Chapter 8: I think we should get better
The next morning, Azazel and Reginleif ate a cheap, filling breakfast of oat porridge before heading to the guild.
The board was crowded with new postings, but one in particular caught Azazel's eye—it was written in a hastier, more desperate script than the others.
QUEST: Herbal Remedy Hunt
Posted by: Elder Miriam of Oakhaven
A child in our village falls ill with the Grey Shakes. The cure requires Moonpetal and Silverroot, which grow in the Sunken Glade to the east. I am too old to make the journey, and the glade is no longer safe. Please, help us.
Reward: 50 Silver, two minor healing potions, and my eternal gratitude.
"Herb gathering," Azazel said, tapping the notice. "Seems straightforward. Less bandits, more… botany."
Reginleif scanned the description."The Sunken Glade. It's known. Not for bandits, but for other things. Thorns that bite, streams that confuse. And the herbs themselves can be tricky to find among look-alikes."
"But no armored guys with greatswords,"Azazel pointed out.
"A different kind of challenge,"she conceded. "It pays decently for a Copper job. And the potions could save our lives later."
"Sold.Let's go be gardeners."
---
The journey to the Sunken Glade was short but unsettling. The forest grew denser, the light filtering through the canopy in strange, greenish hues. The air grew thick and damp, and the usual sounds of birds and insects fell away into a watchful silence.
The glade itself was a depression in the forest floor,mist curling around twisted, ancient trees. Vibrant, unfamiliar flowers bloomed everywhere, their colors almost unnaturally bright.
"Alright,"Reginleif said, pulling a small, illustrated scroll from her pack—a crude map with sketches of the plants. "Moonpetal. White flower, blue veins, glows faintly at dusk. Silverroot. Grey, hairy stalk, smells like iron when crushed."
"Glows and smells like blood.Got it," Azazel said, his eyes already scanning the riot of plant life. "How do we know which ones are the poisonous 'look-alikes'?"
"The scroll says Moonpetal's false cousin has red veins and smells sweet.Silverroot's impostor has a smooth stalk and smells of rot." She pointed to a shallow, fast-moving stream cutting through the center of the glade. "The map indicates the best patches are on the other side."
The stream was their first challenge. The stones were slick with emerald moss. Reginleif used a gust of wind to dry a path across the widest stones, and they crossed carefully.
Finding the herbs was a painstaking process of crouching,comparing, and sniffing.
Azazel's city-sharpened senses were useless here; this required a patience he had to dig deep to find. He located a patch of white flowers, but the veins were a telling crimson. "False lead," he grunted.
Reginleif,meanwhile, had found the Silverroot. She carefully dug around the hairy grey stalk with her dagger, extracting the thick, metallic-smelling root. "One down."
It was Azazel who found the Moonpetal,nestled in the hollow of a giant tree root where the mist was thinnest. The petals did seem to hold a faint, milky luminescence even in the daytime.
He carefully harvested a few blossoms, avoiding the fragile stems.
As he straightened up,a sharp, stinging pain shot through his calf.
He looked down to see a vine, covered in needle-like thorns, retracting back into a large, pitcher-shaped plant. The area around the bite immediately began to numb.
"Damn it!"he hissed, stumbling back.
"Thorn-creeper,"Reginleif said, instantly at his side. She tore a strip from her cloak and tied it tightly above the wound to slow the spread of the numbness.
"The toxin isn't lethal, but it'll paralyze the limb for an hour. Can you walk?"
"I can hobble,"Azazel gritted out, the feeling in his leg fading to a cold, dead weight. "Let's just get the hell out of this fairy-tale nightmare."
Their exit was less graceful than their entrance.Azazel leaned heavily on Reginleif as she helped him back across the stream and out of the oppressive silence of the glade. By the time they reached the outskirts of Oakhaven, the feeling was starting to prick painfully back into his leg.
Elder Miriam, a woman with kind eyes and hands stained with earth and ink, wept with relief when they presented the herbs. She pressed the silver coins and two small vials of cerulean liquid into their hands.
"The potions will heal shallow wounds and purge common toxins,"she said, her gaze lingering on Azazel's limp. "Use them wisely."
She also gave them each a simple braided cord,tied with a dried sprig of lavender. "For protection," she said. "May your paths be clear."
Walking back to Korvath,Azazel tested his slowly waking leg. "You know, for a 'simple' herb run, that was somehow more annoying than the bandits."
"Different skills,"Reginleif said, pocketing her cord and one potion.
She handed the other potion to him. "You need to learn to watch your feet as much as your enemy's sword. The world here will kill you in quiet ways, too."
Azazel took the potion,the cool glass vial feeling significant. She was right. In his old life, threats were people, guns, deals gone bad. Here, the world itself was an active participant. He looked at the braided cord in his other hand.
The walk back from Oakhaven to Korvath was slower, the silence between them more contemplative than tense. Azazel's leg, though no longer numb, ached with a deep, bruising throb—a persistent reminder that a plant had nearly sidelined him.
As the grim spires of Korvath came into view, Reginleif finally spoke. "The guild will want confirmation the herbs were delivered.
The elder's mark on the quest slip."
"Right,"Azazel said, shifting the weight off his sore leg. "Paperwork. Some things are universal."
They headed straight for the Adventurers Guild.The common room was less crowded at this hour, the usual din softened to a murmur. The same dog-eared receptionist greeted them with a twitchy smile.
"Back so soon?How did Oakhaven fare?"
Reginleif placed the completed quest slip,now bearing Elder Miriam's delicate wax seal, on the counter.
"The herbs were delivered. The child has a chance."
"Oh,wonderful!" the receptionist chirped, filing the slip away with efficient movements. "Elder Miriam is a treasure. The Guildmaster will be pleased."
She counted out their promised silver—fifty coins that felt earned in a different, quieter way than bandit gold. "Your cooperation and speed have been noted. It reflects well on your copper rank."
Emboldened, Azazel scanned the board again, his eyes landing on another notice. This one lacked the desperate scrawl of the herbalist, bearing instead an official-looking seal from a village elder.
"What about this one?"he asked Reginleif. "Missing messenger. Sounds like a straightforward delivery with a side of rescue."
QUEST: The Missing Messenger
Posted by: Elder Jonas of Pinehall
Our courier, Kaelen, has failed to return from his routine delivery to the market town of Briar's End. The path winds through the Whisperwood.
We fear the worst. The message he carries is vital—a grain shipment ledger to settle our debts.
Objective: Find Kaelen, recover the message, and see it delivered to Magistrate Hollis in Briar's End.
Reward: 75 Silver, a Wayfinder's Compass, and a favor from Pinehall.
"The Whisperwood," Reginleif mused. "Kobold territory. Annoying, but not usually lethal if you're prepared. It's a test of tracking and problem-solving as much as combat."
"Less thorns,more goblin-things," Azazel said. "I'll take it. Let's go."
---
The Whisperwood earned its name. A soft, constant rustle seemed to move through the leaves, sounding unsettlingly like hushed voices.
They found signs of struggle quickly: a torn satchel strap caught on a bramble, then a single, well-worn boot.
"He was running.Or was dragged," Azazel observed, his eyes on the scuffed earth.
The trail led to the mouth of a narrow,rocky ravine.
There, scratched into the soft stone beside the entrance, was a simple, hasty carving: a circle with a line pointing at an angle, and three dots above it.
"A riddle?"Azazel frowned.
"A direction,"Reginleif corrected, tracing the carving. "Look. The circle is the sun. The line points… west. The three dots. Three paces? Or three landmarks?"
"West from here,"Azazel said, peering into the ravine's gloom. "But there's no path west. Just rock."
"Unless…"Reginleif looked up. A narrow, almost invisible game trail led up the side of the ravine, winding westward along the ridge. "Three dots. Three switchbacks on the trail."
They climbed.At the third turn in the path, they found the messenger's hat, and below, a shallow cave entrance obscured by ferns. From within, they heard the skittering, chittering sounds of Kobolds and a low, human groan.
———
The cave was a cramped warren. Four scaly, dog-like Kobolds were squabbling over the contents of a spilled pack. Tied up in the back was a young man in village garb.
As they burst in, the Kobolds shrieked in surprise. Two immediately raised crude spears. The other two scrambled for the stolen leather tube.
Reginleif's wind blasted the spear-wielders off their feet. "The message!" she shouted.
Azazel lunged for the tube, but the two smaller Kobolds were faster, darting into a side tunnel with their prize.
"Youshadow," Azazel hissed, the word a cold command.
From the dense shadows cast by the uneven cave wall, inky tendrils shot out and wrapped around the Kobolds' ankles. The creatures yelped, stumbling and falling as if their own shadows had turned against them. They clawed at the bindings, but the darkness held firm, rooting them to the spot.
It was all the opening Azazel needed. He closed the distance and knocked them senseless with his kukri's pommel, retrieving the leather tube. With a thought, he willed the tendrils to dissolve back into the cave's ordinary gloom.
Reginleif had dispatched the other two. She stared at him, then at the spot where the shadows had moved. "You're learning," was all she said, her voice low with approval.
Yeah, Azazel thought. It works. Youshadow wasn't just a feeling anymore—it was a weapon he could call.
over the contents of a spilled pack—mostly rations and a few copper coins. Tied up in the back, looking bruised and weary, was a young man in village garb.
The fight was short and brutal.Reginleif's wind slammed two Kobolds into the cave wall before they could raise their crude spears. Azazel closed with the other two, his kukri flashing in the dim light. The creatures were fast but brittle; one good slash each and they crumpled.
They cut the messenger,Kaelen, free. "The ledger!" he croaked, pointing a trembling finger at a Kobold that was trying to scurry away with a sealed leather tube. Azazel snatched it back.
With Kaelen leaning on Reginleif,they escorted him out of the Whisperwood and to the outskirts of Briar's End, where he could recover. True to their word, they delivered the leather tube directly to Magistrate Hollis's clerk.
The magistrate himself,a stern but fair-looking man, inspected the unbroken seal. "Pinehall's debts will be settled. You've done a greater service than you know. This prevents a great deal of hardship." He added five extra silver to their purse himself as a personal thanks.
Back at the Korvath guild, the receptionist's dog ears perked up as they presented the magistrate's signed receipt.
"Two quests in two days!And a successful rescue-delivery. Excellent work." She paid out the remaining seventy silver and produced a small, well-crafted brass compass from under the counter.
"The Wayfinder. It's charmed to point toward your current objective if you hold a related item. Useful for tracking."
She also handed them a scroll tied with Pinehall's seal."A letter of commendation from Elder Jonas. This will open doors with certain merchants and officials. Your reputation is growing."
Walking back to the inn, the weight of the silver was comforting, but the compass and the scroll felt more significant.
They were tools for a future, tokens of trust earned.
"A compass that points to what we're looking for,"Azazel said, turning the device over in his hand.
"And a favor in our pocket. We're not just surviving anymore."
"No,"Reginleif agreed, a note of grim satisfaction in her voice. "We're building. One copper-plated step at a time."
The Guttering Candle awaited,but it no longer felt like the end of the line. It felt, for the first time, like a launching point.