After a few days journey in the blistering cold, Ragnar, Thalindra and Berenger finally noticed a small town to the east, Brinehaven, a welcomed sight, they had finally arrived. "Isn't that a sight for soar eyes" Ragnar said thankfully, looking up at the town that lay on the edge of a large cliff. As they hiked the seemingly endless hill towards Brinehaven, they finally noticed the flickering lamplights of an inn between the trees that lay before them. Immediately they headed towards the lights. They went inside, sat at a table near the hearth in order to warm up from the long, cold journey, and called for the barmaid to bring them a few pints of ale. It was a warm and welcoming place, people, of all races drinking merrily together, enjoying the warmth coming from the fire burning in the hearth. Beside the bar, a bard was sitting with his stringed instrument in his hands, singing and telling stories of wars and brave warriors. It all seemed so peaceful, it was as if these people had no care in the world. Their only objective was to drink away their coin. They seemed oblivious to the destruction foretold by ancient prophecies. Prophecies that Thalindra had reason to believe would be set in motion within the coming of a fortnight. As they were enjoying their ale, Berenger overheard the conversation of the men sitting by the table next to them.

“I hear tidings of bandits and raiders coming closer and closer to our borders, soon enough they will make their way across the river, and who knows what’ll happen once they get into the city…”

“aye, nowadays one’s got to take care of oneself. I say we ought to armour ourselves for when it happens.” 

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Berenger was intriqued by what he heard, so he leaned closer in order to hear what they were talking about.

“You fools” replied a third man, “you’re all beginning to sound like old man Morrow!” He said, pointing to a rugged worn down chair in the middle of the room, the place where Morrow undoubtedly would've spend most of his nights. “always talking about strange warlike rumours! I remember when he would walk about sharing his doomsday proclamations day after day, trying to sprout fear where non was necessary” He proceeded to quote Morrow in a mocking voice. “In the old days the people lived in fear of the shadows, terrified of the creatures lurking within, just on the other side of the thin veil that separates us from the evils that dwell within. It is said that the veil will one day be torn asunder, and the creatures on the other side will once again roam the realms of man”.

“Crazy old man.” He added.

By now the bard had stopped playing and everyone in the tavern had heard this chilling conversation. It was as if a thick cloud of fear had filled the room, it seemed as if the people listening became uneasy by the words that were spoken and were all consumed in thought of a possible calamity heading their way.

From the corner of the room the silence was broken by an old grey haired drunk proclaiming in a mumbling voice “An old wives tale, I say… that’s all it is…”  After mumbling these words, the man passed out in the corner, and the people went back to their drinking.

Berenger did not go back to his ale, he sat in deep thought, pondering the words that were just spoken for all to hear. Looking at Thalindra he saw that she too had listened to the conversation, evident by the concern in her eyes. The peace they had felt when entering the tavern was all but gone. The conversation had brought them back to reality.

Written by : Petur Bjarnaskor Poulsen.