Way too early, according to a Helana, she was pulled from her warm bed, given a quick breakfast, and marched down the dirt road. Now she stood next to her mother, sluggish and groggy, yawning and rubbing her eye, the sleep refused to leave her body. She wasn’t the only one: a dozen other “heroes” were gathered with their friends and family to see them off; none of them looked heroic between the matted hair and half lidded eyes. One of them stumbled off to a bush and puked.

A light mist clung to the woods and scrub. Helena was immensely grateful for the padded jacket to ward off the chill, but the chain shirt pulled her down. The sword belted at her waist was an additional weight, but more so in a more foreign sense. She had never carried a weapon before, now she was expected to use one. A glance at the other chosen said she was not alone.

The other heroes had a patchwork assortment of gear and equipment. Spears outnumbered swords almost two to one. A few had shields. One young man only had a belt knife and his patched clothes. Helena spotted two others equipped as well as herself: a tall darkhaired man in a stiff, woven vest, and the fancy young man from yesterday, complete with his own horse and follower.

A grey haired man on horseback was talking with her father; his armor gleaming in the light. Now he drew a horn from his belt and blew. As if on cue, the other heroes started his way. Helena’s father appeared before her. “That’s the signal,” he said, before giving his daughter a last look. “Sir Greggor will take you as far as Laatzen. He says there is a dungeon there and it’s a good place for beginning adventures to earn some coin.” He held up her shield and Helena slipped her arm through the strap.

Her mom stepped forwards with a blanket roll. She buckled it into place along Helena’s back, then gave her daughter a hug for good measure. “You can come back any time,” she said.

“Will do,” said Helena. She pushed down her own feelings and put on a brave smile for her parents. After one last long look, she turned and trudged after the other heroes.

Sir Greggor gave a short introduction. He was a veteran hunter of monsters and those “rascally dark-skinned elves”. He followed it up with a quick shout of “get in line or stay behind, its all the same to me,” and “it’s a two-day march to Laatzen”. This last part elicited a series of groans from the assembled heroes. The ragged line stepped off with Sir Greggor at its head. Helena found a spot for herself in the rear.

The band turned west, moving quickly along a high, narrow road. The patchwork of trees and grassland quickly gave way to plowed fields and a network of irrigation ditches. Farmers and fieldhands alike stopped and stared as they marched by.

‘What a sight we must be,’ thought Helena.

Ahead of her was the dark-haired man she noticed earlier. She picked up her pace until she was beside him.

“Good morning,” he said with a warm, easy smile, “my name’s William, blacksmith’s son.”

“Greeting to you, my name is Helena,” she huffed, straining more under her gear than she cared to admit.

William gave a short, barking laugh. “ ‘Greetings to you’ ,” he said in wonder, “that’s a weird way to speak. You sound like my grandmother.”

Her? Weird? Helena felt her face grow warm. Was she really that different from everyone else? Did she belong with the other heroes? She marched on, not sure how to respond.

William gave her an appraising look and asked, “where do you come from?”

“Me,” stuttered Helena, snapping out of her thoughts. “I hail from no where because I was born on the road. If I must choose, then it would be the Black Cove; my family spends the winters there making salt.”

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William laughed again. “There’s another one of those words, ‘Hail’. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb if you keep speaking like that.”

Helena cast her eyes about, desperate to get the conversation away from herself. “What about you,” she asked, “where do you hail, I mean ‘come’ from?”

“From Wimpfensburg,” replied William, “or at least its outskirts. My father takes all the work from the outlying farms, or any smithing work the Wright family thinks is below their station. I live out of a wagon with my momma and older brother most of the time.”

“And you have everything you own fit in a box,” pressed Helena.

“Or a bag,” conceded Willaim with a smile.

The two shared a look in mutual understanding. Then Willian shared a story from his childhood and Helena shared one of hers. Suddenly they were chatted away like old friends, neither paying any real attention to the goings on around them.

“And halt,” hollered Sir Greggor. This was proceeded by several angry curses as those behind ran into those in front. He continued, “you’ve got some time for a quick meal and rest. Afterwards we walk until sundown.”

They were in a thick forest, with only a winding narrow stone road to follow. Helena immediately found a nice tree and slumped against it. She gingerly eased off her boots and massaged her aching feet. William sat down opposite her.

“Not use to walk so much,” asked Willaim as he rummaged around in his pack.

“Or loaded with this much gear,” said Helena, “I usually ride in the wagon.”

William held out a wedge of hard cheese and a slice of bread with something thick and greasy spread on it. “Here,” he said.

“I have my own,” Helena politely protested.

“Take it. My parents packed enough for an army,” said William and he pressed the food into her hands. Helena took the food and ate. “What is on the bread,” she asked, working the unfamiliar flavor and substance around her tongue. “Jellied pork,” said William as he cut another slice of bread.

There came a startled shout, a deep guttural growl, and a yell of “wolves!” Everyone scrambled to their feet. Helena reached for her boots. “Forget them and draw your sword,” barked William. Helena did so. She hoisted her shield, not sure what to do.

“On me,” shouted Sir Greggor, “adventurers on me! Form a line!” Everyone scrambled into position. The ragged line faced a dozen mangy canines with glowing yellow eyes. They growled, showing long white fangs. William hissed, “those aren’t wolves, they’re dogs.”

Sir Greggor called above the noise. “Heros of Adori. Forward! Attack!” He drove his horse into the dogs, slashing left and right. The line of heroes hesitated. The dogs pounced.

They came gnashing and chomping, throwing themselves at the heroes and any place they could reach. Helena stood back, peeking over the top of her shield. A dog leapt and slammed into the wood, knocking her back. She hastily swung her sword. She watched in wonder as the blade glanced off its head, taking an ear in the process. The dog lunged for her legs. Helena swung. The sword bit deep and the beast bled. She chopped again and again until it stopped moving.

Helena stood back, panting. She could see no more dogs. Sir Greggor rode up, his sword dripping and his horse speckled with crimson. “Anyone hurt,” he asked, dismounting from his horse, “have the man next to you check for wounds. No one is dying to a bunch of mangy dogs.” William and Helena checked each other over. Helena looked to the other heroes: some sitting in stunned silence, other puking.

“Not bad,” said William, jesting to the dog Helena had slain.

Helena was about to comment on the two William had killed before someone shouted, “Look at that!”

The dogs were crumbling, little pieces breaking into finer and finer grains until they disappeared completely. Each dog left behind a little shard of crystal about the size of a pinky finger. “Grab them” hissed William, “mana shards are worth good money.” Helena did as he instructed.

Sir Greggor banged his sword against his armor until all eyes turned towards him. “Let this be lesson for all of you want-to-be monster hunters. There are two types: those born from mana and those born from flesh and blood. Mana monsters don’t eat nor drink and will almost fight to the death. After death, they turn into dust and leave behind a mana crystal. Flesh and Blood monsters are as alive as you and I. They are clever, will hide, fight, and run away. They can even disguise themselves as human”. Several gasps met these words. Sir Greggor ignored these and scanned the faces before him, “are there any monsters amongst Adori’s chosen?”

Helena felt a sudden impulse to raise her hand. She clasped it with her other. The sensation passed as quickly as it had come.

“Now hurry up and eat,” said Sir Greggor with a smile, “because afterwards be march until nightfall.”