The couple of days have passed, and the night was setting as the crickets already chirped in the dusk.
*Knock, knock* Someone knocked on the local smith's entrance.
„What is it, aye?“ a short, bearded man shouted after opening the large wooden door. Sir Victor entered his workshop with a large linen sack and tossed it on the wooden floor, and the clashing of iron rang inside. He handed the man a large purse of gold coins.
"Fix this armor, as well as you can. Make it look like new."
"Aye, mate, you got the right person for this kind of task!“ The short man loudly answered.
„Sir, for you, Sir Victor." The visitor replied and left. The short man mumbled to his beard with a grudge and opened the sack. It was Nogryl's armor inside.
"Fine craftsmanship!“ he stated in surprise as he closely inspected the armor. He quickly returned it to the sack and placed the sack over his shoulder. After a brief walk through the large workshop, he reached the door that led to a dining room.
"Look at this armor!“ He said to his fellow smiths that were dining as he lifted it out of the sack.
"I know that armor; it belonged to Nogryl!“ One of them yelled, and quickly the silence filled the room.
"Do you think he is dead?“ one of the four smiths asked as he looked at the battered armor with thousands of cuts and dents and arrowheads still lodged into it.
"Of course he is! Does this look like he is alive?" The other replied And it was enough for a rumor to spread through the village.
"Nogryl is dead! They found his armor completely battered!“ The people spoke, and many of them went to the smith's workshop to see the armor as the smiths slowly repaired it part by part. The people gathered and peeked through the window of the workshop.
"I've seen it! It's there!“ an old man proclaimed. It was enough to convince them that he is indeed dead. Suddenly the tales grew into the rumors of a beast that swallowed him alive and spat out only the armor, while some people argued that he was clearly ambushed by ur'gluns and eaten alive, for they saw ur'glun arrowheads still lodged in the steel plates. The militiamen tried to convince the folk that he was in fact alive, but nobody believed them.
"You are lying to us! You want us to think that he is alive to keep us with a false hope!“ A man yelled,
"The state always lied to the people!“ But to everyone's surprise, in the meantime, Nogryl awoke in a tavern in his hometown, the Lindenrow. It was "The Sleeping Boar," the tavern where he often went with his friends after the training or the shift.
The wooden tavern had a large mead hall with a fireplace in the middle, and above it, there were the guest rooms, and in one of them, Nogryl. The reason why his wounds were treated there is because the barmaid was a skilled herbalist that could cure anything curable. Besides, the barracks were filled with the wounded men from the same battle.
"The doctor said that you will survive; you just lost too much blood,“ she said as she gently placed a wet towel over his wound.
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"Lynda ?“ He said in surprise. He clearly knew Lynda from before. She is a young woman in her early twenties. Her hair is orange, and her eyes are green, like two emeralds on her freckled face.
"Do not speak; you might have a broken rib or two; we'll know in a couple of days.“ She said it nonchalantly as she carried a cup of tea to the wounded man. The reason why Lynda acted like it's not the first time that she is treating someone's wounds after the battle was because it was not. The adventurers would often be harmed, especially in the outer reaches of the kingdom, and it was a common practice for the barmaids to treat their wounds for a small fee. Taverns in Elemorion were much more than a simple place where one can have a drink and some rest. They often served as meeting points for the adventurers, travelers, quest givers, bounty hunters, mercenaries, and other kinds of adventurous folks. The shady men in the darkest corners sold maps and relics, elixirs, and magical scrolls, and the frightened peasants looked for the adventurers to get rid of the trolls, witches, evil fairies, wraiths, and other sorts of mischievous creatures.
After a couple of days, unaware of the rumors, Nogryl left the tavern room, and everyone looked at him as if he were a ghost.
„He resurrected!“ the drunk man in the mead hall yelled as he saw him walk down the stairs, and everyone cheered and lifted their drinks. Nogryl thought it's some sort of joke and drank with them as the drinks were coming from all sides, for he was beloved by the people.
"So how was it in the afterlife?" one drunk man asked.
"What are you talking about? I am alive.“ He replied.
"But we saw your armor! It was battered like an old bucket! Didn't the large creature swallow you and spat it out?“
"No! It was ur'gluns! We saw the arrowheads!“ Another man added, and the men argued.
Nogryl laughed: „Haha no.. It was a battle against ur'glun chief and his pack, and...“
"You defeated the whole pack alone?“ One man asked, and the rest cheered and clashed their flagons in celebration. Nogryl groaned and thought for a couple seconds as the drunk crowd cheered and drank, but then he had an idea. He stood on the chair, and everyone looked at him. After a couple of seconds of silence, he started telling the tale of what actually happened as the men joyfully cheered and celebrated his exploits. And after that, the rumors of his death were stopped in the tracks by the tales of his heroic deeds and the rumors of his immortality.
The people thought that Nogryl was simply immortal; some thought that he could not be harmed, while others thought that he resurrects each time he dies. Regardless, the people felt at ease knowing that they have a seemingly immortal protector sent by Xorael himself to save mankind in the dark days that were coming closer day by day. It seemed like the prophecy is true; Nogryl indeed filled humanity with hope, but his hardest trials were yet to come.