Vultressant had taken Oeister’s advice and decided to store some of the party treasure in the bank. Maroftis was off hunting in the river, leaving the rest of the party to accompany him. Ewtain and Isla had been bickering nearly the entire time, so Vultressant used his interface as they walked in an attempt to drown out the two. He searched through his inventory list and separated what they might need for their trip south and what should be stored at the bank.

Vultressant decided they could do without most of the silver for the upcoming mission since Isla had assured them that room and board would be provided. The essences, not needed for their immediate plans, could also safely stay in the bank. Since the disruption crystal might prove useful on their trip, he placed it in his inventory, and the extra crystals could be stored in the bank. He found no information on what the criteria was for magic items not being allowed to be placed into the inventory, but they had tested everything they had after finding out about the bonded item prohibition. Only Ewtain’s knife, Maroftis’ armor, and Taloc’s sword could not go into their inventories. Shadowbane was bound to the Ranger, but the knife was not bound to the Night Stalker, although he was the only one who could use it, so maybe that was the same thing.

The bank was a very small one-story building with just one entrance and a counter that wrapped around three walls. There was a Gnome behind the counter on each wall, and either they were standing on something or the floor behind the counter was raised, because they each stood eye-to-eye with Taloc. The group approached the Gnome on the left wall.

“Greetings,” he said amiably. “How may I serve you?”

Vultressant looked around, noting the lack of anything like a vault or safety deposit boxes. The room was designed for smaller races, but he had to look up to speak with the other Gnomes. “Um, we need a place to put our stuff.”

The Gnome spread his hands. “That is what we do. The cost is ten silver a week for a small vault, 100 for a medium, and 300 for a large.”

“How much can the small one hold?” he asked.

“Eight cubic meters of material.”

“Is that two by two by two, or are the dimensions different?” Six feet per side was good, but they might need something taller than that.

“The vault will shape itself around the items provided that the sum of the volume does not exceed the total capacity.”

“Sounds good—we’ll take the small one.” Vultressant quickly looked at the others, who all nodded. He gave the Gnome ten silver and waited expectantly.

“Excellent. Now, who will be supplying the blood?”

They all looked at each other, but only Vanya spoke. “What do you need blood for?” she asked.

“So many reasons,” the Gnome replied.

When no further answer was forthcoming, Vultressant asked, “Is it necessary?”

“Oh, yes. During normal hours, any of the rest of you may interact with your vault inside the bank. However, if you wish to use your personal vault after hours, only the one who supplies the sample can store or retrieve anything from it. Only one person per vault is allowed to provide a sample for after-hours access. If you want to add anyone else to the access rights for regular business hours, you will need to bring them here and notify us.”

“It was your idea, Vult,” Taloc said, “so you should be the one to give up your blood.”

Vultressant was concerned about the possible negative implications of someone having access to his blood. He didn’t know what could be done with it magically, but he knew enough to be cautious. The rest of the group looked at him expectantly—it appeared that they all agreed with Taloc. “I guess it’s me,” he said, resigned.

“Excellent.” The Gnome pulled out a box and pointed a side with a hole towards them. “Please put your finger into this.” He did as the Gnome requested, and he felt a quick stab of pain. “Thank you.” He removed his finger. It was red at the tip, but no blood was visible. He sucked it reflexively, but he tasted no blood.

A notification popped up on his HUD; it gave him instructions on how to use the bank vault. They went over to a table in the center of the room, and he accessed the vault. A rift in the air above the table opened, looking very much like their inventory access. They deposited their items in the vault, and they even tested storing Shadowbane, which was successful. Rena had been correct when she said that the bank vault was able to store the weapon. “Why can bonded items be stored in the vault? Isn’t it an interdimensional space?” he asked the Gnome.

“The vault is not able to be moved, and thus it does not trigger the safety measures in bonded or protected items.”

As they were about to leave, Vultressant had a thought. “I’m not sure how much time our mission will take. What happens if we are not back in time to pay for the next week?”

“We will auction all of your stored items.” Vultressant promptly paid for an additional seven weeks.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

_________________

They walked to a tavern called The Shady Tree, where they were scheduled to meet the dockmaster and receive their orders for the mission ahead. Taloc looked around. The tavern was seedier than their inn, with worn wooden tables and a lingering smell of stale ale. The tavern was on the docks; it was in the rougher part of town, where it smelled of smoke and fish. The clientele, mostly Humans and Dwarves, were already drinking spirits despite the early hour.

Their party stood out even more here than they had at the Silver Penny. Maroftis drew most of the attention. He was resplendent in his new armor and towered above everyone in the room. Ewtain, on the other hand, looked right at home among the tavern patrons. Vultressant, being a Gnome in a largely Gnomish city, blended in easily enough. Taloc felt that he could have fit in if he were alone or just with Ewtain. However, the rest of the group was another story. In addition to the attention-grabbing lizard, their party included an Elf and Isla, who, despite being Human, wore much nicer clothing that starkly contrasted with the bar’s grittier patrons.

When three men entered the tavern, Isla stood up and waved them over. The rest of them stood as well. Isla extended a hand toward the taller man, who was flanked by the other two. They shook hands, and Isla said, “This is Hufalon.” She made the introductions, and Taloc remembered the name of the dockmaster from Isla’s reports about the council. After that, Hufalon motioned to the bartender, who ushered them all into a large private room.

“The ship is ready, but I wanted to go over a few things before you set off,” Hufalon said, sitting down at the large table. The rest followed suit except for Maroftis, who remained standing; there were no chairs suitable for the Korak to sit on. “The river has docks placed roughly one day’s travel apart when traveling upstream, or a half-day apart when traveling with the current. We use the docks to rest for the night, and small towns have sprung up at each dock to meet our needs. Most just have an inn and a small market, but some of the stops have bustling economies. There’s a problem at one of the stops close to Ildul, and that’s where you come in.

“The dock is on the east bank, and creatures have attacked the surrounding areas and even the village itself on occasion. These attacks only occur at night, and there have been reports that the tracks that they leave vanish when the light of the sun hits them.”

“What sort of tracks have people come across?” Taloc asked.

“Some of the tracks look like those of a wolf or a large dog,” Hufalon replied, “but others are of smaller bipeds as well as large-sized creatures. Not giant-sized, but maybe his size.” He pointed to Maroftis.

“If the tracks disappear at dawn, then the creatures might as well,” Taloc said. “How can we prove that we have taken care of them?”

The dockmaster looked at the man sitting to his right. “Jaro here will be accompanying you and will report back to me.” The man had long, greasy hair and a well-worn set of leather armor. There was also a blade at the man’s hip that looked like it might be some sort of saber or cutlass. Put a patch on one eye, and the man could pass for a pirate. Hufalon wore an earring that looked very similar to the pair that they had found that allowed them to communicate. Taloc would bet all their remaining silver that Jaro had its mate underneath all of that hair.

Well, not an escort mission at least, but this gaming world seemed to have ways of verifying that you had accomplished a task. Taloc wanted to be off, but he had one last question. “What would you estimate to be the danger level of this mission?” he asked.

Hufalon looked at Isla for a moment; she nodded, and he turned back to the Ranger. “Some groups that have gone to scout at night have not come back at all. I don’t know how this threat compares to a Stone Troll, but you handled that just fine, and I have been assured that your group is equal to the task.”

‘Just fine’ was hardly an accurate portrayal of their victory over the Stone Troll, but if the man believed that they were more competent than they actually were, so much the better. Even without the exchange between the man and Isla, Taloc was certain that she had talked their abilities up to the council. He tried to not let his fears show and instead simply said, “When do we leave?”

_________________

Midway through the second day of sailing downriver, they docked at the small port village of Anchorage, which was laid out almost exactly like the previous two that they had seen. The largest building was the inn, which was flanked by several smaller stores. Above its doors hung a sign depicting a weathered, old anchor covered in rust. The words ‘The Rusty Anchor’ were inscribed beneath the image. Vultressant noticed a cluster of tiny houses off to the east, where the locals lived.

They had risen very early in the morning after only a few hours of sleep, so most decided to go directly to their rooms and attempt to sleep. Maroftis, of course, went to see what the food offerings were at the inn first.

They asked Jaro to wake them just after nightfall, and when the man came for them, they went downstairs to grab a meal before setting off in search of night terrors. Even with a minstrel working to entertain the guests, the common room was more than half empty, a departure from their time in Ildul where The Silver Penny had been at full capacity. The general mood of the room was different as well: most of the patrons spoke in hushed tones, a far cry from the boisterous voices that cheered on the minstrel playing at their previous inn.

“Where is everyone?” Maroftis asked when their waitress, a short Human woman whose age Vultressant would place at about forty years, directed two younger-looking women who were carrying their meals.

“Barley soup to the Elf, and the chicken goes to Mister Mysterious over there,” the waitress said, nodding at Ewtain. She turned to regard Maroftis and said, “Most are closed up in their homes to wait out the night, and our port normally only gets boats that come upriver, so this is busier than normal for us.”

“Do the attacks happen in town often?” Vultressant asked. He wanted information to corroborate that of the council, or at the very least find out what they might be up against.

“Are you the next hunting party?” she asked.

“We are,” he confirmed. “Did any of the other groups talk to you or anyone here about what they saw?” One of the women held up a plate with a piece of meat and small potatoes, and he raised a hand to claim it as his.

“Most of them never came back at all, but those who did either claimed there was nothing out there or raved about demons ruling the night. The attacks have only happened in the town twice, but livestock and some of the folk living inland have been attacked, and many were killed. I wish you luck in your hunt; this thing is bad for business.” She sighed, her eyes scanning the half-empty room.

“We’ll do our best,” Vanya said, trying to reassure the woman.

The woman nodded. “Of course. I only hope that your best is enough.”