There is a faint lull in the atmosphere when Kaz and Wren step into the Moonpeak Inn, as the patrons, performers, and staff all seem to turn their attention, with varying degrees of subtlety, toward the entryway. Wren blushes faintly, highlighting the myriad of freckles that spread across their cheeks, which is already showing signs of midday stubble. Kaz on the other hand just straightens her posture, meeting the crowd of gazes evenly with her own.
After a brief few moments, the crew of bards onstage resume their cacophonous, and admittedly catchy, row of a tune. The patrons, of which there are a few dozen, go back to their own business, returning to their thoughts or shared conversations. There are more people in the tavern than Kaz expected, all told. It’s not far past midday and most of the crowd looks the part of blue collar folk, who would normally be hard at work at this time.
Wren, far less interested in staring down a bar full of half-drunk laborers than Kaz seems to be, has their attention turned toward the building itself. It is well-made and, more importantly, immaculately maintained. Everything is clean and the servers all wear similar clothing in some semblance of uniform dress. Even the lighting is bright, clearly showing the dusted corners and crevices that most establishments like this would try to downplay. This place feels nothing like a dingy bar, many of which Wren has been in during their travels.
“Whoever owns this place takes it seriously,” they say as the two make their way toward the front desk, located just off the side of the bar. “It’s very clean.”
“Why, thank you,” comes a reply from the person standing at the front desk. A dark-skinned Elf with stark white hair, wearing a well-made suit, with bright violet eyes and a stern expression. “I pride myself in running the most well-kept tavern-inn within Tarn’s Rest. The fact that it is the only tavern-inn is no excuse for mediocrity.”
Kaz nods in agreement–and approval. She says, “Always nice to meet someone who takes pride in their work.”
The Elf lets a smile ever so slightly creep across their features before speaking, “As it is to meet a discerning customer. Welcome to the Moonpeak Inn. I am Semyon, the proprietor of the fine establishment.”
“I’m Kaz, this is Wren,” she says, motioning toward her Dwarven companion, who simply raises a broad hand and waves shyly.
“Well, are you two here for leisure, or are you looking for lodging? We have numerous rooms available for rent,” Semyon says, motioning toward the nearby ornate wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. He adds, “Purchasing a room for a week or more at a time will yield a reasonably fair discount.”
“Rooms would be nice, but for how long…” Kaz begins, but trails off, glancing at Wren. They take the pouch from beneath their cloak and open it, counting the contents within before holding up a few fingers discreetly to Kaz.
Maybe we should’ve been stingier with Walter, she thinks to herself.
“By the night, then. Worry not, we have the best rates in town,” Semyon says cheerily.
“I would hope,” Kaz says as she accepts a few coins from Wren and gives them to Semyon, who rubs them firmly between his long fingers before nodding in approval.
“A pleasure doing business with you. Breakfast and dinner are part of the fare; I’ll get the keys to your rooms,” Semyon explains as he kneels down behind the counter, discreetly depositing the coins in a place that neither Kaz nor Wren can see. He stands back up, handing them each a brass key.
“We were also wanting to ask a few questions, if that’s alright. About this town,” Kaz says as she and Wren accept their keys.
“I figured you two were new here. I know most everyone and I didn’t recognize you,” Seymon explains, a self-complementary smile spread across his face. “Ask away. Consider it an amenity that comes with purchasing a room.”
Kaz lets out a small sigh of relief, offering a silent prayer in thanks to Kelathorne. She certainly did not want to have to choose between an extra night’s lodging and paying for information just to find work.
“We’re here looking for work. The potentially dangerous sort,” Kaz explains, earning a raised eyebrow from Seymon. She continues, “You know, guard work, dealing with monsters, the like.”
“Sellswords, then. Mercenary work,” Seymon says, now looking the two up and down appraisingly.
“We prefer the term ‘adventurers,’” Wren says, crossing their arms.
“Specifically, we heard something about an official expedition being planned,” Kaz says.
“Ah, yes,” Seymon mutters, glancing over. The two follow his gaze to a table near the back of the tavern where a lone figure sits. “One of the team members is over there, she’ll have more information about it than I. As far as general work, there are plenty of issues that I’m sure Bernadette would appreciate a helping hand with. You’ll find her over at the barracks: She usually has some bounties that the townsfolk bring in, in addition to ‘official’ business that she doesn’t have the guard-power to deal with.”
Kaz and Wren share a glance before Kaz speaks, “That’s exactly the information we were looking for. Thank you.”
As the two walk off, Wren waves back at him and adds, “We’ll try really hard to find some work so we can pay you for more nights!”
“I’m counting on it,” Seymon says with a small smile, turning his attention back to whatever task he had going before their arrival.
“Seems like there’s a lot of work available,” Wren says quietly as the two cross the tavern, heading toward the back table that Seymon had pointed out to them. They add, “That’s good for us, right?”
Kaz lets out a low, uncertain hum, before saying, “Good for our pockets, bad for our health.”
The patrons seated around at the tables cheer at the performers on stage, who have switched into some musical number about a donkey, a handful of thumb tacks, and an especially irate work foreman. The band, if nothing else, seems to know their audience well. The figure at the very back of the inn, however, seems far too engrossed in a large book.
Now that the two are standing just a few feet away, they can make the person out amongst the crowd: An Elf in an academician’s outfit, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She reads her book through large, circular glasses that take up much of her face, magnifying her almond-shaped eyes.
Despite her magnified eyes and long, pointed ears, she is woefully oblivious as Kaz and Wren step up to the table. Kaz clears her throat, but that does little to break the Elf’s attention from her large book.
Wren leans to the side, trying to catch a glance at the contents of whatever she is reading. Thanks to their travel with Kaz the past ten or so years, Wren has picked up some basics of a lot of the different languages spoken across the world of Vale. Each region has their own dialect, with racial languages dying out thousands of years ago as cultures mingled and became more homogenous across the different lands.
Even if Wren doesn’t speak or read them, they can more often than not recognize which language is which. Carnist and Zhevni, the languages spoken from their and Kaz’ homelands, for example, share a similar runic alphabet; despite the expedition being organized by the ‘Loxians, the writing in the book is definitely not of that region. In fact, Wren doesn’t know what language it is.
The strange symbols are accompanied by odd diagrams, graphs, and illustrations that are also incomprehensible to Wren. Considering how intensely the Elf is studying the book, they aren’t entirely sure if she comprehends the contents, either.
“What’cha reading?” Wren asks innocently, causing the lady to visibly start. She looks up in confusion but doesn’t move to close or obscure the book.
“Oh, hello!” She greets the two with an honest smile and an embarrassed chuckle. Sheepishly, she adds, “Sorry, I’m not the greatest at splitting my attention between things. Can I help–Oh! You wanted to know what I’m reading!”
Kaz and Wren are motioned to sit down and they do so, as bemused as they are amused.
“This is a copy of one of the few Monteith texts that have survived through history,” the Elf explains, pure delight in her expression and voice as she motions toward the book excitedly.
Well no wonder I didn’t recognize it, Wren thinks.
“Monteith? They’re the–” Kaz begins, but the Elf cuts her off.
“–The ancient civilization that suddenly appeared and then just as mysteriously disappeared, right! Some of their ruins are still mostly intact but we have no idea how–” The Elf stops, face going flush. She stammers out, “Oh, I–I interrupted you, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”
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Kaz lets out a laugh, shaking her head as she says, “You’re okay, I’m used to it.”
Wren frowns and shoots Kaz a sour look before asking the Elf, “Can you actually read that? I didn’t know anyone could read the Monteith language.”
“They can’t! Er, I can’t,” the Elf says as she looks back down at the book. “Not entirely, anyway. But I’m working on it.”
A long silence lingers between the three as Kaz and Wren aren’t certain of what to say, or if the Elf is going to keep talking. Finally, she shuts the book and turns her attention back up toward the two with a bright smile.
“Anyway, um, my name’s Aderyn. Rhys. Most everyone calls me Addy,” she says cheerfully. She glances between the two before adding, “I don’t think you’re here for a lecture on Monteith linguistics, though. Right? You’re… Not, right?”
“Not exactly,” Kaz says, feeling a soft pang of guilt in her stomach as she sees Addy’s cheerful smile fade. She introduces herself and Wren before adding, “Seymon said that you were part of the expedition, and we were–”
“The expedition!” Addy says, once again cutting Kaz off. “Are you two interested in helping with it?”
Kaz takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment, reciting the scripture for patience a few times mentally, before she says, “Yes, that’s actually a big reason we came here. We heard the expedition was looking for help.”
Wren speaks up, “We didn’t know if that was just for, like, labor or if you needed some help guarding the caravan, or what exactly.”
“Oh, well,” Addy mutters, her expression darkening a little. “Right now, that would be yes. To all.”
“What do you mean? ‘Right now?’” Wren asks, a puzzled look on their face.
Addy sits back in her chair and slides the strange book into her shoulder bag, as if wanting to shield it from the story she’s about to tell. After a moment, she begins, “You’re technically a few months late to join the expedition. The, er, first expedition, anyway.” She pauses, debating on what information is necessary to share.
As anyone who has taken one of her classes can attest, Aderyn’s answer to what information is relevant to any conversation is always: Yes.
“Okay, so, three months ago–Well, actually, I guess it was about a year–No, no, fifteen–” Addy begins.
Kaz and Wren glance at one another worriedly with the silent understanding that they should have probably used the bathroom before they sat down for this story.
“Okay, right, so,” Addy mutters to herself, organizing her thoughts. She finally says, “This continent, the Heart of Vale, was just being officially explored for the first time around fifteen years ago, after the beginning of the 4th Era. This land has been deemed dangerous and wrong for ages and any attempt to explore it has been a failure due to how dangerous it is.”
Wren raises a hand to interrupt respectfully, asking, “The Dockmaster, uh, Walter, told us that there are no game animals here. Is that true?”
Addy smiles a little, feeling comfortable in this lecture-like format of conversation. She says, “That’s right! None of the monsters here on the Heart seem to require any kind of nourishment, nor do they fight amongst each other. Which indicates–”
This time, it’s Kaz’s turn to cut Addy off, “–That all the monsters are here to guard something.”
Addy claps and smiles brightly as she praises Kaz, saying, “Very good! This doesn’t appear to be a natural ecosystem.”
“You want a gold star?” Wren says to Kaz under their breath, smirking.
“Be one more than you’ve got,” Kaz responds proudly.
“As I was saying, this land was considered taboo for millennia, and for good reason it turns out. Since Kattelox has claim to this town, the University of Halcyon decided to put together an actual expedition to see what secrets exist here. Professor Thorburn is the head of the expedition and we had about a dozen different experts in various fields, including myself. I’m the acting professor of Monteith studies at the university,” Addy explains, gesticulating excitedly as she tells her story. But her expression dims and she becomes far less animated as she pauses before the next part.
“We hired about twenty others to work as guards and laborers before we set out. It was surprisingly quiet for the first week. We had no real goal, we were just doing a sweep of the surrounding area and mapping it out as we went. Then, one night, everything just…” Addy pauses and makes a gesture with her hands, like an explosion. She keeps going, “It’s like everything was just waiting the right time for our guard to be down. I don’t even know what attacked us. Some of our group were just academics with no combat experience, but some of us were mages, a few even served their time in the military. Even with them and the guards, people were falling like trees in a windstorm. The last thing I remember is Professor Thorburn grabbing me and teleporting us away, back here… Nobody else made it back.”
“Whoa,” says a strange, high-pitched voice. All three start, engrossed in the story so much that they hadn’t noticed anyone approaching.
A Goblin stands beside the table, the top half of their head just visible above the edge. They smile, showing rows of sharp, pointy teeth, iconic of their kind. Same for their red eyes and floppy ears; the messy mop of moss-green hair that covers their head is a bit unusual, though. The reputations of the green-skin races, like Orcs and Goblins, has improved substantially since the early racial disputes of the First Era, but some stereotypes persist. The Goblin stereotypes are certainly not dispelled by this individual, whose robes are smeared with dirt and moss. Wren is certain that they see a few mushrooms growing on the Goblin’s shoulder, partially obscured by their mess of hair.
“Hi,” the Goblin says simply.
“Uh,” Kaz manages to grunt out before Addy reaches out and grabs under the Goblin’s arms, lifting them up.
“Aww, you’re so tiny! Are you here for the expedition, too?!” Addy says cheerfully. She coughs a little as a fine dust floats up from the Goblin’s clothes; she says, “Little dusty there.”
“They’re spores,” the Goblin says, seemingly unperturbed by being picked up.
“Neat! Am I dying?” Addy asks, coughing again. The Goblin, thankfully, shakes their head reassuringly.
“Uh, Addy. I think it’s rude to just pick people up,” Wren says absently, watching the scene unfold.
Addy, still coughing, nods in understanding and sits the Goblin back down. She slides back into her seat and grabs the nearby pitcher of water, drinking some.
“Don’t worry, those aren’t toxic,” the Goblin explains to Addy before looking around the table. They ask, “I heard you all talking about an expedition. What expedition?”
“We were just getting to that part,” Kaz explains, looking at Addy, who seems to have stopped choking for the moment.
“Um, yes! Everyone died! Well, not everyone. Professor Thorburn and I didn’t,” Addy says, taking another sip of water and clearing their throat. “Since then, we’ve been trying to get another expedition set up. We have some laborers on board, but we’ve not been able to find anyone to act as protection. Until now, maybe?” She asks tepidly.
“Well, we came here specifically because we heard about the expedition. But, are you sure you want to go back out there after what happened?” Wren asks.
For the first time in the conversation, Addy’s features sharpen and her demeanor becomes serious. She says, very simply, “There is something on this continent and we are here to find it. If nothing else, we want to gather the corpses of our companions.”
Kaz nods in understanding and says, “They deserve to be recovered, at least. It sounds dangerous, but…” She trails off, looking over at Wren.
Wren finishes for her, saying, “If the compensation is good enough, it sounds like a worthy cause.”
“So that means you’re going out there? Outside the walls?” The Goblin asks.
“Ideally. Oh! We didn’t introduce ourselves! You can call me Addy,” she says suddenly. Kaz and Wren chime in, in turn. None of the three offer their hand after seeing the “spore treatment” that Addy was subjected to when she picked the Goblin up. Addy continues, “What about you, mister–ah, miss…?”
“‘Miss’ works. My name’s Dahlia,” she says, climbing up onto one of the oversized chairs. She does not actually sit down, instead standing in the chair so that she can be at roughly the same height as the others.
“What brings you to Tarn’s Rest?” Kaz asks, sizing up Dahlia curiously.
“My family runs a farm on the coast of Eryndal,” Dahlia explains.
“The Mushroom Coast?!” Addy asks, eyes wide in awe.
“Correct. We grow all kinds of fungi and molds and moss and other things from all over Vale. When Mom and Dad heard about the Heart getting settled, they wanted me to come out and see if there’s anything new to bring back and raise,” Dahlia explains. Her mouth turns down into a frustrated frown as she says, “But they won’t let me out of town to look around! They say it’s too dangerous. But if you’re going anyway, I can go with you, right?”
“Well, if you’re willing to help fend off the monsters, we’d gladly pay you to join us. You don’t seem to be afraid of what’s out there,” Addy muses.
“Wait, you’ll pay me to go with you? Really?” Dahlia asks, looking faintly surprised.
“Can you defend yourself?” Kaz asks, crossing her arms.
“I’m not afraid of what’s out there, if that’s what you mean,” Dahlia says, tilting her head slightly.
As the others discuss this, Wren’s mind wanders. Their hand unconsciously wanders to their coin purse, worried about their finances and hoping this might resolve those issues. However, their hand only grasps at empty space. They glance down, seeing that the pouch that was fastened to their belt is gone.
Panic shoots through them and they look around, eyes landing on Dahlia, who they hadn’t noticed approaching in the first place. More angrily than they perhaps intend, they ask, “You–did you take my coin pouch?”
Everyone at the table looks at Wren, surprised. Dahlia blinks and holds up a finger, pointing as she says, “Huh-uh. He did.”
Again, everyone’s attention shifts to the direction that Dahlia is pointing, just in time to see two figures, one taller and one shorter–about the same height as Dahlia herself–quickly slip out the front door.
“Sons of bitches!” Wren growls, leaping up from their chair as they dash toward the front door. Kaz is just a few steps behind, hefting their heavy rucksack as she reaches inside, rummaging for her weapon.
“Well, crackers,” Addy mutters as she scrambles to her feet and follows after the group with Dahlia in tow, who is excited to see a real life fight in person.
Maybe someone will die, she thinks eagerly as they all run out of the tavern.