The gentle stir of a new day slipped through the thin curtains, casting pale streams of light across my room. For a moment, I lay still, savoring the quiet that enveloped me. It was a rare bliss I hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity. The mattress beneath me was soft, and the blankets were as inviting as a cozy cocoon, shielding me from the world outside. But even in this serene embrace, the reality of my situation pressed at the back of my mind—there was work to do, a life to piece back together after the storm.
With a reluctant sigh, I stretched my limbs and reluctantly stepped out of bed, landing with a soft thud on the wooden floor. My paws welcomed the coolness of the room, and with a long, exaggerated stretch, I unfurled my tail, wagging it slightly to shoo away the last vestiges of sleep. My muscles registered protest, a reminder of the long journey I had undertaken—one that had pushed me to my limits and beyond. Yet, the soreness simmered within me like an old friend, familiar and oddly comforting.
Through the small window, the rays of morning sunlight danced over the rooftops of Orrano, revealing a village slowly stirring from its nightly slumber. I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of dew mingling with the earthy aroma of the soil. The distant chatter of early risers painted a serene picture of this peaceful countryside. Drawn closer to the window, I gazed out at the idyllic view. Orrano was indeed small—a cluster of rustic buildings nestled amidst a tapestry of lush farmland. Fields stretched towards the horizon, merging seamlessly where the sky kissed the earth. I could faintly see the outline of the large city walls in the distance, Avarria, my next major stop. For now, I will be spending some time here to lay low.
Farmers were already tending to their fields, their silhouettes moving rhythmically among the rows of crops, a sequence of life unfolding before me. A distant rooster crowed, echoing the vitality that thrived here—so different from Montressa’s bustling streets and looming stone edifices. In this corner of the world, everything felt organic, woven softly into the very fabric of existence.
Gradually, my attention returned to the room, surveying the few belongings I had left strewn about. I’d decided to leave much of it here, confident that it would be safe under lock and key in this small town. With care, I donned my cloak, wrapping it around myself like slipping into a familiar habit. The fabric draped comfortably over my shoulders, and I fastened my belt, ensuring my coin and my dagger were securely at my side—their weight was reassuring.
As I gathered my thoughts for the day, I recalled my intentions. Orrano needed exploring, a world of possibility hidden in its simplicity and mundane life. My journey here was not without purpose, I needed to find a safe haven; the question of where this road would lead me remained unanswered. Still, I had learned to trust the flow of life. It would unfold in its own time, as it always did.
With a deep breath filled with the promise of the day, I slipped my key into the lock, the faint click of the door sealing behind me was a reminder of my new beginnings. Softly, I padded down the narrow staircase, the aged wood creaking slightly under my small frame. The common room was still empty, save for Old Milo, who stood behind the counter, arranging bottles and mugs for the day’s patrons.
“Good morning,” I greeted, feeling a light cheer in my voice as I approached. Milo looked up, a friendly smile crinkling his weathered features.
“Ah, morning to you, young sir. You look well-rested,” he remarked, genuine warmth in his tone. How he could tell I was younger—it was probably because of his old age and experiences that allowed him to make an educated guess.
“I feel much better, thank you. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this rejuvenated.”
“Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” Milo replied, his eyes glinting with hospitality. “How are you finding our little village so far?”
“It’s quiet,” I confessed with a hint of amusement, relishing the novelty of it. “But in a good way. It’s refreshing.”
Milo chuckled softly while wiping down the bar. “That’s what we aim for here. Orrano might not have the grandeur of the cities, but it’s a fine place to live.”
And there, in the comfortable silence that followed, I felt something stir within—a fleeting sense of normalcy. After all I had been through, it was a balm for my weary spirit. I soon excused myself to explore the village further.
Stepping outside, the morning sun kissed my fur with warmth, igniting a flicker of renewed purpose inside. Orrano, I found, wore its heart on its sleeve. The main thoroughfare was lined with small, charming shops—each marked with wooden signs that promised everything from general necessities to a modest blacksmith’s forge. The buildings shared a unity born from simplicity, constructed of sturdy timbers and stone, their rooftops adorned with hues of green moss and vibrant lichen.
As I traversed the street, I observed the villagers engrossed in their daily routines. Some nodded to me as I passed, while others offered questioning stares, their curiosity evident. Children played in the open spaces, their giggles ringing out like music. They hesitated only briefly, their eyes drawn to catch glimpses of my unusual appearance and whisper among themselves before resuming their play. Now that I think about it, I never had the chance to make friends with any kids my age when I was back at Veldoran's manor, or in Montressa. I'm a little old now to be making friends like that, but I may be able to find companions that enjoy a good adventure.
I continued onward, my pace unhurried as I absorbed the subtle details of everyday life. The warm, yeasty scent of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery, enticing my senses in a way that ignited fond memories. My ears, ever attuned to the fluctuations in my surroundings, picked up snippets of conversation—casual weather forecasts, lively crop yield discussions, and friendly disputes—all spoken with the kind of familiarity only a tight-knit community could foster.
Eventually, I found myself back in the town square, a modest open space serving as the bustling heart of Orrano. Farmers' stalls were set up in neat rows, their tables adorned with vibrant fruits, vegetables, and handwoven goods. I meandered between the stalls, appreciative of the efforts and camaraderie that shaped this village, feeling like a shadow amidst the sunlight. I knew I was different from what everyone was familiar with, but coming to this smaller town seemed to make me stick out a lot.
Pausing by a flower cart, I admired the blooms displayed in orderly arrangements—each bloom rivaling nature's finest creations, carefully painted with the artistry of life. An elderly woman sat behind the cart; her eyes bright as they met mine. Confusion flickered for an instant before transforming into a welcoming smile. “Care for one?” she asked warmly, gesturing to her wares.
I considered her offer, charmed by the idea. “Why not,” I replied, “if only I could choose.”
The woman chuckled, rising slowly to pluck a flower from a pot, its petals a vivid purple. “Sometimes the right one picks you first,” she quipped, offering it to me.
I fished out a couple of copper coins, handing them over with a nod of thanks. The flower's delicate scent wove into the folds of my cloak as I tucked it away while continuing my exploration. With each step, an unusual but pleasant sense of belonging blossomed within me.
Orrano was small, yet it bore the marks of pride—a village that warmly beckoned the weary, inviting them to rest a while and partake in its gentle rhythm before heading toward the larger city of Avarria, only a day’s walk from here. For me, it was a new world, filled with possibilities I was just beginning to grasp. Each encounter and small kindness taught me something invaluable: the strength of community, the power of connection, and the grace found in simplicity.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, my exploration drew me beyond the town square and toward the open fields that bordered the village. The land sprawled wide, intricately carved with furrows and rows, embodying the art of cultivation in the lives of those who worked tirelessly within it. Several clusters of trees could be found surrounding fields and people’s homes.
I watched as farmers toiled with practiced skill, each movement precise as they worked the earth in harmony with nature's seasons. It was a labor of love—the kind I had rarely seen amidst the mechanized, transactional life of the city. Each step I took intrigued me more with this way of life—the grace of hard work, the satisfaction of tilling the soil, and the exchange of laughter amongst neighbors.
In many ways, it mirrored my own growth back in Montressa, where Elisa’s patience, Dain’s resilience, and Mira’s charm had shaped the Vulpin I had become.
As the morning blossomed, I discovered a serene spot beneath a lone oak tree, its broad canopy casting cool patterns on the ground. Settling there, I let the weight of the morning roll off my shoulders, content to watch time pass as the village hummed with life. I sat in solitude, though the presence of the village remained reassuring against the horizon—a reminder that I was not alone, wherever this road might lead.
I was part of something bigger—not just a figure navigating the shades of existence within Montressa, but a thread woven into the communal tapestry of the world. The stillness and quiet of this place had filled my heart with peace and renewed strength, opening my mind to the possibilities that lay ahead.
The shade beneath the oak tree wrapped around me like a comforting embrace, gentle against the midday sun. Leaning back against the sturdy trunk, I watched the clouds drift lazily across the sky in the distance, feeling the cool earth beneath me. This quiet interlude was a balm, a moment suspended beyond the bounds of concern, allowing me to reflect and breathe.
From my shaded resting spot, I noticed a dust cloud forming on the horizon. With keen eyes, I observed a small caravan ambling toward Orrano—a procession of carts and a solitary carriage moving along the dirt path. My curiosity piqued, I stood and dusted off my cloak before making my way back to the town square, instinctively seeking shadows to blend into, despite how sparse they may be in the bright daylight with no tall buildings to cast them.
Upon reaching the town square, I positioned myself strategically. Hoping to glean anything familiar, or any unwelcome signs linking these travelers back to Montressa. My gaze flitted over each cart, studying the travelers and their weary figures. As the caravan rolled into the square, curious townsfolk gathered, eager to trade and share stories with the intrepid merchants who served as messengers between distant lands.
One cart bore a distinctive emblem: the Five Roses, entwined and flourishing—a sign of the well-respected Five Roses Merchant Association. I felt a measure of relief wash over me—a nod toward familiarity and credibility, and the lack of Montressa's guards. After confirming that no guards from Montressa emerged from the caravan, I edged closer, moving with an unobtrusive grace cultivated from years of stealth and observation.
I caught sight of a couple of rare races among the merchants—a deep red-skinned figure with hornes and another of shorter stature, I identified them as a Zarethyn and a Halfling. Seeing no immediate danger allowed me to inch nearer, my fur catching the light in perfect patches, a testament to my fox-like elegance that turned heads as I approached one of the travelers.
The merchant in the group, a portly human with a ruddy complexion and a tunic stained by dust and wares, regarded my approach with surprise that quickly shifted into wary curiosity. Many villagers’ attention had turned toward me as I slipped among the crowd, a quiet ripple following my confident steps.
“Greetings, traveler,” I ventured amiably, my voice calm and disarming. "Any news from down the road towards Montressa?"
The merchant’s expression held a mix of astonishment and intrigue as he studied me. “I’ve never seen anything like you before. What are you?”
“A Vulpin,” I offered, unable to mask the pride in my voice. Though I was different from everyone else, Elisa and the others taught me to be proud of what I am, it's also somewhat gratifying that I'm the first these folk get to speak with. “Unfortunately, I couldn't tell you where I hail from.”
His chuckle resonated, his gaze lingering on my sharp features for just a moment longer. “Vulpin, huh? As for Montressa, the roads south carry unsettling whispers: talk of an assassination in the noble estates. The city’s in a bit of a stir, that much is evident. But travelers rarely dwell on such tales, you know how quickly they fold into obscurity.”
I studied the man’s face, the merchant seemed to be speaking as if he didn't stay long and only passed through the large city. I suppose the Five Roses caravan must have a destination in mind and didn’t waste any time in the city. Though I maintained a composed fa?ade, his words settled heavily within me, rippling through my consciousness like drops of rain merging into a storm. The assassination had indeed reached an audience, and the muck of consequence was spreading its wide net, even if it's only rumors at the moment.
“The winds carry more than men’s secrets,” I mused, masking my anxiety behind metaphor. “What of Avarria? I plan to travel there soon. What kind of city is it?”
The merchant leaned against his cart, letting the conversation flow. “Ah, Avarria—a place bustling with trade and myriad tongues. It’s much larger than Orrano, yet it speaks with its own rhythm. Commerce is prevalent, it’s a sort of cultural hub due to all the merchants that stop to trade in the city. You’ll find exciting prospects should you path lead you there.”
This knowledge piqued my interest, a fresh diversion blooming with life and opportunity. “It sounds appealing. Are there many other races there besides humans?”
“Of course!” he replied, nodding with enthusiasm. “A spectacle beyond Montressa, the ruling nobles maintain a fair market in that region. You won’t find another of your kind there, though,” he added thoughtfully.
An implicit understanding blossomed between us in our exchange—a mutual acknowledgment of our education and the worlds we navigated. I turned to the merchant, my gratitude colored by sincerity. “You’ve offered more than I sought. For that, I’m grateful.”
He waved off the formalities with a hearty smile, easing the weight resting between us. “When you’ve walked this earth as long as we have, kindness pays off in unexpected ways. Safe travels to you, Vulpin.”
With a nod of appreciation, I began to retreat, allowing the pulse of the marketplace to envelop me once more. The breeze carried the scent of fresh produce, the murmur of bartering, and the quiet reassurance woven from the genuine connections I felt I was forming. Here, in Orrano, I was not unwelcome—not relegated to the periphery by fear or misunderstanding—and that thought filled me with cautious hope.
I wandered the square, observing the camaraderie that flourished in this humble village. People laughed, shared stories, and exchanged greetings, content in the simplicity and comfort they had carved from the land. As the afternoon sun began its descent, casting shadows across Orrano's cobblestones, I allowed myself a moment of appreciation. Though uncertainties loomed ahead, I found comfort in this simple destination with life’s essence and the promise of tomorrow.
The caravan continued its journey, carts rolling onward in the hands of satisfied travelers. As they gradually faded into the distance, I felt a sense of contentment within me—the horizon remained unchanged, vast as it has always been, echoing the potential for new paths, fresh journeys, and tales yet to be told.
Lingering a moment longer, I finally turned my attention back to the town, determined to explore Orrano in greater depth. The sun warmed my fur as I walked with newfound resolve, uplifted by the community’s welcoming light and the hope of discovering my place here or elsewhere.
A stirring sense of purpose propelled me forward, a realization that here—amid the embrace of simplicity—I might find both respite and refuge. As I meandered along the path to the inn, the blooming wildflowers lined the way, their delicate colors painting the air with inviting fragrances. Gentle breezes rustled through the leaves, creating a serene symphony of nature in harmony with the soft murmurs of the villagers going about their tasks.
The road before me unfurled like a rich tapestry woven by time's whims, an idyllic scene painted with the quiet energy of people engaging in daily life. Seasonal produce gleamed under the sun's warm embrace, while children skipped stones across a nearby pond, their laughter a buoyant melody that filled the afternoon air.
Pausing for a moment, I admired the emerald fields beyond the village, dotted with grazing livestock and swaying crops—a rural mosaic alive with the promise of harvest. My thoughts meandered back to Montressa, where a marketplace was not merely a place for exchange but a stage for the dance of intrigue. Traders and nobles alike spun webs of influence with every barter.
While Orrano echoed some of this rhythm, it was free from the complexities that had once ensnared me. Here, transactions were conducted not with cunning but with candor—a refreshing simplicity to which I found myself drawn.
Arriving back at the Sleepy Fern, I stepped into the welcoming embrace of the inn. The gentle hum of conversation enveloped me, a tapestry woven with the sounds of clinking mugs and the amiable banter of patrons. The air was thick with aromas of hearty fare—roasting meats, fresh bread, and fragrant herbs mingling in a symphony that made my mouth water.
Choosing a seat was both a challenge and a spectacle. The bar stools stood solemnly, wooden sentinels that taunted me for my height. With a smirk, I glanced over my options, then hopped skillfully to the closest bar stool before perching atop it, all without the seat toppling beneath me. My years of training and finesse had paid off yet again.
Old Milo approached with that warm smile of his, his presence as inviting as the mouthwatering smells wafting through the air. “Back for another meal, I see. What can I get for you today?”
As I contemplated my options, the ripe scents guided my decision. “A bowl of your stew, please, along with a thick slice of that bread I’ve been smelling since I walked in.”
The wait for my meal was brief but soothing, accompanied by the lively discussions of villagers who filled the space with warmth, exchanging glances and chuckles as they looked my way. My tail swished slowly behind me as I awaited the delicious, warm meal.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
When my food arrived, I was greeted by a hearty serving of beef stew, flecked with herbs and vegetables. A generously sized wedge of warm bread nestled next to it, its golden crust inviting. Navigating the meal with characteristic agility, I settled comfortably, taking in the delightful aroma—a blend of savory broth, earthy vegetables, and the unmistakable warmth of home-cooked beef.
The first mouthful exploded with flavor, transporting me to simpler times. The meat pulled apart easily, while the vegetables melted on my tongue like butter. I savored each bite, satisfaction illuminated by the joyful chatter resonating around me.
As I finished, I tuned into the nuances of my surroundings. The patrons seemed genuinely content; their lives interwoven by the delicate threads of shared experience. Conversation flowed with ease, encompassing everything from the intricacies of farming life to the broader mysteries of the world beyond.
Letting my mind wander through the possibilities, I pondered my path forward. Though I had initially seen Orrano as a temporary haven, I found myself captivated by its enduring charm and the timeless wisdom it imparted—a place where life’s pleasures were drawn not from grand gestures but from the quiet joy of togetherness.
As I set my spoon down with a satisfying clink against the bowl’s edge, Old Milo approached once more, noticing the look of contentment on my face. “Seems like that hit the spot,” he observed jovially, collecting the empty dish.
“It certainly did,” I admitted, my ear flicking in appreciation. “Thanks for another wonderful meal. Orrano truly knows how to take care of its visitors.”
Milo chuckled, a friendly pat on my shoulder conveying familiarity. “It’s what we do best. If you need anything more, you just let us know.”
It was strange being treated like this. Within the walls of Montressa, the only gestures one would receive were a sharp raised finger or peddlers attempting to draw you to their stall.
With a thankful nod, I lingered at the table for a moment, watching the interactions that flowed around me. Beyond the inn’s cozy confines, the village awaited—alive with the promise of discovery.
As I soaked in the simple yet profound joys of life in Orrano, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction laced with a quiet yearning for what lay ahead. The rest of the day unfolded leisurely, each moment carrying me deeper into the rhythm of village life.
Rising from my table, I made my way across the street to the general store—a haven of essentials and curiosities. Inside, I browsed an assortment of everyday goods—simple tools, woven baskets, and jars of preserves lining the shelves. A cluster of patrons bartered amiably with the storekeeper, their exchanges underscoring the village's tight-knit charm.
Across the road, the aroma of freshly baked bread drew me toward a nearby bakery. The establishment was modest, its wares proudly displayed atop wooden counters—a delightful variety of breads, pastries, and sweet confections. I couldn’t resist the pull of a warm, crusty loaf, purchased one and went about my walk, reveling in the knowledge that this simple pleasure would accompany me through the evening.
I ambled along the village’s thoroughfare, greeting villagers as they passed. I exchanged pleasantries and noted the subtle shifts in their demeanor—initial curiosity giving way to acceptance. This shift bolstered my resolve to find my place in their midst.
As the afternoon sun dipped low, I returned to the Sleepy Fern for dinner, the inn’s warm embrace becoming more familiar each visit. I dined quietly once more, savoring another satisfying meal—each bite reminding me of the bond I was gradually weaving with this community.
With twilight ushering the day toward its conclusion, I retreated to my room, stretching out on the welcoming comfort of my bed. There, enveloped in tranquility, I allowed the day’s experiences to flow over me, carrying me into a restful sleep.
The next few days slipped past with an elegant simplicity, each one marked by gentle exchanges shared with the inhabitants of Orrano. Each morning, I awoke with the sunrise, feeling a renewed sense of purpose coursing through me as I charted my path through the village in search of camaraderie and understanding.
I often found myself returning to the fields and farms, where farmers toiled beneath the sun's benevolent gaze, their hands turning the earth’s gifts into sustenance. Engaging in conversations with them, I gleaned insights into the land's rhythms and the unwavering commitment of those who nurtured it. My long, fluffy tail swayed lazily behind me as I gestured while talking with an older human woman about the crops here, lending me an aura of animated enthusiasm.
On this particular morning, I sensed a change in the villages mood as I walked through the streets. The sun's gathering warmth drew me to the town square, and I cherished the predictable ebb and flow of life in the marketplace. Absorbed in the hustle and bustle, I overheard a conversation that rekindled my keen attentiveness.
A farmer, his voice laden with agitation, spoke animatedly to a small gathering of villagers. “Someone’s been after my chickens!” he declared, arms flailing over his head, vexation evident in every syllable. “Three nights now, they’ve come and gone, leaving not a feather behind.”
Intrigued, I edged closer, my ears perked up, taking in the distressed gaze of the farmer. An element of mystery wove its way through the village, sparking my interest.
“It ain’t just a misplaced fowl or two,” the farmer continued, despair lacing his words. “This is something else. Something… sinister.”
My gaze intensified, focused and determined. However, the farmer’s eyes soon met my fox-like visage, suspicion gleaming in them like a beacon. “And why is it,” he challenged, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction, “that the chickens start disappearing just when this little creature arrives?”
The air shifted, tension rising as the crowd buzzed with swirling murmurs. My heart clenched at the accusation; its sting was palpable, but I understood that fear often thrived in the unknown.
Undaunted, I stepped forward, infusing my tone with confidence. “I may look the part, but I assure you, I’d much rather pay for a hearty meal at the inn than dine on a few dusty chickens.” I met the farmer's gaze, intrigue mingled with conviction in my voice. “If you’ll allow me, I would like to help you get to the bottom of this.”
My offer hung in the air, silence punctuated by the crowd’s growing curiosity. Gradually, I noticed the farmer’s suspicion ebb, replaced with a guarded willingness to look beyond appearances. A chance—a fragile unspoken agreement—had formed to trust unexpected aid.
“If you mean it, stranger,” the farmer replied cautiously, “then I’ll take you up on the offer. My livelihood—my family’s wellbeing—depends on it.”
I inclined my head to look at the man, gratitude surging within me at the opportunity to mend and make new acquaintances. “I’ll see what I can find,” I promised, my voice infused with earnest resolve.
The subtle nods of encouragement from other villagers wrapped around me, signaling their collective trust and bolstering my intent. As the crowd dispersed, I grasped that I had forged an opening—and perhaps something more—within the untangled web of village life.
With the unexpected task before me, I found myself drawn into the rhythm of my investigation. It had been a while since I’d engaged in anything requiring my well-honed skills. The sun glared down from a cerulean sky, guiding me toward the farmer’s land—a modest stretch of countryside once accustomed to tranquility and order. But now, discord had nested within its borders, and I was determined to root out the source.
I crouched low, the cool, damp earth beneath me grounding my senses as I investigated the area around the chicken coop. I eyed the chicken within their pen, appearing distressed, and likely because of my figure. Dawn’s early light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows that danced across the grass. The familiar earthy scent melded with something sharper and more unsettling—a tang of disturbed soil mixed with a faint metallic scent that hinted at a hidden struggle.
With keen eyes, I scrutinized the scene—feather-strewn ground and the coop's wooden boards bearing silent witness to the chaos that had unfolded. Kneeling closer, I drew in a breath, allowing the scents to saturate my senses. There was a strange odor: a sharp mix of damp stone mingled with a musty scent that clung tenaciously to the air.
Moving carefully around the coop, my body low and instinctively silent, I sought to avoid any telltale crunch of leaves or twigs underfoot. The rustle of branches above me blended with the distant calls of morning birds—a comforting echo of normalcy amidst the strangeness.
As I rounded the back of the coop, deeper disturbances in the earth caught my eye—paw prints unfamiliar and irregular. They were small but distinct, leading off into the dense underbrush beyond the clearing. My heart quickened, a mixture of excitement and caution swelling within me. Whatever predator had been lurking nearby had left a trail. It may be under unfortunate circumstances, but I've been wanting something exciting to happen, maybe life here would be a little too slow for me.
I eased along the tracks, each step measured and deliberate, my instincts turning me into a seamless extension of the surroundings. The underbrush thickened, the scent intensifying. My senses crackled with anticipation—the suspenseful urgency thrumming beneath the surface.
Then suddenly, the snap of a twig pierced the silence, and I froze, instincts lurching into alertness. My body remained still; senses attuned to catch the slightest movement. I scanned the shadows, my mind alive with potential threats and the intrigue of the unknown.
With my heart steadying, I resumed my careful tracking, intent on unraveling the mystery unearthing before me. The scent intensified; a nearly overwhelming mix of animal musk combined with something unsettlingly foreign. Ahead, I spotted freshly disturbed leaves and soil—evidence of recent activity.
Finding cover behind a cluster of low-hanging branches, I held my breath, surveying the scene beyond. My eyes locked on a dim clearing up ahead—the crude remnants of an encampment scattered with discarded tools and bones. The lingering smell of charred meat clung heavily to the air.
I felt that familiar thrill of discovery mixed with caution as I observed. I was close to uncovering the truth behind the village's troubles. Weaving forward in the underbrush, I moved like a whisper—silent, precise, and undetectable.
Through the gaps in the foliage, I glimpsed the source of the chaos—a small, scaled figure that stood only slightly taller than myself, a Kobold, busily tending to a small, smoldering fire. Its scaly green skin glimmered in the sunlight, and I could see it tearing eagerly at something with its sharp claws.
A resolve settled within me. This was no ordinary animal intrusion; this was a deliberate act by a sentient being. Answers lay hidden within this creature, a promising lead to illuminate the darkness that had touched Orrano.
I knew I had to act quickly, strategizing my approach. The Kobold looked desperate and potentially dangerous, and I needed to be cunning. Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself, heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through my veins.
As the sun cast a faint ray through the overhead canopy, I steadied my breathing, senses alive with anticipation. There it was, framed against the flickering remnants of the campfire, the Kobold hunched and focused on its grim meal. Shadows played across its scaly form, adding both menace and pitiable qualities to the scene. I knew this was my chance to resolve the villagers' fears and uncover the truth behind the mysterious attacks.
With grace and precision, I began to close the distance between myself and the Kobold. Each step became a careful calculation—my weight distributed between my toes and tail, ensuring my approach remained silent. My keen eyes remained trained on the creature, watching the twitch of its tail and the alert shift of its pointed ears.
As I moved, I felt the rhythm of the forest envelop me, each soft step in harmony with the tranquil day. The world around me narrowed to my immediate surroundings, reducing distractions to whispers as I crowded my thoughts with determination. The instincts that had helped me survive in the dangerous recesses of Montressa now guided me through this living tapestry of foliage.
Drawing closer, I gauged the Kobold’s posture—its complete engrossment in its task, oblivious to the danger approaching. A mist of resolve crystallized over my intentions. Relying on the elemental teachings of my mentors, I aligned my instincts for the opportune moment.
When I was but a few feet away, I shifted subtly, my soft paws brushing against the forest floor. In one seamless motion, I drew my dagger—its surface reassuringly cold against my palm. I paused for a heartbeat, assessing the Kobold’s movements—then lunged forward with decisive purpose.
The strike was swift and precise, aimed not at causing harm but engagement. Though surprised, the Kobold flinched and scrambled, a yelp escaping its maw as it attempted to evade my attack. Yet years of training honed my reflexes into sharp perfection. I did not strike with rage but with firm intention, parrying the creature’s attempts to swipe at me before swiftly pressing an elbow onto the Kobold’s shoulder, forcing it to the ground.
It thrashed and clawed, but I maintained my hold, feeling its struggles begin to weaken beneath the weight of my control. With a final burst of focused effort, I applied a calculated strike to the Kobold’s temple with the butt of my blade, rendering it unconscious. I hovered over its still form, breath steadying, feeling the rush of victory at having secured my captive. Damn, what an adrenaline rush. It's not usually this easy to subdue a target. My heart still beat rapidly in my chest, and I could feel myself unconsciously panting as my actions caused the heat of the day to envelop me in its embrace.
With purpose, I inspected the clearing, uncovering evidence of the Kobold’s nefarious deeds. Feathers and half-devoured bones of chickens lay strewn about, a silent testimony to the creature's recent raids. Yet even as I surveyed the scene, a gnawing sense of unease nibbled at my consciousness, hinting that this solitary creature might not be acting alone.
The flicker of resolution sparked within me, fueled by my burgeoning commitment to the village I had begun to cherish. Unwilling to leave anything to chance, I devised a plan to expose this threat further.
Though the Kobold was slightly larger and heavier than I was, I persevered, tying the creature with lengths of cordage it had nearby. Once secured, I grasped the cord and looped it across my chest, utilizing the forest floor’s dampness to slide the Kobold’s unconscious form efficiently. My muscles strained against the weight, but my determination blazed as I forged ahead through the brush. This lizard is damn heavy!
With calculated movements, I navigated the twists of the forest, guiding the Kobold's body through the underbrush with practiced patience. My breath came steady and measured, tuning my motions to the natural cadence of the trees around me. Despite my resolve, I was aware that the circumstances held many unknowns, yet I pressed on.
As I emerged from the depths of the trees and into a clearing, the weight of my task shifted; the Kobold stirred with faint signs of consciousness. I halted briefly, leaning in to ensure the bindings remained secure around its small form. The bonds held firm—an assurance of safety amidst my vigilant awareness.
Continuing toward the heart of Orrano, I pushed past feelings of fatigue, driven by my desire to alleviate the growing fear brewing within the community. The landscape shifted around me, the edges of daylight softening, illuminating my path with renewed clarity and purpose.
Approaching the village square, I noticed how townspeople buzzed about, closing their stalls for the day. As I neared my destination, the Kobold’s restless squirming grew—from a meaningless shiver into conscious awareness. Its eyes opened wide, and I sensed the dawning realization within it.
“Wha—what happening?” croaked the Kobold, its words halting but clear—a common, yet broken language bridging the gap between us. Mistrust filled its gaze, flickering with vague panic as it scuffled against its bindings.
I paused, adjusting my stance to meet the creature’s eye. “You’ve been causing trouble in this village,” I stated calmly. “I need to ensure the safety of the people here, especially since they suspect me.”
The Kobold blinked, confusion mingling with fear. Despite its predicament, I detected a glint of cunning behind its eyes. “There more of me—in the forest,” it whispered, hesitantly forthcoming.
My suspicions confirmed, I leaned closer. “You’ll tell the villagers what you know,” I instructed, firm yet not unkind. “Perhaps we can resolve this without further harm, but if you continue to resist, I won’t hesitate to silence you.”
The Kobold hesitated but saw little choice in its predicament, nodding reluctantly. Its acquiescence was enough for me, a thread of hope tugging at my thoughts.
Guided by stoic determination, I pulled my captive toward the village lanes, my fur brushing against the warm evening air. The world around me grew lively as I entered town.
Dragging the bound Kobold toward the village square, the sunlight began to soften, casting golden hues over the thatched rooftops and cobblestone paths. The afternoon waned into early evening; villagers finished their chores, while children played with ragged balls at the edges of the square, their laughter a light counterpoint to the day's burdens.
I panted as I dragged the Kobold into the middle of town. I decided that the village square was far enough and sat down on the bricks to catch my breath.
The presence of the Kobold quickly drew attention. People paused in their tasks, gathering around with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension shaping their expressions. I stood at the center, a small fox-like figure juxtaposed against Orrano’s rustic charm, with my captured quarry next to me.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a group of men approaching—four in total, clad in mismatched light armor that spoke to both utility and improvisation. Their leader, a burly man who I previously met named Tobin, exuded an air of authority, his grizzled beard and solid posture complemented by the axe slung across his back.
“Well now, what have we got here?” Tobin’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the Kobold. The other guards exchanged glances, uncertain how to proceed.
I met Tobin’s gaze, gesturing toward the captured creature. “This... is the chicken thief... and likely the cause of the recent livestock attacks,” I explained between panting breaths, sensing the flicker of disbelief from the onlookers. “There are more in the forest.”
Tobin’s eyebrows shot up, surprise creasing his features, yet his stance remained firm. “I suppose you’ve got proof?” he inquired, skepticism lacing his voice.
I nodded. “This one here,” I nudged the Kobold lightly with my foot, “was feasting near a makeshift camp... in the woods. I found evidence of their raids—feathers, bones, remnants of their meals. It said there are more.”
The Kobold squirmed, glancing at Tobin doubtfully. “More of us,” it mumbled, recognizing the futility of deceit amid the crowd’s expectant gazes. “Hungry. We just want food.”
I stood up as I regained control of my breathing.
“More camped in the forest, you say?” Tobin turned his attention back to me, wrinkling his brow as if the notion itself needed further inspection.
“That’s right,” I confirmed. “Whatever their reasons, they won’t stop at just chickens. You’d do well to secure your village.” I sure am glad I read those stories of Kobolds raiding villages. This could have become much worse.
Tobin scratched his stubbled chin thoughtfully, glancing around at the gathering crowd. Their shifting expressions revealed worry and curiosity alike. “Better get the mayor,” he finally decided, waving one of his men off to fetch the town’s leader.
The dusk deepened, settling deeper hues of blue into the world as Mayor Arlin appeared, flanked by a group of villagers whispering among themselves. Mayor Arlin was a stout, middle-aged man with an affable smile that belied a keen mind. His neatly trimmed beard and fine cloth tunic marked him as someone of both care and significance.
“Well then, this is quite the spectacle,” Mayor Arlin commented, sizing up the situation in a glance. He approached me, extending an affable nod that conveyed interest.
I relayed the situation concisely. “You seem to have an issue with Kobolds raiding for food. I captured this one near their camp, but there are others—a potential threat that might escalate if not addressed.”
Mayor Arlin’s brow furrowed, the looming threat weighing heavily on his mind. “We appreciate your efforts. Not everyone would bother with such problems,” he acknowledged. “But clearly, this can’t go on. I agree with your assessment.”
I straighten my posture, “If you could offer me support, I could head to Avarria. There should be guilds there with people skilled at handling situations like this, or at least the city guard.” Mentioning the guards, I realized that they may have received word of a fox-like assassin from Montressa, but it was too late to back out. Gods, please let there be some sort of guild there that can handle this. I don’t need to be apprehended so soon.
“Indeed,” Mayor Arlin agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “We lack the resources to address such a threat here, but if you secure help, it would alleviate our concerns.” Hope flickered as I sensed a weight lifting from his shoulders.
“Funds, too,” I added. “For whatever group might assist. Unfortunately, I do not have the funds to provide that for the town at the moment.”
Mayor Arlin fished a small leather pouch from his belt, handing it to me. The clink of coinage inside sounded like a promise. “This should cover initial expenses,” he assured me, a note of trust thickening the air. “Do what you can for us, and I’m sure the villagers will warm to your presence.” The mayor seemed to be a little too trusting. I don't plan on running off with the village's money, so I suppose it’s fine.
As Tobin and the other guards prepared to lead the Kobold toward a crude cage that was brought over, I watched it go, noting the sullen resignation across its narrow face. Before they could take it from sight, I offered a final question.
“When did you arrive?” I asked, gauging the creature’s demeanor as a mixture of desperation and comprehension bloomed behind its eyes.
“Before the last dark moon,” it replied flatly. “We tried… to keep hidden.”
That’s less than two weeks ago, before I arrived.
I nod, absorbing the information without animosity—understanding both the instinct of survival and necessity. “If there’s anything that might help us find the others, now’s your chance to tell.”
Yet, the Kobold merely shrugged, no further revelations emerging beyond the silent turn of its head.
I feel slightly guilty that we're going to attack a group of sentient creatures that are just trying to survive. Though, knowing that they would do anything to survive—including murdering several villagers without a second thought—I figure that it's something I can feel less guilty about.
As the villagers dispersed and the guards left, I felt an unusual pull to the village—a sense of belonging that was unique and untarnished by my past.
Once the hustle diminished, I purchased some travel food at the familiar general store—a loaf of bread covered in herbs, some dried meat, and sweet preserves gifted by a thankful vendor, their gratitude palpable within the exchange.
Returning to the Sleepy Fern as twilight gracefully eased into night, I felt a calm settle deep within. The inn, with its modest warmth, welcomed me like an old friend. I enjoyed a brief, gratifying meal, bidding a quiet farewell to Old Milo as I ascended to my room.
Lulled by the gentle murmur of the town below, I listened to the hum of life—a reminder of tomorrow's promise—as I drifted into the embrace of sleep beneath my comfortable wool blanket.
