Everlasting Dream

Chapter 22: Rumors

The winter forest became eerily quiet as the snowflakes fell softly upon the ground. That night, the only sound that could be heard was the gentle rustling of leaves shifted by the wind. The full moon cast a silver hue across the snow-covered landscape. A thin blanket of fog drifted lazily above the ground.

It was just a few hours after the death of Odar and Argo. No signs of Nivalis and her children could be seen. The fire had burned out, leaving only ashes and a faint smell of smoke in its place. The strong scent of blood lingered in the air, mixing with the bitter cold wind.

A grotesque figure appeared from the depths of the surrounding woods. It was a rotten, walking corpse that had been driven by nothing but hunger, the same creature that Nivalis had encountered earlier in her journey. Its face was barely recognizable, with decay eating away at its skin and flesh. Every movement it made was slow and awkward, like a puppet controlled by an unseen hand. The moment the creature sensed the scent of blood in the air, without hesitation, it began to follow the trail that led it straight to the campsite where Nivalis and her children had been.

The rotten corpse could feel its hunger growing as it neared the source of the scent. Its decayed brain recognized the familiarity of the smell, and it knew it was close to its next meal.

The first to catch its attention was Odar, who lay lifeless on the ground with his once bright eyes now dimmed. The creature loomed over him, its decayed mouth opening slightly as if to breathe. A gaping hole in its torso revealed its internal organs, which had begun to decompose. Its eyeless sockets fixated on the corpse that lay before it, and its body twitched slightly as if from joy, signaling its eagerness to start the feast.

Leaning in, its jaws gaping wide, the creature's teeth closed around Odar's cold skin, rending and tearing as it began to consume the meat. Its teeth gnawed at the flesh, ripping and tearing as they slowly broke the skin. The creature chewed eagerly, devouring it with glee, savoring every bite. It moaned hungrily, swallowing pieces of skin, muscle, and sinew with audible gulps.

...

[Randall]

Many days later...

The sun rose over the horizon, its rays peeking through the cracks in the clouds, bathing the snow-covered landscape with a warm and yellowish glow. The weather was pleasant, with the light breeze carrying the aroma of pine needles and freshly fallen snow.

Randall, a man whose age neared sixty winters, walked through the thick woods, his lean body slightly bent from years of toil. His face, etched with the tales of a life lived in nature's embrace, bore wrinkles like the bark of an old tree. His hands were rough and calloused, honed by decades of hunting and gathering food for his family. His brown eyes, the color of earth after rain, still sparkled with a youthful energy.

Despite the years weighing upon him, Randall's reputation as a hunter was known in this village. A crossbow, its wooden body polished by use, rested against his back, catching glimmers of sunlight. Despite the early hour, Randall moved with haste, his steps guided by instinct and memory. He knew these lands well, having lived here most of his life. With each stride, the snow crunched under his worn boots, a sound familiar and comforting, and his breath formed clouds in the air.

He was returning from his search for the missing Haldor's wife, Nivalis. Haldor, a good man, needed Randall's help, and Randall immediately offered to assist him in any way he could. This is what neighbors do, after all. They help each other.

The events of the past seven days weighed heavily on Randall's mind as he made his way back to the village. The search had left him feeling drained and exhausted, but now, he was relieved to be back home. As he approached the village, Randall spotted the tavern up ahead. It was a warm and inviting building, filled with the promise of good company.

He knew he needed to speak to someone about what happened on his search — maybe a friend who could offer some insight or advice. And who better than the bartender? Randall spent many nights in this very tavern, enjoying a drink and sharing stories with old friends. He hoped they could help him make sense of everything that had happened over the past week.

As he walked through the door, the smell of freshly baked bread mingled with sizzling meat and rich mead filled his senses and made him feel almost at home. "Randall! You're back!" The bartender called out from behind the counter as soon as Randall entered the dimly lit inn. "Thank the gods," he added with a warm smile, wiping his hand on his apron before extending it towards Randall. As soon as he saw Randall's face, the bartender noticed something troubling in his eyes.

Randall returned the smile and shook the bartender's hand.— "Ah, it's good to be back, Einar," he replied wearily, taking a seat at the bar.@@@@

"Tell me everything, my friend," the bartender, Einar, said as he slid a mug of mead across the counter. Einar, a small but muscular man with a mustache as bushy as a squirrel's tail, had poured drinks and lent an ear to the villagers for many a year. He was the sort who seemed to know just what to say and when to say it.

Randall wrapped his fingers around the mug. He drank deeply, mead's heat seeping into his cold bones, then cursed softly as he placed the empty mug down. Randall cleared his throat, unsure of how to begin. He fidgeted with the empty mug as he recounted the events that had unfolded in the previous few days.

— "We started well enough," he began, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Tracked Nivalis heading east for quite some time, but the storm hit, and everything went to hell," Randall began, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "We were so close, I swear, just a few hours more, and we would have found them."

The bartender nodded as he listened intently. His brow furrowed, and his eyes fixed on Randall as he spoke. "Aye, that storm was a beast," he murmured, refilling the mug.

Randall took another gulp, the mead lending courage to his voice.— "Yeah," he agreed and then continued. "After the storm passed, we decided to split into groups and spread out to search for her tracks. Everyone was hoping to find some clue about where Nivalis went, and we were confident some of us would pick up the trail eventually."

Einar leaned in, his mustache twitching like a cat's whiskers. "Did any group find aught?"

Randall shook his head sadly.— "I didn't find a thing," he admitted, "and my group came back hoping that someone else had better luck."

The bartender simply stared at him. Randall took another long drink from his mug before continuing his story. His voice trembled with emotion as he recounted the harrowing tale.

— "Eventually, most of the groups came back, but no one found anything. Odar and Argo, these two adventurers who had joined us, hadn't shown up at all, but we believed they might be just a bit slow since they didn't know the local terrain. It was stupid to send them alone."

Randall paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. The bartender leaned forward, his eyes full of concern as he waited for Randall to continue.

— "We waited a whole day for those two guys to return. But they didn't. So we split up again, but this time to find them," Randall explained.

"We should tell everyone about what happened," said one of the villagers.

"If you ask me, she needs to be taken care of," said different man from the crowd. "She and the rest of those filthy creatures she's brought into this world."

Another villager nodded in agreement, his voice trembling with rage. "If she's capable of killing two adventurers in a blink of an eye... She might kill all of us too in the night," he said, glancing around the room.

Once more, a hushed silence settled over the room as each person pondered what to do.

"But what should we do?" Another man from the crown questioned.

— "We should tell the Adventurers Guild what happened," Randall said. "She killed two adventurers, after all. The guild will probably put a bounty on her head once they know she's a murderer."

The men around him murmured their agreement, nodding along to his idea. "Yeah! The adventurers should handle her like the beast she is," said a man in the crowd, his voice rising. "They'll deal with her in a fitting manner."

Another middle-aged man in the crowd nodded his head in agreement. "I heard priests with high enough rank can read the last few moments of someone's death. That's some useful skill, and we should definitely find someone to expose the elf bitch. If we'll see how she eats them, it will increase the bounty on her head."

Others echoed his words, their voices growing louder.

Randal nodded.— "Good idea. Haldor said they'll bring the remains on their way back whenever it is. Once we get the remains, we'll take them to a priest in the city who can tell how they died, and we'll get the proof."

Einar nodded in agreement. "Aye, it's the smartest move we can make."

One villager spoke up. "But what if she comes back to the village?"

Randall shrugged his shoulders.— "We should remain cautious. We need to keep a close watch on each other. Let's try not to travel alone and always carry a weapon. If anyone sees something suspicious, report it to the Watch immediately," Randall cautioned.

The villagers nodded in understanding.

The bartender raised his glass, prompting others to do the same. "Now, let's raise our glasses for Odar and Argo," he proposed. "They gave their lives to protect us, and we'll honor their memory."

A chorus of "here, here" was heard as the villagers raised their drinks high. They drank solemnly, each lost in their thoughts.

"Rest in peace," Einar whispered, his voice barely audible. "May your souls find peace in the halls of your fathers."

As the last drops of mead trickled down their throats, the villagers slammed their mugs down onto the table, the sound echoing throughout the room.

The heavy atmosphere hung over the bar for a few minutes until one of the women, who had been silent up till now, spoke up. "So, is no one gonna mention how we still have this naked-elven-boob statue sitting right here in our inn? Should we remove it?"

"NO!" every man in the room answered immediately in unison, making the woman jump with fright.

"Oh, come on... Really? That's messed up," she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Anyway," the bartender said, changing the topic. "I should go and send someone to the city to notify the Adventurer's Guild about what happened."

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. Randall gave the bartender a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he rose from his chair, preparing to leave.

— "Thanks for your help, Einar," Randall said. "Let's hope the guild gets this taken care of quickly. I can't stand the thought of our folks being in danger."

"Neither can I," the bartender replied grimly. "I'll let you know if I hear anything from the guild."

With that, the villagers dispersed. Randall downed the remaining contents of his mug and set it down on the counter. Randall gave his friend a grateful nod before turning and making his way towards the door.

A few villagers bid him farewell as he walked out of the tavern into the cold winter air. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the sky. The sun seemed to shine more brightly than usual, as if trying to ease the troubled souls that wandered below. His footsteps crunching in the snow, Randall made his way back to his house.