Stoping by a Local Pub

Good choice! Despite the evening growing late, you know that there’s always activity at a pub- maybe you could find somebody to help fix your car! Besides, after what you’d been through, a few drinks didn't sound too bad.

After brief exploration, you came to discover the main town watering hole: The Burning Blade Tavern, a decrepit, creaking windmill on the far edge of the town, flanked on either side by a rather menacing looking thatch of forest. Well, it’s better than nothing…With the wind howling terribly, nipping at your heels, you ducked inside.

And what a shock! In contrast to the desolation that permeated every nook and cranny of the rest of the town, the tavern was packed with raucous, lively patrons, all drinking and laughing with one another! One in particular, a scruffy looking man perched in one corner, had garnered quite a crowd telling  fantastical stories. Oh, a poetry circle? Storytellers, artists- you could see yourself fitting in around here. 

Weaving through a few sets of armored shoulders, you listened in on the dramatic recounting of heroism. “Wading knee deep through the marshes, I kept my head on a swivel, trudging through the bog with my powerhead clutched tightly to my chest- ” The narrator’s voice rose with intensity as he gestured wildly with his arms above his head. “Suddenly, in this great rush of foam, my partner is dragged underwater by the creature, with not even enough time to cry out! I lunged with my spear held high, hoping to-“ 

Pausing with his arms pulled back in a faux javelin pose, the climax of the story was put on pause as you accidentally met this stranger's gaze. A moment passed before his voice dropped to a suspicious register, “You, traveler…You're not from around here, are you?”

Your eyes shot wide as the attention landed on you but, to your surprise, he proved to be…friendly. Flashing a smile, he took your silence as an affirmative. “Ah! Well then, welcome to Darkmoor!” He placed a proud hand on his chest. “You can call me Gregor the Great! My colleagues and I here are the sole guarding force protecting Darkmoor! You've heard of The Hounds, haven’t you?

“Not really… But you're, like- cops or something?” 

Chuckling, he leaned down to your level. “It would be remiss to reduce our job title to ‘cops’.” The grandiose storyteller gestured to a row of mounted heads behind the bar- all sorts of strange and deformed creatures with faces twisted in fearsome, toothy expressions. Expecting you to be impressed, he boasted, “We are monster hunters!”

Alright, the schtick was getting kinda old, but at least the props were cute. You pointed at a gnarly, bug-like one and joked, “Yeah, that one must've been a pain to take down, huh?”  

Gregor deadpanned. “That Metaluna horde took out two of our best men.” Oh, he’s serious. You were really starting to feel the peer pressure now, the critical gazes of his fellow ‘monster hunters’ making you poach in your skin. 

But before you could decide whether to bolt out into the rain, Gregor righted himself with a bitter chuckle and a pitying shake of his head. “You really don’t believe me…” Dusting off his grey overcoat, he proclaimed, “Well then, how about you accompany us on our hunt tonight? There’d be no way to deny it if you saw it with your own eyes, right?”

Palms out, you put some skeptical distance between you and him, making your argument. “Listen, i'm not into the whole rubber stakes and plastic armor thing-“ Understanding how that may come off as an insult to their little LARPy operation, you quickly added, “Besides, it’s raining!”

Leaning to peer through a window, Gregor smirked. “Looks like the rain’s let up!” One of his fellow men muttered in his ear and shoved a box into his hands. Judging by the way his eyes lit up, it must’ve been something important. “Traveler…Can you work a camera?”

What do you Say?