On the way to Tiann, the road which wove through the Valterre hardly changed as Max and his new companion continued eastward. Although it seemed seldom traveled, the edges to either side of the dirt-packed path were neat, devoid of weeds and new saplings, as if the woods and vegetation knew their own boundaries. In some sections, however, larger trees–cypress and birch–made a green tunnel overhead, stretching across to meet their brethren above the one-cart-wide road.
So far, the journey had been quiet–no other riders from Brix came up on them from behind, and they met no other travelers on the road. Still, Max noted that Entrails kept his broadsword out and leaned upon his shoulder, his eyes alert and watchful. It impressed Max how easily the warrior carried that giant sword, effortlessly as a twig.
For a time, Max was content to walk in silence, taking in the ambiance of the Valterre. Before long, though, he tired of the quiet and the crunch of their boots, and dared prod Entrails for information. There was still much he didn’t know about the world outside of Brix and he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance to learn. So long as Max steered clear or any questions regarding Entrails’ previous party or history–which were always met with a noncommittal grunt if not outright silence–he found the big man surprisingly willing to discuss what he knew.
As a crash course, Entrails’ information seemed good as any. In Brix, news of the outside world was few and far in-between, confined to the stray mutterings of the guards, bits of news from traveling merchants, or the occasional update from adventurers who had come to chart and explore the deeper tunnels of the mines. Just from the first few hours Max spent with Entrails, he learned more about the complex world of Alethia than he had in the previous six months. Entrails seemed more than willing to pass on knowledge of its politics, perils, and general tips on survival. There was a lot to take in, and even as exhausted, frazzled, confused, anxious, and tired as he was, Max did his best to take it all in.
First, Entrails explained their route. Apparently, this road connected to a larger road further along, which snaked through the forests and hills to the southeast. Different petty lords and ladies had their hexes of influence in these lands, administered from a fort or small keep. As they walked, Entrails filled Max in on the current state of the region.
“Dangerous time to be traveling without a party,” he said. “More than usual, I mean. These are marcher lands, player-ruled hexes along the northern frontier.” Entrails explained that these spheres of influence, sometimes as small as a single hex, were for the time being independent fiefdoms, but were threatened by a coalition of lordships to the north. “The Northern Alliance wants one thing and one thing only. Power. And they’ll do anything to spread their borders to these wealthy lands, including sabotage.” He went on to describe armed groups of NPCs and players alike, skirmishing and clashing with each other all along the border. Sometimes roving bands of northern raiding parties pushed even further south to plunder and destroy production of these vulnerable lordships.
“When you get to a certain level, some landowners will try to get you to swear fealty. Be careful with this, no matter what they promise you. A noble you’ve sworn can call upon you to fight their territorial battles. If you deny their summons… you could be in real trouble. Not only is there the game penalty, but some nobles have been known to out a hit on deserters. Trust me, you don’t want to die fighting some petty lord’s border and land disputes.”
“Like Skole,” said Max, frowning. He knew all too well the kind of unquestioned power players could wield over others.
However, Entrails shook his head. “From what I saw, that proprietor ruled your mining settlement like a noble, sure. Probably thinks himself one, too... but though he may control that hex in practice, he pays tribute for the right to mine those tunnels. I know for a fact the hex Brix sits on is owned by the Lady Crane, who has a castle not far from here.”
Max fell silent, chewing on this latest revelation. He was beginning to realize just how isolated and ignorant the proprietor had kept them. To realize that Skole was little more than a minor player… what kind of depravity might an even more powerful player be capable of? Based on how those from the Uppers treated everyone below them in the real world, he didn’t even want to think about it.
They had been walking for more than several hours now. Entrails had warned him the current hex they traveled was notorious for the forest panthers who liked to hide in the foliage lining the road, waiting to ambush unsuspecting passersby. Max suspected part of the reason Entrails invited him along was to avoid these kinds of inconveniences–apparently these types of mobs only stalked and attacked single targets. Luckily, they hadn’t had any run-ins, but it seemed Entrails wasn’t taking any risks. Though he had a scabbard strapped to his wide back, he never once sheathed his sword, instead cradling it against his shoulder for the entire journey.
Every so often, Entrails paused to bring up his map and check their location. Sometimes Max took the opportunity to eat the fruit he’d taken and take a few drinks from his waterskin. It helped restore the always-dwindling Hunger and Thirst bars, but his Fatigue was running dangerously low and he felt it. His steps were growing more sluggish by the minute, and though he did his best to hide it, he was relieved when Entrails checked his map and–apparently satisfied with their progress–finally called a stop.
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“We’ll set up camp here,” said the warrior, pointing to a rocky bluff, about 15 feet high and jutting out slightly over the road. Entrails proceeded to pick out a path up to the top of the hill, gesturing Max to follow. The sun had just just begun to set behind the mountains and Max found himself struggling to find purchase up the rocky incline. It sapped all that remained of his strength and when he finally reached the flat clearing at the top of the hill, he collapsed. At this point, he didn’t give a damn how that made him look.
Entrails chuckled. “Your fatigue must be below 10%, low level like you. Surprised you kept up. Huh. Guess you’re tougher than you look.”
“Thanks,” Max said, chest heaving with every breath. “I’m working on it.” And he was. He’d been fighting falling over in his boots for at least the last hour or more. He really wasn’t sure how much longer he would’ve lasted.
Entrails opened his inventory and removed a knee-high wooden crate. Entrails then placed it in the center of the clearing, tapped it, and selected an option. The box “poofed” and disappeared, suddenly replaced by a small cooking fire, complete with an iron pot hanging from a spit. Besides the rock-lined pit, two bedrolls had also appeared. Entrails grabbed one for himself, tossing the other in Max’s direction.
“So how does this work?” Max asked. He unfurled the bedroll and found it much more preferable to the hard rock of the bluff. “If one of us has to keep watch… not it.”
Entrails shook his head. “This is basically a safe zone,” he said. “As soon as I activated the campsite, you can think of this area—” He mimed drawing a large circle around them in the air with his finger. “As instanced. Nobody except party members can see it. That includes mobs. It only lasts for 12 hours, but that’s more than enough time to rest and replenish your fatigue. The only thing you can’t do is logout.”
“Fancy,” said Max.
“No. Essential,” said Entrails. “Next time you decide to travel, you better pick up multiples. They’re not cheap, but they’re worth your life.”
“Got it.”
Entrails spent a few minutes tossing things into the pot. Max watched him with increasingly heavy lids, trying to see what was being tossed in. First Entrails emptied a waterskin into the pot. Then a good chunk of what looked like rabbit meat. A few potatoes, a carrot, next an onion. Last came a small pouch of mixed powder. Before long, the stew was steaming, bubbling its rich smell into the forest air. Entrails produced two pewter bowls. He filled them both up and brought one to Max. However, just as Max reached up to take it, the big man pulled back the bowl.
“There’s something I still don’t understand,” he grunted. “How you ended up in that hamlet in the first place. Now that we’re partied, you owe me an explanation. If this is going to continue, I need to know the kind of person I’m traveling with.”
Max thought for a moment. The question wasn’t exactly unexpected; he figured the topic would come up again. But did he really owe Entrails an explanation? And if so, how much was fair? The man wasn’t very forthcoming with his own exit from Brix, after all… but then again, he needed Entrails, not the other way around. He would have to be careful with what he revealed, though. Nothing about the black stone, that’s for sure. After a minute, he nodded, and Entrails handed over the bowl of stew.
“I took something,” he said, before lifting the tin spoon to his mouth. His eyes widened; it was delicious! Savory, a little salty… no stew at Rilliard’s had ever tasted this good. Whether it was Entrails’ cooking skill or that packet of seasoning responsible for the flavor, Max wasn’t sure. He’d had to ask the warrior about it sometime.
“From Skole?” asked Entrails.
Max nodded, his mouth occupied with another spoonful.
Entrails snorted. “He don’t seem like the type to let things go easily.”
“No. Not at all.”
“I’m partied up with a thief, then. Fantastic.”
“Not a good one. We got caught.”
“Wait a minute. We?”
“Myself and… a friend.”
“I take it things didn’t work out so well for them.”
“Something like that.” Max shook his head and tried not to choke. “It was just going to be that once!” he continued. “I just needed to get to Tiann… and without anything to sell, there would’ve been no use. But now…” He let the thought trail off. Looking back now would do him no good.
“So you did it for coin.” Entrails seemed to ponder those words a bit. Though he wasn’t sure due to the darkness the evening and firelight dancing across the man’s features, Max sword he could see a hint of knowing reflected in those eyes. “Well, at least you're no klepto. Good to know.”
“I just... wasn't earning enough. I need more,” Max said, matter-of-factly.
“Doesn’t everyone.”
Max wanted to laugh, but he was too tired. He set down the licked-clean bowl and stared into the fire, which had mostly burned down to orange coals. The night had cooled some, and the heat was welcome on his face. Entrails too seemed content to let the conversation die down. As he thought back to his escape from Brix and the friend he’d lost along the way. The flames began merging together, and before long, he found himself laying flat on his bedroll, staring up at the twinkling stars before everything faded to blackness.