Delores stared at the half-orc dwarf, Barin Strongsunder, her mind racing. He stood near the cooling corpse of the orc bandit at his feet, his massive falchion still gleaming wetly in the fading light, his own scarred face grim beneath a dented helm. He claimed to be on patrol, claimed the orc was a bandit, and his exhaustion seemed genuine. But Delores, fresh from the sheltered, structured world of the Bard's Guild, knew little of the harsh realities of the road. Trust was a currency she couldn't afford to spend recklessly.
Summoning the poise drilled into her during countless Guild etiquette lessons, she offered a small, tentative smile. "Forgive my intrusion, Master Strongsunder. I heard the commotion and… well, I suppose my curiosity got the better of me." She kept her tone light, pleasant, the practiced cadence of a performer trying to gauge her audience. "My name is Delores. Delores Von Pixieheart of the Bard's Respite in Cerindor."
As she spoke, she subtly shifted her weight, her right hand drifting casually toward the worn leather pouch at her hip. Years of performance training had taught her misdirection, how to draw focus with voice and expression while her hands moved unseen. Barin grunted, leaning more heavily on his falchion as he watched her, his dark eyes assessing her just as intently.
"Pixieheart, eh?" he rumbled, the name clearly meaning nothing to him. "Bard, you say? Fancy name for someone wanderin' the woods near dark."
"I prefer 'musician'," Delores corrected gently, keeping the conversation flowing while her fingers slipped deftly into the pouch. "And I'm on my way east. Seeking employment, actually. My first venture outside the Guild's purview." Her fingers closed around the smooth, cool river stone, its familiar shape grounding her amidst the unease.
"First venture?" Barin chuckled, a rough, humorless sound. "Picked a fine stretch of road for it. Been quiet lately, too quiet. Makes scum like him," he gestured dismissively at the corpse, "bold."
Delores nodded sympathetically, maintaining eye contact, keeping his attention fixed on her face. Just need a moment, she thought. Concentrating subtly, she drew upon the innate magic that simmered beneath her musician's facade, channeling a thread of arcane energy into the river stone. She didn't want to control his thoughts, merely… perceive their surface. A mental probe, gentle and swift, just enough to sense truth or deception.
She pushed her nascent sorcerous senses outward, reaching for Barin's mind. It wasn't like probing the intricate layers of a Guild tutor's calculated thoughts or the simple anxieties of a fellow student. Reaching Barin's mind felt like stepping into… fog. Not darkness, not malice, just a vast, swirling emptiness, like a cavern filled with thick, grey smoke. There were no complex schemes, no hidden daggers of intent, no layers of deceit. Surface thoughts flickered dimly within the haze, exhaustion, the ache in his shoulder, irritation at the bandit, mild curiosity about the strange little gnome, and a profound, straightforward weariness. There simply wasn't much going on beneath the surface beyond the immediate and the obvious. It wasn't exactly stupidity, she sensed, but a lack of anything at all, a mind unburdened by intricate plotting. What you saw with Barin Strongsunder, it seemed, was precisely what you got.
Reassured, Delores let the subtle probe fade, withdrawing her senses as she relaxed slightly, her hand slipping casually from the pouch. He was gruff, battle-worn, and likely dangerous if provoked, but he wasn't lying. He wasn't a threat to her, at least not intentionally.
"Seeking employment out east, you say?" Barin repeated, pushing himself upright off his falchion. "Whereabouts?"
"A homestead belonging to a man named Oleg," Delores explained, feeling more comfortable sharing now. "The Dispatch Hall in Cerindor had a summons. He needs 'resourceful individuals' for some matter requiring discretion. Didn't say what, but he offered room and board upon arrival."
Barin stroked his scarred chin thoughtfully. "Oleg… Name rings a bell, faintly. Heard whispers of a kindly old sort living off the main roads. Keeps to himself mostly." He eyed Delores, then glanced around the darkening woods. "Travelin' alone, then? A small lass like you?"
Delores straightened her shoulders. "I'm more resilient than I look, Master Strongsunder."
"Call me Barin," he grunted. "And maybe ye are, but resilient don't stop a knife in the back from scum sneakier than this one." He kicked the dead orc again. "Bandits work in packs usually. Might be more of his ilk around, waitin' for stragglers. Road east gets rougher past the crossroads, less patrolled."
A genuine concern flickered in his dark eyes, replacing the earlier weariness. "Tell ye what, Musician Delores. It ain't safe out here alone, 'specially for a greenhorn. My patrol route technically loops back west, but…" He hesitated, glancing at the corpse, then back at her. "Wouldn't sit right leavin' ye to fend for yerself, knowin' what might be lurkin'. If you're headin' towards Oleg's anyway, maybe… maybe I could accompany ye. Least as far as his homestead. Could use the company, truth be told. Patrol duty gets lonely."
Delores considered his offer. Having a heavily armed, battle-tested warrior at her side certainly seemed wiser than venturing onward alone, especially after witnessing the brutal reality of banditry firsthand. His straightforwardness, confirmed by her mental probe, suggested he wasn't plotting anything nefarious.
"That's… very kind of you, Barin," she said sincerely. "I admit, the prospect of traveling alone was beginning to seem rather daunting."
Barin shrugged, a hint of a gruff smile touching his lips. "Just sensible. Safer in pairs, always." He then cleared his throat, a slightly awkward note entering his voice. "Course… patrol pay ain't what it used to be. If this Oleg fella offers 'generous compensation' like ye said… well, a guardsman could always use a bit o' coin for his troubles."
Delores grinned, understanding immediately. "I can't promise payment upfront, Barin, as I have little myself right now. But if this job with Oleg proves fruitful, I'd be happy to share a portion of whatever compensation I receive for your protection along the way."
Barin's smile widened, revealing slightly tusked teeth that was a clear sign of his orcish heritage. "Fair enough, lass. Fair enough." He hefted his falchion, the massive weapon looking almost comfortable in his grip again. "Right then. Best we find a spot to camp for the night, well off this bleedin' road. And maybe see if this scumbag had anything worth lootin' before the forest critters do."
Delores nodded, relief mixing with the lingering adrenaline. Her first day of adventure had already involved mortal danger, unexpected alliances, and the looting of corpses. It was certainly different from the Bard's Guild.
Barin efficiently began searching the dead bandit, turning out pockets filled with little more than lint, a crudely sharpened rock, and a single, tarnished copper piece. He grunted in disgust. "Hardly worth the effort o' killin' him," he muttered, kicking the corpse one last time before retrieving his waterskin from where it had fallen during the fight.
Delores watched him, then remembered the map Faelar had given her. She pulled the worn parchment from her satchel, smoothing it out in the dimming light. The lines indicating roads and landmarks were clear enough, but the dense woods surrounding them offered few obvious shelters.
"Alright, Barin," she said, turning the map towards him. "You mentioned finding a spot off the road. Do you know this area well? Any decent clearings nearby? Or perhaps your patrol has a regular campsite?"
Barin squinted at the map Delores held out, his brow furrowed beneath his helmet. He leaned closer, peering intently at the lines and symbols, then slowly shook his head, a look of mild confusion mixed with something akin to embarrassment crossing his scarred features.
"Map, eh?" he mumbled, straightening up and rubbing the back of his thick neck. "Aye, well… 'bout that." He shifted his weight awkwardly. "Lines and squiggles on parchment… never made much sense to me."
Delores blinked. "You mean… you can't read it?"
Barin let out a short, gruff laugh, though it sounded self-deprecating. "Read words? Gods, no, lass. Why bother? Words can be said, plain as day. No need to puzzle 'em out from chicken scratch." He tapped the side of his dented helmet. "Was made for patrol duty, see? Fightin', trackin', sniffin' out trouble. Point me in a direction, tell me who to bash or where to walk, and I'm yer dwarf-orc. Readin' books? Learnin' letters? Never had the time, nor the interest. Left that to the clerks and the pointy-ears back at the Citadel."
Delores stared at him, momentarily speechless. A career soldier, someone entrusted with patrolling borders, who couldn't read a map or written orders? It seemed baffling, almost irresponsible from her Guild-trained perspective where literacy was paramount. Yet, his honesty was disarming, his lack of pretense oddly refreshing. He wasn't ashamed; it simply wasn't part of his world, his function.
She carefully refolded the map. "Ah. I see." She cleared her throat. "Well, then… setting the map aside, do you know of any suitable places nearby from your patrols? A cave, an old ruin, anything better than sleeping under these trees with bandits potentially lurking?"
Barin shrugged, his gaze sweeping through the darkening woods, assessing the terrain with an instinct born of experience, not literacy. He sniffed the air, then pointed eastward along the road they'd been traveling. "Reckon there's an old guard shack 'bout half an hour's walk up that way. Ain't been used in seasons, probably falling apart, but it's stone walls and maybe a leaky roof. Better'n nothin', and defensible enough if more trouble comes knockin'." He glanced at Delores. "Sound alright to you, musician?"
"Stone walls sound wonderful right now," Delores agreed readily. "Lead the way, Barin."
He nodded curtly and started off, his heavy armor clanking softly as he moved with surprising quiet through the twilight woods, instinctively finding the easiest path back towards the road. Delores followed, her mind working. Barin Strongsunder. A half-orc dwarf, scarred and illiterate, built for war but seemingly possessing a core of rough decency and protective instinct. He was blunt, unrefined, perhaps simple in some ways, yet undeniably effective at what he did. An odd companion, certainly, a far cry from the eloquent performers and calculating mages of the Guild.
Someone should teach him, the thought came unbidden as she watched his broad back navigating the shadows ahead. Everyone deserves to read. The instinctive urge to help, to fix, surfaced again. It was impractical, perhaps even presumptuous, but the idea took root. Maybe, just maybe, over the course of their journey, she could try. Subtly, of course. One letter, one word at a time. It would be a challenge, another kind of adventure entirely. True to Barin's estimate, they reached the guard shack just as the last light faded from the sky. It was a small, squat structure of rough-hewn stone, half-hidden by overgrown bushes. The wooden door hung precariously on one hinge, and part of the roof had indeed collapsed inward, but three walls and a decent portion of cover remained intact. It wasn't luxurious, but it was shelter.
Barin checked the interior quickly, pronouncing it clear of vermin bigger than a rat, then began gathering dry wood from the less-collapsed corner for a fire. Delores watched him for a moment, then stepped over to the crude stone hearth. Closing her eyes briefly, she focused, drawing on that inner spark of sorcery. She held out her hand, whispering a soft, single syllable of power. A small, bright flame instantly sprang to life in the hearth, crackling merrily as it caught the dry twigs Barin had laid. Barin, who had turned back with an armful of larger branches, stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping slightly. He stared at the fire, then at Delores's outstretched hand, then back at the fire.
"Well, I'll be hornswoggled," he breathed, his dark eyes wide with undisguised surprise and a newfound respect. "Just… like that?"
Delores smiled, letting her hand fall to her side, the focusing stone warm in her palm. "Just like that. Comes in handy sometimes."
Barin shook his head slowly, dropping the wood near the hearth. "Aye," he muttered, looking at the small gnome with entirely new eyes. "I reckon it does." He settled himself down on the stone floor near the growing warmth, pulling out a chunk of hardtack from his pouch. The unlikely pair sat in companionable silence for a moment, the crackling fire casting dancing shadows on the old stone walls of their makeshift refuge, the vast, unknown road waiting for them just outside.