The next morning the group ate a quick breakfast and set out for Reach. The massive lake known as The Eye slowly came into view, starting with a reflected glint and the masts of sailboats. As they got closer, Arn marveled; he had heard of sailboats of course, but never seen one, the Snake was far too twisty. Although said to be over 2 miles across, the day was clear, and as they approached the Eye the group could easily see the dozens of sailboats and rowboats fishing across the lake, the walls of Reach itself on the far shore and even the forest beyond, stretching across the horizon.

As the group reached the lake’s edge, one of the larger sailboats changed course and anchored just off shore, its fishermen waving and gesturing.

Arn was eager to see the sailboat up close, but recent experience made him wary. “I’m sure there is a reason they are interrupting what they are doing for a living and acting all friendly like. Couldn’t possibly be a quaint village tradition of butchering newcomers, dropping them in the middle of the lake and selling their shit to pay for a massage, right?” Pepper snorted before answering. “They want to charge us. Ten minutes sailing, or an hour walking. Course we might not have a choice – reckon they think Princess is a dog.”

Arn took off his boots, rolled up his pants, waded out to the boat and tried to hop on. The result was nearly disastrous; he easily had the strength and dexterity for such a feat, but it had never occurred to him to practice hopping with his new attributes. The small, elderly fisherman proved surprisingly strong and pulled him the rest of the way. “Oye! I’m too old for that! Its extra if ya rip my damn arm off!” Arn stuttered, “sorry! I just got my class and some dexterity a couple of weeks ago. We’d love a ride, but we’re a pretty poor group and we need to buy some gear for the jungle. I’m Arn by the way.” The old man nodded. “I’m Jeremiah. Arn, we’ve got a tradition on the lake to make things all civil, first boat is the first boat, no one else will take ya, and the price is the price. It’s one silver for each of ya.” Arn sighed. “I guess that’s for the rich folk that think a ride would be neat or something. I’ll check, but I’m pretty sure we’ll have to pass, I’m sorry.” The old man smiled and said, “well, I’ve charged that much for fewer folks, so I guess I could do three silver for y’all and the dog.”

Arn jumped off and waded back to the group and shared the info. Keana was the first to chime in. “We could get a we-might-not-come-back meal at the inn for that. Maybe even feed Arn’s big ass. Let’s walk.” Keana got a few nods, but Val spoke up, “don’t worry about it, I’ve got enough for jungle gear, and when we make it back a few silver won’t matter.”

Arn was embarrassed to be asked to stand on the other side of the boat from his group for “balance,” but nonetheless enjoyed watching the operation of the sailboat – at least, until a “duck” warning was late and he barely managed to avoid an involuntary swim. After recovering his footing, he noticed a bit of money changing hands among the fishermen. Arn walked up to Jeremiah while suppressing his rage and casually asking, “any advice for first timer adventurers, where to shop, that sort of thing.”

Jeremiah nodded sagely, “aye, know all the ins and outs, bits that will save your life for sure. Two silver.” Arn smiled and said, “well, I tell you what, help me out and we’ll call it even for your men betting on whether I was getting knocked overboard.” Jeremiah smiled evilly. “Why do you think I want two silver? Figured I had the inside track, having witnesses your hop up and all."

Arn pondered. Not too worried about being polite to a pissed off armed adventurer is he? Nuts or strong. Friendly might be best. “Ha, well I won’t pay, but we come back alive after good advice, we’ll buy your crew a round at least.” Jeremiah snorted, “how can I say no to such generosity? Well, my recommendation would be to stay at the only inn, buy supplies at the only general store, weapons at the only blacksmith and try not to die.” Arn face-palmed and let out an amused chuckle. “I can certainly see where that would be worth two silver. You have a beautiful boat, the ride was a pleasure. Thank you.” At that, the small fisherman smiled broadly enough that Arn could count his missing teeth and said, “well, since your so polite, I’ll give ya a hint. Every Sunday and Wednesday at noon – as in pretty damn soon – Mayor Stillwater runs a free class in the basement of the inn for first timers. Don’t care what you think you know, you want to come back alive, take the damn class.”

After the boat docked, Arn shared the intel and the group decided to check out the general store before taking the class. The door opened onto a tiny starkly bare room with a clean-white counter. “Welcome! Welcome! I’m Omar Silver. They call me Omar Silver-Tongue but no worries, I only sell the best here. You will have no complaints!”

Arn almost staggered under the weight of the man’s charisma. He seemed like the perfect grandfather of his childhood memories, surrounded by a dreamlike haze. Arn shook it off and said “nice to meet you Omar, we are first timers headed into the jungle. We were told to take the Mayor’s course which I gather starts soon, but we thought we would pop in here first and take a look around. I take it everything is in the back?”

Omar smiled like a rainbow peaking through the clouds. “Yes! I can store so much more that way, offer you more choices! Well, my suggestion for a start, lets talk footwear now, then you come back tomorrow morning after the Mayor is done with you. Ok?” Arn resisted the urge to nod like a puppy trying his best to “stay.” He managed to ask, “its an all day course?” Omar nodded, “oh yes. The Mayor takes it very seriously, and I dare say you will too. But for now, footwear! You need something water-resistant, high and snug. Fire leaches, the Mayor covers them, and my boots will cover you! Lets see if any of you have something suitable.” Omar stepped out from behind the counter and tsked as he reached down and prodded at their footwear. Gesturing at Keana’s feet he explained “well, the lovely lady here, her boots could do in a pinch, but I don’t recommend it. Our boots are specially water-proofed and highly durable. The fire leaches are strong biters, and even if they don’t break the skin through the boots, the boots will get ruined. The rest of you its not an issue, you must have proper footwear!” He continued, gesturing at Arn, “unfortunately, I have nothing in your size big fellow, so I’ll have to send you to the cobbler. If you insist on going off tomorrow, you best hustle over there now before seeing the Mayor. The cobbler is used to rush orders, he won’t bleed you too badly but he still needs some time!”

Keana smiled. “Arn here loves fire. They call him barbecue boy. He’ll laugh off the leaches.” Omar frowned, and Keana had the sense she had kicked a puppy. “They are called Fire Leaches because that is what their poison feels like. Arn here has sturdy boots, but they are way too short and it looks like it would be impossible to properly tuck in leather pants.”

Keana seemed to be straining to push something uphill, forcing out “Arn loves poison too. Has it for breakfast I’m told.” Omar looked at Arn and shook his head. “No, no, it doesn’t kill anyone, but the poison is disabling. Even with eight or ten poison resistance, having them draining your blood would weaken you.” Omar waved them out. “Off with you! Come back tomorrow morning, but only if Arn has ordered boots. I don’t equip fools! The cobbler, Nias Damiano, is in the brown building three stores down.”

Given the timing, the group accompanied Arn to the cobbler, and seemed to enjoy Arn’s leverage-less attempts to haggle. The cobbler took a few silvers off, announced that was that, pay or leave. Arn left 62 silvers lighter – an outrage, but he had to admit that the displayed boots practically radiated quality. This would, he was sure, be the visibly the finest piece of clothing he owned, and yet also serve as armor to a degree.

The local inn, The Jungle’s Heart, was both larger and far nicer than anything Arn had experienced. He eyed customers eating a steaming stew with an enticing aroma with envy, but they had no time. The bartender lost interest when they mentioned their goal, directing them to a set of stairs in the back.

The basement looked largely the way one would expect the basement of a prosperous inn to look, with barrels of ale and stacked cases of goods along the walls. In the center of the room, however, ten chairs faced a pot-bellied older man with a large mustache in tailored clothing, and a young girl, perhaps 12, obviously destined to be a great beauty. Behind them was an easel with a drawing of some sort of beast, and to their right was a large hunting cat with midnight black fur that seemed to shimmer and ripple. It took the group a moment to realize the cat wasn’t moving and was, despite its appearance, likely stuffed.

The Mayor might have been old and stout, but his voice boomed. “Sit. I am Byron Stillwater, and this is my granddaughter Alys. We will start. If some come late, we will deal with it. To be clear, I don’t care whether you live or die. But I made my wife a promise that I would do everything I could to end the endless stream of little pigs headed for the slaughter. Thought about razing the town, but here we are. You will not like me. Even Alys does not like me. But if you listen, perhaps you will live.”

As they took their seats, the Mayor grabbed Arn. “Not you. Come, stand by me.” The Mayor squeezed Arn’s arm multiple times as though inspecting a piece of fruit. “Your name?”

“Arn sir.”

“You are the Shield I take it. Tell me Arn, are you able to react to the unexpected fast enough to save your group?” Arn nodded and explained, “I have learned to always expect the wors...” The Mayor’s arm blurred and Arn flew backwards several feet, landing on his butt, unable to breathe.

The Mayor continued as if nothing had happened. “In the jungle, what looks harmless will kill you.” The Mayor offered Arn a hand, easily levered him to his feet, pulled him back away from the seats, looked him in the eye and continued. “You failed Arn. Your party is dead. Will you do better next time?” Arn nodded and wheezed out “yes sir” as Alys drew a sap and smashed him in the back of the head, sending him reeling.

“Dead again. It only takes an instant. The jungle is full of Alyses, things that look small, harmless, even beautiful. Drink this Arn, and when you feel up to it, tell me, will you remember to be afraid?”

Arn waved off the offered healing potion. “I’m fine sir. Don’t need it. I should thank you. Seems to have cured my constipation. At least a little. As far as the fear, I don’t know what came over me sir. I’ve always been afraid of girls to be sure. Especially the little ones, and especially lately. They can be vicious, quite stabby I’ve found. Yes, I’ll remember to be afraid. Not wanting to boast, but being afraid is normally no problem.”

The Mayor looked at Arn as though examining shit on his shoes, and gestured him back to his seat. “Funny boys die like the rest. This easel is full of pictures of the Alyses of the jungle. Insects that will poison you. Trees that will try and eat you. Slow moving tree huggers that seem cute until they jump on you. We’ll cover all that, the more obviously dangerous beasts, navigation, foraging, and a dozen other things. And it probably won’t be enough. The only thing here you don’t need to learn or worry about is this stuffed Nightshadow. Alys, tell our guests why that is.”

Alys’ beautiful face twisted as she gave what was clearly a practiced answer that she loathed giving. “Because you’ll only ever see one for a split second, as it carries a screaming party member into the jungle, never to be seen again.” The Mayor nodded to Alys, as if offering some small and unappreciated apology. “You’re not likely to encounter one unless you ignore what I say, but its possible. They range widely. But if you do, you will do nothing. Except mourn, as I mourn my daughter and Alys mourns her mother.”

That bastard! Why does he do this to her? Enlightenment hit, and Arn knew, or imagined he did. He doesn’t want her to even think about being an adventurer. Just like he doesn’t want us to ever think we are safe in the jungle. He is a bastard, but he is is also taking this extremely seriously, just like Omar said. Arn straightened in his seat, resolved to absorb every word.