Realms

With caution and a sense of purpose, he made his way up the hill, deftly navigating through the throng of weary laborers and piles of discarded household waste that had been cleared from the path. The air was heavy with the acrid smell of smoke, clinging to the clothes of those around him. Undeterred, he pressed on, following a different street that eventually led him to a charming marketplace, where the renowned Priest's Pleasure tavern stood, beckoning him inside. As he took in his surroundings, he couldn't help but notice the dirt and grime etched on the faces of the locals, a testament to their hard lives and struggles. Yet, amidst the weariness, there was a glimmer of resilience and determination in their eyes.

Gripping tightly onto his recent conquest, the severed head of a venomous hag, he felt a mix of triumph and unease. The sack containing the grotesque trophy stained the rough fabric with the toxic blood of the creature, serving as a haunting reminder of the dangers he had faced. With each step he took, he could feel the weight of his accomplishment, knowing that he had rid the world of a malevolent force. However, as he ventured further into the marketplace, he couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that he was being watched. The locals, with their weathered faces and weary expressions, seemed to harbor secrets of their own. It was a place where shadows whispered and hidden agendas lurked beneath the surface. With his senses heightened, he approached the Priest's Pleasure tavern, ready to uncover the mysteries that awaited him within its walls.

His hand reached out to grasp the cold, iron latch. As he pulled it open, a rush of warm air escaped, carrying with it a medley of enticing aromas. The tantalizing scent of charcoal, sizzling food, and the lingering musk of ale filled his senses, beckoning him further inside. Inhaling deeply, he savored the familiar fragrances that instantly put him at ease.

Stepping into the dimly lit tavern, he surveyed the scene before him. It wasn't as crowded as he had anticipated, but that suited him just fine. Not everyone appreciated the presence of his prized possessions. Finding an unoccupied table, he made his way towards it, the weight of a bulging sack in his hand. Gently placing it on the floor beside the worn-out chair, he settled himself down with a heavy sigh. The creaking of the chair and the weathered state of the table were testament to the tavern's age and the humble neighborhood it resided in. Yet, it held a certain charm that drew him back time and time again. He longed for a brief escape, where he could savor a cheap glass of wine and enjoy the company of those whose charm was as affordable as the libation itself.

The landlord's eyes widened as he caught sight of the hefty bundle that Ilidre had placed on the floor. It was clear to him that it must be a macabre trophy from one of his successful hunts. Without wasting a second, he swiftly grabbed a bucket from beneath the counter and made his way purposefully towards the table where Ilidre was seated. With a slight hesitation, he gingerly took hold of the sack and carefully deposited it into the bucket, ensuring that no blood would stain the floor or contaminate the surroundings.
The landlord's curiosity was piqued as he couldn't help but wonder what kind of gruesome prize Ilidre had brought with him. His mind raced with thoughts of the dangerous creatures that roamed the lands, and the brave souls who dared to face them. It was a testament to the landlord's experience that he could recognize the significance of such a trophy, for he had seen many adventurers come and go, each with their own tales of triumph and peril.
"What can I get ye?" he asked as he observed the bucket containing the mysterious bundle, the landlord couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and respect for Ilidre's bravery. It was not an easy feat to acquire such a trophy, and it spoke volumes about the adventurer's skills and determination. The landlord knew that this was a story worth hearing, and he eagerly awaited the moment when Ilidre would share the details of their daring escapade. In the meantime, he made sure to clean up any traces of the gruesome encounter, ensuring that the inn remained a safe and welcoming place for all its patrons.

Arron had always been a mystery. He was left alone when he was still young, and nobody knew anything about his family or where he came from. Maredeth, a compassionate elder from the village, felt sorry for the boy and took him in, naming him Arron. As time went by, Arron grew up with the villagers, but his true identity remained a mystery that nobody could unravel. Despite the ambiguity surrounding his past, Arron found joy in the affection and companionship of the village.

Arron felt a deep longing for something beyond his current life. He yearned to explore the vast world outside of his familiar surroundings. Although his job at the tavern provided stability, his adventurous spirit craved excitement and discovery. He often found himself daydreaming about uncovering the mysteries of his own past and felt an irresistible urge to discover his true purpose in life.

After diligently cleaning the tankards, Arron skilfully balanced them on the tray as he made his way back to the bar counter. Throughout the morning, he dedicated his time to washing various drinking vessels and tableware, ensuring they were spotless. In addition to his cleaning duties, Arron also took on the responsibility of sweeping the floors, maintaining a tidy and welcoming environment. Whenever Gareth needed a break, Arron stepped in to serve the occasional customer, proving his multitasking abilities and commitment to excellent service.

"Oh my goodness, what is that smell?" he asked in surprise. "It's as if someone's boiled old knickers and horse hooves then left it outside for months! Seriously... Wait, is that the new cheese?" The smell was peculiar and completely unfamiliar to him. Despite working at the tavern for several months, he had never encountered such a stench before. A worried expression crossed his face as he looked at Gareth.

The mention of the repugnant stench compelled Ilidre to involuntarily wrinkle his nose. Despite his efforts, he couldn't discern its source amidst the overpowering combination of stale beer, perspiration, and the unmistakable scent of decay that lingered in the air from the hag's head. Perhaps, he wondered, if the young man was indeed referring to this peculiar amalgamation of odors.

"I'll have cheap red wine," he replied to the innkeeper his voice was both deep and smooth in its tone. From his leather pouch, Ilidre retrieved three gleaming silver coins and carefully set them down on the table. The innkeeper's comical endeavor to secure the hag's head within a bucket to prevent any further leakage briefly amused him. Then the young man caught his eye momentarily, but he made a conscious effort to refrain from engaging in any sort of dialogue with him. Despite the curiosity that tugged at his thoughts, he resisted the urge to strike up a conversation, perhaps due to a sense of caution or simply because he didn't want to be drawn into a potentially time-consuming interaction.

"Cheese don't smell like that, lad," Gareth, seemed unperturbed by the stench. In fact, he appeared almost amused by it. "Ah, it's just a little something Ilidre here brought back from his latest adventure," he said with a wink. "A real prize, if you ask me." It certainly didn't resemble the familiar aroma of cheese that he was accustomed to.
Returning to the bar, he collected the wine for Ilidre. With great precision, he delicately poured the exquisite liquid from the bottle into a worn and tattered pewter goblet, ensuring not a single drop spilled onto the counter. Tenderly setting the goblet down on the table in front of Ilidre, he carefully tucked away the three gleaming silver coins from the tabletop into the pocket of his apron. As he made his way back to the bar, his eyes were immediately drawn to the row of mugs Arron had just delivered. With a sense of curiosity, he picked each one up and examined it closely. The smooth, polished surfaces of the mugs reflected the dim light of the bar, revealing that they had been well cleaned.

As the pungent odour continued to assault his nostrils, Arron felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. "What prize?" He glanced around the room, searching for any sign of the source of the stench. Suddenly his eyes fell on a strange sight, a bucket hidden under the table with a stained sack inside. Arron looked at Ilidre, his eyes wide with surprise. "You mean that... that... thing in the bucket?" he asked, pointing discreetly at the mysterious bundle. As Arron spoke to Ilidre, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had heard the name before. Suddenly it dawned on him that he was in the presence of a renowned witch and monster hunter.

"Wait! You're Ilidre, that talked about hunter?" Arron couldn't help but feel a mixture of fascination and unease as he regarded the bucket-bound bundle again. He had heard tales of Ilidre's exploits, of course. Everyone in the tavern had. The elven hunter was renowned for his skill and daring, and Arron couldn't help but feel a sense of awe in his presence. "So, uh, what is it?" he finally managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ilidre held the vintage goblet with a strong grip, bringing it closer to his lips. As he took a deep sip, his eyes caught the youthful face of the pale-looking man across from him. The spark of inquisitiveness flickering in his gaze had not gone unnoticed. The question was expected and he would answer it, plainly. "It's a hag's head." His attention shifted away from the youth's face his gaze returning back to the goblet he tightly grasped. His eyes fixated on the etched marks on the pewter, lost in a world of his own thoughts. The weight of the goblet in his hand seemed to anchor him, grounding him in the present moment. With a thirst that seemed unquenchable, Ilidre lifted the goblet to his lips once more, taking a long and satisfying gulp that left the cup nearly half empty.

As he sank into the wooden chair, a wave of relaxation washed over him. The weariness that had been gnawing at his bones was temporarily pushed aside, but he couldn't ignore the fact that sleep would be essential tonight. The relentless pursuit of the hag in the marsh had left him with scarce moments of respite in the past few days. To add to his discomfort, his wound throbbed persistently at his side, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. It wasn't excruciating, but it served as a stark reminder that he couldn't always face the monstrous adversaries alone.

Curiosity filled Arran's voice as he turned to Ilidre, unable to contain his amazement. "Seriously, how on earth did you manage to take down one of those creatures? I mean, aren't they known for their razor-sharp talons that can tear through flesh, venomous breath that can paralyze you, and the ability to cast curses that can leave you blind? It's simply incredible!"

The tales of the elf had spread far and wide, captivating the imaginations of people across the land. Whispers of his extraordinary feats echoed through every village and town. Some spoke of his valiant battle against a fearsome dragon, recounting how he had single-handedly vanquished the beast and saved the day. Others swore that he had ventured into the treacherous depths of the underworld, braving unimaginable dangers, only to emerge triumphant with a map leading to the fabled lost city of such and such. Arron, like many others, was enthralled by these stories.

He knew that not every detail could be true, for legends often grew in the telling. Yet, there was an undeniable aura of greatness surrounding Ilidre. A spark of hope was kindled in Arron's heart by Ilidre's actions, inspiring him to consider embarking on a similar journey. However, this glimmer of hope was short-lived as Arron was acutely aware of his own limitations. He lacked the skill to wield a weapon and had no training in combat. As a result, a sense of hopelessness washed over him, leaving him feeling powerless and defeated.



As Arron stood there, the pungent odor assaulted his nostrils once again. However, this time he knew exactly what was causing it. "You have quite a reputation," Arran said, "but it still stinks. I mean the hags head in the bucket," he gestured then returned to the tankards and began to place them on a shelf after Gareth had inspected each one.

Ilidre found himself uncertain about what he had anticipated from the young man. Throughout his experiences and endeavors in monster-hunting, he had grown accustomed to individuals bombarding him with a multitude of inquiries. However, to his surprise, the pale man seemed to become disinterested. Ilidre couldn't help but notice a tinge of disappointment in his eyes, which made him question whether it was truly disappointment or perhaps something entirely different that had caused his sudden change in behavior.

The stench of the hag's decaying head in the bucket made Ilidre wrinkle his nose in disgust. It was clear that he couldn't stay any longer, without attracting flies, and it was time to make his exit and claim his reward. With a sense of relief, he knew he could trust the priests at the nearby temple to properly dispose of the gruesome remains. Before leaving, he lifted his cup once more and downed the remaining crimson liquid, savoring the taste of the red wine.

"Maybe on my next visit to the inn after a successful hunt, my trophy won't become putrid so quickly," he commented before getting up from his seat. With a swift movement, he leaned down and picked up the bucket that concealed the severed head of the hag, hidden beneath the table. "I'll have one of the mudlarks return the bucket," he casually mentioned as he glanced over to Gareth, his voice filled with a hint of amusement.

Arron diligently continued his tasks, another pang of remorse washed over him. Deep down, he had always yearned for a life of adventure, a life that would take him far away from the monotonous routine he found himself in. However, he had come to accept that his destiny was intertwined with the tavern, where he served drinks and catered to the needs of others.

Suddenly, the ambiance of the tavern underwent a transformation, catching Arron off guard. His heart raced with a mix of anxiety and anticipation as he noticed Ilidre rising from his seat. Confusion clouded his mind as he struggled to comprehend why the mere act of the elf preparing to depart would trigger such a surge of panic within him. The mere thought of embarking on a journey alongside Ilidre, absorbing his wisdom and tales of adventure resurfaced, only to be swiftly extinguished again by the overwhelming grip of fear that held him back.

Placing the tankard gently on the counter, he felt the rough texture of the old stained wood beneath his hand, seeking solace in its familiar touch but the longing to embark on thrilling adventures burned within him...

"Absolutely! If the catch is still fresh, I could definitely have it expertly preserved and proudly displayed on the wall," Gareth responded, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "We could even add a personalized nameplate beneath it, engraved with your name, where you killed it, and the date." Gareth's mind immediately conjured up images of the tavern bustling with curious patrons, eager to see the unique addition and ultimately contributing to the tavern's flourishing profits.

"Hey, lad," he acknowledged Arron with a quick glance. "Only a handful of individuals truly embrace the journey of life and carve their own fate," Gareth gestured towards Ilidre, affirming his point. "It's quite uncommon to come across individuals like Ilidre. Personally, I had aspirations of becoming an adventurer myself, but unfortunately, my dreams were dumped in the midden when I suffered a knee injury. For individuals like us, stability and a secure environment are essential for our well-being and peace of mind." Gareth found himself lost in a train of thought, but unfortunately, it quickly fizzled out.

Arron was once again filled with a sinking feeling after Gareths comment. It was confusing, especially since Gareth admitted he once had a strong desire to be an adventurer. Arron yearned for exciting adventures but was constantly haunted by self-doubt and the fear of not being... good enough.

Everything boiled down to this one moment. Doubts about his abilities consumed him, leaving him feeling inadequate.

"I WANT BE WITH YOU! And aspire," The intensity of his words caused his limbs to shake and his body to sweat profusely, leaving him taken aback by the unexpected volume. It felt more like a demand rather than a simple request.

There were times, mostly when he returned to The City, that he wished he would have the dull senses of most humans. His once straight nose, now slightly crooked after being broken in a fight, twitched with distaste at the odours that assaulted him until he made his way past the Old Quarter and into the Market Quarter. It was still too overcrowded for his tastes, but it was better than where many of the labourers lived or worse still, the Undercity, which he preferred to avoid whenever possible, even when work was offered for a quest to venture there through the Leveller’s Guild. As he made his way towards the Priest’s Pleasure tavern, uncertain as to why the tavern had such a lurid sounding name, though most likely a human had come up with it, he felt a twinge of guilt gnaw at him.

He knew he should have gone at once to Leveller’s Guild to see if his cousin was there and keep an eye on her, though she would not be pleased if she thought he was checking in on her and even less so at her mother’s behest. He understood Dhia’s feelings, have been sheltered by his father as his only living heir, until his father understood that the only way he would be part of his family’s trade as a furrier was by working directly as one of the hunters collecting the fur’s from the traps and snarls he installed or by hunting them himself.

Gryfenath tried to reassure himself that Dhia would have understood and shooed him away to the tavern if he had the chance to explain to her that the famed Witch and Monster Hunter, Ilidre, was rumoured to be in The City today and headed in the direction of the Priest’s Pleasure tavern. It paid at times to have a family with its own network of, well he wouldn't go so far as to say spies, but certainly informants.

Though he had never met Ilidre, the Witch Hunter’s reputation was well known to all within The City.

His guilt lessened somewhat by the delicious mixtures of aromas that he breathed in and he felt himself start to relax as he crossed the threshold of the tavern’s door until his poor ears were assaulted by near deafening and extremely passionate shout that set his nerves on edge and his teeth to clench.

Gryfen’s icy green eyes narrowed and his fists clenched as he glared around the tavern for the culprit. His gaze landed on a pale-skinned and pale-haired human man who was fair of face, but who seemed to be out of sorts at the moment. The lad seemed to be yelling in the direction of another dark-haired elf. “Ancestors, I hope someone agrees to the lad’s request before he causes all to go deaf!” Gryfen exclaimed in a soft and jovial voice despite his initial annoyance at the noise. His own voice was much quieter than the pale lad’s.

Ilidre's eyebrow arched in surprise as the young man boldly expressed his desire to be with him. It caught him off guard, leaving him curious about what had sparked such fervent determination in the young man. The request was one that Ilidre had only ever heard from women before, and on a few occasions, he had indulged their desires for a passionate night together. However, he had never expected such a proposition from this fair-skinned young man whom he had just met.

While Ilidre held no prejudice against same-sex attractions, he had assumed that the young man would have been more discreet in expressing his feelings. Engaging in intimate encounters with other men was simply not something that piqued Ilidre's interest. He knew that he would have to delicately explain this to the young man, ensuring that his rejection was conveyed with empathy and understanding.

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Ilidre considered the best approach to address the situation. He understood the importance of being honest and respectful, as he didn't want to hurt the young man's feelings or discourage him from pursuing his desires in the future. Ilidre knew that open communication was key, and he wanted to ensure that the young man understood his perspective without feeling rejected or judged.

With a calm and compassionate demeanor, Ilidre began to explain his stance on the matter. "Everyone's preferences and desires are unique and valid, but in his case, I do not share the same attraction towards men." With a quick glance at the vacant goblet, he pondered whether to take a seat and request another beverage, perhaps something stronger for the occasion. However, he realized that time was ticking away and he had an important task at hand, he needed to secure his reward. "Your feelings are not a reflection of any shortcomings. Perhaps you should continue exploring your desires and find someone who reciprocates your feelings fully."

Ilidre's intention was to foster understanding and acceptance, creating an environment where the young man felt comfortable expressing himself without fear of judgment. He hoped that by approaching the situation with empathy and kindness, he could help the young man navigate his own journey of self-discovery and find happiness in a way that aligned with his true desires.

Ilidre's attention was caught by the sudden appearance of another elf, and he couldn't help but overhear the hushed words that escaped his lips. The newcomer bore a striking resemblance to one of the Alkamore elves, a rare sight for Ilidre who had seldom come across them beyond the confines of The City.

Surprised and flustered, he quickly corrected himself, "Wait... what? No! That's not what I meant at all." His palms became sweaty and his stomach churned with embarrassment. The heat rushed to his face, making him feel as if he had been branded. To make matters worse, he noticed another elf entering the tavern, adding to his discomfort. "What I was trying to say is that I wanted to join you on your adventures," he stammered, his voice barely audible and filled with nervous tremors.

The weight of humiliation bore down on him, consuming his thoughts and emotions. He couldn't escape the feeling of deep shame that enveloped him, knowing that his actions had led to this outcome. The effort he had put in, the only chance he had, had been completely destroyed. "It doesn't matter," he muttered, his voice barely audible, filled with a mix of resignation and self-pity. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the scene, his steps quickening as he sought solace in the sanctuary of the back room, desperate to distance himself from the overwhelming embarrassment that plagued him.

"Arron, are you feeling alright?" Gareth asked, his concern was evident in his voice as he watched the young man quickly walk past him. There was something off about Arron's demeanor, the unexpected outburst that caught Gareth off guard had piqued his curiosity, leaving him both surprised and intrigued. Despite Ilidre's evident attempt to console Arron, Gareth couldn't help but wonder what had caused Arron's initial reaction. He had been a quiet lad until now.
As Arron's absence left Gareth feeling slightly awkward, he turned his attention to the Alkamore elf who had recently entered the tavern. With a friendly smile, he asked, "So, what can I get for you?" His gaze then briefly shifted towards Ilidre and the bucket he was still holding. Unconsciously, Gareth took another sniff, the aroma was beginning to smell like an over-mature cheese.

Gryfen found that he still held the cold iron latch of the door, even after having entered but he had not expected to be witness to such a scene. He felt sorry for the human lad at such a public display that was taking place and perhaps a great deal of misunderstanding if the pale lad’s words had been taken the way the other dark-haired elf seemed to have thought them to be some declaration of love or passion. To call the whole thing awkward would be quite the understatement. He felt sympathy for the lad remembering Dhia’s recently asking him for aid in joining the Leveller’s Guild and his own hopes of doing more than being forced to work indoors inside the Furrier’s Guild Hall.

A few months ago, he had finally unburdened himself to his father about his true feelings and wanting to work more as a supplier. He was glad he had done so, especially now that he knew there were even more interesting game that his father and aunt had revealed particular investors were willing to pay handsomely for.

“Someone should go after the lad.” He kindly commented as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit central area of the tavern after he finally let go of the latch and closed the door. With the air from the exterior gone, a very strong odour permeating the interior of the tavern made him wrinkle his nose in disapproval.

At the older human male’s question, whom he suspected to be the barkeep if not the outright owner, he nodded though he found himself asking. “Aye, some red wine please, though I must say and my apologies if I sound rude, but you might reconsider serving your cheese, it smells like pickled troll’s feet.” Unfortunately he spoke from experience having smelled such an item before that was a popular selling one the Furrier’s Guild discreetly supplied particular clients who preferred to remain anonymous most often.

Ilidre carefully placed the bucket, which held the severed head of the hag, back onto the floor. It seemed there had been a misunderstanding. The young man named Arron wasn't actually seeking a romantic partner; he was offering himself as a companion for adventures. Ilidre overheard the comment made by the other elf, but he wasn't going to leave Arron in the state he was in.

Disregarding the foul smell emanating from the bucket, Ilidre swiftly made his way past the tavern keeper, offering him an apologetic look. "Excuse me," he politely uttered as he confidently strode into the back room to have a conversation with Arron. The back room, a secluded area of the tavern, was designated for quieter patrons and those who wished to engage in card games. The atmosphere was serene, with only the gentle crackling of the fire in the stone hearth breaking the silence.

The throbbing ache in Ilidre's side resurfaced, adding to his growing discomfort. The persistent ache had been manageable before, but now it seemed to intensify with each passing moment. Ilidre had become adept at ignoring the pain, but this time it demanded his attention.

Gareth, with a slight tilt of his head, gestured towards the bucket, insinuating that the unpleasant smell was emanating from it. "You see, it's not cheese," he explained, "but rather the head of a hag. It's Ilidre's offering, and it's best to keep your distance." He cautioned the young elf, noting that although he didn't appear to be the type to engage in daylight theft, there were plenty of ill-mannered individuals lurking about in this part of The City.
"A glass of red wine," as the request for a glass of red wine was reiterated, Gareth reached for a pottery pitcher and skillfully poured a generous amount into one of the spotless half-pint tankards. "That will be three silver," he stated, sliding the tankard towards the new customer while extending his hand to receive the payment. In that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if Arron would be alright.

Arron found himself perched on a chair in a dimly lit corner, his index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose in a desperate attempt to alleviate the overwhelming embarrassment that coursed through his veins. The weight of his mortification seemed to bear down on him, as if it were a physical burden he could not shake off. In that moment, he yearned for nothing more than a miraculous hole to appear in the worn wooden floor of the tavern, a portal through which he could escape and be forever forgotten. The memory of his outburst still lingered in his mind, and he couldn't fathom why he had shouted so recklessly.

Arron's attention was abruptly drawn to the sound of Gareth's voice in the main bar. It was then that he became acutely aware of a presence in the room. Slowly, the realization dawned upon him like a sudden burst of clarity, it was Ilidre. A surge of frustration and disbelief welled up within him, causing him to mutter a curse under his breath. He hadn't anticipated Ilidre following him, invading the sanctuary of his solitude. Determined to maintain a semblance of composure, he mustered the strength to speak, his voice laced with a hint of defiance, "I'm not crying." It was a feeble attempt to convey to Ilidre that his tears were absent, that he refused to succumb to vulnerability in his presence.