Josh and Brett pushed open the door to the Bull's Head, after leaving their friends to get some rest. They were greeted by a rush of warm air smelling of roasted meat, yeasty ale, and the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. The tavern was lively but not rowdy, filled with the low rumble of conversation, bursts of laughter, and the clatter of tankards.

  Brett rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Perfect. Exactly what I needed. No monsters, no cold rain, no claws or teeth. Just chairs and drinks. Beautiful."

  Josh chuckled. "And maybe a hot meal before we set off into the wilderness… who know’s what it will be like at the outpost.”

  They slid into their usual table near the back, giving them a clear view of the hall without sitting too close to the fireplace. Branna, the dwarven barmaid, appeared almost instantly, her broad, muscular frame moving with practiced ease. “Back from another quest, eh?” she said with a grin, the familiar gravelly warmth in her voice. “I’ll bring the usual, don’t tell me you’ve gone soft and switched orders on me.”

  "Bless you," Brett said with genuine reverence.

  They sat down as the tavern’s evening rhythms washed over them. A pair of old farmers argued amicably near the bar about whether the early frost would touch the orchards. A trio of visiting merchants counted coin and grumbled about road tolls. A group of younger adventurers hunched together, likely discussing their first goblin hunt.

  Branna came back quickly, setting down a frothing tankard of dark ale and a bright, glimmering fruit cider with a satisfying thump. “Your food’ll be out in a moment,” she said, brushing a strand of chestnut hair from her face with a practiced motion.

  Josh took a sip of his ale, letting the earthy, slightly bitter flavour settle across his tongue. "Feels strange," he said. "We’ve been so busy that sitting still feels unnatural."

  "Speak for yourself. I was born for sitting still," Brett replied, taking a long drink.

  Before Josh could argue, a voice from a nearby table called out, "Oi. You two the pair that got chased by that river beast t’other day?"

  Josh turned to see an older man leaning back in his chair. His beard was grey but thick, and his arms were still solid despite his age. A retired adventurer, judging by the old leather bracers he still wore.

  "It didn’t chase us," Brett said quickly. "Mostly. We were very dignified about the whole thing."

  Josh snorted. "In fairness we did get soaked, and one of us did let out a scream at one point."

  "Aye, that sounds more like it," the old man replied, chuckling. "Sit a moment. Tell an old fool what the rivers are like these days. The moss is growing thicker, they say?"

  Josh and Brett glanced at each other, then picked up their drinks and shifted to the neighbouring table.

  The man introduced himself as Darrin. He told them he used to be an adventurer in his youth, though he claimed he had more scars from kitchen accidents than monsters.

  "Back in my day," Darrin began with the tone of a man settling into a well-loved story, "the rivers weren’t filled with anything fancier than oversized fish. Maybe a water sprite if the season was right. But these days? I hear about all kinds of ankle biters? Madness."

  "The moss doesn’t bite," Josh said.

  "It might as well have, with the amount of stuff that did bite around it." Brett countered.

  "Aye, that counts as biting," Darrin declared.

  As they laughed, an older woman from the next table leaned over. She had wiry white hair and eyes that sparkled like she had seen far too much and regretted none of it.

  "If you think rivers are dangerous," she said, "you should have seen the hills thirty years back. Kobolds everywhere, bold as anything after a dungeon break. They stole my husband’s entire boot once."

  "Just the one?" Brett asked.

  "Aye. He walked home with one bare foot and one boot. That was his punishment for letting the thing get so close.”

  Josh laughed, shaking his head. "Why would they steal one boot?"

  "Because they’re kobolds," she replied simply. "Chaotic creatures. You mark my words."

  Another man at her table leaned forward, a former scout by the look of him, with a deep scar across his jaw. "That’s nothing. I once saw a pack of kobolds steal a goat, a frying pan, and a set of paints. No idea what they painted with it, but I imagine it wasn’t fine art."

  Brett nearly choked on his drink. "What is wrong with kobolds?"

  "Everything," the woman said. "But they’re predictable in their unpredictability, which helps."

  Josh found himself relaxing more than he expected. Listening to these seasoned locals, hearing ridiculous stories of monsters and mischief, somehow grounded him. It reminded him that adventuring wasn’t just about levelling, fighting, and pushing to the next challenge. It was also about community. History. Stories shared over warm meals.

  Their food arrived, plates piled with something like roasted chicken, spiced root vegetables, and thick slices of bread. Brett tucked in with enthusiasm.

  Between mouthfuls, Darrin pointed a finger at Josh. "Let me tell you something, lad. First time I saw a troll, I thought I was done for. But that’s what adventuring is. Feeling like everything is too big for you until suddenly it’s not."

  Josh nodded. "We had that moment today."

  "Good. You’ll have it again. And again. And each time it’ll be easier. That’s growth."

  "Aye," said the scarred scout. "Speaking of growth, you two planning to take on the kobold warren right?"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Josh exchanged a glance with Brett. "Yea, we’re heading there tomorrow."

  "Good, looks like you’re the right level for it." The man tapped his tankard against the table. "Just mind the paths. Kobolds love tunnels within tunnels. A nest inside a nest. They’re crafty, and they love traps more than breathing."

  "And don’t underestimate the little spellcasters," the white-haired woman added. "Kobolds with magic are like children with fireworks. Very exciting. Very dangerous. Very unpredictable." She paused. "Mostly dangerous."

  Brett winced. "That sounds… encouraging."

  "It’s meant to be."

  Josh felt warmth spreading through him. The ale, probably, but also the comfort of the room. The tavern felt alive, full of stories and laughter. Brett was leaning into every tale with sparkling eyes, interrupting only to ask for details about spells, monsters, or embarrassing moments.

  "Did you really get chased up a tree by a giant badger?" Brett asked Darrin at one point, trying not to laugh.

  "Hopped up that tree like a squirrel with a fire under its tail," Darrin replied proudly.

  "And the badger?"

  "Waited. Two full hours. Nasty thing. Held a grudge."

  "Did you drop a boot to distract it?" Brett teased.

  "No, but in hindsight that might’ve worked," Darrin mused.

  Josh leaned back in his chair, content. They weren’t fighting for their life, or on the way to face danger. They were relaxed, and enjoying the warmth, meals, good company and their stories.

  Eventually the conversations mellowed, and the older adventurers faded back into quieter talk of harvests and grandkids. Brett was still grinning.

  "We should do this more often," he said as they returned to their original table.

  Josh nodded. "Feels good to be part of the town like this."

  "We’ll give them new stories to tell someday," Brett added. "Preferably ones where we look incredibly impressive."

  "Preferably ones that don’t involve running."

  "Impossible. I am very committed to running when I need to.”

  Josh rolled his eyes.

  The night drifted on in a gentle haze of laughter and soft music from a fiddler by the fire. The Bull’s Head had thinned out by the time Brett and Josh decided to call it a night. The warmth of the hearth still lingered in the air, and the final few lanterns flickered lazily as the inn’s regulars nursed their last drinks. The two friends moved up the staircase to their room, the murmur of late-night chatter fading behind them.

  Brett stretched as he got ready for bed, "Not a bad day," he said.

  Josh grinned. "Not bad at all. Killed a wolf, saved some goats, a quiet pint. And tomorrow we can start this whole dungeon business."

  “Let’s try not to die in the first two minutes,” Brett said.

  “Good plan.”

  Josh rose early, long before the first golden light crept across Ashenfall’s rooftops. The morning air felt clean, the kind that hinted at adventure. He quietly left the room, letting his friend get a bit of extra sleep whilst he got an early start on breakfast. Some time later he was joined by Brett, looking only slightly alive, staring into a large mug of something steaming, holding up his hand when Josh tried to start up a conversation.

  “It’s too early.”

  Later they met Carcan, Perberos and Bhel outside the guild as usual and the five exchanged nods. There was no grand speech, no ceremonial gathering. Just familiar faces, strapped packs, polished weapons and the shared understanding that today marked the beginning of something big.

  They set out along the forest road, and the difference was striking almost immediately. The woods around Ashenfall felt calmer than they had in the weeks since the goblin dungeon, but there was a quiet that didn’t quite feel natural. Birds no longer scattered at every snap of a twig; instead, they hopped lazily along the branches, their chirps oddly hesitant. Patches of underbrush lay undisturbed, and even the distant treeline carried a stillness that made the hair on Josh’s neck prickle. It was as if the forest were holding its breath, waiting and watching for something just beyond sight.

  Perberos pointed at a half-overgrown burrow near the path. "Old goblin den," he said. "Collapsed by the ranger patrols last week. Garth’s squad got the last ones hiding out here."

  Josh stopped for a moment, taking in the quiet. "It really is safer, right?"

  Carcan smiled. "That is what happens when people do their part. Clear a dungeon, clear the surrounding corruption, and life returns."

  Bhel thumped along cheerfully. "Aye, but safer roads mean more folk travelling. More folk travelling means more trouble eventually. Just how it goes. We’ll always have a job."

  They passed a group of merchants heading toward Ashenfall, pulling a cart stacked with crates. The traders waved gratefully as the party stepped aside.

  They walked at a steady, unhurried pace. The day warmed gradually, sunlight filtering between tall pines. The scent of moss and damp earth followed them as they moved through shaded woodland, eventually breaking out into long rolling hills.

  Bhel told a few stories to pass the time. Most of them involved axes. Some involved beer. One involved both, and ended with him insisting the tavern table had attacked him first.

  Josh asked about the Kobold Warren whenever the mood quieted, but Perberos only said, "You will see soon enough."

  They stopped at midday beside a small brook, filling waterskins and resting on sun-warmed stones. Conversation drifted easily: favourite meals in Ashenfall, Carcan’s belief that Josh needed new boots already, Perberos’ firm refusal to play cards because Brett always cheated.

  “I don’t cheat,” Brett said.

  “You absolutely cheat,” Josh replied.

  Carcan nodded. “It is not even subtle.”

  Bhel folded his arms. “Saw him switch cards last time.”

  Brett stared at all four of them. “You know what? Fine. I cheat. And I’m still better than all of you.”

  They resumed the journey at a leisurely pace, enjoying the long walk. As the afternoon deepened, the path widened and the hills began to level off into a broad valley.

  By late afternoon they saw it ahead: a fortified settlement rising from the valley floor. It wasn’t a town, not really, but more than a camp. A tall palisade of sharpened logs encircled it, reinforced with horizontal beams and watch platforms. The walls stretched in a wide ring, surrounding dozens of sturdy-looking buildings.

  A wooden gatehouse marked the entrance, flanked by two guards wearing the emblem of the Adventurer’s Guild on their cloaks. Beyond the walls, the settlement bustled with life.

  Inside, the roads were packed earth, trodden firm by hundreds of boots. People wandered between buildings, chatting, sharpening weapons or comparing gear. Blacksmiths hammered at makeshift forges. An inn with a carved sign depicting a snarling kobold skull offered lodging, and beside it stood a smaller guild hall.

  Smoke drifted from several chimneys. The smells of cooking, metalwork and wet leather filled the air. The settlement had the atmosphere of a caravan mixed with a military outpost: practical, temporary, but undeniably alive.

  At the far side of the ring, protected by a secondary inner palisade, lay the dungeon entrance: a wide earth mound with the yawning black mouth of a tunnel framed in heavy timbers. Wooden walkways circled the mound, and several guards kept watch, ensuring only registered parties entered and nothing left that shouldn’t.

  Josh stared. “This is… a lot bigger than I expected.”

  Perberos nodded. “The Kobold Warren is one of the most active dungeons in this region. People come from all over to clear it.”

  Carcan watched a group of armoured adventurers pass them, weapons gleaming. “There are many floors, many routes and many chances to test oneself. It attracts those who want to grow.”

  Brett nudged Josh. “Well. Looks like we’re in the right place.”

  The five of them walked to the settlement gate as the sun dipped behind the valley edge, throwing long shadows across the ground.

  Their next real adventure lay just ahead.