The Mage

Chapter 1
They said the Stranger came from the north, from one of the neighboring villages in the
outskirts. He came on foot, hauling a sword over one shoulder while carrying a satchel on the
other. The Stranger was clearly a man of the roads, with boots caked in mud and filth and a
dusty brown cloak, covered in stitches. It was late into the day when he arrived, the street was
almost empty except for a few groups of drunkards, stumbling around here and there. Most of
the city's inhabitants spend their time in bars and taverns, busy drinking themselves silly after a
long day of work. For such a large city, this one is deathly quiet. There was barely any sound
coming from the taverns, just a small hubbub of noises. Even the drunkards were unusually
quiet, creating a sense of unease. The town felt empty, almost abandoned with cobwebs
hanging off most buildings and thick layers of dust clinging tightly to their windows. The Stranger
pushes down the gnawing sense of dreads as he walks through the streets, weaving, and
dodging past groups of drunkards. Moving warily, the Stranger tried not to draw attention to
himself, walking with his head held low and avoiding eye contact.

He stopped at one of the inns, the building stood in the very center of town, flanked by two
smaller buildings on its side. Standing adjacent to it was a beautiful water fountain, made
entirely out of white marble. Pin on the front of the inn was a huge obnoxious wooden sign,
carving its name in big, bold letters: ​THE STALLION​. The building exterior seems to be entirely
made out of ebony wood, giving it a unique dark appearance. While it's neighbor appears to be
much more out of shape, being made out of flimsier materials in comparison and looking like
they might collapse in a blink of an eye. The Stranger gently pushes the doors open, causing a
small bell above him to chime a jarring tune, heralding his arrival. The Stranger could see
groups of people huddled closely together, drinking and talking in hushed tones. The interior of
the inn felt harsh and unpleasant, being dimly lit by small little lanterns that hung from the
ceiling. While trophies of small and large games alike, decorated the walls, staring down at the
patrons with their cold dead eyes. The Stranger moved toward the counter, his eyes locked onto
the Innkeeper.

"Wat ye want?" The Innkeeper grumbled without looking up from his counter, his hands still
polishing a tankard.

"Rations," The Stranger said, his voice was raspy and gruff, like a nail scratching across a
chalkboard.

"Ye one of them traveler?" The Innkeeper asked, finally looking up from his tankard. "Jerkies or
bread?"
"Jerkies," mumbled the Stranger, taking a seat near the counter, probing the Innkeeper with his
gaze.

The Innkeeper stops polishing the tankard and rumbles through his crates of supplies. Muttering
to himself as he claws through the pile of dried meats and salted fish.

"Charming town," The Stranger suddenly said. "Anyone actually working around here."

"Who ain't?" The Innkeeper snorted, his back still turned toward him. "Place filled with bandits."

"Any contract on these bandits? Heard they paid well?"

"Ah, ye one of those," The Innkeeper mused, chuckling as he placed the rations of jerkies on the
counter. "It not worth the gold."

Before the Stranger could ask any further questions, the door to the inn burst open. In walked
five men, all with swords and maces straps to their hips, with daggers tucked into their belts.
The groups were insufferable, each step they took swaggered with audacity, while smug smirk
plastered their faces. Most of the inn patrons had already fled for the doors. Leaving the place
completely deserted, except for him and the Innkeeper. The group strolls through the densely
packed cluster of dining tables, finally choosing to settle down near the counter.

"Innkeep vodka!" One of the men howlers, spit flying through the air as he spoke.

Grumbling, the Innkeeper once again returned to his work. Rummaging through barrels of
alcohol and cupboards filled with tankards. The group of men was loudly boasting to one
another, laughing and jabbering while gloating about their . The Stranger got up from his seat,
preparing to leave. He could sense trouble was brewing,

“Hey you! One in the brown cloak” One of

"Who are you?" he asked, eyeing the Stranger warily. The man was frail and sickly looking; his
skin was deathly pale while his body looked bloated and dead.

"I'm a mercenary," answers the Stranger as he raises his right hand, showing off an ornate
silver ring that has wrapped itself around his ring finger.

"Come in," the man finally said after a long moment of awkward silence. The wooden door of the
office slowly creaked open, revealing a decently luxurious interior. The walls painted a creamy
white, a strange color for a building on the outskirts—the room packed with furniture, each
decorated with beautiful patterns spreading across its surface.

"Please sit," The man said, pointing at one of the leather couches and beckoning the Stranger to
sit. The office's light gave the man a more precise look at his visitor; the Stranger was tall at
least five foot nine with medium length white hairs. Well, the Stranger's hair wasn't completely
white, per se more like a strange combination of grey and white highlight. Yet the most
disturbing feature is the Stranger's eyes. They were the darkest pair of eyes he has ever seen,
like two dark whirlpools daring anyone to look in.

"I am Ronald Reed, mayor of Jamestown," introduces the man as he settles in a seat across
from the Stranger. "Tell me, what would bring a mercenary here?"

"Did you post this?" the Stranger said, fishing out a neatly folded piece of paper from his duffle.
"Something about missing people?"

The Stranger could see Ronald's gaze turn steely at the mere mention of the contract. Trying to
steel his nerves, Ronald reached over to the cabinet of alcohol and poured himself a glass,
spilling some in the process.
"Was starting to think nobody was interested?" Ronald asked while taking a sip of his drink. "Do
you have a name?"

"Kane," the Stranger said, his hands fidgeting with the old piece of paper while his eyes stared
at Ronald, unblinking.

"No last name?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Right. About the missing people. What can I help you with?"

"Just some question," Kane replied, "When did they go missing?"

"Half a season ago," Replied Ronald, sounding a little buzzed.

"You do realize the chance of them being alive is close to naught, right?" Kane question. "So
that we don't waste our time."

"You have to believe in something," Ronald said mournfully as he shook his head before
finishing his drink with one gulp. "I'll pay you a full pouch of gold to rescue them or provide a
decent burial."

"How did these people go missing?"

"It started some months ago, ."

"Any bodies I can examine?"

"No one would dare enter the forest. So no corpse."

"Where's this forest?"

"East of here, twenty minutes if you walked on foot."

"Have there been any tragic history in this town like a gruesome murder, a few cases of arsons,
or some kind of ancient battlefield around here?"

"None that I could think off," John said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "If you want more in-depth
information on town history, you're gonna need to visit the library."

"Any guess on who might be responsible?"

John's face turns into a scowl; his eyes set ablaze with a burning hatred. Shifting closer to Kane
until their faces were only inches apart, John said: "I bet it that witch Salina, she set the beast
upon us!" His voice was filled with venom as he stared daggered at Kane.

"Okay," Kane replied, speechless at the random outburst. Shock and confusion clearly showed
on his feature. "Let's discuss my pay." He said, trying to change the subject.

"We don't have much money, only a small pouch of coin"

Shoving the book back into his bag, Kane headed outside of the building,