Friday, July 31

The quest truly begins… (Original Fiction by Xan)

After the group got familiar with one another and their new equipment, Philomar began to speak. “I know that this is a hard adjustment for some of you.” He winked at Mayvn and then looked to Solcloud. “For others of you, it is your life’s journey. However, fate has brought you together for a reason. I hope that I may be of some assistance in your journey. To the north of here is a town called Gleorn. This town may have answers to who you were before the slave train as well as how you can stop slavery in the area. I wish I could go with you, but my job is freeing those who travel through my lands. However, let me assist you in your journey by creating a passageway for you to arrive at Gleorn more swiftly. But before you go, you will need this.” He winked his eyes and a chest appeared before his feet. “This will help you on your journey. It is not a normal treasure chest. This one is made to be carried as a pack, and for someone as large and as strong as Zander, it will serve your group well.” With a flick of his wrist and a wriggle of his nose, a portal opens up before the four adventurers. “Safe journey to you all, I hope you find what you are looking for.”

With a handshake, a nod, a pat on the back and a firm punch on the shoulder the brave group stepped through the portal. On the other side lay the gates to the large city of Gleorn. The party looks to one another for direction, the large half-ogre grins and walks towards the gates and the guards. The other three follow behind like baby ducks following their mother. People hustle by and give the giant ample room as he makes his approach, making it easier for the party to follow in his mighty footsteps. One of the gate guards looked up and shuttered at the sight of a peculiar looking man with a hammer emblazoned on his chest.

“Good day, my friends.” The cleric booms with a smile and a wave. “This is a mighty city, is there a chapel of Othr, herein?”

The other guard at the gates looked at his companion as he chokes on his answer. “N-n-no,” the lead guard stutters. “There be no religion in these walls.” The claim seemed less than credible. “Please go about your business and be gone.” He gained his composure as he spoke with more auOthrity. “No preaching in the streets and no sermons in the inns. Make your purchases and leave.”

The cleric folded his mighty, metal covered arms while his hammer dangled from his belt. “I suggest you take a lighter tone with me, sir.” He continued with a sneer. “I mean no harm. Tell me, neighbor, what kind of goods are sold here?”

The guards laughed at the comment. “Why everyone knows that Gleorn is a slave town. I thought you suggested that I be your neighbor.” The guard laughed as he nudged his companion. “Ain’t you be here for some slaves to work a vineyard or clean your monastery?”

“I beg your pardon! Othr may be a god of war, but he also believes in being rewarded for a hard days work. What an unpardonable act! How dare you…”

The guard cuts him off. “No preaching in the streets. Be on your way.”

Zander glowers at the two smaller men and chokes up one final request. “Where is the local inn, I need rest.”

“Over there.” The guard points slightly down the road, a wooden sign in the shape of a tankard of ale swings in the breeze. “Off with you now, we have work to do.” The guards turn their backs to the giant and return to their posts.

Zander turns to the group, “I don’t think we’ll get much more out of these worthless men. Let’s try at the inn.”

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