They decided to spend the night in the ruins, by the opening near the stairs. Or Erevan had decided, and Hama had merely shrugged. Nalion had easily agreed with the decision, considering how the sun had nearly set by the time they were ready to take their leave. Also it felt like the smart thing to not pick up an argument with the taciturn ranger.

Nalion glanced towards his now maybe-kind-of-traveling-companions and saw Erevans clear blue gaze meeting his own. Erevan gave him a nearly imperceptible nod, which he returned. It felt reassuring to be on the other's good side. -Ish. He thought. Or hoped. Maybe. After all, they shared a mission now. Kind of. At least a tentative truce. It was also a bit of a relief not having to fumble through this all by himself, even if he still found Erevan a bit intimidating. True, he hadn’t told Erevan everything, as the words of Master Tathallan were echoing in his mind. He couldn’t risk everything by trusting a near stranger, even if that stranger shared allegiance to the organization that Master Tathallan had deemed as heroes.

Meanwhile, Hama was sitting by the fire, busy lovingly sharpening his sword. Her sword?

To Nalion it was difficult discerning gender in humans as they all looked so similar. What he did know was what he’d read: that only human males had facial hair and only the males were bald or balding. Often they were taller as well. Apparently it was traditional for the males to have short hair and wear pants, whereas the females often had long hair and dresses. It was confusing to Nalion to have so many different rules regarding gender, though it surely would be a help whilst trying to navigate in the human world.

Hama, however, did not fit into the boxes Nalion had read about. Hama had short hair but was also short in stature. It was hard to say if Hama had any facial hair due the lower half of his or her face being covered.

Nalion opened his mouth to ask, but then remembered that he’d also read that humans could be peculiarly prickly about genders. Especially if one said or presumed something wrong. Nalion quickly closed his mouth again, not wanting to be rude and ruin the fragile truce the trio had going on. When it came to Hama, it was probably better to stick to gender neutral terms for now. He looked down at their campfire as he pursed his lips in contemplation, the events of the day swirling in his mind.

A shudder ran through his spine. He scooted a little bit closer to their cozy campfire. It kept haunting him, the desperate state the other elf had been in. What an awful way to torture someone, by being perpetually being kept alive by the very same thing that deformed ones living flesh. It had been hard for him to hear as the stranger begged for them to stop his misery and end his life.

What had become abundantly clear was that Erevan had known that elf. They had shared membership in the secretive Order. From the short conversation the stranger had had with Erevan it was obvious that the ring Erecan carried was, in fact, a key. This was further supported by the small holes Nalion had found while he’d inspected the double doors. It seemed that the ring the ranger was in possession of was but one of two.

It had been easy to deduce that the magic protecting whatever it was that was within that room ensured that only someone with those specific keys could enter. But what could warrant such fierce protection? The other elf either could not or would not share this while he’d been alive. Sure, he knew of magic that could theoretically help him communicate with the dead, but he doubted the stranger would answer. It seemed that the Order of the Stag had taken their most guarded secrets with them to their grave. Not even Erevan had seemed to know.

Master Tathallan had told Nalion about the Order before he’d left. She’d said that it was founded to protect something important, something valuable. What it was, she didn’t know either. Apparently they had only recruited the most noble and heroic of warriors of all the races, making it quite sure to qualify as “ashes of fallen heroes”.

The curious part of Nalion wanted to pepper Erevan with questions until he ran out of breath. It did not seem fair, however, considering Nalion was keeping secrets himself. Also he was slightly concerned Erevan might resort to violence considering how many others before had phrased his habit of harboring knowledge as “persistently annoying” or “annoyingly persistent”. They had not enjoyed him pointing out the differences between the two either.

Nalion sighed as he gently rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the threat of a tension-headache. He had done his best to document everything they’d encountered in the notebook where he’d written the details of his dream-vision-thingy. Everything was coded, naturally.

He’d done his best to describe the carvings on the massive doors, surely a hint of its own for what might lie behind them. The carvings had depicted a scene: there were some icons which Nalion figured were there to represent the Order, pictures of fierce warriors and such, together with some barely-recognizable and very old Elvish runes. It seemed as if the warriors of the Order were defending a strange golden machine and some kind of red crystal. Or so Nalion presumed. It was hard to make out details and colors since much of the carvings had faded due to time, paint chipped and dwindling.

They ate wordlessly, spread around the warmth of the campfire. Even Hama seemed to be lost in their own mind. The only words uttered were by Hama as she and Erevan argued over guarding shifts for the night, which the ranger strongly insisted upon. Just in case.

The next morning dawned, cloudy and damp. Nalion shivered slightly as they packed their belongings and began a trek towards a nearby village. At least it wasn’t raining. Erevan was leading them, seemingly the self-elected wilderness expert amongst them. Though it appeared he could back-up such a claim. Nalion dredged in the middle, both curious and nervous about how a human village might be. Maybe he could add something to his research paper addressing human habits.

After about half a day's walk they reached the edge of the village. It was smaller than Nalion had expected. Sure, there were people up and about, the hustle and bustle seemed more hurried here somehow yet he had thought it would be… More. It was a little disappointing.

As they walked into the village Nalion heard a steady “ding, ding, ding” over the few chattering villagers, as metal met metal. Then a shrill and nasally voice yelled: “You imbecile! Do you not understand that what we need right now is you working on new tools, Hamhands?”

The sound stopped just as the scene came within eyesight. What Nalion could see was a little human dressed in fine clothing and flanked by two guards. The man - or woman? - was pointing up at a giant of a man that looked to have been working as a blacksmith, as was evident by the dark soot spots all over his face and even upon his bald head. Hamhands was appropriate either as a name or an insult, considering how each of the man's hands were the size of a pig's leg. He looked tired as he dried his soot-tipped fingers in his equally black-tainted apron. Or, well, Nalion was pretty sure he looked tired. He could be wrong.

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Even as Hamhands' shoulders lay low he was still a good head or two taller than both the guards, never mind the small human. The blacksmith, taking up his large hammer again in one hand with ease, looked down upon the person sandwiched between the guards.

“Sure, it IS your forge, and you ARE entitled to make whatever you want, but how are we going to harvest without any tools? Will you harvest the fields with swords?” the little human accused while wagging his finger around, body shaking with what Nalion assumed to be anger. “Fine! Let us starve! I’ll write to the baron about this!“

The smaller person huffed and stormed towards the inn with his or her guards in tow. Meanwhile the blacksmith put whatever he had on the anvil back into the forge and took out a bright hot piece of iron. The “ding, ding, ding,” began anew.

As Nalion took in the sights, Hama strolled past him. The maybe-man-maybe-woman was heading confidently towards a medium sized building with a sign simply stating “The Inn”. As a visitor, Nalion could appreciate the simplicity of it. Erevan seemed to have already disappeared inside. The druid shook his head, focusing on the present instead of the constantly flowing stream of thoughts in his head and hurried to catch up.

The inside of the inn was as simple as its name. The decoration consisted of plain wooden furniture and a variation of dead animal furs. A fire was happily blazing in the fireplace, spreading its warmth to guests both near and far. The front desk was manned by another bald human. Nalion would consider him as tall but after seeing the blacksmith, the innkeeper looked merely average in height. His clothes had clearly seen better days, yet they were nicely kept. Well, with the exception of his apron that resembled more of a dirty rag.

Erevan sat down with a thump, a beer already in hand and a second waiting on the table. Nalion followed behind Hama and took his seat gingerly, still a bit wary amidst all the humans. And all the sounds! This was more what he had expected when traipsing into the village. There were so many sounds everywhere and many of them so different from what he was used to, from the metal worked by the blacksmith outside to the constant chatter in the inn. Nalion mentally scratched his earlier disappointment, as it was beginning to be almost a little overwhelming.

“You know what, I’ll take a beer too,” said Hama while widely stretching their arms and yawning. “We’ve earned it after sleeping so uncomfortably last night.”

Nalion figured this was probably some human custom and ordered a beer as well. Hopefully he could blend in somewhat.

As the innkeeper prepared their orders, a shrill and nasal voice rang from behind him. “AAAH, adventurers!”

Hama was lounging on their chair, looking laidback but not taking their gaze off the new person. Meanwhile Erevan seemed to be completely engrossed by the beer, as he put down the first already-empty pint and reached for the second. Nalion politely turned around so he could see the person talking. It was the small human from earlier.

“My name is Terry Partshore and I am the mayor of this town. I need you to do something for me. Make that fool of a blacksmith to understand that we need scythes not swords. How does he think we’re going to farm, by beating our crops to a pulp? Ridiculous.”

Erevan suddenly snorted in his beer, causing some of the liquid spilling out. The ranger stilled and stared at the few droplets on the table with what appeared to be genuine loss in his eyes.

Hama arched an eyebrow. “And perhaps we will, though that will come at a cost.”

The mayor sighed, looking… Constipated? Exasperated? It was really hard to tell.

“Fine, 3 gold pieces…”

Hama barked out a laugh. “Oh please!”

The black-clad human suddenly leaned forwards on the table with both their hands, the front most chairlegs complaining as they made contact with the wooden floor. “Make that 10 per person and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“30 gold pieces!? For talking to a blacksmith!? You must have lost your mind!! 5 gold pieces per person, and that’s basically robbing me!”, the mayor exclaimed, scrunching up his nose in a bout of another emotion.

Nalion was getting worried. He didn’t want to rob the human.

“Nope!”, Hama said cheerfully, popping the “p”. “It’s 10 or nothing! But hey, I’m sure you’ll get through to him, you did such a great job earlier!”

Nalion personally felt that the human had in fact not been doing such a great job. Maybe it was rude to point that out. He mentally added the fact into his notebook. He’d have to write it down when he had the time.

The mayor sighed again. “8 pieces per person, that’s as high as I can go.”

Hama sprung up from their seat, offering a gloved hand with a sparkle of mischief - Nalion theorized - dancing in their gray eyes, “Pay half upfront and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

They shook hands. Then Hama proceeded to drag Erevan out of his chair with Nalion following along, despite the fact that they hadn’t even received their beers yet. He was still quietly worrying if they had done something ethically questionable or if what transpired between Hama and the mayor was the way humans agreed on things. Meanwhile Erevan was forlornly staring at the few droplets lost to the wood of the table, hastily emptying the second pint while letting Hama drag him forward.

The blacksmith was still working on a piece of metal as they reached him.

“Hey dude!”, Hama called out loudly. “So what’s up with brushing off the mayor and all this weaponry you’re making?”

The blacksmith glanced at their way before focusing on his work again.

“Wow, are you going to just ignore me? I’m pretty stubborn myself you know. I can do this aaaaall daaaay looooong,” Hama’s said in a sing-song voice, their eyes getting all wrinkly. That was happiness right? It would have been helpful to see Hama’s mouth as well to see if there was a smile.

“If that’s the case I might as well go back to the beer,” Erevan grumbled in a low voice. As the ranger turned he was stopped by Hama’s hand.

The blacksmith looked at them again, more closely this time. His eyes focused on Hama’s sword and Erevans battleworn armor. For some reason his gaze quickly flew over Nalion as if he wasn’t even there. Then the blacksmith's eyes widened.

“You any good with those weapons?” he inquired quietly, looking intense.

Erevan scoffed, folding his arms, as Hama proudly proclaimed, “Yep!”

“The mayor put you up to this, right? Well I’ll do what he wants, but I need you to do something for me first.”

“And what would that be exactly?” Hama asked casually.

The man looked around as if to see if anyone was listening and then leaned in to whisper. “North of the town, there’s an old fortress. It has been taken over by bandits. They kidnapped my daughter and now they are blackmailing me - if I don’t supply them with weapons they will hurt her,” his voice tightened as his features twisted in what was probably pain. “Please help her, she’s all I’ve got. Get her out of there and I’ll do whatever you ask!”

Nalion’s heart twinged in sympathy. It was obvious how much the blacksmith cared about his family. Hopefully the daughter was unharmed.

“Alright, we’ll see what we can do,” Hama agreed amicably, ignoring a frown from Erevan.

The large man's face softened into… Something.

“Thank you. Truly. I do not know what I’d do if I’d never see her again. I wanted to go after them myself, but I was so afraid they’d see me coming and… and hurt her.”

The blacksmith's voice got all odd and wobbly. Erevan looked extremely uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as his eyes looked anywhere but where the large man was standing. Hama remained unperturbed. Not knowing what to say, Nalion settled in on an awkward nod.

It was the right thing to do, even if it didn’t have anything directly to do with his quest. Besides, his mentor had promised to contact him if she came upon some new information or something else that might help. He might as well continue being in the company of Erevan and Hama while he waited. Safety in numbers and all that. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to find out about the Order of the Stag. Maybe even something that might help against the poison. And if not, at least he could help people. That was always nice.