The village was fairly sized, with about a dozen buildings spread out that Jack could see, and no fences—just open to the world. As Jack approached, holding the reins of his horse, he noticed the small fields to his left, tucked close to the edge of a massive lake. The lake itself loomed large, its dark waters rippling gently under the breeze. Jack could see a few boats drifting on the lake, their wooden forms swaying with the water’s rhythm. The village lay to his left, nestled close to the lake’s edge, its simple structures reflecting the stillness of the water behind them.
As Jack turned off the dirt road, guiding his horse toward the village, he reached down to stow his spear into the dimensional pouch strapped to his waist. The spear, long and sharp, vanished as it slid into the seemingly small bag—one of the few magical items Jack had grown accustomed to using since arriving in this strange world. The sound of the horse’s hooves softened as they neared the small community, Jack keeping an eye on the quiet village as he tucked the pouch securely under his cloak.
Several villagers paused to stare, their faces filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The boy draped across his horse, along with the two ragged children following behind, attracted more than a few cautious glances, but no one stopped him. Jack rode forward, cautious, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces as he kept his hands close to his reins, his mind still on edge despite the outward calm of the village.
The village buzzed with activity. People moved about, some tending to chores, others talking in low voices. The women wore simple dresses, aprons of varying shades—blue, green, and gray—paired with plain shoes. A few were dressed similarly to the men, in tunics and trousers, their leather boots well-worn. Their clothes seemed handmade, rough compared to what Jack was used to. Everything here felt older, simpler, like a place far removed from the modern world he knew.
Though the villagers gave him space, their stares lingered. Jack adjusted his grip on the reins, feeling the weight of being an outsider. Finally, one villager stepped forward, offering a smile and waving him down, though the caution in his eyes remained unmistakable.
"Well, hey there. What brings you to our village? Don’t think we’ve posted any quests lately, unless you're here to handle Miss Bobbit’s rat problem. Those things have been a bit of a nuisance," the older man said, his voice light but carrying an underlying sharpness.
ack glanced at the man, momentarily thrown by the mention of "quests." The word meant nothing to him here, but something about the man felt familiar. He was plump, with a bushy black beard streaked with gray—he looked like any kind, aging grandfather. But Jack’s instincts, honed through years of military service, picked up on the subtle signs. The man’s posture was too rigid, too straight, not the relaxed stance of a simple villager. His left hand waved casually in greeting, but his right hovered near the sword at his hip, almost instinctively.
The man’s eyes—soft brown but sharp and focused—carried a weight Jack had seen too often: the quiet, hardened gaze of someone who’d faced death. This wasn’t just an old man going about his day; this was a soldier, or at least someone who had been one. Jack could recognize that kind of readiness anywhere, no matter what world he found himself in.
As he pulled on the reins, bringing his horse to a stop, Jack felt a knot of uncertainty tightening in his chest. He needed help, but he couldn’t afford to be too open. Not here, not with people he didn’t know. He looked down at the man, trying to balance his words carefully. "We need some help," Jack said, his tone guarded, choosing each word with care. "My... friend here, he's hurt badly. We need a doctor... or a healer."
The unfamiliar term felt awkward on his tongue, and Jack hesitated. He wanted to keep things vague, unsure of how much he should reveal. Every instinct told him to be cautious, to protect himself and the kids, but the urgency of Kalaen's condition gnawed at him. His voice wavered slightly, betraying his inner conflict, but his eyes stayed locked on the man, watching for any sign of deception. Jack knew he couldn’t trust easily, not here. Yet, he didn’t have much choice if he wanted to save the kid.
The old man’s gaze shifted from the boy draped across the horse to the two ragged children at Jack’s side. His expression remained neutral, though Jack noticed the slightest shift in his stance, as if the man was weighing his own options. After a moment, the man glanced behind him, scanning the village before returning his focus to Jack, his brow furrowing in thought.
"Phill, run and get Granny Charlet—she’s probably over by Miss Grinket’s place gossipin’. Tell her we’ve got a patient for her. Joe, Fredrick, come on over here and help with the boy. Be careful now, but take him on over to Charlet’s house. She’s gonna wanna look him over," the old man said, his voice steady and casual.
Two young men stepped forward, ready to take Kalaen from Jack’s horse. Jack felt himself tense, his grip tightening slightly on the reins as he glanced back at the children on the other horse behind him. The idea of handing over the boy to strangers didn’t sit right, and his instincts, sharpened by years of experience, made him cautious.
The old man, sensing Jack’s hesitation, raised a hand gently. "Ain’t no need to worry. By the storm rollin’ in, we mean you no harm. Granny Charlet’s the best healer we’ve got."
Jack studied him carefully. The man stood easy, calm, and didn’t seem to be hiding anything. The villagers weren’t pushing, either, just waiting. He glanced at the kids on the second horse. They were nervous, gripping the saddle and shooting anxious looks at the people around them.
With a quiet sigh, Jack dismounted, moving deliberately, his eyes never leaving the two men as they carefully lifted Kalaen from the horse. Though the tension remained, he knew there was little choice but to trust them.
The old man glanced at the kids and gave them a gentle smile. "The young ones look hungry. Is it alright if we get them taken care of?"
Jack looked at the kids, noticing how they truly did seem to be starving. Just as he was about to nod, the children dismounted, huddling close to him, one of them grabbing the back of his cloak like a shield. Jack paused, feeling their hesitation.
Before the two men could carry Kalaen too far, Jack spoke up. "Food would be nice, but we’d rather stick with our Companion if you don’t mind," he said, his voice firm but polite as he started to follow the men. Keeping a steady hold on the reins of the second horse, he walked alongside them, making sure to stay close to both Kalaen and the kids.
The old man reached out a hand as they walked through the village. "Name’s Ruben Talipit," he said with a nod, his tone friendly but measured.
Jack hesitated, then grasped the hand briefly. "Jack," he replied, keeping his voice even. "These are Thalia and Roran, my companions.".
Ruben seemed content with the limited exchange, nodding as they made their way through the village. Jack took the opportunity to observe everything around him. The village was small and simple, with wooden buildings spaced out in no particular pattern. He saw open windows with curtains fluttering, small gardens beside homes, and dirt paths winding between them. It reminded him of what medieval Europe must have looked like—no paved roads, no signs of modern technology, just wooden houses with thatched or shingled roofs and a quiet, hardworking community.
As they walked, they passed the village center where a few larger buildings stood. People moved about slowly, carrying baskets of fish or tools, some casting curious glances at him and the children but saying nothing. In the distance, Jack caught sight of a dock on the lake, where rowboats bobbed gently on the water. It was a simple fishing village, nothing out of the ordinary, but Jack still kept his guard up.
They continued past the center, exiting the village on the far side, heading toward a small house set apart from the rest. Ruben glanced back at Jack and the kids as they neared. "Granny Charlet lives just up ahead. She’ll take good care of your friend," he said, his tone warm. Jack nodded.
The house stood two stories tall, crafted from sturdy, weathered wood. It had the feel of an old, lakeside cabin, but far more well-built than the simpler structures Jack had passed in the village. Whoever lived here clearly had money, or at least some standing. Unlike most of the other houses, which had simple wooden shutters, this one had glass windows that reflected the late afternoon light. The craftsmanship was solid, the beams thick and straight, and the layout well thought-out, with a sense of permanence that the other homes lacked.
A wide porch stretched across the front of the house, adding to its rustic charm. A rocking chair sat to one side, gently swaying in the breeze as if someone had recently vacated it. The chair’s wood was worn smooth from years of use, and the sight of it gave the place a lived-in, homely feel. Hanging above the porch was a set of unusual wind chimes, made from small bones and bits of metal, clinking softly together in a way that felt slightly out of place, adding an eerie undercurrent to the otherwise serene scene.
To the left of the house, an abundant garden spread out, its rows neatly arranged and brimming with life. Jack recognized the familiar shapes of carrots, onions, and potatoes, but there were other plants—vines with dark, curling leaves, strange purple fruits, and vegetables with a spiky texture—that were alien to him. The garden was clearly well-tended, its vibrant greenery stretching toward the sun, a testament to whoever lived here.
The house itself, with its solid structure and carefully tended surroundings, gave off an air of quiet wealth. It was a far cry from the simpler homes in the village center.
The two men carrying Kalaen stopped and gently placed him on the ground, and Jack could see the boy shivering, a pained groan escaping his lips. Jack’s worry grew, not just for Kalaen but for the kids beside him. He rested a hand on their shoulders to offer comfort, but his mind was spinning with uncertainty, and the longer they waited, the more uneasy he felt. Jack’s real fear was deeper—were these people trustworthy?
Was slavery accepted here, or would they turn a blind eye to it? He couldn’t shake the thought that he might have led them into a place where they weren’t safe. Just as his tension reached a peak, a sharp shout rang out in the distance, making Jack’s heart lurch. He didn’t know what to expect from Granny Charlet but this wasn’t what he had expected at all
“Why the hell are you idiots just standin’ around? Get the boy in the house and on the dining room table, now!” The voice rang out sharp and commanding. The figure in the distance was moving at a fast, purposeful pace. Granny Charlet was not what Jack had anticipated. As she approached, she appeared to be in her mid-30s, with long, sun-streaked blonde hair cascading down her back.
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Her sharp green eyes were intense, full of focus and experience, and her face was well-defined, with angular features that gave her a quiet strength. She wore a simple white sundress adorned with green stitching along the edges, a practical yet elegant touch. Her sun-tanned skin and wind-worn cheeks hinted at a life spent outdoors, adding a rugged edge to her otherwise graceful appearance. But what stood out most were her long, pointed elf ears, sweeping back from her head.
Jack was momentarily shocked by the sudden appearance of Granny Charlet, but the two men and Ruben moved as if this was routine. They flowed into the house with practiced ease, following her lead as she stormed in like a whirlwind. The dining room table, made of dark oak, was quickly cleared of its decorations, a white sheet thrown over it in one smooth motion. In seconds, Kalaen was gently laid atop the table, and without missing a beat, Charlet moved to the cabinets, pulling out tools and jars with swift, practiced precision.
Her movements were sharp and focused, hands flying across the space as if she had done this a thousand times. Jack barely had time to register what was happening before she was beside Kalaen, her hand hovering over his trembling form. He began to whimper in pain, but Charlet barely glanced at him as she placed a firm hand on his leg and muttered, [Pain Management]. Almost instantly, Kalaen’s face relaxed, the tension easing from his body as the pain ebbed away.
Without wasting a second, she grabbed a pair of shears, cutting through the fabric around his injured leg with quick, precise snips. The cloth fell away, revealing the wound beneath. Her eyes narrowed as she examined it closely, her hands already moving toward the nearest jar, speaking with calm authority as she worked. “He’s in bad shape, but we’ll fix him up. You what happened to him?” she asked, her voice steady, her movements unrelenting as she prepared to treat the wound.
“A crossbow bolt, upper right thigh. Clean shot, but barbed—that’s going to make things tricky,” Charlet muttered as she inspected the wound. “Small bolt for its size, must’ve come from a hand crossbow. He’s lucky—anything bigger would’ve done far more damage. I’m seeing signs of poisoning too. I’ll have to extract the bolt first before I can deal with that.”
Her sharp gaze flicked up to Jack. “Who shot him?”
Jack glanced at Ruben and the two men, his body tensing slightly. Now was the moment to gauge their reactions. He kept his answer vague. “Slavers.”
Ruben frowned, a flicker of concern crossing his face as he exchanged glances with the two men. There was a tightening in the air, but before anyone could press further, Charlet interrupted, her eyes narrowing as she examined the bolt closely.
“This is Mythra work,” Charlet said, her voice grim as she touched the bolt, inspecting the barbs. “Their slavers use crossbow bolts like this. The design matches.”
Ruben, leaning against the porch, raised an eyebrow, surprise flickering across his face. “Mythra slavers? You sure?”
Charlet nodded, her expression steady. “I’m sure. And if this is Mythra, then the poison is manticore venom. Nasty stuff keeps runaways in pain, slows them down, but it’s not lethal. It’s meant to keep them from getting too far before they’re caught.”
Ruben’s expression darkened, and Jack noticed the two men stiffen at the mention of slavers. Charlet didn’t pause, her hands moving with precision as she worked. “Hold him down,” she said, nodding to the men. “When I pull this, he’s going to react hard. The venom makes it worse.”
At Charlet’s nod, everyone moved quickly to Kalaen, each of them grabbing a limb. Jack grabbed onto Kalaen’s leg, the one with the bolt still embedded in it, holding the calf firmly to prevent any movement. He could feel the muscles tensing under his grip as Kalaen let out a low groan. The two kids rushed to his head, trying their best to help, though their faces were already strained with fear.
Charlet, wearing leather gloves, gripped the shaft of the bolt just beneath the barbed head, her eyes focused. Jack could feel Kalaen’s body trembling beneath his hands, the tension building. Charlet glanced at them, her voice rough and steady. “On three… one… two… three!”
With a swift, brutal pull, she ripped the bolt out in one clean motion. Kalaen’s entire body buckled, arching off the table as a guttural scream tore from his throat. His muscles spasmed violently, legs kicking and arms jerking, barely restrained by their combined effort. Jack hadn’t even noticed the leather strap Charlet had shoved between his teeth to stop him from biting down on his tongue, but it was there, clenched tight.
The kids at his head began to cry, their sobs breaking the silence as they struggled to hold him down, their small hands trembling. Jack gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he held Kalaen’s leg still, feeling the raw power of the boy’s pain coursing through him.
Finally, as the last wave of pain passed, Kalaen collapsed back onto the table, his chest heaving, sweat beading across his brow. He was still panting, his body limp, but the worst of it seemed to be over. Charlet didn’t waste a second. She moved to a nearby table, quickly mixing something in a small flask, her movements as efficient as ever, barely phased by the chaos of the moment.
"You can let him go," Charlet said, her voice steady as she mixed the green-blue liquid. "I’m going to treat the infection, and the poison will wear off in a couple of hours. I didn’t think I’d need anything for manticore poisoning since my adventuring days." She poured the liquid carefully down Kalaen’s throat, whispering, [Guided Ingestion], ensuring he swallowed without difficulty.
As Jack stood back, about to speak, Thalia’s small voice broke the silence. "Will he be okay?" she asked, her eyes filled with worry.
Charlet immediately turned to the kids, her face softening as she knelt beside them. "He’ll be just fine," she said with a reassuring smile. "He's strong, and we’ve taken care of the worst."
To lighten the mood, Charlet held her hand up, performing a simple sleight-of-hand trick. With a quick flick of her wrist, she pretended to pull a small cookie from behind Thalia’s ear, then repeated it with Roran. “Now, how did these end up behind your ears?” she asked, her voice playful. The kids giggled, their fear easing as they marveled at the trick.
She guided them to a small table in the living room, where she set them down with snacks, her presence calming them as they slowly relaxed. Once they were settled, Charlet stood, dusting off her hands, and turned back to Jack.
"Now," Charlet said, her voice back to its no-nonsense tone, "let’s talk." She gestured for Jack to follow her to the front porch. Jack, Ruben, and the two men walked out together, the air thick with unspoken tension. After a nod from Ruben, the two men took their leave, disappearing back into the village.
Once outside, Ruben leaned casually against one of the porch beams, arms crossed. “So, I think you owe us an explanation… Slavers, in Avaloria?” His tone was calm, but there was a clear edge of concern.
Jack felt the tension in his shoulders loosen just a bit. "That’s who they said they were," he replied, leaning back against the wooden wall of the porch. "I came across them attacking those three—Kalaen, Thalia, and Roran."
Charlet cocked her head, her expression sharp but laced with a hint of curiosity. “And you decided to intervene? Quite the little hero, aren’t you?” she said, settling into a rocking chair, her eyes not leaving him. “So, how many were there?”
“Three. I killed two, but one got away.” Jack’s voice was steady, but the weight of the situation hung in the air. Both Charlet and Ruben shook their heads in unison.
“If you’re going to rescue people from slavers, you need to make sure you kill them all next time,” Charlet said, her voice rough. “They’re like roaches—always comin' back with more.”
Ruben rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. “Hmm. I knew an ambassador from Mythra recently arrived at Stormhaven to negotiate something, but I doubt they’d be bold enough to bring slavers, given the Seven Families’ stance on it.”
Charlet groaned, the weariness in her voice clear. “There’ve been reports of a big bandit group to the west. And here I was thinkin’ it’d be an easy start to the summer.”
Jack remained quiet, unsure of what to say, but Ruben beat him to it. “I’ll send in a request to the Order of the Sky. Hopefully, they can get a knight out here to look into this mess. Until then, you’re welcome to stay in our village. It’s humble, but we’ll protect you and the kids. By the storm winds, we won’t allow any harm to come to you here.” Ruben placed his hand over his heart, thumb tucked in, a gesture of trust. Jack stood a bit straighter, nodding his thanks.
“Thank you,” Jack said, his voice sincere. “I honestly had no idea what we might do if you wanted us to leave.”
Charlet let out a hearty laugh. “Hahaha! This honorable fool would never turn away those in need. It’s that hard-stone Ranger training in him,” she teased, shooting a playful glance at Ruben.
Ruben grinned, taking the ribbing in stride. “You can stay with me,” Charlet continued, turning back to Jack. “I’ve got plenty of room, and I can keep a closer eye on the boy. Ruben, have some of the boys take care of Jack’s horse. Swap out the saddles and sink them in the lake.”
Ruben rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face. “I know what to do, Grandma. Anyway, I’ve got to get going. We’ll talk again soon, Jack.” With a casual wave, Ruben turned and headed down the porch steps, making his way back toward the village.
Jack and Charlet sat in silence for a few moments, the sounds of the village faint in the distance. Finally, Charlet broke the quiet. “I get why you didn’t want to say much. You never know where people stand, especially when you’re not from around here.” She looked at Jack with a steady gaze, her eyes reflecting an understanding that went deeper than her youthful appearance suggested. For the first time, Jack noticed an oldness in her eyes—a sense that this wasn’t her first time dealing with such situations.
"Thank you for the help. I don’t have much, but I can offer something in payment," Jack said, reaching into his pouch.
Charlet waved him off with a smile. "You don’t owe me anything. I’ve been around long enough to know when help is needed, no payment necessary." She leaned back in her chair, her voice softening. "Just focus on getting that boy back on his feet."
Jack nodded, though caution lingered in his mind. He’d learned not to trust too easily, especially when things seemed this straightforward. But he couldn’t deny it—these people were making it difficult to stay guarded.
Charlet stood and stretched, letting out a sigh. "I thought I’d have at least another decade of peace before things got complicated again, but I guess I was hoping for too much," she said with a wry smile. "I’ll start making lunch, and those kids need a bath and clean clothes. I’ll get one of the village women to help with that while I grab some food. In the meantime, just relax and keep an eye on the boy."
With that, Charlet headed down the path toward the village. Jack watched her go, still feeling a tug of suspicion, though it was growing weaker. They had been offered help too easily, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful. Yet, as the warmth of their temporary shelter settled over him, a darker thought gnawed at the edges of his mind—Themorak.
The slaver leader was still out there, and Jack knew all too well that men like him didn’t forget. He couldn't shake the image of Morak gathering more men, ready to hunt them down. Would they track him here? Would they raid this quiet, unsuspecting village, dragging the people into something they had no part in? The thought tightened his chest with guilt. These villagers had offered help freely, without hesitation. If Themorak came looking for revenge, Jack knew it wouldn't be a fair fight.
He stepped back into the house, the weight of his thoughts growing heavier as he glanced at the kids already curled up on one of the couches, exhaustion clear on their faces. He scanned the room one last time, his instincts still on alert despite the safety of the moment. His military mind ticked over escape routes, defensible positions—if worst came to worst, how could they protect themselves and these people?
Finally, Jack removed his mask and cloak, wrapping the cloak around the children to keep them warm. He tucked the mask into his bag, his fingers lingering on it for a moment, as if reluctant to let go of the one piece that always shielded him from the world.
As he sank into a nearby chair, the weariness of the day settled in, but his mind kept turning. Themorak would come—maybe not today, but soon. And when he did, Jack would be ready. Yet despite his wariness, despite the storm that might follow them, sleep pulled him under, the only escape from the weight of responsibility that now rested on his shoulders.