We made our way through streets dimly illuminated by lanterns strung overhead, their flames casting dancing shadows across the cobblestone path. The gentle crackle of fire and the soft sound of our footsteps were the only disruptions to the night's quiet. Our destination turned out to be a tavern not far from the town's edge – a weathered two-story wooden structure that had clearly seen better days, though its shabby exterior held a certain charm.
The moment we stepped inside, my senses were overwhelmed. The tavern was alive with energy – boisterous laughter, the clink of tankards, and the warm glow of hearth fire filled the space. Drunk and rowdy patrons occupied most tables, letting off steam after what I assumed was a long day's work. The sudden shift from the quiet night to this cacophony of life made me tense until the leader of the group we were withs hand came to rest reassuringly on my back.
"Let's go find a table," he said, guiding our group through the crowd.
We wound our way to a booth tucked away in the back right corner of the building. It was a strategic spot, I noticed – good visibility of the room, close to what looked like a back exit, and far enough from the loudest patrons to allow conversation. A server quickly appeared with drinks and took our food orders, and then we sat in awkward silence until the leader finally broke it.
"I don't think we've gotten a chance to introduce ourselves yet," he said, offering a smile and an outstretched hand. "You can call me Smith."
Under the tavern's warm lighting, I finally got a proper look at him. He stood easily six feet tall, his presence commanding but not threatening. Short blonde hair topped a face weathered by sun and wind, while a scraggly beard of the same color framed his strong jaw. His light combat armor spoke of experience – well-worn but meticulously maintained, with a metal chestplate that had clearly seen its share of action. A dagger hung at his side, its worn handle suggesting it saw frequent use.
I shook his hand, noting the calluses that spoke of years of weapons training, when movement to his left caught my attention.
"My name is Cecilia," announced the woman nearest the wall, her voice carrying a bubbling energy that tugged at my heart. She reminded me so much of Maya – or rather, how Maya used to be, before everything changed. Cecilia's brown hair fell in gentle waves to her shoulders, framing a pretty, youthful face that seemed to radiate warmth. Like Smith, she wore combat gear, but I noticed she carried no visible weapons. In my experience, that usually meant one thing: she must be extremely confident in her magical abilities.
To Smith's right, another woman spoke up. "I'm Lilia," she said, and I found myself staring despite my best efforts to maintain composure. Her blonde hair seemed to catch and hold the light, but it was her ears that drew my attention – they elongated to elegant points that marked her unmistakably as an elf. I'd heard of elves, of course – everyone had – but they were rare enough that I'd never actually met one. Their legendary beauty, it seemed, wasn't exaggerated in the slightest.
I might have stayed lost in wonder if Maya hadn't stomped firmly on my foot, shooting me a look that snapped me back to reality. I answered with an embarrassed giggle, which earned me an exasperated sigh from her.
The final member of their group, who had remained largely silent until now, spoke in a deep, resonant voice that seemed at odds with his stature. "My name is Earlston."
He was a study in contrasts – short spiky black hair above a full beard that partially obscured a prominent scar ending just shy of his left eye. His dark complexion and heavy build spoke of great strength, emphasized by the impressive amount of metal armor he wore. Despite being barely taller than me – and I was only eleven – he moved with a fluid grace that suggested years of training. The way he carried himself, combined with his height and build, made me almost certain he was a dwarf rather than just a short human. I'd never met one before, but he matched every description I'd ever heard.
With their introductions complete, they turned expectant looks our way. One by one, we gave our names – myself, then Rowan, and finally Maya. As I spoke, I wondered what they might know that could help us stay alive.
The arrival of our food provided a welcome distraction from these thoughts, but I knew the questions would come soon enough. The real challenge would be deciding how much of our truth we could afford to share.