The hard packed dirt of the New Arcadia highway turned into a paved road that bisected the small town of Datuff. Surrounded by fields of sweet plume grass generously watered by three creeks and benefitting from its location as a mid-point between two large trade cities, residents enjoyed a comfortable rural prosperity.

The caravan rolled along the wide main street lined with shops until it emerged onto a large square filled with the wagons of other caravaners. Inns, taverns, a gambling hall, and what appeared to be a brothel hung with red lanterns surrounded the common area, catering to the merchants and escorts who spent the night.

Hugh dismissed [Zora] into the Fey realms then watched as Stans and Ziti manoeuvred the wagons into a vacant area and began securing everything for the night. Stable boys appeared from nowhere, each loudly bargaining to care for the animals until one gave a piercing whistle and held up his hand triumphantly. Several others wearing the same livery burst into action and began unhooking the animals, leading them away to be cared for in a nearby stable. As the controlled chaos was sorted into orderly process, Stans approached the pair with Ziti and two others in tow.

Mopping sweat from his forehead with a flax handkerchief, he said "Join me at the Prancing Pig for dinner. I'd like to thank you for your wonderful advice to visit the temple of Oxphine."

"Oh?" Hugh said, feigning ignorance. "Something interesting happen?"

Stans broke into a huge grin. "Something fantastic, my friend! Follow me and let's get everything settled."

"Clean please!" Sissy whinged, tugging on his shirt.

Hugh popped off a [Clean], erasing the sweat and grime accumulated over the last several hours, prompting an appreciative smacking of minty fresh mouths from everyone in range.

Sissy and Hugh trailed behind the portly merchant to the Prancing Pig, an establishment that seemed like its motif centred around catering to an upper class clientele trapped in a rural backwater. It was almost certainly dangerous to Hugh's pocketbook. Stans quickly negotiated rooms for himself, Ziti, and the two others before purchasing one for Hugh and Sissy, causing Ziti's eyebrow to rise in astonishment before he cast a questioning glance at Hugh.

Hugh shrugged and followed the group into a private dining room where they were waited on by a simpering young man with a thin moustache, slicked back hair, and something approximating a uniform. Hugh got the impression that the Prancing Pig was trying to be more than it was - an upper class tavern in a town that would dry up and blow away if the trade routes shifted. The choices were limited, but featured a selection of the ale that Stans had just brought in. Curious at the quality, Hugh asked Stans to recommend one.

While the common area of the Pig was served a thick, rich stew and fresh bread, preferred customers who rented a private dining room were given a menu and all the fresh bread and butter they could eat. Hugh ordered a steak medium rare, loaded baked potato, along with seasoned asparagus. Sissy got a salad, along with roast beef, mashed potatoes with extra gravy, and baby corn.

"Do you have gooseberry pie?" Hugh asked before the waiter vanished into the kitchen with their order.

"We do, sir. Fresh berries are purchased every day when in season."

"Two slices for desert please, along with coffee, if you have it." Hugh smiled. It was nice to have someone else paying the bill for a change.

"Very good, sir," The waiter said with a slight bow, closing the door behind him.

Hugh glanced around the table. Sissy was at his side, quiet but fidgeting with energy - ready to overflow at any moment. Stans was at the head of the table, along with Ziti who sat on the right side of Hugh, and two others he didn't know who were placed further down the table.

"You know Ziti," Stans said, indicating the burly guard with his right hand. "He's my personal bodyguard and in charge of security on every caravan. This is Phaendar Umelamin," he said, motioning at a thin Elf with a sharp chin, short brown hair, and piercing green eyes before pointing at a Dwarf woman wearing a blouse embroidered with bluebirds and red flowers, "and Lovoumora Merryfinger. All are trusted partners in Deters Brewhouse."

A barmaid carrying drinks and Sissy's salad entered the room, setting them out before exiting with a cheery smile.

Hugh took a sip of the warm, flat ale, wincing a bit at the sourness. Code shifting to High Sylvan, he addressed Phaendar, struggling to recall the formal Elfish greeting from the lore of Eternal Fantasy. "I greet you under the boughs of the Golden Loa," he said, then continued. "Please forgive me for not recalling the proper greeting."

Phaender's lips twisted in mild amusement. "Your greeting was close enough. I recognise the spirit in which it was given," He said, touching two fingers to his forehead. "May the boughs of the Golden Loa give you shade as you journey in this world."

Hugh touched two fingers to his head in acknowledgement and addressed Lovoumora Merryfinger, confident of his greeting this time. "May your forge burn bright, may your hammer strike true."

Lovoumora snorted before replying sarcastically in common Dothiki. "Get a load of this *guyom*, speaking to me in Old Dalin. What you gonna do next, propose? Offer me a forge and a hearth? Your beard ain't nearly long enough to impress me." She laughed, causing the others around the table to chuckle.

Hugh flushed with embarrassment before forging ahead in Old Dalin, the harsh speech of Dwarfen Elders grinding off his tongue with half remembered phrases from Eternal Fantasy lore. "Your beard is thick, your arms are strong, any hearth would be blessed by your presence, but you are not the wife for me."

Lovoumora sputtered then laughed until she was breathless. "As if I would ever settle for a beard as thin as yours!"

Stans watched the interchange with amusement, waiting to be let in on the joke.

"What did you say?" Sissy asked, leaning in to whisper at him.

"I refused her as a wife and she insulted my beard," Hugh replied, sotto voce, stroking the facial hair gracing his chin. "I'm pretty sure if I presented her a proper betrothal gift, maybe a nice cross pein hammer crafted from Ebon steel, she would lower her standards."

"Not likely," Lovoumora said, draining half her tankard before belching and winking at him. "But if you ever present me an Ebon steel battle hammer, I'll seriously consider it."

"If you're through seducing my brewmaster with promises of expensive metal, I'd like to repay you for your counsel to visit the temple of Oxpine," Stans chuckled. "Thanks to you, I have been gifted with the divine knowledge of three different recipes of brews never before created."

"Praise Markaus! Praise Oxphine!" Hugh said, lifting his mug in salute and taking a gulp of the sour ale.

The others followed his example, draining their cups and ringing for refills.

"What's so special about these new recipes," Lovoumora asked, her curiosity as a brewmaster piqued.

Stans leaned over the table and tapped his nose. "Hops," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. Sitting back, he described the vision he received where he used the fruit a strange vine that looked like a small pinecone to make something called 'Beer'.

"Hold up," Hugh said, glancing into his cup. "What am I drinking?"

Stans pulled a moue and said "You should be drinking Deters Finest Sour Ale. If you're not, we've both been been cheated."

"So what's it made with?"

"The finest *gruit* in all of Alterran!" Stans declared, prompting Lovoumora to pound the table with enthusiasm. "Most brew is produced by an alewife or a local brewer. We ship ours to three different cities and several towns like Datuff. That, my friend, is a sign of success in the brewing industry."

Hugh sat back as servers brought in their meals. His steak must have weighed at least a pound, and the potato dripping with butter, covered with shallots, and sprinkled with some blend of spices was as big as both his fists. Tucking into the lightly seasoned asparagus, he said "I had no idea, especially about Beer not existing in this world."

The table grew silent. Sissy shoved a sharp elbow into his ribs prompting a grunt.

"So..." Hugh said, drawing out the word. "Can we just ignore that and move on?"

"Not a bloody chance, guyom," Lovoumora said, pointing a steak knife at him with a threatening expression.

Hugh felt Sissy tense next to him. He reached out and covered her hand with his, gripping it tightly. Looking around the table, he met everyone's eyes before speaking. "If you want me to answer your questions without falsehood, you must swear to do the same for me. If you want me to keep those secrets, you must swear to keep mine - and trust me, I will ask for your most embarrassing or lucrative secrets to bind us together."

Ziti and Phaendar tensed, bows ready to launch arrows. Lovoumora slid the fingers of her left hand under her plate, a subtle movement that would launch it and spoil any spells he tried to weave.

"Deal," Stans said, breaking the tension. "Oxhpine spoke to me directly because I mentioned your name."

The others stared at Stans for a moment, slack jawed before turning their full attention back to Hugh.

"Anyone not taking the deal needs to leave, now." Hugh said, tangling half the weave for a [Lightning Surge] in his left hand. He would have to release Sissy's hand to complete the tangle of arcane energies, hopefully taking out Ziti and Phaendar while signalling Sissy to get stabby on Lovoumora.

"Not on your life," Lovoumora said, placing the knife in her right hand across her steak, then placing both flat on the table in view. "If Stans takes the deal, so do I."

"Are you sure about this?" Ziti asked, sparing a quick glance towards Stans.

"Absolutely."

Ziti placed his hands on the table, followed by Phaendar who released a nasty, half-woven [Web] back into the realm of Arachne.

Hugh leaned in close to his companion, brushing her ear with his lips. "Deal, Sissy?" Her left hand relaxed under his and the other appeared with an ebony dagger, setting it on the table within reach.

Releasing her hand and the half-woven spell, he turned his attention to carving up the steak on his plate. "Stans, ask a question."

Tensions eased as food and drink were consumed. Hugh revealed his story to what he would have been considered artificially intelligent Non-Player Characters just a few days ago. Met with disbelief at first, Sissy's testimony and Stans declaration that his prayers were unanswered until he mentioned Hugh's name broke down the barrier - along with his amateur knowledge of crafting beer and drinks. The secret of the Golden Loa convinced Phaendar, causing him to bristle and if not for the fact that Celeste had summoned him, he was sure the Elf would have killed everyone in the room. His knowledge of distillery convinced Lovoumora. While his memory was spotty, it was enough to make her eyes go round and declare him an Outworlder or the ugliest dwarf she'd ever laid eyes on.

"I'm sure I remember Alchemists use distillery to brew potions," Hugh declared, pointing his fork at the dwarf brewmaster before using it to steal a bit of roast from Sissy's plate. "I can't even imagine someone not trying to distill alcohol."

Lovoumora shook her head, dragging her beard across her plate until she reined it in with a hand and patted it down with a serviette. "The process is very secret," she declared. "I've seen the kettles and condensers as an apprentice, but I was never privy to how everything worked. I know that enchantment and other spell use is involved, but I never imagined that it could be done without it."

Hugh shrugged. "Maybe things work differently here. All I can tell you is what I know."

Lovoumora turned to Stans. "Hire him as a consultant," she said. "It's obvious Oxphine got her knowledge from him. Even if his Human memory is spotty, I'm certain he'll be very useful."

Stans waved a hand. "You hire him. You're the brewmaster."

"You're hired!" Lovoumora declared, as if she had just purchased a horse at the stockyard.

"Whoa up," Hugh said. "Did you forget why I'm here? Seven Evil Alts, Certain doom, yaddayadda."

The table fell silent at that.

"You're a Mage, right?" Ziti said. "I'm sure you have a spell for long distance communication?"

"I can get one," Hugh admitted. "But it's limited. It's be more reliable to just send you mail by courier. Once I have more experience, I have more options."

"Experience?" Stans asked.

"Life force," Sissy supplied. "He uses weird words sometimes, but they're easy to suss out. Experience is life force, Levelling is breakthrough, stuff like that."

Stans nodded in understanding. "I could purchase a Slate of Elucidation," he mused, stroking his chin. "But they are quite expensive. 400-500 gold last I checked."

"Speaking of which," Hugh interrupted, looking at Sissy. "I have no idea about the currency here. I know from the game that 10 copper is 1 silver and 250 silver is a gold, but you have different denominations. How much does the average person make per year? I don't have any thing to peg these values against."

"The average commoner makes about 800 silver a week, 33 gold a month, or 400 gold a year. A poor commoner will make half that," Sissy said, surprising him. "Stans probably takes home 2500 gold a year and his business earns at least ten times that."

Stans arched an eyebrow. "Very close. I reinvest most of my salary into the business so the employees are not overworked. I consider it an investment for talent and loyalty. I do have perks that come with being the owner, but my personal salary is closer to that of a well-off commoner."

Sissy sat back with a small smile on her face. "The Black Hand has watched you for several years now. That's why you've never had much trouble with thieves. We respect people like you."

A shadow crossed Stans face. "You belong to the Dark Market?"

"The first rule of the Dark Market..." she said, then clamped her mouth shut.

"Is you don't talk about the Dark Market," Hugh finished with a grin.

"We'll get a Slate," Lovoumora said, wiping her hands in her beard. "and I'll keep in touch with you. Master Deter, I'd like to lay over in Morgane for an extra day so I can interog...talk with Magister Johnson."

"Hang on Lov," Hugh said, tapping his fork on the plate. "Let's not get all formal here. I know we're not exactly friends, but as business partners I'm sure we can do away with the formalities."

"Business partners?" Phaendar said, his voice suddenly tense.

"Indeed," Hugh said. "In exchange for my knowledge of brewing and distilling, I want 15% of the net for the next 10 years."

The table burst into animated argument, grinding out the details of Hugh's employment until the simpering waiter became an irritant near midnight. Eventually Hugh settled for a monthly stipend of 20 gold, 1% of the net proceeds of any distillery revenue, and two barrels of whiskey, his choice, every year for the rest of his life. With everyone satisfied, they broke up and headed to their rooms.

Stripping out of his gear, Hugh contemplated the problems with crafting a [Powerword Strip] spell before collapsing into the feather mattress. Sissy followed a moment later, changing into an oversized nightgown and turning into a little spoon.

"Clean please!" she demanded, then whinged for a [Breeze] once everything was minty fresh.

"That went better than expected," Hugh muttered into her hair.

"Mmm," she agreed, rolling over to face him.

"Once we arrive in Morgane, you scout out Max and Aubin while I deal with Lov. They should be somewhere around the..."

Sissy nibbled at his chin. "You talk too much," she said, moving in to bite his lower lip between her teeth, silencing any more talk for the night.

Bony fingers poked between his ribs, rousing Hugh from the depths of sleep. "Mmf," he complained, rolling away from the offending phalanges.

"It's nearly dawn," Sissy yawned, rolling out of bed. "Ziti just rapped at the door. If you want breakfast, we need to get moving."

"Stupid bony alarm clock," Hugh muttered, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting up.

"Clean please!" Sissy said, sounding far too perky for the hour.

Hugh reached out a hand and dragged her into his lap, burying his face in the nape of her neck, inhaling the exertions of just a few hours prior. "You smell delicious," he proclaimed. "Clean denied."

"Maybe you like the smell of oafish human all over you," she said, pinching him and wriggling out of his grasp. "But I do not. Clean now."

Hugh popped a [Clean], freshening everything in the room; eliminating morning breath, tousled hair, stained sheets.

"That's why I keep you around," She declared, smacking her lips with pleasure.

"I'm a toothbrush," Hugh moaned, climbing into his clothes.

As they gathered their things and prepared to head down to the common area, Sissy whirled around, gripping him in a tight hug before rushing out the door.

Breakfast was bacon and eggs with cheesed grits and a thick, crusty slice of fresh bread spread with a purplish berry jam. While everyone else enjoyed a strong black tea, or in Sissy's case, a fruity drink, Hugh finished his meal quickly and lingered over the sacred cup of coffee.

"We need to hire another guard," Ziti declared, pushing his plate away. "One of the escort has a case of grippe and is bedridden."

"Pay for his care until we return," Stans mumbled around a mouthful of food. "We'll pick up a freelancer outside the gates."

Ziti nodded before rising and making his way outside.

"Everything okay with you two?" Stans asked, looking up from his tea.

Hugh looked at Sissy who was suddenly focused entirely on her food. "Sure?"

"Hrmph."

Lovoumora gave him a slow wink before slamming back her small beer and heading to the caravan.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, streaking the sky with vibrant oranges and pinks. Hugh couldn't remember the last time he saw the sun rise, staring at it in wonder. The clatter of the wagons started him from his mindless contemplation. Summoning [Zora], he mounted and Sissy quickly found her way into the saddle. The two cubs were sent ranging ahead while he guided the summoned warg along the paved road.

The caravan paused outside the north gate where a couple dozen men and women were gathered. Day labourers and others seeking employment. Freelancers working outside the Adventurer Guild for whatever reason. Ziti was talking with a tall, light skinned half-orc with dark green hair. The man? orc? half-orc? - the half-orc was dressed in a metal breastplate covering leather armour with the hide of a warg draped around his neck. The bargaining was finished by the time Hugh and Sissy arrived, Ziti heading towards one of the wagons and the half-orc gripping an amulet, whispering something under his breath. Hugh slowed and watched as silvery strands erupted from the amulet, weaving into a tangle of potential before collapsing in a burst of mana. A fully armoured war steed appeared. Gathering his possessions, the half-orc mounted and prodded the beast into a canter, matching pace with Zora.

"My name is G'rekk't," the burly barbarian half-orc said in Sothern Dothiki, drawing close. "But since no one can properly pronounce it, you can call me Sam."

Sissy and Hugh stared in amazement.

Sam cocked an eyebrow at the couple. "What? Never seen a half-orc before?" He asked.

To Hugh, the disconnect between the pale green face, flattened nose, jutting tusks, and smooth baritone of Morgan Freeman was too much. "Holy shitsnacks. Your voice is amazeballs," he gasped, looking into Sam's green eyes. Golden flecks. His eyes have gold in them. He thought.

Sam flushed a dark green and glanced away, before turning back with a grin. "That's not the only amazing thing about me, short, pale and human. I have other qualities that I'm certain you'd appreciate."

Hugh processed that for a moment, then laughed and held up his hands. "University was a long time ago," He sputtered. "I mean, everyone experiments, right?"

"Experimentation, he says," Sam muttered. "for some of us it's an instinct, not a lifestyle choice."

"Hey, no offence intended," Hugh said, watching the half-orc twirl a seven foot iron-bound quarter staff in his right hand before setting it at rest in his stirrup.

"And none taken, my friend," Sam said with a dip of his head. "I thought I had spotted a fellow cyfynrawoul and thought I'd... well, it's not important."

"What's a cyfy..cyfyn...that word?" Sissy asked, puzzled at the exchange between Hugh and Sam.

"It's a boy orc who likes other boy orcs," Sam said matter-of-factly as if he were talking to a child, his smooth voice massaging the ears of any nearby listeners.

Sissy frowned, digesting the information. "And you thought my...you thought Hugh was a...Why?"

Sam shrugged. "Cyfynrawoul can sense others at a distance. It's not always accurate, but your man said he did experiment in university. So, close enough."

Sissy squirmed around to look up at Hugh. He firmly refused to meet her eyes.

A couple of hours outside of Datuff where the woods grew close to the road, the cubs howled and came running back to their mother. One stumbled and fell, vanishing in a puff of motes. [Zora] howled in anguish, twitching under Hugh's hands. "I know you can't attack," Hugh said. "But nothing stops you from distracting the attackers. Let's fall back to the others, let's avenge your cub if we can."

The summoned warg snorted and whirled, causing Hugh a moment of struggle to stay in the saddle.

Sam looked poised to ride into the ambush, but spun his mount around and galloped behind Hugh as they made their way back to the caravan.

Ziti had called a halt to the wagons and waited for a report.

"The cubs spotted something and gave warning," Hugh said. "One was killed. I suspect an ambush since nothing pursued us."

Ziti jerked his head in acknowledgment. "Keep an eye on the woods around us, I'm going to talk to Stans."

"Betcha it's Cezar Tarus," Hugh said, leaning down to whisper in Sissy's ear.

"No bet," she said, shaking her curls. "You called it back in New Arcadia."

Hugh scanned the woods, watching Sam do the same on his side of the caravan.

Stans appeared a few minutes later, Ziti at his side. "This looks like a standard bandit tax," he said. "We'll keep our heads down and trade them a wagon of ale for safe passage. Watch Ziti, if they get too greedy or he thinks we can take them, he'll draw his sword. That's your sign."

Hugh nodded as Sissy slipped out of the saddle. A little piece of him slipped out with her and he shoved it back in the box where it belonged. Sissy could mop the floor with him and not even break a sweat, she didn't need protection.

She patted his boot, causing him to look down into her brown eyes. "I'll take care of you," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

The caravan advanced slowly, a white strip of cloth tied to one of the driver's whips that he wagged to and fro. Once they had made their way into the narrow wooded passage, a short man with an oversized hat sporting a long pheasant feather stepped into the road. Four others joined him, and another five appeared at the rear of the caravan.

Hugh watched as Ziti bargained their way through the passage. He assumed that the ten he saw were supplemented by at least one archer on each side of the road and scanned the trees. He spotted one on his left, but couldn't find another.

Ziti finished bargaining and the bandit with the comical hat gave a signal.

Three men appeared from the woods at the rear of the caravan and jumped into the last wagon. A few minutes later one of the bandits at the rear gave a signal and the lead bandit swept off his hat, indicating the other wagons should proceed.

Ziti whistled and the wagons began moving with haste, putting as much distance between them and the bandits as possible. Several miles later, the caravan slowed as the woods thinned.

Sissy reappeared from under the shadow of [Zora], leaping into the saddle and nearly causing Hugh to send an [Arcane Bolt] into her face. He released the cantrip back into the aether and wrapped his arms around the pocket-sized halfling. "I counted 23," she said, slinging her bow back over the saddle. "Four followed us out of their territory and I came back once they turned around."

Hugh calculated the odds of 14 guards versus 23 bandits and was glad Stans handled it the way he did. He was in no way ready to get all murder-hobo on anyone at this stage of the quest.

Sam pulled up alongside [Zora] and nodded in greeting. "Nothing like a bit of excitement to sharpen your appetite," he said, pulling out some jerky before offering some to Hugh and Sissy. Hugh declined, but Sissy took two sticks and munched with abandon.

"You're not going to turn into one of those round halflings, are ya?" he said, poking her in the ribs.

"Will you still love me if I'm fat?" she countered, ripping off another piece of the tough meat.

Hugh thought about it a moment. "Depends. Will you still love me if I'm fat?"

"Who says I love you now? she countered.

Sam chuckled. "Who knew a simple gift would cause so much trouble?"

"How far to Morgane?" Sissy asked.

"We'll arrive around sunset," Sam answered. "Barring no more trouble."

ⓒ 2022, Conteur. All Rights Reserved.