Tiny yellow lights twinkled in the fields, pairing well with the night sky. The great white orb in the palette of stars above settled atop the solitary mountain. Off the road and into the wild: a soft nightly breeze, an owl’s hoot, the radiant glow of fireflies, and crackles of a warm fire draped the five party members.

“No pies today, huh?” Ryder said.

Bell shook her head, “Sadly not.”

“What, you thought we’d be eating freshed goods every night?” Scoundrel said.

“Wouldn’t that be the dream,” Durge sighed, ripping a chunk of stale bread.

Dalon scoffed, “Next time we feed you folks, you better pay us.”

“Oh! Speaking of, how’d you all get enough coinage for your supplies? We barely had enough for all this,” Ryder said while slicing a log of salami.

“Do we dare tell the lowly Talc, Dalon?” Scoundrel said.

“Hey!” Bell threw a stick at the beast. “I’m Talc-ranked!”

“Calm it, all. Bell and I save our earnings in the bank. And Scoundrel and I sell quests at the Hall.”

Scoundrel and Bell insultingly stuck out tongues to each other.

“Bartering quests? Doesn’t that seem wrong?” Ryder asked.

“To who? Everyone does it. It’s a perk of being higher ranked,” Dalon said

Durge belched, “Doesn’t that mean a damn Diamond-ranked can just scoop up all the quests and sell them back to us?”

Scoundrel laughed. “Then they’d be responsible to finish all those quests if no one buys from them.”

“I’d love to see someone like Catwood frantically sprint across the country finishing those slaying and succor ones,” Bell chuckled.

“The Guild Hall may seem lenient on us, but they’re always watching when we grab those parchments. If it’s in your hands and you don’t pawn it off or trade for someone else’s, your ass better take it to the clerk or fear being pulled into the Manager’s office and getting deranked,” Dalon said.

Scoundrel upturned his snout. “It’s a way to earn a few meager coins by selling to the unfortunate.”

“Beats running into that damn board every time,” Durge said, rubbing his arm.

Bell shivered at the memory of her first time in the Guild Hall. The crowds and chaos were too stressful to think about.

Ryder swallowed his mouthful of bread and meat, “We can only sell to Clays at the moment, but good to know for future endeavors.”

“Aye,” Dalon said.

The conversation dwindled as the five sat in silence around the fire. Their food settled in their bellies and the moon rose higher in the night. A twig snap, a scrape from a tree branch, or the popping of embers would startle the party, but keen ears and the comfort of others made it easy to rest under the stars.

“You got any more honey?” Durge asked.

Bell cracked a smile, “Only a small jar of it. I’ll give you some tomorrow while we’re walking.”

Durge clicked his tongue and sighed before it turned into a great yawn. “Best I go to sleep before I yearn for any more sweets. Goodnight, all.”

The rest of the party said their farewells to him before sitting once again in silence, either focusing, or neglecting, the thought of their upcoming retrieval into a dangerous cavern.

Dalon yawned, “So how do you know Durge?”

“You two seem close,” Bell cheerily said.

“Too close, if you ask me,” Scoundrel sneered.

“What in the Abyss does that mean?”

Scoundrel shrugged, “Questing is a dangerous trade to do with someone you’re close with. Goes for you two as well.”

Dalon and Bell both furrowed their brows.

“At least it’s someone I can trust.”

Dalon and Bell both nodded.

“We both are friends that grew up together. We started questing not long ago. This is our fourth quest.”

“Where abouts you both come from?” Dalon asked.

“You’re a Talc already?” Bell asked.

“How many people you kill?” Scoundrel asked.

Ryder scoffed and huffed. “Maybe I’ll answer another time. For now I bid my goodnight.”

Bell frowned while Dalon shoved Scoundrel.

“Your fault, Scoun.”

The third morning of travel was like any other. The dew from the vibrant grass melted away as the summer sun casted its rays among the forest. Insects hopped from blade of grass to blade of grass and songbirds fluttered from the branches of trees as the adventures broke camp.

Durge stuffed his mace in his belt and slung his shield over his shoulder. Ryder sheathed and unsheathed his shortsword, adjusted the dagger hidden in his boot, recounted the 20 arrows in his quiver, and finally, grabbed his shortbow before marching off.

The woods were a mixture of dense and sparse. One moment a thicket of entangling shrubs and the next was a flowering meadow. Dalon and Ryder led the party as they headed east, the same direction as the glittering mountain.

Durge wiped the sweat off his brow, “No Roadmaker in these parts.”

The rest of the party set their bags down and laid in the flowering field.

“How do people normally get to Thrahnar?” Scoundrel panted.

“They would’ve carved a road if people other than dwarves made the pilgrimage,” Ryder said.

“Would’ve been fun to have Irid with us,” Durge said.

“And have him scold and prod us for the way we wear our gear? I respectfully disagree.”

“Don’t we know Irid, Dal?” Bell asked.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Aye. I bought my armor from him a couple months past, he’s a good smith.”

Midday passed as the white puffy clouds above headed northward. Dalon was the first to prop himself up with his spear, signaling to the others that it was time to travel once again.

Scoundrel wiped the water from his snout and sat up, “Iz, you don’t have any spells that could get us there already?”

“Tsk, I would if I could.”

“How about you, Dal?” Scoundrel smirked.

Dalon only replied with squinted eyes and a sour expression.

“Oh, guess not. Forgot you didn’t inherit the magic trait. Suppose there’s only one gifted child per family.”

Ryder perked up, “Actually the inheritance of magical abilities among offspring seem to be rand—”

Durge groaned aloud. “Sir Scholar is once again with us.”

“Where’s your magic abilities, Scoun?” Bell teased.

“Oh you don’t want to find out. I’m an Unyielding of great power. One that could change the color of the sky, turn the rains into daggers, and summon long forgotten beings from the Abyss.”

“Should’ve found the child of the Roadmaker and be done with this!” Dalon yelled ahead.

The evening came, followed closely by the brightest night they have encountered yet on their journey. The moon, full and aglow with its pale light, gleamed into the canopy of green leaves. The fifth, thirteenth, twenty-first, and twenty-ninth day of each month were appropriately named Brightday for the full moon that emanated upon the lands.

The party decided to not light a fire, and instead, bathe in the moonlight, a usually missed opportunity within the cities.

“Hey Ryder, you never answered our questions from last night,” Bell said.

Durge tilted his head while Ryder sighed.

“The oaf and I are from Locria… Or at least that’s where I think Durge is from. Some days I suspect he was actually born with the giants of Moevohr.”

Durge made an insulting gesture.

Bell’s eyes turned solemn, “Locria? Isn’t that where…”

The duo nodded silently. The memory of his mother and the flames upon tranquil waters rushed back to Ryder when he heard Bell’s somber voice. He tried his best to utter more of an answer to her but his throat felt of thorns that strangled tears out of his eyes. He was thankful for the flameless night as he was able to wipe his cries in peace while Durge continued the conversation.

“But what of you all? What are your origins? When’d you all start questing?” he asked.

“Far, far from here,” Scoundrel yawned. “I was a Talc when I first joined the siblings. Don’t think I’ll ever forgive them for dragging me around for so long.”

“We only keep you around to be our jester, mutt,” Dalon smirked.

“Dal and I are from Fellaway. A coastal town northeast of here. We started questing about what… five months ago now?”

Dalon nodded, “Started in the damn month of Aurora. Blistering cold and every living thing was in a frenzy.”

“At least the skies were pretty!”

“That was the only thing pretty in those times.” Dalon gazed at the moon and mumbled something to himself.

Ryder cleared his throat, “What do you all do when not questing?”

“Oh! I work at the Temple of Faehar! It pays well and the other healers are nice.”

“They must be lucky to have you. A former teacher of mine said restoration mages are particularly sought after.”

“Phew, you wouldn’t imagine! The military, town guards, physicians, and churches kept annoying me every town we visited.”

Dalon silently nodded.

“Even after putting on this white cloak, they still annoy me.”

Durge was sucking the honey off his fingertips, “Why’d start questing? I’d stay in the temples.”

“I roped her into it when I left Fellaway. I had a feeling of… wander-… something. I forget the word, but I had a calling to venture away from my obstinate father, only if I could’ve gotten away from my irritating sister as well.”

Bell elbowed him in the side.

Scoundrel raised an eyebrow, “Why did you guys start questing? Of all the places to turn to after the fall of Locria, why into more danger?”

“Money! Damn the foremen and the captains! For 21 summers I’ve been under a boot and it’s time I crawled out and got rich,” Durge exclaimed.

Ryder was silent for a while when he contemplated his answer, only able to speak a single word. “Purpose.”

The silence and the tranquil light of the moon filled the forest floor once again. Each of the party members went into their tents except for Ryder and Durge, one favored the blanket of the cosmos while the other was too lazy to get up from the ground.

Ryder stared at the vast and illuminated sky as he fidgeted with his mother’s sapphire necklace, eventually willing himself to sleep.

The fourth day of travel began later than usual but once breakfast was had, gear was equipped, and the party members ready, the journey began once again. An overcast loomed in the sky, dour gray clouds gave anticipation of rain that would fall in the afternoon.

The travel today was largely uneventful, spare for the mysterious creatures being carried with the harsh wind. The party noticed the creatures when they realized Bell had lagged behind and gazed at the gloomy sky.

“What are they?” she asked.

“Sweeps,” Ryder said.

Each of the creatures were cylindrical, hollow, and hard to spot, given their translucent blue body. Much like slimes and kites during celebrations, sweeps were a mindless entity, sovereign except to the powers of the wind. Sweeps fed on both the sun's nutrients as well as any flying creature that passed through its agape mouth.

Durge scoffed, “Damn pests. I’ve raked one too many off my roof before.”

“Aye, a chore I’m sure every child had to endure,” Dalon said.

“What are the orange ones over there?” Bell pointed.

The creatures she pointed at looked nearly identical to sweeps, except for the coloring, the small fins, and the spikes covering their body. These orange pests were appropriately named “Weeps” for the sorrow and destruction they cause upon the living kites.

“Alright Weeps!” Durge cheered. “Slice them all!”

As Durge cheered, the onlookers observed the weeps aim and orientate themselves before harnessing the wind and slashing through the sweeps. Devouring their segmented pieces.

Only the oaf seemed to have been pleased with the act of the predators as the fragments of peaceful creatures swept through the air. One piece, however, caught a gust of wind and stuck to the side of a nearby tree.

Bell sprinted to the sweep that stuck to the oak. Before the yellow and restorative glow formed from her palms, the sweep’s fragment curled itself into another cylinder, flashed a dull green, and caught the wind once again, floating into the gray abyss.

Ryder laughed, “No matter how many times you slice them, they’ll always survive.”

Bell punched his shoulder, “Why didn’t you tell me that! I almost cried for the poor thing!”

“Aw, Rye, do they actually?” Durge hung his head.

Scoundrel snickered, “Like a hydra.”

“Lords forbid we ever see one of those in the sky. Let’s move on,” Dalon said.

As predicted, the rain started to fall in the afternoon. The party, except for Ryder and Durge, donned their waxed woolen cloaks while the wind blew harsh and the rain fell harder. The ground formed to mush and visibility was at an all time low. Dalon ordered the party to hunker down under trees until the storm or the day passed.

Bell offered to hold her cloak above Ryder herself as a makeshift shelter while Scoundrel had to reluctantly share his cloak with Durge. Dalon was by himself a few trees ahead, peering further into the forests.

“Thanks again, Bell.”

“Of course! You should purchase one after this quest.”

“Well, it’s not too bad under here,” Ryder said.

Bell scoffed and turned away to hide her blush.

Ryder was confused at her reaction but quickly realized what he said. “I didn’t mean it like that! Just that if a party member has one then they’re able to cover another party member. So it’s unnecessary to purchase tw—”

“I get what you mean, Ryder,” Bell giggled.

Scoundrel sniffed the air before covering his snout. “Anyone ever tell you that you stink?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you stink!? You wet mutt!”

“If you don’t like it you can piss off from under my cloak!”

“Calm it!” Dalon yelled. “The skies don’t look like they’ll clear any time soon. Get out your tents if you want. We’ll start the trek when it eases, even at night. So, rest now!”

The grumbles of the party were heard at the thought of walking in the dark. Durge got his thin canvas from his pack and placed it along the branches above. Ryder did the same with his but Bell still shared the cloak with him.

“Do you travel through storms often?” Ryder asked.

Bell wryly laughed, “Not since after we got out of Torchsmoke. The rain was battering us all the way to Maria.”

“What type of quest was Torchsmoke? I remember you and Dalon mentioning it back at the tavern.”

“A dangerous one,” Bell sighed. “It had a crimson skull on it and we didn’t think anything of it.”

“What was the quest?”

A flash of lightning emitted in the skies above and the ground-rumbling thunder growled soon after.

“It was a simple dungeoneering, but it was for Brass-ranks. We were able to convince the clerk to let us accept it because there were seven of us and three of the guys were Copper while the rest of us were a mix of the lower ranks. Dal and I were Clays that registered that very morning. A lot of the guys in the party were friends of his from Fellaway.”

Ryder could only assume the worst of what happened after such a high-ranked quest with a group full of inexperienced adventurers. “I’m sorry.”

Bell shook her head, “It’s not your fault. I wish my powers could heal Dal one day. Losing that many friends he recently reunited with cut him deeply.”

“Why does he still quest? Doesn’t he fear for your safety now?”

“He does.” Bell’s voice became choked and sorrowful, “I asked him before and I believe he wants to honor them, knowing that they didn’t die in vain.”

Ryder sat in silence as he gazed at Dalon, he was sharpening his spear as the rain poured atop him.

“I’m sorry for you, Ryder. I don’t how you escaped Locria. I saw mountains of fire on the coastline that day.”

He contemplated telling her about his mother and the tunnel or lying to her outright, but all he could do was hear the surrounding rain and feel the sapphire necklace weighing on his chest. But the sorrow washed away with the comforting rain as he felt the warmth of Bell’s head resting on his shoulder.