Gyre stood and walked to the edge of the cobbled path, a smile on his face. He waved to Sam.

“Did you find the treasure?” Said Riben as he jumped to his feet.

“Sort of,” Sam replied with a shrug. “The afternoon’s still young. Let’s keep moving. I’ll explain as we go.”

Gyre and Riben nodded in affirmation and the three men continued their journey through the mire.

As they walked, Sam explained in detail the sunken boat and the locket. Riben seemed pleased by Sam’s ultimate choice, but Gyre looked ruffled.

To Gyre, a magic artifact was worth a year’s salary. It wasn’t something to be tossed out on a sentimental whim. The ‘B’ ranker decided then he needed to teach his friend Sam the value of gold.

The remainder of the swampland passed by in a flash. The trees began to grow thicker, more robust, and color returned to the landscape. The gray of death and decay bloomed into the greens of life, and birdsong echoed in the evening air, calling to the end of the day.

The sun grew long on the horizon. Dusk approached.

-

“It’s a shame, since we’re only a few hours away from an inn,” said Gyre as he set up his tenting.

“It can’t be helped,” said Riben.

“If we hadn’t stopped for the Will-O-Wisp, we’d have made it to the inn before sundown,” Gyre snarked. Sam stumbled at the piercing words, tripping over his fur bedding.

Riben cracked a smile and, soon enough, all three men started to laugh and make merry. What did it matter if they slept outdoors one extra day? They were in no hurry. What was the point of an adventure if one didn’t take pleasure in the journey?

With a campfire rolling, Gyre shared stories of his past adventures. It was only during these times of storytelling that he truly seemed to come alive. He told the tale of his ‘B’ rank advancement, earned through a battle with a Rock Troll.

Sam listened with attentive ears. He loved stories, they often caused forgotten memories to resurface. It was therapeutic, in a sense. He pondered on it. For thousands of years humans shared stories by word of mouth. It was the first method of recording history, even. For a very long time in the Tutorial, Sam had gone without such mental stimulation. To him, listening to stories made him feel human. It pumped life into his veins.

After Gyre’s stories, Riben started to sing. He sang a ballad—the story of Rictor the Righteous—a pious man who lived long, long ago. Sam clapped to keep beat. Gyre poked the fire, keeping it going, and the sparks danced in tune with Riben’s voice.

In the story, Rictor the Righteous had been brought to the edge of a volcano to confront his foe and rescue his wife and daughter. The villain appeared, holding two ropes. Rictor’s wife was held over the volcano’s entrance by one, and his daughter was held by the other rope over a pit of spears. Faced with the ultimate choice, Rictor only had time to save one.

But Rictor wasn’t alone. He made friends along his journey. An old man appeared and saved Rictor’s wife while a young dragon swooped down and rescued Rictor’s daughter.

The villain was distraught. He had assumed no one would help Rictor. He assumed the old man and the dragon would rather reap profits back in the city. He underestimated the love in the hearts of other living beings, for he had never known such a thing.

The story ended with Rictor trying to save the villain from his own blackened heart.

And so the Ballad of Rictor the Righteous ended.

“Wait,” said Sam. “It can’t end like that! What happened? Did Rictor reform the villain? Did the villain change his ways, or did he fight to the end?”

“I’m not sure,” said Riben. “The song of Rictor is ancient, but the ending always changes. In some of them he kills the villain, in others he saves the villain… But those are newer endings. The true ending passed down through the years is the incomplete one.”

“That’s dumb!” Said Sam.

“It’s art,” replied Riben with a grin. “We know Rictor’s family members were saved, but we don’t know if the villain was saved. I like to think he was.”

Gyre raised his own voice, “I don’t think the villain was saved. His heart was too black. He needed to be killed.”

“His backstory was so tragic, though. I really feel bad for him. I like to think his heart grew three sizes and he changed that day, and became friends with Rictor,” said Riben.

The three continued their discussion of Rictor the Righteous well into the evening. Sam took the first watch, grumbling all the while over the story. He felt hollow, as if something important was missing from his heart. Sam vowed, in the silence of the night, that if he ever made a story he’d give it a proper ending and not leave his audience hanging.

The night passed and the three travelers set out at the break of dawn. Slivers of golden sunlight danced on the dew-covered leaves, and all the world seemed to come alive. As they walked, Sam noted that some of the violet flowers on the side of the path opened their petals; Sam thought that they looked like stretching cats, as if they were greeting the morning with a yawn. A craving stirred from the depths of Sam’s soul, a memory fragmented by time: a dream of coffee stirred in his soul.

-

The last vestiges of the Kreato Marsh vanished like the tips of sailboats crossing the horizon. The cobbled road turned to hard-packed dirt once again, and the familiar currents of magic vanished from the road.

The trio passed a small village on the edge of the marsh, a place designed to let travelers rest before the harsh trek into dead-er waters. A small river ran through it to the north, gathering tributaries and width as it went. The fresh waters were clear; they danced with the morning sunlight.

The path stretched onwards North, but the river turned East. Sam filled his waterskins at the bend, and he let the water run over his hands. In those waters he looked at his reflection grin. After thousands of years, he no longer remembered his features before the ‘Tutorial’. To him, this was his true face.

A splash of water hit Sam in the face, and he slipped on the mud of the bank, nearly falling into the water. Off to the side Riben laughed, his voice cracking with each breath. Sam regained his footing and his eyes glowed with an evil light. Magic fluttered on the wind and a tremendous power surged to the sky.

Riben’s eyes went wide as a 5 meter tall wave surged forth from the river and smashed down on him, knocking him to the ground and rolling him into a field of waist-high wheat.

Riben’s head popped up, his hair sopping wet, and he yelled, “No fair!”

Gyre roared with laughter at the scene, for he had the foresight not to compete in stupid pranks with the strongest magician he’d ever met.

Riben and Sam’s small water-fight soon escalated into a two hour swim. Several fish were caught and fried. Morning turned to afternoon, and soon the three decided to wrap up their fun times and continue on their journey. More stories were told, more songs were sung. Legends seemed to come to life with every one of Riben’s words. He spun long tales of heroes, tragedies of star-crossed lovers, and terror-filled battles for survival.

Sam was certain that Riben missed his true calling as a Bard. His talents -far- eclipsed a mere town guardsman.

Along the long road, a few small towns down the way, the three came to an inn called “The Goblin’s Demise.” It stood two stories tall and on the corner of a larger, unnamed town. Riben took the lead and pushed open the doors with a wide smile.

“Batta! I need a room for three!” Yelled Riben as he walked in the door. He clearly knew this inn.

“Riben?” A woman’s voice replied.

Sam stepped into the glowing doorway. The first floor of the inn stretched out into a massive tavern. A stone hearth roared with kindling, and the smell of food, drink, and smoke held the room hostage. A raucous series of laughter and mirth echoed off the walls, and the decorations were rustic and local; swords and farm tools lined the walls, each given their own plaque and introductions.

“Batta!” Riben called out to the stout woman carrying an empty drinking glass in one hand and a cleaning rag in the other. The woman didn’t look pleased to see Riben. Her brow furrowed and a red color took her face.

“You bastard, you dare show your face around here!” Batta yelled. A cheer erupted throughout the room, along with echoes of ‘Batta’s going off again’ and ‘Batta’s about to beat down another.’

“Batta, liste—-” Riben’s words were interrupted by a hard smack. Another cheer exploded throughout the room.

“I have a room for those two behind you, but you, Riben, you’re sleeping in the stables if you want to stay here!”

Riben rubbed his red-marked cheek and looked hurt, his jaw slacked. He looked confused. “What did I do?” He asked under his breath.

Gyre, being the most sensible of the trio, stepped forward with money in his hand. “Thank you, Ma’am. I’m certain this will cover the room expense.”

The woman Batta’s face transformed in an instant. All anger vanished from her visage and a smiling kind look overtook her. “Yes, yes of course sweety. Why don’t you and your friends take a seat at a free table. This much will get you a good meal too. Drinks will cost extra, though.”

Sam couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. He picked a small table on the side of the room, near the back corner and took his seat. Riben and Gyre soon sat down with him. Gyre held back his laughter, but he wore his smile openly. Riben, on the other hand, seemed to be in serious contemplation. He was so distracted he never noticed the mug of ale placed in front of him from a much kinder-looking Batta.

Plates of food soon arrived after.

“Riben, when did you last come to this inn?” Sam asked, hoping to break his friend’s silence.

“About four years ago,” said Riben.

“Did you do anything bad?” Quipped Gyre.

“I mean… I don’t really remember. I got really drunk and can’t remember anything other than having a great time. Batta and I were so close back then...”

“...”

“...”

Sam and Gyre exchanged a knowing glance. Some things didn’t need to be said aloud.

“Don’t let it get to you, Riben. We’re only here for a night, anyways. The city of Sauver-Hill is only a small trek from here. There we can probably hitch a ride on some merchant fleets to save us from walking more,” said Gyre. “I don’t know about you two, but my feet are starting to kill me.”

Riben seemed to snap out of his funk and grinned, “Yeah. It’ll take a bit longer than by foot, but I’m getting sick of walking.”

Sam—-having walked just about endlessly for nearly three millenium—-didn’t voice his opinion. He rather enjoyed the journey so far… And he didn’t honestly feel any fatigue, or foot aches in the slightest. Such was normal for him. But he kept silent and nodded along. He wasn’t in a rush, anyhow. Every day had been rather enjoyable. He would never go back to traveling alone, if he could help it.

While they started this journey as close acquaintances, Sam already considered Riben and Gyre to be his friends.

Raising his mug high for a toast, Sam laughed, “To a journey with friends.”

“Here here,”

“Yes,”

Riben and Gyre both toasted back. The clink of the mugs sounded like the chirp of a small bell. Three friends drank away their savings. The night faded with the glow of the hearth.