“Can you possibly imagine the pain you have caused? No. These people bleed because of your insolence, you would not heed my warning. I tore my soul to shreds to even glimpse your majesty, now I realise I should’ve done the same to strike you down.” ?????? to Triiel, First Hand Accounts at the Battle of Kurit – First Edition

The strangers all huddled around the table, quietly whispering to each other. Every now and then one of them would draw something on the table, outlining a game plan of some sort. Rult began to clean out tankards before cleanly placing them underneath the counter, always prepared for any situation.

“So, little friend. You haven’t stumbled upon our wee task board have ye’?”

Kestel looked up from the Shard, placing it neatly back down on the counter. He finally got a good look at Rult and noticed the distinct wrinkles lining his cheeks and forehead, almost as if they were trying to hide the numerous scars that littered his lips and cheek. His bushy beard and balding hair had seen better days, settling into an auburn colour that oozed blacksmith vibes. But instead here Rult was, wiping out the spittle from used mugs.

“No, I didn’t see much. To be frank I wasn’t really paying attention when I came into town, there was a lady that quickly scared the shit outta me.”

“Ho ho ho. Kina? She’s harmless, to humans that is. She doesnae kill nothin’ no more.”

“And what was she killing before she stopped?” Kestel replied inquisitively hoping to glean some information about anything that could hopefully point him in a direction.

“Oh just the pests and the sort. Bandits, matured grilkins, we used to have a problem with a coven of Salistiy Worshippers. They were right fucking crazy I tell you, coming into the town and stringin’ people up.

“She got rid of ‘em right quick.”

Kestel gulped, images of corpses lazily tossed to the side as a shadowy figure stood above them flashed through his mind. Rult gave him a look and smirked knowingly, turning around and walking into a back room that oddly had far too many locks. There’s a point where if whatever is in there is so important, then the people breaking in are most likely not going to be trying to pick the locks. Rult returned carrying something wrapped in a well-made piece of silk, the embroidery was quite fascinating. It boasted interlocking patterns of gold thread, like thin natural tendrils clinging onto artificial-looking hexagons and other shapes.

Rult placed the item on the counter and unfurled its cover, revealing an arming sword of average length. Its cross-guard did not seem to match and evidently had been a replacement for the original, in summary the sword looked like shit. The blade had been kept clean but apart from that it was just an ordinary sword, hardly deserving of such a fine piece of silk.

“A piece of fuckin’ shite isn’t it?”

Kestel eyed him, not knowing whether to agree with him or not. He played it safe and just nodded shyly, hoping to not give too definite of an answer.

“Well you’d be right if you said yes. It’s the first sword I ever made, I was thinkin’ of throwing it away after I opened up this tavern and try to forget about my failed career. But you look pretty ill-equipped to be roaming around out there so I guess its your now.”

Kestel wrapped his fingers around the hilt and felt the weight, it was horribly balanced. It felt like someone had put a brick on the tip of the blade, after a few seconds however it began to feel more normal. He gave it a few test swings to get a good feel for the awkward balancing which would definitely become more apparent when he actually gave it some use.

“Thanks for the sword, I think I’ll take your advice and check out that board.”

Kestel shimmied into his coat and carried the sword out, not having a sheath to put it in. He came up to the task board and traced a finger down it, checking each of the requests that had been nailed to the board. Some of them were very simple, only requiring him to get some herbs or the like while others were very vague and stuck out to him as the ‘get fucked by a dragon’ type of task. He finally landed on a new request, noticeable because the paper still had the fresh look to it. ‘Grimmel Exterminator Wanted: Reward Non-Negotiable,’ Kestel shuddered when he thought about the grimmel from the cellar of Rult’s inn but still tore off the request and shoved it into his pocket.

Iyless trudged at the front of the group, scaling the mountain side. His legs ached and his throat screamed at him for a drop of water, the snow all around him made him almost stop for a sip. But these mountains just like his people were cursed, if even the smallest snowflake touched your tongue you could expect a painful night ahead.

“Hahaha, I haven’t gotten this much sun in years.”

A head popped out from behind Iyless’ back, revealing a skinny old man gripping to Iyless’ shoulders. His frail legs wrapping around his belly, what surprised the cursed one was the strength that the old man possessed however. Every time they would go down a slight drop, the old man would squeeze and Iyless’ innards would heavily protest.

Branth came up from the middle of the group, he looked like shit. His eyes drooped and his usually radiant grey skin now had taken on a more purple and black look, he reached towards Iyless but then quickly decided against it. Opting to walk in silence. He let out a heavy sigh as the landscape began to flatten out and instead of rock and ice they were greeted with dirt and grass, a welcome change from the endless caves they had been subject to for the past thousand or so years.

Iyless brandished a small Shard, a gift from the divine that was in the mountain. Or rather the remains of what may or may not be a divine, as they clearly stated that the rest were dead. The shard pulsed with a white glow, an average Shard to the untrained eye. But to someone like Branth who had been around Shards for his excruciatingly long life, he could tell that something was odd about it. The only instruction they had been given was to give the Shard to the so called ‘world-traveller’ she had named Kestel.

What he would do with the Shard was anyone’s guess, but Branth had an inkling that the divine wasn’t letting on as much as it knew. Though that was to be expected, the grand games that the gods above played with mortals almost made life feel meaningless. But something was different now, he had felt it. He was in the caves when he had felt the shackles lift, the watchful eye that kept them restrained had begun to wander. Branth thought back to it, perhaps it was connected to the Guided One and his recent push for power.

Only time would tell...