The haunting howls of distant wolves echoed through the trees, their cries intertwining with the rustling of leaves in the wind. Shadows danced in the flickering firelight, creating an atmosphere of both anticipation and unease.

Goblins, mischievous creatures of the woods, whispered among themselves, their hushed voices carrying a sinister undertone. Their presence was felt, although they remained unseen, lurking in the shadows and observing the group with curious, malevolent eyes.

The camp remained shrouded in an uneasy silence, the atmosphere heavy with tension. Sensing the need to break the ice and alleviate the somber mood, a plump nerd with a neckbeard broke his silence,

"Speaking about fire," the fat nerd spoke out of the blue. everyone looked at him. His voice was hesitant yet determined as he now gained the attention of the party.

The fat acolyte spoke up with a voice tinged with enthusiasm as he adjusted his spectacles, "Harpies serve as a vital counterbalance to the wyverns. Few creatures possess such coordinated prowess and razor-sharp talons, striking fear into the hearts of their draconic adversaries. Wyverns, in turn, instill dread with their fiery breath, a force capable of singeing the harpies' delicate feathers."

The plump neckbeard nerd continued, delving into the intricate nature of wyverns. "There lies an ongoing academic debate regarding the classification of wyverns. Are they mere animals, or do they possess some sort of sentient intelligence? Tales, myths, legends, tavern yarn, and evidence have emerged, suggesting that wyverns, alongside harpies, possess an understanding or means of communication with beings beyond their own kind, to some degree at least."

The plump acolyte's revelations delved even deeper into the enigmatic nature of these mythical creatures.

"Furthermore, from the letter which the village chief sent to us, there was an unyielding storm that engulfed the Stormsteps mountain which lasted for weeks," he continued, his voice filled with a newfound sense of fascination,

"Storms rarely last for days or even weeks," Aden, the foreign prisoner spoke his knowledge.

The rest of the men listened attentively to the discussion about the harpies and the wyvern who were the inhabitants of this mountain range territory.

"Correct," The fat acolyte leaned closer, grabbed a twig, and drew what represent the map of the mountain area, "As the winter draws near, wyverns and harpies usually embark on their annual migration to the southern hemisphere. I believe it is during this journey that the harpies encounter the unyielding storm, impeding their usual flight path across the vast ocean. As a result, the tempest diverts them towards the human-inhabited mountain in the western coast region, where they seek sustenance and a place to propagate."

The fat acolyte paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink into the heads of everyone, before continuing, "While the wyverns possess the strength and resilience to navigate the storm without impediment, the harpies face a different fate. Their delicate frames and vulnerable wings make them susceptible to treacherous winds and lightning-filled skies. As they are forced to alter their route and venture closer to human settlements," Gilbert pointed a mark on the dirt map of two places which represent the point of interest, "The Monterei seaport at the west side of the mountain which they already sacked, and the village Serendale right on the Stormsteps mountain."

The acolyte's eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and reverence as he concluded, "Thus, the harpies' presence in these mountains becomes a testament to the ever-shifting balance of the natural world, a reminder of the relationship between humans and mythical creatures, and the need for our vigilance in protecting our homes and lives."

The fat acolyte concluded, his eyes glimmering with the excitement of shared knowledge. "And so, from the Serendale village, they say you can witness the awe-inspiring spectacle of the wyverns and harpies as they traverse the skies, their migration signaling the changing seasons and the ever-shifting balance of the natural world."

"Who are you again?" the good-looking foreign prisoner asked, his reddish skin hinting at his origins in a place with an abundance of sun.

The fat nerd shifted uncomfortably, his gaze meeting the curious eyes of the stranger. "I'm... my name is Gilbert," he stammered, his voice tinged with nervousness. "I'm actually an acolyte, An aspiring scholere from Hopetown. I'm here to investigate this strange storm phenomenon. see if we can unfold the mystery behind it and learn from it."

After the fat acolyte introduced himself as Gilbert, the handsome foreign prisoner did the same, "Ah, an acolyte, the learned people. I'm Aden, just a guy from Taruff, Median."

The acolyte is an apprentice of the esteemed Order of Scholeres, an umbrella term for healers, scribes, messengers, officials, scientists, and other academic experts who held great prestige in the Wessen continent. The renowned Regalyon Academy served as the region's primary institution, supplying talented individuals to the Scholere world and fostering intellectual growth.

A hint of a smile played on Aden's lips as he nodded in approval, " We could certainly benefit from your knowledge. Carry on, Gilbert," he encouraged, his voice carrying a sense of friendship. "We need all the information we can gather before we face the harpies in the coming days."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Gilbert clutching his compact book, was titled the Realm Compendium of Holocene for animals, mystical, and sentient creatures. Eager to share his knowledge, he animatedly recounted the sparse information he had gathered about the elusive harpies.

It became apparent that the acolyte's dream was to become one of the esteemed Compendium Scholeres, an aspiration that had driven him to embark on this perilous mission. His nervous excitement was masked by his ceaseless chatter, a coping mechanism to alleviate his apprehension.

Gilbert cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles again, gathering his thoughts.

"Well," he began, his voice gaining a touch of confidence now, "I've studied various texts and legends that mention harpies. They are winged creatures, woman-like creatures with wings instead of arms and with birds of prey's legs complete with talons and claws."

The group leaned in, eager to hear more of what the plump acolyte may have to share.

"They were known for their formidable agility and piercing screeches. Their presence is often associated with calamity and misfortune." Gilbert continued, his words flowing more freely now, "According to ancient accounts, harpies are known to be territorial and fiercely protective of their nests. They tend to congregate in groups referred to as harpyrie by the scholeres and their numbers can vary from a few individuals to larger gatherings. Their primary food source consists of small animals, but they have been known to hunt larger prey, including livestock and even humans."

A murmur of concern swept through the group, their eyes darting around, each contemplating the implications of facing such formidable opponents. The handsome foreign prisoner, his expression serious, interrupted the silence. "What about their weaknesses? Are there any strategies we can employ to gain the upper hand?"

Gilbert paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before responding. "Well, legends and tales suggest that harpies have a vulnerability to loud noises and disturbances. They have a heightened sense of hearing, it is well-known. It is said that they are easily disoriented and prone to retreat when confronted with chaotic sounds or sudden bursts of noise. Additionally, their aversion to fire is widely known, as it causes them great discomfort and can be used as an effective means of repelling them."

The group nodded in agreement, absorbing the information shared by Gilbert. The knowledge imparted by the fat acolyte offered a glimmer of hope amidst the daunting task that lay before them. Each member understood the importance of being well-informed and prepared to face the harpies head-on.

⁕⁕⁕

Aden listened to Gilbert the fat acolyte with great enthusiasm, captivated by the tales of wyverns and their riveting rivalry with harpies. In his homeland of Median, such fantastical creatures were but a distant dream, for the land boasted its own unique array of mythical beings.

The drunk old man watched Gilbert explaining the harpy insights while kept sipping his near-empty wine bottle. It looked like he had something to say.

"So, you were saying their weaknesses are loud noises and fire, so we could bang metal objects or shields together and wield torches to drive the harpy away. Is that what you suggest when we encounter them?" Aden asked Gilbert.

"Yes, people usually banging metals and it usually works," Gilbert replied.

"But, be mindful with the torch, lads. As you can paint yourself a target mark for the harpies from a distance, they have a pair of keen eyes. They are all birds of prey nonetheless." Now the Old drunk broke his silence and gave some wise advice.

Marcus, a seasoned smuggler among the prisoners, leaned in close to the group and shared a tantalizing proposition.

"Listen up, mates," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "If we manage to capture one of those harpies unharmed, we can sell it for a hefty sum of gold. I'm talking serious coins. Wealthy folks and slavemasters would pay a fortune for a live, unharmed harpy."

The group exchanged glances, contemplating the potential windfall that awaited them. The allure of newfound riches danced before their eyes, tempting them with dreams of a life far removed from their current predicament.

Captain Willem, well aware of the prisoners' conversation, approached them with a stern expression. "I overheard your little discussion," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of caution and resignation. "I won't condone illegal activities, but I'll make you a deal. If, by some miracle, you manage to capture a harpy, I'll look the other way. Consider it your reward for participating in this harpy mission."

The prisoners' eyes widened with a mix of surprise and excitement. Harpy is one of the illegal creatures to be hunted in Regalia empire territory, but this is a special case.

The opportunity to secure their freedom and newfound wealth seemed within reach, albeit through a risky venture. They understood the stakes and the consequences of failure, but the allure of a brighter future propelled their determination.

With a sly grin, Marcus glanced at the other prisoners. "You heard the captain. We have ourselves a golden opportunity, mates. if we pull this off, we'll be walking away from this mission as wealthy men."

With renewed resolve, the group set their sights not only on eliminating the harpy threat but also on seizing the chance to secure their own futures. The promise of riches hung in the air, fueling their determination as they continued their journey toward the harpy-infested territory. Little did they know the trials and dangers that awaited them, but their desire for freedom and wealth pushed them forward, ready to seize the opportunity that lay ahead.

Marcus, the smuggler-turned-prisoner took a good look at Aden.

"You don't have harpies back in your home, Ruhimi?" Marcus, the smuggler prisoner asked the Median prisoner.

Aden didn't feel offended. He knew his place.

Median people worshipped Lua while these prisoners were mostly Regalians, and Regalians were usually followers of Aione. Ruhim was the prophet of Lua, therefore people refer to the followers of the prophet Ruhim as ruhimi.

"No, we don't. We only have mermaids by the west coves, ghouls, ogres, sandworms, and Anka, a giant bird of prey with beautiful colorful feathers that prey upon kids." the Median prisoner replied to Marcus.

"and you can call me Aden." The foreign prisoner introduced himself again for the second time.

"I'm Hjalmar." said the dark-skinned smugger turned prisoner, who introduced himself to the party.

"Me Oliver," the youngest smuggler prisoner chimed in, introducing his smuggler group of prisoners. "This here is Marcus, the one who talked about selling the harpy. Then there's Ethan, our resident brainiac. And lastly, this is Victor - our jester."

"I'm not a jester," Victor complained.

"Okay, you are the clown then," Oliver kept teasing him.

"Damn brat," Victor poked the teen boy's head with his hand.

"And I'm Phil." the scrawny prisoner spoke his name and refused to be left out while the mute prisoner Martin wove his hand to say hi.

The prisoners raise their canteens and cups, saluting Aden as the custom in the Regalyon when someone or one introduces themselves. Aden raised his wooden cup to salute them.

⁕⁕⁕