You wake up even before the sun rises — without a trace of the alcohol from the night before. You decide to take another morning run, and this time you plan to run a bit farther.

You decide to wait a bit for the sun to get a little bit higher before setting off. You leave the axe but you still bring your borrowed dagger.

You make your way to the north gate, tracing the same path as before and greeting the same people. The people you pass by seem less suspicious after seeing you twice in a row.

You see the same guard from yesterday morning at the gate. He waves.

“I heard you had a bit of an adventure with Trent,” he says. “A rogue wizard and some hounds?”

“Hell hounds,” you clarify, “and a demon”

The guard seems a bit surprised, a demon was not something most men could face and live.

“Trent killed the wizard,” you explain, “and the demon.”

The guard nods. Eomer and Trent seem to have an almost mythic reputation in the town. Giving Trent all the credit for last night seems to be more acceptable than weaving a story that includes a new recruit.

“Run safe,” the guard waves you off.

You run outwards for a mile before running the circumference of the town. The nine-mile route gives you a clearer picture of the surroundings: the status of the roads and trails, as well as key terrain features.

You make it a point to focus on your footfalls time and again — honing your blindsight which you learned from your encounter with bats.

You encounter a few merchants setting off early from the town to reach the city. You also see a couple of adventuring parties, going off to fulfill a guild quest.

The sky shows a hint of rain — probably in the afternoon — and you wonder if this would affect your trip with Trent to meet the smith.

You remember to consciously sweat on your last mile, just to keep up appearances as always.

“Good run?” asks the guard as he sees you approaching. Clearly not asking for a detailed response.

“Yes,” you reply. “Early appointment,” you say as you continue past the guard with a light jog.

You pass by your room to retrieve your two axes and then head off to Trent’s house. You are uncertain whether you should knock, so you stand outside for a bit.

“Why are you standing there at this hour?” yells Trent, showing signs of being woken. “Meet me at the guild at noon, we’ll be seeing the smith after lunch.

You hand him the newly-bought axe and he promptly takes it.

He tests the edge as well as the balance of the weapon and he seems satisfied.

“Good axe,” he says. “Noon at the guild,” he leaves with one last reminder.

You leave Trent’s home and spend a couple of hours browsing the nearby shops and grabbing something to eat.

The shopkeepers are mostly friendly — especially the ones you call by name. They seem to recall you being with Eomer’s party from the other day and assumed they were introduced.

You managed to get a couple of daggers, similar to the one lent to you, for 4 gold in one shop — and in another shop, you obtained 50-feet of rope for 10 gold. Together with the food you sampled, everything cost you 15 gold — leaving you with five.

You managed to get directions to the local bookstores from your conversations with the shopkeepers — and with a few hours to kill, you decide to pay it a visit.

The store was located well away from the general stores and like Glenn’s, it had glass windows and seemed to cater more to nobles than ordinary people.

You enter the store — the sound of ringing bells attached to the door heralding your arrival.

Different kinds of bookshelves line the walls and the center of the store holds a couple of well-made wooden tables.

“Buying or selling?” asks the shopkeeper without looking, seemingly busy with his reading. He looks up and sees you, frowning at your appearance — particularly at your plain clothing.

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“I’d like to see some books,” you say as you approach the man.

“The cheapest book I sell costs five gold,” he says with a hint of disdain. “The more expensive ones can cost hundreds of gold.”

“I have gold,” you reply, taking out your last five gold coins. “Five gold for a couple of hours of reading — and I promise to be careful with the books.”

He grasps the gold as if he was weighing them.

“Everything but the books on the ivory case,” he finally says, “and make sure to be careful with the bindings.”

He goes back to his reading.

You scan the books on display, finally settling on one pertaining to the history of the kingdom.

The language is similarly archaic, but the texts are still somewhat familiar.

It seems the town you’re in is governed by the Raelion Kingdom, with Istvan the fourth as the reigning king.

You take short cursory glances at the pages, absorbing the information contained in the book with utmost efficiency.

You put the book back to its place and reach for a second one — which is followed by a third and then a fourth….

In just two hours you manage to read and absorb the information from 18 books — with topics in history, local lore, magical flora and fauna, geography, and even a few stories of adventure.

You place the final book on its stand and signal the shopkeeper that you’ll be leaving.

He nods in acknowledgment not bothering to lead you out or check your things.

You noticed he was observing you at certain times and probably judged you weren’t the type who would steal.

You head to the door but change your mind — instead, you approach the man reading at the counter.

“I heard you can get books on magic,” you say to the man. “I would like to buy a few, if it’s possible?”

“Those books cost at least 20 gold,” he answers. “The more expensive ones cost more than a hundred gold.”

“I can afford that,” you proclaim.

“They’re not much use anyway,” he advises. “You’ll still need an actual mage to guide you in your studies — so it's better to apprentice yourself to one if you really want to learn the art.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” you say, “but I’ll still purchase the books if you have them.”

“I have two of them right now,” he offers. “20 and 50 gold, they’re yours if you have the money.”

You shake your head.

“My gold is with the guild,” you say. “And I don’t know if I could get back in time with my trip to the smith.”

“Hmmm,” he seems to finally piece things together.

“You’re Eomer’s new recruit,” he says, startling you for a moment. “Word gets around in this small town”

“The only smith worth taking a trip to is Torm,” he explains noting your confusion, “and you’ll need Trent to see the bastard.”

You nod and smile, impressed at his deductive skills and how rumor and information fly within this small town.

“Caleb,” you introduce yourself, extending a hand.

“Everett,” he replies, raising a hand in greeting but not taking the handshake.

“I can’t hold any of the books for you,” he says, “but I can send word when one comes in — for a small fee of course.”

“That’ll be enough,” you reply. “I’ll return with the money in a day or two — hopefully you’ll still have the books.”

“Hopefully,” he says with no hint of commitment whatsoever.

You raise a hand, signaling that you’ll be going.

Everett merely goes back to his reading — paying you no more heed.

It’s now close to noon after that two hours at the bookshop. You decide to head to the guild for your meeting with Trent. With nothing in your pouch or pocket — you’ll also need some of the gold which you deposited for safe-keeping.

You arrive earlier than Trent, finding no trace of him in the guild.

You approach the notice boards to see a few of the listed quests — just to see what kind of tasks the guild requires.

There seems to be an ongoing bounty for goblins and orcs — 1 and 3 gold for each, with the right ear serving as proof of the kill.

You see a few escort jobs listed with a few crossed out, presumably after the employer gathered enough men.

The guild offers an assortment of quests from gathering materials to investigations. It seems it rarely runs out of jobs to give its adventurers.

After browsing through the notice boards you take a seat in one of the chairs in a free table.

Pretty soon you spot the familiar form of Trent climbing up the stairs.

He takes a seat at the table.

“Perhaps this isn’t the best time to meet the smith,” he starts. “I’m pretty banged-up from yesterday and I could use a day of rest.”

“Of course, of course,” you swiftly reply. “Why did you even come over? You could have just sent word through one of your sons,” you say with a trace of concern.

“I’m not that banged up boy,” he laughs. “Besides, I’m here for me gold.”

You nod in understanding.

“I met the bookseller, Everett,” you start. “He seems to be acquainted with you and Eomer.”

“So you met that wily bastard,” Trent says with a hint of irritation. “That bookseller is no simple person,” he says with a tone of warning.

“He is a mage — and a battlemage at that.”

“I didn’t realize that,” you say honestly. “He didn’t feel the least bit…” you fumble for the word, “…magical.”

“Everett was one of the kingdom’s mightiest battlemage,” Trent goes on, seemingly starting a long story. “He took part in multiple battles, before suddenly deciding to just quit for no reason after a few years of service.”

“The king didn’t take his decision lightly, fearing Everett would go to the other side. Alas, Everett just took his savings and opened a bookshop — never practicing magic ever again.”

“There seems to be more to that tale,” you press the old veteran.

“Indeed, indeed,” he answers. “But they are not my stories to tell.”

He gets up from his chair and heads to one of the counters — most likely to get his gold. He spends a couple of minutes discussing something with the attendant before he returns to the table.

He returns with a small pouch in his hand, clearly not getting the whole amount from last night.

“Frost wolves have been spotted near the forest,” he says. “Lately, they’ve been venturing out of the forest and a few caravans have been attacked.”

“The guild is offering an additional 10 gold for each wolf — but we can get to them after we’re done getting you a proper weapon.”

“Won’t the caravans be in danger?” you ask. In your mind, any delay in stomping out a confirmed threat could lead to dire consequences.

“The next caravan won’t be passing for a week,” he explains, “waiting a day or two shouldn’t be a problem.”

Trent rises from his chair.

“Tell the others to prepare for wolf-hunting in the coming days,” he says. “We’ll meet at dawn at the southern gate to see Torm about your weapon.”