The morning started exactly the same as all the others that Klarion had experienced in this world so far. Alesin and Rolfun were both up before him, packing up for the day’s journey. Breakfast was ready, and the smell of it gradually pulled him to consciousness. The conversation they shared over the meal was slightly different from the days before, however. Where previously it had been more focused on giving a preview of what lessons he would be engaging in during their travels, this morning it was instead focused on what cover they would be using to get into Thorn’s Reach that wouldn’t attract too much attention. Seeing Klarion’s concern, both had been quick to reassure him that the chances of an enemy of House Blacksword being in the settlement were low. Even if such an individual was present, the chances of them trying to do anything with Alesin and Rolfun there would be even lower. It was more about just being careful.

With that in mind, Klarion was to play the mostly silent role of the son of a traveling merchant in the region. He had been sent ahead to the settlement with two of his father’s mercenary guards, to be played by Alesin and Rolfun, in order to give him a break from traveling since this had been his first real trading trip under his father. While Klarion still didn’t know much about the situation on Verdant IV, the scenario itself seemed plausible enough. Agreeing to the plan, he focused on assuming the role as best he could. After about an hour of traveling along the road, he felt sufficiently comfortable with the role that he began to relax to enjoy the last of the trip with Alesin and Rolfun.

“Thorn’s Reach is just around this bend,” Alesin said from next to him, “I’m interested to see what you think of your first sight of a settlement of the Empire.”

They walked around the curve in the dirt road, and Thorn’s Reach was abruptly before them. Like Rolfun had said, it had been built into a narrow valley, with by sides surrounded by towering jagged cliffs that jutted up from the dense forest that surrounded it. The settlement was a mix of town and fortress. Stretching between the two cliffs was an imposing wall of stone several stories in height capped by thorned ironwork. Dark green vines with what looked to Klarion to be thorns covered the surface of the wall itself, almost like nature was guarding the town. They were close enough that Klarion could see a number of armored figures patrolling the top of the wall and groups of what looked to be archers stationed on top of the two watchtowers that bracketed the open gate into Thorn’s Reach.

“Remember, you are the son of a minor merchant sent ahead with two of your father’s mercenary guards to find lodging for the night. Keep you hood up and don’t say anything else if you can help it,” Alesin reminded him.

They picked up their pace, quickly coming to the end of the short line of people, mostly humans, who waited outside the gate to get into the settlement. Two Watchmen were stationed by the open gate, attention fixed on the line as it led up to the gate. A contrasting pair, the first was tall and wiry, his hawk-like eyes scanning each traveler with an intensity that bordered on outright suspicion. His armor was battered but well-maintained, a short sword with a worn hilt at his side, while he held a spear with a gleaming tip in a guard position.

The second Watchman was a bit shorter and stockier. Compared to his fellow Watchman, he was more relaxed, though his hand still rested on the hefty, well-worn mace at his side while the other held his own spear upright. While his warmer gaze tracked over the line of people waiting to enter, Klarion sensed a hard edge to his stance that indicated that he was likely ready to use his weapons at a moment’s notice if need be.

The line slowly threaded its way between the duo, before coming to a halt at a simple table that had been set up in front of the final figure in front of the open gate. The man, whom Klarion assumed to be the Watch Captain, or some other rank of authority, commanded immediate respect. His armor was cleaner and adorned with dark, thorn-like engravings that symbolized his rank. As he spoke to a man in rough clothing, Klarion saw a scar flex along his left cheek, giving the man a fierce, unyielding appearance. Of course, that scar was nothing next to all those that covered his own body.

As they got closer to the front, Klarion began to be able to make out what the Watch Captain was saying. He questioned each traveler in a low, stern voice. Unlike the other Watchmen at the gate, he appeared to Watch not only the faces of those he spoke to but also the body language.

Klarion couldn’t help but mutter a soft curse. While he had a backstory as cover, and his hood hid his scars from sight, he was less confident about his body language. Before he could express his misgivings to Alesin and Rolfun, it was already there turn.

“Names and reason for visit.”

“Klarion, and these are my guards, Alesin and Rolfun,” Klarion said, trying to put as much confidence into his response as he could. “My father is a traveling merchant, and he sent us ahead of the main party to reserve lodging for the night.”

At Klarion’s response, the Watch Captain jotted down some notes in the book he was using to keep track of who was entering Thorn’s Reach. He then looked back up at Klarion, a slight smile on his lips, the scar tugging up one side. “That is good to hear. Not many merchants have been coming through here lately. Chances are your father will have some odds and ends that Thorn’s Reach needs. What did you say he was carrying again?”

“I didn’t,” Klarion said. At a look from Rolfun, he decided to improvise. “We are transporting mostly foodstuffs, but we have a good selection of tools and a mix of trade goods that might be useful here. I’m sure my father will be happy to let any who are interested take a look.”

“That is good to hear,” the Watch Captain said, his smile growing slightly larger as he stared up at Klarion. The smile locked on his face, and Klarion cursed as he realized the man was looking up under his hood. “Now those are some interesting scars you got there. How did a young son of a merchant get those, I wonder?”

Alesin and Rolfun tensed up at his sides, but before they could do more than shift, Klarion was blurting out a response in an attempt to deflect whatever suspicion the Watch Captain had.

“I had a run-in with a Forest Goblin when I was younger. Barely survived,” Klarion pulled the hood back, revealing his face and all the scars. “I was left with these as a reminder not to go off into the forest by myself.”

“Hmmm,” the Watch Captain gestured to the members of the Watch on either side of them. “Take this Klarion and his guards into custody. Something doesn’t sound right about your story.”

Before anyone can move, Rolfun has his greatsword in hand, the tip extended an inch away from the Watch Captain’s throat. Everyone froze in place. “I’d reconsider that order if I were you.”

“Good try thinking on your feet, Klarion,” Alesin said from his other side. She sighed and pulled a sealed letter from her spatial ring. Across the front was a wax seal with the crest of House Blacksword. “Looks like we will be needing this letter after all.” She stepped forward and extended the letter to the still frozen Watch Captain. “For your eyes only.”

Hesitantly, the Watch Captain reached out his hand to take the letter. Seeing that Rolfun hadn’t moved the greatsword that was still pointed at his throat, he nervously examined the crest, then popped it open and began reading. The further down the letter his eyes traveled, the whiter his face got. As soon as he finished, he folded the letter back up, and extended it in a shaking hand back to Alesin. She took the letter and put it back into her spatial ring.

“I understand,” the Watch Captain said calmly, though there was still a slight hint of nervousness in his tone. “Please, feel free to enter Thorn’s Reach. The next Waypoint activation will be tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Watch Captain…?”

“Brydor,” he said quickly. “Watch Captain Brydor.”

“Thank you, Watch Captain Brydor,” Alesin then extended a hand to drop several silver coins onto the book he had been using to keep track of everyone entering the settlement. She winked. “For the entrance fees.”

Watch Captain Brydor called for the next in line, his tone a bit more forceful than before.

Just like that, they were waved through into Thorn’s Reach. Stepping through the gate was like entering another world. The settlement was a mix of rustic charm and rough-hewn defenses, and it was busier than he expected. A steady hum of people moved about, bartering at street vendors, or simply gathering in groups to exchange gossip or news. The buildings beyond the streets were clearly marked as shops of various kinds, each having its own colorful banners and makeshift signs. Each structure was practical in design, being a single story tall, made of stone, and possessing simple wooden shutters to keep out the weather.

A few farmers were further down the main street, their carts piled high with produce. One even had a wagon filled with some strange sort of goat-looking creature. Apparently, he was supposed to take them to a different place, because several Watchmen were in the process of yelling at him to move his wagon.

For all that it was as medieval as he predicted it would be, Klarion couldn’t help the smile that came to his face. The air was thick with the scent of earth, leather, and cooking fires, all blending together with what he thought to be the tang of metal from a nearby blacksmith’s shop. It was a nice, pleasant mix of smells, which he had not expected. He asked Alesin why that was the case.

“Even settlements as far out on the edge of the Empire as this one still make it a priority to build a proper sewage system and construct buildings with indoor plumbing. That goes a long way towards dealing with the smells you might expect,” Alesin gestured around at the buildings as she spoke. “The closer you get to the Core Worlds of the Empire, the nicer everything is.”

His question answered, Klarion turned his attention back to admiring the view. He realized that it was just humans living in the settlement which, in hindsight, he should have realized before they even arrived at Thorn’s Reach. After all, Alesin was a sun elf and Rolfun was a half-ogre.

Looking closer at those around them as the trio made it deeper into the settlement, Klarion realized that while the majority were humans of one skin tone or another, here and there were new races of people he hadn’t encountered yet. Tall elves in flowing brown robes of a different type than Alesin, their skin the light grass, walked down one of the side streets. The smell of iron and other metals spiked as a blacksmith came into view, the front door backed up with a line of mostly, what Klarion took to be, dwarves. Stocky in stature with massive muscles, their long beards were braided together in a set pattern, and to a one they wore chainmail that shined in the light of the sun.

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His attention was stolen when a child stumbled in front of him, giggling, into the street. Without looking at who he had almost run into, the human boy stood up from the dirt and ran off, another group of children emerging from a nearby alley and setting off in pursuit.

The smile that had come to his face immediately died, however, when he saw a human man outside a store beating two people who looked like a mix of man and wolf. An iron collar circled each of their throats.

“Wolfkin slaves,” Rolfun said on noticing why Klarion had come to a halt in the street. His tone had gone frigid, clearly as unhappy as Klarion at what he was seeing. The half-ogre knew him well enough by now that he responded to Klarion before he could even ask his question. “I’m sorry, Klarion. The laws are clear, even here on the frontier. Technically, what that man is doing is disciplining his slaves.”

“And that is not enough to intervene,” Alesin said sadly from beside him.

By the end of their short conversation, the beating had stopped. Still cursing to himself, the slaveowner pulled out a small vial that Klarion recognized as a minor healing potion. Leaning over, he gave each of the slaves a drink, then kicked them to their feet. Once they were standing, the man led them away.

“Is that common?” Klarion asked as the trio disappeared around the bend of a street.

“Slavery?” At Klarion’s nod, Alesin continued. “It varies depending on where you are in the Empire. Some nobility forbid the practice outright within their territories, while others encourage it tremendously, if not engage in slave-taking themselves.”

“House Blacksword?” Klarion asked, dreading the answer. He hadn’t even met any of his true family yet, but if they engaged in slavery he would do everything he could to put off doing so.

“No,” Rolfun shook his head to Klarion’s relief. “There are no slaves serving House Blacksword. Only bondsmen and vassals, each with their own protections.”

Klarion stared down the street that the slaves had disappeared down. He made a promise to himself then and there that he would do what he could to help if he were ever in a situation where he could act.

His stomach growling pulled him out of his contemplation. He realized it had been some time since breakfast.

“Here, take this,” Rolfun reached out, dropping several small copper coins in his open hand. “Keep an eye peeled for a street vendor selling meat buns. It’s the best food I tried the first time we came through here.”

As soon as the coins were in his hand, it was all Klarion could do to keep up with his escorts as they made their way deeper into Thorn’s Reach. Every food vendor they passed called out exotic foods in their wake. As much as he wanted to stop at them all, he trusted Rolfun not to steer him wrong. So he kept walking. Eventually, when he thought his stomach couldn’t take any more, they finally came across an old man selling meat buns on the corner of the street.

“Meat buns!” the man called out in a gravelly voice. “Get your meat buns here!” As he was calling to prospective customers, the vendor was pulling strips of meat off the small grill he had set up, which he then dunked into a dark-colored sauce, and finally placed between two pieces of bread that looked awfully similar to hamburger buns. The smell was almost intoxicating in its deliciousness.

“How much for a meat bun?” Klarion asked, stepping out of the street to the vendor’s stall.

“Copper apiece.” He replied without looking, placing the freshly completed meat bun on a tray of others. “But I’m doing a special right now since lunch is almost over. Four for three.”

“I’ll take the four then,” Klarion said quickly, offering the coins Rolfun had given him. In short order the coins disappeared up the old man’s sleeve and Klarion had a stack of four meat buns in his hands, the sauce already starting to drip on his fingers.

“Come again!” the old man called, eyes still focused on preparing the remaining meat he had been cooking.

Stepping back to Alesin and Rolfun, who had both paused to wait for him, Klarion handed one to the sun elf and two to the half-ogre. At Rolfun’s questioning look, Klarion explained.

“The vendor had been doing a special. Beyond it being your coins that purchased them,” Klarion began with a smile, “we all know you eat the most out of all three of us.”

“You didn’t have to, Klarion,” Rolfun said, clearly touched at the gesture despite the coins being freely offered. “But thank you.”

Without another word, they each took a bite of their meat buns. Tender meat and a tangy, almost barbeque-like taste exploded in his mouth. Rolfun hadn’t been kidding. This really was amazing, especially after many days of nothing but stew. While Klarion and Alesin took time to savor the flavor, Rolfun simply wolfed both of his down. After licking the remaining sauce from his fingers, Rolfun, who had already done so, motioned that they should continue deeper into Thorn’s Reach.

As they progressed, the crowds grew bigger and more diverse. Alesin and Rolfun both stepped closer, both to make room for others in the street as well as, he assumed, to protect him. A wider range of races were present, some of which he couldn’t quite make out before the movement of the crowd forced them apart. The sounds of distinct conversations from closer to the settlement’s edge gradually shifted into a dull roar of sound that pressed in on all sides. It went up another level in volume as they came to a large, open square surrounded by the largest buildings he had seen as of yet. If he had to guess, there were at least a few thousand people, if not more, who called Thorn’s Reach home. A bit more than he expected, but given what his escorts had told him about life in the Empire, and the fact that even places as far removed from the Core like this place had sewers and indoor plumbing, Klarion was finding he would have to reconsider some assumptions.

“There it is!” Alesin practically shouted in his ear, causing him to flinch under his hood. “That is the inn where we will be staying the night! Nothing else we can do until the Waypoint is ready to activate in the morning!”

Following her pointed finger, his eyes came to rest on a large, sturdy-looking building. A large door stood open at its front, a wooden sign hanging above it with an etching of a raven’s talon gripping a thorn. Apparently the inn they were staying at, Klarion all at once felt the need to get aside and take a break away from all the noise. He never had done very well surrounded by people and, as strange as it was to admit it, Thorn’s Reach was in many ways louder than Volksturm back on Earth.

Rolfun pushed through the crowd, then into the inn. Klarion was close behind him, while Alesin brought up the rear. Like magic, which might very well be the case given where he was, the sound of the square cut off abruptly as he stepped over the threshold into the inn.

It was like stepping into one of the roleplaying campaigns that he had played so often with his friends back on Earth.

Thick timber beams stretched across the ceiling. The light of the fire on the far side danced across tables worn down by patrons over years. Even now, still a bit early in the day, humans, elves, dwarves and a few more, exotic people Klarion didn’t know of were sitting at tables with drinks in hand. A wide bar stretched across one wall, stacked with a wide selection of alcohol. At the far side, a small stage held a older man with long white hair currently stringing what looked to be a guitar of some sort.

Holy shit, the inn even had an actual bard.

“Welcome to the Raven’s Thorn!” A lilting voice called out from behind the bar. An elven woman with long red hair stood there, gazing at them. “How can I help you all?”

Alesin stepped up to the bar. “Two rooms for the night. And if you could, send up three dinners once they are ready?”

The innkeeper, for that’s clearly what she was, did some quick mental math before responding. “That will be two silver, three copper. Any drinks will be extra.”

“No drinks with the meals, but we will come down for those in any case.”

Rolfun stepped forward to count out the coins for the innkeeper. She swept them off the bar into a small purse at her side. The half-ogre asked a question about when dinner might be ready, but Klarion’s eyes were locked on the honest-to-god bard about to begin playing.

“Good afternoon everyone! Welcome to Raven’s Thorn! I, Thrayer Wildspeak, will be your entertainment for the evening! Now, do I have any requests to start us off tonight?”

There was some muttering among the different patrons, but it was almost a minute before an older man missing an eye who had the general mien of a retired soldier spoke up with a request.

“The Fall of the Eighth Verdant?”

“Ahh, I thought you would ask for that one again, Rumos,” Thrayer said in a somewhat put-upon voice. Despite the tone, his fingers danced across the guitar, tuning it for the song. In short order, he was done. He cleared his throat, “The Fall of the Eighth Verdant!” The old bard’s voice settled into a deep, weathered rumble, like stones tumbling down a quiet mountainside.

He began to sing.

In fields of blood and bone they stood,

The 8th Verdant Legion, valiant and good.

Against the tide of death they fought,

With every ounce of courage they brought.

Undead hordes, a relentless wave,

Their numbers countless, their hunger crave.

But the Legion stood firm, unyielding and brave,

Their banner held high, their spirits unswayed.

With swords and shields, they clashed in the fray,

Each warrior fighting to see another day.

Their valor unmatched, their resolve unbroken,

Against the darkness, their light was awoken.

With each strike, a symphony of steel,

Their battle cries echoing, a warrior's zeal.

Though outnumbered and surrounded, they stood tall,

For honor and glory, they would give their all.

Through the smoke and fire, they held their ground,

Their bravery shining, a beacon profound.

Though fate may decree their final stand,

In the annals of history, their legend will expand.

For the 8th Verdant Legion, in glory they fell,

Their sacrifice remembered, their story to tell.

Though their bodies may rest in the sod and the dust,

I stand before you to share their tale, I must.

Moments after he sang the last verse, the final notes of the song died away into the silence of the inn. Each had carried the weight of years and wisdom, softened at the edges by age but still strong, resonating through the inn. His tone had been low and gravelly as he had sung of the victory and the loss of the Eighth Verdant. Even the rowdiest of the early patrons had gone still, drawn into the sound of his voice, feeling each word as if it had been woven just for them. A group of dwarves had set full steins of ale aside, solemnly listening about the honored dead. An elf stared off into the distance, lost in thought as his fingers tapped slowly along on the table he sat at. The man, Rumos, sat with tears openly streaming down from his one good eye. His face red with grief, Klarion wondered if he had known some of those that had fought in the legion.

If only his friends could see him now. Maybe one day he would be able to tell them about this. What he had experienced so far would have made for a good story at the wedding. At that thought, all he felt was sadness. There would be no way he would be able to make it to the wedding. He just hoped his friends would be able to forgive him once he did make it back.

Rolfun’s heavy hand clapped on the shoulder, pulling his attention back.

“Are you ready to head up to the rooms? Everything is paid for and dinner will be sent up to us soon. I figure after the long journey here, you likely would appreciate a good night’s sleep in a real bed.”

Klarion nodded and followed them up the stairs to the room that had been set aside for his own use. Alesin came in and gave it a quick look over, though whether she was looking for enemies or dust, Klarion was not sure. Given the, what he assumed to be, spell she was muttering under her breath, it was probably the former.

Once she was satisfied, she stepped back past him out into the hallway. Bidding them good night, and confirming the room they were in if he needed anything, Klarion closed and locked the door. Going to the simple washbasin, he tried to clean himself up as best he could. Days of travel and all the sparring with Rolfun, much less the battles against the Forest Goblins, and he was caked with dirt and less savory things. The water was black by the time he was done, but he felt a bit more human.

A knock on his door revealed a tray of food. He couldn’t control the grimace that came to his face when he saw it was a bowl of stew. At least it came with a piece of bread and butter. Despite his preference for another meat bun, he finished the food in quick order. After setting the tray back outside the room, and locking the door behind him, he crawled into bed. Finally full, and finally safe, he slept the sleep of the exhausted with no dreams.