With a creak of rusted hinges, a wooden door with flaking faded red paint opened to reveal a dusty, dimly lit room. The party entered Red Maiden’s Trinkets and Baubles, and Ben was taken aback at the sheer disorder of the shop. Shelves laden with various objects, from books to weapons and other indiscernible trinkets, lined the walls. A counter on the far end of the small store was similarly burdened with chaotic piles of odds and ends.

Looks like we found Hoarders R US.

A bell chimed as the door slowly creaked closed, and a deep voice called out through the door behind the counter.

“Be with ya in a moment. Have a look round, I’m sure there’s something ya’ll need.”

The Squad Leader gestured to the overloaded shelves with an open palm as she faced the party.

“This should fetch us a reasonable sum,” she held the wrapped staff. “Let’s have a look around while we wait. There might be something useful amongst the junk.”

Ainsle began to browse the wares without a word. The old woman appeared captivated by a particularly worn belt with multiple buckles, the reason for which Ben could only guess. The young man recalled a thought he had when he had awoken in Shalebeak village, and he turned to the Keeper to find her soft blue eyes sweeping over the shelves of nick-nacks.

“Hey, Ann,” Ben said to the shorter woman.

“Yes, my darling?” she cooed as she twirled the tips of one of her thick braids between her fingers.

“Do you think you could help me find a map? Also,” his eyes went down to her exposed knees and up the torn dress hugging her voluptuous figure, “I’d like to get you out of that dress. Maybe we can go shopping later?”

Ann’s eyes widened in delight at the attention, her pale cheeks turned a hint of pink, and her lips quirked in a slight smile.

Wait, wait, wait…

“I mean, I’d like to buy you a new dress,” he corrected, face flushed as he realized how he had phrased the statement.

“Of course, my heart. I exist to satisfy your every need and desire,” she teased.

“Aaaannnnnn…” Ben groaned, unsure why he was embarrassed at the Keeper’s flirting. Perhaps, it was due to being caught off guard or that she was so brazen in the company of his companions.

Jor cleared her throat and sniffed. The young man turned his head to the Archer, who pointedly avoided his gaze and brushed a raven lock of hair from her brow.

“There’s a cartographer in the market street that should have updated travel maps if you’d like to purchase one. As for garments, there are a few shops in the same area. I’ll take you there tomorrow before I go to the municipal offices.”

“Thanks.” Ben dipped his head.

The trio was interrupted by the hollow thuds of uneven footsteps on the shop floor. Ben saw a mountain of an old man approach the counter. The shopkeeper was as tall as he was, but his frame was massive. His head was bald, and his face was lined with wrinkles and numerous scars that suggested shopkeeping was not his calling in his younger years. A long white beard settled on a belly made large by the comforts of retirement. The colossal man rolled up the sleeves of a white tunic to reveal scarred muscular forearms before he welcomed the party with pleasant, dark-brown eyes.

“Archer Jor, now this is a nice surprise. Good to see ya, lass! Who are your companions?” the man spoke in a warm rumble that was pleasing to the ears.

“Bertram, likewise.” Jor smiled.

Ben noted that the shopkeeper referred to her by what he assumed was her Path and not by the title of Squad Leader.

Jor gestured to the party. “This is Ben, Ann, and Ai-”

The tall man interrupted the Archer with a comical gasp due to his size and rumbling voice.

“Miss O'Seighin? Is it... is it really you?”

Ainsle turned, still holding the worn belt in her hands, and her lips softened in a warm smile.

“Bertie. You’re fat!” she exclaimed. “And I told you, none of that, Miss O'Seighin this or Lady O'Seighin that. It’s still bloody Ain to you!” The old woman’s coarse voice joked, hinting at an old friendship.

The man’s dark-brown eyes became glossy with the promise of tears, and his magnificent snowy beard betrayed a quivering lip. Ben regarded the scene with fascination. Ainsle held the large man’s gaze for a few heartbeats before sighing and rolling her sharp blue eye.

“Fine. Come on then.”

The young man was startled. He snapped his head to watch the man shuffle from behind the counter with a swiftness that seemed impossible for someone of his size. Ben heard a knocking on the floor with each step the shopkeeper took, and his attention was drawn to the man’s prosthetic wooden leg. Bertram swept the Berserker up, with the ridiculously heavy mace still strapped to her back, into a bear hug of an embrace. The sheer height difference gave Ben the fleeting thought of a man picking up a child.

The young man leaned to whisper to Jor.

“Who is this guy?”

Jor returned raised brows and a shrug as an answer before speaking in a hushed voice.

“He’s a retired mercenary, as far as I know. I met him while stationed here before the Great Invasion a few years ago. He was the only one who treated me like a person… and not like an unwelcome lackey of the Empire.”

“The Great Invasion?” Ben asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“It was the-” Jor glanced at Bertram, who let Ainsle down to her feet, “-later. Let’s get settled first.”

The large man had his giant hands on Ainsle’s shoulders and inspected her from head to toe.

“Miss O- Ain, what happened to ya?” He asked with consternation as he stared at the bandage around the old woman’s eye.

“Ah, you know how it is,” she shrugged, “didn’t need it anyways. Got a spare, you see?”

Bertram let out a warm, infectious chuckle and released the Berserker from his grip. “Glad to see our Red Lady is just as sharp as always. Say, is Willy coming too? Haven’t seen the bastard in years!”

Ainsle’s grin faded, and her posture slouched slightly as she averted her gaze to the wooden ceiling of the dusty shop. Ben could feel the Berserker’s agony resurface and disappear as quickly as it had come.

“No.” Whispered the large man as he covered his face with large palms. “No. Not Willy. Please, Miss, tell me it ain’t so.” Bertram struggled to regain a semblance of composure, and he looked the diminutive older woman in the eye. “Tell me. Please. How did he go?” he pleaded.

The raw reaction of the shopkeeper seemed to affect Ainsle as she usually quickly recovered from bouts of melancholy. She regarded the man with a grin that felt forced and an eye that spoke of a deep wound that would take time to heal.

“With his axes in hand and a bloody undead manticore’s tail in his gut.” Her low rasp lacked the characteristic mocking tone Ben had known her for.

“Did he give the cunt as good as he got?”

“Sure did,” she replied in a whisper.

Bertram sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Good.”

After a few moments of silence, the burly shopkeeper turned to the rest of the party.

“So what brings ya to this shithole, and who are the youngins?”

“It’s a long story, Bertie, and I’m itching for a drink after a long-fucking-trek through the mountain. You know the princess already,” she tilted her chin to Ben and Ann, “the tall, skinny one is Benny, and the pretty one is Ann.”

The shopkeeper laughed, “I guess that means ya name’s Ben.” He walked over to the young man and patted his shoulder. “Good to have you.”

Ben nodded at the warm introduction. “Nice to meet you. You’re an old friend of Ainsle’s?” he asked.

The large man let out a deep boisterous laugh. “Friends, ya say? Yeah, something like that.”

Bertram turned to face Ann and his gaze fell to her chest. “An-” He paused before stepping back and meeting her blue eyes. “Priestess?”

The young man frowned at the shameless gesture and felt a stab of jealousy.

Oh. The Pendant.

Ben realized that Bertram had noticed the copper, palm-shaped pendant that symbolized her former deity and that he had not, in fact, been admiring her considerable breasts.

“Keeper,” corrected the blonde-haired woman in an even tone.

The large man’s eyes widened for a heartbeat and he bowed with a dip of his head. “It’s an honor, Keeper. Please accept me humble hospitality.”

Ben’s eyes thinned and he regarded the short woman beside him whose reaction was as if the address was the most normal thing in the world.

“I accept your offer of succor,” she nodded in reply.

Bertram’s expression brightened at the response and he chuckled as he faced Ainsle.

“Interesting companions, as expected, Miss O'Se- Ain.” He exhaled a long, slow breath and smiled at the party. “This way,” He tilted his head to the door behind the counter, “I gots a barrel I been dyin to crack open. Seems like you lot have been on the road and could use the rest.” He turned to Ainsle and grinned. “And I got something you might want back.”

Ainsle nodded with a grin and the party followed the burly old man through the door and up a short flight of wooden stairs to the top floor of the store. Ben observed the second floor to be just as, if not more, cluttered than the shop floor, with crates of armor, various weapons, and dusty old tomes among other nondescript items. The party followed Bertram through a winding path between the clutter to a large round table made of rough wood, stained with countless cup rings and spilled drinks. A warm orange ray of the late afternoon sun shone through the opaque glass of the window above the table.

Bertram gestured that the women sit on the three chairs that surrounded the table. “I’ll go grab us seats, won’t be a second,” he said.

He shuffled off, dragging his prosthetic leg across the dusty floorboards, and returned shortly after with two, small empty barrels before leaving again to fetch refreshments for the party. Ben sat down at the table next to Ann and Ainsle and stretched his aching legs out with a satisfying sigh. Jor sat nearest to the open window as she stared down into the streets of the city, her eyes distant.

“So, Ainsle,” Ben said and Ainsle ‘hmm’d in reply, “what was that belt you were looking at earlier? It looked pretty old.”

“You mean this one?” The Berserker placed the belt on the table. “This was Bertie’s old belt, back when he could make a bar maid's knickers drop with a smile and a wink.” She grinned.

“Ol’ Bertie can still drop a few knickers I tell ya!” The shopkeeper shouted from behind a shelf in the far end of the room. The young man heard the sounds of wooden crates and steel clinking as the burly man searched among the clutter.

Ainsle chuckled. “I bloody well doubt that!” she replied.

“How did you two meet?” Ben asked.

“Well, he ran in our band for a few years back in the day. Willy actually picked him up after a nasty raid on a Hauluvian merchant convoy. We were just after the money and whatever goods they were taking back to their shithole of a country, you know how it is. But it turns out-” she glanced in Bertram’s direction and lowered her voice to a little above a raspy whisper, “-the fuckers were Slavers. They captured ‘barbarians’ from the northern villages to sell back home to some depraved cunts.”

“What? They were disguised as merchants?” Ben asked, enthralled by the tale.

“You’re damn right, Benny-boy. Some of them put up a pretty good fight, I’ll give them that… we even lost a lad during the fighting.” She paused as her grin wavered for a heartbeat. “Anyways, we found a bunch of poor sods in crates on the wagon. The pieces of shit didn’t even cut holes for them to breathe.” Ainsle sighed and shook her head.

“Owning slaves is allowed in the Empire of Caemire, but the people of the north tend to frown on the practice.” Ann supplied as she placed a dainty hand on his knee under the table.

Ben shivered at the contact and Ainsle seemed to interpret the shudder as a reaction to the thought of forced servitude. The old woman nodded as if affirming the assumed thoughts, yet Ben was more concerned about the casual mention of banditry his companion had engaged in. Although the young man understood the concept of slavery and it left a poor taste in his mouth, he felt disconnected as he didn’t have any fragments of memories to grasp the act truly.

Another thought struck Ben and he determined that he wouldn’t let the opportunity to ask pass him by.

“Oh yeah, I heard Ann call you ‘Red Maiden’ before. What’s with that? And is the name of this shop just a coincidence, or…” he trailed off, trying to find the best way to phrase the impromptu question.

Ainsle gazed out the opened window to the sky with a distant expression. “It’s a name from a simpler time,” she turned to look at Ben with an assessing eye.

Ben heard a chuckle and Bertram’s wooden leg drag against the floor to the table.

The burly shopkeeper placed five wooden mugs on the table with one hand and gently lowered a large barrel to the floor from under the other arm. He met Ben’s gaze with laughing brown eyes and spoke.

“Well, I owe Miss O'Seighin and Wilheim me life and what’s more,” he hefted his prosthetic leg up onto the barrel with a loud thud, “when I lost me leg to that bloody goblin, they made sure I had means to take care of meself and the youngin.” He gestured around the room with a scarred hand. Bertram chuckled again and sat on a barrel-chair. “As for the sign, it was either that or Ainsle’s Willy, and the bastard didn’t want me using his name so, we settled and all was happy.”

The Berserker grunted bashfully and changed the subject. “Where is the little bugger, by the way?”

“Oh, Kieran? The lad is apprenticed to that researcher from the Capital!” Bertram positively beamed with pride. “The boy’s a Caster too! Well, woulda expected as much, ya know, his mum being who she was and all.” The old man’s demeanor dipped into melancholy for a heartbeat at the mention of his partner. “Anyways, he should be around tonight! It’s his birthday after all. Miss Ain, ya’ll stay for a spell? I’m sure he’ll wanna see ya.” Bertram asked with pleading eyes.

Ainsle shrugged and grinned. “Course we will.”