Now it was in the late hours of the morning. He left his sled by the stables and took the deer to the tavern. He opened the front door and walks through with a headless deer carcass. A pair of antlers tied to his belt.

Broxton was at the bar tiredly talking to one of the hunters.

“There he is. The hunters kid.” The Goliath nods to Erevan as he enters.

“The prodigal son.” Erevan mutters.

The hunter turns to face Erevan. He’s a barrel chested man with short blonde hair and wild facial hair. He has a massive war pick on his back with one of its blades silvered.

“I heard there was an orphan in need.” He beams an obnoxiously bright smile.

“Ouch.” Erevan comments.

“Sorry. Ugh. Seems you are a talented hunter.” He gestures to the decapitated deer over his shoulder.

“My father trained me.” Erevan replies as he looks over the man. His trust for hunters is exceptionally low as of late.

“Then you would fit right in with our fledgling hunters. We have a younger group that take on some of the smaller jobs. You needed work right?” The hunter seems to almost speak with pity for the teen.

“What’s their next job?” Erevan puts a hand on his hip and adjusts his stance.

“A senior hunter is taking them out to hunt timber wolves in two days. Keep the population at an acceptable range.” He explains.

“How many young hunters are there?” Erevan asks.

“Just three currently. Darton Iceforge the young dwarf fighter, Kalile Toothhorn the half orc stalker, and my own daughter Celise Koldottir the spell bow.” Senior Koldottir lists them off.

“I take it that father Iceforge was here last night. I haven’t heard of many races that ride boars.” Erevan comments.

“You are right. A few hunters were here last night. They are heading North to look for our missing companions. One of those being Kalile’s father.” Koldottir says somberly.

“Alright. I’ll join you in two days.” Erevan nods.

“That’s good to hear. I’ll have them come through the village to get you before they leave.” Koldottir nods.

“Where do you stay if not the village?” Erevan asks.

“The other side of the frozen lake to the east has a compound for hunters. When we get you officially inducted then you can stay there all you want.” Koldottir puts a hand on Erevans shoulder. “I have high hopes for you.”

The viking-like man steps past Erevan and leaves the tavern.

“Well, take the deer to the back and make something for the customers to eat.” Broxton the Goliath bartender nods his head to the kitchen door.

“Really making me work for my stay here.” Erevan says jokingly as he walks into the kitchen.

His smile turns into a scowl as he slams the deer carcass down on a counter.

“Hunters killed my dad. Ruined my life. I’ll meet these hunters kids before I kill their parents and burn down their compound.” Erevan slashes chunks of venison off of the corpse.

He sighs. The teen knows he can’t bring back what he’s lost. But he applies himself to the task at hand and begins preparing meals for the tavern guests.

After getting the meals prepped and some extra meat salted for storage Erevan heads out. He goes around the back and begins to chop firewood for the tavern. He nearly chops every log into four pieces before Broxton walks out the back door.

He nods to Erevan before walking over and tossing a small bag to him.

“That’s a coin purse. Hard to take off a belt when it’s properly attached. Not much need for it here but if you ever go to a proper city.” Broxton’s voice trails off.

Erevan opens the pouch and counts two gold coins amid eight silver coins.

“This is too much.” Erevan closes the pouch and outstretches his hand to give it back.

“Unskilled labor is two silver. You seem to be incredibly skilled. No lad or lass that I’ve worked here has been able to cook nor butcher for my customers. So two gold for Skilled labor. And eight silver to buy that deer off you. Clear my conscience of taking food from an.. well from you.” Broxton explains.

“Well. If it makes you happy.” Erevan pockets the coin purse.

Erevan heads back inside with Broxton. He cooks a few meals for the customers as the night winds down. Eventually he leaves the kitchen to start collecting dishes and clean the tables. He heads over to one table where a man with a black cowl is seated. Erevan leans into it as he rubs some alcohol off the wooden desk.

“Why the helmet?” The man grabs Erevan’s arm.

“Fuck off.” Erevan pushes his hand towards the man, twists, and then pulls away.

As he does so he sees the man's face under the cowl. His head is shaved but his eyebrows are thick and black. There are black tattoos, bars, going down his face.

“Crow.” Erevan mutters.

“Yeah. Not illegal to be a Crow.” He says. “Unless you purposefully hide that you are one.”

“I am a Burkwood. I am free.” Erevan says in a low growl.

“Be careful. They’ll hear you.” The man smiles snarkily. “I’ll meet you in the stables later.”

“Not interested.” Erevan says and walks away.

He heads back to the kitchen to wash dishes. He’s takes his sweet time not wanting to run into that man. Eventually heading out to the empty bar area to clean. Broxton is tidying up the chairs.

“I saw that Crow talking to you.” Broxton sets a chair down. His gaze is downcast and his voice is almost somber. “I get it now. The helmet. Living North of civilization. Your old man saved you from being a slave. I won’t turn you in. But after the hunters take you in, I can’t have you working or living here, and I hope you don’t take that personally.”

“I’m not a Crow!” Erevan can’t help but sound distraught.

“Then take off the helmet.” Broxton says quietly.

“I can’t.” Erevan steps away.

“Maybe that man can help you. Hear him out. I know I can’t help and I can’t risk the danger of letting you work here.” Broxton shakes his head.

“Alright, fine. I’ll just leave then.” Erevan drops the rag he was cleaning with and storms out the door.

The teen heads to the stables and throws the door to his room open. The Crow from before is admiring the ballista.

“It’s very loud. Has a lot of personality.” The man says with a smile.

“How did you find me out so fast?” Erevan says.

“You were a busboy wearing a helmet. And not just any helmet, but the helm of my favorite customer.” The man answers.

“You know my father?” Erevan shuts the door behind him and steps into the room.

“I was his smith, his tailor, his tattoo artist, and his book merchant. I did a lot for him. I love my clients and that’s why I keep these.” The man holds out four red gems. Three of them are glowing.

“So?” Erevan looks up from the gems and glares at the man.

“This one,” he holds up the one that isn’t glowing, “is your fathers.”

“You knew when my father died?” Erevan asks.

“Not right away. But I eventually noticed his light had been snuffed out.” The man replies. “I assume you were his kid. He always talked about you.”

“So you were his secret contact.” Erevan nods. “He thought I didn’t know about you.”

“The name is Hvardrik.” He puts out a hand.

“Sounds like a cheese.” Erevan says as he shakes the mans hand.

A ring on the man's finger opens and a small needle slashes across Erevan’s hand. The teen flinches and yanks his hand away. Hvardrik holds the fathers ruby under his ring and a small amount of blood on the needle drips onto the gem. It begins to glow again.

“Keeping tabs on me now?” Erevan asks, obviously upset.

“Starting our contract. I need you to help me.” Hvardrik explains. “I have a bag of red coins here. Put them on humanoid corpses you leave out in the wilderness or whatever. I’ll collect them. A hundred gold for every corpse.”

“What’s the catch?” Erevan asks.

“You’ll be supplying the materials I need to build an undead security force. No worries though, I’m not a lich or anything. It’s just some dabbling in dark Magic’s to make sure no one enslaves me ever again.” Hvardrik smiles at Erevan, perhaps a comforting smile, but it only makes a chill run up the teens spine.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.” Erevan says warily.

“Your dad taught you the incantation for lightening the weight of what you carry, right? Well I can inscribe that spell onto your skin, a better version of the spell even, to free up your concentration and drain less energy from you.” The man seems to be offering something Erevan never knew that he desperately wanted.

“I dunno…”

“It’s effects stack with your spell if you ever need to carry something really heavy.” Hvardrik cuts Erevan off.

“Okay, sure. A little tattoo can’t hurt.” Erevan shrugs.

Hvardrik directs Erevan to sit down on a bale of hay. He informs Erevan the tattoo will go on the back of his shoulders. The teen takes off his fur cloak and his shirt. Hvardrik takes out a needle and a dark oil. Over the course of the night the teen is given a tattoo down his back of muleback cords. Two large braided cords that run from his shoulders all the way down his back.

As the early morning comes Hvardrik takes Erevan into the stables and encourages him to try out his new power. He lifts a couple hay bales with ease. Then he mutters his incantation to strengthen his carry weight further before picking up a horse.

“The magic ink for that costed a thousand gold. I won’t charge you for the time and labor this transaction. But find me ten corpses in a month and we’ll continue to do business.” Hvardrik turns to leave.

“Thank you.” Erevan says.

The two part ways. Erevan left with a magic tattoo and a bag with fifteen red coins in it. The teen tucks the bag into his other supplies before crashing down in his room and succumbing to sleep.