A   symphony of wind and birdsong filled the crisp air as it rolled along   the grassy hills of Illyrica. The weather happened to be having one of   those moments of interesting indecision, as the sun shone brightly over   the fields, while the few dark clouds that did hang overhead sprinkled   what rain they could onto the land below.

The   stamping of hooves against the damp soil and the clattering of   equipment and armor could be heard as a group of knights, five in  count,  came over the hill. The first, a burly man clad in plated mail  and a  pure, white surcoat with a golden, twin-headed eagle emblazoned  upon the  front. He rode a well-armored charger, looking back to his  similarly  equipped companions with an excited grin tugging at his lips.

"We're   nearing the beast's lair. I can feel it. Towards those hills to the   north," he said, gesturing towards the spoken direction.

"Good.   Let's slay this creature, bag its revolting head, and ride home," said   the hooded Shadow Elf just behind the human to his left. She examined   her nails, faint wisps of ice dancing around her fingertips. "Perhaps I   can freeze its flesh for use later at tonight's Feast?"

"Does the Grandmaster like basilisk?" asked another human, behind the first knight to his right.

"It's a delicacy whence I hail. Though doubtless it is lost on your human palettes..."

"Maybe   we should be more concerned with killing the basilisk instead of   whether or not to serve it to the Grandmaster?" said the meek voice of   the fourth knight, a lithe young wood elf clad in  painted white for  his  Order. He anxiously fiddled with the arrows in his quiver, ready  to  draw if taken by surprise. "Be on your guard. Basilisks are  extremely  deadly, and yet you treat it like it's the same as hunting a  buck."

"Is   Basilisk flesh not absurdly poisonous? How do you elves stomach it?"   asked the fifth and final knight, a dark-skinned human in armor similar   to the first knight's. Her face scrunched up in disgust at the mention   of such fetid flesh.

"If   you know how to properly drain it and cook it, it is a sweet and savoury meat. But the boy is right. Kill the monster before we argue recipes," replied the Shadow Elf. "Aethelred," she asked the human on the right flank, "Have you the mirrors? It would be a shame to lose the   rookie on his first venture as an ordained Knight Solanian."

"Fuck off, Satresi," the wood elf muttered. The Shadow Elf only chuckled.

Aethelred   pointed his quarterstaff to the wood elf. "Bite your tongue, Thulim."   He aimed the staff towards Satresi, "Yours as well. There will be none of this in the presence of Captain Vilhmir."

"Kiss-ass,"   the dark-skinned woman coughed. As Aethelred swiveled around to   silently threaten her, she began casually examining her flanged mace.

"Ease   up, Aethelred. Tensions are high as it is. Look where we are," Vilhmir   said. "The emerald fields of Illyrica. Take a breath of Goddess   Veturia's finest air and admire the mountains in the distance."

"Well   and good, but we cannot afford to in-fight this way. Someone has to   deliver discipline," Aethelred curtly replied. He turned back to the   dark woman. "This does not make me a kiss-ass, Khadijah."

"Basilisks   are practically routine bounties by now, Red," Vilhmir laughed.  "You'll  learn soon enough, Thulim. Just don't look it in the eye and  aim for  the spine. Tether it down and I'll take my axe to it. If we  work quickly  it should be about five minutes, factoring in a victory  mead."

As   much as Thulim was encouraged by the sound of that, Aethelred could   only think about how he was beset on all sides by madmen. "Routine? Victory mead?   I assure you this is no game. Norsid you may be, the basilisk is one  of  the most dangerous creatures ever spawned by the Shaituns of Hell  to  plague the mortal world!"

"Seems   like the wolf and the vixen are getting married," Vilhmir replied,   holding his armored hand out and looking up into the sky. The sunshower   was a peculiar occurrence, though nothing unnatural. It was a good  omen,  the Northman figured.

"You call it a wolf's wedding as well?" asked Khadijah from the back of the group.

"Huh. The Wood Elves always said the wolves and the deer were--"

"Not one of you is concerned for your lives, are you?" said Aethelred.

"I've   lived thirty and three years. I'm nearly into my middle life," Satresi   remarked. "If I die today I'll have died fulfilled, having served our   Lord Solanius. I'll rise cleansed of Dolekar's Curse."

To   that Aethelred went silent, having no argument with which to challenge   the elf. Thulim, on the other hand, did have something to say. "Are we   any closer to the beast's lair? I'm eager to try it's meat tonight.   Sooner we kill it..."

"We're   closer to a local hamlet," said Khadijah, reaching for the pack   strapped to her horse's saddle. She pulled out a rolled up map of   Illyrica. "Hoffen should be to our west. Vilhmir, should we stop there   and ask around about the basilisk?"

Vilhmir   quietly considered for a moment, before looking over his shoulder.   "Absolutely. After all, there's no doubt in my mind other hunters are   aiming to slay the monster. The more the merrier."

So   Khadijah advanced towards the front of the group, leading the five   knights on the trail to Hoffen. The rest of the trip was largely silent   as the companions focused on following the proper trail to their   destination.

When   they finally arrived, there was a distinct moment of collective  dismay;  the town was largely empty, with the sound of raucous  celebration  roaring from the tavern.

"Seems we were late to the party," Thulim noted, dismounting his horse. "That, or something else is being celebrated. Shall we?"

The rest of the knights dismounted and followed Thulim into the tavern.

The   celebration seemed largely centered around a table where a  white-haired  young woman and a scarred man in a black cloak were  sitting. The man's  hood was back, showing his dark hair, and he calmly  sipped at a mug. On  the table was the sizable severed head of a  basilisk.  In addition to  being severed, the head was complete with  charred flesh where the eyes  had been and a couple of arrow wounds were  visible. As the knights  entered, the scarred man looked to them and  raised an eyebrow.

The   response to the slain basilisk was mixed. Aethelred and Thulim were   relieved enough that it was dead, Khadijah was indifferent, and Satresi  -  upon sighting the charred flesh - frustratedly huffed and decasted  the  faint, wispy aura of ice around her fingers.

Vilhmir,   however, was markedly impressed and intrigued. He was first to step   forward, arms held out wide. "Brother Nords! I would be first to   congratulate you, but it appears that the good people of Hoffen were   first to hear of your great deed!" He said, to the confusion of his   companions. He withdrew his coin purse from within his surcoat and   approached the barkeep, personally handing him three gold coins. "A   round of your best mead for the brave warriors and for myself," he told   him.

As   the bartender worked to deliver, Vilhmit turned to the man and gave a   deep, courteous bow. "Knight-Captain Vilhmir Jorleifsson, of the  Knights  Solanian. My companions and I owe you for disposing of the  basilisk; we  had intended to kill it ourselves."

The   scarred man gave a respectful nod but did not quite bow. "Herbert T.   Leintke, no affiliations. Were you hoping to collect the bounty?" As he   spoke, Herbert put down the mug. It wasn't a very strong drink, but   better safe than sorry. This crowd didn't look like an average band of   mercenaries, and they might have claimed to represent the Knights   Solanian, but one never knew. If they were after the bounty, they   probably wouldn't be too happy about someone else claiming it. If they   did try to rob him, he'd best take down the shadow elf first; she was   clearly a mage. Hopefully they weren't looking for trouble, though.  Even  with Rhiara's help - which he couldn't really count on - he'd  still be  outnumbered more than two to one. As the basilisk would no  doubt have  agreed, those were not favorable odds.

Rhiara   definitely felt intimidated the presence of five knights at the end of   their table. Even with Herbert, they wouldn’t stand a chance in a  fight.  Still, the ‘knights’ wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything  in the  tavern. She might as well introduce herself, she thought - after  all,  they could indeed have no intentions of malice, and she didn’t  want to  be rude. “I’m Rhiara. I work for the carpentry workshop you  might have  seen in the town, so… this is not how I expected my day to  go…”

Vilhmir   let out a boisterous laugh, removing his sword from his sword belt,   taking a seat at the table and placing the sheathed weapon at his side.  A  barmaid had come around with the requested drinks, setting three new   mugs on the table. "Bah, a bounty is only money. Though the Knights   Solanian always appreciate the funding, what we have within us is worth   more than any King or Sultan could offer. What I want is to hear your story,   my friends. How did you slay it? What do you plan to do with the   money?" he asked, then taking a swig of his mead, nodding approvingly.   White Acre was, in his opinion, one of the finest brews available. What  a  wealthy land, this Illyrica.

"Ah, Captain Vilhmir?" Aethelred started.

Vilhmir   turned to his four companions, all awkwardly standing in a line facing   him. "Oh, by the gods, please forgive me my rudeness. These are my brothers and sisters in arms who accompanied me looking for basilisk blood. My second-in-command, Sadresi Nadthran. A close friend of mine, Khadijah Nedali. The young wood elf with the bow is Thulim Willowvale. And last but not least, the Bryon with the quarterstaff up his ass is Aethelred of Faeborough. Please, have a seat, you four."

Each of the knights pulled up chairs and sat around the table, eyes on Herbert and Rhiara. "I'm interested to know if your plan was any different than Vilhmir's, here," Sadresi commented, regarding the captain with narrowed crimson eyes. "Ice magic, tether arrows, and many mirrors."

Herbert   shrugged. "Somewhat different. We used fire, normal arrows and five   mirrors. The basilisk only came across one mirror. As for my share of   the bounty, that's my business. Why did you come to kill the basilisk?"   He supposed it was possible for them to be hunting it for altruistic   reasons; after all, he'd slain a few beasts for free when they were   preying on folks who couldn't pay. The phrasing of 'basilisk blood'   however, sounded as if they might be glory hounds. Folks hunting   dangerous creatures for egotistical reasons tended to be trouble.

There was a moment of silence as Herbert told his riveting tale, much to the disappointment of Vilhmir. 'He   must be one of those fancy New Nords. Damn Asmeinians think they're so   above their heritage, so much better than the rest of us for forsaking their warrior-poet traditions,' he thought to himself. He exchanged a few glances with his party, who were just as let down as he was.

“My   friend here, left some details out.” Rhiara said, looking at him with  a  small smile. “You see, we placed five mirrors near the general area  of  the basilisk’s lair, hoping that it would come across one nearby to  us.  While it was distracted, we’d kill it by the means Herbert  mentioned.”  She tapped the table with a few of her fingers. “It came  across one of  our mirrors, which just happened to be right next to us.  We got a nasty  surprise when we heard it hissing with its neck frill  out to here. We  both looked at it and we were both lucky enough not to  look into its  eyes – so Herbert here distracted it with his fire magic  while I went  around it with my bow and a few arrows. I loosed arrows on  it a few  times which made it turn around, then Herbert burned it with  his magic  some more. We repeated it a couple of times, before the  basilisk made a  bee-line towards Herbert. He just burned its eyes out.  That’s that.”

Now that was how one told a story of valour. Well, it was better than the Asmeinian   in any case, Vilhmir decided. Had it been him, he would have elaborated  in an prose-like fashion, starting from the beginning. If it had been especially tipsy, he'd have sang the tale, like the Skalds  from up north and back home would do it. Most intriguing was Herbert's ability to  manipulate magical energies. As he didn't *seem* like a halfling, he suspected the use of blood.

"A fine tale from mighty warriors indeed," Vilhmir replied. "My sincerest   congratulations to the both of you." He turned to Herbert. "Ah, now to   answer your question. We were on orders from Lord Konstantin Hristov of Mirador, the Seneschal of the Illyrican Chapter. The well-being of the people of Hoffen was our chief concern, of course," he said,  shrugging  dismissively, "However the prestige is certainly a motivator. We weren't here for the bounty, my friend - that is your well-earned money. We simply wished to eliminate the blighter after reports of deaths were collected from this area."

"Hey, Captain Vilhmir?" Thulim asked.

"Hm? Yes boy?"

After a brief moment's silence the wood elf managed to spit out his request, "Perhaps we should invite them to our feast?"

At   this, Herbert raised an eyebrow. "Who is hosting this feast you speak   of and what are they celebrating? You might just coax a few proper   stories out of me yet." If he were invited to this feast, hopefully he   would be permitted to bring someone along. It would be nice to spend   some time at a celebration with Erika. A little time off wouldn't be   such a sin, would it? Of course, that was assuming that he was invited.

Khadijah   leaned forward, suddenly becoming engaged in the conversation. "Lord   Hristov is our host for the evening. He's in the midst of preparing a   grand dinner for the people of Mirador in celebration of the safe   arrival of the Grandmaster, who has come all the way from our capital   holding in Aesernia to address the rise in otherworldly, unholy  activity  in Illyrica. The basilisk you two slaughtered was just one in a  series  of attacks on behalf of magical beasts here and up in the  mountains."

"Of   course, while this makes it so that there is no small shortage of   bounties to collect," Satresi remarked, "there is a clear pattern, so   the Order has noticed. The Grandmaster suspects darker forces are at   work, and he wishes to get to confer with his vassals in the area   personally, lest any..." her voice fell to a whisper as her eyes darted   about the tavern full of excitable and curious peasants, "unpleasant  and  unwelcome individuals, get a hold of any parchment correspondence   between Illyrica and the capital."

Vilhmir   appeared to be considering something to himself, grooming his long,   blonde beard. "The two of you took on a beast that usually requires   small warbands like ours to kill. You did this yourself without   restraining the monster. If that is not the mark of the blessed, I'm   unsure what is. What if I were to say you and any friends of similar   calibre you have were invited to Mirador for our feast. What say you in   response?"

Rhiara   listened intently to the knights at the other end of her and Herbert’s   table, but she didn’t like what Vihmir suggested. “I’m flattered, but  I  have commitments here – with my work, my family, my friends. Mirador  is  quite a trek away…”

"Lass,   if you took that work seriously, you wouldn't have shirked it to run   off with a strange man and kill basilisks. Believe me. When I was your   age I was but a farmhand with a knack for killing dire wolves in the   fields of Osland," Vilhmir said with a chuckle. "It wasn't my job to   kill them, and I usually didn't kill them on civilized territory,   either."

She   nodded slowly at the knight’s explanation. “I suppose you’re right…   Okay, I’m in – so long as I can bring my best friend along.”

"As   long as she can fight nearly as well as you can – the Grandmaster is   going to want to see you all, no doubt in my mind," the Nord replied,   nodding his head gently. "Well. You can travel with us or by  yourselves.  I suppose we'll stock up on supplies and make the trip back  to  Mirador?" he asked, looking back to his companions, who all nodded  at  him. "Catch us on the way out of Hoffen, we'll be happy to escort  you."

Herbert   broke his silence. "Well, assuming there's time for me to pick someone   up from a few days away, I'll be there. I mean no offense to your   warband, but no escort is needed." If they were liars after the bounty,   they were elaborate ones. He knew for a fact that Mirador was indeed  an  Order stronghold, so they'd hardly be trying anything there.

With   that, Vilhmir and the rest of the knights stood up. The captain   finished his drink and collected his sword, nodding to the two   adventurers. "Very well. I suppose we'll be on our way then. Feast is  in  about a week, when the Grandmaster is expected to arrive. Gather  any  friends you wish to bring and come down to Mirador. I'll send word  ahead  of me that we have additional honoured guests," he said.  As he  walked  towards the door, a seemingly distracted young woman walked into  him,  spilling her cup of mead and letting out of gasp of horror as  the  Captain's white surcoat was splashed with drink.  "Terribly sorry,   sir..." she stammered, wiping the knight's clothing in a futile  attempt  to clean it.

Vilhmir   cursed in his native tongue as the mead splashed onto his surcoat,   soaking through under the cloth. He let out a sigh, gently shoving the   woman aside. "You've done enough, lass," he said, brushing past her.

"Tough luck, Captain," Satresi remarked, walking alongside him.

"It's not worth a barfight. I can have it cleaned here in town," Vilhmir replied.

At least so he thought.

[hr]

Once the knights had left,  Herbert looked to Rhiara and spoke. "You did quite well with the  basilisk. What do you think of this feast that they were talking about? It [i]is[/i] located at an Order stronghold."

Rhiara rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “I’m not sure what to make of it; I’ve never concerned myself with the Order before. Couldn’t they just be… bandits? Extremely good bandits, with all that gear?”

"They could be." Said Herbert. "If they are, they could be trying to lure us out of town to rob us on the way to Mirador. You'll notice that I didn't mention which direction that someone a few days away was. Myself, I'll probably go, but I wouldn't recommend taking a direct route from here to Mirador. I'm going to head down to Viarosa and then to Mirador. You and your friend can come along if you like."

“I do think that would be best. We’re less likely to be robbed and murdered when we have more people with us… or well, murdered and robbed - I’m not happy with either of those outcomes. Are you going to start heading off right now?”

"I'm all packed up and ready to go but I'll wait for you and your friend. How much time do you need?" Herbert sipped at his drink, more relaxed now that the knights or bandits - whichever they were - had gone. He idly wondered if he should train the young woman in the art of hunting monsters as she had some potential. Well, he'd do so if she asked him to but he wouldn't bring up the matter himself.

“I only need about… half an hour, at most?” she replied, rubbing her chin. “I need to get some supplies for the trek and not to mention, I have to convince my friend to actually come along. I’d best get started; I’ll do my best not to keep you waiting for too long.” Rhiara offered her hand to Herbert. “It’s been a pleasure, by the way.” 

Herbert shook her hand. "Likewise. I'll see you within a half hour."