Darkness, encroaching and encompassing. My limbs numb and breath evicted. I lay there, violated by the shadows, suffocating. I cannot move. I cannot scream. I try to call for help, but no utterance escapes my mouth. No one can find me in this void. Nothing can save me from this darkness. No saint nor god can answer my prayers.

"A curse upon them, and their children, and their children's children." whispers arise from the dark.

No. Please no. I don't want this. I never wanted this.

The shadows morph and take shape. Becoming a mutated mass of faceless humans. These shadowy figures seem to cry out a hollow howl. Dancing and wriggling in the void. They are a living tapestry of pain. Their limbs twist and contort as they reach out to caress me, watch me, mock me, and whisper curses deep into my heart and soul.

"A peaceful death is too good for you." They murmur. Their hands smother my face.

No. Let me go. Please. Release me!

My consciousness fades as the darkness swallows me whole.

Dawn broke in meager ribbons of light through the curtains when Anton finally awoke. His body ached terribly, and his skin was cold and clammy. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself staring at a moldy wooden ceiling. Cold sweat covered his entire body, goosebumps appearing all over his skin. He looked down at the floor beside his bed. There was a puddle of water that seemed to have formed from a leak in the roof. He quickly wiped away his sweat and sniffed hard to clear the mucus in his nose. He had a splitting headache and a parched throat. His stomach bellowed loudly. Immediately, he shot up from the bed and stumbled around, searching for water or food.

As he searched his room for sustenance, he thought back to what happened the week prior. His thoughts were hazy, and everything came in jumbles. Flickering images of his duel with Jason, but nothing concrete; his brain seemingly still refused to comprehend anything coherent regarding his recent brush with death. Stepping into the puddle, he wildly considered drinking it but resisted the urge in favor of getting dressed instead. He wasn't an animal.

While dressing, Anton felt a sharp pounding in his head, like his brain was trying to escape through his skull, laboring his breathing as though he were sprinting uphill. Donned in musty linen, he finally left his room and headed downstairs to the tavern for some breakfast. On his way down, he saw a group of young men who looked to be adventurers sitting by the fire, eating their morning meal.

"Ah, mornin', my friend. Didja sleep well?" greeted the innkeeper, a stout man by the name of Erwin with a round belly and a bushy beard. He had a warm smile that welcomed all who entered his establishment, a damp yet cozy inn that stood on the edge of the town of Brehella.

Anton gave Erwin a weary nod before slumping behind an empty table. Head hung low, he slid a silver Rovanian coin across the table and rasped, "A mug of fresh water and a bowl of Griffonhare stew."

"Water? We 'ave ale or wine, house-made. What ya wantin' plain water for?" Erwin asked with a cheeky grin.

"For my stomach and my throat, you oaf."

Not even a half minute later, a bowl and a mug were slammed down in front of him. Not even a half second following, Anton eagerly grabbed the wooden bowl with both hands as if it were the first meal he had ever eaten in his life and shoveled it into his mouth with great enthusiasm. The base of the stew was a rich, savory broth made with a blend of magical herbs and spices. The Griffonhare was infused with the sour flavors of wildflowers and berries until the white flesh was stained a deep purple. Its meat was unusually tender, and its fat melted in Anton's mouth, creating a lavish symphony of oily juice playing in harmony with his tongue, cheeks, and down his throat. As he slurped up every spoonful as quickly as he could, he took in a breath and let out a satisfied sigh. Then he chugged down a refreshing swig from the mug. Unsurprisingly, it was cheap ale, but Anton was well past the point of caring.

Erwin's smile was wide as he cheered, "At'a lad!" As he walked back to the bar, stuffing the silver coin in his apron's pocket.

"Aye, that be him. The infamous Anton Krendel, who slew a dozen men from the House of Driev three months ago before dueling Jason the behemoth himself last week."

"Are you sure? I can't believe a guy that pathetic looking could fell someone the likes of Jason."

"Maybe Jason wasn't what the rumors made him out to be? I mean, he was hounded from House Driev for being caught blackmailing locals."

"Aye, 'lotta knights from the Imperial Houses tend to dip their toes in corruption, normally using middlemen like us to do the dirty work. But Jason Driev was a more hands-on type a' guy; he did things either personally or with his men through brute strength. I've met him before. He was certainly no munchkin."

The four seeming adventures discussed next to the hearth fire, peering over at Anton as he scarfed on his stew with little dignity or manners.

"I think I could take him on," claimed their leader.

The ugliest man in the group piped up. "I'd love ta' see you try! You're not even half the size of Jason."

The leader shrugged, "So? I'm bigger than the average man."

"That's not saying much," chimed in the slimmest among them.

"If it was me, one on one against him... I'd win."

"Oh yeah?" the ugly one asked, eagerly awaiting his response.

"Well, I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

The leader of the gang stood up, daunting and cockily, making his way towards Anton.

"Oi, wait a second! Are ya gonna challenge him or something? We weren't told to do that," the meekest member of the group asked.

"Nah, I just want a little chat," he answered. With that, he waltzed over to Anton's table with a swagger.

Anton felt a presence approaching behind him, footsteps creaking on the oak boards that line the tavern floor. He tilted his head to see. Noticing that the figure had broken off from the group of adventurers near the hearth fire, he realized he was clad in an iron cuirass too heavy to belong to a budding adventurer, with a broadsword and a dagger strapped to his belt. The young men were probably mercenaries, and the one who was approaching looked particularly muscular and confident, with a sly smile crawling across his face.

"You're Anton Krendel, aren't you?"

"What's it to you?"

"I've heard a lot about you."

The mercenary sat down next to him, his chiseled face and flowing blond hair juxtaposed with Anton's rugged face and unkept auburn beard. There was a stark difference in age and attitude between the two men. Anton, refusing to meet the provoking gaze of the mercenary, continued to gaze into his empty bowl.

"And what exactly have you heard?"

"That you are a notorious mercenary, a freelancer that bears no allegiance to an Imperial House, and that you've got quite the body count on you."

"You must have me mistaken for someone else."

"But you killed twelve men from House Driev."

"I didn't kill anyone from House Driev."

"Then who did you kill?"

"I killed no one."

"Bullshit."

Anton swallowed his words, replying with a reserved nod.

"I know you dueled Jason Driev last week and that you cut him down."

"Yeah, I guess so..."

Anton's lack of reaction and monotonous tone ticked a nerve in the mercenary, his smile receding back into contempt. There was a momentary pause in the conversation between the two, that is, if it could even be called a conversation. Finally, the awkward silence was broken as the man spoke once again, regaining his sly smile and composure.

"The name's Jergal. Jergal Siegwadar, from Arlak mercenary company."

"Nice to meet you, Jergal," sarcastically replied Anton without turning around, still gazing at his empty bowl.

Arlak company, huh? They're a highly-priced company, ranging a couple hundred strong. Back in my younger days, my old band of adventurers and I crossed paths with them before on joint expeditions and exterminations. From the handful I remember, they were skilled warriors capable of giving knights and imperial soldiers a run for their coin. I can't quite read this Jergal fellow's skill in combat, nor can I determine his exact intentions, but I can sense a certain malice from him. Malice and naivety? A type of cruelty that is only present in someone trained in combat from a very young age. What does he want with me?

Ah, that's right. Arlak company is often contracted by House Driev, aren't they? That would likely explain why he knows about me. Does he actually desire a duel? He's so young. So young and so stupid. I don't think that the Drievs would demand reparations from me, they had already exiled Jason before I killed him, and his soldiers were all seventh-born sons who no one would miss. The nobles of House Driev knew they were scumbags. I'm sure half of them wanted to thank me for doing them a service. But the other half, the ones who let them run around as they so pleased, may want an eye for an eye. Jason's father, Ulric, the second head of the House, might feel obligated to take action.

Urrgh. Status and reputation are always at stake in politics, huh? Such a worthless hassle. If I had to live a life of power struggles where I constantly feared betrayal and assassination, I'd sooner toss myself into a sulfur mine pool. That being said, I'm likely just paranoid from my troubled sleep and this throbbing headache. I should play along with this Jergal fellow for now until he gets bored and leaves me alone.

"Do you need something from me?" Anton monotonously asked.

"Oh no, I just wanted to talk for a bit before we leave today at noon."

"I'm not much of a talker."

"Well, I am. How did you kill Jason?"

Anton prepared himself to be relentlessly barraged with questions, taking in a deep breath when the tavern's door suddenly swung open. A macabre gust of icy wind blew through the tavern. The hearth fire flickered and crackled against the draft as all six men present in the tavern turned their attention to the dark-cloaked hooded figure that appeared in the door front. Illuminated by the dim, cloud-engulfed morning sun, the mysterious individual brought with them an unnerving atmosphere. Anton noticed their form faintly shimmering in the light as if they were surrounded by a translucent veil. Behind them was a second smaller figure, about two-thirds the height, dressed in a shabbier brown hooded cloak, dirtier and more raggedy in comparison to the neat black cloak of the taller individual. This second person did not have the same veil and aura as the black one, instead possessing a different, more subtle type of enigma, one that Anton felt himself gravitating towards. He wasn't sure if it was an instinct of some kind, but he felt his heart sink the moment he saw them, a feeling he could only describe as: 'Nightmares.'

"The four wind spirits are howling on this fine morning." The black-cloaked figure commented; their voice was soft as wool, simultaneously calming and eerie with a creepily passive undertone despite speaking loud enough to be heard across the tavern.

"They blow in a lot from the Stormveil highlands! T'is normal for Brehella!" Erwin called from behind the counter. "Now shut the door, 'fore the fire goes out!"

"Ah, of course. My apologies." The black-cloaked person gestured to his smaller companion, who immediately moved to close the dense slab of Great oak. The door was twice their size, yet they managed with little effort, returning to the black-cloaked person's side with a meandering pace once their task was accomplished.

"Were they a servant? A slave?" Anton wondered to himself. "They look the size of a child, but they displayed strength above the class of their size. Their figure seems too petite for a dwarf, perhaps a gnome?"

The black-cloaked person unhooded themself, revealing a ghostly pale androgynous face with long white hair coming down to his collarbone. His eyes were wide open with milky discolored pupils that blankly stared into space. "I'm a traveling missionary. I have business with an Anton Krendal. Is there a Mr. Krendal staying in this inn?"

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"Well, look at you, infamous mercenary. I'll leave you to talk business. Don't worry. I'm not one for professional jealousy." Jergal mocked as he stood up from the seat next to Anton to return to his group. That was one troublesome person out of the way, likely to be replaced by a potentially more troublesome one.

"Over 'ere," Erwin pointed towards Anton, his head still hung low.

"Many thanks." The missionary carefully sauntered over towards Anton, closely followed by his companion, sitting down in the same spot Jergal was just in moments ago.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Krendal." He greeted him with a quieter private voice.

"Likewise. Could you please cut to the chase?" Anton's patience was running thin even before the missionary sat down.

"Very straightforward of you. At the very least, would you allow me the honor to exchange formalities first? Introducing myself and my companion?"

"Sure."

"Thank you. My reborn name is Raum; I am a high-ranking priest and missionary of the Grogoth faith. This young girl behind me is Charlotte, though she doesn't respond very well to her name." Raum gestures to his companion, her eyes and forehead obscured by her hood, showing no interest in the conversation.

"I've never heard of this 'Grogoth faith' before. Are you a con man or something?"

Raum chuckles softly at Anton's snappy remark.

"No, I assure you, Mr. Krendal, though most established churches and religions are synonymous with deceit or trickery, the Grogoth faith is a pure and honest distillation of the will of Grogoth."

"Sounds like a niche deity to me. What does he do for you?"

"The relationship between Grogoth and their followers isn't as simple as receiving something for worship-"

"Right, so he does nothing for you." Anton cut in, hoping his rude attitude would deter the priest from any further exposition. But the Raum only continued to chuckle with amusement and delight. There was nothing forced about his expression at all as he continued to elaborate.

"Grogoth isn't a widely revered god, but those few of us who are blessed by their love have seen their divine truth and fragments of the grand salvation that awaits us all. We do not worship them because we choose to but because it is an inevitable fate. You see-"

Raum seemed to take great joy in explaining his beliefs. Spreading gospel was a natural part of a missionaries job, but Anton had never met one with as unnerving of an aura as Raum. Even though, strangely enough, he felt less threatened sitting next to Raum than he did Jergal. As he kept rambling, Anton decided to get a better grasp on Raum's character, taking a closer inspection of his black damask cloak. It was dotted with woven symbols and iconography that Anton could not decipher. Most prevalent of which is an eye with hemorrhaging cut on its pupil. What's more, is that his cloak had faint stains on its front and forearms. It wasn't very clear to see from a distance due to its dark color, but up close, it became very apparent. There aren't many types of liquid that could come out on black silk.

"What kind of religious practices do you perform?" Anton cut into Raum's religious exposition.

"Sacrifices," Raum answered without missing a beat.

"So you're an occultist?"

"To some people, yes."

"Do you only use goats?"

"No, we use a wide range of animals. Sometimes we might use creatures of higher intelligence."

"People?"

"Humans, Elves, Demi-humans and the sort, yes. We don't discriminate in race."

Raum's blunt response took Anton aback. The manner in which he could so openly admit it while wearing such a pleasant smile shocked Anton. His fist clenched unconsciously.

"What about the girl? Is she a part of your cult? Or is she a sacrifice-to-be?" Anton interrogated with newfound vitriol, raising his head to face off directly against Raum, locking eye contact with Raum's creamy fogged pupils.

"She is not affiliated with my faith, nor do I intend to use a drop of her blood," Raum reassured in a dulcet tone.

Anton peered over at Charlotte, her stance and body language had not changed. He sat there for a moment, digesting the situation, his headache worsening as he tried analyzing her.

Raum attempted to drive the conversation back on track. "We would love to hire you to accompany us on a journey to the newly unearthed Y'ashi mausoleum in the northern mountains of Boletaria."

Anton hesitated to respond but decided to swallow his moral reservations. "That's work better suited to an adventurer, not a mercenary."

"Aren't they the same thing? Adventurers take job requests from the Rovanian Empire's official guilds, while Mercenaries take private contracts and direct deals."

"I haven't explored a temple or ruins in over a decade. I just clear out monster infestations or deal with bandits."

"Those are dilemmas that we will likely run into on our journey."

"How much are you offering to pay?"

"For you? We don't have a monetary sum to give."

That was the last straw for Anton. He stood up from his seat, groggy head be damned, and turned around to leave. Just before he could leave the table, however, he felt a chilly grip on his wrist. Raum had leaned out and grabbed hold of him with strange desperation.

"Let go of-"

"Do you have nightmares, Mr. Krendal?" Raum quickly asked. "Are you plagued by darkness and voices that won't let you go until you enter the waking world? Curses of an unknown origin that penetrate into your very soul?"

Anton was bewildered. The questions struck true, but how? How could Raum know about his situation? A lucky guess? Why make such a guess in the first place? Anton's frustration and disgust were washed over by curiosity and fear. It wasn't Raum's hand that was pulling him back in, but some other force. The direction of gravity kept Anton there.

"I can help you with those nightmares. Grogoth's guidance can be used to save you, to give you answers. That is what I offer you for your services, something that no amount of coin will buy you."

Anton became lost in thought. Processing Raum's words through a rising migraine. He couldn't muster a reply before they were interrupted.

"Whoa there, gentleman, something come awry in your dealings?" Jergal announced as he returned to the table, his party in tow. The four mercenaries gathered around the table and surrounded them, snickering and curling their lips save for the meek individual who protruded a nervous exterior.

"If that man there won't take your job... We'd be willing to hear you out." Jergal leaned over the table to look at Raum, who acknowledged him and greeted him with a dismissive tilt of his head.

"We're fine, thank you. I want the services of this man in particular."

"And why is that, hmm?"

"I could ask you a similar question, young man. Why are you so interested in Mr. Krendal?"

Jergal wore his usual smug expression, scoffing at the missionary's gall to spin the question onto him.

"You know, I've met my share of creepy clergymen, but you definitely take the crown." He taunted, nose curling as he sneered while looking down on Raum. His entourage heckled with him as if they rehearsed on cue.

Boring. Humans are so boring. They just talk all day. Just when I thought things were wrapping up, more humans came over to talk. Four of them. They look so stupid. They smell bad too. I bet they don't wash themselves. Raum should just tell them to piss off. We're only here for the bearded one. What a pain in the ass. My ears are itchy under this hood. I'm hungry. Is there any stew left in that bowl?

No, the bearded one finished it all. He doesn't look very happy, even though he has a full belly. Doesn't he know it's more than most people get? Is he unhappy because of the shadow dreams? I guess I can relate. He looks so pitiful. I almost want to pinch his cheeks.

They're still talking. One of them has a stubby nose and black teeth. Looks more like an ogre to me. Wait a moment. These new people... They have weapons on them. Is Raum in trouble? It's his fault for being so friendly. He can handle himself, but I don't know about the bearded one. He doesn't have any weapons on him. Isn't he meant to be a warrior? Do I need to protect him? That's going to be a pain in the ass too. Just get rid of them, Raum. The ugly one is looking at me. He's coming towards me. I swear if he touches me, he'll regret it.

"Oi, what's this now? This little fella. What's their deal?" The ugly mercenary plod over to Charlotte. "Come on. Don'tcha know it's rude to wear hoods indoors?"

He flips her hood over to reveal her head. Short onyx black hair with indigo highlights, and sticking from the upper sides of her skull were a pair of triangular-shaped ears. Fluffy animal ears, specifically, something akin to fox or cat ears. They twitched in the exposed air.

Charlotte raised her head up to glare at the mercenary. Her mustard yellow iris widened as her oval pupils focused and shrunk. Snarling, she bore her teeth at him, exposing her sharp fangs and emitting a low growl from the depths of her vocal tracts.

"We got ourselves a Demi-human here!" The mercenary proclaimed boisterously, almost celebrating with rancid glee.

"Is that so?" Jergal jested. "Do you hear that Innkeep? There's a demi-human in your tavern!"

"Yeah, yeah. I 'eard ya." Erwin poked his head from behind the counter and turned to Raum. "Sorry mate, we don't allow demi-'uman's in this establishment."

"Sincerest apologies, Innkeep, but she is my traveling aid. I am hard of sight and require her assistance." Raum slowly rose from the table and raised to his shoulder's height. "She and I will leave once our business has concluded."

"Naw, Naw. Let the man keep his pet." The ugly mercenary bent over to bring his face in front of Charlotte's. "I think she's well-trained enough not to piss on the floo-"

His words were cut short as a sharp object entered his throat, halting all flow of air. An object that was brandished from inside Charlotte's cloak. The dagger pierced through the tender flesh of his neck. A rush of hot, crimson blood gushes forth like a relentless fountain. The metallic taste of iron fills the mercenary's mouth, suffocating him as he drowns in his own blood. She twists the dagger with vicious precision, slicing through sinew and bone. The mercenary collapses onto the ground, planting his face on the floor. Convulsing and twitching before becoming motionless.

The whole tavern, except for Raum, was speechless at what they had just witnessed.

"You've done it now, Charlotte."

The slim mercenary roared with hostile fury, unsheathing his longsword to raise it upon Charlotte and bringing it down with all his might. But the vengeful strike only caught her cloak as she swiftly dodged to the right, tearing off to reveal her attire. Light armor consisting of a padded leather corset and pants. And from behind her waist rose a long catlike tail, the same length as her torso and the same onyx color as her hair. She was fast and nimble but would certainly be cut in half should a strike be delivered to her.

She hissed with feral conviction, crouching lower on the floor with her dagger raised, prepared to pounce. The mercenary swung again, only for Charlotte to roll to her side to reposition herself as she engaged with her quarry.

Jergal drew his broadsword to aid his comrade against the ravenous demi-human. As he did so, a large bolt of black flame flew past his right shoulder like a scorching firework. The black fire had erupted from a tattooed insignia on the palm of Raum's left hand, traveling too fast for Jergal to dodge it. Fortunately for him, he wasn't the target, as he turned his head to see his other comrade engulfed in an inferno.

Screaming and crying out in anguish, the meek mercenary ran toward the counter, making it only a few steps before he collapsed to the ground, rapidly burning to cinders as if being devoured by the flames. Strangely enough, the black flame did not spread to the wooden environment around it. In fact, the flame didn't even char or burn his clothes and armor, as only the mercenary's own body had been reduced to a pile of ashes while his accessories were left in pristine condition on top of the pile.

Anton, witnessing this magical attack, took cover behind the table to remain uninvolved in what he was predicting to be a slaughter.

Jergal wasted no time rushing towards Raum, attempting to strike him down before he could cast another spell. Swing his sword to Raum's waist.

It struck something. Raum didn't even try to dodge it.

Anton could see it. The faint shimmering veil that he saw covering the priest while standing in the open door before. Although it was harder to see in the dimmer tavern, it had now manifested and intensified around Jergal's blade, halting it in the air. Confused, Jergal pulled his sword back and swung again, this time chopping at his neck. But it was useless; the veil was some kind of mystical barrier, impervious to his attacks. Raum lazily caressed Jergal's sword with his right hand, nudging the veil across to wrap around the blade, constricting it like a python. The metal started to change color from silver-grey to orange-brown as it rusted in the span of a few seconds. Cracks appeared around its edges as it became more and more brittle before finally snapping in half.

Jergal dropped his sword's hilt and pulled back. His face was wrought with terror from the unimaginable foe that stood before him. Anton had faced his share of magic wielders in his day, but this was likely Jergal's first.

He screamed in desperation, "Gunther! get over here and help me!" Crying for his last remaining ally.

At the same moment he cried out, Charlotte pounced back to Raum's side, still crouched over with her tail raised, hissing and growling. Glaring at Jergal as if she was awaiting a kill order.

"Gunther! What are you do-" Jergal's question was answered as he looked over at the slim mercenary's lifeless body slumped against the hearth fire.

It was just him now.

Jergal's mind raced to what he could do. What choices he had left in this situation.

"I do have just one trick left in my sleeve." He thought to himself. "It's all or nothing."

Drawing a curved ornamental dagger, He Beelined toward the table, charging a defenseless, disoriented Anton and tackling him to the ground.

Jergal hauled up his hostage, bringing his dagger's tip to Anton's neck.

"The tip of this knife is infused with concentrated basilisk venom. Just a scratch is enough to kill a man. Make a move, and our friend here won't see another day."

The desperate Jergal played his last card. His rational thoughts corrupted by panic and fear. His dagger hand was shaking.

"We would greatly appreciate it if you didn't harm Mr Krendal." Raum negotiated. "We aren't here to kill you. We are all reasonable people here."

The four of them stood their ground at a standstill.

"That's right, isn't it?" Jergal slipped a nervous laugh. "I'll let him live if you promise that I can live." Hysteria had taken root in him.

"Fuck this, and fuck this whole morning!" Anton shouted his battle cry as he drove his elbow into Jergal's ribs. As he did so, he twisted out of Jergal's grasp, tilting his head at an angle to narrowly avoid the dagger's tip by the stubble of his cheek.

Jergal stumbled backward, reeling and gasping from the surprising blow. In the next moment, he saw Charlotte launching herself off the table and onto the ceiling. As he looked up, she kicked off the tavern ceiling with unbelievable agility down upon him.

He raised his dagger to parry hers, but it was already too late. Charlotte landed on the floor directly behind him with a light patter. The huntress had dealt the fatal blow.

My neck... it's... becoming warm?

Quickly. I grasp my neck with one hand quickly so the red doesn't drain out of me.

If I put pressure on it and nothing comes out, I'll be fine, right?

Jergal fell to his knees, gurgling and choking, dropping his dagger on the floor. He reached out with his free hand. A plea for mercy.

"G'rrak zul h'qar. May you reach your promised land in Grogoth's embrace." Raum chanted his last rites.

The last sliver of life left his eyes as he heard those words. His arms fell to his sides before his torso slumped forward. The blood from his neck flowing down into the gaps between the wooden boards, returning to the dirt beneath.

The tavern fell silent.

"Were they your friends by any chance?" Raum's inquiry shattered the silence.

"No, not in the slightest. They were probably trailing me."

"Very good, that makes things simpler." Raum sauntered over to the counter to drop 3 silver Rovanian coins.

"Apologies, Innkeep. We've made a smidge of a mess here."

Behind the counter, Erwin was curled up in a fetal position, whimpering and shaking.

"P-please leave!"

"Worry not. We shall be on our way. The three of us." Raum looks at Anton, smiling with reassurance.

Anton exhaled. "Fine. But you better be paying me. I know you have the coin now." He storms off towards the stairs to get his belongings from his room. "We'll talk price later, as well as other things, but for no-"

He was stopped by Charlotte in front of the steps. Her tail was lowered, and her eyes and demeanor had returned to being calm and collected, no longer in a wild berserker-like state. She had an almost innocent look to her now.

"Here. You are a warrior, aren't you? You should know better than to be caught without a weapon. Stupid human."

She casually hands him Jergal's poisoned dagger.

"Small blades are useful. Very good, no matter your size."

Anton cautiously grabs it by the hilt so as not to make contact with the blade.

"Uh, Thanks?" He steps by her and up the stairs.

Raum walked back to the table, peeking into Anton's mug, noticing it wasn't empty yet.

"What do you think of him, Charlotte?"

"He might be Okay."

"So you like him?"

"I don't know yet. I can't judge him by smell alone. Is it because he has shadow dreams too?"

"Maybe."

Raum took a sip of the ale. Swishing it around his mouth before swallowing.

"No wonder he looked so down in the dumps. This ale is downright terrible. He should have ordered water instead."