Dread Mage

"Already?" Sonder asked. "It can't be. We haven't been on the road for more than a handful of weeks."

"I traverse the world in ways unlike others," Vell said, a playful glint in his eyes as he spun his staff. "Secret trails, shortcuts, and paths unavialable to most men. Come on, let's go."

As they approached the gates, they noticed the sentries. Bows and arrows were being readied.

"Who are you? And what brings you here?" one of them hollered.

"We are the bearers of ill tidings concerning a Simerian named Bachram."

"What kind of news?"

"His death."

"Are you responsible for his death?"

"No. I was a companion and friend during his final days."

"Prove it," the sentry demanded. He was a burly man with grizzled hair, a weathered face, and a skeptical gaze that scrutinized their every move.

Vell, unfazed by their suspicion, rummaged through his bag and displayed the sword he had gifted Bachram for the battle against the Irathy; it was still stained with blood.

"This was his weapon during his final battle," Vell declared, raising the sword for all to witness.

And then Vell performed the same sword dance that Bachram did when he first got hold of it.

"He believed his answer to the riddle of steel was willpower, and he would remain true to his word, be it through sword, doom, or death."

The lookouts exchanged glances, their bowstrings relaxing slightly. After a moment of contemplation, the burly man nodded. "That does sound like the man we once knew. Enter, but remember, no deceit. We're keeping a close watch."

As they entered the village, Sonder felt uneasy.

They were strangers here, potentially unwelcome ones at that, given the news they brought. She clutched her grimoire closer, the worn pages offering some semblance of comfort.

The villagers were curious, casting discreet glances from their dwellings and work areas as they passed. All of them were considerably taller than Sonder and Vell; even the younger ones matched Vell in stature.

The environment around their village was frigid, with patches of snow in shaded areas, but the Simerians were clad in minimal attire, barely enough to cover their nether regions.

They were escorted to a longhouse, bustling with people. The atmosphere was not celebratory but rather a place for discussion, dining, and socializing.

The seat at the far end of the house was reserved for the village elders and, of course, their chieftain.

Upon reaching them, Vell and Sonder were met with stern expressions and discerning eyes.

Vell bowed. "I am Vellichor, also known as the Dread Mage. I have come to share news about Bachram the Simerian. Is any of his kin among you?"

The room fell silent.

A tall woman rose, her hair held back by a metallic circlet.

"I am his sister," she declared.

"We bring tidings of his passing and have come to pay respects to his sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" She breathed in heavily. "Did he ask you to deliver a final message?" she questioned, her voice composed despite the weight of the news.

"I assure you, he met his end with immense honor, a choice he made. No one else carved that path for him,"" Vell said, his voice echoing in the silent room.

The sister nodded, a lone tear trickling down her cheek.

"Bachram was always a man who sought control over his own fate. It seems fitting that his last words echo this sentiment. We will honor his memory by continuing his quest. However, I ask you, Vellichor Dread Mage, what is this sacrifice you speak of?"