Bleda and Andrew were walking along the path to the next town. The town of Eagle's Nest was by the sea.
It was the perfect first milestone for the trading caravans.
There was just one problem.
"This deer trail won't be big enough for a caravan to pass through," Andrew voiced his thoughts. Not knowing that Bleda had come to the same conclusion.
"I think that the goblins who don't want to become adventurers can make a route to the port town," Bleda said, looking around.
There was a strange smell in the air which he could not seem to shake off.
"I think we should stop in here for the night," the Mongol said, already beginning to unpack.
"But it's still bright outside!" Andrew protested.
"Yes. And that's why we should get shelter before the storm sets."
The siren took a deep breath.
There was the smell of rotten eggs mixing in with the rich ozone smell of upcoming rain.
The two began to make a shelter under a birch tree.
Knowing that the tree won't be enough to get them out of the elements but not having anything else to work with.
****
The rain was pelting down on them. The branches they had tried to turn into a roof were not keeping them dry.
The smell of rotten eggs was coming closer and closer.
Bleda was sharpening a knife. Andrew was looking at the map. Trying to figure out what was behind them.
"What do you think is hunting us?" Andrew asked, as he thought that there was no way for it to be a ghost.
Those didn't give out any smell.
"I don't know. How about this? I will take the first shift, and you can take the next one?"
Andrew nodded, as he laid down in his bedroll and tried to get to sleep.
His valiant attempt lasted for a total of five minutes, before he turned to Bleda once more.
"I was not made for this," Andrew murmured, as he looked into his traveling companion's dark eyes.
"Oh?" Bleda asked, as he took another dagger to sharpen.
"Yes. This whole adventuring thing. I was just an accountant back in our world."
Bleda nodded.
"Do you know what I was?" The Mongol asked, as he placed the sharpened dagger back on the cloth where he kept them all on.
"No? I don't think you've ever mentioned it."
"Well, I was just a janitor. In a private school. I didn't have a degree," Bleda finished, as he smiled at Andrew. "But that's all well and good, right? I got to practice archery in my spare time. I got to learn horse riding from a very young age. Besides," Bleda winked at him, as Andrew stared at him with wide eyes. "What does it matter how we worked in our world? We are in a different world. This one is the one which matters."
Andrew mulled over these words for a couple of seconds. He tried to imagine tall and muscular Bleda with a mop in hand.
Somehow, he just couldn't.
"Then, what do you suggest?" The siren asked. Bleda smiled wider.
"We can learn from one another. You can do magic, I can fight!"
Andrew got out of the bedroll and went to sit by Bleda's side.
"Then, why not join the Adventurer's Guild?" That was the question which had always bothered the siren.
Why hadn't they done what was logical, instead of trying to do a Herculean task?
"The guild, with all its rules," Bleda began, as he handed a sharpened dagger to Andrew. The siren stared at it for quite a while, but he simply didn't have the heart to give it back.
This was a promise, he realized. A promise of strength despite the odds.
"Will bring us to the brink of madness."
Andrew nodded.
A screech filled the silence.
Bleda was on his feet the next second. A throwing dagger in his hand. He looked at the bushes a bit to the left, then at the forest canopy up ahead.
"Did you hear that?" Bleda asked, as he began to look frantically.
"I think it came from that way," Andrew pointed to the right. There was something like a black mist rolling from there.
"Andrew, sing a healing chant!" Bleda commanded, as he took a stance before Andrew. "Right now!"
The siren nodded.
He opened his mouth, cleared his throat, and then began.
Bleda began to blink. He felt warm inside.
This was the song of the first birds of spring. The song of the blossoming fruit trees.
A song about life itself.
The mist began to recede. Bleda didn't loosen his stance.
Andrew's music began to have a sadder note.
A note of the widow who had to recognize the corpse of her dead husband. A husband who had gone to war and never returned whole.
Bleda began to tear up. Andrew's song was giving him memories of different times.
Times during which he had to fight tooth and claw for his daily bread.
Something came out of the bushes. A deformed goblin-like creature. Both of its hands were on its ears.
Bleda didn't lose the momentum! He threw the dagger, hitting the creature between the eyes.
The stench of rotten eggs finally let up.
But both had bigger problems then.
"Do you think that was a Bogart?" Andrew asked, as he scrunched up his nose at the carcass.
"Could be," Bleda told him, as he neared the dead creature. "But it could also be something else. You never know."
"How are we to build a trade route in here, when the forest is full of Bogarts?"
Bleda had no answer to that. He had only one solution in mind. Even if that solution might not be the right one, he decided to share it.
"This is their home," that was a fact Andrew could not argue with. "And we should give them something of equal value to that which we will take."
Andrew nodded.
"Food or mana stones?" The siren asked.
"Both," the necromancer told him, already making plans for a meeting with the leaders of the creature tribes in the forest.