John strode into the common room of the inn, his Hawaiian shirt freshly cleaned and his boots crunching faintly on the old wooden floorboards. The early morning sun filtered through the small windows, casting golden streaks of light across the room. Thorin and Kaia were already seated at a corner table, a steaming pot of Wakeroot brew between them.

“Morning!” John said, plopping down onto a stool. His cheerful tone was a stark contrast to his usual grumbling.

“You’re chipper,” Kaia said, raising an eyebrow.

“Damn right I am,” John said, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some of the brew. “Two levels in one day. A genius plan in the works. What’s not to love? So, what’s the game plan for today?”

Thorin took a long sip from his mug, his beard dampened slightly by the dark liquid. “Errands first. We need to visit the blacksmith and get our weapons maintained before we do anything else. Can’t test your little scheme if our blades snap mid-fight.”

“Fair,” John said. He pulled his pocket knife from his belt and flipped it open, examining the blade. As he did, the item description flickered into view in his interface:

Widowfang (Level 4)

Type: Dagger level 4

Damage: 15-20 (Piercing)

Critical Chance: 20%

Durability: 75/100

Description: A dagger that has evolved beyond its humble beginnings. Deadly, swift, and more resilient than before. Still retains its utility for opening boxes.

“Huh,” John muttered, squinting at the durability stat. “Didn’t realize this thing was wearing down. Guess I should probably have it looked at too.”

Kaia suddenly sneezed, a soft and delicate sound, though it startled her enough to make her blink in surprise.

“Bless you,” John said automatically, digging into his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief—immaculately white with intricate blue embroidery along the edges—and handed it to her.

Kaia took it, her eyes widening as she examined the craftsmanship. “This is…beautiful. Where did you get this?”

“I made it,” John said with a grin.

Thorin choked on his drink, coughing as he stared at John. “You made that?”

“Yep!” John leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking smug. “After Kaia mentioned crafting professions the other day, I figured I’d pick one up. So, I went with tailoring. I’ve been sewing at night. Helps me unwind.”

Kaia’s jaw dropped. “Tailoring? You’re a rogue! Why in the world would you pick tailoring?”

“Because,” John said, his grin widening, “if you max out the tailoring skill, you can craft a flying carpet. And a flying carpet would be badass.”

Thorin erupted into laughter, his mug tipping as he leaned too far back in his chair and fell to the floor with a thud.

Kaia’s head hit the table with a dull thump. “A flying carpet? That’s your plan?” she muttered into the wood.

“Damn straight,” John said, utterly unbothered by her exasperation. “Think about it. No more walking. No more hauling gear through mud and forest. We’d be flying in style.”

Thorin, still on the floor, was clutching his stomach, tears forming in his eyes from laughing so hard. “You—you’re insane, John!”

Kaia lifted her head and shot John a glare. “You’re a rogue. You should’ve picked leatherworking so you can craft your own armor or repair your gear.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” John asked, raising his mug for a triumphant sip. “Flying carpet. Mark my words—it’s going to pay off.”

Kaia sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. “If you spent as much time training as you do coming up with these ridiculous ideas…”

John chuckled. “Hey, ridiculous ideas are my specialty.”

Thorin finally picked himself up off the floor, still chuckling. “I’ll give you this, John—you keep things interesting.”

John raised his mug again. “To flying carpets and genius plans!”

Kaia groaned, resting her head on the table again, while Thorin shook his head, still grinning.

***

The trio stepped into the smithy, the warm glow of the forge casting flickering shadows across the rows of weapons and armor lining the walls. A burly blacksmith wiped his hands on his apron and nodded in their direction.

"Let me know if you see something you like," he grunted, before turning back to hammer a glowing blade.

John strolled past racks of swords, axes, and maces, eyeing the craftsmanship. Thorin examined a heavy steel breastplate, running his thumb over the polished surface. Kaia drifted toward the bows and crossbows.

John paused mid-step, blinking at the wall in front of him. Hanging between a longsword and a war hammer was something that looked like it belonged in a fantasy-themed gag gift shop.

"...Are those sword chucks?"

Kaia glanced over his shoulder, tilting her head. "Sword what?"

John pointed. Two short swords were chained together at the hilts, dangling ominously. "Sword chucks. Nunchucks, but with swords. It's exactly as dangerous as it sounds."

Thorin squinted at the contraption, frowning. "That... seems highly impractical. Why would anyone make such a thing?"

"Clearly for when hitting yourself in the face with regular nunchucks just isn’t exciting enough." John scratched his chin. "Or maybe some aspiring lunatic thought *'What if this was more lethal... to me?'"

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Kaia stepped closer, inspecting it with a healer's concern. "I think the goal was to ensure the opponent isn’t the only one who needs bandages."

Thorin crossed his arms, letting out a rumbling chuckle. "I would pay good coin to watch someone try to use it in battle."

John raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, I’d pay just to see them survive using it."

“Stonearsson,” Eirik grunts, pausing his work. “Didn’t expect to see you back in Bjornfell.”

Thorin nods. “Work calls. Wolves, mostly.”

Eirik gestures toward John with the hammer. “And this one? A mercenary?”

John flashes a grin. “Something like that. More like ‘imported talent.’”

Eirik snorts. “You don’t look like talent. More like someone who wandered too close to a wizard’s tower.”

Kaia interrupts. “Eirik, we’re here to get our weapons looked at. Can you fit us in?”

Eirik nods, gesturing to the bench. “Leave them. I’ll need the rest of the day to tune them up properly.”

Thorin steps forward, pulling a heavy war hammer off his back and setting it on the counter with a solid thud.

Eirik nods appreciatively. “Good craftsmanship. Anything else?”

Without a word, Thorin pulls out an axe and sets it down. Then a longsword. Finally, two daggers.

John, watching this unfold, crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Where in the hell are you keeping all that? Do you have a magical inventory I don’t know about?”

Thorin smirks. “A warrior’s always prepared.”

John chuckles, shaking his head. “Prepared for what? An entire army?”

Thorin shrugs. “You’d be surprised how often you need the right tool for the job.”

Eirik laughs. “If you’re not careful, you’ll run out of belt space.”

John grins. “Belt space? The man’s running a walking armory.”

Kaia rolls her eyes. “Can we stay focused, please?”

John takes his knife from his pocket and places it on the counter next to Thorin’s impressive pile.

Eirik chuckles, looking at the small blade. “This your idea of a weapon? Looks like a pig sticker.”

But when he picks it up, the laughter dies in his throat. His brow furrows as he examines the blade more closely, running a finger along its edge and holding it up to the light.

“Where in the hells did you get this?” Eirik mutters, his voice low with awe. “This isn’t just any blade—it’s legendary. A growth item, at that. It’ll get stronger as you do.”

John shrugs. “Found it lying around.”

Eirik narrows his eyes. “Sure you did. You don’t stumble across something like this by chance.”

Kaia interjects, steering the conversation. “Will it be a problem to work on it?”

Eirik shakes his head slowly. “No problem at all. But if this knife is part of your kit, you’re either mad or planning something big.” He looks John over again, like he’s reevaluating him.

John grins. “Let’s just say I’ve got plans.”

Eirik raises an eyebrow but says nothing, setting the knife down with care before returning to his work.

They left the smithy, but not before Thorin gave the sword chucks one last, skeptical glance.

***

The trio stepped out of the blacksmith’s shop and into the bustling streets of Bjornfell. The clang of hammers and chatter of merchants filled the air as John adjusted his belt, suddenly feeling unarmed without his knife.

“So,” John began, glancing between Kaia and Thorin, “what’s the plan? We can’t exactly go hunting goblins without weapons.”

Kaia perked up. “We could help out at the orphanage. They’re always short on hands, and it’d be a good way to—”

John immediately cringed, his face twisting in discomfort. “Yeah, uh, While that's a great suggestion let's find something with less snot.”

Kaia frowned. “It wouldn’t kill you to help someone without expecting a reward, you know.”

Before John could respond, Thorin chimed in with a booming laugh. “Or we could head to the pub, grab a drink, and wait for Eirik to finish the weapons. No harm in killing time the proper way.”

John blinked at him, a strange mix of longing and reluctance flickering across his face. “Huh. I can’t tell if that’s a terrible idea or an absolutely brilliant one.”

Thorin grinned. “It’s both.”

Kaia rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath about boys and their priorities.

John held up a hand to forestall further debate. “Okay, hear me out. What if we split the difference? Instead of kids or ale, we find out more about this thieves’ den. If it’s as notorious as the murmurs have hinted, someone in town’s bound to know something. Plus,” he added with a mischievous grin, “it beats babysitting or getting day-drunk.”

Kaia sighed but relented. “Fine. If we’re doing this, we should ask around carefully. The last thing we need is to attract attention from the wrong sort of people.”

Thorin shrugged, resting his hands on his belt. “Or we attract attention and deal with whatever comes. Keeps things simple.”

John smirked. “That's why I like you big guy. Keeping it simple”

“Simple works,” Thorin said with a grin.

John clapped his hands together. “Alright, let’s move. The sooner we find out about this den, the sooner we can... not rob it. Kaia’s rules.”

Kaia shook her head but smiled faintly as the three of them headed into the heart of Bjornfell, weaving through the crowd in search of answers.

***

The trio strolled down the cobblestone streets, weaving through the bustle of Bjornfell. Merchants hawked wares from wooden stalls, their voices blending into the hum of villagers going about their day. John glanced around, taking it all in. The town had a lived-in charm—rustic yet lively, with buildings that looked like they’d been standing for centuries.

“Alright,” John said, scanning the crowd. “We’re looking for someone shady, someone loose-lipped, or both. Thorin, you probably know half the town. Any ideas?”

Thorin rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Could try Old Man Halvar. He’s a drunk, but he hears things. Or we could stop by the tannery. I’ve got a cousin there who—”

“Stonearsson!” a voice called, interrupting Thorin.

They turned to see a stout woman waving enthusiastically from across the street. She hurried over, her arms laden with a basket of vegetables.

“Thora,” Thorin said, nodding politely.

“And who’s this?” Thora asked, her eyes landing on John. She squinted, then gasped. “By the gods, I know you!”

John blinked. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

“No, no, I’m sure of it!” she said, leaning closer. “Weren’t you at the Spring Festival last year? Danced with half the womenfolk, if I remember right.”

Kaia smirked, and Thorin chuckled. John rubbed the back of his neck, trying to muster a reply. “I, uh, think you’ve got the wrong guy. I wasn’t even... around here last year.”

Thora frowned, her brows knitting together. “Strange. You’ve got the face of someone I’d swear I met before. Well, if it wasn’t you, then... must’ve been your twin.” She smiled awkwardly, gave a nod, and shuffled off.

As Thora disappeared into the crowd, John sighed. “That was weird. Do I really have one of those faces, or is it something else?”

Kaia tilted her head, studying him. “It’s not the first time someone’s thought they recognized you.”

Thorin shrugged. “Small towns. Everyone starts looking familiar after a while.”

John wasn’t so sure, but he let it drop. As they continued through the market, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease creeping up his spine. It started as a faint itch at the back of his neck and grew into a heavy awareness that made his skin crawl. He stopped abruptly, turning to scan the crowd.

“What is it?” Kaia asked.

John’s eyes darted from face to face, but nothing stood out. Just villagers going about their day. He even looked up toward the rooftops, but there was nothing out of place. “I... don’t know,” he muttered. “Thought I felt someone watching us.”

Kaia’s expression tightened, and Thorin’s hand instinctively hovered near the hilt of a dagger he no longer carried.

“Could be nothing,” John added, trying to brush it off. “Just a bad vibe, I guess.”

“Or someone who doesn’t want us asking questions,” Kaia said quietly.

Thorin grunted. “Let them watch. If they want trouble, they’ll find it.”

John forced a chuckle, though the unease lingered. “Love the optimism, big guy. Let’s keep moving.”

The trio approached a group of villagers huddled near a stall selling fresh bread. John stepped forward, plastering on his most disarming smile. “Hey there, folks. Got a moment to help out some travelers?”

One of the villagers, a wiry man with a grizzled beard, squinted at him suspiciously. “Depends on what you’re asking.”

“We’re trying to find out about a certain... less-than-reputable establishment near town,” John said, keeping his tone light. “The kind of place that good honest folks avoid if you catch my drift.”

The man exchanged a glance with his companions, then folded his arms. “You’re talking about the thieves’ den, aren’t you?”

John nodded. “That’s the one.”

The man frowned. “It’s not the kind of place you want to go poking around. Folk who go there either come back with trouble on their heels or don’t come back at all.”

“We can handle trouble,” Thorin said, crossing his arms.

The man snorted. “If you are dead set on finding it you should check the older part of Bjornfell where the warehouses are. But be warned asking too many questions is dangerous .”

Kaia stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. “Thank you. We appreciate the warning.”

The man gave a reluctant nod, and the trio stepped away from the stall.

As they walked, John muttered, “Why do I get the feeling this is going to be more complicated than we think?”

“Because it always is,” Kaia replied with a sigh.

“I hate complicated,” Thorin said, grinning. “Simple is the way.”