He was standing by a door next to a long spiral stairway leading down. An enormous faded red flag of an unknown identity was fluttering down the center of the spiral, the design was a white abstract tangle of spirals surrounding a large circle. There were glass boxes floating near the beams which glowed with a soft light.

Raylas looked up at the ceiling to see it domed, hundreds of similar boxes hovered above, each one dark. One of them slowly lowered and stopped above him. Inside it appeared to be a floating crystal which started to glow as it neared. Soon it illuminated the area around Raylas like a torch, though it illuminated with a steady light instead of the flickering of normal fire.

Rayla held out his hand and it lowered to hover just over his hand like a lamp. Just where was this place? His heart hammered against his chest and his breath came in gasps.

Was he in a dungeon? Was the bag a teleportation device for a stronghold from the Old World? How many defenses were here? Where was his escape?

He turned to the door behind him and gulped as he snatched the handle. He turned it and the world shifted again, he was sitting in the bed holding the bag which was tightly closed again.

It felt so real.

Raylas tossed the bag over with the chain and threw his cloak on top of it. Those things… He closed his eyes and followed the routine Rolft taught him. Take in a breath, release it. Feel the air, listen to your surroundings, and let the muscles relax.

Muffled conversations from below radiated up. Too faint to understand but there was life around him. The market rumbled by as normal with the occasional cry of a merchant or upset customer.

The air was brisk and cool in the room, the fire from the fireplace out since the last guest. The bed and sheets smelled fresh, like they were washed recently.

Raylas felt his heart slow and his breath return to normal. He continued the exercise for a while after, just letting the atmosphere roll through him and calm his mind. Far too much had happened in too short of time. He was getting panicky, sloppy. He had to regain control and return to his life of disciplined practice.

He needed a weapon.

Raylas moved back to his packs and emptied them. He shifted through the contents and placed them neatly on the bed.

He had a change of clothes for at least three days, which was more than he ever had before. Perhaps he could sell a couple of the sets to help fund his resupplying due to the windfall loss of a silver coin.

Next was the usual mess kit. There were still some remains of food in it as the captain didn’t have time to clean it before the attack. In fact, usually Sigmund was the one to clean the Captain’s dishes because the Captain was always planning the group’s next move. A waterskin was also tied to the mess kit giving Raylas two of them now.

With two of them he could get a couple copper for one, but did Sapphire even have one? Or a bag? She should be getting some proper clothes so giving her the extra pack would be the best choice. It wasn’t like Raylas needed both of them. So he’ll give her the second water skin.

The next few items were small tools and trinkets. He couldn’t begin to guess what they were used for, though it was some kind of scholarly thing. Raylas remembered seeing one specific tool being walked across the map like a strange man. Captain tried to explain to him that it was used to measure distance between two locations to help plan for a trip but the entire lesson went over his head.

Why would he ever have to figure out how long a trip would be? The Captain would just tell them how long it would be and they prepped. It was a simple life.

He now regretted not listening. Raylas took the sheet of drawings and spread it on the table, leaving the items behind for a moment. The first thing he saw was at the top in large letters: ‘Kasan’. On the page were numerous dots with lines going to them, each dot held a name.

Raylas was shocked at the detail of the map, and on the corner was a box naming what each line represented. One was for rivers, another was for trees, and at the bottom of it was a line which said ‘one mile’.

He whistled and browsed through the map, eventually finding the name Gloomcrest. He followed the lines going out of it. There was a forest nearby with a number of smaller dots and then at the end of it was Bullmar.

This was the road he was on.

Raylas traced the line. The Fort was listed as ‘shelter’ and the town had a handwritten name of ‘Lumbers Town’. Raylas recognized the Captain’s handwriting, and smiled at the man’s ability to properly name things. Lumber’s town just felt right.

Raylas turned away from the map and gave the rest of the equipment a quick glance. Nothing stood out too much.Flint and steel used to start a fire, a small blade used for cutting wood for kindling, a couple of yards of string with some hooks and stakes for making a tent. Not much was left as the Captain’s tent was erected, but the emergency extras would be helpful. Everything was mostly standard for a traveler.

Then there was also the metal tipped pen and journal. Raylas set the pen to the side, swearing again to find the Captain and return at least this to him, but he took the book. The cover was worn and cracked from years of being outside, the pages yellowed and wrinkled from water damage.

He frowned at the book and peered at the map. There was writing there and he read it… so perhaps…

He cracked open the book. Words were scribbled across the pages in neat lines. Illustrations seemed to be sketched every few pages, some of plant life and a few of the monster’s they’ve hunted over the years. Raylas recognized one of them as an Orc he slayed a few years before. The monster was a disgusting bandit who abandoned civilized ways and associated himself with beasts, hunting the locals of the region and killing merchant caravans. Even a Knight patrol was killed by the bloodthirsty thing.

A fury filled Raylas as he stared at the Orc’s illustrated face. He remembered hacking it to pieces with an axe he took from the corpse of Reggie when his was destroyed. Not only did he avenge his fallen comrade but by the time he regained his senses the Orc’s body was nothing but a pile of blood and fine meat. Not even the undead could revive the mess the beast turned into.

Raylas turned the page back and saw the start of the entry.

‘Spring’s Planting, day 22 in the 23rd Year of our Lord,’

It was true, then. He could read now. Raylas reread the entry again and chuckled to himself. He learned how to read, despite it being a useless skill for someone of his stature. It was comical, like a pig learning to sing or a goblin becoming a fashion trending tailor. Maybe a bard or gleeman would hear the story of the literate Mercenary who could read anything and write a comedic song.

Raylas would probably even learn it to sing along.

He turned back to the page.

‘Spring’s Planting, day 22 in the 323rd Year of the Kasan Dynasty,

‘Scouts have returned to inform us of the Fallen-Druid’s location. The beast has locked himself in a cave guarded by a troll. The letter he sent to the town holds true. It seems his intentions to raze the valley are not in vain if he is working with such a foul beast. Other such creatures have also been seen roaming around the area, including a couple of Knolls and at least two tribes of goblins, each led by a hobgoblin.’

Raylas gulped. He didn’t remember there being so many monsters in the area. The goblins he remembered, but the Knolls and Troll he had no idea. They were not nearby when he arrived. He skimmed the notes as the days rolled by, many of the movements made by his group he remembered. Then another group sent a runner to meet with the Captain.

‘A report was given to me. The Troll has been distracted. I was ordered to send in a unit into the cave to find the Orc. A request was also given to send help toward the river. A Knoll was more powerful than expected.’

That was it! The group split there. Raylas was ordered to follow Sigmund to kill the enemy. Raylas was new to the group back then and was getting used to their movements, so he fell behind the rest of the group and ran into a scout party of goblins.

During his fight the Orc left the cave through a back way and tried to make a run for it. The 2nd group met with him and the Knoll and fought in a clearing, most of them getting slaughtered.

Raylas arrived as the Knoll fell. He let out a cheer which distracted Reggie who was then skewered by the Orc. Raylas lost himself and charged into the fray, killing the goblin host which came to the Orc’s rescue. During the skirmish Raylas lost his weapon and found Reggie’s axes and used them to chop down everything in front of him.

Then he met with the Orc, and one of the worst fights of his life occurred. He was beaten down, cut up, and tangled in thorns and wood, but in the end the Orc perished to his blades.

Raylas smiled at the memory. The feeling of accomplishment, the praise of his comrades, the confirmation of his place in the world as a warrior skilled enough to fight with a group of veterans. Raylas read through the passages, learning how the battlefield flowed and how his group’s movements made the victory complete.

Then he froze.

‘Spring’s Planting, day 25 in the 323rd Year of the Kasan Dynasty,

‘Mission failed. The new member is a braindead idiot. He slew the Fallen-Druid instead of capturing him, not only beating him to death but also butchering the body to the point of unrecognition. I have discussed selling him at the next market to remake our losses, but Sigmund has vouched for his skills in battle.

‘I have deemed it worthwhile to give him another chance, but if he doesn’t pull his weight he’ll become an asset one way or the other. I have ordered Rolft to watch him and educate him on the ways of the group.

Tonight I meet with the patron to discuss our punishment for the loss. Knowing a few secrets of the town, the bodies of our fallen members should fetch enough money to at least break even, the gods have mercy on their souls.’