The fires crackled in the hearth of the Last Ale Tavern. It was cramped, but quaint and offered some respite from the cold which waited beyond the door. Only three tables sat close to one another to where if someone sat back too far, they would bump into the person drinking behind them. On the wall opposite of the bar itself was a fireplace with a pot of soup. This tavern, known as The Last Ale, was located in the town of Gilthor in the north of Nordhagen which some called the end of the world. The hour was late yet it was still bright outside as it had been the day prior and the month before that. The barkeep was almost dozing and struggling to stay awake. The few drinkers were regulars who did not raise much of a fuss, when suddenly the door barged open with a burst of frozen air entering uninvited. The chill stirred the barkeep as he looked towards the potential patrons. 

Standing in the doorway with a wide brimmed hat on his head with a green plume, an equally verdant cape hanging on his right side, and the glint of a gold hilted rapier on his belt was a man, Mitchell Fisher. “Come on in lads this will do nicely.” Following behind him were his colleagues, Ekim, a half summer elf, and Wick. Both were wearing heavy fur coats and looked unenthusiastically at the poor excuse for a tavern. Mitchell’s entrance had drawn the few pairs of eyes to him. They appeared annoyed at the intrusion, but returned to their drinks as swiftly. 

Mitchell directed his companions to sit at a vacant table while he strolled to the bar. He threw back his cape and placed an elbow on the bar, striking a sly pose. “My good man, three ales if you will.” 

The barkeep blinked at Mitchell then without a word complied, filling three tankards with a honeyed mead. Mitchell laid down a few nord coppers onto the bar then flicked his hat while placing a silver next to the cluster. The barkeep looked at the silver and back to Mitchell with eyes hard as stone. “Anything interesting happening in Gilthor lately? Anything tickle your ear?” Mitchell questioned.

“No.” the barkeep declared. 

Mitchell raised an eyebrow and straightened up. This man had rebuked him so simply. It got under his skin quickly. Any little rumor, any tidbit of information would double his money at no cost. Yet, this behavior is what Mitchell had become accustomed to since he arrived in the north. Harsh people with little to say leading boring lives. Mitchell’s mind lingered on Kiara, his wife, who was in the south at Cromerth, still cold and uncomfortable, but not nearly as dreary as Gilthor. The people there were ready for any excuse to have a party or celebrate anything from grand to mundane. Mitchell squinted his uncovered right eye. “Nothing? Not a whisper of a trade deal or a gamble?” 

“No.” the barkeep replied once more, pushing the tankards closer to Mitchell. 

Scowling, Mitchell pocketed his silver and took up the mead. Walking to the table where Ekim and Wick sat, he placed the drinks down. Wick grabbed his and studied the contents. Ekim did not wait and started chugging his. “Don’t waste that by throwing it back, Ekim. I am only buying you one.” Mitchell said, taking a swig of his own. The mead was adequate with a light honey flavor, far better than the shite he drank in the pirate port of Calla Bay. He could feel the drink inside his body relieving his chilled soul. 

“I need warmth. I can hardly feel a damn thing. My insides might as well feel something, so the sooner this is in me the better.” Ekim quipped, looking at his fingers.     

Wick held out a hand to Mitchell. “You have not told us how many days we are going to be here. You have been quiet about it since you spoke to the Huntsman.”

Mitchell had not wanted to tell his companions the news, but they had a right to know. “I spoke with the huntsman of the hunter’s guild who promised a shipment of deer furs to the Farseekers guild. He claimed he had not reached quota. I asked why not and he refused to elaborate. He asked to give him a week.” Mitchell recalled the conversation. The huntsman, a man named Gauti Larson, was distant and hardily appeared interested in talking with Mitchell. Perhaps it was too much to ask of him. Once they got the shipment and returned to warmer waters, he would send a report to Guild Master Tiber Swifthand informing him of the state of the Hunter’s Guild here and pursue a replacement trade partner. 

“Strange, but this is the first time we are working with him. Maybe deer are getting wiser to their hunting?

“Do not be stupid, Wick.” Ekim chimed in. “Deer are dumb animals and hunting them should be easy. I think he is just lazy and was not expecting a representative of the guild to show up on his doorstep.” 

“Perhaps oiran are giving him trouble. From what I hear, they are terrifying beasts with jaws and claws, liable to rip a man from head to groin. True monsters.” Mitchell suggested. 

Wick gave a cough to show he had a correction, something he always did to let Mitchell know. “Oiran do not live here in Nordhagen. They dwell in Baqurmia to the far west. It is a common myth. I read it in a bestiary some time ago.” Since his ascension to quartermaster, Wick had buried himself in books and ledgers. It made him knowledgeable on many subjects Mitchell did not have the time to study. 

“It doesn't really matter.” Ekim continued, finishing his drink and looking at the bottom of his tankard with contempt. “What do you plan to do with the huntsman?”

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Tapping the side of his tankard, Mitchell shrugged. “For the moment, nothing. I cannot throw him off the ship and give him my best wishes. I was hoping someone in this pitiful excuse for a city would know something of value regarding him, but clearly this cold has turned the brains to ice.” Mitchell said.

“I should have guessed that was your reasoning for marching us around in the snow to every tavern.” Wick responded with a shiver. “So, we are waiting to get the shipment and leave this terrible place in a week.” 

Mitchell nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Not ideal, but it is the best I can do.”

Wick rubbed his head in discontent, processing the reality of the predicament. “Then I am going to get another round if I have to sit-” Wick was suddenly interrupted by the door flying open again. They shifted to see who had entered. Stepping inside was a young woman bundled in heavy winter clothes. She pulled away her gray fur scarf and exhaled as she slammed the door behind her. A bow was strapped to her back as well as a quiver with a few arrows peeking out. Removing the cowl from her head revealed she was blonde and pale faced. A pair of piercing blue eyes briefly looked about the tavern. She was a teenager, maybe fifteen if Mitchell had to guess. 

The barkeep regarded her and huffed. “What do you want, Runa? Your father is not here and you should be home.”

Runa ignored the words of the barkeep and focused on the few men gathered. “I need help. My father has gone missing and I need help in finding him, please.” She proclaimed, crossing her arms. Mitchell glanced at the other men in the tavern who turned away. The girl grew frustrated, raised her voice, and stomped her foot on the wooden floors. “Please, father went hunting for the guild and disappeared. I do not know what to do. We are all hunters; you must help me!” 

Yet again her cries were ignored by the patrons, but not by Mitchell. His head tilted at her plea. Her father was a hunter and had gone missing. Mitchell stroked his goatee knowingly. Gauti Larson did not mention a disappearance when they met, but he was certainly hiding something. Perhaps, this search for information was about to bear fruit. “Girl.” Mitchell addressed. “You seem tired. Get a bowl from the barkeep and pour yourself some soup.” 

“How dare you, outsider. I am not tired and I will rest when I have found my father. It seems only cowards frequent this tavern.” Runa declared to the patrons. None cared for her insults and accusations of cowardice. 

Mitchell waved a hand at her. “Fiery thing, isn’t she? I want to talk to you about your father and see if I can help, but you are cold. Soup will do you good.” He scowled at himself. He had gotten softer since marrying Kiara, now he was paying for wayward girl’s soup.  

Runa squinted at him. Taking a bowl from the bar, she walked for the fireplace and the pot. Wick coughed. “Sir, what are you doing? Are you really wanting to help this girl. A reward was not even offered.” 

Mitchell gestured for him to be quiet. This girl was the first chance at any information since he started searching and he would hear her out. Runa sat at the head of the table, spoon in hand. “Alright, outsider, what do you want? I doubt one like you can help me” she sneered. 

Mitchell smirked at her words. “I suppose I have the look of one. Capes and plumes do not appeal to people this far north. However, I think you underestimate my friends here and I want to know about your father. You said he was a hunter with the guild?”

Runa looked at Ekim and Wick to her right and back to Mitchell. “Yes, he is. No one believes a word I say. I have already been to the Hunter’s Guild. They are respectable and hard men, but they would not help and told me my father was dead, killed by wolves or a bear. I even went to the lumber guild to ask and they turned me away.” 

Leaning back, Mitchell digested her plight. “Why is no one willing to help you? I imagine that is why a guild exists for hunting to watch out for each other and trade information.”  

“Correct, but the range of the Gilthor branch of the guild is several hundred miles of wilderness across the north with only a few towns. Gauti claims they cannot pull hunters away from their jobs to search for one lost man.” Runa explained.

“You know a lot about how the guild works for a lass.” Ekim claimed, crossing his arms.

Glaring at Ekim, Runa sneered. “I guess girls in the south sit around in gardens waiting to be married off, not expected to move a muscle. This is Gilthor, milksop. We all pull our weight. The cold does not care what is in my trousers. It will kill me as quickly as it kills any man.” She scooped out a spoonful of soup and ate. Her eating was brutish like an animal. Mitchell and Ekim exchanged raised eyebrows. 

“What do you think happened to your father? You seem to believe he was not killed by a beast, but is just missing and can be found.” Mitchell prodded. 

Runa stopped for a brief moment while shoveling the soup into her mouth. Her blue eyes expanded then quickly returned to normal. “I do not know, but he has to be out there. I will not believe the cold has taken him until I see his corpse. Until then he is alive and well.” Runa loudly said.

Mitchell detected a lie or, at least, a withheld truth. It intrigued him immensely. Since becoming a Farseeker Captain and leaving behind a life of piracy, Mitchell rarely got chances at true mysteries and adventure. Taking a swig of his mead, he leaned forward staring her down. He spoke in a hushed tone. “I think we can help you. Ekim is an expert with a sword and Wick can fire a crossbow like a true champion.”

“And what of you? You look like a dandy not a hunter.” Runa verbally stabbed.

Holding his hands up, Mitchell gave a roguish smile. “You got me figured out. I am humbly the handsome one.”

Runa grabbed her bowl and drank the rest of its contents. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she stood. “If you are true to your word, even as outsiders, meet me at the Hunter’s guild in an hour. I can convince them to get you a room for the evening so we may set off tomorrow morning.” 

“We will find our way there once we are done here.” Mitchell assured her, standing. Runa regarded the three men a final time, threw on her gear, and left the tavern back out into the wind. 

Ekim rose. “I am going to need another mead.” He said frustrated, walking to the bar. 

Wick tapped his tankard on the table. “Sir, why are we helping her? Her father is dead. Anyone can see it.”  

Mitchell sat back down. “Indeed, he is, but something is wrong.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Gauti was acting strange when I pressed him on the tardiness of his shipment of furs and he did not seem to care about placing his contract in jeopardy with the Farseekers. Runa, herself, acts tough, but when I asked what she thought happened to her father. She had no answers, only assertions he was alive. Everyone in the city walks on pins and needles as if worrying about something.”

“Conspiracy, sir?” 

“Possibly. We are not being told the truth. Tiber will want the truth.”

“And what if we are being told the truth?” Wick pleaded. “Everything could be as simple as it is presented. The Hunting Guild is behind for one reason or another and the girl’s father made a mistake and is a block of ice in the wilderness.” 

Mitchell chuckled. “Maybe so, but we have been with the Farseeker’s for eight months now. I need a little adventure and there may be a story worth telling once we are done.” 

“So that is what this is about. What would Kiara say?” Wick pressed. 

Wick would have the gall to use Kiara against him. “Oh, come now, Kiara does not have to know besides it will probably be as you say and nothing more than the mundane.” Mitchell dismissed. However, he did know what she would say. It would be too dangerous and a distraction, but on the other hand she would want to help the girl find her missing father. She would be conflicted, but Mitchell wanted to investigate this uncertainty and convinced himself it was for the job. Mitchell downed the last of his mead and shook his head. “Finish your drink, we will head back out soon enough.”