Hilda commanded the pangolin to turn back into a helmet, which now looked like a pangolin hugging her head. She’ll uncover its features later, without the ghoul’s running commentary or rich aroma. Better yet, with some wise dwarfs around. Surely, she wasn’t the first paladin in history to summon a guardian…

Hilda expected her departure from Philly would be long and sticky, like it was each time Hilda went for a brief walk outside, but this time the ghoul was surprisingly nonchalant. She didn’t even try to do anything lewd to the dwarf. Just gave her a quick hug and promised for the third time not to paint on anything Hilda owned. This did not make Hilda feel any better. The ghoulish lady did protest too much.

Either gaining the status of a greater ghoul made Philly a more proud and independent creature, or she just couldn’t wait to start painting all over Hilda’s stuff with her newfound art supplies. Blessed Goddess, please don’t let her paint all over my stuff. If I return home and nothing is painted over, I’ll fast for a week. Please, blessed goddess, hear my oath. Some would say this was a flippant use of divine power, but then some don’t know how hard it is to scrape paint off upholstery. Hilda didn’t know either, but she imagined it wouldn’t be easy.

And so, finally alone, Hilda shouldered her backpack and started down the road that will take her to the Great Crossroad from which she will turn west to the City. While the walk through the forest was as uneventful as could be expected after months of killing its denizens, the road offered the occasional encounter.

Most were humans riding great warhorses too fast to notice a small dwarf moving at a snail’s pace on the roadside. After two riders sprinkled the poor dwarf in mud and water, and a third one nearly ran her over as she was cleaning her armor, she decided to walk further away from the road. Her threats and curses apparently fell on deaf ears as none of the riders favored her with even the most cursory glance.

Next she encountered an armored wagon bearing the colors of one of the humans’ countless petty kingdoms. The driver, a fat man with armor clearly made for someone half his size, demanded Hilda identify herself. She advised he kept his eyes on the road or he might have an accident involving a hammer to the face. The man scowled at the dwarf and rode on with his chin held high. Hilda wasn’t a violent creature (according to herself) but she really hated being commanded, most of all by strangers. Besides, she was still upset over how the previous three riders had treated her and this driver wore more or less the same colors.

Toward evening, a group of elves in bright dresses came her way. They were dancing and singing like they were on a parade of some kind. Before Hilda had time to object, she was covered in wreaths and kisses. The annoying procession was soon gone like a dream… unlike their wreaths, which had taken her a few moments to get rid of. Next Hilda spent a few minutes wiping off colorful lipstick marks from her face.

This certainly helped explain where Philly got her nauseating whimsy from, Hilda thought as she tore off the last wreath from her neck and threw it to the ground angrily. Kissing people without asking for permission really was most uncivilized.

As the sun set, bright evil eyes began to glow in the forest and the twittering of birds was replaced with the baying of wolves and the moaning of ghosts. It almost sounded like they were talking, conspiring… Hilda wondered if there were any evil druids in the forest. Of all the monsters she’d read about, these were probably the deadliest.

A chill went through the dwarf. She wasn’t yet tired. Even a sickly dwarf could walk for 24 hours without complaining (or rather, without having a legitimate cause to complain). However, Hilda didn’t feel safe walking the road alone at night. On the other hand, would spending the night shivering under some large tree really be any better? Surely, lighting a fire in an unknown forest wasn’t a good idea? Encounters in such places were meant for pirates, not lone travelers.

Hilda decided to see what her guardian would say on the matter. He was supposed to be wise. Hilda, on the other hand, only had high Wisdom saving throws.

She stopped in a relatively secluded spot, took off her helmet and placed it on the ground. “Pangolin,” she said officiously, “should I spend the night in a shelter or push further? My city is at least five days away.”

There was a metallic whine as her helmet transformed into a small armored mammal. It stretched its limbs in a series of metallic squeaks before adjusting its monocle. Finally, it cleared its throat and began to speak. “If I may venture to make a comment of a personal nature, Ms. Hagamid, you’re too proud and individualistic. Neither of the options you’ve presented me with are optimal. The best solution would be to join a reputable caravan and ride with it at least until the Great Crossroad, thereby enjoying the safety of numbers. This will also be a fine rehearsal of your social skills, which, at the moment, are en par with a dungeon dweller, which, indeed, at this point in time, you are.”

Hilda considered the proposal. “Sounds expensive.”

“Nonsense!” The pangolin brushed her protest away. “You’re just making excuses to avoid leaving your comfort zone on account of becoming too accustomed to the solitude of the dungeon. You’re an accomplished warrior and an effective healer. A caravan should be paying you to join it, not the other way around.”

Hilda rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “That’s a good point. Do you know when the next caravan will be passing nearby?”

The pangolin straightened its back proudly. “I do not have the gift of prophecy, but based on the traffic so far, statistically speaking, I’d say you’re due to meet a caravan within the hour. Meanwhile, I’d recommend you keep your eyes peeled for werewolves and hags.”

“You keep your eyes peeled for werewolves and hags,” Hilda said. “I’m getting a nap.”

“Now, you just wait one minute!” the pangolin said as it adjusted its vest indignantly. “I’m a sage, not a sentinel. My duties are--”

“You’re my guardian,” Hilda said as she leaned against a tree and closed her eyes. “Guard me.” She closed her eyes and shut her ears to the little creature’s protestations.

Hilda was awakened a couple hours later by gentle but insistent nudging from the pangolin. “A caravan is approaching, Ms. Hagamid.”

Hilda got up, yawned like no one was watching, and shuffled for the road. Several wagons accompanied by heavily armored comet dwarfs rolled into view, creaking like a train on its last ride. Elves sing. Humans chat. Moon dwarfs chant. Comet dwarfs creak.

Hilda started back for the bushes when one of the dwarfs noticed her and waved a hand. She waved back, already running in her head the way this conversation will turn sour.

“Why are you wearing armor, my soul?” the dwarf asked. He was an older fellow, with a glass eye and the green cloak of the Cult of The Comet, a Druidic order dedicated to the preservation of an environment that didn’t exist on this planet, i.e, to getting donations and not paying taxes.

Hilda frowned. “I’m a paladin…”

The hill dwarf’s eyes widened. “Not a cleric?”

Hilda’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I don’t know what my own character class is?”

“Now, now, show some respect to your elders, sweetie.” The hill dwarf said with a magnanimous smile.

Hilda gave him the finger and slunk back into her shelter in the woods.

“This is really not the way to speak to an older dwarf,” the pangolin chided her as soon as she slumped in her makeshift shelter.

“That which you demand, you give first.” Hilda quoted a verse from the commentaries she recalled because her prayer master would repeat it like ten times per day, usually while switching an unruly student for a crime real or imagined.

The pangolin didn’t belabor the point and Hilda drifted back to sleep.

She was nudged back into awareness in the middle of a dream in which she and a gnome girl were swimming through a colorful mermaid castle off the coast of Kwakwa. Hilda always dreamed of going there, but she could never afford the Water Breathing potions. Goddess willing, that will soon change. Perhaps her dream was even a prophetic one? She did know at least one gnome who lived there…

Hilda stretched her numb limbs and snorted at the sight of the disapproving pangolin shaking his head. Yes, yes. A proper dwarf doesn’t percolate in public.

“There’s a human caravan coming our way. Please try to be more diplomatic this time.” It said strictly as it offered Hilda her hammer. “Diplomacy is so important…”

Hilda walked back to the road and was greeted by noisy laughter and chatter in Common coming from a series of wagons escorted by a dozen armored horsemen. The horsemen were all human and were armed with swords, lances and crossbows. Their uniforms were irregular, suggesting mercenaries rather than regular troopers. They were, however, all good quality and at least three were magical.

The people in the wagons were a diverse cast of characters ranging from human merchants clad in silks to half-orc hunters in rough hides. A child with pointy ears and sharp fangs pointed at Hilda. A woman’s head popped out of the window and instead of scolding the child for his poor manners joined in the staring. Soon, more heads popped out of windows, all looking at the dwarf like she was an exhibit at a zoo. Obviously, these people came from a region where dwarfs were uncommon.

“Look, it’s a dwarf!” One of the riders shouted with excitement. “I think it’s a real Moon dwarf!”

“And he’s armed to the teeth!” Another man cried. “I wonder if this is the kind of hammer that sings battle songs and crack one liners?”

“He’s got scrolls.” Said a third man. “He must be a healer!”

Hilda felt herself blushing at all this attention. At the corner of her eye, she saw a little girl with green skin starting to draw the dwarf on a sheet made of bark. She started by drawing a perfect circle… Hilda shook her head indulgently. She’ll be nice to those people. She’ll show that pangolin! She did, after all, have a very high Charisma score and a double Diplomacy bonus.

“I’m a woman,” she said, suddenly feeling very aware of her accent. “And I’m a paladin of the moon.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, little one.” The first speaker rode closer to Hilda. His huge horse leaned low to sniff at the dwarf, its warm breath sending a wave of tingling through her body. “We don’t see in the dark as well as you do.”

Hilda studied the man. He wore a gilded breastplate decorated with three medals, including the Great Forest War, in which Hilda’s father served as a commander of dwarf shock troops. The man didn’t look older than forty. He was as bald as a crystal ball and his ginger had some white in it, but Hilda thought it more likely the result of seeing a ghost than natural aging. He must have been just a boy when he earned his medals.

“What’s all that commotion about?” An obese merchant demanded from one of the wagons. He was dressed in yellow and purple silks that were expansive enough for a circus tent and had a mustache that would have looked more at home on the face of a rat. Oddly enough, he had the same medal on his soft robe as Hilda’s interlocutor had on his breastplate. A whole caravan of veterans?

“There’s a dwarf by the side of the road.” The rider cried over his shoulder.

“Just one dwarf?” The fat man cried back. “Is it dangerous?”

“Are you dangerous?” The man asked Hilda.

“Sometimes…” she said shyly.

“Only if you poke her-- Oh shit!” the man cried suddenly and smacked his forehead. “You must be Hilda!”

Hilda stared at him. “How do you know my name?”

“You’re Gloin’s concubine, aren’t you? He told us about you last month.” The man studied the dwarf up and down. “I didn’t expect you to be so… armored.”

Hilda seethed but said nothing. Concubine! I’ll show you concubine next time we meet!

“I imagined you’d be taller.” The rider said after a few moments of silence.

“I’m tall for a dwarf.” Hilda said with wounded pride, suddenly very aware of the fact that even a human child could look down on her, let alone a burly warrior riding a great warhorse.

“Aw,” the man grinned. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You look very cool. You wanna join us until the Great Crossroad? I’m sure the boys would love to hear your dwarf stories. Your master is such a great storyteller.”

Master! Hilda’s knuckles went white inside her gauntlets. I’ll show you who is the master next time we meet!

“I’d love to,” Hilda said demurely, “but I don’t have a horse. Can I sit on the roof of one of the wagons? I have perfect darkvision, acute olfaction, and great Perception. I can heal, bless--”

The man laughed. “You don’t need to list your skills, Gloin bragged about you for a whole evening. You’re already accepted.” He turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Right, Nabulu?”

“Sure, whatever, I don’t care.” Came the reply from the lead wagon. “Let’s just get a move on. We’re on a schedule.”

“See?” The man grinned. “Easy peasy. Now you tell us all about that ghoul roommate of yours that you keep all to yourself. Were you born on the moon? Did you see the temple before the Catastrophe?”

Before Hilda could protest, the man picked her off the ground like she weighed no more than a box of linen and deposited her on the roof of the nearest wagon. It seemed that riding on the roofs of wagons was common practice in this company, since it was equipped with a seat, straps and even a small balistra. A couple wagons behind her, a half-orc was sleeping soundly in a bundle of furs. Hilda shook her head disgustedly. That’s what happens when you let a greenskin do a proper humanoid’s job. They may be half-human, but as far as she was concerned they were just urban monsters. Hilda looked back and realized all eyes were upon her.

“Well,” she said, realizing she had to talk about Philly even though she’d much rather talk about obsidian, “I was born here, just like you, so I don’t know much about the moon, and Gloin is a much better storyteller than I am, but,” Hilda cleared her throat, feeling herself begin to blush again, “I really do have a ghoul. She’s not my roommate, she’s my cohort. She lives in my domain but not my home. Um, many people think that ghouls are undead, but they are actually just people afflicted with a rare disease.

Anyway, many years ago, she was an elf florist, yes, that’s a real class, it turns out, but then, um…”