“It stinks of death,” I said, eyeing the wooden palisade.

A wall of sharpened wooden beams surrounded the town of Roterwood, each taller than a Varian, each infinitely less useful.

“Wow, that’s a pretty morbid thing to say,” Bleff claimed. “Don’t say that in front of the townsfolk, Shieldfather.”

“We’ll see. I only hope there is someone of use in this sad place.”

There was a tall keep in the center of town overlooking the rest of the place. It was a building as black as the trees surrounding Roterwood, and home to a large flock of blackbirds that nestled in the shaky stonework.

We slid down a small slope toward the eastern part of the palisade. The wall had seen fighting, possibly just the night before we arrived. The wood had scratch marks, and deeper gashes that looked like the work of some angry lesser demon. Blots and splatters of stinking blood covered many of the beams. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think a small demon tide had advanced against the town last night.

“No guards on the walls,” I muttered more to myself than Bleff. “These holes are new.” My fingers moved across a torn part of the wall through which I could glimpse at the inner workings of the town. As I did, another man’s eyeball suddenly popped up, staring right back at me.

“Stranglers!” the man behind the wall cried and jumped away. He rubbed his eyes and looked through the hole again, taking in Bleff and me.

“Oh, you’re just some adventurers, huh?”

“Do I look like just another adventurer to you, youngling?” I asked, for his words felt like an insult.

“I—I’m just fixing up the wall. Is all, sir. Don’t want any trouble, see?”

“Where are the warriors protecting this town? Why is nobody keeping guard?” I asked.

“What do you mean, sir? The soldiers are in the barracks, resting and all. They had a long night… as usual.”

He pushed a hand through his greasy black hair while playing with the hammer in his other hand.

“Who attacked you, son?” I asked, but the man had already picked up his toolbox and moved out of my sight.

Impolite, to say the least, but that wasn’t the only sin plaguing the people of this world.

I urged Bleff onward and around the palisade until we chanced upon the entrance to the town where a single armed man leaned against the open gate, carving a piece of wood in his hand. He looked up at us with tired eyes.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?”

I didn’t let his words stir my anger for the lessons on patience taught by the Steelspeakers had been reinforced many times by now.

The guard was armed with the same sword I had and a better shield, a woolen headpiece, dirty boots, and some old chainmail across his chest covered by the red and black of his lord’s colors: a large red tree on a black background. Not much of a defender, yet he seemed battle-weary enough to garner some respect from me.

“He’s Shieldfather, Varian Lord of Tartarus,” Bleff said with a haughty tone. “And I’m Bleff the Hierophant.”

The guard raised an eyebrow as a grin wandered onto his face.

“Alright, great heroes, lords, whatever. Welcome to Roterwood. I’m Fry.”

He pointed at the hideous burn marks across the left side of his face, spread his arms wide, and chuckled.

“The town is at your disposal. Talk to Captain Griff. He’s outside the barracks prepping the traitors for…he’ll tell you where to go.”

“Thank you, warrior,” I said, having learned not to interrogate everyone with every question I had.

“Yeah, sure.” The guard got back to carving his little chunk of wood, which I recognized to be a small rune of death, part of the Runes of Kold. Just as we passed by him, I snatched it from his hands and breathed into it.

“What the f—” The rune lit up with a soft red glow and I handed it back to the soldier. His words died in his throat. He took the rune and stared at it for a bit with his jaw hanging loose. Once we were almost out of earshot, he called after me.

“How did you…What? Who are you?”

“A Varian Lord!” Bleff shot back and giggled.

The town was yet another bitter disappointment. The ground was muddy and tortured by boots and heavy carts. The dirt climbed up the walls of small stone houses with fletched roofs and few, tiny windows through which mud-faced children stared out. Bleff was weary of those, constantly looking around and waiting for the next piece of dung to meet his face.

No dung came, however.

I saw several townspeople with tools fixing up the walls from the inside. Donkeys strapped to carts stacked with wooden planks and beams sat every few feet along the palisade. They worked with a trained rhythm that told me last night’s attacks—whatever it had been—wasn’t the first nor the last this town would see.

I had to push down a smile as the analogies to Tartarus mounted. Had I finally reached a place where I could feel an inkling of normalcy? Perhaps, but I withheld my judgment and my glee as best I could. This world hadn’t been good to me so far, and it would be foolish to assume that had suddenly changed.

Just outside the inner keep was a small cobbled square. In its center sat a statue that seemed older than the town itself. More of the black birds cawed on top. There was a great gathering of people to the right of the statue, and several voices spoke over each other.

Bleff showed little interest in it all.

“A shop, a tavern, a smithy, and even a dungeon hub! Look at all those, Shieldfather!” the goblin said excitedly and slapped his hands together.

Several larger buildings surrounded the square, each seemingly sadder than the last, though each promising to be of great use to us. Varian or not, I was slowly becoming aware that I did not stick out from the morose reality of this place as much as I hoped. I was in desperate need of food, drink, rest, and clothing.

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The owners of the tavern, the smith, and the several other shops and workshops, stood around in front of their entrances, some leaning against the doorframes, others against the outer wall, arms crossed or talking to other people. Their aprons were dirty, but their faces were full of curiosity, and perhaps even a hint of satisfaction.

“He’s done nothing wrong! How can you do this?” a woman’s desperate voice caught my attention.

We walked over to the crowd to see what it was that stirred everyone’s interest so much, and as we came closer, the question was quickly answered. A man was stuffed into an iron cage, bloody, half-naked, and looking as miserable as anyone would in his shoes.

“Cowards get the coward’s treatment!” someone from the crowd of townspeople said and many layered agreements and more accusations on top of his words.

Two guardsmen held the woman who talked a moment ago back as she flailed and spat and cursed the people around her. She was a tiny creature, as small as Bleff, and of light brown hair and large dark eyes. She stood out from the rest of the rubble by her purple robe and twisted wooden staff. A dwarf with a thick black beard stood next to her with a bow on his back and an axe at his hip, trying to console the woman though his face seemed just as full of the same fury.

“You knew what would happen when you accepted the quest. We live by rules, we die by those rules. Now take him to the keep.” a commanding voice spoke out and resounded above all others. The commotion died down in an instant.

“Zandalee! Threelegs!”

“No! Don’t do it! Hartar, we’ll come for you! We’ll get you out of there!”

“Curse this place and all of ye!” the dwarf said and spat on the ground.

They rolled the cage into the keep while making sure the other two dwarves stayed outside. The crowd quickly began to dissipate and I could see the man who gave the order now clearly. He had the posture of a proper warrior and was dressed in the same chainmail and colors as the others, except for the plate headpiece in his arms which had a red plume attached to it. His face was old, heavily scarred, and framed by short grey hair and a well-trimmed beard. An eyepatch sat where his left eye should have been.

He noticed me looking at him and after taking in the grandeur of my Shieldfather’s body, he naturally beckoned me.

The soldiers around him spared me only a few glances and whispered something among themselves, laughed, and then walked off toward what I understood were the barracks, a building attached to the keep’s right wall.

“And you are?” the one-eyed man said, looking up at me.

“Shieldfather,” I replied before Bleff could. “And this is Bleff.”

“I’m Bleff the White Hierophant.”

The soldier grimaced at my goblin companion and then looked straight back at me.

“What race are you? I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“I’m a Varian Lord of Tartarus. There has never been anyone like me in this world.”

A certain sadness gathered in me at my own words.

“Varian Lord,” the man rolled the words through his mouth as if tasting a new dish for the first time. “I’m Captain Griff, and this is Roterwoods. Lord Edgemere’s home. I hope you’ve come to lend a hand?”

I appreciated how to the point the man was. He did not dwell on my race, exterior, or lack of proper attire for a change.

“We came to seek nourishment, shelter, war, and inquire about Hell.”

Captain Griff stared at me for what seemed like an unusually long time, even for overworld standards. I heard the doors of the keep open, so I looked over the warrior and saw an old, crooked man with long gray hair usher in the iron cage and the guardsmen who pushed it.

“Don’t worry about that, war-seeker,” Griff said flatly.

There wasn’t an ounce of humor in the man and that wasn’t a good sign. Even after the greatest of Tides, a Shieldfather must not ruminate. He should laugh and celebrate each day for good humor healed as well as the Rose Baths.

“I’m not worried. Tell me, captain. What evil has befallen your town? I see you’ve been attacked and not just once.”

“You want war and hell, Varian? You just found both in ample supply.”

“You’re speaking figuratively, I assume.”

The captain snorted, but his expression hardly changed.

“You tell me after tonight.” He faced the main gate. “The undead will come knocking about an hour after nightfall as they always do. We’ll fight back as we always do. We’ll lose some soldiers, sometimes adventurers that try and help, but we’ll survive.”

My assumptions proved true. These people were like a smaller, sadder, more desperate, and infinitely less important version of Varians. I could hardly keep my excitement at bay. Captain Griff was a brother protector and with that realization, my heart began to thump like a drumrat’s tail.

“I understand,” I said. “I ask you for a place in the frontline then.”

I felt Bleff’s hand pulling on my loincloth, already fully aware of what the goblin’s take on this would be.

“Frontline?” Griff snapped, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think this is, adventurer? You think your size will make up for years of training and experience?”

This time I snorted then laughed.

“You put me with your best men at the vanguard and I promise no undead will—”

“What vanguard? Do you think I’d let my soldiers face the horde outside the walls? Are you mad? Fucking wannabe-heroes. Always the same shit. I don’t have time for this. Talk to the Lord Confessor, he’ll issue the quest for tonight.”

The captain turned away, barking orders at some guards at the barracks, and then walked off, his heavy boots sinking deep into the mud.

“Hmm. The ruins of our past echo through this place.”

“What does that mean?” Bleff asked as we watched the captain enter the barracks. He gave us another angry look before he closed the door.

“The Legend of Oomer, Bleff. The founding of the First Cohort.”

“I don’t know what any of that means, Shieldfather.”

“I know, Bleff. I know.”

“Will you tell me over a drink and something to eat?”

While I was always more than happy to retell the history of our people, I had a feeling my words would pale compared to the experience we most possibly would have a few hours from then.

“After tonight, Bleff.”

“Alright…By the way, I don’t need a spot on the frontlines, you know? I mean, we don’t know what’s coming. Maybe it’s best if we stay back and just observe so—”

“The Confessor, Bleff,” I said, nudging him onward toward the keep. The goblin’s shoulders sagged, and he sighed deeply. A piece of dung suddenly hit him on the back of the head and as we turned to see who the assailant was, we saw a group of children giggle then dash away behind one of the houses.

“Stupid goblin!” the last of them laughed and ran off.

Bleff moaned softly but seemed resigned rather than angry.

The smell of warm food coming from the tavern almost made me forget I was heading to the keep, but I steeled myself against the cravings and knocked on the door of the tall black building. A flock of those cawing birds flapped their wings and flew off the rooftop just as the heavy iron door shrieked open. Out came the Lord Confessor. The crooked old man scanned my body whole, licking his lips several times while doing so.

“I am Shieldfather. We were told you have a quest for us.”

He took a step back and looked up at me with a wide grin, only a few teeth remaining in his mouth.

“Yes, yes, I have. Aren’t you a big one?” He licked his lips again at which point I began to appreciate this man who certainly appreciated me in kind.

“You want to fight at the wall tonight, eh?”

“I do.”

The old man thumped his cane and giggled like a child holding his hand in front of his ruined mouth.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful. Lord Edgemere will be so pleased.”

“So will I. Now, if you don’t mind, Lord Confessor, we are tired and hungry and need to rest before we face the enemy.”

“Yes, yes, certainly. Here you go, my big, juicy hero.”

The compliments were well-appreciated though I wasn’t sure I truly enjoyed them as I usually did for some reason. I decided not to dwell on it and simply accepted the quest.

QUEST: The Long Night

DESCRIPTION: Defend Roterwoods for one night against the undead hordes.

NOTE: Should you fail in any way outside of dying, you will face the Lord Confessor in his interrogation chambers.

REWARD: 300 XP, 2 GOLD, ???

“What are the question marks supposed to mean, old man?” I asked, but as I looked away from the words of the Soulforge, I noticed the door was already closed again.

“They mean random loot,” Bleff said and shivered. “You know? Equipment, potions, weapons, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“That old man gives me the creeps, Shieldfather. And this note on the quest? That we’ll go to the interrogation chamber if we fail? What does that even mean?”

“We will not fail, so there’s no point in wasting breath on it any further. Let’s eat, goblin, for the love of Kold, I could eat a carcasbull right now.”