SmilinKujo

Chapter 71: Lightning and Frost

As the group rode beneath the vast northern sky, Dorian pulled his cloak tighter, the crisp air carrying the scent of pine and frost. Regis trotted steadily beneath him, his feathered hooves barely making a sound against the dirt road.

Dorian glanced at Selyse. "So… when exactly are we getting to the Northern Duchy? I need a timeframe so I can mentally prepare myself for whatever frozen wasteland awaits."

Selyse chuckled, flicking her reins. "If we want to get there quickly, we ...

Chapter 70: Farewells and New Melodies

Dorian and Selyse walked side by side, each carrying several bags filled with goods from their shopping trip. The streets of Tadon were still lively, despite the late afternoon glow beginning to settle over the city.

Selyse shifted one of her bags onto her other arm, glancing at Dorian with a smirk.

"You know, I think we made quite the haul."

Dorian scoffed, adjusting the strap of his lute as he juggled his own share of purchases.

"We? You mean you. I swear, you could ...

Chapter 69: A Tour of Tadon

Selyse walked away from the orphanage, her usual confident stride slightly slower, as if deep in thought. The lively chatter of the children faded behind her, replaced by the occasional bustling footsteps of the city streets.

A few paces behind, Dorian crept after her, trying his hardest to be sneaky. He stepped lightly, ducking behind crates and wagons, making a dramatic effort to go unnoticed.

Selyse didn't even turn her head.

"I know you're following me."

Dorian fro...

Chapter 68: The Bonds We Choose

The morning sun poured in through the wide windows of Tumblepouch Orphanage, casting a golden glow over the long wooden table where children of all ages sat, chattering between bites of their breakfast.

At the head of the table, the adults—Dorian, Bennett, Elira, Tache, Selyse, and Ralnor—shared their meal. Bowls of steaming porridge, fresh bread, and cured meats filled the table, a simple yet hearty meal that warmed the stomach in the crisp northern air.

Dorian scooped a spoo...

Chapter 67: A Different Kind of Home

The city nightlife of Tadon was vibrant. Music spilled from taverns, laughter echoed in the streets, and the scent of grilled meats and spiced ale filled the air.

Yet as they followed Bennett, the lively streets gave way to something quieter.

Tache glanced around, frowning. "You sure we're going the right way? You've got another inn all the way out here?"

Dorian, grinning, added, "Not really business-savvy of you, is it?"

Bennett, unfazed, just kept leading th...

Chapter 66: Shadows of Tadon

The cold morning air bit at their skin as the group rode along the winding northern road, their breath visible in the crisp dawn light. The sun had barely begun its ascent, painting the sky in hazy shades of gold and lavender.

Dorian rubbed his hands together, his fingers still stiff from sleep. “Are you sure you don’t want me to zap you awake?”

Tache, half-asleep atop his horse, yawned dramatically. “No thanks,” he muttered, eyes barely open. “I like my ...

Chapter 65: Fireside Tales

Dorian stretched his arms over his head as he and Tache walked back toward the camp, the lingering heat of the hot spring still clinging to their skin. He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, and even hopped lightly on his feet.

"Wow," Dorian muttered, almost in disbelief. "I feel light as a feather."

Tache laughed, shaking his damp hair out. "Yeah, it’s always good to visit a hot spring once in a while. It resets you."

As they made their way down the path, the evenin...

Chapter 64: The Bard and the Spring

Selyse strode out of the woods, her lance resting on her shoulder, looking pleased with herself. The fire from their camp flickered, casting long shadows over the clearing.

Tache, already poking at the fire with a stick, looked up. "Hey, where's the bard?"

Selyse smirked. "Behind me."

Tache glanced past her. "Where? I don’t see—"

"Just wait."

Then, from the tree line, a struggling, panting Dorian emerged, half-staggering under the weight of the boar still slu...

Chapter 63: A Hunt and a Fiddle

The road stretched long and open before them as Dorian, the three knights, and Bennett rode past the gates of Brenhold. The wind carried the crisp scent of the northern wilds, and though the cold bit at their cheeks, the warmth of banter and laughter filled the air.

Dorian sat atop Regis, his violin tucked beneath his chin, bow gliding over the strings. The sound was far from perfect—some notes sharp, others hesitant—but compared to the ear-splitting screeches from before, it was at...

Chapter 62: The Stubborn Mule and the Pendant's Mystery

Dorian felt the weight of the elf leaning against his back as Regis trotted through the streets of Brenhold. She was still dazed—whether from the shock of his magic or crashing into a trash can, Dorian wasn’t sure.

"Are we not going to talk?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

No answer.

He sighed. "Still out of it, huh?" He adjusted his grip on Regis’s reins. "Well, I know just the place to wake you up."

Regis whinnied as they turned toward The Stubborn Mule,...

Chapter 61: A Familiar Face in the Cold

The morning air was crisp, a gentle veil of frost covering the cobbled streets of Brenhold as Dorian adjusted Regis’s saddle. The city, nestled deep into the northern regions, carried an atmosphere much colder than the previous towns, not just in weather, but in mood.

Bundled in thick coats, people hurried along, heads down, their faces drawn tight from the bite of winter. Merchants grumbled as they set up their stalls, their breath curling into the air like wisps of smoke. The usual ...

Chapter 60: Arrival in Brenhold

The sky darkened as they approached Brenhold’s towering stone gates, the last glimmers of sunset fading behind the city walls. Torches flickered along the battlements, illuminating the cold iron portcullis that loomed above them.

Two gate guards, clad in thick gambeson and chainmail, stood ready. One of them held up a lantern, the glow casting long shadows on the cobbled road.

"Hold there!" The first guard, a stocky man with a gruff voice, stepped forward. "State your business."...

Chapter 59: Blades, Shields, and Song

The thundering of hooves shattered the chaos as Dorian and the three knights rushed into the fray.

A band of mixed-race brigands—a dragonborn with a massive battleaxe, a wiry halfling wielding twin daggers, a goliath clad in ragged iron armor, and several human cutthroats—had surrounded a merchant’s wagon, their weapons raised.

The merchant—a halfling, small and trembling—was cowering behind the overturned cart, his fine robes stained with dust. A single mercenary bodygu...

Chapter 58: The Knights Who Deserve a Song

The road to Brenhold stretched before them, winding through frost-tipped hills and dense forests, the winter air crisp against their faces. Dorian rode alongside Tache, his sling bag secured at his side, his lute strapped to his back, and Regis trotting steadily beneath him.

A thought had been brewing in his mind for days, and he finally decided to voice it.

"So, Tache," Dorian began, tilting his head with a sly grin. "I’ve been working on something."

Tache raised an eyebr...

Chapter 57: The Bag of Wonders and a Bard’s Experiment

The rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt road filled the crisp northern air as Dorian and the three knights made their way toward Brenhold. Regis’ white mane shimmered in the morning sun, and Dorian couldn't resist running his fingers through it.

"You really adore that horse, huh?" Tache quipped, watching Dorian fuss over Regis with an amused smirk.

Dorian grinned. "Of course. He’s my most loyal companion now, aren’t you, Regis?" He patted the horse’s neck, and Regis ...

Chapter 56: A Bard’s Reward

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the grand estate of Viscount Halrik Vareth. Dorian stood at the foot of the stone steps, his lute catching the soft evening light as he secured it against his back. He had expected nothing more than a few words of gratitude for his performance, but now, with the viscount offering him payment, he found himself at a loss.

“Viscount, I can’t accept this,” Dorian insisted, holding his hands up in refusal. “I didn’t heal her. ...

Chapter 55: A Story for the Forgotten

The morning sun spilled through the small window of Dorian’s room at The Frosted Tankard, casting golden streaks across the wooden floorboards. Dorian stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and lazily rolled out of bed. He slipped into his usual attire—a crimson doublet and the black cloak gifted by his neighbors from Suntails Hollow—and adjusted the blue ribbon on his lute, a gift from his sister Selia.

Downstairs, Ralnor and Selyse were already eating breakfast. Ra...

Chapter 54: Scars Beneath the Flame

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting long shadows across the rough-hewn walls of the inn. The scent of roasted meat and stale ale lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of smoke from earlier lamps. The common room had thinned out, leaving only Halrik, the three knights, and Dorian at the large oak table.

Mira brought over another round of ale, her usual bright demeanor slightly subdued. “The bridge’s fixed faster than we thought,” she commented, placing the...

Chapter 53: The Weight of Words

Tension clung to the air like frost in the dead of winter. The street had grown deathly quiet, with only the labored breaths of the frightened mother and her two children filling the silence. Tache stood firm, his blades resting casually on his shoulders, but his stance radiated coiled aggression. Selyse’s grip on her lance was taut, her jaw clenched. Even Ralnor, usually an immovable wall, shifted slightly, ready for any sign of violence.

Dorian, sensing the fragile edge of the momen...

Chapter 52: Blades and Beliefs

The flickering glow of a single candle danced across the walls of Dorian’s modest room at The Frosted Tankard. His lute leaned lazily against the chair, while his journal lay open on the small wooden desk. He ran his fingers over the pendant resting on his chest, its crimson gem glinting faintly in the dim light.

The Archmage’s Pendant…
The thought gnawed at him like an itch beneath the skin.

The elf in Svalen wore one with a golden gem. Selyse’s tale ...

Chapter 51: Hooves, Strings, and Echoes of the Past

As Dorian returned to camp, leading his newly bonded horse, the reactions were instant.

Tache whistled low, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “Oh my, that’s one beauty right there. Look at his feathering—it’s like silk kissed by northern snow.”

Ralnor, ever the man of few words, simply nodded. “Great steed.”

Dorian couldn’t help but grin, patting Regis’s sleek neck. The horse snorted softly, its breath misting in the crisp morning air as if acknowledging t...

Chapter 50: The Song of Hooves and Heartbeats

The first rays of dawn spilled lazily over the northern hills, casting golden streaks across the snowy clearing. Ralnor was the first to stir, blinking against the morning light. The faint scent of last night’s roasted boar still lingered in the cold air, teasing his senses with memories of flavors now gone. He sat up, stretching his broad shoulders before noticing something amiss.

Dorian and Tache were nowhere to be seen.

Selyse awoke soon after, her disheveled hair sticking ou...

Chapter 49: The Hunt and the Aurora Heart

The dense northern forest was painted in shades of twilight, a soft mixture of blues and grays creeping between the towering pines. Snow crunched faintly beneath Dorian’s boots as he walked beside Ralnor, the massive knight’s silent presence both comforting and slightly intimidating.

Dorian found it surprisingly difficult to break the silence. He’d never struggled with conversation before—after all, words were his craft, woven effortlessly into stories and songs. But with Ralnor...

Chapter 48: The Herd of Aelwyn

The journey resumed under a sky brushed with streaks of orange and pink as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The blood of battle had dried, and the tense edges of adrenaline had dulled, leaving only the comforting rhythm of hooves against dirt and snow. Dorian rode with Selyse again, though he had grown comfortable enough to lean back slightly, letting the gentle sway of the horse relax him.

Tache, ever the storyteller when not swinging blades, launched into another of his embellished ...

Chapter 47: Silver Wolves and Crimson Notes

Morning light spilled across the northern wilderness as the group packed up their camp. The soft crunch of boots on frost-kissed grass mixed with the sound of Ralnor tightening the straps on his massive shield, while Selyse carefully inspected her lance. Tache was already mounted on his horse, a sturdy chestnut steed with a scar running down its flank—a reminder of battles past.

Ralnor followed suit, effortlessly hoisting himself onto his equally formidable black warhorse, its frame n...

Chapter 46: Of Mornings, Mockery, and Mountain Lakes

The soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds heralded the morning. The first rays of dawn filtered through the dense northern canopy, casting a cool, bluish light over the camp.

Dorian groggily opened his eyes, blinking against the sunlight. The smell of dew-soaked earth filled his nostrils, mingling with the lingering scent of last night’s campfire. Stretching out from his bedroll, he glanced around.

Ralnor was already awake, perched on a rock near last night cam...

Chapter 45: Apples, Myths, and Stranger Nights

The warmth of the campfire flickered between them, casting shadows across the clearing as Dorian approached the three knights.

“Well met,” he said with a roguish grin, strumming his lute softly before slinging it back over his shoulder. “I’m a wandering bard, curious about the world’s stories, songs, and whatever trouble might come along.”

The man with the mustache, seated cross-legged with both hands resting lightly on the pommels of his twin swords, grinned in return...

Chapter 44: A Bard’s Path of Stars and Shadows

The stars were vivid against the velvet sky, shimmering like scattered diamonds. The flickering glow of the hearth painted Dorian's face in soft, warm hues as he turned the spit slowly, roasting the single rabbit he’d managed to catch. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of just how unprepared he was for the harsh realities of wandering alone.

“I knew it’d be hard,” he murmured, his gaze lifting to the sky. “But I didn’t know it’d be this hard.”

The wi...

Chapter 43: A Bard’s Farewell to Svalen’s Hold

As Dorian made his way back to the inn, the glow of his performance still fresh in his heart, his attention was drawn to a lively vendor’s stall adorned with hats of every kind. Perched on a makeshift stand at the corner of a bustling lane, the small booth was run by a cheerful halfling woman, her nimble hands busy arranging her wares.

“Ah, a bard with a discerning eye!” the halfling called, spotting Dorian’s gaze on a wide-brimmed leather hat displayed prominently at the center...

Chapter 42: The Search and the Show

Back in the quiet of his room, Dorian sat cross-legged on the floor, his flute resting lightly in his hands. He focused on the delicate tendrils of wind magic he summoned, channeling them through the instrument. A soft, lilting tune filled the air, the notes light and serene.

The technique, a melding of magic and melody, had taken time to refine. With the aid of the wind, Dorian could coax his flute to play even as his fingers danced on the strings of his lute. It was a skill Tyrn had o...