Morning light filtered through the cracks in the heavy wooden shutters of The Gilded Tankard, spilling golden rays across the rough-hewn tables and straw-strewn floor. Erik awoke to the distant sound of Blackstone Outpost coming alive, merchants opening their stalls, armor-clad guards swapping night watches with bleary-eyed yawns, and roosters crowing atop the stable fence. He stretched in the small private room the Iron Wolves had been given for the night, feeling the pleasant dull ache of yesterday's battle and celebration in his muscles.
On the cot across from him, Finn pulled a blanket over his face with a groan. "Light above, it's morning already?" came the muffled whine. Erik couldn't help but chuckle softly. The young rogue had indulged in plenty of ale at the celebration; now he was paying the price.
"Rise and shine," Erik said, voice still a bit husky with sleep. He sat up and swung his legs to the floor. His boots, cleaned of last night's mud by some kind soul (perhaps Lyra), sat at his bedside. As he laced them, Erik took stock. His cloak still carried faint smudges of ash from Graystone, and the bruise on his ribs where an undead had bashed him was tender but healing. Lyra's magic had seen to the worst of their injuries, and a night's rest did the rest. He actually felt… good. The new runes that had burned themselves into his being seem to have settled, lending his body a resilience that shrugged off the minor aches of a late night.
Finn peeked one eye out, bloodshot but alert enough for mischief. "You look far too cheerful this morning," he grumbled. "Don't tell me heroes don't get hangovers." He sat up slowly, pressing his palms to his temples. His dune-colored hair stuck out in all directions like a ruffled bird.
Erik shrugged with an amused grin. "Maybe the gods decided to spare me." In truth, he had a slight headache, but nothing a bit of water and breakfast wouldn't cure. He tossed Finn's leather jerkin to him. "Come on, we're expected at the guildhall."
Finn caught the jerkin and sniffed it, making a face. "Ugh, smells like beer and sweat." He began tugging on his gear regardless. "Alright, alright. But if Lady Marienne speaks too loudly, I may keel over."
A short while later, the two made their way downstairs. The tavern's common room was quiet at this early hour. A few other adventurers dozed with heads pillowed on their arms at one table, and the barkeep was sweeping up last night's debris. The rich aroma of baking bread wafted from the kitchen. Erik's stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since the festivities.
By the entrance, Darius and Lyra were already waiting. Darius stood with arms crossed, every inch the stoic knight despite a faint redness around his eyes that hinted he hadn't slept much. His plate armor had been polished clean of yesterday's grime, the wolf's-head emblem on his surcoat neatly brushed. Lyra, beside him, was a picture of gentle morning grace, alert and tidy in a fresh linen blouse and her pale cleric's robes. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and though shadows under her eyes showed lingering fatigue, she smiled at Erik and Finn's approach.
"You two look rough," Lyra teased softly. In her hands was a steaming clay cup. The scent of herbs drifted from it. "I expected Finn to shuffle in like a zombie, but Erik, you have bags under your eyes too."
Erik rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. "I suppose a warrior reborn still needs a full night's sleep." He eyed the cup. "What's that? Smells minty."
Lyra held it out to him. "Herbal tonic. It will clear the fog from your mind. I got up early to prepare it at the chapel."
Erik accepted the cup gratefully, taking a careful sip. It was bitter and pungent, but a soothing warmth spread through him immediately. "Thank you." He passed it to Finn, who gulped a big mouthful. The rogue shuddered at the taste but managed a weak smile afterward.
"Bless you, Lyra. You're a savior," Finn said, color returning to his face.
Darius let out a low chuckle. "She is at that." He pushed open the tavern door and gestured. "We should get to the guildhall. Lady Marienne sent word she wants to see us first thing."
Cool morning air greeted them as they stepped into the street. Blackstone Outpost was fully awake now: a blacksmith's hammer clanged rhythmically somewhere near the market, and a pair of town guards led a mule-drawn cart of cabbages down the road. The sky was crisp blue, one of the two moons still faintly visible low on the horizon. Erik felt a strange sense of nostalgia looking around, as if he'd lived here for years, not mere weeks. In a way, the original Erik had called this fortress town home for a long time. Those half-remembered feelings intertwined with his own now.
They passed the bulletin board in the square where papers fluttered with various notices. Just yesterday morning, though it felt like ages ago, they had stood here looking for contracts before the Graystone alarm came. Today, no one from the Iron Wolves even glanced at the mundane postings for rat hunts or caravan escorts. They had far weightier matters on their minds.
The Adventurers' Guildhall occupied a stout longhouse near the center of Blackstone, its log walls reinforced with stone buttresses. A painted wooden sign above the door bore the guild's emblem: a crossed sword and torch. As the Iron Wolves entered, they found the spacious hall buzzing with activity despite the early hour. Clusters of adventurers, some in armor, some in robes, murmured among themselves. Erik caught snippets of conversation: ", hearing about more monsters on the roads, ", ", the capital's sending inspectors, ", ", Brave Blades took off at first light, can't blame them, ". There was an undercurrent of unease. Normally the guildhall was rowdy or jovial in the mornings, full of boasting about last night's tavern exploits or haggling over loot. Today felt different.
Behind the front counter, a pair of guild clerks were sorting parchments and stamping seals. One looked up as they approached. "Iron Wolves? Lady Marienne will see you in the council room," the young man said, gesturing to an oak door on the hall's far side. Clearly, they were expected.
Exchanging looks, Erik and his companions crossed the hall. A few familiar faces nodded to them. Zara, the spear-wielder who had joined them in Graystone, leaned against a pillar chatting with another adventurer; she gave Darius a respectful salute. Holt, the burly blacksmith-mercenary, sat on a bench chugging water and wincing, nursing his own hangover, no doubt. He managed a grin and a thumbs-up at Finn. Finn returned a weak wave.
Darius rapped his knuckles on the heavy door, and at a muffled "Enter," he pushed it open. The Iron Wolves filed into the guild's council chamber, a smaller, private meeting room lined with maps and shelves of ledgers. The air smelled of old paper and candle wax. Lady Marienne stood at the head of a long table, flanked by two officers of the town guard and, to Erik's surprise, Blackstone's governor Lady Seraphine.
Marienne cut an imposing figure as always, tall and weathered, with iron-gray hair pulled into a braid and a black eyepatch over her left eye etched with a silver guild insignia. Though officially retired from adventuring, she carried a longsword at her hip and radiated authority. Governor Seraphine was a slender woman in a modest burgundy gown, her face lined with worry, twisting a ring on her finger. Both women offered slight smiles of greeting as the party entered.
"You're right on time," Lady Marienne said briskly. "Come, have a seat."
Erik and the others took the wooden chairs opposite them. The two guard officers, one an older captain with a scar down his cheek, the other a younger sergeant, stood at attention near the back wall, listening silently.
Darius inclined his head respectfully. "Guildmaster. Governor."
Lyra folded her hands in her lap, posture demure but eyes attentive. Finn, still somewhat pale, slouched until Erik shot him a warning glance, and he straightened up.
Marienne wasted no time. "First, let me commend you all again for the Graystone mission. The survivors owe you their lives, and Blackstone's people are singing the Iron Wolves' praises." Her stern demeanor softened briefly as she met each of their gazes. "You've done this outpost proud."
Darius nodded in gratitude. "We're honored to serve."
Lady Seraphine spoke up, voice low and earnest. "Truly. Many refugee families from Graystone arrived in the night. Hearing how you braved an army of undead to save them…" She shook her head, auburn curls brushing her cheek. "It gives people hope in these dark times." Her eyes lingered on Lyra. "My own nephew was among those you healed, Lady Lyra. I thank you."
Lyra blushed at the formal address. "Anyone in my position would have done the same," she said softly. "I'm just glad we could help."
Marienne's eye flicked to a leather-bound tome lying on the table before her, the necromancer's journal. "Your rescue may have saved more than that village. We've begun deciphering this." She tapped the book with a finger. "Much is written in code or an archaic tongue, but what we've gleaned is troubling."
Erik leaned forward slightly, heart quickening. This was what they all had wondered about since the battle: who orchestrated the undead attack and why?
"From what our clerics and scholars deciphered overnight," Marienne continued, "the necromancer was acting on orders. The journal contains correspondence, referencing someone titled 'the Herald of the Abyss.'" She let that sink in. "It seems this Herald commanded the necromancer to amass undead and strike at weak settlements on the frontier. Graystone was specifically named."
"The Abyss…" Darius murmured, brow furrowing. The older knight shared a quick glance with Lyra, who held her holy symbol of light tightly.
"Yes," Lady Seraphine added, voice trembling slightly. "Our historians say the Abyss is an old word for the dark realm of monsters. An ancient prophecy in the capital's archives speaks of a Dungeon Lord achieving Ascension, a process that would unleash horrors upon the land. Most thought it a myth."
A chill crept up Erik's spine. Ascension. The name for the process was so grandiose, so perfectly villainous, it felt like it was lifted directly from one of the fantasy novels he used to devour.
Finn cleared his throat, trying to mask his unease with flippancy. "Herald of the Abyss, huh? Lovely title. Does that come with a pension plan?" His joke fell flat; no one smiled. He shrank back slightly. "Sorry."
Marienne managed a thin smile. "The humor is appreciated, Finn, but this is indeed serious. If an organized force is directing monster attacks, we could be facing the beginning of a coordinated war on the kingdom."
Darius's deep voice cut through the heavy silence. "What would you have us do, Guildmaster?"
Marienne nodded approvingly. She reached into a satchel and drew out a rolled parchment bearing a blue wax seal of the Royal Capital. "At midnight, we received this missive via mage-sending from Silverkeep." Using a small knife, she broke the seal and unfurled the scroll. "Blackstone's guild branch is ordered to report all findings directly to the Crown. In light of the Graystone incident, the King's Council requests an experienced party be dispatched to Silverkeep to brief them and aid in investigating these events."
She placed the scroll on the table. Governor Seraphine gave a wan smile. "I recommended your group myself. So did Lady Marienne. Few in Blackstone have faced what you have and lived."
Erik felt a strange mix of pride and anxiety. Not long ago he'd been an analyst staring at spreadsheets; now they were asking him, asking them, to stand before the King's Council. He watched as Darius accepted the scroll and scanned it, then carefully rolled it back up.
"We will carry out our duty," Darius said solemnly. "Whatever information we have, including that journal, we'll deliver it safely to Silverkeep."
Marienne exhaled, a hint of relief in her posture. "I expected no less. Time is of the essence. The journey to Silverkeep from here is about two weeks on foot. I won't recommend horses. Their scent attracts predators, and their panic at the first sign of trouble will announce your position for miles. Besides," she added, her gaze sweeping over Erik's powerful frame, "a trained adventurer can often set a faster, more discreet pace through the wilds than any beast of burden."
"We'll leave as soon as possible," the knight assured.
Marienne held up the necromancer's journal. "We will make a copy of the most pertinent pages for our records, but I want you to take the original to the capital. There are mages in Silverkeep's court better suited to unlock its secrets fully." She passed the heavy tome to Lyra, who accepted it gingerly.
Lyra hugged the book to her, squaring her shoulders. "I'll guard it with my life."
Lady Seraphine stepped forward, concern etched on her brow. "Be careful out there. The roads haven't been safe of late. I'm dispatching a letter to accompany you as well, a letter of introduction to Lord Commander Armand at Silverkeep, so you won't be waylaid as unknown mercenaries." She slid a sealed envelope across the table toward Darius. "And one more thing… Captain Alain of our town guard rode out before dawn with a small escort. He carries a short report of Graystone and was to scout the road ahead. If you encounter him, join forces. He's to help clear the way if needed."
"We will find him if we can," Darius said. "And we won't fail. Blackstone, Graystone… all the people depending on us, they'll have our protection."
There was a moment of reverent silence. Marienne squared her shoulders, back to business. "You have the rest of today to prepare. Frankly, you've all earned a day to recover, and it will only make you more effective on the journey. Get any supplies you need. Brogan at the forge has been instructed to prioritize your equipment repairs."
At this, Erik's ears perked up. Brogan, the town blacksmith, might finally be able to take a close look at Erythrael.
Marienne went on, "Also, if there's anything you require in terms of potions or enchanted items, let the quartermaster know. The guild will subsidize a small portion, considering this is an official request from the Crown."
Finn actually grinned, but Darius's steady presence kept everyone grounded. "We'll be prudent," the knight promised. He rose from his chair, the others following suit. "Thank you for your support and trust."
Marienne came around the table, clasping Darius's forearm firmly. "The trust is well-placed. You're a fine leader, Darius, and you have a fine team." She turned her gaze to each of them. "The road to Silverkeep is the first step. I suspect your journey will carry you far beyond, before this is over. Keep your wits sharp, and your bonds with each other even sharper."
Darius bowed his head. "We will."
One by one, the Iron Wolves filed out. As Erik passed Lady Marienne, she touched his shoulder lightly. "And Erik, a word." Her voice dropped. He paused, meeting her single keen eye. "Fame can be as dangerous as any monster," she said, echoing the warning from the night before. "Already your name is becoming known, and that axe you carry…" She glanced toward Erythrael. "Just be on guard. Not all will greet rising heroes kindly."
Erik absorbed her words, a weight settling in his chest. She was right. He'd stepped into a larger world now. "I understand," he replied quietly. "I'll be careful."
Marienne squeezed his shoulder, then released him. "Good. Now off with you. There's much to do and little time."