Chapter 3 / Episode 1 – The Invitation
Coldeven 17–18, 576 CY – Hommlet
Ostler Gundigoot welcomed them as only he could—with laughter, ale, and a meal hot enough to thaw bone. The hearth crackled with comfort, the world above no longer pressing on their backs. That night, no blades were drawn. That night, they slept.
Come morning, the companions each sought respite in their own way. Dog wandered the Gnarley’s edge. Dixon honed his edge in silence beneath Rufus’s tower. Irving knelt at the chapel of St. Cuthbert and, with divine focus, summoned a white hare—his new familiar, silent and ever-watchful. TerryOr spent time in prayer and quiet reflection, the weight of the chains he placed still lingering in his spirit. Tiger Wong moved like wind between pine and shadow, his fists echoing in training yards as whispers of eastern disciplines. Oleg trained under Burne’s watchful eye in the arcane tower, refining his spellcraft amid drifting incense and the sharp scent of ozone.
But peace is not a thing granted for long.
That evening, beneath the soft lamplight of the common room, she arrived.
A woman cloaked in velvet and perfume stepped into the tavern, her heels clicking lightly on the worn wood floor. She did not speak at first—only removed her cloak and met the companions with a noble curtsy. TerryOr, ever cautious, murmured a spell. The air shimmered faintly.
"Good sirs," she said, her voice calm, clear, and practiced. "I bear a message from Most Worthy Dame Gold of Safeton." Her words fell like bells on the silence that followed. She handed over a heavy envelope, sealed in wax, inscribed in an elegant, spidery hand:
"To the Saviors of Hommlet"
And with that, she was gone, heading over to the bar for food and drink.
The wax seal broke with a soft crack, revealing a letter penned in flourish:
"To those of brave and Worthy:
May it never be said that the courageous undertake valor for the hope of reward nor the righteous seek purity and thus may aspirations of evil never fall upon thy name...
...We beseech you to kindly honor us with your presence during the Feast of Edoira at Windy Crag in the town of Safeton."
— Dame Gold
They read it twice. Perhaps three times.
Oleg leaned forward, brows furrowed. "The Wild Coast," he muttered. "That’s where the black ships sail. If this Dame Gold knows something… we’d be fools not to go."
Dog looked to the others. "Slavers... Safeton’s not far from their black chain. Maybe this isn’t just a feast. Maybe it’s a signal."
Irving said nothing. But his hare shifted beside him, ears alert.
TerryOr stared into the hearth’s flames. "The chains below were only the beginning," he murmured.
The night ended with quiet certainty. The road south would be taken. And so began Chapter Three—the Wild Coast awaited.
excerpt:
Earlier in the day, Oleg spent several focused hours within the study tower of Burne the Most Worshipful Mage of Hommlet, training under his sharp but patient instruction. Amidst shelves stacked with tomes and bottles humming with arcane charge, Burne guided the half-elf through advanced magical techniques—testing his understanding of dweomer manipulation and helping him refine the use of his wand. Smoke curled from a failed casting, and Burne only grunted.
“Again,” he said, with a flick of his own fingers to clear the air.
Oleg nodded, sweat on his brow. “I won’t fail next time.”
Burne offered a rare smile. “Good. Then you might survive what's to come.”
Very interesting turn of events.
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