From [Devlin's Deeps] we had a windy road ahead.
One filled with the occasional encounter.
Bandits no longer berated us thanks to the passive of [Mark of The Leader].
[Bandits under your level will respect you, becoming friendly encounters.]
But they were slain regardless.
It was a good way to keep the skills, wits, and arms of the men warm.
Also, we needed the drops.
Feeding a 70 man guild was by no means cheap.
Especially in a realm where bandits hardly dropped gold or silver.
It was becoming apparent that the lower level ways of farming and acquiring income were a thing of the near past.
Dungeons, expeditions, and raids were the only way to turn a profit.
Manipulating a flawed market that preyed on a weak economy was the way of our realm.
The North, where the newly awakened raid awaited.
[Frost Kings Krown]
Was months away by foot.
Our caravan of men moved through back roads, through villages layed forgotten due to their lack of quests or farmable resources.
All to remain out of sight from the larger guilds for as long as possible.
Our existence a secret to the Higher Order.
In each new village and town we were welcomed with open hearts and gates swung wide.
A great depression was spreading throughout the land.
Yet the people of the realm continued to smile despite the growing dangers and their shrinking meals.
Every village had a common problem, or so it seemed.
Some sort of mythical beast had begun to run rampant in a forest nearby.
A once safe farming spot was now a death sentence.
Families would beg for us to find and return their huntsman father's to safety.
Sadly, rarely were they left alive to return home. A piece of gear found in a pile of remains would be brought back.
It was never enough.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
But it was better than nothing.
Something always better than nothing.
Right?
Each time we met the foe that we assumed would be a tall tale told by a small village with little knowledge of the world beyond their gates; we were met with an Elite Mob with a power level that dwarfed the area.
A tall tale indeed.
Slaying the beast would reward us with peace of mind.
Also, a feast supplied by the carcass of the very beast and a night of festivities supplied by a village with one less worry on their minds.
If only we could handle the rest of their worries.
In these villages and during one of these festivities I found myself staring into a bonfire with a soul warm from both ale and a sense of purpose.
Our realm was shattering, and the people were suffering for it.
Yet today we did something about it.
We helped.
As I turned to see my men dancing and singing alongside the people of the village, everyone crowding around Shelly, like always and as it should be.
Moths to a flame they appeared to be.
Song and dance always huddled around Shelly.
Her moves attracted the hearts of men who never danced.
Stronger than the ale.
She would pull men in to worship her dance with a pitiful version of their own.
I couldn't help but smile at an accomplishment so trifling, yet meaning more than anything before.
To my right an older woman sat watching as well.
The lines of her face read of a wisdom that doesn't come by chance.
She grinned with an air of understanding.
Glowing bright my cards within my pack began to spark with power.
Something important was to come
Turning to meet my eyes.
The lady with eyes of amber
Said:
Don't be caught up in the small battles boy, or else you'll lose the war.
Don't lose yourself on the path of self-discovery.
Don't win at any cost.
Some costs are too high.
Turning my eyes past tonight's glory, I looked out towards the growing sky.
The one that filled and erupted with clouds brimming with a power to end.
A power that coursed through the realm
A power that needed to be stopped.
Just as I had come up with my response.
I turned to find her gone.
Later, as we packed up and left on the crack of dawn, I would ask the villagers of the lady with eyes of amber.
Sounds like Magda.
But it.can't be Magda.
She's been dead long since before the storms.
I asked if Magda had left anything behind.
With eyes wide and a voice unsettled.
He stammered..
Actually…
Yes, she said if anyone were to ever ask for her or what she left.
To give them this.
Reaching around his neck, he removed a stringed necklace that held a small amber ring on the end.
Handing it over, I inspected the piece.
[¿¿???¿¿]
It would need to be identified, I thought as I thanked the villager and pocketed the ring.
We continued on down the roads less traveled by.
With eyes set on the hole that struck the sky and not the pieces that could make us whole within our hearts so ever cold.