A Master of Fire

Dear Diary,
 
We lingered in the valley with the Menhirs and the shimmering portal, the frozen lake reflecting the setting sun like a shattered mirror. The others had scurried off to retrieve our belongings, leaving me, Liliana, and Vivienne in an uneasy truce. The silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of ice on the lake, felt heavy. Liliana was the first to break the tension.
 
"So," she began, her voice echoing slightly in the open space, "what exactly does being your bodyguard entail?"
 
Vivienne, her gaze fixed on the shimmering portal, offered a small smile. "While I am certainly capable of defending myself," she replied, "four eyes are always better than two, wouldn't you agree? Besides, all the attention is usually focused on me, leaving my bodyguards a little more… inconspicuous."
 
Liliana raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity dancing in her eyes. "And what about past… bodyguards?" she asked cautiously. "Were there others from my family forced to serve in the Feywild?"
 
Vivienne's smile faltered for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered. "There have been others, yes," she confirmed. "You see, I am in good standing with Ulther, which means I receive… gifts from time to time." (Her choice of words sent shivers down my spine – "gifts" that sounded suspiciously like indentured servitude.) "But fear not," she continued, her voice taking on a reassuring tone, "all of them returned safely. As long as you follow orders, you'll be perfectly fine."
 
This whole bodyguard business left a bad taste in my mouth. My curiosity, however, was far from satiated. "How does one even make a deal with a creature of the Fey?" I blurted out, hoping to glean some information that could help Alistan and Liliana free themselves from this precarious arrangement.
 
Vivienne tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "We can always make a deal here and now," she offered, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.
 
I stammered, caught off guard by her proposition. The idea of striking a bargain with a powerful fey creature filled me with a mix of apprehension and morbid fascination. "I… I'm not sure," I mumbled, unsure if I was ready for such a momentous decision.
 
Vivienne chuckled, a sound like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze. "The best deals are made with Ulther, of course," she admitted. "But I can offer my own services depending on what you seek."
 
The weight of her words hung heavy in the air. I just needed information, so I stalled her as best I could. "Can I have some time to think about it?" I asked hesitantly. "And is there any way to contact the Fey from Keralon?"
 
A hint of a smile returned to Vivienne's lips. "Mortals in Keralon," she corrected, "especially those like clerics, druids, or wizards, will have some knowledge of the Fey. They'll be able to point you in the right direction."
 
I pressed on, a sliver of hope flickering within me. "Are there any specific people in Keralon that the Fey trust? Someone who might be able to provide information about these… deals?"
 
Vivienne's smile vanished. A cold glint entered her eyes. "The Fey trust no one," she stated flatly, her voice laced with a hint of disdain. "Especially mortals."
 
"But how do they use mortals as bodyguards then?" I countered, my confusion mounting.
 
"The terms of the deal," Vivienne replied curtly, a clear indication that she wasn't willing to elaborate. "It's not mine to discuss. Ulther made the deal, not me."
 
Her words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the power dynamic at play. The Fey, it seemed, didn't play by the same rules as humans. And Liliana, unfortunately, was caught right in the middle.
 
The others returned, a collective sigh escaping their lips as they unloaded our packs. Hayley tossed my stuff at me along with a rundown of their encounter with Farrah. Apparently, Logvale’s leader wasn't fully buying their "decidedly not suspicious" story about the tunnel. They tried their best to keep the whole portal business under wraps, per Vivienne's request, but we shouldn’t be surprised if Farrah started sniffing around more.
 
On another note, we decided to ditch the carts and horses. Onvyr, unfortunately, also got left behind – a petrified statue propped conspicuously in the village square. Transporting a giant stone elf through a magical portal wasn't exactly feasible. Edward did bribe Farrah a hefty sum to keep the carts and horses safe for a few months. Maybe another caravan would be passing through and we could pay them to haul our stuff to Keralon. Who knows?
 
As we had all gathered in the clearing, Vivienne, with a flourish, manipulated the portal. The icy landscape within the gate dissolved, replaced by a breathtaking vista of the city itself on distant hills. Towers pierced the sky, gleaming in the afternoon sun. A collective gasp escaped our lips. This was it. Keralon.
 
"Ready?" Vivienne asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
 
We exchanged nervous glances. Ready wasn't exactly the word I'd use, but turning back now seemed… unwise. She explained the limitations of the portal – it was a one-way trip, spitting us out a distance from the city walls. We wouldn't be seeing her again anytime soon, either. This was it – we were on our own.
 
Lilaina, however, received some specific instructions. "Return to the gate in fifteen days," Vivienne instructed, her voice firm. "Alone. Your friends cannot come with you." (There goes plan A for a dramatic rescue!)
 
With a deep breath, we stepped through the portal. A wave of icy coldness washed over us, momentarily stealing our breath. Blinking away the chill, we found ourselves on a grassy hill, the majestic city of Keralon sprawling in the distance. The towering structures seemed to pierce the very heavens, their grandeur both awe-inspiring and slightly intimidating.
 
As the last person emerged, we watched Vivienne give a final wave. The shimmering blue light of the portal flickered and died, leaving behind only an eerie silence. The gateway closed, and our mysterious benefactor was gone.
 
We started our trek towards the city, the air refreshingly clear with no sign of the oppressive mist. After a few hours of walking (and a lot of grumbling stomachs), we stumbled upon a dirt road leading towards the distant Keralon.
 
Alistan already started talking about a trip back to Logvale and retrieving the cart and Onvyr. Hayley quickly shot that down. "There will be a patrol soon and they will be able to help out," she argued, eyeing Alistan's increasingly pronounced limp. The poor guy looked like he was about to walk right out of his boot.
 
As the sun dipped towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills, Keralon remained stubbornly out of reach. Just as fatigue started to set in, Dadroz and Gael's sharp eyes spotted a flickering campfire in the distance. Relief washed over us – maybe some friendly faces and a warm meal were exactly what we needed.
 
We veered off the main road, following a smaller path that led towards the firelight. Curiosity piqued, we noticed a lone tower standing sentinel beside the road, a faint glow emanating from its windows. Suddenly, the air crackled with tension. Alistan, Dadroz, and Gael exchanged a worried glance. The unmistakable sounds of combat reached our ears – clashing metal, shouts, and the sizzle of magic.
 
"Get ready!" Alistan hissed, urgency lacing his voice. Before I could even process what was happening, the three of them were already sprinting towards the source of the commotion. I let out a groan and reluctantly followed, the rest of the group trailing behind.
 
We burst into a clearing, the scene before us a bizarre tableau. The tower, with its gargoyle ornaments and pointed roof, looked like it belonged straight out of a dusty old storybook. Scorched earth surrounded the base, and the tower itself bore scorch marks, evidence of a recent battle. In the center of it all, a woman wielding a glowing staff faced off against a trio of attackers. One was a hulking metallic construct clad in gleaming brass armor, its movements jerky and mechanical. Flanking it were two small, winged humanoids – pixies, if the legends were true.
 
One of the pixies zeroed in on us. It weaved its magic, and Alistan's face contorted in confusion. He stumbled, muttering incoherently, clearly the victim of a nasty spell. Before things got too out of hand, Gael, the sharp-eyed archer, let loose an arrow, catching the pixie mid-flight. The tiny creature crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Alistan, thankfully, snapped out of his daze.
 
The battle raged on. The mage, cloaked in a shimmering mist, teleported across the clearing, launching a fiery bolt at the hulking metal construct. (Hey! I recognized that spell – a basic firebolt! Maybe I wasn't such a magical dud after all.) The other pixie, seeing its companion fall, unleashed an entangling spell. Vines materialized from the ground, wrapping themselves around our legs and arms, effectively holding us out of the fight and turning this into a very dangerous situation.
 
Frustration bubbled within me. Instinct took over, and I unleashed a barrage of magic missiles, the crackling energy seeking its target. One of the missiles found its mark, the pixie dissolving into a puff of glitter and dust.
 
Gael aimed his bow at the construct's armored form, his arrow finding a weak point and leaving a dent. Lilaina, our ever-steadfast paladin, charged forward, using her shield to form a wall between the construct and the wounded mage. The metal monstrosity lunged, its spear aimed squarely at Lilaina. But she stood firm, the weapon clattering harmlessly against her shield. It even tried a clumsy bash with its own metallic shield, but Lilaina held her ground, immovable.
 
Dadroz joined the fray, his shortbow twanging as he loosed an arrow. It struck the construct in a weak point, causing it to stumble back. I joined in the offensive, launching a firebolt that sailed harmlessly past its metallic frame. Hayley cast a curse, attempting to jinx the creature's attacks.
 
Liliana, her eyes blazing with a strange inner light, called upon the power of the Fey through her sword. The blade pulsed with ethereal energy, mirroring the glow that emanated from the construct itself. Then, with a mighty cry, she struck. The construct roared in defiance, unleashing a torrent of power fueled by its mechanical fury in retaliation. A clash of steel and magic erupted, sparks flying in all directions. Liliana reeled back from the blow, but just in time – Alistan, with a desperate lunge, managed to block a follow-up attack from the construct, his shield taking the brunt of the force.
 
Just as things started to look dire, the mage called out a warning. "Get away from the tower!" she shouted, her voice strained. Alistan yelled back, "Just got here! Now I gotta leave again?" He retreated a few steps, but not before barking an order at Liliana – "Press it! Don't let it escape!" She gave a curt nod and delivered another blow with her enchanted blade.
 
Hayley, seeing the mage’s injuries, rushed to her side, tending to her wounds with a healing spell. But the construct, relentless in its onslaught, saw an opening. It lunged forward, aiming for a vulnerable spot on Liliana's armor. My heart jumped into my throat. Thinking fast, I channeled my magic, whispering a desperate plea to twist the fates. A tingling sensation ran through me, and the construct's attack veered off course, missing Liliana by a hair's breadth. The extra bit of luck, I siphoned off, sending it surging towards Dadroz, hoping he could use it.
 
The battle reached its climax. The mage, with a muttered incantation, activated the braziers around the tower. They roared to life, bathing the clearing in a sea of fire. The construct, though singed and battered, remained unfazed. With a final, desperate lunge, it attacked Alistan. Liliana tried to intervene, but she wasn't fast enough. The metallic shield connected with Alistan's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground with a pained cry.
 
Dadroz, however, saw an opportunity. He charged forward, drawing the construct's attention away from Alistan. Gael, seizing the moment, let loose a blunted arrow, striking the construct squarely in the head. The metal behemoth shuddered, then crumpled to the ground in a heap of dented parts. Silence descended on the clearing, broken only by our ragged breaths and the crackling flames.
 
The dust settled, leaving behind the acrid stench of burnt metal and the lingering scent of magic. The mage, catching her breath, let out a shaky sigh. "Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse.
 
Hayley scurried over to the unconscious pixie. A quick examination revealed a faint pulse and Hayley whipped out a vial of shimmering potion. "Healing brew," she muttered, administering the liquid to the tiny creature. Moments later, the pixie fluttered her iridescent wings, blinking in confusion. "Huh? Where am I?" she chirped, her voice high-pitched and surprisingly clear.
 
Hayley explained the situation. "Looks like you lost the fight," she said gently. The pixie's brow furrowed in a miniature frown. "Lost? But… I don't remember a fight. Just collecting nectar with my sister…" Her voice trailed off, a flicker of fear replacing the confusion in her eyes. "Why isn't she here? Why am I not home?"
 
Hayley explained, with a touch of sympathy (and a hint of guilt on my part, for accidentally blasting the poor thing into oblivion), that the mist likely played a role in her predicament. We pointed her towards the dark wall of trees that marked the edge of the Lorewood. "Head back through there," Hayley instructed, "and maybe you'll find your way home."
 
The pixie, spotting her sister's lifeless body, let out a shrill cry. "Who… who did this?" she sobbed. Hayley offered a quick explanation about self-defense. Gael, ever the charmer, offered the pixie a chance to travel with him once he finished his business, but the distraught creature was in no mood for company. With a tearful goodbye, she fluttered off towards the Lorewood, her future shrouded in the same mist that brought her here.
 
The mage, meanwhile, had begun dismantling the smoking remains of the construct. She muttered curses under her breath, a frown etched on her face. "Whoever attacked knew exactly what I was capable of," she grumbled. "This thing was built specifically to resist flames." She introduced herself as Amarra, the owner of this curious tower called Caern Fussil. Apparently, the place had some connection to the plane of fire, attracting mages seeking communion with the fiery element. She had inherited it from her master, and returning from a long journey, she was ambushed just outside the tower.
 
As a token of gratitude for saving her, Amarra offered us shelter for the night. We gratefully accepted – a warm bed and a roof over our heads sounded pretty darn good after the chaotic scene we'd just witnessed. Amarra apologized profusely for the lack of a grand feast, but assured us we could raid the supply cabinet for whatever tickled our fancy.
 
Following her lead, we climbed a winding staircase that spiraled upwards, the interior of the tower surprisingly warm. Maybe that whole connection to the plane of fire thing wasn't just a metaphor, after all. The staircase that led to a series of small, sparsely furnished rooms. Apparently, they used to be occupied by apprentices, but the tower hadn't had any in quite some time.
 
"Most students prefer apprenticeships with wizards within the city walls," she explained. "The tower's a good day's walk from Keralon, not exactly prime real estate for aspiring magic users." She made one very important rule clear, though – the basement was off-limits. Apparently, it housed some rather potent magic best left undisturbed.
 
However, the real treasure for me, at least, lay elsewhere. "There's a magical library," Amarra mentioned casually. "If anyone's interested in fire magic, be my guest." Needless to say, I practically bolted for the library the moment those words left her lips. My fingers itched to devour every dusty tome on the shelves, to soak up every scrap of knowledge they contained. The rest of the group, however, seemed less enthralled by the prospect of fiery incantations.
 
Alistan decided to pry into Amarra's recent travels. It turned out she'd been gallivanting around the southern cities, far from the comforts of Caern Fussil. In return, she inquired about our own origins. Gael spun a tale of us being adventurous youngsters from Tarn, a small town near Hillfield, seeking our fortunes in the bustling metropolis of Keralon.
 
Amara’s gaze however fell on Gael's imposing bow and Liliana's gleaming sword. "Hold on a moment," she interjected, a wrinkle appearing on her forehead. "Those appear to be enchanted items. In Keralon, only knights are allowed to carry such things." Uh oh. So much for swaggering into the city with our magical arsenal. Amarra offered a solution. "Best to keep those under wraps," she advised. "The guards at the South Gate are particularly vigilant when it comes to detecting magic."
 
She then revealed a less traveled passage – the Hunter's Gate, a smaller entrance used primarily by, well, hunters. Apparently, it was less guarded than the main entrance, making it the perfect entry point for a group of magical misfits like ourselves. With a grateful nod, we took down directions for this clandestine gateway.
 
The conversation then shifted towards our future plans. Gael explained his mission to secure aid for Logvale, while Alistan mentioned having a family house in the city so we could avoid the steep prices of Keralon’s hostels. "Excellent," Amarra said, clapping her hands together. "But securing an apprenticeship should be your top priority. Things have gotten a bit trickier since the guilds were disbanded, less structure and all that."
 
For the next few hours, my nose practically glued to the dusty pages, I devoured every scrap of information I could find about fire magic. It was a treasure trove of flaming projectiles, fiery walls, and heat manipulation spells. I thanked Amarra profusely for letting me loose in this magical library – it was like a dream come true.
 
She mentioned, rather casually, that this tower used to be a full-fledged school dedicated to the fiery arts. Apparently, she was contemplating reopening it someday.
 
Fuelled by newfound enthusiasm, I bombarded Amarra with questions. How did one learn magic in Keralon? Who could teach me? How did the whole apprenticeship thing work?
 
Amarra, ever patient, explained the options. There was the prestigious magical academy, but it apparently came with a hefty price tag. A sponsor, in other words, was a must. Not exactly ideal for a broke teenager like myself. The other option was apprenticing with a wizard – work for them, learn from them, the whole package deal.
 
She then inquired about my long-term goals. I proudly declared my interest in divination magic, though sadly, it wasn't exactly her area of expertise. However, I also revealed my lofty ambition – becoming a knight of Keralon, specifically one of the magic-wielding Circle of Myrdin. Saving people, upholding justice – it all sounded incredibly heroic, even if it was a long-term project.
 
Finally, I decided to come clean about the strange boost my fire magic received back in the mists. The memory of the supercharged firebolt, exploding with unexpected force, still sent shivers down my spine. Amarra, to put it mildly, was intrigued. According to her, magic usually followed a set of rules – fixed effects for fixed spells. This… anomaly… wasn't exactly standard wizarding procedure.
 
However, she did have a solution (or at least an attempt at one). There was a ritual she could perform to shed some light on the situation. She bustled around the room, gathering various objects – a flickering candle, a smooth stone, a feather light as a kiss – and arranged them on a table alongside a shimmering magic circle.
 
Following her instructions, I placed my hand over the circle, picturing the memory of the empowered spell. The minutes ticked by, filled only with the crackling of the candle and the sound of my own nervous breathing. Then, a soft gasp escaped Amarra's lips. "Interesting," she murmured. Looking up, I witnessed a scene straight out of a magic textbook. The candle flame had doubled in size, casting flickering shadows across the room. Even more astonishingly, the smooth stone hovered mid-air, defying gravity itself.
 
Amarra explained the implications of this bizarre display. Apparently, most souls had an affinity for two of the four elements – fire, water, earth, and air. However, based on the ritual, it seemed I was a rare case. One single element – fire – resonated with me. Furthermore, the floating stone hinted at a connection to the Feywild, specifically the Summer Court, known for their fiery personalities.
 
This revelation blew my mind. Solely fire magic? Now that was something you didn't hear every day. A mischievous grin spread across my face. If all this was true, then maybe apprenticing with Amarra, a master of fire magic, wasn't such a bad idea after all.
 
However, there was a slight hurdle – a series of tests located in the dreaded basement. Apparently, these weren't your average pop quizzes – past students had gotten, ahem, "slightly singed" attempting them. The good news? I could have my friends by my side for moral support (or, more realistically, fire extinguisher duty).
 
I found the others sprawled around the common room, nursing mugs of something suspiciously lukewarm. Hayley handed me a plate of what was once a delicious-looking stew, now a bit congealed from my library marathon. My stomach rumbled in protest, momentarily distracting me from my magical revelation. Food first, fire magic mastery later, right?
 
After devouring the stew, I launched into my explanation. The test for apprenticeship, the fire magic affinity, the strange connection to the Feywild – it all came pouring out. Hayley listened intently, her eyes wide with fascination. When I finished and asked them for help to pass the entrance test, Alistan, ever the supportive friend, grinned and declared, "You had me at 'test.'"
 
With full bellies and even fuller hearts (okay, maybe just a touch of nervous excitement), we retired for the night. Amarra, bless her kind soul, let us sleep in – a luxury we hadn't experienced in days. Refreshed and (hopefully) slightly less likely to set ourselves on fire, we found Amarra the next morning.
 
Deciding to test the waters, we asked if Hayley could also undergo the ritual. Amarra, ever accommodating, readily agreed. Once again, the room filled with the soft glow of the magic circle and the flickering candle flame. Hayley placed her hand on the circle, and we all watched with bated breath. This time, the results were slightly different. A single feather, as light as a whisper, began to rise, defying gravity for a brief moment. However, the candle flame, instead of growing larger, seemed to diminish slightly.
 
Amarra, her brow furrowed in concentration, interpreted the signs. Hayley, it seemed, possessed a strong affinity for air magic. Just like me, she resonated with only one element, a rarity in the world of magic. And, like me, she seemed to have a connection to the Feywild. This discovery left Amarra scratching her head. "Are you both… entirely human?" she inquired, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
 
Hayley simply confirmed that yes, we were both human, as far as we knew. Amarra sighed, muttering something about this being outside her area of expertise. She suggested we seek out someone well-versed in the Feywild, someone who could explain these strange connections.
 
But first it was test time!
 
Butterflies danced a frantic flamenco in my stomach as we approached the entrance test for my apprenticeship. Liliana inquired about the duration. "Usually an hour," Amarra replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She offered me a single piece of advice: "Contemplate the nature of fire. It is unsubtle." Easy enough, right? Just don't be a wallflower and hope the flames take pity on you.
 
With a deep breath, I followed the others into a room that Amarra promptly locked behind us. A wave of claustrophobia threatened to engulf me, but I forced it down. The only way out was through, so whining wouldn't do any good. The room itself was a utilitarian affair – bare walls, a dirt floor punctuated by several ominous hatches, and a panel covered in switches. Ten in one row, nine in another, each one sporting a tiny light and a cryptic letter. Taking a closer look, we deciphered a message: "Everything or Nothing." Intriguing.
 
Alistan, ever the gambler, flipped the first switch to "on." Nothing happened. Then another, and another, until all ten switches in the first row were glowing. Still nothing. We repeated the process with the second row, hearts pounding in our chests. Just as hope began to dwindle, a satisfying click echoed through the room. The door opposite the switch panel creaked open, revealing a passage bathed in an ominous orange glow.
 
Dadroz took point, carefully poking the floor ahead for any hidden traps (never underestimate the sadistic ingenuity of ancient wizards). Satisfied, we entered the next room. The sight that greeted us could have come straight out of a nightmare – four blazing pits of lava bubbled ominously, their molten fury threatening to spill over. Floating amidst the fiery chaos were four shimmering blue crystals, pulsing with an ethereal light. Blocking our path stood a wall of solid ice, a frosty barrier defying our progress.
 
Hayley, approached one of the crystals and nudged it tentatively towards a lava pit. The moment the crystal moved, the lava surged upwards, spilling over its fiery banks. We scrambled back as the heat intensified, cursing the lack of any decent fireproof cloaks. Hayley, repositioned the crystals, creating a fiery path towards the ice wall. The ice, however, remained stubbornly unfazed. A defeated sigh escaped her lips.
 
But she remained determined. "Luke, maybe a little fire magic will do the trick?" A mischievous grin spread across my face. Focusing my will, I unleashed a fiery bolt at the ice wall. The magical projectile struck true, shattering the ice with a satisfying crack. Cheering erupted from the group, a welcome sound amidst the tense atmosphere. Working together, we maneuvered the crystals back, creating a safe passage. Pushing open the final door, we emerged, blinking in the sudden brightness.
 
Amarra stood there, a surprised smile on her face. "Congratulations! That was much faster than I anticipated." Relief washed over me, quickly followed by a pang of fear. Had we been too reckless? Thankfully, everyone seemed to be in one piece, a minor miracle considering the fiery gauntlet we'd just run.
 
The unexpected twist came next. Amarra, in a surprising display of generosity, offered apprenticeships to all of us. Alistan, however, balked at the idea, claiming a complete lack of magical talent (though I suspect he just lacks commitment to try - I know you can read, Alistan). Hayley pointed out her weak fire magic affinity. Liliana, her voice heavy with regret, revealed she could only coat her sword in flames, and that an oath to the Feywild awaited her soon. A wave of disappointment washed over me. The thought of tackling these magical mysteries without them was daunting.
 
"But Liliana," I pleaded, "the fire sowrd is amazing! We can all learn together!" My enthusiasm, however, failed to sway her. Her mind was set, the pull of the Feywild too strong to resist. Alistan offered her a sympathetic smile, clearly bummed at the prospect of her leaving.
 
As a newly minted apprentice, I received a rather impressive gift from Amarra – a trio of spell scrolls! Flaming Sphere, Flame Arrows, and Fireball – my inner pyromaniac practically did a jig. These babies would take my fire magic to the next level, for sure. Just imagine the possibilities! Raining flaming arrows down on unsuspecting foes, conjuring a miniature sun to roast marshmallows (or, you know, actual enemies)… the applications were endless (and potentially very, very destructive).
 
With newfound determination (and a backpack full of magical scrolls), we bid farewell to Amarra and Caern Fussil. She estimated a day's travel to Keralon, arriving just as darkness fell and the city gates shut tight. Thankfully, a string of wayside inns dotted the road outside the city walls, offering weary travelers a much-needed respite.
 
The journey itself was a feast for the eyes. Keralon's majestic silhouette emerged on the horizon, the city walls gleaming like polished silver under the bright sun. A magnificent silver castle perched atop a nearby hill glittered like a giant jewel, earning the city its nickname – the Silver City. We passed by prosperous farms, their fertile fields a welcome sight after the wilds we'd traversed. And as we neared the city in the late afternoon, the unmistakable buzz of civilization filled the air – more people, less wilderness, a symphony of voices and bustling activity.
 
The racial diversity was astounding – bugbears with surprisingly dapper hats, half-orcs with booming laughs, even a towering half-giant lumbering down the road. It was a far cry from the secluded villages and monster-infested forests we were used to. This was a place teeming with life, magic, and who knows, maybe even a chance for us to make our mark on the world.
 
However, amidst the excitement, a shadow of concern lingered. Elsa and Edward, battered from the long journey, were clearly struggling. Edward, still recovering from his injuries, moved with a noticeable limp. Elsa also seemed sluggish and out of sorts. I scanned my meager spell repertoire, desperately searching for a way to ease their pain. Unfortunately, even my extended collection was of no use to them. Guess I had a lot more to learn about this whole wizardry thing.
 
We stumbled into the first inn we saw – the Southroad Tavern – a ramshackle building smelling faintly of stale ale and regret. The barkeep, a burly man with a beard you could knit a sweater from, immediately clocked us as wide-eyed newcomers. "A bunch of green newlings, are we?" he boomed, his voice gravelly enough to wake the dead.
 
Alistan, ever the jokester, shot back, "Actually, the lingering green is more from our forest trek through the Lorewoods." He gestured at our travel-stained clothes, a hint of pride in his voice. Apparently, surviving a near-death experience was a badge of honor in his book.
 
The task of securing rooms for our ragtag group fell to Alistan. His initial request for eleven rooms was met with a comical double-take from the barkeep, a man who went by the name of Brok. Long story short, we ended up renting out the entire remaining inventory – a large communal room and two smaller ones. The price, at 16 gold, was enough to make your teeth ache (especially considering what we were used to back in Tarn). Hayley and Gael stepped up and pooled their hard-earned gold to cover the cost.
 
Brok offered to carry our bags upstairs and asked if we wanted to stable our horses. We politely declined, the memory of Faerin and Thorin, our beloved steeds tragically left behind in Logvale, still too raw. With a sigh, Alistan swiped a single tear from his cheek (or so I think, the flickering candlelight made it hard to tell).
 
Settling into the common room, we ordered a round of drinks – a mix of beer, wine, and water to cater to everyone's tastes. The food was simple but hearty – a choice of local meat or fish with a side of bread. After days of dubious trail rations, it tasted like manna from heaven. Bellies full and spirits high, we finally allowed ourselves to relax, a sense of accomplishment washing over us. We were just outside Keralon, our final destination. The trials (well, most of them) were finally behind us.
 
The common room itself had a decidedly serious atmosphere. Unlike the jovial taverns we were used to, filled with raucous laughter and drunken gambling, this place held a tense silence. The only sounds were the murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses. It was a bit unnerving, like the calm before a storm.
 
Just as we were about to call it a night, the barkeep surprised us with a complimentary dessert – a massive cake that looked suspiciously like it could feed a small army. Needless to say, we devoured it with gusto.
 
However, amidst the pastry bliss, a flicker of unease settled in the air. Liliana and Hayley, ever vigilant, kept glancing towards a group of men who had just entered the tavern. These guys were about as subtle as a brick to the face – all shifty glances and furtive whispers. They also seemed to be diligently scribbling something on scraps of paper.
 
Hayley, with her ever-reliable raven familiar, decided to take a closer look. The raven swooped down, landing unseen on a nearby table, and relayed its intel back to its mistress. The message sent a jolt of nervous energy through the group. Apparently, the men were writing a flyer – a flyer that mentioned the "Freehold Guild." The memory of Amarra's warning about banned guilds echoed in our minds. This wasn't just some shady tavern encounter – we were stumbling right into the middle of something… something potentially dangerous.