The next morning, the sun peeked lazily over the treetops, golden light filtering through the mist-covered canopy of the Jura Forest. Birds chirped and the faint sounds of life stirred in the village.
Varvatos stood outside the lodge, arms folded, gazing toward the horizon as the cool morning breeze tugged at his cloak.
Varvatos: "It's about time. We'll head to Dwargon today. I've been meaning to meet their blacksmiths. If I'm building something lasting here, I'll need the right people."
Just as he turned to head back inside, a familiar voice piped up behind him.
Veldora, stretching his arms: "Ooh! A trip? Count me in! I haven't been to Dwargon in like... well, a long time. It'll be fun!"
Varvatos, glancing over: "You sure you won't get recognized?"
Veldora, grinning smugly: "Please, I've mastered subtlety."
Ranga, suddenly appearing beside them: "I'll come too. It's best not to let Lord Varvatos travel alone. Besides, it's a good chance to patrol the area."
As if summoned by fate, Rigur jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Rigur: "Lord Varvatos! If you're heading to Dwargon, may I suggest taking Gobta with you? He's been there before, and uh… despite appearances, he knows the way."
There was a pause. A long one.
Varvatos: "Gobta?"
Veldora, snorting: "That goblin who tripped over his own face the other day?"
Rigur, sighing: "Yes. But surprisingly… he does have his moments."
Soon enough, Gobta showed up riding a sleek black Direfang, waving excitedly like this was the start of some grand adventure.
Gobta: "Heeey! I'm ready, boss!"
Varvatos: "...I guess we'll see how this goes."
Each of them mounted Direfangs, their powerful bodies built for speed and endurance. Ranga led the way, with Varvatos riding him. Gobta took point as their guide—though no one seemed fully convinced he'd get them there without getting lost. Veldora lounged on his Direfang like he was royalty on a moving sofa.
And just like that, they set off.
The dense foliage of the forest wrapped around them like a living tunnel, sunlight barely slipping through. The Direfangs padded silently over roots and moss, moving at a comfortable pace.
Veldora, tossing a fruit he found in the air: "Man, I forgot how nice it feels to travel. Beats sitting around any day."
Gobta, looking proud: "You guys are lucky! I've been to Dwargon like, three times! I know the guards, and I even know the best place for roasted lizard meat!"
Varvatos, raising a brow: "Didn't you say last time you got kicked out for causing a scene?"
Gobta, sheepishly: "T-That was a misunderstanding…"
Despite Gobta's bragging, the path he led them through was surprisingly smooth. They crossed rivers on mossy stones, passed massive hollow trees filled with buzzing bees, and occasionally saw other creatures scurry away at the scent of the Direfangs.
Ranga: "This forest has been quiet lately. The stronger monsters must've retreated deeper after your arrival, Lord Varvatos."
Varvatos, looking around: "Nature's smart. It adapts."
As the sun dipped below the treetops, they found a clearing beside a small lake. The Direfangs drank and rested while the group set up camp.
Gobta, chewing on dried jerky: "So, boss, what are you looking for in Dwargon anyway?"
Varvatos: "Blacksmiths. Real ones. I want to build a place worth defending. I'll need good hands for that."
Veldora: "Ohh, maybe I can get a custom sword too! Something big and flashy, with flames shooting out!"
Varvatos: "You don't use swords."
Veldora: "Details."
As the fire crackled, they shared quiet stories. Gobta rambled about the time he "accidentally" joined a drinking contest in Dwargon. Ranga spoke about his training in the forest. Veldora, in a rare moment, talked vaguely of old battles—of cities that no longer stood and people long gone.
Varvatos, lying back with arms behind his head: "The world's bigger than I thought. And I've barely scratched the surface."
Ranga: "With you leading us, I believe we'll see all of it someday."
Morning came fast. They mounted up again, continuing along winding paths. The trees thinned, giving way to wide plains kissed by the wind. Birds flew overhead, and small herds of horned beasts grazed in the distance.
They passed a traveling merchant's wagon around midday—a gruff dwarf with a grumpy face and a clever foxlike apprentice.
Merchant: "goblin-looking fellas and a suspiciously handsome man on Direfangs? You lot heading to Dwargon?"
Varvatos: "That's the plan."
Merchant, chuckling: "Good luck. The capital's been tense lately. Lotta noble types puffin' up like peacocks. Might be tough getting in without a sponsor."
Gobta: "Don't worry! I'm very persuasive!"
Veldora, aside to Varvatos: "Should we be worried?"
Varvatos, dryly: "Yes."
They thanked the merchant and continued on. By the time the sun began to set, the mountain ranges of Dwargon appeared on the horizon like the backs of slumbering giants. The city, carved into the very rock, gleamed faintly under the fading light.
Ranga, awed: "So that's Dwargon…"
Gobta, grinning: "Welcome to the Dwarven Kingdom! Prepare your stomachs and your wallets!"
Varvatos, more focused: "Let's not draw too much attention. Especially you—" he looked at Veldora "—no name dropping. Not yet."
Veldora, dramatically placing a hand on his chest: "I'll behave. Scout's honor."
Ranga: "You weren't a scout."
Veldora: "Still counts."
As they neared the gates, the massive stone doors towered before them, guarded by elite dwarven soldiers with stern expressions and polished armor.
Varvatos dismounted slowly, cloak brushing against the earth. He stepped forward.
Varvatos: "Time to see what this kingdom's made of."
The party arrived at the main gates of Dwargon just past noon, Ranga and the other direfangs waiting by the forest. The grand dwarven capital was nestled into the stone spine of the mountains, its gates towering high like the jaws of a mighty beast.
A line had already formed—no, more like a sea of travelers. Beastmen, elves, humans, goblins, and even a couple of lizardfolk queued along the cobbled road leading into the city. Caravans creaked under cargo, adventurers lounged with weapons strapped to their backs, and merchants loudly haggled for space.
Gobta, bouncing on his toes: "Whoa, this line's bigger than last time! Guess Dwargon's popularity's still booming!"
Veldora, arms folded with a regal huff: "This is taking forever. Maybe I should just roar a little to speed things up?"
Varvatos, raising a brow: "And get us banned before we even step in? Hard pass."
Gobta, grinning: "Don't worry! I got this."
Before Varvatos could object, Gobta vanished into the crowd like a greased squirrel. A few minutes later, muffled voices were heard from the front—followed by a guard waving toward them.
Dwarven Guard: "You there—green one and your companions—step forward!"
Gobta returned, puffing his chest with pride.
Gobta: "Told ya I'm persuasive!"
Varvatos, skeptical: "You didn't bribe anyone, did you?"
Gobta: "What? Me? Never!" (He definitely did.)
Once inside, they were met with a bustling city full of life. The stone-paved streets wove between towering buildings carved into the mountainside. Fire-lit forges roared in open workshops. Blacksmiths shouted over anvils. Steam hissed from contraptions powered by magic cores. The air was thick with the smell of metal, spice, and hot bread.
Veldora, spinning around: "This place has flavor! I might move here!"
Varvatos, smiling faintly: "It has charm, that's for sure."
Gobta, hopping up and down: "Let's get grilled meat! No wait—let's check out the magic shop first! Ooh! What if we find dwarven dice?!"
As they walked, Varvatos kept his senses sharp. Among the noise and crowd, something subtle tugged at the edge of his perception.
A presence.
Whoever it was, they were skilled. The aura was cloaked tightly—enough that most wouldn't even register it. But Varvatos wasn't "most."
Varvatos, thinking: They're hiding well… must be trained. Military, maybe?
He didn't alert the others. He simply let his awareness spread like a thin mist, carefully watching the movements behind them without glancing back.
They visited several shops—one run by a famous smith who worked on magic weapons, another with enchanted armor, and even a dwarven crafting guild that had blueprints of golems on display. At each stop, Varvatos asked questions, listened, observed.
The city wasn't just built for industry—it was alive.
As the sun dipped low, they wandered into a well-known bar run by elves, tucked into a polished corner near the commerce district. It had glowing runes above the door, warm lighting, and a gentle harp playing inside. Most patrons were adventurers relaxing after quests.
The moment they stepped in, several heads turned.
Bartender (an elven lady): "Welcome, gentlemen! Please, take a seat. The roast is fresh and the ale's cool."
They settled into a booth. Varvatos sat by the window, Veldora ordered "everything on the menu", and Gobta attempted to flirt with a waitress, earning a flick on the head.
Gobta, holding his forehead: "That's fair…"
Veldora, mouth full: "Mmm! The elves cook as well as they enchant!"
Varvatos, looking around calmly: "It's a good city. Lots of talent… and plenty of eyes watching."
He didn't say it out loud, but the spy was still there—always just a few dozen paces back, never close enough to be seen, always moving when they did. Impressive. But not unseen.
Varvatos, sipping quietly: They've had long enough.
Later, with the sky dimming into dusk, Varvatos stood up and stretched.
Varvatos: "You two keep enjoying yourselves. I'll be back shortly."
Gobta, chewing on a meat skewer: "You okay, boss?"
Veldora, nodding sagely: "He's going for a dramatic moment. Let him."
Varvatos stepped into the back streets—stone alleyways between workshops, cast in shadow and lit only by occasional glowing runes. He let his footsteps echo, then turned sharply and vanished into Mist Step.
The spy, still tracking the group from a rooftop, frowned. He blinked. Where did the tall one go?
Spy, muttering: "Did I miss—?"
A sudden tap on his shoulder sent a shock through his spine. He spun, dropping into a fighting stance out of pure instinct—but what he saw made his blood run cold.
Varvatos stood there, arms folded, smiling.
Varvatos: "You've been pretty committed. I think it's about time we had a proper chat."
Spy, heart pounding: "How…?"
He tried to teleport, but nothing happened. His legs wouldn't move. His mana was frozen in place.
Varvatos, casually: "I'd say trying to run is pointless. I sealed the area before I got here."
The spy looked around, feeling the magical lock that bound him. It was smooth, clean—undetectable until it activated. Definitely not your average spell.
Spy, swallowing hard: "...Who are you?"
Varvatos, stepping closer: "I should be the one asking. Why are you following us? Who sent you?"
Realizing he was outmatched, the spy slowly raised his hands.
Spy: "I'll talk. King Gazel… he asked us to monitor anyone suspicious entering the city. You three, you didn't register properly. A human with high magical presence, a cloaked beast, and… that." (He clearly meant Veldora.)
Varvatos, stroking his chin: "Reasonable. Can't fault him for caution."
He snapped his fingers. The spell dissipated like fog under sunlight. The spy gasped and staggered back.
Varvatos: "Go back and tell your king… I'd like an audience. He can decide the time and place."
The spy didn't need telling twice. With a sharp nod, he vanished into the night.
Back at the bar, Gobta had passed out from eating too much. Veldora was now telling a story to an elf waitress, describing how he once "accidentally" destroyed a mountain.
Veldora, laughing: "—and then, boom! The whole ridge just collapsed! Ahaha!"
Varvatos re-entered the bar, brushing dust from his cloak.
Veldora: "Done with your 'moment'?"
Varvatos, smirking: "Let's just say… we have a royal meeting coming up."
Outside the city, in the quiet trees beyond the walls, Ranga and the Direfangs remained ever-vigilant. They lay curled beneath the moonlight, sensing no immediate danger—but their ears stayed perked, waiting for their master's return.