The rowdiness of the Stone Rose tavern was in full swing as the patrons sat around the various tables. Some were singing songs of merriment. Others were quieter. Somber even. Some of the adventurers here were currently riding on a high from a successful journey. Others were dealing with grief in its various stages. The dangers of out in the wilds did not pull any punches.

The barkeep. A large hairy bear of a man was filling up tankards with ale and mead as well as taking coin, when the door of the tavern swung open with a slam as a gaggle of children ran in. Quite a few of them were the Barkeep's children as he was already hollering, but they pretended to be unable to hear him over the din of adventurers and drunks as they made their way to a roaring hearth. The man's eye twitched as he was ignored but only sighed as he saw where they all stopped. He couldn't get away from the bar right now but just wait. He knew they would not be moving for a while anyways.

The young children all ranging from eight to twelve years old had stopped in front of a cloaked man who was drinking whole heartedly from his mug of black coffee. He set it down when he noticed an audience had gathered around him. Not much could be seen of the man's face other than the large bushy beard that fell from the opening of his hood. The children all looked at him with eager expectant eyes. He even noticed more than one adventurer that had gotten quiet around him but seemed to be playing at not paying attention to what was going on.

He chuckled. His voice was gravelly but he spoke with elegance.

“Well children.” He looked at each of them.

“This seems to be a new record for you all at finding me when I come back into town.”

All of the children began to talk at once and the gentlemen threw his hands up shushing them with his gesture.

“Yes. Yes. I know you want a story.” He grinned.

“Well, you are in luck because I have just the tale for you.”

He leaned back in his chair and pulled a long wood pipe from his pocket and pushed a bit of snuff into it. He looked up at the children as he lifted his index finger of his other hand, and a small flame appeared at the end of it. The tiny orange flame danced about his fingertip before he lit his pipe with it. Taking a deep puff, he blew a smoke ring and looked at the children.

“Well. I was recently reminded of a very important fact for you future adventurers. Sometimes things go bad, but there is usually always a silver lining...”

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There was once a large human kingdom that went by the name of Zeiss. They were often plagued by monsters and wandering beasts. Most were sent by their neighboring nation. A kingdom of united creatures. Most that we would recognize as orcs, hobgoblins, ogres, and the like! They were often in skirmishes and great battles as the two kingdoms hated one another. It was one such day that a fearsome ogre general rose up to power. He wielded a literal tree trunk of a mace and wore black plate armor. He amassed a great force and went out to destroy the kingdom of Zeiss.

The king of Zeiss gathered his army and had his son lead it. Not because the king was cowardly, but because the king was old in age and his son. Prince Geoff had been picked by a deity to receive its blessing. Geoff was blessed by the Goddess of Wind. Allowing the man to move with such swiftness it was like he was dancing around the battlefield, and he did not tire out as quickly as a normal man.

The two great armies met on the plains separating the two kingdoms. A massive battle ensured. Everywhere that Geoff went, the enemy was cut down with many not even realizing where death had come from. Yet, on the same token everywhere that the Ogre general went. Men was squashed or launched into the air crashing to the ground. Soon it became very obvious to the two that they needed to be the focus of the other.

The swift swordsmen vs the lumbering brute. Their battle alone waged for several hours. Long after all the humans and other creatures had perished in the aftermath of their fight. While the ogre general could not catch Geoff, Geoff could do little other then make the ogre suffer minor injuries. It was at the end of this fight that Geoff had put on a brave face and had his sword at the ready eyeing down the ogre, that the ogre placed the giant mace upon his shoulder and with his free hand balled into a fist he pounded it on his black breastplate three times.

Geoff was confused momentarily, but as the ogre general turned and marched away, he could do nothing. As Geoff's legs were already threatening to buckle out from under him. He had barely the strength to hold his sword up, while the ogre calmly walked away giving him mercy for the great fight.

The kingdom of Zeiss was spared, but the price was great.

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The Storyteller leaned forward looking at each of the children, who had been quiet for quite some time. Some of the younger ones had excited expressions on their faces, while the older ones looked more thoughtful trying to piece together the implications of the story.

“The world outside respects the strong. It might not be fair, but it is true.” He closed his hazel eyes briefly before opening them again.

“I hope that each of you is able to grow and become powerful in your own ways so that one day you will have stories that can be told of you, by people like me.” The Storyteller grinned.

As the Storyteller sipped from his mug, one of the children in front. A small girl with dirty blonde hair and eager blue eyes spoke up to get his attention. He glanced her way and raised his eyebrows awaiting her to speak as he enjoyed the bitterness of his beverage.

"Can you tell us the story about the Hanging Tree?"

The Storyteller paused from his drink as his eyes seemed to look past the girl as he was deep in thought. There were many stories involving those accused trees, but almost none of them were for young children. After a few seconds recognition flashed in his eyes as he put the mug down looking at the young child who was grinning at him with a smile that had quite a few missing teeth in it.

He cleared his throat. "Are you talking about the Dryad and the Hanging Tree?"

The Storyteller asked the clarifying question. The child nodded her head enthusiastically as did several other children who knew the tale. The old man gave a small sign of relief, as this made him feel a bit better. He had briefly worried he had slipped up in his old age and told them a story they would have been better off not hearing.

He rubbed his calloused hands together as he put his thoughts in order as he began to weave his tale.

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While it is true that the Hanging Trees though rare are a truly dangerous existence, that will snatch up anything that comes underneath their crown to feast upon it and the massive ones that can encompass cities have vines and roots that can extend for miles upon miles. There was once a strange happening.

Something weird.

Something unexpected had happened.

Somehow a malicious Hanging Tree gave birth to a benevolent tree spirit. A dryad. A tall slender woman of oaken skin and emerald green leaves for hair. The Dryad borne of ignorance knew little of the origins of the Hanging Tree and yet it seemed the Hanging Tree had given most of itself completely to the nature spirit. It stopped attacking indiscriminately everything that wandered under its branches. Only taking what the Dryad allowed it to take.

The Dryad found herself sad because everything gave her tree a wide berth, refusing to come anywhere underneath its crown of leaves. As ages passed and the Hanging Tree and the Dryad grew. It was when flecks of autumn were beginning to grow within her leaves that something different occurred. Something quelled the Dryad's loneliness.

The tree that now rivaled a forty-story building in height warned her of approaching figures. She saw them clearly as she could see them through the senses of the tree if she wished. It was a band of about two dozen elvish children. Wearing clothing that was worn and tattered being chased by a group of human men. She had seen smoke on the horizon earlier that day but had paid it little attention because man and elf seldom wandered to deeply into her forest.

Concerned she had started to make her way towards the two groups when one of the slower children were grabbed and she witnessed through the eyes of the tree one of the men break one of the legs of the children that she felt her temper flare and like lightening vines from the tree began to lash out. Snatching the man and another that was close to him and they disappeared up into the leaves of the tree.

One of the men screamed realizing they had come to close to the cursed tree while chasing the children. Not a single human escaped. Some pulled beneath the ground, while others vanished like the first two that were grabbed. The dryad approached the children who were all huddled together on the ground. She kneeled before them and despite their terror and tears her wooden hand reached out and gently grasped the broken leg of the elf and a soothing warm green glow emanated from her hand as the bone reknit itself and became as good as new.

There was a slight issue in the beginning when the Dryad and the elves could not communicate with one another as she knew not their language, but they followed her back to the massive tree. It was true that they were terrified because of the many tales they had heard of the tree. The children had little choice in the matter because their town was now gone. The dryad would eventually learn that their town had been razed by slavers who were looking to take them away.

She taught them how to survive. She taught them how to use nature magic.

In return they named her Alda.

Alda never knew loneliness again. She transformed the massive Hanging Tree into a Tree City as the ages passed. What had started out as twenty-four elves had become thousands, and Alda protected the Elves and they in turn cared for her.

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As he finished his last sentence, the Storyteller grabbed his mug and raised it to his lips before frowning slightly realizing the cup was empty. It was then that the barkeep came up with a fresh pot of coffee and refilled his mug. The older man smiled and was already reaching into his pouch to fish out the man a coin when the barkeep shook his head.

"Dat won't be necessary, your ability to keep these rascals out of trouble is payment enough." He glanced towards two kids in particular. A young boy and his older sister. Who were doing their best not to make eye contact, as it seemed neither of them had forgotten about the slammed door.

The Barkeep gestured away towards the children.

"Away with the lot of you! It'll be dark soon and you all need to be home before the Shadowman comes out!" He waved his fingers in an attempt to make a spooky ooooooooo noise as the children giggled and left the tavern save for his two that ran upstairs.

The snow spiraled down steadily. There were already several inches of it covering the ground and only more would fall as the day continued to wane. Several adventurers were following along the cobblestone paths in the town. They were all free of snow because of the genius of the mayor with the helping hand of a runesmith. He had commissioned the runesmith to inscribe a rune of warmth every so often that radiated enough heat to keep the snow from sticking to the ground and with nature of the cobblestone path the water would slowly seep in between the bricks.

The atmosphere in the town was rather joyous as some shops were already beginning to close early because the Yuletide season. Even the guards that kept the peace in the bustling city of Bradington were mostly smiles as they knew what awaited them once they got home tonight. The prospect of hot food and a loved one were enough to soothe even the most bitter of hearts. As the sun persisted to fall towards the horizon and darkness slowly crept into the city, many of the townsfolk found their way to warm homes.

However, there were many that were all going in a single direction. To a large tavern that was brightly lit and roaring with noise and laughter. Its massive oak doors decorated with carvings opened and a wave of heat and the smell of food poured out into the cold night as several entered into the building. A duo lowered their hoods as they found themselves a table and sat down taking in the sights of this place. One signaled with two of his fingers indicating he wished for two drinks. His girlfriend had her eyes focused on a decent sized gathering of people that were surrounding the crackling fireplace. She could hear a story over the din.

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The ground shook as Rudolph the Red took the blow that was meant for Frosty the Fellow. The reindeer's knees were threatening to buckle out from under him, but he threw his head upward piercing Old Son in its putrid yellow eye and throwing the creature backwards as it bellowed in pain. Its eyeball was already beginning to regenerate, when the Wendigo's body was suddenly snatched up in the mouth of the Yule Cat who bite down on its prey, running to put distance between it and its friends. The Yule cat did its best to ignore its flailing body as it tried to free itself.

Frosty's body had been struggling to replenish itself from the snow around it, but the brief respite allowed him to more or less regain his shape as he steadied his friend Rudolph. It was then that they both heard the Yule Cat's mournful cry as they saw it being tossed aside. The Wendigo had torn itself free. Normally this type of monster would have been a pushover for the forces of winter, but Old Son had managed to steal the magical powers from Krampus strengthening it far beyond what should have been possible.

Old Son raised its massive bloody claw to deal a fatal blow to the Yule Cat when a chain of ice materialized around its wrist and yanked the creature backwards off balance. A loud crack was followed as a large wooden shaft struck the Wendigo across its face, the moose skull that was its face had a jagged crack running through it now. A deep guttural growl escaped from Old Son as he stared at the two new arrivals.

Icy Joe Chill was already weaving his hands as he conjured up more frost chains that attempted to bind Old Son. While Holy Nicholas was already readying his enchanted shepherd's staff to deliver another blow. Behind the two was running a massive man in red and in his hands...

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"Honey....Honey!" The woman snapped back to attention as her boyfriend had been trying to get her attention.

"Sorry." She smiled awkwardly.

The server laughed. "Ohh don't worry about that. You would not be the first person to get engrossed in his stories."

Near the edge of an alley stood four children. Laughter was in the air, but it wasn't of the pleasant variety. It held a mocking tone to it as some jests were thrown in amongst the laughter. Three of the children were laughing at their friend who had tears in his eyes.

"Why are you all laughing!?" The mocked child cried. "They have been very helpful to us!" His bottom lip stuck out as he pouted.

The leader of the trio spoke. He was a head taller than the other two and it made sense for them to naturally try to suck up to him. "A priest of the light? Why would you want to waste your time being one of them?" His two little followers hadn't stopped laughing as their leader talked down to their friend condescendingly.

It was at this time that a deep voice disturbed the laughter and made all four of them jump. A hooded figure had stopped near them at the alleyway entrance.

"It is not wise to laugh at the Light young ones."

The taller child looked to the bearded newcomer. "It's nothing like that. We just..." But he was interrupted by the man.

"To wrongly mock a servant of the Light is to mock the Light itself." He paused as he gazed at each of the children in turn.

"Perhaps you feel this way because you think the town priest is old, wrinkly, and smells of old books?" The Storyteller smiled as he saw some of the children nodding. "Not all priests are like that. There are many professions that follow the Light." A chuckle escaped his lips as he continued. "In fact, faith can be a very powerful magic all of its own."

Finding a barrel, the Storyteller sat on it. "This reminds me of a great friend of mine I lost many years ago. A paladin. His faith allowed him to do something that should have been impossible...."

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Though he was getting on in years Sir Orrin was the grand paladin of the Order of the Lion. He was sent on a quest with a party of fellow adventurers to slay a great wyrm. An Elder dragon named Bryagh who had amassed himself an army of lesser dragons. It was truly a force that could topple nations. Their party was small but an elite unit that they believed could take down the dragons, because with the combined might of several nations had come together to create a magical artifact that would put all the dragons into an enchanted slumber that would allow them to finish off the dragons while they slept.

When the party of five came near the mountain that Bryagh lived the air was thick with black clouds and descending dragons. It was then that a tall and slender elf, pulled a golden flute from his pack and placed it to his lips. The music that came from the flute began to soar out into the air. Higher and higher then should have been possible as the magic of the top enchanters of several nations worked together in unison to weave its magic and it seeped into all of the dragons. Many of them crashing down into the earth leaving craters, while others landed on dragons that had hit first. The party was cheering. While it was nerve wrecking to see so many dragons piled on the ground, the hard part of the job was finished.

Or so they thought.

A massive roar shook the ground as a black dragon with a red underbelly that was the size of a small mountain dive bombed them from a cloud he had been hiding within. Bryagh had made his appearance, and he had managed to resist the flute. His wrath at losing his army was vile. He crushed two of the party members before they could even react to his appearance. Sir Orrin barely had time to focus the Light into a shield for himself as the massive tail struck him and sent him flying into a tree. The large tree splintered and fell as the paladin skidded across the ground, struggling to catch his breath. Sir Orrin's remaining allies didn't sit idly as their leader was sent away.

The archer was peppering the great wyrm with enchanted arrows, but most just bounced off its tough scales and were ignored. A quick snap of Bryagh's jaws left the party of three down to two. The orc warrior that had been sent was nothing but a pair of legs now. As Sir Orrin was finally able to stand, he noticed the archer flying through the air towards him. Her body had been ravaged by one of its great talons.

"Noooooo!" He cried as he knelt by the corpse of the archer hugging her.

"My darling..." He whispered, before rising up and pulling his blade from its scabbard. His first weapon, he had obtained after being chosen by the light all those years ago. He faced the dragon head on with a resolute expression and he began to pray out loud.

"Blade with whom I have lived,
Blade with whom I now die,
Serve Right and Justice one last time,
Seek one last heart of Evil,
Still one last life of pain,
Cut well old friend, and then,
Farewell!"

The black Wyrm laughed. A harsh bellowing sound that echoed for miles.

"Praying?" Bryagh mocked.

"Now die!!" He roared as a blue hot stream of fire drenched Sir Orrin. The force of the flames pushing the Grand Paladin back. It was mere seconds, but it felt like eternity as Sir Orrin withstood the ocean of flames and regripped his blade like a javelin and flung it with all his might. The white hot blade, on the verge of being turned into slag pierced Bryagh through the heart as it traveled through his body igniting the massive dragon within. His death throngs shook the earth and as the dust settled, their shockingly still stood Sir Orrin. Or rather.

What was left. Molten armor with baked bones.

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"Maybe you three would rather be a paladin then a priest?" He raised his eyebrows as the trio was quiet. While their friend who wanted to be the priest smiled. "That was cool, but I still want to be a priest."

The storyteller smiled and raised himself up ignoring his aching knees. Hopefully this would help mold the younger generation, the sacrifices of the old.

The hour was late in the Stone Rose Tavern. Many of the townsfolk had already left for the night and most of the adventurers had turned gone upstairs to their rented rooms. Only a handful sat by the dying fire. The flickering of the flame caused the shadows to dance across the seated figures. The chair creaked as one of them shifted in their seats. They were all focused on one individual, an older man. It was one of the rare moments when the Storyteller had his hood lowered. Revealing a worn and wrinkled face with kind hazel eyes that looked as though they had glimpsed the world. His expression was neutral, but his tone was somewhat grave.

"Are you truly certain of this?"

The group nodded in unison as their leader spoke. An older wizard whose black beard rivaled the Storyteller's in length.

"It has all been but confirmed." He spoke with a tinge of fear in his eyes.

A long-exhausted sigh left the Storytellers lips as he sunk back into his chair.

"Fine... I will tell you what I know in the best way that I know how."

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In a far off kingdom across the sea. The King and his advisors had gotten a report that one of their massive cities in the mountain was slowly being abandoned. Which was a problem, because the city had a large fort that was meant to protect the city, but even it had become desolate and empty. They had sent multiple scouts and even a section of their army to investigate, but those that managed to return painted an even stranger picture. According to the townsfolk there was absolutely nothing wrong. The fort and many of the houses had always been abandoned. When pressed for information or shown evidence to the contrary, the townsfolk would continue to deny, and some would even visibly breakdown but would be unable to explain their distress. The scouts that had returned who had been in groups also expressed confusion on asked where their allies were. They spoke as if they had been the only ones sent.

After much deliberation, it seemed strength of arms was not the proper solution as the last group of five hundred soldiers had never returned. So, they sent the court mage, who was equipped with a powerful defensive medallion that was an heirloom of the kingdom. The mage named Jasper along with the help of several other wizards prepared a teleportation spell and as he stood in the center of the circle he vanished and reappeared in the center of the city. The journey that would have taken two months had been finished in an instant. Jaspers eyes widened as he noticed the circular amulet had begun to hum and slightly vibrate.

This was unexpected. It meant something was going on and the amulet was actively defending him against it. Holding the chain in his hand he could see the runes etched into the circle were glowing with blue light and were slowly rotating around the amulet. He frowned but looked up. He could see the fort in the distance, and much of the town stretched in front of him. The place seemed peaceful, as he could see townsfolk going about their day to day lives. Smiling, laughing, selling goods nothing looked out of place except for the emptiness of the it all. This town was a town that could easily have held over a hundred thousand people if one included the inhabitants of the fort.

There was nowhere near a hundred thousand people to be seen as he explored the town. He stopped in front of a rundown house and frowned as he pushed open the unlocked door. The inside of the house, though covered in a thin layer of dust was organized.

No signs of struggle. Nothing spoke of battle. He explored another twelve houses, and nothing changed or stood out to him. It was exactly as the few scouts that had come back spoke on. He was confused and had noticed the amulet was beginning to vibrate ever so slightly more, as he pondered his next course of action, he was stopped by a young woman with blonde hair.

"Kind sir! It is getting late and with most of our inns and taverns closed. I can't in good conscience let you be out here."

He smiled at her kindness and decided to take her up on her offer. Staying in one of these abandoned houses did not sit well with him. As they crossed over a few streets, they came to a modest cottage and the young woman knelt down by a small boy playing in the dirt and ruffled his hair. "You need to get on back to your mum, Steven." Steven giggled and ran to the house next door. After a quick meal, Jasper asked the young lady who he came to know as Mary some questions, but none of them proved fruitful.

According to her the houses and fort had always been abandoned. There was something strange going on here, but he could not place his finger on it. As he allowed himself to relax in the bed in the guest bedroom, he began to hear a strange lullaby in a language he could not understand, but it spoke of sleep, and he slowly drifted off to it not even noticing the medallion had begun to shake vigorously on his chest.

Jasper slowly opened his eyes, and his mind felt like it was deep in a quagmire. He slowly rolled out of bed and put his hands onto his head and groaned slightly. This brain fog was otherworldly, and he just felt dumb. It was then that one hand slowly drifteddown to the Medallion on his chest that he noticed it had stopped humming and vibrating. He grasped it and concentrated some of his mana upon it and it felt like something shattered, and a massive headache rattled his mind as he threw up on the ground before him. His mind was now clear, and the amulet was so hot it was almost burning his skin.

This was not good. Not good at all. Something had such powerful magic that it had put him under a spell and it was only because of the amulet that he was able to break free. He quickly bolted up and tried to find Mary, but the house was empty. After searching the house thoroughly and making sure she was not in he saw Steven the small boy outside playing in the dirt and went outside and knelt down beside him.

"Steven! Have you seen Mary?"

The boy glanced up towards him confused.

"Mary?" He asked. When Jasper nodded Steven spoke again. "I don't know any Mary's." The small child grinned "Is this some kind of new game? I love games!" Jasper's eyes widen and he spoke hurriedly changing the subject. "Have you seen anything weird lately?" He was grasping at straws and the child looked deep in thought for a few moments. "Well, there has been this really weird dwarf running around. He is always talking about silly things."

Jasper went off into the abandoned part of town after questioning the kid for a few more minutes. The hum of his amulet had grown to the point that it was louder than his footsteps. He considered this both a good and a terrible sign. After wandering for about half an hour he encountered the dwarf. His appearance was ragged and he could smell the dwarf whenever the wind blew towards him. He frowned but called out to the Dwarf. There came no response. He got a bit closer and called out to him again.

Still no response.

Almost standing next to the dwarf, he noticed the dwarf was stuffing black powder into long thin cylinders and sealing them with a fuse stuck out the top. It seemed the dwarf was making some sort of explosive. It was at this point that the dwarf noticed Jaspers presence and frowned at him yelling.

"GO AWAY!"

The mage was surprised to see candle wax protruding from both of the dwarves' ears. He opened his mouth but shut it when he realized the dwarf would not have heard him anyways. Weaving his hands words began to materialize out of the thin air asking the dwarf what he needed such a big bomb for. This smelly dwarf had a crazed look about him, but the mage could glean the cold intelligence between the dwarf's eyes.

"MONSTER!"

The dwarf yelled and Jasper almost got way too excited at such news. Finally, a lead! He quickly calmed himself and followed the dwarf after making it clear he was here to help. The dwarf led him back towards the populated part of the city and grabbed a stick and hastily scribbled in the dirt that the creature would be hunting soon, then they both went into a two-story building that had a good overlook of the part of town they were in. After about an hour's wait Jasper began to hear that strange lullaby and felt himself growing weary as the medallion on his chest began to shake catching the dwarf's attention he noticed Jaspers glazed eyes and his sleepy expression. He grabbed his hand and made him grab his medallion and he seemed to regain clarity despite the song becoming louder.

He pointed out the window and Jaspers eyes widen. On the ground below them crawled a strange abomination. It had sickly white pale skin. Its lower body was that of a snake. It had two sickle-like arms and six long necks that ended in bald human heads. Blackened eyes and vibrant white teeth. They could see that one of its heads had been singing a strange song without pause. Out of one of the buildings calmly walked a man. He was in a trance as he slowly approached the creature. Jasper began to weave a spell, but the dwarf held up his hand and quickly whispered.

"Don't. We need to find its lair."

Jasper bit his lip as the monster that towered over the human swiftly pierced its body with its sickles and began to take giant mouthful from the human that was not even struggling. They still looked blissful as they were being devoured. The mage gripped his free hand that was not on the amulet until his knuckles were white. Somehow this creature was capable mind spells and whoever it ate was completely forgotten about once they were eaten. It needed to die

No. It HAD to die.

As the man vanished Jasper found himself struggling to recall that someone had even been eaten. It was only the medallion that kept it fresh in his mind. After it finished its grisly meal, it began to slither away. The two began to slowly follow it until they came to a small cavern near the base of the far side of the fort. As they approached the hole, the dwarf gave Jasper two large Cottonballs and made him stuff them in his ears, then sealed them in with some candle wax that the mage quickly melted with a spell. The world had gone silent, but it was better this way. Now he could use both hands. As they descended into the darkness they came to a small opening in the cave and encountered the creature. It had been waiting for them.

With surprising speed, it slithered forward all six of its mouths wide open to devour the duo. Jasper unleased a blade of wind towards the creature splitting one of its heads apart halfway down its long neck. Meanwhile the dwarf had lit a small explosive and chucked it into an open maw. Resulting in a horrifying bang as the head exploded showering the other heads as well as them in black blood. The remaining heads all shrieked loudly as its white tail flailed about. The exploded head regrew much like that of a hydra, but the one Jasper had killed had not regrown itself. It was only now that he somehow realized the split head was still surviving though it probably wished it wasn't.

Leaping backwards Jasper began to rapidly chant as he focused all his mana into the magical amulet, and he could feel the medallion absorbing his mana pool like a roaring whirlpool before it unleashed a devastating blue mana beam that completely demolished the monster. All that remained was its white tail. He dropped to his knees utterly spent with his mana having bottomed out. The dwarf was panicking and trying to shove a mana potion into his hand. He was yelling at the confused Jasper as he pulled out the massive bomb he had originally been building when they met.

"Do you really think a beast that small could have wiped out so much of this town in such a small time if it only ate one person at a time?"

As if to answer the dwarf a roar so fierce shook the entire cavern they were in and grinning head after grinning head began to become visible from tunnel on the other side of the cavern. Jasper had unexpectedly wet himself and had stopped counting, once over fifty heads had become visible with no signs of stopping.

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"The False Hydra is the stuff of nightmares." The Storyteller said grimly.

The group of adventurers all looked at one another before the black-haired mage in front spoke.

"Aren't you going to finish the story?"

The Storyteller scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"I can't. Jasper refused to tell me how the story ended. All I know is he was the only one that walked out of that cave and he was half dead by the end of it all. None of the other villagers ever got their memories back even after the death of those things."

He cleared his throat as he continued.

"If the False Hydra is singing, you will forget about the beastie, even if you are looking directly at it. But if you can keep sight of it in a mirror without directly looking at it can make you aware of it, but it loses its effect if you look upon its physical form. Making yourself deaf is probably the best option if your group doesn't have magic to combat the mind spell it sings. That really screws up teamwork though."

The Storyteller sucked his teeth and made a dismissive gesture. He has been interrupted in the midst of a story by an unruly patron who did not like his tale. Perhaps the patron had one to many drinks, or just was an outspoken individual, either way it definitely spoiled the story.

"I can understand why you feel this way, but I promise you the universe is a vast place." His eyes focusing on patron. "I also know you have not left this town in over twenty years. What do you know of this world, let alone what lies beyond the portals?"

The man frowned and began to argue back but was booed by the adventurers near him and even one of his friends tried to grab him and pull him away. Once the man was out of the Stone Rose Tavern the Storyteller leaned back in his seat. Looking around at all the eyes upon him, He glanced at the Barkeep who just shrugged his shoulders.

"I think I have spoiled you all with too many stories pertaining to humans, elves, and dwarves." He grinned. "Perhaps it is time I regale you with some of the tales from my homeland. Most of you know I am not from Urth. I have been through so many worlds because of my travels in the Pathworks. I am reminded of a friend of mine...."

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Goblins in most worlds are an annoyance at best. Sometimes they can be a dire threat if left unchecked. There was such a goblin raiding party that had been ravaging orc towns that surrounded their woods, but the woods were vast, and it easily allowed the goblins an escape anytime adventurers tried to cull their numbers. They had a burrow that they lived in, and a young goblin was born. He was a totally unremarkable specimen. Average in height, build, intelligence, and strength nothing that would make him stand out.

One day this young goblin wandered away from the burrow and fell into a pit. When his body hit the ground, it gave way dropping him even further into the ground. The small goblin found himself surrounded by faintly glowing crystal gems. He gazed with wonder upon the glittering stones. Dragging his fingers across them, feeling them to somehow be cool and yet warm at the same time. The little goblin wandered around for a long time in that cavern completely unaware of all the mana that was saturating the air and himself.

Moments turned to hours, and hours into days, and days into weeks. The little goblin explored and didn't starve to death shockingly. Its body became much stronger, and it was even beginning to sport black stubble upon its head. The little goblin was evolving in this mana rich environment. As it became smarter it finally climbed out of the hole it found itself in. The other goblins noticed him when he returned and how he looked. How he seemed slightly bulkier than them and the sudden appearance of hair, something that was usually only common in goblin females. The little goblin would be amongst his own kind when the warriors were out and when he could hear them coming, he'd leave for his crystal cavern.

As he grew smarter, he began to sneak other small goblins out with him, and they likewise began to change. After this occurred for the better part of a year. The now not so young goblin and his crew ambushed the warriors with clubs and daggers that they had taken from their own nest and overthrew the current order in the goblin burrow. He had begun to see the writing on the wall that in time the orcish adventurers would find their home and they were in dire need of a change. The evolved goblins took everyone from the burrow and moved the entire clan into the crystal caverns.

Where they grew secluded from the world, The goblin who had stumbled upon this discovery and led his clan into a new era called himself Huron. As the years passed Huron and his fellow goblins began to mine and each goblin at birth was given a gem to wear as a necklace, some even crafted rings that held tiny gems. A whole new goblin society was birthed, and they sent out envoys to the surrounding villages. Some were chased away while others were welcomed. The majority of the surroundings villages had been orc villages, and they had little problem with the evolved goblins once they proved themselves to not be the goblins that had stopped raiding them years ago.

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"Huron, would go on to become quite the famous jewel crafter."

The storyteller moved his majestic beard aside and allowed the crowd to see the shining ocean blue crystal that hung from a gold chain around his neck.

"Matter of fact this enchanted necklace and many others like it prevented a plague that had threatened to wipe out part of that realm."

The Storyteller chuckled as he put the necklace back out of view.

"That however." He said with a grin. "Is a story for another time."

After the Storyteller finished his story, a massive man arose. He was easily close to seven feet tall. A barbarian from the Hinterlands. He walked in front of the Storyteller and looked down at him and the Storyteller in turn cranked his neck up to look at the giant of a man.

"I have a story to tell you, old one." The Barbarian's voice boomed like a drum.

The old one as he was referred to smiled and pointed towards a seat that was elevated like his and the giant sat down on the creaking and protesting chair and began to tell his tale.

"My people were wiped out. A strange illness that came from an angry god."

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The smell of smoke was thick in the air of the settlement as men and women could be heard shouting, with the cries of children in the background. The chaotic sounds of battle echoed throughout the night. The Barbarians had formed a line in the center of town, all that stood in front of them were destroyed buildings, dead bodies, and strange things. Things that had once been their friends and neighbors.

Behind the line of warriors was what remained.

Huddled masses and a desperate hope for survival.

The leading Barbarian who sported a fiery mane of hair roared as he swung his halberd cleaving what had once been his best friend in half. The two halves of the body trembled and quivered before blood red vines began to emerge out and grab a hold of themselves and pull the body back together. The dead did not stay dead, but the living did tire.

The Barbarian did not stand idly by as the halves tried to reunite, he flung a torch onto the body, and it began to quickly catch almost like it was no longer flesh and bone, but thatch and straw. The vines seemed to scream as they were quickly engulfed. Fire had been the only thing that truly seemed to stop these things.

Those that had been infected by the green longer had more telling signs. Sprouted leaves, thorny vines that seemed to spiral around their limbs, oaken skin. What was even worse, they had no idea how it spread. Fine one day and the next they were trying to grab other villagers and take them out into the woods where they would come back changed.

In mere hours the warriors began to drop one by one from exhaustion and wounds. Drug off screaming to the woods. Until it was only the Barbarian with the flaming locks wielding a broken halberd that was left resisting.
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"He chose the cowards way out. He ordered the people behind him to douse themselves in oil along with himself and they ignited it. Choosing to die rather than take the god's blessing."

The Storyteller frowned.

"I have traveled quite far going from village to village when I am able..." The barbarian said quietly. "All must know of the green."

Things could be seen rippling under the Barbarians skin as he grinned manically, but before he could do anything the Storyteller moved with quickness that should have not been possible with his age and build. His hand resting as high up as he could reach on the Barbarian.

"I thank you for your tale wanderer, but I am afraid it can go no further." As he finished his last word a blaze of blue flame radiated from his hand and with each pulse of the strange blue flame it surged across the giant's body. His screams echoing through the Stone Rose Tavern and out into the city of Bradington. As the body was quickly consumed and turned to ash before the stunned crowd the Storyteller nodded towards the Barkeep who immediately sent out a man to get a hold of the town guard.

The rain was falling thick and heavy as the Storyteller warmed himself by the fire. It was one of those rare moments where he had taken his brown cloak off and had it hanging by the stone hearth drying by the fire. He like many others close to the fire. Some were attempting to dry off while others were just enjoying its warmth. A handful of children were talking amongst themselves before one of them turned to the old gentlemen.

"Do you have any stories of your youth?" He inquired curiously.

The Storyteller raised an eyebrow. "My youth?" He gave a lighthearted chuckle. "You would find my youth to be quite boring I am afraid." He spread out his arms. "This world is one of fantasy, magic, and danger and has been a part of the Pathworks for close to a millennium." He wrapped his hands together in front of the fire.

"I was already closing in on thirty-seven years old when the Pathworks latched onto my world. My world had its fair share of problems, but it was relatively peaceful. It had technology that far surpassed this world, but much we had would be redundant here." He sat down at the table and gestured towards the children to sit. "We had these boxes that were a bit taller than a grown man and they kept food cold." He paused a moment trying to figure out the best way to describe electricity. "They were all powered by lightening. Matter of fact everything was powered by lightening, but it wasn't magic!" Some of the children giggled while another made the comment that it sounded dangerous.

"Yes, with the power of the runesmiths what I would call a refrigerator would be a waste of space because a runesmith can just put several preserving runes in a room and it would be so much larger."

The Storyteller stared outside watching the rain blanket the world. In his hazel eyes was a longing look.

"You children might not know this but when a world is first opened to the Pathworks, many strange things happen. A world joins the Pathworks when the gods decide the world has run its course or is one its way to dying and needs to be saved. I will tell you of the day. Of the day my world changed. Many called it an apocalypse and my world were unique in there were many apocalyptic events that were spread over the world.

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Magnus was kneeling in front of a dirty refrigerator cleaning out its interior. It had been repo'ed from a customer that had not kept up to date on its payments. So, his company wanted it cleaned out and up so it could be put in the used area for resale. He was currently in the company's warehouse when one of his friends and fellow coworker named Deshon walked up beside him.

"Hey man, can I get you to come with me to the third warehouse? I need help moving some pallets of furniture." "Sure" said Magnus as he followed Deshon through the warehouse going past all the boxes of unopened furniture and appliances that the company sold in the front of the massive store. As they approached the doorway to the third warehouse something seemed off to both of them, but neither could place their finger upon it as they crossed the threshold into the third warehouse.

Magnus and Deshon froze in their tracks both were blinking trying to make sense of what was in front of them. The third warehouse that they knew which should have had rows of pallets of unboxed furniture and even a few old forklifts was completely empty. Even the light fixtures on the ceiling were gone. Stranger yet the world that had been vibrant with color had all become gray. The darkness of the warehouse gray. The sunlight pouring in from one of the bay doors further down the third warehouse was lacking its yellow tones and was a cold gray. Magnus even looked towards Deshon his usual caramel colored skin now had a gray tone to it.

"What the..." Magnus stopped himself. Despite speaking he heard no words come from his mouth. In fact, he quickly snapped his fingers but there was no familiar snap. The entire world had become gray and soundless. The two looked at one another after some of the confusion and panic had passed. Behind them where the second warehouse had been now a black void stood. Taking tentative steps, they reached the open bay door that shined with gray sunlight. What should have been a concrete parking lot was now a vast meadow with giant trees, the only thing that showed evidence of the parking lot was broken concrete here and there. The world had also regained its color and sound. Neither of them dared to returned to the warehouse.

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The storyteller smiled at the kids. "It was a very wild ride and me and my friend really got off easy considering some were instantly faced with monsters that tore them to pieces..."