foreign language, to boot. I turned to find a woman standing by a garden gate, a large watering can in her hand. The woman was stout and bearded, her braided facial hair glinting copper in the sunlight. Her warm smile was both inviting and disarming.

Set detected language as default? Yes/no

(Grants Language Comprehension in Kaldarian)

I accepted the prompt and it faded as the woman stepped closer. “You look like you’ve had a rough time of it. Lost, are you?” I nodded stiffly, my mouth suddenly too dry to speak. The words I heard were definitely not English, and yet they twisted around in my head the moment they had left the dwarf’s lips, forming perfectly recognisable sentences.

The dwarf gave me a sympathetic look, setting down the watering can. “Well, you’ve made it to Eldston. If you’re needing food and a place to rest, head over to The Worn Hearth, it’s just up the lane. Bertha will take care of you.”

I barely managed a whispered, “Thank you,” before ducking my head and scurrying down the path. My cheeks burned from the awkwardness of the exchange, but I didn’t stop until I spotted a wooden sign swaying gently in the breeze above a stone building: The Worn Hearth.

Glowbug chirped softly, its melodic hum encouraging me forward. I dithered at the threshold, gripping my walking stick tightly as my stomach twisted with anxiety. The promise of food and shelter was tempting, but the thought of speaking to more strangers made my legs feel like they might give out.

I pushed the heavy wooden door, which creaked loudly as it swung open. Warmth spilled out to greet me, along with the scent of something savory cooking inside. The inn was small and cosy, its main room dominated by a roaring fire in a wide stone hearth. Shadows danced on the wooden beams above, and the room buzzed faintly with the sounds of a few early-morning patrons chatting over mugs of steaming drinks. Despite the welcoming warmth, my stomach churned with anxiety.

Behind the counter, an older man with a broad chest and a weathered face was wiping down the polished surface of the bar. His hair was a messy cloud of white, matched by a thick mustache that twitched as he muttered under his breath. His movements were deliberate but tinged with impatience, like someone who worked out of habit more than enthusiasm. He glanced up at the sound of the door creaking open, his gray eyes narrowing as they landed on me.

“Close the door, girl. You’ll let the heat out,” he grumbled, gesturing with the cloth in his hand. “What do you want? Breakfast or trouble?” I flinched, hastily closing the door behind me. I opened my mouth to speak but found my voice caught in my throat. Glowbug, perched on my shoulder, chirped softly, its gentle hum encouraging me forward. The man raised an eyebrow at the glowing creature. “Odd little thing, isn’t it?” His gaze returned to me, sharp and expectant. “Well? Spit it out.”

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“Garret, give her a moment,” a woman’s voice called from behind the bar. My gaze shifted to see a tall, wiry woman emerging from the kitchen, her graying hair tied back in a neat bun. Her sharp eyes assessed me with an intensity that made me feel as though I were being measured, weighed, and judged all at once. The woman crossed her arms, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “She looks half-starved. Let the poor thing get her bearings.”

The man grunted but didn’t argue, stepping back and gesturing toward a stool at the bar. I shuffled forward hesitantly, my legs trembling as I climbed onto the seat. Glowbug fluttered off my shoulder and landed on the counter, its light dimming as if sensing the need to remain inconspicuous.

“What’s your name, lass?” the woman asked, her tone softening as she leaned on the bar.

“Harriet,” I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.

“Well, Harriet, I’m Bertha, and this grumpy old bear is my husband, Garret,” the woman said, gesturing toward the man, who muttered something indecipherable. “This here’s our inn, and it looks like you’ve found your way to the right place.”

I nodded, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. My throat felt dry, and my stomach growled audibly, drawing a chuckle from Bertha.

“Hungry, are you? Let me fetch you something warm,” Bertha said, disappearing into the kitchen before I could protest. Garret leaned on the bar, fixing me with a scrutinising look. “You’ve got the look of someone who’s been through it. Come through the forest, have you?”

“Yes,” I croaked, my voice barely stronger than a whisper. “I… I don’t know how I got here. I woke up there, and… and I’ve been walking ever since.”

Garret’s frown deepened, and he let out a low huff. “Figures. Must’ve been some strange magic gone wrong and you ended up there. You’re not the first to stumble out of that cursed place looking half-dead. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Bertha returned, placing a steaming bowl of porridge and a thick slice of bread in front of me. The scent of honey and warm oats made my stomach clench with hunger. “Eat up, dear,” Bertha said kindly. “We’ll talk once you’ve got some food in you.”

I needed no further encouragement. I picked up the spoon with trembling hands and began to eat, the warm food soothing my empty stomach and frazzled nerves. Bertha watched me with a faint smile, while Garret busied himself at the bar, muttering about freeloaders and the cost of charity. When the bowl was empty, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up hesitantly. “Thank you,” I said softly.

Bertha nodded, her expression shifting to one of quiet thoughtfulness. “Now, Harriet, I won’t pry into the details of how you ended up here, but it’s clear you’re in need of a place to rest. We’ve got a spot by the hearth that’ll keep you warm, and I can offer you some meals to keep you fed. But nothing in life is free, my dear.”

My heart sank, and I looked down at my hands. “I don’t have any money,” I admitted.

“I thought as much,” Bertha said, her tone still kind but firm. “You’ve barely a scrap of meat on your bones, so I’d not have seen you go hungry either way. But there’s plenty to do around here. If you’re willing to lend a hand, we can work something out. A bit of work as a fair exchange.”

“What kind of work?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Cleaning, fetching water, maybe helping with the washing up,” Bertha said. “Nothing too difficult. And we’ve got some old clothes my son left behind when he moved to the capital. You’re smaller than him, but they’ll do. They’ll serve you better than those torn-up things you’re wearing.”

My face burned with embarrassment, but I nodded quickly. “I’ll do whatever I can. Thank you.”

Garret snorted from behind the bar, shaking his head. “You’re too soft, Bertha. Taking in strays like this.”

“Hush, you old fool,” Bertha shot back, though her tone carried more affection than irritation. “She’s not the first, and she won’t be the last. You know as well as I do that I can’t turn away someone in need. I’d hope someone else did the same for our boy if he needed it.”

One of the patrons— a diminutive man with a patchy beard and a nose slightly too big for his face— chimed in with a grin. “Aye, Garret. You’re just grumpy because you’ll have to share your porridge.”

Type: Hobbe

Details: A diligent people known for their love of good food and drink.

“Mind your business, Larkin,” Garret snapped, though there was a glint of amusement in his eye.

Another patron, a stout woman with a booming laugh, added, “Welcome to the Worn Hearth, lass. Don’t mind Garret; he’s all bark and no bite.”

I managed a small smile, my shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension in the room eased. Glowbug chirped softly, nuzzling against my arm as if to encourage me.

“Well then, Harriet,” Bertha said, her tone decisive. “Finish up your meal, and I’ll show you where you can sleep. It’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm.”

“Thank you,” I said again, my voice trembling with gratitude.

Bertha smiled warmly. “You’ll earn your keep, don’t you worry. And maybe, in time, you’ll tell us how you ended up here. For now, rest.”

As the bustle of the morning rush began, I felt a flicker of hope kindling somewhere deep inside. The inn, with its warmth and kind faces, was not the lonely but safe home I had lost, but it was a good place to start piecing myself back together, away from the dark and the danger of the forest. And for right now, that was what I needed.

Name: Harriet Price

Age: 24

Type: Human (Level 0)

Titles(0/1): None

Classes(0/1): None

Professions(0/1): None

Talents(4/5): Basic Identify, Basic Survival Instincts, Basic Crafting, Sense Magic

Condition: Fatigue (-2 Physical, -2 Mental), Poor nutrition (-2 Physical, -1 Mental), Low muscle density (-3 Physical, -2 Social)

Attributes:

Vitality: 40/50

Physical: 10(-7)

Mental: 14(-3)

Social: 7(-2)

Luck: 10

Experience: 0/100