The bustling Guild Hall of Aidonia thrummed with life, its grand oak tables crowded with adventurers exchanging stories of their victories, recounting their wounds, or arguing about the next task. Banners marked the space, proudly hanging from the rafters, each emblazoned with the crossed sword and staff, the symbol of the Adventurer's Guild.
Vyros entered the hall with quiet steps. Clad in a black cloak that flowed with his every movement, his face obscured by the shadows of his hood, he drew little attention. His presence was understated yet oddly commanding, the mere impression of an individual who wasn't easily placed. Beneath his cloak, he carried a shapeshifting sword, its form a secret that none could guess by just looking.
At twenty-five years old, Vyros wasn't a man of average birth. His past was veiled in mystery, and while he was new to the Guild, he was no stranger to power. His grandfather, a man whose name had long since faded from common memory, had taught him much, though no one at the Guild knew of his heritage. To them, Vyros was just another recruit hoping to rise through the ranks.
Vyros approached the quest board. Dozens of parchments fluttered in the wind coming from the open doors, each detailing various missions for adventurers. Most were Copper Rank, simple requests meant for newcomers. His gaze settled on one notice in particular:
Quest Notice (Copper Rank)
"Help needed at the eastern farms outside Aidonia. Crops are being ravaged nightly by unknown creatures. Villagers whisper of goblins, but no tracks have been found. Reward: 5 silver."
Vyros felt an odd pull toward the quest. Goblins? Perhaps. But something about it didn't sit right. A simple task, nothing dangerous on the surface. Yet, there was a flicker of something dark beneath the words.
Nearby, a burly axe-man laughed loud enough for those around him to hear, shaking his head. "Goblins? Ha! Likely just rats chewing at the wheat."
A lean archer chuckled in agreement. "Or maybe the villagers are too drunk to guard their fields."
Despite their laughter, Vyros couldn't help but feel a shift in the air. The parchment in his hand almost seemed to hum, as though drawing him closer to the task. The world always had a way of guiding those with the will to listen.
With a soft flick of his wrist, Vyros tore the parchment from the board.
Behind him, the Guild's receptionist, Elira, a stern woman with silver hair tied tightly into a braid, raised an eyebrow. "Vyros, new recruit? This will be your first mission then? Careful… even Copper quests can turn deadly if you're careless."
She marked his name in the ledger, her voice flat. "Best not make a name for yourself on something so insignificant."
Vyros gave a short nod, then turned to leave. The path to the eastern farms awaited.
Vyros walked through the narrow streets of Aidonia, the fading daylight casting long shadows on the cobblestones. He knew the journey to the eastern farms would take time, and he didn't want to travel through the night. The road ahead would be long and likely dangerous, and he needed more information.
Vyros made his way to the local tavern, where travelers, merchants, and adventurers often gathered to swap tales or discuss recent happenings. As he entered, the warmth of the tavern enveloped him, and the noise from within grew louder. Adventurers filled the tables, but Vyros's gaze scanned for those who might know more about the eastern farms.
At one of the tables near the far corner sat two farmhands, both clearly weary from a long day's work. Their clothes were dirt-stained, hands calloused from hard labor. Vyros approached them, his steps quiet but firm. They looked up as he neared, both their faces nervous as they took in his presence.
"You're… taking the farm quest?" one of the men, an older farmhand, asked, his voice rough. He gripped his mug tightly, eyes darting nervously to the door.
The younger farmhand shifted uncomfortably in his seat, muttering, "Don't go near those fields, stranger. Whatever's out there, it isn't natural."
Vyros studied them both carefully. There was more than just superstition in their voices. He could see the fear behind their words.
"I'll take the quest," Vyros said calmly, though his voice carried the weight of quiet authority. "But I need one of you to guide me. I don't care how afraid you are; I'll keep you alive. That's a promise."
The younger man quickly stood and grabbed his satchel, glancing at his companion before fleeing the tavern in haste.
The older man, weathered but still strong, met Vyros's gaze. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
"My name is Taren Holt," he said. "I've worked those fields for years. But these past weeks… something's wrong. If you'll protect me, I'll lead you there. But gods help us both if those scarecrows move again tonight."
Vyros nodded in return, accepting the farmhand's offer. They gathered their belongings and prepared to leave, the moonlight casting long shadows across the road ahead.
As they left the tavern and stepped onto the quiet road, Vyros could feel the cool evening air biting at his skin. Taren walked beside him, his pace quick but wary. The road was empty, save for the two of them.
Taren spoke quietly, his voice low with worry. "I've worked these fields since I was a boy. But these past weeks… things aren't right. The crops die, the animals won't graze, and the soil smells like ash when you dig deep. This isn't goblin work, stranger. I know goblins. They're loud, clumsy, and easy to spot. But this… whatever's happening, it's not something we can explain."
Vyros listened carefully, absorbing the man's words. He had been on many quests before, facing creatures far worse than goblins. But this was different. This wasn't a simple pest problem.
As they neared the eastern fields, Vyros's instincts flared. Something was wrong.
The tall wheat stalks swayed, though there was no wind. The moonlight flickered, casting eerie shadows across the field. At the edge of the land, three scarecrows stood motionless in the field. Their heads were made of burlap, stitched tightly together, and their bodies stuffed with hay. But it was their eyes, glowing faintly green, that unsettled Vyros. Their gaze followed him as he approached.
Taren stumbled back, his face paling. "They're watching us…" he whispered, clutching his lantern tighter.
Vyros's hand moved to the hilt of his sword, his grip steady and confident. He had dealt with far worse before. This was simply the beginning of a much greater challenge.