Nick leaned back in his seat, letting the midday bustle of the inn wash over him. Sometime after he’d gone up to see his room, several customers had trickled in, claiming tables for lunch. The inn’s common area was cozy yet lively, with the low hum of chatter mixing with the clinking of mugs and the distant crackle of a hearth fire. The smell of roasted meat, herbs, and warm bread hung thick in the air, drawing even the weariest travelers.
Across from him, Ray was intent on devouring a plate of roasted meat and bread, her eyes gleaming as she relished every moment of the experience. Nick picked up a spoon, idly stirring the stew, his thoughts still replaying Ray’s question from earlier.
Do you have to be a hero to help people?
With a small sigh, he set his spoon down and reached for his own plate. “So,” he began casually, keeping his tone light, “let’s talk plans. We’ve got food, a place to sleep, and—” he paused, eyeing her mischievous grin, “—a clear goal to not cause any trouble.”
She chuckled, her expression shifting to one of interest. “What’s next? Are we going to pick a quest?”
“That’s the idea,” he replied. “The basics first. We’re strangers here, and it’s best to get familiar with the area—and with what kind of people we’re dealing with. And if we want to do decent work, we’re going to need decent gear.”
Ray nodded between bites. “Where do we get that?”
Before Nick could answer, the innkeeper passed by with a stack of tankards for the next table over. She paused, glancing at them. “If you’re looking for gear, you might want to check out the Dragon Forge. Ol’ Doran runs the place—he’s a blacksmith with a big name and even bigger tales.”
“He must be really good if he’s famous,” Nick observed.
She laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Some say he fought a dragon and lived to tell about it, though he’d be the only one to verify it. The man’s a braggart, but he’s a braggart with the skills to back it up.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a colorful character.”
“That’s certainly a way to put it. His shop isn’t too far from here—just two streets over. You’ll know it by the dragon’s head sculpture right above the door—made from iron if you’d believe it. Stands out and gets all rusty every spring.”
She started placing tankards down on the other table.
Nick leaned forward slightly. “I don’t believe I asked your name. What should I call you?”
The innkeeper straightened, setting down the last of the tankards. “Tabitha Vale,” she replied with a small nod. “Most folks around here just call me Tabby, though.”
“Well, Tabby, thanks for the tip,” Nick said while offering a smile. “And for the good food as well.”
Tabitha grinned. “That’s what I’m here for. You’ve paid more than enough, after all.”
Nick’s gaze shifted to Ray and rested on her silver hair. “Actually, I was wondering… Do you think Ray here might stand out a bit too much?” He gestured to her hair and mismatched eyes. “We don’t want to draw too much attention, and I thought maybe dyeing her hair could help.”
One of the patrons at the next table, a scruffy-looking man with a wild grin, leaned forward in his chair and thrust a tankard forward as he gestured toward Ray. “Trust me, stranger, we’ve seen it all here in Cairel. Silver hair’s unusual, but it’s nothin’ crazy.”
His friend, a burly man nursing an ale, nodded sagely. “Aye. We’ve got travelers, adventurers, mercs—half of ‘em look like they belong to a traveling circus anyway.”
Tabitha chuckled, folding her arms. “Cairel’s the last stop for plenty of folks looking to make some money past the border. Keeps things lively, but it’s the monster raids that people are worried about.”
Ray tilted her head. “Monsters… like orcs and trolls?”
The scruffy man’s face turned serious as he nodded. “That’s right. Orcs, beastkin, even trolls come down from the Wastes now and then. We’re right on their doorstep, so there’s been tension as long as I’ve been alive.”
Tabitha gave a firm nod. “Folks here have gotten used to it. And you’ve got adventurers who take advantage—crossing into the Wastes, stirring up trouble, dragging back slaves… not much honor in it, if you ask me.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Sounds like they’re asking for trouble.”
The burly man sighed. “It goes both ways. Any raid against them leads to another on us. No one here’s happy about it, but the Kingdom backs some of the raids, so we can’t do much to stop it. Besides, it’s not like we really lose anything ‘cept time at the end of the day. We…”
Nick held a hand up to pause him. “You don’t lose anything but ‘time’? Don’t people die in these exchanges?”
“They sure do,” he agreed. “All the time. It’s a right pain in the arse if they get too many of us. Sucks when you can’t get good bread for a week because they killed your favorite baker.”
Nick stared at the man, dumbfounded.
“That’s… it? It’s just inconvenient?”
The burly man shrugged. “Yep, it’s inconvenient all right. Lost time, lost goods. If a raid’s bad enough, maybe some folk have to lie low for a few days. But if those monsters come close enough to send us back to the cathedral, we just take as many of them down with us as we can, earn some skill points and all that. They’re the ones who stay down, after all.”
“…’back to the cathedral’,” Nick repeated. “Skill points… and ‘they’re the ones who stay down’. Do you have some kind of miracle healer around here or something?”
The scruffy man laughed. “Healer? No, just the usual cathedral. Bit of a hassle, respawning and all—sucks when you get unlucky and lose a memory or two, but better than staying dead, am I right?”
Nick’s brow furrowed. “Wait… You’re telling me that people just… come back to life?”
The burly man chuckled, lifting his mug as if to toast. “That’s the way of it, thank the gods. Lose a good few each year to border skirmishes, but they come back right as rain. Meanwhile, monsters? Dead means dead for them. Always has.”
“And so it should be,” the scruffy man added. “Can you imagine having to fear for your life? I don’t see how they can live like that, knowing that they can die at any moment and there’s nothing they can do about it.”
Nick swallowed, the reality of what he’d just learned settling in uncomfortably. “So, you’re saying… if someone here dies, they just come back? No consequences?”
The burly man nodded, shrugging casually. “Aye, as long as there are cathedrals around. The gods must favor you if you haven’t experienced that yet. Folks just wake up there a bit dazed, maybe sore, but alive and kicking. Some lose a memory or two if it’s a bad death. Lose enough, and you might not come back quite the same.”
The scruffy man leaned forward, grinning. “Where are you from, friend? Ain’t many who haven’t heard of ‘respawning’. Name’s Harlen, by the way,” he added, sticking out his hand.
Nick shook his hand, nodding. “Nick. And… it’s a long story.”
The burly man raised his mug in a friendly nod. “Raed. Good to meet you both.”
Harlen leaned closer, his voice taking on a note of mock seriousness. “Well then, here it is, plain as day: if you fall in battle, get sick, or even trip off the city wall, you wake up in the cathedral. It’s the gods’ gift to us humans, after all.”
Ray, sensing Nick’s confusion, kept her eyes trained on him, a flicker of curiosity in her own gaze. Nick felt the weight of their stares pressing on his shoulders.
“Right…” he said, nodding slowly while piecing it together. “Is there a process that someone has to do to gain access to this… ‘gift’? Like a ritual that all people go through or something?”
Tabitha shook her head. “Sort of, but not really. All you have to do is visit a cathedral and it registers as your respawn point. New mothers even go to the cathedral to deliver, just in case.”
Nick’s mind reeled at the implications—an entire society where death was more of an inconvenience than an end.
“And monsters don’t have any access to this system?”
Tabitha’s gaze hardened, her voice matter-of-fact. “It’s what separates us from them. Humans have the gods’ blessings. Monsters? They’re not granted that right to live.”
Nick felt the weight of those words hanging in the air:
The right to live.
It gnawed at him, underscoring just how stark the divide between humans and monsters really was in this world. He caught Ray’s eye, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Her usual spark of curiosity dimmed to something more vague and contemplative.
Tabitha seemed to notice the shift and softened her tone. “You’ll get used to things here soon enough,” she said, almost kindly. “Now, if you’re planning on a visit to the Dragon Forge, best you go before the day gets too late. Doran closes earlier than most to rest his body.”
Nick nodded, grateful for the offered conclusion to the conversation. “Thanks, Tabitha. We’ll finish up here and get going.”
Harlen raised his tankard, his voice dipping into a casual drawl. “Good luck, newcomers. Stick around long enough and maybe you’ll get to see the cathedral for yourselves,” he chuckled, earning a nod from Raed.
Nick forced a polite smile, even as his stomach tightened at the thought. “If it’s all the same, I’d prefer not.”
Ray didn’t say a word, her expression unreadable as they turned back to their meal. She finished her food in silence, the sparkle from before replaced by a steady, quiet resolve. Nick sensed that she still had questions.
But, the more worrisome part was the ‘resolve’. It meant that she had also found some answers.
As they stepped out into the sunlit street, the lively hum of the market greeted them again, but Nick’s mind was far from the bustling atmosphere.
Ray was quiet, her expression contemplative. Finally, she glanced at him. “So… monsters are just different to them, huh?” she murmured, more to herself than to Nick.
He nodded. “Seems like it. It’s hard to imagine death being so… optional for one side and permanent for the other. That would shift anyone’s perspective, I think.”
Ray clenched her fists, her usual spark replaced with something sharper. “It’s unfair.”
Nick sighed. “Yeah, it is. But that’s the way it’s always been in this world, I guess.”
They walked in silence, their path winding through rows of stalls until they finally spotted the shop Tabitha had mentioned. A massive iron sculpture of a dragon’s head jutted out above the door, rust streaking down from its eyes like worn scars.
Nick squinted up at it, eyebrows raised. “How poetic.”
Ray snickered. “You think he really did fight a dragon?”
He shrugged. “Who knows?”
Inside, the sound of clanging metal and the scent of hot iron and leather filled the air. The forge was tidy yet rugged, with tools lining the walls, each one gleaming despite years of use. In the center of the space, a towering figure with graying hair and a muscular build hammered away at a glowing red blade. His left leg was stiff, angled slightly as he braced himself with each strike.
Doran paused mid-swing as they entered, wiping his brow and casting them a grin. “Well, now, look who’s wandered into the Dragon’s Forge! What can I do for a couple of young adventurers?”
He looked them over, his gaze lingering on Ray’s mismatched eyes and Nick’s ‘modern’ attire. He set down his hammer and rolled his shoulders. “I’m guessing you’re here for more than just a new pair of boots?”
Nick nodded, offering a small smile. “We heard you’re the best in town for weapons and equipment. We’re new to the area, and we need gear that won’t let us down in a fight.”
Doran’s eyes lit up with pride. “Well, they got that right. Dragon’s Forge doesn’t skimp on quality. Swords, daggers, axes—you name it, and I’ve made it.” He tilted his head, giving Nick’s attire another look. “You don’t strike me as the armor type, though.”
Nick shrugged. “Not quite. Our gear’s… special, but we could use some weapons. Something durable and versatile.”
The blacksmith rubbed his beard. “Ah, the practical type. No flashy nonsense, just something that gets the job done, right?” He cast a glance at Ray, then back to Nick. “Got a specialty? Sword, staff, spear?”
“I’ve used a combat knife before, so maybe some daggers or a short sword for me,” Nick replied.
“Good choices,” Doran said. “And you?” he asked, turning to Ray.
She thought for a moment. “I want something… solid. Something that doesn’t break easily.” She tilted her head with a smile. “Or at all, preferably.”
Doran let out a hearty laugh. “You’re in the right place for that. We’ve got iron, steel, even orichalcum if you’re up for it. And, between you and me,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I’ve got materials no one else does. A dragon scale or two makes for a sturdy piece of armor or weapon. It’s a bit more… temperamental to work with, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it?”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “So, the stories that you fought a dragon are true?”
Doran straightened with a prideful grin, his hand brushing the scar on his left leg. “Aye, that I did. Damn near cost me everything, but I lived to tell the tale. Folks around here say it’s just talk, but the mark it left says otherwise.” He patted his leg with a soft chuckle. “Doctors told me to just respawn to restore it. Said I’d never walk again. What do they know?”
He turned to a shelf behind him and pulled down a pair of short swords, gleaming with intricate craftsmanship. “Here’s the thing, though: you’ve got to respect the weapon. Every blade’s got a personality. These—” he handed one to Nick, its weight perfectly balanced, “—won’t let you down. My steel’s as stubborn as I am.”
Nick examined the sword, feeling the craftsmanship in the grip. He gave a small, impressed nod. “Feels… right.”
Doran beamed. “Glad to hear it. I make ‘em with care. But,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief, “if you’re not after armor, what about enhancements? Special grips, added weights, charms that give you a bit of an edge in speed or strength? Got a few of those up my sleeve, too.”
Ray perked up. “So, you can make things stronger?”
Doran laughed again. “Aye, lass. Stronger, faster, even quieter. Only depends on how many coins you’re willing to part with.”
Nick smirked. “Good to know. For now, we’ll take the weapons, and maybe come back if we need any… adjustments.”
The blacksmith noticed Ray eyeing the swords in Nick’s hands, her hands resting expectantly on the counter. He grinned, giving her an appraising look.
“Not to worry, lass. I’ve got just the thing for someone with your… spirit.” He turned and rummaged through a set of racks against the wall, finally pulling out a weapon that immediately caught Ray’s attention—a heavy, sturdy-looking glaive with a reinforced blade and an elegant yet practical design.
“This beauty here is solid ironwood, with a blade tempered and enchanted to slice clean through most armor,” he explained, holding it out for her to try. “Perfect for someone who doesn’t mind a bit of extra heft.”
Ray took the glaive, feeling the weight with a gleam in her eye. She gave it a few test swings, her grip already steady, her movements fluid. The blade caught the light, hinting at the meticulous craftsmanship.
Doran chuckled, watching her. “Aye, it suits you. Glaives are for those with balance and strength—and, let’s be honest, a bit of audacity. Think you can handle her?”
Ray’s grin widened as she spun the weapon, feeling its weight settle comfortably in her hands. “I can handle her.”
“Good! She’s built for someone who isn’t afraid to get close and make a statement. Name her if you’d like—any weapon worth its steel deserves one.”
Ray looked at Nick, her excitement barely contained.
“Well then,” Doran said, patting the glaive with a final approving nod, “Shall we discuss payment?”
Project Knightfall 