The Heroes’ Rest (Prologue)

A handful of strangers are drawn together by chance, blood, and fate.

Drulla stood behind her bar, watching her lazy git of a husband snore his way through what was meant to be last orders. It had been a successful night, all in all. The regulars had come, despite the storm, and on the whole had behaved themselves. Even a few newcomers had arrived and kept to themselves. The band had performed well, even if they were a little too new wave for her tastes.

She looked around the tavern she and her good-for-nothing husband Merril had bought together all those years ago. The Heroes’ Rest, they had named it. A fitting name, she thought, as she watched Merril sleep soundly and loudly in the corner of the room, his adventures long over. His short legs were propped up on a small table and the holes in his socks shamelessly displayed his toes to all who dared look.

Beneath his exposed feet, his loyal companion, his almost-as-lazy dog Traegar, sat with his back to him, cautiously watching the room through old eyes while the patrons enjoyed the final encore of the evening’s activity before braving the harsh rains outside.

She had nearly finished counting the night’s takings before casting her eyes over the candlelit room, filled to the corners with wispy pipe smoke. She watched as Odaxi, or Dax as she preferred to be called, walked from table to table collecting glasses.

The regulars just left Dax alone these days, especially after Pazaak had lost a tooth. Htraad had only just begun to recover the sight in his right eye. They all knew better now. It was best just to leave her be.

They had taken in the young halfling about two years ago and at the time it had been a contentious decision. Her vibrant red hair betrayed a fierce temper. Just last week she had stubbed her toe moving some barrels and the phrases she used could have stripped the paint from the walls.
No, it was Merril who had convinced her to take a chance and give Dax the job. For once he had put his foot down – with her permission, of course – and refused to change his decision. She realised then that it was one of the only times since they had been together that she could remember him taking such a stand, no room for compromise, no changing his mind. Frustratingly he had been right, of course, which was even rarer. Merril always saw the good in people, the promise beneath the noise. That was one of the things she had always loved about him, and Dax had been one of the best things to happen to them.

In a short time, Dax had become an important part of their lives, dare she say, like a daughter. They had had a child of their own once, six wonderful months spent with him before fever took him. But that was a long time ago now, and whilst their pain had not eased, they had learned to be grateful for the time they had together. Neither of them had had the heart to try again after that.

Drulla’s reflection was broken when Grif, one of the tavern’s regulars, flinched violently as Dax leaned across his table, grabbing tankards by their handles. His reaction was so explosive that he sent his current drink crashing over the floor.

Drulla giggled quietly as she watched him mopping up the ale with the bottom of his shirt, muttering apologies.

No, Dax would not get any more trouble from the regulars. It was the new faces who might need a five-finger education. There were a few in tonight. They had not arrived together, but all within a few hours of each other that morning.

As the closest tavern to the entrance of the Eldari Forests, it was not uncommon for people to stop here overnight before the two-week trip through to the other side. No one came out of two weeks in the Eldari Forest looking that clean. Some did not make it out at all.
The band were reaching the last stretch of their performance. They were finishing on a higher-tempo piece, the hand drums beating quickly.
She cast her eye over the crowd before settling on one of the newcomers.

The dark-haired human was quite tall and slender, with long, greasy black hair and extremely pale skin which, when said by a dwarf, was a bold statement, she realised. His head had been firmly buried in a book for the last few hours. He had placed quite a pile of them stacked neatly on the table, all varying in colour and condition. Quite the avid reader, Drulla thought.

She had met people like that before. Book readers. They always had a certain look about them, like they knew something you did not and were just waiting for you to figure it out. All wrapped in a smug sense of self-satisfaction.

At the table opposite sat another newcomer. Also human, but of a stockier, healthier breed. He wore his dark, shaggy hair loose, with a thick but neatly trimmed beard. He had been relatively quiet, but he had at least attempted some conversation with the staff, unlike the first man. This one was polite, though. Courteous, even. He tipped after each order, which there was no need to do, of course, but who was she to tell a man his business?

She could not quite place where the first man had come from, but this second one was unmistakably Dawnish. The vibrant blue of his eyes moved like crashing waves tumbling over white sand. Drulla had always thought Dawnish eyes were a bit dreamy.

There was something noble about him, not in his clothes, but in the way he sat, in the way he walked and carried himself. He looked ready to spring into action with that sword and shield he carried at a moment’s notice. If it were not for the fact that he smelled of wet dog, she would have figured him a lord’s guardsman.

Drulla finished counting the coin they had taken for the evening. They had done well tonight, despite the storm raging outside. One of the best nights they had had in a very long time. The song increased in speed again, and Drulla felt her own heartbeat rise to meet the tempo, lightning flashing through the closed shutters.

Why could she not shift this heavy feeling in her chest? A creeping dread that she just could not ignore. The sound of water dripped on the bar steadily, almost in beat with the band. She would need to see that roof done soon, otherwise it would risk breaking altogether. Merril would normally do that, but he was getting on in years now. No, best to leave it to the younger folks, or Dax at least.

She looked over at her husband, still snoring in his tatty socks, his toes sticking out of them like rocks out of the ocean. Traegar had managed to settle now, his greying head lain on his arthritic paws, his eyes finally at rest.

She felt a warmth fill her chest as she watched her husband sleep and began to reminisce. She had truly loved him since the first day they had met. It was at a fayre in celebration of Moradin, the God of the Forge. She had gone with her sisters, and he with his brothers. Young, dressed up and looking for potential suitors, as was the dwarven tradition. He had presented her with a small, precious gemstone as a gesture of his intentions to woo.

It lay upstairs now, tucked away safely in her slowly emptying jewellery box. She would keep that one, roof be damned. Merril had plucked up the courage and asked her father for her hand in marriage a week later and had been refused. Merril, distraught, had signed up for one of the local mercenary groups the very next day.

Drulla was heartbroken. She thought he had given up the idea of chasing her at the first hurdle and moved on to easier prospects.
But no. Six months later, he returned from his adventures, his arms a little thicker, his body a little more scarred and his dirty hands holding a precious ring.

Naturally, she had defied her father and married him immediately. Her father had been furious, raving and threatening to challenge Merril to a mortal duel, threatening to disinherit her from the will. But he came around to it eventually, not that he had much to give her in the end, stubborn bastard.

They moved in together, and their life became one of routine. Merril would come and go on his adventures, each time bringing back varying pots of gold. She worked as a housemaid and eventually, after a lifetime of hunting monsters and battling toilets, they had saved enough to buy this place. Their home.

She looked around the room again, her brow furrowed at the damp forming in the corners, the rain invading through the thinning thatch roof, her gaze softening as it returned to him. She leant on the bar, drew in a breath, held it, then let out a nervous sigh.

The band’s song was increasing in pace now, the rhythm growing faster and more frantic, reaching its climactic crescendo.

Why could she not shake this feeling that something was wrong? Was it the storm?

She looked at Merril again, as he dozed away peacefully.

No, as long as they had each other, everything would be fine.

The song finished with a flourish, its final note lingering in the air.

Traegar’s head shot up as lightning flashed.

Then came a rumble. Too soon to be thunder, surely.

And the wall exploded.