2025-05-06 18:23:04
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Bounty Hunters
Calen didn’t waste a moment.The second Carmen disappeared into the back corridor of the tavern, he was already on his feet, slipping out the door and into the cool night air. The streets of Eryndall were quieter now—lamplight casting long golden streaks across damp cobblestones, the sky above a canvas of deep violet, veiled with thin mist.He pulled his hood higher, face angled downward. He was a traveler, nothing more. And he couldn’t afford to linger too long in a place like this—not with his name whispered in the wrong corners of the realm.The Hollow Hearth. Carmen’s words echoed in his mind.South quarter. He moved swiftly, passing shuttered shops and flickering lanterns. But as he turned past a crumbling statue of some forgotten knight, he froze.Voices.Men’s voices—loud, rough, and far too alert for the hour.He pressed himself against a mossy stone wall, hidden beneath a warped wooden awning. On the street ahead, a group of men stood at a crossroads, half-shrouded in mist. F
The Information
Suddenly, the soft clatter of plates and low murmur of conversation in the tavern broke under a sharper voice—firm, older, and edged with concern.“Carmen? Everything all right over there?”The words cut through the air like a knife. Calen turned just enough to catch sight of the innkeeper standing behind the bar, a linen cloth draped over his shoulder, another clenched in his weathered hands. He didn’t blink. His gaze was locked on Calen—sharp, assessing, protective.The flickering lamplight highlighted the lines of suspicion on the man’s face. He was no stranger to trouble, and by the way his shoulders stiffened, he was already preparing for it.Carmen didn’t flinch. Her body remained poised and unmoved, though her voice reached him with clarity. “I’m fine,” she said with calm precision. “This man just wants to talk for a moment.”Calen nodded slowly in support, keeping his hands visible on the table and his body language carefully neutral.The innkeeper narrowed his eyes, his stare
I Only Want To Talk
It had been several days since Calen Storm first set foot in Eryndall, yet the city—grand as it was—offered him nothing but silence. Its towering spires and gilded domes might have held the whispers of thousands, but none spoke the truth he sought. Each morning, he walked the length of the stone bridges and winding alleys, passing under hanging lanterns and between marble arches, all while the city moved around him—alive, indifferent. Street performers played zithers on corner plazas, vendors shouted over carts of fruit and perfume, and nobles swept past in embroidered cloaks. Yet not a single voice could tell him what had become of his father.The trail, if it ever existed, had long since faded into the dust of time. All he had were stories—half-remembered, conflicting tales passed down by soldiers who had once marched under the banners of the Drakhtarion Rebellion. Some said Aldric Storm had fled to the mountains. Others whispered he had journeyed through Eryndall to find allies amo
The Hunt Begins
It started with whispers.Posters, hastily nailed to market stalls and village gates, bore the unmistakable sigil of the crown—the golden stag pierced by a sword. And beneath it, the name that once commanded loyalty, awe, and fear:CALEN STORM.“WANTED. BY ORDER OF THE KING. TEN THOUSAND GOLD ROYALS FOR HIS CAPTURE — ALIVE.”No crime listed. No justification. Only a decree.And yet, it was enough.Within hours, bounty hunters flooded the streets of Aerondale—some local, many foreign. Mercenaries, assassins, outlaws seeking royal favor. The scent of gold had drawn them like vultures to a battlefield.They moved in packs.They wore armor bearing no sigils—only leather dyed black, swords strapped to their backs, and cruel grins that meant business. Some rode warhorses bred in the frozen north. Others carried siege crossbows, nets woven with iron hooks, or enchanted traps imported from the eastern provinces.Even among the shadows, one name echoed louder than the gold reward:“The God of
The Confrontation
The moonlight bathed the Queen’s chamber in silver, spilling through the latticework of the tall windows. Incense smoldered softly in a golden bowl near the hearth, filling the room with the faint scent of jasmine and myrrh. Velvet drapes billowed faintly in the midnight breeze. Everything was quiet—eerily so.Queen Elara sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair with slow, deliberate movements. Her reflection stared back at her with practiced poise: regal, calm, untouched by scandal. Yet beneath her serene expression, a storm brewed.She had already heard the news.Calen Storm—exiled. Branded a traitor. A fugitive of the crown.And yet, not a single flicker of fear showed on her face.Not yet.The door creaked open.She didn’t turn.She didn’t have to.She recognized his presence the moment it entered the room, like a drop of ink in clear water. Dark. Spreading.King Theron Ashford.He stepped inside with the slow, measured gait of a predator. His silhouette loomed behind her, out
The Traitor, Wanted
The throne hall of Aerondale had never been so quiet. Despite the heavy velvet drapes, the polished marble floors, and the grand stained glass windows casting shards of morning light into the chamber, a chill had settled in the air—a palpable unease.The nobles arrived first, adorned in their family colors, some with gold-trimmed robes, others with ceremonial armor that clinked softly with each step. Soon after came the military commanders—broad-shouldered, grim-faced, many of whom had fought under General Calen Storm’s banner not long ago. And then, courtiers and ministers, clutching scrolls and ledgers, whispering urgently to one another behind fans and in corners. No one knew the reason for the sudden summons, only that it had come directly from the King’s hand.A tension hung over the room like a thundercloud refusing to break. Even the guards along the columns stood unnaturally stiff, their hands gripping spears a little tighter than usual.Then the heavy doors creaked open.King
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