Dylante raised the glass to his lips and took a large swig of the ale. He grimaced as the deep brown liquid hit his tongue and ran down his throat. It tasted like pulped tree bark and bogwater. The Drawstring’s innkeeper advertised to have the “best ale in all the border villages”. Sad thing was, he was probably right; this was probably the best ale Dylante had had in a while. With no land to grow barley, the elves could only make wine from their fruit trees and wine never sat well with him. Taking another agonizing gulp, he faced the bartender/innkeeper/owner Edagan who was inanely polishing a beer mug with a filthy rag.

“So Edagan, my good man, any news from the borderlands?” he hiccupped as the airy ale sprang back up.

Edagan furrowed his brow as he pondered, setting the mug down, “Well now, there are a couple o’ things,” he mused, “firstly, one o’ them young farm hands was in ere not too long ago sayin’ that some weird lookin’ kids was makin’ their way up the Southern Road, from the Circle o’ Nine. All alone ‘nd looking to head to Essia”
Dylante’s ears peaked, “Kids? Coming from the Nine and the South?” That’s very strange, thought Dylante. Most people who travelled from there were these would-be “adventurer” types. Idiots who thought that adventuring was something you could privatise. The thoughts of travelling to Essia were tempting though. It was cleaner, tidier and a lot better in terms of inns. Its ale was just as horrible though.

“Aye, that ‘e are, so the yung un said.” Edagan’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “Come ere tho, ‘ome girl is stayin’ ere in the up-there rooms. Phink she’s ‘eading up there too. ‘Ery weird, this one, one o’ them beast-things. Looks familiar too…. Oh, she jus’ leff there ‘ow!”, gesturing to the door. 

Dylante turned to see the wispy ends of a cloak disappear out the door as it closed shut. Dylante figured she’d be back soon. What with the distance between here and Essia, and given the time of day, she wouldn’t make the next rest stop. 

He took a final gulp of ale and croaked hoarsely, “Anything else?” 

“Aye, one las’ thing alri. This courier fella dropped a bundle in to be sen’ to the capi’al but refused ta listen tat this ere weren’ no messenger station. He just dropped a bag o’ gold an stormed off!” Edagan shook his head as he produced both items in question. “You wouldn’ fancy takin’ em on with ya, would ya Dylan?”

“I’m shocked you even have to ask!” Dylante took the package and turned it over in his hands. The name read “Youngest Brother”. No address or description. He shrugged and slid it in his satchel. He was about to take the gold bag when the innkeeper’s hand slapped on the bag, reached in and took out 3 gold pieces, “Oi, what’s that for?!” shouted Dylante, a few heads in the inn turning.

“Two ‘re fur my finder’s fee and this is for the ale” snorted Edagan.

Dylante shook his head, protesting loudly “That gold is worth at least two pints of ale!”

“So you’d like another?”

Dylante grimaced again, the idea of having to go through that again made him shake his head violently. When he focused back on Edagan, his face had grown worried and was looking behind Dylante. Before he could turn, a large hand clasped his shoulder and gripped painfully tight.

 “I thought I told you not to come in here again”, a voice that rasped like stones being dragged across glass growled at him. That voice belonged to one Gumnal Loit, a man that did not enjoy Dylante’s good-natured jokes at all.

Dylante spun around, a strange smirk on his face “No Gumnal, you said ‘I never want to see you in here again’, word for word and, as you weren’t in here when I came in, figured that that was OK then.”

A puzzled look grew on Gumnal’s face before his brain caught up with what Dylante had actually said. He snarled, “What did I say about those stupid jokes?!”

Dylante couldn’t help himself “Well, I’m sure you laugh at them once you understand them.”
----------------------------------------------------
Dylante’s brain was wired differently than most people. Most people at that moment would have been thinking ‘Oh crap, I’m being thrown through a window’. But Dylante, at that moment, was thinking ‘Awh crap, Edagan is going to make me pay to fix this’.

Seconds later, Dylante lay in a crumpled heap, covered in glass and wood chips, groaning in pain. Well, at least that’s the end of it, he thought foggily; Gumnal is too easily distracted by ale to come finish me off. He raised himself to his feet where he was greeted by a wheezing town guard.

“What’s going on ere then?” he grunted at Dylante.

“Oh nothing officer,” he groaned in pain, “just had a bit of a disagreement with the window.” He looked around him at the mess and brushed some glass off his shoulder, “It appears it won.”

He turned to leave the grumbling guard only to be faced with a curious cat staring oddly at him, as if he had never seen a man fly through a window before. She was about his age, although with beastkin, it was hard to tell some times. Soft blues eyes affixed his copper disks, slitting in what could be suspicion. He stood back, melodramatically spreading his arms as he announced himself.

“Greetings, weary traveller! I am Dylante Error! Hunter extraordinaire, artist among bards, puckish rogue….”

He bowed gingerly, keeping his eyes affixed with hers, “And your own personal guide North.”