The sun had set by the time Lass arrived at the lively village. Warm light and laughter spilled from the tavern's windows into the cool evening air. Lass's stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since dawn. Weary and famished, she decided to stop for sustenance and rest.
She tied Astra to a post outside and whispered soft reassurances before stepping inside the boisterous tavern. The interior was crowded with villagers and travelers conversing loudly over flagons of ale. The mouthwatering scents of roasted meats and hot bread wafted through the room, though Lass had more pressing matters than her growling gut. She needed information, and this establishment seemed the ideal place to find it.
She claimed a corner table, attempting to appear inconspicuous. Her simple disguise—an old brown cloak and worn boots—helped her blend into the crowd, yet she kept her hood up to shield her face from view. Soon, a barmaid approached carrying a heavily laden tray. "What'll it be, love?" she inquired with a kind smile.
"Just some bread and stew, if you please," Lass replied quietly, sliding coins across the scarred wooden surface. The servant's eyes lit up in delight at the gratuity. "Right away!" she assured before hurrying off. Lass relaxed slightly as lively discussions buzzed around her, hoping to overhear something useful in breaking the curse.
Nearby, a rowdy band of rough-looking mercenaries congregated noisily around a table. Lass couldn't help but listen in on their coarse conversation. "That troublemaker's causing problems again," grumbled one with a thick beard and scarred cheek, slamming his flagon upon the table. "The elders are offering good coin to anyone who deals with him."
"Who is this mysterious rogue?" another mercenary inquired, leaning closer to hear more.
The bearded man shrugged nonchalantly. "Some misguided fellow who fancies himself a champion of the downtrodden. He refers to himself as a champion, though in truth he brings us nothing but trouble."
Lass's interest was piqued. A dissenter who stood up for the destitute? It sounded like someone worth learning more about. She was about to listen more attentively when an altercation erupted on the other side of the tavern.
A famished farmer, gaunt and weary-faced, was being badly harassed by a third mercenary, a hulking brute with biceps like boulders. The farmer held his hands up pleadingly. "I beg you, I want no quarrel," he said, his voice quivering in fear.
The brute sneered cruelly. "You are in our debt, old man. Pay what you owe, or you will sorely regret it."
The farmer's eyes were wide with terror. "I have nothing left," he stammered desperately. "My crops failed... some curse has befallen the land..."
The brute raised a clenched fist, and Lass's heart raced anxiously. She could not idly stand by. Rising to her feet, she strode over resolutely, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "Release him at once," she said firmly.
The brute whirled to face her, his eyes narrowing menacingly. "And who are you to command me? Mind your own business, girl," he growled threateningly.
Lass's pulse quickened, though she did not back down. "It is unjust to inflict harm upon one with no power to defend himself," she said steadily, meeting the brute's gaze. "Take your leave now."
The brute laughed harshly, a grating sound that silenced the room. The other mercenaries turned expectantly, keen to see what would transpire. "You believe you can deter me?" the brute taunted scathingly. "I should like to see your endeavor."
Lass steeled herself, recalling Captain Rhys's teachings: remain composed, utilize an adversary's force against them. The brute lunged forth recklessly, and Lass sidestepped swiftly, seizing his arm and twisting it artfully. He stumbled in bewilderment at her agility.
Enraged, the brute lashed out brutishly once more, but Lass ducked deftly and delivered a precise kick to his leg. He roared painfully, startling onlookers. The other mercenaries abruptly arose, prepared to partake in the conflict.
"Silence!" the tavern's proprietor bellowed sharply. A stout man with a hairless head and ruddy face, he continued, "Take your brawling outside or be tossed out altogether!"
The brute glowered at Lass, his face reddened by ire. "You'll pay for this," he spat resentfully, yet withdrew limpingly toward the entrance. The other mercenaries trailed reluctantly, shooting Lass ugly looks as they exited.
Gradually the tavern regained its former liveliness, the tension easing. The farmer glanced at Lass with wide eyes. "Thank you," he spoke gratefully, his voice full of appreciation. "I feared they'd end me."
Lass smiled, though her heart still pounded hastily. "You're safe now," she reassured, "But take care going forth."
The farmer nodded, tears welling in his eyes. "You possess more bravery than anyone I've encountered," he declared earnestly.
The barmaid approached once more, her tray now vacant. "You wield skill," she commented, regarding Lass impressively. "Where did you learn to duel so?"
Lass's cheeks flushed. "Just... practice," she deflected, not wanting to reveal too much. She required concealment.
Leaning in closely, the barmaid lowered her voice. "Beware - those mercenaries nurse grudges. But you've earned allies here." She winked. "Your stew is free of charge."
Lass smiled lightly at the praise, her thoughts drifting. The mention of the mysterious troublemaker lingered in her mind, stirring hope and curiosity about what role he might play in her quest. Before she could ponder further, a young boy bounced eagerly to her table. "You were so cool!" he said excitedly. "Do you slay monsters for a living?"
Lass chuckled softly. "No, just an adventurer trying to help. Though fighting does come with the job sometimes." His shining eyes said he wished for such adventures of his own. "One day I'll be brave like you," he promised. She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Courage and compassion will serve you well."
As the boy dashed off, her brief levity faded. The witch's chilling warning from the glade echoed coldly: you will face betrayal. Yet surveying the thankful faces around her gave new conviction. Her small acts had made a difference; she would not let dread dictate her path. Darkness likely lay ahead, but finding answers was too urgent to delay. Finishing her meal with restored spirit, Lass rose determined to press onward despite uncertainty. Somewhere in the lurking shadows, her destiny beckoned just beyond reach.