“I will have a roasted animal, woman. The largest that you have,” I said to the waitress. “And bread and vegetables of all kinds. I will also have a whole cake with fruit and a gallon of your hardest drink. Make haste, I hunger greatly.”

“Shieldfather…” the goblin whispered as all eyes in the tavern landed on me. “We don’t have the coin for that.”

Coin. It was a travesty to ask warriors for coin.

“Do you ask your sword for coin when you sharpen it?”

“I dunno what that means, big fellow. I ain’t got no sword and I don’t talk to me cutlery either. The goblin be right. Got any silver on ye?”

The waitress raised an eyebrow, tapping her foot, and I realized she wasn’t the only one waiting for my response. The drunkard at the counter was looking at me and drooling away.

One of the soldiers at the other table shushed his brothers and pointed at me. Even the two adventurers, the tiny woman and the dwarf sitting at the opposite end stopped arguing and watched me.

My experience with Wilda and Godfrey as well as Bleff’s teachings told me that this was a world where everything had a number attached to it. People didn’t just trade in goods as we did with the travelers of the World Door. No, even something as simple as a bed for the night cost coins.

“I have 90 silver, woman. I think that should cover—”

“Big boy, that won’t even cover the roast ye ask for,” the waitress shot back, and the drunkard and the soldiers roared in laughter. I felt ashamed and humiliated for I thought I had done well in this world. It turned out it was not so.

“Then bring us what you can for this sum. Consider that we want to sleep upstairs, too.”

The waitress sighed and turned to the man at the bar.

“Don, what do I do ‘ere?”

“Just give ‘em keys for upstairs, I’ll warm up the porridge.”

“There. You get some hearty porridge and a bed to sleep in for that silver. And Don’s being nice to ye folks. Usually, a bed is half a crown by itself.”

I had porridge before. It was a child’s meal, but my options were few, so I avoided further argument. Once she brought the steaming brown mush, I dug in. It was no crab stew, that was for sure, yet it was warm and hearty though hardly enough to sustain me.

“Waitress,” I called again, licking the last of the porridge off my spoon. “I have items to sell. Perhaps we can exchange them for more food.”

She came up to the table with tired steps, wiping her hands against her apron.

“Alright, big boy. You should have said so sooner.”

I rummaged through my inventory finding broken bones and cloth scraps from the large rats in Underock. The remainder of my crab shields, rusty pieces of iron, and a few other useless bits and pieces. I had no idea why a tavern would need any of these, yet the waitress accepted them without question.

“Alright, that’s 21 silver,” she said, letting out a slow breath. “Don, get two more bowls of porridge for them fellas.”

I grunted, trying not to let my fury take over. I had a battle waiting for me and two bowls of porridge after everything I had been through would not be enough. I couldn’t fight on an empty stomach again.

“Do you see this body, woman?” I asked and the patrons of the Hollow Hog Tavern stopped their chatter once more.

“Are you—” Bleff began but I would not hear him.

“Do you wish to enjoy the warmth of a Varian Lord?”

“You can’t whore yourself out for food again, Shieldfather,” the goblin muttered barely audibly.

“What are ye sayin’, big boy?” Her voice suddenly had a higher pitch.

“I will offer you this body for a meal that will satiate my hunger. It is a fair exchange, I wager for the pleasure waiting for you will be beyond anything you’ve ever tasted.”

A heavy hand smacked against the table opposite of us. Threelegs the dwarf roared in laughter.

“Yer must be shittin’ me!” he cried.

The waitress glanced at him over her shoulder, then at the man at the counter called Don, and finally back at me.

“That’s me husband there, fellow. Ye tryin’ to pork a married woman in front of her man, are ye? Ye want me to call Captain Griff?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Bleff jumped in. “He’s not from…here. Forgive us. We’ll take the porridge and get out of your hair.”

“Bleff—”

“Not now, Shieldfather. Just trust me on this.”

The waitress stormed off without wasting another word. What an insult to not only have my offer rejected but be threatened with harsh consequences just for asking. Husbands and wives, and their elderly rejoiced when a Shieldfather came to their home to share his flesh with the household, and yet here?

I sighed, tiring of my own thoughts. I could not tread the path I used to, looking over my shoulder constantly only slowed me down.

The bowls came down onto the table with force spilling over some of the porridge. The waitress eyed me, Hm-ed, and then marched away.

“I hope you like piss in your porridge,” Bleff said then dug in.

I did not in fact like piss in my porridge, but sensing the question was rhetorical, I said nothing and began spooning down the brown trying not to think of his words.

Threelegs the dwarf suddenly sat down at our table with a mug in hand, making Bleff flinch and drop his spoon to the dirty floor.

“Sorry about that, lad. How are ye fellas doin’, eh? Welcome to Rorterwoods, the shittiest little town in all of Prosperia. The name’s Plum Harthdig, they call me Threelegs.”

He offered a hand and I took it. Though small, the dwarf’s squeeze was hard and warrior-like.

“Shieldfather, Varian Lord of Tartarus,” I said through a mouthful.

“I don’ want te be rude or nothing, but I hear yer selling yerself off for porridge, is it?”

“Not just for porridge, Threelegs,” I said. “I have offered my body in thanks for stew as well.”

“For stew as well!” the dwarf roared, slapping his thigh. “This big lad, ‘ere Zandalee. This big lad ‘here is something, isn’t he?” the dwarf yelled at the tiny woman still sitting at the other table. Her feet didn’t even touch the floor. She wouldn’t look in our direction, and instead busied herself paging through a black-covered book.

“Listen, lad,” the dwarf whispered, pulling his chair closer. “That over there is me good pal Zandalee. She just lost her husband to that damned Confessor and she’s sagging like a troll’s tit. And it isn’t great when a gnome is brooding, ye know? The next thing ye know, she’ll be burning down houses and cursing the lot ‘ere. How about I pay you…say a whole crown if ye take her upstairs and make ‘er feel good, uh? Ye can get a whole barrel of porridge for that price.”

It was an honest offer I could hardly refuse in my current state.

“Shieldfather, you’re not considering again, are you?” Bleff said with a worried tone.

“Why not?”

“Why do I have to say this again? If you continue to prostitute yourself for food,” he said, throwing his hands up, “I mean…at least make it worth your time and effort. How about three gold, eh? One crown won’t change much.”

“What are ye, goblin? His pimp?” I did not know what a pimp was, but I felt Bleff was right. He was better acquainted with this world, perhaps letting him haggle the price would have been a shrewd idea. In return, I thought, I might offer him a piece of the wealth I acquired.

“Two crowns is me final offer. How about it?”

“I will not fuck that brute, Threelegs. Give it up!” Zandalee said, only glancing at us from the other table before sticking her nose back into her readings.

“Oh, come on, Zandalee. Look at him! It’ll take yer mind off—”

“My husband is still alive, Threelegs. Now stop it.”

The black-bearded dwarf shrugged and got up.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“Kill me for tryin’ will ye? Sorry lads, ye heard the lady. But let me get ye a round of ale for yer troubles. We adventurers need to stick together because these folk—” He looked around the tavern and shook his head. “Anyway, see ye at the wall tonight, I wager?”

“It will be so, Threelegs. I’m looking forward to it.”

The dwarf smiled apprehensively.

“You shouldn’t,” he said and got back to his table.

Bleff and I finished our porridge and then enjoyed the free ale greatly. To my big surprise, the drink equaled any ale the Brewmasters of Tartarus would make and it refreshed both body and soul in equal measure. Once done with our drinks, we departed for the upstairs bedroom. It was a stale, weirdly smelling room with two beds of hay, stained sheets, coarse blankets, and a single oil lamp. Bleff and I spoke little. Tired that we were, we crashed into the beds and sleep found us very quickly.

A bell awoke me from my near-comatose state. I pushed myself out of bed and looked through the tiny window that overlooked part of the town and the surrounding forest. The sun was hanging low, shedding red beams over the eerie woods that already cast long, threatening shadows across the land. Smoke billowed from the houses around us, and a loud voice echoed from outside.

“Nightfall is in an hour! Nightfall in an hour! Get ye kids to bed! Man the walls! Nightfall in an hour!”

I grabbed my sword and shield and clasped the puma cloak which I had used as an additional blanket, and then shook Bleff awake. The goblin opened his crusty eyes and yawned. A terrible smell wafted off him.

“I think…” he muttered, pushing himself up on his elbows, “I think I shat myself.”

“I think so too, goblin. You truly are a creature of endless flaws. There is a well behind the tavern. Wash up and meet me at the wall.” The goblin’s head met the hay pillow again and he groaned, “Why, gods?”

But I was already through the door before I could answer such preposterously stupid questions.

The town of Roterwoods was in an uproar. Archers were already on the walls, tightening the strings of their bows as older boys rolled barrels of arrows up the ramps. More soldiers had gathered at the front gate, which was now sealed shut with three thick beams of tortured wood. I could not tell whether those gates would hold or not, but it looked like a fool’s strategy nevertheless. Captain Griff was barking orders, flailing his hands this and that way as more armored men rushed in all directions, but mostly up the ramparts. I simply couldn’t imagine what the use of men with swords and shields atop a wall would be, though I was certain to bring up the point with the captain after the battle concluded.

I walked over briskly, eyeing the apprehensive men around me. There was no excitement in them, no quest for glory, no confidence. Only exhaustion, worry, and fear.

“Reporting for battle, Captain,” I said, appearing before him. “Where do you need my shield?”

“You,” he said. “Where’s that goblin of yours? Stealing around town while you pretend to defend us?”

My mood soured immediately.

“Why do you offend me, human?” I asked and the captain took a step back as my face darkened. “The goblin is washing shit out of his robe for he soiled himself during sleep. I’m here to offer aid in the protection of your town and yet all you offer are insults. Why?”

Captain Griff’s face softened just enough for a trained eye to see.

“Stand wherever you want. Up the wall is good or behind the backup line down there.”

“Backup line?” I asked.

“Chances are the gate will break and we’ll have to push the horde back out. My soldiers will know what to do. Stay out of their way, and just kill what comes through,” he grunted. “And stay alive, eh?”

“I will stay down there.”

The captain turned away, thinking the conversation was over, but I still had burning questions.

“Why do you have shield bearers on the walls? And why do you wait for the gate to break? Why not open it and face this horde of yours straight on?”

The one-eyed old veteran just shook his head.

“I don’t need a level…what are you, level 6? I don’t need you to advise me, adventurer. You accepted the quest. Fight if you want to fight, or otherwise get out of my sight until the killing is done. I don’t have time for this.”

He stomped off up the ramparts, calling names and issuing angry orders. He would not heed the word of a Shieldfather when it came to defense. There was no doubt in my heart that such arrogance would bring about calamity and looking around, I was only assured because it had already turned the town of Roterwoods into a withering tomb.

I had no allies here, well, except for Bleff, but he hardly counted. None of the soldiers of Lord Edgemere spared me looks that weren’t full of distaste and fear. Here I was, a soldier of Ra’een, blood of Kold, protector of three thousand cycles, reduced to a mere sword hand in the defense of a town.

I grinned.

“So be it, Kold. You have given me a challenge of both heart and shield, and I will see it through.”

“Talking to yourself, are you?” a tiny female voice said.

I turned but saw nothing until I looked down. There, standing next to my great bronze leg, just above knee-height, stood Zandalee the gnome looking up at me with big purple eyes. Her fair hair was tied into a knot making her just a tiny bit taller.

“Word of advice, big guy, don’t try too hard or you’ll get yourself killed for nothing.”

“I appreciate your cautionary words, little creature, but a Varian does not fight half-heartedly. I don’t know how, even if I wanted to.”

She rolled her eyes and walked off without uttering another word. A small group of running soldiers almost crushed her beneath their muddy boots, but the gnome managed to skitter away cursing at them.

“Don’t listen to her, lad,” Threelegs said somehow appearing just next to me. “She just trying to get you accused of cowardice so she can confront the Confessor again. Don’t take it to heart. I love ‘er to death I do, but Zandalee…eh, she don’t care much for decency and all. Unlike me.”

“I have such a companion of my own, Threelegs. It’s not easy.”

We stood there for a moment as a cold breeze brought the stench of the rotting horde. A telling innuendo for what’s to come. The blackbirds suddenly ascended from the keep, the statue, and the roofs of Roterwoods, cawing and flapping menacingly. A great black flock darkened the already dim sky, and then flew north as if abandoning the town.

“Ye don’t have to play the hero tonight, lad. Just don’t let Griff see ye sitting on yer arse and ye’ll be fine.”

“Was Zandalee’s husband sitting on his arse then?”

Threelegs sighed.

“Hartar’s a bard. He doesn’t fight much, he just sings songs that lift yer spirits. Griff didn’t care for his songs at all. None of these sullen folk do. If ye ask me, they’re not that different from the ghouls they fight every night.” He rubbed his beard. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, alright lad?”

The same thought circled my own mind.

“Don’t become the beast you’re fighting, the Steelspeakers would say.”

“Smart folk,” Threelegs agreed.

His words still lingered with me. If they took Zandalee’s husband Hartar for playing a song during battle, what would they do to Bleff whose only use in war was to attract stray arrows?

Courage must find you tonight, goblin.

Shortly after, the dwarf joined the gnome again and Bleff had returned. His white robe wasn’t entirely white anymore and he only partially managed to wash the smell off. His usual stench did well to absorb new smells into the collage that was Bleff, so it wasn’t that unbearable.

I walked the walls with him one more time, trying to create a map of the town in my mind. I checked for weak spots along the palisade and found plenty. When I brought it up with the townsfolk, they just told me to “Shut up, idiot.” And heeding Bleff’s advice to, “Just whatever, come on,” I decided not to dwell on it.

After a while I grew tired of pleading my case, so we returned to the gates.

“Apple Hill checkpoint reached! Ten minutes!” a voice shouted from the wall.

“Apple Hill reached!”

The words were carried man to man across the palisade. What Griff had called his backup line formed against the gate. Fifteen men, though armored better than I was, still looked more like a heap of rusty iron held together by the fear of falling apart. Most were up on the ramparts, archers, shield-bearers, and spearmen looking onto whatever would come down Apple Hill.

Zandalee and Threelegs joined us behind the backup line. Threelegs tapped me on the shoulder and then nodded to the wall.

“My bow is more use up there. Good look, lads.”

He waddled off to the side ramp and got up, shoving himself between two other archers who unwillingly opened some space for the dwarf.

A sudden, and yet very familiar wave of arcane energy radiated from Zandalee. I couldn’t be entirely certain if it was a demonic force as I had already been tricked into thinking the same many times since I appeared in this land, so I stayed my reaction. I looked toward the gnome who was mumbling wyrd-tongued chants as her body glowed with a dull grey light.

My suspicions seemed right this time, though. A black runic circle appeared on the ground next to Zandalee as she waved her hands into a conjuring spell. Two clawed paws grabbed onto the rim of the black spot, then pulled out the rest of the mudgorger demon, a hound-like beast with sharp teeth, a slick red, oval body, and no eyes. A lesser demon of which I had slain countless numbers.

“Demon!” I snapped and dashed towards it.

I used my [Shield Bash] to stun the beast, then drove my buckler into its snout with [Shield Slam]. My sword came down, and the demon died. I breathed out in relief.

I was right indeed.

The circle closed and the mudgorger’s body turned to black ash, which the wind quickly carried off. I spat on the spot three times and stomped it with my leg. When I was done, I realized everyone was looking at me, their eyes full of awe and thanks.

“And this is what will happen to any demon that shall cross my path. You need not thank me for I’m Shieldfather.”

“What the fuck was that?” Zandalee roared with her tiny voice. It felt as if a chicken was angry with me. “You killed my familiar, you overgrown brute! I can’t summon another one until tomorrow!”

“And I shall slay it tomorrow, too, demon-witch! I am Shieldfather and while I roam this world, no demon will walk it!”

“Shieldfather,” Bleff began. “She’s a warlock, she’s not really a demon…witch.”

“Threelegs! How about your new friends, huh? He just killed Sharlatan!”

“He? He’s only level six! How could he kill—”

“It’s a mudgorger,” I said through my teeth.

“I know what demon it is; I’ve studied them all my life, you…you savage barbarian!”

“I’m not a barbarian!” I roared, the fire in my heart now stirred beyond polite words. “I am Shieldfather, bane of demons and protector of the Bastion! Do you know how many Shieldsons left their lives at the Bulwark against the demons you flirt with? How dare you!”

“How dare I? You just killed—”

“Enough of this shit!” The grave voice of Captain Griff thundered from above the gate. “Not another word from the two of you! The horde is coming. Prepare!”

A sad-sounding horn echoed across the town and the men and women on the walls turned their attention to more pressing matters. Zandalee already walked off to the wall herself, making room between Threelegs and the other archers.

“Buff me, Bleff,” I said absently and eyed the spot where moments ago a demon had shown its ugly head.

I felt the hierophant’s [Word of Vitality] steel my muscles, but my thoughts were elsewhere. They were deep within my soul, trying to wrestle with an emotion that I couldn’t even imagine I’d feel.

Am I sad the mudgorger was gone?

“Nice one, goblin! Thanks!” the words shook me from my troubling thoughts. I looked up to see Bleff walk the line and buff the soldiers one by one. Each was thankful, some even tossed his dirty orange hair and tapped him on the shoulders. Bleff was positively shining and I smiled not just because the world had finally given him a break, but because the Confessor might show mercy once the soldiers saw his cowardice at work.

“Up here too, goblin!” the guards on the ramparts called and he waddled up the ramp eagerly.

“Get them, Bleff,” I muttered then tightened my grip on my buckler. “War.”

The words steeled my resolve and lifted my spirits. A Tide was coming, or a horde as these people called them. I had a shield; I had a sword, and I had all the knowledge of Oomer the First Father ready to be used on the battlefield.

“Incoming!” Griff roared.

Since I arrived in Prosperia, I’d seen nothing but trifling skirmishes and pointless, insulting chatter. Now there finally was war and my heart felt genuinely at home.

“The horde takes no men tonight,” I said confidently, seeing two soldiers from the backline turn my way.

One of them was the guard who met us at the gates, his burned face mostly hidden behind the woolen cap.

“Let’s hope you’re right, barbarian,” the other one said.

“That’s no barbarian,” Fry grinned, showing the rune he was carving to his fellow soldier. They both eyed it for a moment as it glowed in his hand.

“That the one?”

“Aye,” Fry said.

Their eyes wandered from the Rune of Death to me. Both nodded. An understanding between warriors that needed no words. We all knew Kold was watching.