"I guess I'm probably the best choice for wizard," Gabrielle said, stepping forward. "I have more formal education than the rest of you, and I doubt how much use I'd be in a fight. I'm already always getting kidnapped by goblins."
"True, and despite my crooks and hobbles, I'm likely the best choice for the rogue. I am, after all, not unfamiliar with shady dealings, since I have served as a henchman for many a tyrannical madman," Thistle said.
"But you did that so you could sabotage them and give away their secrets to the warriors trying to take them down," Eric countered.
"Knowledge is knowledge. How it was acquired is of no consequence, only how it is used," Thistle said. "That leaves the barbarian and the paladin."
"The paladin wears the armor, right?" Eric asked.
"Yes," Gabrielle confirmed for him. "They also wear ardent moral standards and the divine blessing of goodness."
"I'm not sure about the other stuff, but I know how to maneuver in armor. It takes some practice, so I'm probably the best choice for that one," Eric said.
"Which leaves only barbarian on the table. Grumph, you possess the raw strength and boot-quaking level of intimidation to play that part well," Thistle said.
Grumph gave only a nod to signal his agreement.
"All right then. Everyone sleep tonight, and say your goodbyes tomorrow. Grumph and I will move the corpses, then tend to our own farewells. Meet back here at this same time tomorrow night," Thistle told them. "We'll loot the bodies and be on our way."
"The words that start every great adventure," Gabrielle quipped sarcastically.
She might have been surprised to discover how accurate that statement truly was.
3.
Eric packed a small bag of essentials from the modest farmhouse where he lived. He’d only had it for a few years, finally earning enough money as a guard for the local mayor to move out from under his mother’s roof. He wasn’t a particularly adept guard, in truth; the goblins had slipped by and taken Gabrielle no fewer than three times on his watch. In fact, were it not for his and Gabrielle’s childhood friendship, the mayor likely would have dismissed him long ago. Thankfully, the mayor knew his daughter had few friends, so he’d deigned to keep Eric on the payroll, quasi-ineptitude and all.
Eric slung the knapsack over his shoulder and adjusted his armor. He was already exhausted; sleep had eluded him the night before thanks to his bone-quaking levels of worry. Eric slipped his father’s old sword into its sheath and checked his reflection in the mirror. When he’d become a guard, Eric had expected to see himself the way he saw them: heroic and stalwart, warriors in their shining armor. Instead, he thought he looked like a child playing dress up, his ill-fitting armor cinched tightly around his narrow frame. Eric’s mother often spoke of his father, the great paladin and unconquerable swordsman. Eric supposed he must take after her side of the family, though, a line of not-unimpressive seamstresses and tailors.
He looked around his home one last time, then set out to bid farewell to his mother. He hoped that the next time he came upon this cottage, it would not be mere ashes under the king’s heel.
Gabrielle didn’t bother with goodbyes, since her parents wouldn’t have let her go anyway. It was all well and good for men to strike out alone, but there was no way her family would tolerate a lady leaving her father’s homestead before marriage. She packed a sack of rations and changed into her horse-riding outfit once morning broke over the horizon. After breakfast, she gave her mother a hug and her father a kiss and told them she was going to spend the day riding the horses. Gabrielle adored riding, and she often went late into the night with her equine friends. When she didn’t come home, they’d be annoyed, but not worried. It wouldn’t be until the next morning that they’d suspect she might not be returning.
A stray tear may have slipped from Gabrielle’s eye as her steed broke into a gallop. Despite their meddling, she truly did love her parents greatly. She hated having to make them worry as they would when she vanished. Still, it was that same love for them that spurred her on, away from the comfortable life she’d known since birth. This was the only chance she had to protect them.
She urged her horse to run faster. Gabrielle was not one to linger on sadness, or hard decisions, so she raced forward as fast as she could to meet her future.
The grave on the hill was small and simple, yet painstakingly maintained. It was marked by a modest headstone and overlooked a brook that was about an hour’s walk from town. It had been one of her favorite spots; Thistle had dug the grave himself so that his wife might have a pleasant view for eternity.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to visit again for some time,” he said, voice rising over the gentle lap of the water on the bank. “The winds have begun to blow again, it seems.” Thistle adjusted his stance in a vain attempt to find a comfortable way to stand on the hill’s sloping surface.
“I don’t want you to worry about me; I’ll be safe. Grumph is coming along, and so are the human pair I’ve told you about before. They’re green as a dryad’s hair, but good kids overall. Who knows, we might just pull off this little charade.”
The small gnome paused and looked out at the scenery. It was truly lovely here; he had hoped to be buried on this hill alongside her when his god called him home. Sadly, it wasn’t looking too likely now. The only one he’d have trusted with the burial task was Grumph, and Thistle had a feeling that if he fell on their journey, Grumph and the others wouldn’t be far behind.
“And if we don’t,” Thistle added, “then I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon, anyway.”
Thistle gently touched his fingertips to the headstone, then shambled down the hill and began the long trek back toward town.
Grumph didn’t have a family in Maplebark. He didn’t have graves to visit either. The only person he truly counted as a friend was Thistle, and that wily gnome was coming with him. Grumph did have his tavern, though. He ran his hands along the wooden planks of the bar, remembering how long it had taken him to get the measurements just so. He sipped the mead, savoring its flavor, thinking of all the careful testing and calculations required to get his brew perfect. Grumph sat at one of the many tables he had constructed, in one of the chairs he had carved, and simply took it all in. He had built this bar with love and considerable strength. It had taken the Maplebark residents time to adjust to a half-orc in their midst, but eventually, Grumph had been accepted, doing business with all manner of citizens.
Grumph hadn’t just built a business here, he’d carved a home. And he’d come to love this hamlet of Maplebark, plagued by the occasional weak monsters and villains though it was. Grumph was under no illusions: much as he loved his bar, his creation, it wasn’t a building that made a place home. It was the people. As Grumph poured the lamp fluid on the floor and the tables, he was struck by the poignancy of it all, destroying his house to protect his home. There was a knock on the door, signaling the first of his companions’ arrivals. Perhaps it would be Thistle and there would be time for one last drink.
The last drink, as it were.
Grumph’s tavern burned at their backs as they trekked slowly through the forest.
“I still don’t get it,” Eric said as he checked his footing in hopes of avoiding another impressive tumble. “Why did he burn the bar?”
“Let me put it to you this way. What usually happens to abandoned taverns and inns?” Thistle asked him.
“They get inhabited by monsters, or bandit gangs,” Eric replied. It was common knowledge, after all. Adventurers often sought out such locations when hunting for a good fight.
“Precisely. Now, setting aside the logistical concerns of creating a temptation like that in our little town, Grumph built that tavern himself. He poured a piece of himself into its frame and foundation. He cared for it with more affection than I’ve seen some show their children. The idea of some ruffians wrecking it, or kobolds shitting on its floor… it’s too much. Just try to understand that sometimes it is better to see a thing destroyed, rather than ruined.” Thistle hopped lightly along the path in hope of keeping up with his larger companions. It was a difficult proposition, but one he had managed for many years now.