All three sat around the table, their faces filled with apprehension. None of them spoke; they just looked at each other, as if they were taking each other's measure. Finally, someone spoke.

"Well, that happened," Al spoke sarcastically.

The first one to reply was not Joanna, but Felix. "So, what do we do now?" He asked.

Felix waited for an answer, eyeing both of them. Neither spoke; instead, they cast looks at each other.

"Master Felix has a point. A next step would be prudent." He spoke in a faux English accent.

Joanna did not find it amusing. She scowled, her expression going sour. She glared, and his smile refused to vanish. "Yes, my little brother has a point. What is the next step?" She said, overemphasising the word little and then eyeing him mischievously.

Al snorted, and then his thoughts matured. She was quite odd, on one hand serious, another mischievous.

Silence descended, broken a second later. "Well, I plan to head north, got a gig with some mercs to explore some ruin." He explained, and both of them frowned in thought. "As for you two, well, I would be lying if I said I had no interest in your brother." He confessed, raising the tension and her metaphorical guard.

Her eyes narrowed to slits, she leaned back in her chair. Scowling daggers at the potential threat. Clenching her fists, she rested them on the wooden table, her threat.

"What do you want with my brother?" Her voice was menacing.

Leaning forward to get a good look at her foe, she attempted to appear larger than she was. With the two at a stand-off, Felix sighed.

"What my sister should say is thank you for helping us. But what do you plan to do with me?" Both shifted to him, eyeing the boy.

Felix simply waited for a reply from either of them. Joanna blinked rapidly, unable to get a word out. Al shrugged, not really having a solid plan.

"Very astute, my boy, but what I want is to learn more about your people, if you are indeed an Upire." Name-dropping. The siblings looked confused. Felix was less so since he had heard it mentioned before.

Al stared, comprehending their lack of knowledge. "You don't know, neither of you knows, well that complicates things." Pausing in the middle of his sentence, he leaned back in his chair. "Well then, no matter. I suppose we can figure it out along the way." Gesturing with beleaguered acceptance, he threw the proverbial ball into their court.

Instead of Joanna taking up the racket to play. Felix chimed in. "I don't know what I am. I was born this way. But if you know something, I think we should stick with you." He declared firmly, resolute in his words.

They eyed each other for a time, their gazes locked in mental conflict. Joanna relented, agreeing with an affirmative shrug, just as their food and drinks arrived.

Once he put them down, she reached for the alcohol. Before she could lay a hand on her prize, Al interceded, pulling it away with telekinetic force. With her drink seized by an enemy, she glowered at him. "Hey!" She spat like an irate teenager yelling at her estranged father.

Al's eyes narrowed as if he was judging her. "How old are you?" He inquired, knowing they were barely twenty-one.

Their height, complexion and general immaturity, he came up with a potential age for each of them. If he was correct, he would down the mug before either could try.

She huffed, wearing her immaturity on her sleeve. Felix cut in, interceding to prevent another argument. "I'm fifteen and she's seventeen." Pointing to himself and then to his sister.

Nodding, Al smiled and used his powers to swap the ale for water, bringing the alcohol to his side of the table. Capturing every drop, tempting her to oppose his totalitarian rule of the table.

Her face burned bright red. "What's your problem!?" she huffed in annoyance.

"Let me guess, your people have different age limits on alcohol consumption, well consider this a cultural exchange with my people." He gripped the mug and began chugging the contents.

Once finished, he released an intake of breath, forcing down a burp. Smug, he withdrew his garlic powder and plopped the leather pouch on the table.

"This should liven up your food. Consider it my apology." He handed over the seasoning and stood up. "Now it's time for me to get drunk and you can think of your next move."

Rising from his seat, he raised a mug and announced. Rising from his seat, he raised a mug and announced, "I'll treat everyone to the next round, courtesy of a holy man!"

The barkeep approached cautiously, his next words silenced by a pouch of gold coins sprawling across the table. Both smiled and were ready for the night's festivities to begin.

Time passed, and Al swiftly left the two to eat in relative peace. Granting them a few glances to check on them. Joanna was dressing the soup with wide eyes. Felix barely touched his food and sat brooding.

Pulling away from the depressing sight, he approached a few mercs for some light conversation and drinking. The group happily accepted the guest.

They talked for a time, each of their mugs filled at the very moment they emptied. Getting tipsier and tipsier as the conversation went on.

"We live in crazy times, don't we Al?" A short man with blonde hair, blue eyes and a clean-shaven face spoke.

He appeared to be a ranger, with his bow secured on his back and a quiver tied to his belt. He directed his question towards Alistair, who introduced himself as Al, a wizard living the mercenary life.

Al nodded, clearly inebriated. "Yes, indeed, Orel, I'm new to the capital, but damn. Heroes summoned from another world, that is crazy!" He slurred, waving his hands in the air.

Al acted like a madman barely in control of his limbs. The entire group laughed, save for one, who scowled in the background.

He was a stern-looking fellow. With a thick beard, he seemed to be in his forties. He spoke with a heavy accent, over pronouncing his words as if they were unfamiliar.

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

Al thought that the basic translation enchantment built into the summoning spell was working overtime.

"That's the Heroic Trinity you are talking about boy, show some respect!" His deep voice reverberated. He took another swig of ale and glared at the group, irritated.

All participants lowered their gaze, pretending to inspect their mugs. Al noticed that the situation may have turned sour and turned his gaze to Rothgor.

"I don't mean any disrespect, these heroes are just too grand for a lowly wizard like me." He feigned meekness, trying to placate the angry man.

Not just from the booze, but from a fury boiling inside. His face flushed. Metaphorical sparks flew between them before Orel spoke, attempting to defuse the tension.

"Come on Rothgor, the lad meant no disrespect, come on, raise our mugs to the trinity!" Injecting a little joy into the group, Orel diffused the situation and everyone followed suit.

The group of five strangers bellowed in a jolly tone. "To the trinity, the keepers of peace!" Clanking their mugs together, the precious alcohol sloshed around.

All five chugged their ales as if it were a race. Orel, of course, won that match. Letting out a few burps, the group went back to the jovial atmosphere right until Rothgor spoke again.

"May the trinity crush the Federation and their mutant dogs!" His racist proclamation only got a few muted thrums of cheering before he finished his ale entirely.

Orel, now visibly concerned, tried to change the subject. "Let's get off this topic lads, how about a song?" Offering an idea of jolly singing, he inspected the area, only to frown in annoyance.

"Were in the spirits, is that bard?" Looking around, he gave up before grabbing another ale from the ever-growing pile.

Rothgor visibly smiled. "That pasty boy went upstairs with one barmaid. I bet he is giving her a right good plough." Everybody chuckled, with Al joining in for pleasantries' sake.

Sending his gaze to the siblings for a moment, spying the two chatting away in the corner.

"Any of you lads got any singers amongst you, not you Rothgor. I would rather tear my ears off before listening to any of that northern shit." Orel turned to Rothgor with a scowl, just catching him before the smug northerner spoke.

Getting no replies, Al being too drunk to sing any of his greatest hits. Rothgor grinned, knowing he was the last man standing. The smug northerner began singing in a deep and robust voice.

The song reminded Al of old Viking tunes that just made you want to fight for the glory of Odin. It was sombre and yet not as bad as Orel made it out to be.

The song was rough and Rothgor's accent was like nails on a chalkboard, but the music flowed well. It spun a tale of a dying warrior making his way home. The tale would have been a decent B-grade movie.

A steady beat accompanied the tale him spun, everyone getting in on it. They beat tables like they were drums, the drums of Valhalla. The song ended on a bitter-sweet note. He died before he could reach his family, but fell to his knees on the soil of his home.

The group cheered and clapped as if Rothgor was a tried and tested bard. Orel shook his head. Clearly, he didn't understand why everyone liked the music. Probably because they were all shitface drunk.

After having their fun, the group devolved into further inebriated ideas. Another recent member of the group named Risa chimed in. Equally wasted, she appeared to be in her early thirties with short brown hair and a fringe at the front.

Wearing attire similar to a rogue straight out of the fantasy genre. She securely strapped many daggers to the front of her bandolier. Broaching the group with a wild idea to test Al’s skill with telekinesis.

One thing led to another and Al was trying to remain upright against the wall, while Risa prepared to throw a dagger at him.

Slapping his face a few times, Al prepared the sigil on his left hand. The spider web tattoo glowed just before the first dagger took flight. Quick as though it stopped in mid-air, a few feet from him.

Tweaking his head to the side, it fell to the floor with a soft clatter. The inn erupted into cheers. Each patron drank heartily, and some took bets.

As he prepared the next dagger, Joanna's voice rang in his ear. "What in Durudin are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" She spoke indignantly.

While she waited for a response, Al quickly raised his palm, stopping another dagger. "You sneaky bitch, you almost got me." Risa shrugged, not taking any of this seriously. While she reached for another dagger, Al replied. "Ok, I know this is not smart, but I'm drunk, so smart went out the window." Chuckling like a schoolgirl, he swiftly froze another dagger. This one almost reached his eye. The blade lingered before clattering to the ground.

Now thoroughly annoyed, Joanna moved to the side, grabbed a free mug of ale, and began chugging it. Al shook his head at the underage drinking, flicked his wrist, and captured the tankard.

Pulling it out of her grasp to float before her. With his attention diverted, Risa dropped her arms to the side, not intending to let another dagger loose.

The tankard soared across the room, landing easily in his grasp. With his pilfered ale, he chugged the beverage with a smug expression of victory. Joanna replied by sticking out her tongue and fleeing with another tankard of plundered ale.

Al was about to object and heard another familiar voice. "Hey Al, we're back." Turning around to see James and Sally entering the inn, both looking ragged from travel.

They approached him, smiling, before being stopped by Risa. "Hey you guys can wait your turn; he still has three daggers to go before the record." She glared at the interlopers, dagger spinning in her hand with practised movements. They both quickly got the hint and went off to find a table.