Chapter 14: Gearing Up, Stepping Out

  BANG BANG BANG!

  The pounding on the door nearly sent me to the next afterlife with yet another heart attack.

  I jolted upright and squinted toward the window. No golden sunbeams breaking through the glass—just the dull, bluish-gray of pre-dawn mist clinging to the trees outside. Still too early.

  “Arthur! Are you not awake yet? We are going to be leaving soon!”

  A voice I hadn’t expected came muffled through the door.

  Elunara?

  “Just a minute! I’m almost ready!” I called out, already scrambling.

  With a sigh, I pulled on—hopefully for the last time—the same ripped, bloodied linen shirt and pants I’d been wearing since the Riftjaw incident. First stop this morning: shopping. New clothes, proper gear, and if I had any say in it, a weapon with more reach.

  I slung my backpack over my shoulder and opened the door.

  Elunara was waiting in the hallway. She looked different—no apron, no tavern-bound wear. Instead, she wore a flowing green robe trimmed with gold accents. Her silver-blue chain still rested elegantly across her forehead, but now her presence felt entirely… different. Regal, even.

  In her right hand, she held a staff—gnarled wood twisted upward into spiraling curves that wrapped around themselves like a living sculpture. The top arched inward in a perfect loop, forming a delicate archway. At its center floated a glowing green light, pulsing gently with a rhythm like a heartbeat. Faint waves of energy rippled from it—subtle, but unmistakably there.

  “The rest are waiting downstairs. Let’s go!” she said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. Her steps were light but fast as she descended, the occasional clack of her staff tapping the wall echoing behind her.

  I followed—not quite as enthusiastically. I still wasn’t used to being yanked from sleep by frantic knocking and declarations of urgency. Hell of a way to wake someone up. I chuckled under my breath as I stepped off the final stair onto the inn’s main floor.

  Veldrin and Bromm were already in the center of the tavern. I glanced to the left and spotted Bob outside through the window, laying on his side in the grass and chomping through an apple like he hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Arthur! Come-come,” Veldrin called, waving me over. “Do not stand there like some half-soused stable boy caught sniffing noble perfume. We’ve got a dungeon to prepare for!”

  “Half... what?” I muttered stupidly, the insult sailing well over my head.

  I made my way to the table where parchment and ink had been laid out. There were three distinct circles marked on the map. I leaned closer—The Hollow, Vaelthorn Fields... two of the circles were placed within the Hollow itself, the third in the nearby fields. No other locations were labeled. No clues beyond that.

  Veldrin tapped one of the circles with the end of his quill, smirking like a man revealing the final act of a play only he understood.

  “We’ll begin with the closest known ruin within the Hollow,” Veldrin declared, his voice brimming with dramatic weight. “Now, Arthur—go shed those bloodied peasant bedsheets and find something resembling adventuring attire!”

  As I turned to leave, Elunara called after me, promising to have food ready by the time I got back. Just the thought of it made my stomach twist—I was starving.

  I stepped out of the Frog Leg, the morning air crisp against my skin as I made my way toward Zibbin’s shop.

  As I approached, I spotted the broom still sweeping away, this time diligently tidying the doorstep entirely on its own. When I got closer, it casually shifted aside without missing a beat, giving me just enough space to slip past and enter.

  Inside, the shop was its usual brand of organized chaos—shelves crammed with trinkets, enchanted tools, and bizarre contraptions, most of which I still hadn’t figured out the purpose of. Zibbin was exactly where I expected him: perched behind the counter, his magical quill scribbling away on a floating parchment, the ink gliding smoothly across the page without his hands ever moving.

  I strolled up and greeted him. “Morning, Zibbin. I’m in the market for some new clothes.”

  “We got clothes,” he replied without looking up. “Not much left in stock—expectin’ a supply wagon any day now.”

  He pointed to a rack to my left. I moved over to dig through the selection.

  After some rummaging, I settled on a white linen short-sleeved shirt, layered beneath a blue-and-brown long-sleeved overshirt, and a sturdy pair of brown linen pants. I added a supple leather tunic—worn but reinforced at the shoulders and chest, enough to turn a blade if it wasn’t swung too hard. A light brown cloak, a new pair of boots, and a larger backpack—finally, something that wouldn’t feel like it was about to split at the seams

  I carried the haul to the counter. “That’s all for now,” I said, placing a few gold pieces down.

  Zibbin gave a curt nod as I placed the coin down, and with a flick of his finger, the items lifted gently off the counter and hovered midair beside me.

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  “Changing area’s in the back,” he said, not looking up from his work.

  I gave a quick thanks, grabbed the floating bundle, and headed toward the curtained corner of the shop. The space was small, but clean enough. I peeled off my bloodstained rags—hopefully for the last time—and pulled on the new clothes one layer at a time. They fit surprisingly well.

  When I stepped back out into the shop, I caught a glimpse of myself in a smudged wall mirror. Finally, I looked like someone ready for an adventure—not a half-dead scavenger.

  Outfitted at last, with my old rags packed away and new boots hitting the dirt, I stepped back into the Hollow’s morning light.

  Next stop—the smithy.

  As I stepped inside, the sharp clang of metal on metal rang through the air. Haldrek was at work, hammering away at something on his forge, though his sheer massive frame blocked my view.

  Near the front desk sat a sturdy iron bell with a chain. I gave it a ring.

  Haldrek paused mid-swing, turned slightly, and waved a thick, soot-covered hand. He held up a single finger—‘just a second’—before landing a few final, forceful strikes. Then, satisfied, he set his tools aside and made his way over.

  “Hello, Arthur. Come to upgrade?” he rumbled.

  I chuckled. “Yeah… I think I need something with a little more reach.”

  Haldrek stroked his beard, considering my request, then turned toward his wall of weapons. I watched as he sifted through an array of hanging metals—some unfinished, others shaped into tools, axes, and farming implements.

  I didn’t see many swords, and the ones I did looked too worn and weathered to be of much use in a fight. There was one though that caught my eye, and it must have caught Haldrek’s too.

  After a moment, Haldrek grabbed a few items from the back wall and returned, laying them out on the counter.

  A set of daggers and the sword.

  “This is what I’ve got ready to sell,” he admitted with a slight frown. “Supply wagons should be here soon, but right now? I’m at my lowest stock. Not much to choose from, I’m afraid.”

  I picked up the sword, testing its weight. It felt right—balanced, solid, a steady extension of my arm. The blade stretched three and a half feet, double-edged and tapering to a vicious point, gleaming with promise. The hilt was plain—unadorned metal wrapped in worn leather—but built for function, not show. I swung it once, imagining the Riftjaw’s tentacles lashing out. This time, I’d have kept that thing at bay—no more scrambling under its weight, pinned and flailing.

  The daggers were simpler—slim, sharp, no crossguard—but well-made. A solid backup if things got close again. “I’ll take the lot, thanks!” I said, sliding the coins across the counter.

  With my new gear, I was down more than half my gold. Not ideal, but I didn’t care. My mind was already elsewhere—Dungeons.

  As I stepped out of Haldrek’s, there they were, gathered in the center of the Hollow, Bromm, Elunara, Bob, and Veldrin.

  Each of them looked different, outfitted in gear I hadn’t seen them wear before. Bromm stood tall in a rugged leather ensemble reinforced with riveted plates. The armor bore blue and gold accents, subtle but striking, matching the trim on Elunara’s robes. His usual musket was slung over his shoulder, and his axes hung at his sides, secured in a heavy leather belt. Pouches lined his waist, worn from use but well-kept.

  Even Bob looked ready for war. The massive boar was kitted out in segmented armor, disks of metal strapped across his legs, back, and face like some kind of porcine juggernaut. Not a full set, but enough to make him look like he meant business.

  Veldrin, of course, looked like a hedge wizard straight out of a fever dream. He wore a layered robe of deep brown feathers that swayed with every movement, and in his hand was a crooked staff, less a mage’s wand and more a walking stick someone forgot to sand down. Compared to Elunara’s elegant staff, his looked like it had been stolen from an angry tree.

  Elunara looked exactly as she had in the hallway, when she’d nearly murdered me with a wake-up call—green robes trimmed in gold, her usual chain glinting across her forehead, staff still glowing faintly with that pulsing green light.

  Veldrin’s eyes fell on the new sword strapped across my back that I had angled just above the buckler, positioned for a clean draw of either. He gave a low hum, tilting his head like he was inspecting a painting he didn’t quite understand.

  “A fine choice,” he mused. “Far better than an axe when it comes to Boglins—nasty little things, hate clean steel.”

  Then his expression shifted, eyes narrowing in mock puzzlement.

  “But do tell me, Arthur… why spend gold on steel when the entire point of this expedition is to manifest your magic?” He leaned slightly forward, head tilting the other way now, like a curious owl. “Or is the plan to stab your way into a magical awakening?”

  “—Boglins?” I asked, clearly having missed the last part of Veldrin’s rant.

  His head whipped around like I’d just insulted his lineage.

  “Elunara, I fear young Arthur’s gone daft. Perhaps a bite of that divine breakfast might jolt his senses back into place?”

  He turned back to me, wagging a finger.

  “Do try to keep up, dear boy.”

  Elunara withdrew her pack and pulled out a thick slice of bread, placing it gently into my open palm.

  “Hold still,” she said, adjusting her grip on her staff.

  She hovered it just above the bread. The pulsing green energy at its center began to glow a touch brighter, faint waves of warmth radiating outward.

  At first, nothing happened. But then—I felt it. A subtle vibration. Soft, like the hum of distant music in my bones. The bread in my hand began to warm, gently rising in temperature until it was like holding something fresh out of an oven.

  Its crust softened, the whole thing growing lighter, airier.

  “Oh wow,” I breathed, eyes widening.

  Elunara chuckled. “That isn’t even the best part. Go on—try it.”

  I didn’t wait for her to finish. The bread was in my mouth before she could blink.

  It was incredible. The nutty flavors were rich and vibrant, and the bread itself—soft, warm, and impossibly light, almost melted on my tongue. But it wasn’t just the taste. I could feel it working through me. My stomach felt full almost instantly, but not heavy. I felt… sharper. Lighter on my feet. More awake.

  “Comes with a few benefits,” Elunara said with a wink.

  She had definitely imbued it with magic—and now that it was working through my system, I could feel just how much more than food it really was. Uplifting, energizing. This wasn’t just breakfast. This was a spell you could eat.

  Bromm grunted and spoke up next, tone a bit more serious.

  “Boglins. Aye... that’s what’s said to haunt the old ruins we’re headed for. Nasty little blighters.” He scratched his beard, frowning slightly.

  “They look like bloated corpses that washed ashore after floatin’ a month in a swamp—skin like blue leather, bellies all puffed up, and covered in warts and weepin’ pustules.”

  He made a sour face, clearly remembering something unpleasant.

  “They move strange too. All hunched over and twitchy. Like a rat tryin’ to walk upright. Don’t let the size fool ya, they’re quick when they want to be. And mean.”

  Veldrin waved a hand dismissively.

  “Yes-yes, Boglins. So terribly fearsome, I’m quaking in my boots.” He leaned in toward me with a smirk.

  “They also just so happen to be the weakest monsters in all the nearby ruins. So unless you’d prefer we start you off with a lich or two, you’ll have to make do, dear Arthur.”

  He paused, grin widening.

  “Do try to hold your bladder until we’ve at least left the village. It’s terribly awkward explaining that sort of thing to passing villagers.”

  Bob let out a grunt that, somehow, sounded like amusement.

  Elunara gave a short, dismissive laugh.

  “Are we going to stand around all morning, or are we actually going delving today?”

  Out of everyone, she seemed the least composed, practically bouncing in place. Honestly, I was starting to think she’d take off at a dead sprint and leave the rest of us in the dust.

  One last deep breath, and we were on our way.