Despite the sudden and dramatic start to their journey, the group of nine had a relatively uneventful trip. The most interesting thing that Azrael could have recounted would have been Zen almost singing his eyebrows off when he leaned in too close to one of Azrael’s conjured flames. Other than that there was nothing worthy of note.

On their second day of travel, as Amelia had predicted, they reached Niversbrook.

If Azrael had been on his own, then there was a high likelihood that he would have missed it. Hidden amongst hundreds, if not thousands, of tall trees the settlement was almost as good as invisible.

Following the same track that they had followed since the fort, the first indicator that they were nearing the village was the sound of trickling water – the brook that the settlement gained its name from Azrael presumed.

Even then, while they followed the track and the sound of water, all they could see was trees. Then, rounding a bend Azrael saw a scene that couldn’t be described as anything short of enchanting.

A crystal-clear brook flowed through a series of large ponds. Small fish languidly swum amongst flowering lily pads of fairy pink and between the stalks of tall white lilies. The midday sun banished all shadows from the pristine petals and warmed the group.

It was only when they got closer that Azrael noticed a sandstone bridge bridging the brook. Zen nudged his horse towards the bridge, and everyone followed, the horses’ hooves clattering against the stone.

It was only after having crossed the bridge that Azrael noticed the first building. It was barely twenty meters away. Once he saw it, Azrael began to notice other structures half hidden between the trees.

There were no towering stone walls, or tree houses to announce the presence of the village, just simple stone and wooden houses amongst the trees.

Built of a lighter sandstone than the fort, the buildings seemed to radiate golden light where the sun pierced through the dappled shade. Combined with the pristine flowers and accompanied by the sound of a trickling brook it was nothing short of a fantasy experience.

This feeling was further reinforced when Azrael spotted a villager approaching them.

The aged elven chief had long hair of spun silver, the wrinkles on his face a testament to his age, despite his race’s longevity. Zen hopped off of his horse and placed his right fist on the left side of his chest and gave a small bow. The elven chief responded in kind.

As Azrael dismounted, he began to notice other villagers approach, all of them elves. Despite suffering from sore muscles and aching joints, Azrael couldn’t stop a smile finding its way onto his face. It was an elven village. He’d completed the fantasy staples. He’d used magic, drunk with dwarves, seen a dragon, met a god, fought a spider and visited an elven village.

Briefly, he wondered whether Darj’s primitive alcohol actually counted. The experience wasn’t quite… right? Maybe in a tavern next time?… and slimes. He hadn’t seen one yet. Did they go extinct? What about a sea serpent?

Now that he thought about it, there were a few more things that he felt were missing including those. Maybe he hadn’t completed his staples, but… it was an elven village. He’d never seen another race, other than human and Zen didn’t count because he was a player.

Actually, what about… Azrael checked the soldiers he’d been traveling with. They all had long pointy ears. He stared at them. How had he missed that??? Trying to recall his stay at the fort Azrael tried to picture the faces of the soldiers, aides and medics. Had they been elves? All of them? They had been, hadn’t they.

…

How did he miss that?

“…rael. You listening?”

“Hmm?”

Azrael looked up to see Amelia speaking to him.

“Pardon?” he asked.

“I said, were you listening?”

“No, sorry.”

“Fine. Don’t then.”

She turned to leave, her annoyance clear in her posture. Azrael hurried after her, pulling his horse along behind him, into the village.

“I’m sorry. It was wrong for me to ignore you. Could you please repeat what you said?”

Amelia just seemed to ignore him and continued walking.

“Amelia, please.”

“Fine. Listen closely. Zen spoke to the village chief. They have a wagon heading out to the next town over tomorrow. You can purchase a horse there or find another way to travel. In the meantime, one of the villagers has offered you a stay in their house for the night. Zen and I will unfortunately have to continue onwards towards the elven capital. The council waits for no-one.”

“I can’t just take this horse?”

“What? No. That’s a horse from the fort. They’re specially trained for combat and to deliver messages, not to gift to random people. One of the villagers will return it in a few days.”

Azrael sighed. Of course, it was never that easy. What if he stole it? Waited until they were gone and then just rode out of the village?

He stopped himself and pinched the bridge of his nose. No. That wasn’t the kind of person he was. Also, it would be a poor return for the hospitality that Zen and the others had shown him.

Yeah, but he would never see them again. He could… He shut that line of thinking down. It was just thoughts. He knew he would feel bad if he did that, especially after how well they had treated him. They didn’t have to help him. In fact, if Zen wanted to he could lock Azrael up in a cell, never to see light of day again. Sure, he would inevitably break free, but that was beside the point.

Allowing one of the villagers to take his horse, he followed Zen and Amelia into the elven chief’s hut. It did not disappoint.

Different from the utilitarian buildings of the fort, the inside of the house was… homely, for lack of a better word.

The entirety of the combined living, cooking and dining area was well kept and orderly, though small trinkets and personal artefacts seemed to vie for space and attention on the shelves. Drying herbs hung from rafters and a small pot bubbled over a lit hearth. They had obviously caught the village chief while he was cooking his midday meal.

The aged elf seated them around his table, pulling out bowls and wooden spoons, before serving them all soup. Zen protested, insisting that they had to continue travelling. The chief just ignored him and continued to dish out soup. Azrael was surprised to find meat in it. He had thought elves didn’t eat meat. The elder who picked up on his confusion with a smile.

“Elves eat meat, just like you other races. We accept death as a natural part of the cycle of life. Even we will eventually return to the cycle, nourishing the trees. The forest provides and we return to the forest. We all exist as part of a cycle. We elves simply have a greater respect for the cost of our living.”

Azrael nodded and the four of them started to eat. Zen, Amelia and the elder spoke for a while, but Azrael zoned out, letting them talk.

Eventually though Zen had to depart and the two parted way in the village square.

“This is it, huh?” Zen asked “You sure I can’t convince you to accept my earlier offer?”

Azrael shook his head, thinking of Alena and the rest of the villagers.

“No, I have people waiting for me.”

Zen nodded in understanding.

“I wish you best of luck then.”

They shook hands and Zen turned away from Azrael, leaving him with a money pouch.

“Don’t tell Amelia.” he said conspiratorially “We don’t run a charity.”

Azrael raised it up.

“I promise I’ll find a way to repay you if I can.”

Warning!

Due to the nature of your Skill {Oath Maker} the God of Death has presided over your oath.

[Oath of Repayment]

There are bonds that transcended the races

You have fulfilled an [Oath of Repayment] with the individual ‘Zen’.

You have received the help of an individual during a time of need and have promised to return the favour.

[This oath cannot be broken]

Zen walked away and raised a hand in acknowledgment, but Azrael completely missed it due to the two screens popping up in front of him.

“Move out!” Zen called, as he mounted his horse.

“No. I didn’t… Urgh!” Azrael complained to the God of Death, as he watched eight riders leave the village. With mixed feelings, he watched One player and seven NPC’s rode away, all of them as real as the other.

Watching them leave, Azrael stood there a moment longer. A complex feeling was twisting itself through his gut. It wasn’t the beast, which had been silent since his meeting with Mischief, but something more… complex. The added emotion from the last two notifications were the least of it.

Azrael thought it over for a second. He’d just met, spoken with and farewelled a player, a person who didn’t want to screw him over.

After telling himself for the past two years that the world had been out to get him, to not have someone try to extort, bribe, frame or use him was… both uplifting and frightening at the same time.

Zen had helped him, for no reason. He’d taken him with him, he’d provided him with food, money, advice and information.

The wall, the world picture, he’d built up around himself chipped, just a little.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad to have a reason to meet up again at some point in the future…maybe.

With suspicion and gratitude warring in his gut and chest he followed his host into their house.