The Legends of Khrystia: The Journey Begins (Sampler)

Chapter Three

 Logan wiped sweat from his forehead with a linen cloth, before tucking it back into his belt. The mid-summer sun was burning brightly, but he liked it more than freezing. There was a gentle breeze that came through the forest, granting enough coolness to keep him lasting.

The Ocara man surveyed the forest. He had heard of the Luftsar raiders in the area, and wasn't keen on getting ambushed. He wasn't paranoid by any stretch, but he was a mercenary at one point and his battlefield experiences taught him to be aware.

"Well, I'll admit it; we're lost." Bowen, his faithful companion, cursed under his breath.

Bowen was an Equinora, a beastfolk, with short brown fur, brown eyes, and a long white mane, with short horns that sprout from the back of his head. He wore a leather cuirass, and a wool kilt, and carried a staff in his right hand.

"We're more than lost. I kept telling you we should have bought a map!" Logan yelled. He put on a battered leather helmet and perused the surrounding forest once again. Though the trees were sparse, he was irritated with the calmness of the forest. Maybe it was the stories of the Luftsar, but he didn't like the idea of fighting the deadly wolf like beastfolk. "I say I should lead us this time."

Bowen laughed. "Not in Helheim! Last time I was mistaken for an infamous criminal and nearly got hanged! All because you pointed at a Wanted poster in naive fashion."

"How does that correlate with me leading?" Logan waved his arm in frustration. "Well, then you pick the road if you are so darn sure."

The two adventurers argued in good fashion, but then remembered they had noticed a wandering herbalist scavenging for ingredients and decided to backtrack. FInding the man, they asked for directions were pointed in the right direction, and made way with haste.

They emerged from the forest at the town of Redmane. To the southeast, about a mile away from town, there was an army campsite with several fire rings. To the west was an apple orchard and the north had hundreds of acres of farmland.

Logan and Bowen continued toward the bustling town from the northwestern road. They were hungry and went in search of a tavern. At last, Bowen spotted The Red Elf's Ale House.

When they pushed open the door, they were immediately overcome by the welcoming aroma of fine ale, simmering food, and laughter from its denizens.

The town was more westward from the original lands of the Sprites, but the land was settled by a combination of Equinoria and Sprites, as well as a few Ocaran refugees who were welcomed to the land of Sylvina. The Western plains of Sylvina were a diverse land under the rule of Queen Arianrhod.

They took a table against a wall and both ordered a platter of fried potatoes and a stein of ale. Apparently, they weren't serving diner yet, so Logan just settled for what there was. It was early afternoon and they would take whatever was served. Potatoes were a popular export in Sylvina, and friend potatoes were a favored commodity for any tavern to serve to its customers.

"So, you haven't given me a full answer about this meeting," Logan said. Taking a long gulp from his stein, he looked around the tavern for any possible trouble. Nothing seemed to be out of place, especially the barmaids. Bowen smacked his hand that was on the table when he caught him staring at a barmaid's derriere, fetching his attention in any way he could. Logan just gave him a shrug.

Bowen returned to the stroking of his staff, checking for flaws in the fine oak craft. "As I mentioned," he cleared his throat, "I received a message from a friend that the general of the local camp here requires our services here."

"Uh huh. And, have you forgotten we agreed no more military mission? We're not mercenaries anymore." Logan scolded his friend, as he reached for some of the golden-crisped potatoes. They were still hot, but that did not dissuade him from smacking them into his mouth. Traveling on the road for three days left one quite hungry and forgetting of manors.