Turns out walking across all of Urkhar with a stoic and a maniac isn’t very much fun at all. The first few days were nice, though. Spring was still in full bloom, birds flew onto Dylk’s outstretched finger and sang songs, all the good spring stuff.

Salman had been mumbling to himself the whole way through the desert. Dylk only caught bits and pieces, but he picked up on the main theme: something Salman referred to as the War of the Isthmus. Now that they had reached the forest, Salman finally found his voice.

“My memory begins to return, friends,” he said. “It seems not even an amnesiac can forget the Isthmus. What little I remember is tainted with the shadows of the war, the vicious battles fought over that beautiful land. If we were to take that Northern path, we may yet feel its gentle sun and its warm sand, even as so much blood has been split upon it. Tell me, half-elf, what do you know of it, being from Pord yourself?” Salman looked at Vix expectantly. Dylk himself was curious about what ties Vix could have to such a foreign war.

“Never heard of it,” Vix said, followed by the groans of his two companions. Of course he doesn’t know, Dylk thought. At least I have an excuse.

“And what’s Pord?” Vix asked.

“Yeah, what is that, Salman?” Dylk could almost hear Salman’s thoughts shout out to him: what’s wrong with you people? How did I get stuck with you idiots? Nonetheless, he answered:

“Pord is the continent of the elves, among others. They call it Ithil.”

“Oh, Ithil!” Vix said.

“Yes, half-elf,” Salman said. “Their empire took that isthmus for themselves. Stole it from the kingdom of Denn. It brings me great sorrow, even if I am not Dennish myself.”

“For a guy with memory loss, you sure can give a lot of exposition,” Dylk said.

“What is that supposed to mean, master three-quarterling?”

“Hey, hey, no offense. I just mean it’s impressive how you know all this stuff but can’t remember why you went to Jub. Maybe impressive isn’t the right word. I-”

“Enough, enough,” Salman said, now deep in thought.

“Yeah, alright. Vix,” Dylk said, “how’re ya holding up?”

“I’m doing great, Dylk, thanks for asking! I just wish we could get to Rattwater quicker.”

“This is the easiest part of the journey, half-elf,” Salman said. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Why’s that?” Dylk asked.

“Our path south down the Isthmus of the Lesser North leads us parallel to the Great White.” He pointed to a great, snow-capped mountain range in the far distance.

“What’s the problem with that?” Dylk asked. He had to squint to see the mountains from where they were.

“For normal folk, they are impassable,” Salman said. “But we three are no normal folk. I feel I have passed through their shadow alone before, but with great difficulty, yet with our ithurge companion and his ability to light the way and keep us warm,” he said, nodding to Vix, “we will be able to pass them into the forests of Denn with only moderate discomfort.”

“Moderate?” Dylk asked. He suddenly felt the lust for adventure drain from him.

“Yes, that’s the best anyone can hope for from the Great White. Weren’t expecting easy travels, were you, Willum?” Dylk looked down at his Dun Day t-shirt and cut off pantaloons and shivered.

“Nope, I’ll be fine.”

He was not fine.

Dylk, Vix, and Salman spent three weeks in the snowy shadow of the mountains, during which Dylk hunted unsuccessfully for animal hides to keep the wind off his poor baby skin. After a few days of watching Dylk make an absolute fool of himself chasing foxes and hares, Salman took pity on him and shot a particularly hairy elk, which clothed Dylk mightily.

Adorned in soup-stained elk’s fur, Dylk came across a hill on the southern tip of the mountain range. He laboriously climbed it and saw what seemed to be the whole world stretched out in front of him, from the mountains to the sea, covered in a dense forest.

“Is this Denn?” he asked Salman.

“Some of it. Much of Denn is too far south to see, covered under the horizon. That includes the capital. We, however, march due west away from the capital. And there is our goal,” he said, lifting a hand to the west. “There is Rattwater.”

Dylk again squinted and saw a smudge of brown between the forest and the sea.

“Pretty small, ain’t it?” Vix said.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this,” Dylk said, turning fully to Vix, “but you are so dumb that I feel like a genius.”

“Maybe you are a genius, Dylk,” Vix said, putting a hand on Dylk’s arm. “Don’t put yourself down like that. Now let’s get a move on, shall we?” Vix took one step down the hill and tripped, falling all the way down into the forest.

“If he does that enough times, maybe we won’t have to listen to him talk anymore,” Dylk said.

“Then the journey wouldn’t be so fun, master Willum. A trek with just the two of us would be so dull.” Salman followed Vix down the hill with Dylk behind, each being careful not to trip.

“You guys are so slow!” Vix said from the bottom. Dylk had to brace himself against the slope so he didn’t fall from laughing.

The forest was kind to them. It wasn’t long before it was warm enough for Dylk to shed his fur coat, though he kept it as a blanket. The hours seemed to slip by like a dream. Their days were spent walking and talking, and the nights passed with campfire stories. It was like a long, eventful sleepover.

A few days into their forest trek they sat around their campfire and tried to think of stories they hadn’t told yet.

“Have I told the tale of the riddle contest with the troll?” Salman asked, toasting a bundle of nuts over the fire.

“Yeah, only about a million times!” Dylk said in mock annoyance.

“And the one about the potion skin?” Salman asked.

“Yep, heard that one, too,” Vix said, smiling hugely.

“Hm…” Salman held his chin in his free hand. “Dylk, do you have any stories left in you?” Dylk tried to think of anything he hadn’t already told.

“Oh, Dylk!” Vix said suddenly. “Could you tell the story about the prince again?”

“But I’ve already told it twice, Vix!”

“Come on, Willum,” Salman said, “you must! It is a good story, after all!”

“But I thought you didn’t like my stealing, oh Salman the honorable!”

“Dylk, this is a tale of an evil ruler! An unjust ruler! Tell it!”

“Yeah, Dylk, tell it!”

“Oh alright, you two! I’ll start at the house burning this time, though.

“So, we were standing outside our house, or what was our house, I guess, and I turn to my family and they’re all scared and stuff. So, I put on my brave face for them and I say ‘I’ll solve this! I’ll go to the prince’s castle and I’ll take his stolen money and give it to the people of the Wood! And I’ll get some for you so we can get a new house!’ And they all cheered and hugged me.

“So, I’m there, making my way through the Wood at night and it’s super dark. So dark I can’t see my hands in front of my face. But I can see lights in front of me, the lights in the castle, and I’m going toward them.

“Now, as I get closer, I can hear a couple of guards talking, and they’re saying ‘did you hear about that guy who thought he could disrespect the prince?’ and the other one goes ‘yeah, I did.’ And the first one says ‘what a loser! They burned down his house!’ And they’re both laughing, right? So, as they’d turned away from each other, I grabbed one of them and knocked him out. Then, wearing his clothes, I walk right past the other guy and they let me in the castle! Stupid, right?

“Anyway, I’m in the castle and I overhear another conversation, but this time it’s two nobles who’re talking. So, I take up a guardly stance and listen in on them. One of them goes ‘hey, you know about the councilman being an idiot, right?’ and the other one goes ‘yeah.” And the first one says ‘they say the prince is gonna kick him out!” And now I’m stoked! I’m actually so stoked that I take a risk and I ask them, ‘hey where’s the councilman’s payment stored again?’ Y’know, just because they might tell me. And they do!

“So, I follow their directions down a staircase off the main hall and walk into the room-”

There was rustling in the brush outside their camp. It became increasingly louder, until it stopped entirely. Dylk could just make out a figure coming out of the tree line behind Salman and Vix, its face shrouded by a mossy, brown cloak. Dylk drew his rapiers the moment Salman notched an arrow.

“Tell me, sabro,” Salman said, pointing it at the stranger, “do you have a death wish?”

“Sabro?” Dylk asked.

“Dragon spawn, the lizard men of Pord,” Salman said. The figure lifted its hood to reveal a scaled, ash white face.

“No,” the sabro said, “to answer your question. The dwarves of the north were good friends of mine back home, so I’d like to talk with you later, but now’s not the time. I need your help.” Dylk was in shock at the sight of him.

“What for?” Salman asked, bow still drawn.

“There’s a band of goblins not far ahead.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Dylk asked, trying not to gape at the giant, talking lizard in front of him.

“They’re burning down the forest with reckless abandon! Don’t you hear the trees crying?”

“We will go,” Salman said, lowering his bow.

“What?” Dylk asked, rapiers still pointed at the intruder.

“Only the most noble sabro would risk his life to save a forest, asking the help of strangers. We will go.”

Dylk looked at Vix, who shrugged.

“Yeah, ok,” Dylk said.

“Then, let’s hurry!” the lizard man said, “Every minute wasted is another tree lost.”

They stamped out the campfire (not before burning some nice looking nuts, Dylk might add) and stumbled wearily toward the supposed forest fire. He was, as any sensible halfling would be at that time of night, quite tired and ready to hit the hay. But it looked like the only things he would be hitting for the foreseeable future would be gobblings, whatever they were.

It seemed like a million billion years passed before Dylk saw the first signs of gobbling activity. The forest in front of them suddenly turned from a lush paradise for squirrels and deer and other woodland critters into a lush paradise for evil, soulless beings like demons. Or politicians.

Through the flames, Dylk could just make out a rickety set of wooden buildings suspended over some sort of hole in the ground. As they came closer, he saw it was, as he was later told, something called a ravine. Between the buildings scurried what he assumed to be the gobblings they were tasked with stopping. He strained his eyes trying to see them, bumping into branches and rocks as he went. To his surprise, one of the rocks screeched as he tripped over it.

“Hey!” it said. Dylk had to shake his head and look around to see if he was finally losing it. “Yeah, down here, dude!” it said. Dylk looked down.

Behind him was a normal looking garden gnome, almost exactly like the one the Willums had in their front lawn before it burned down. The only difference was that this one was talking, moving, and carrying a large, wooden pipe. Dylk was so shocked at the sight that he nearly forgot what he was doing.

“Come with us!” he said to the garden gnome.

“What? Where?”

“Towards that place!”

“The goblin town?”

“Yeah, the gobbling town! Hurry up!” Dylk grabbed the gnome’s wrist.

“Oh gods…” It got up.

“Oh gods is right! C’mon!”

They hurried to catch up to the rest of the ever-expanding group, though the lizard man was already on one of the bridges when they did.

“Salman! Vix!” Dylk yelled. “Meet…”

“Gnom!” the gnome shouted.

“Pleasure!” Salman said, pushing a gobbling off a bridge into the ravine. “Joining us or sightseeing?”

“Erm…” Gnom said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Here,” Dylk said, handing Gnom one of his rapiers before rushing in to kick some green behind. They were smaller than he thought, only about a third of his height, and stout - almost perfectly round - so it was easy pickings. Dylk found great satisfaction in kicking one like a ball, sending it flying into the ravine. He had only gotten a few good kicks off before the fight was over, the shanty town now deserted save for a few, groaning on the bridge.

“Now, “ the lizard man said, clapping his hands together, “let’s look into that fire. But before we do, is anyone hurt?” Dylk had sustained a minor boo-boo but was too prideful to admit it bothered him. Unfortunately, the sabro noticed it anyway.

“Let’s get this patched up quick,” he said, wrapping his hands around the cuts on Dylk’s knuckles. “There, good as new!” he said with a satisfied smile, letting go. When he did, Dylk saw no sign that the cuts had ever been there.

“How?” he asked, but his healer was long gone.

“Who knew magic was real, huh?” Vix said, confusion strewn across his face. The confusion was contagious.

“I’ll follow him,” Salman said. “Stay here and out of trouble, friends.” Then he, too, was gone. That left Dylk, Vix, and Gnom in the ruins of the gobbling town with nothing but time.

“Wanna loot this place?” Dylk asked. Vix made a face that said “sure.”

“I like you guys,” Gnom said, taking the lead. They walked into a hut suspended on the crossing of two bridges. The three of them turned the whole room inside out but couldn’t find anything but wooden tools and weapons.

They continued to saunter along the walkway that stretched longways down the ravine, ending up at the very back of the town. There, they found another hut, much larger than the first. Inside was a series of bunkbeds, each decorated with little knickknacks and keepsakes.

“Man, I kinda feel bad now,” Dylk said, holding a crude wood engraving of a particularly round family.

“Hey, no time for that! Watch me jump up into that hatch!” Vix pointed at an opening in the roof. Before either of his companions could stop him, he ran towards a corner between two walls, jumped, reached his foot out to catch the right wall for a boost, and promptly smacked his face against the front wall at full speed. Gnom and Dylk tried desperately to comfort him through fits of laughter.

After a full minute of this, Gnom geared up for his own attempt.

“Here’s how it’s done, fellas!” He ran, put his foot out on the jump, caught the wall for the boost, then smashed his whole front against the wall in the same spot as Vix. Then it was Vix’s turn to laugh with Dylk.

“Ok, ok, now’s time for business,” Dylk said, holding up his hands and revving up for the stunt of a lifetime. He felt his heart flutter as he prepared. I can do this, I can do this. He couldn’t even hear the laughter through the ringing in his ears.

This continued for some time, each of them trying and failing the jump multiple times before Dylk finally had enough and practiced a few times ahead of his turn.

With a heart full of determination and a forehead full of wood, he ran, jumped, hit the first wall, second wall, and grabbed the opening of the hatch to the applause of the others. By that time, Salman and the lizard man had returned and were now watching the spectacle.

Dylk, now hanging from the ceiling, knew what he needed to do. He pulled himself up with all his strength. The next moment, he awoke on the floor to four concerned faces hovering above him.

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’s not dead, Gnom.”

“Yeah, get me back up there!” Dylk said, standing up.

“Oh, alright,” Vix said, bending down below the hatch. Dylk got on his shoulders and Vix stood up fully, allowing him to grab the hatch again.

“Whew, that was easy,” Dylk said, trying his best not to think of how stupid it all was.

He successfully pulled himself up and crawled into the attic, pitch black save for the moonlight coming through a small window at one end. He crawled through unseen objects toward it, seemingly bumping into every single one. One of them clinked across the floorboards as he swept it aside.

“I think I found something!” he said, reaching around for it in the darkness. He managed to get hold of the mystery object and continued on toward the light so he could examine it.

“It’s a dagger! It has some writing on it but I can’t read it. It’s too dark up here.” He put it in his pocket and got to the window.

Under the windowsill, just barely visible, sat a small wooden box locked with a metal latch.

“Ok, there’s a box,” he said. “I think I can pick the lock.” He pulled the necessary tools from his Both Sides branded thieves’ kit and went to town. After a few minutes of tweaking, he got it unlocked and lifted the top up. He heard a buzz.

The box now glowed purple, shimmering like Vix’s hands had right before he shot the yellow beam in the crypt. In the pale light, Dylk could see something emerge from it. It was a bee. It was a big bee. It was three big bees. And they all looked like they wanted to kill him.

“Bees!” he yelled, scrambling around the dark attic trying to get away from them.

“Bees?” Vix asked.

“Big bees!”

“I got this, bees hate smoke!” Dylk heard a clamor of “no no no”s and then the crackling of a fire.

“Oh boy,” Dylk said, reaching the hatch and jumping back down through it. All of them ran out the hut’s door and watched it go up, eventually taking the whole town with it.

“So,” Dylk said after it smoldered sufficiently into the ravine, “you guys going to Rattwater, too?”