Cire's head was pounding, there was a sharp pain in his side, and his body felt stiff. A seizing cramp in his foot finally made him wake. Crisp, cold mountain air filling his lungs was annoyingly familiar. As he cracked his eyes, a cold breeze confirmed that he was outside. He was behind a log building, but which building?

When he shifted the pain eased itself, the hilt from his sword dislodging from his side. Next to him lay a sleeping figure covered in a cloak, but with his blurry vision he couldn't make out who it was. Did I sleep with someone last night?

Memories started to flow back as he staggered up to a tree and began to wake up for the morning. Tankard after tankard had appeared before him. Stout’s mead had been considerably stronger than the domestic swill he usually imbibed. He’d gone and gotten soused.

Cire blearily recalled a friendly dwarf, a surly elf, a grumpy gnome, and a couple of others. He’d guess that after the third round or so was where his recall failed him. There might have been a woman, but from what he could remember, it wouldn't have been Selene. Sure, she was gorgeous, feisty, violent, and attractive as hell. But… she was also rather abrasive.

So who is under the cloak? Shaking his head a little to clear away the cobwebs, he took a deep breath and stretched out his back, popping a few vertebrae into place. Walking closer to the figure he could now see that it was Durg who had snuggled up against him in the night.

Thank god, dodged that bullet. If he had slept with someone it was obvious that he did not remember it. That was never a good look the next morning. Ugh, drinking with dwarves is a bad idea.

Cire wasn't the sort of guy to wake up someone who was sleeping off an evenings frivolities, but his blood was already flowing. Turning back in for the morning wasn’t an option and the ground wasn’t all that appealing anyways.

Wandering in the purple light, he walked down the street casually and took in what he hoped to be his new home. It wasn't quite the Sierras, or even the Rockies, but it felt comfortable and he had already come to like the people he had met.

Cire had always done better with folks who cut through the bull and spoke their mind. Most of the time that had gotten him into trouble. When he had worked in a cubicle, it had not been the most conducive behavior for advancement to question the decisions of his manager. However, here in this hamlet it was expected that he prove himself before someone would even start a conversation with him. Cire respected that, hell, he yearned for that.

I like this place. It’s sort of like my old scout camp in a lot of ways, but with skills instead of merit badges. Stacy would make a great camp counselor. Heh.

He skirted around the back of the lodge and looked over the long expanse of the ellipse-shaped valley. Eyes roving as he scanned the northern, eastern, and then southern ridges. From this perspective, he could tell that the snowline was only covering the top third of the tallest peaks, a thin treeline broke right before it.

Stacy had said that they were at the start of spring, so that meant that the snow would recede much further than where it held right now. He needed to prepare himself better if he ended up dying again and if he respawned. Cire came up with a plan to stash a small bundle of clothing and weapons, once he had them, under the first tree he had roosted in. That’s the proper term right? 'Roosted?'

Cire chuckled softly to himself, there was a reverence to the morning and he would not break it. He waited for the sun to crest the ridge, there was nothing quite as beautiful or awe-inspiring as a sunrise in the mountains.

After spending a while looking out over the valley alone, he had started to become impatient for company. He had already gotten back to expecting socialization, and it felt uncomfortable to sit in isolation for too long. A quick check on Durg revealed that he was still fast asleep on the hard packed ground. He looked rather comfortable. Perhaps its a stone dwarf thing? Only one place to go really.

Cire went to the only folks he expected that would be awake this early, the farm. It hardly occurred to him to consider how much more confidently he strode down the path. Approaching the cabin of Stace and Eugene's farm, he caught the savory scent of stew wafting through the shuttered windows along with fluttering firelight. Cire rapped on the door before heading inside.

Both men were sitting at the table about halfway through their breakfast. It appeared that farmers woke up early no matter what world they were on. A knowing grin spread across both of their faces and it made Cire catch in his step.

“What? What did I do last night?”

A flash of long silver hair appeared in his mind and a pit of doubt bloomed in his core. Eugene looked over to Stace as if to signify 'How about you fill the poor boy in?' Stace seemed to consider for a moment before acquiescing. He lead with the obvious question.

“So, Cire, friend, what do you remember from last night?”

“There was mead, lots of mead. Selene wanted to attack me, Durg seemed pretty friendly, something crawled up inside of Stout and died, but after the third.. maybe fourth round it is pretty fuzzy. I woke up out in back of the tavern,... so I figure that I passed out at the table?”

It would be an injustice to say that his tone was anything but pleading once he finished talking.

Stace chimed in to finish explaining what he had done with his evening. “I have never heard it put that way, but you are pretty close to the mark as far as that old crotch Stout is concerned. Durg is indeed a good fellow. It is also true that you and Selene did not get off to the best start, but you were laughing together before she went back to her farm for the evening. What do you remember after that though, anything?”

A yawning cavern was replacing the small pit of doubt in Cire's stomach. Waves of nausea, aided by his belly full of alcohol, did not assist the sensation. He only barely resisted the attempt of his insides to purge themselves.

“I remember a woman? Silver haired?”

Stace nodded sagely and provided the last missing detail. “Yup, that would have been old Maisy. By the way, Gene, I won the bet. I told you he would not remember her name. He was far too drunk and far too interested in other things, probably didn’t even know his own name once she had her way with him.”

Now Cire was starting to feel worse for a whole host of other reasons, he had not been that sort of guy before. Picking up on his shift in attitude, Stace quickly added another important piece of information.

“Cire, its fine. What you really need to worry about is not Maisy's name or if you remember much of the experience... it is paying her the two silvers that you owe her for her services.”

Exhaling audibly in relief, Cire collapsed into one of the solid wooden chairs. Hesitantly serving himself a bowl of stew.

“I see. Well, since I do not have a copper to my name that may be more difficult for me than most. Any chance that if I skin those boars that their hides will fetch that amount of coin?”

Then something else occurred to him. “Wait, old Maisy? How old?”

Eugene grinned as he saw the realization dawn on Cire's face, he had obviously been waiting for that tidbit of information to sink in.

“Well, I am not too sure exactly, women do tend to be a bit touchy about their age once they pass the two century mark. Is that not right Stace?”

Cire's eyes boggled for a moment, had he heard that right? Stacy's response made it clear that he had indeed heard correctly.

“That is a fact my lovely Gene. Last time I checked, Maisy had been the longest resident of Sunset, besides Stout of course. Her stone dwarf blood does well here.”

This made Cire swoon a bit. His first time with a pro and it was a two hundred year old dwarf woman. Catching himself at his unspoken prejudice again, he reconsidered the situation from a more objective viewpoint.

Cire was a consenting adult; his actions may have been irresponsible, but he had also clearly not taken advantage of Maisy. He had probably even had a good time. That flash of silver hair in his memory had evoked a definite rush of excitement. Maybe it isn't all that bad.

Deciding to move on, he repeated himself.

“So, about those boar hides?”

Seeing that they would have no more fun at the elf's expense, they got down to discussion. Stacy and Cire started making plans for the day, but Eugene begged off. He set out to weed the fields, bidding them a good day.

Stace was all business once they started conversing about how to make Cire somewhat competent and able to survive. He needed to be able hold his own if there was a threat to the farm, or at least keep out of Stace’s way.

Being a professed Ranger, the big man's skills were impressive. Going over only his martial skills revealed that he was an adept of Axemanship, Water Magic, and Earth Magic. He was an expert in Archery, Light Armor, and Medium Armor. Most impressively, due to the rarity of the skill, Stacy was a professional practitioner of Nature Magic. The ranger had a host of other skills as well, but many were non-combat oriented. Cire made him promise that they would go over those skills once their more pressing priorities were accomplished.

Making their way in a slow pacing walk around the farm's split rail fenced border the two patrolled and talked. Seeing nothing of note so far, they took a break at the far end of the field. Stace used the time to test Cire's aptitude for various skills. To the surprise of neither, he did not even break the limited rank in any of the skills Stace possessed that Gene did not.

His weapon and armor choices so far were negligible. Even Stace admitted that his lack of aptitude for any form of armor sturdier than light armor was a cause for concern. If Cire sought to live a life of adventure he would have to find his niche.

With no beasts or animals approaching, they spent a couple of hours making a slow circuit of the farmstead. They would pause for Stacy to demonstrate a movement or point out a particularly vulnerable joint in Cire’s armor. Sometimes they would spar, Stace with his axe, its leather sheath in place, and Cire with the longsword's scabbard.

Cire was thankful that Stace eased him into the training over the course of the day. By noon, when Eugene was coming back in from the fields for lunch, he was already starting to make some progress.

“Hey there Gene! How are things with the potatoes and squash?” Cire called out.

Eugene seemed lost in thought as he approached the two, distractedly he responded. “The potatoes are fine, but there does seem to be something amiss.”

Stace got serious immediately. “What is it? What is wrong?” He lead the other two men into the cabin and shutting the door tight.

“Not rightly sure, but there are some boulders near the northern edge of the farm that were not there a few days back. I would not expect you to have noticed, Stace, as you have been gone for a bit. I am thinking that you two should go check it out after lunch.”

The quest that Cire was currently working on popped up to fill his vision, amended with the new request.

Quest Title: Down the Dire Boars III

Conditions: Help Stacy protect the farmstead for the next 5 days. Investigate the mysteriously appearing boulders at the north end of the farm and resolve the incursion.

Rewards: Increased relationship with Eugene, Stacy, and the Hamlet of Sunset.

Penalty for failure or refusal of Quest: Wearing out your welcome and being escorted unceremoniously from the valley. Decreased respect by Eugene and Stacy.

Do you Accept? Yes or No

“That is what Stace and I am here for. Once we finish lunch, you go back out and take care of the crops and we will head to where you point us.”

Cire desired now, more than anything, to win the respect of these two men and the whole of Sunset. Going forward on this path was never really in doubt. The three settled in at the table for a brief meal.