Tales of Balko

The town of Storn was settling into evening. The market square still hummed as traders packed away their wares.

Beyond the gates, the road slipped into the forest, swallowed by dense canopies and the steady rhythm of hooves against dirt.

Four wagons moved along the uneven path, their wooden wheels groaning over stones and roots. The first and last were heavily guarded by four armored men each, spears at the ready. Rangers followed close behind, one per wagon, their eyes scanning the treeline.

The second wagon carried only barrels and crates, left conspicuously unguarded, almost inviting trouble. The third was different. Inside sat four travelers, strangers bound by the same offer: Caravan guards needed. Fair pay. Steady road. Danger likely.

Inside, the world narrowed to wood, shadow, and filtered light. Golden rays slipped through the cracks, painting thin stripes across the worn floor. Aruna sat curled on the left, absorbed in a weathered book. Her fingers traced each line as she read, tuning out the creak of wood and the rhythm of hooves, as if the words mattered more than the journey. Every so often, her gaze drifted upward, following the shifting shadows between the trees, as though the forest held stories older than the ones in her hands.

Across from her, Vorath stood near the edge of the wagon, one hand resting against the frame as the road jostled beneath them. He leaned slightly toward Azariel, their voices low. Whether they spoke of plans, shared a joke, or traded secrets best left buried, no one else could tell.

At the front, Morrigan held the reins with practiced ease, guiding the horses with steady precision. Her eyes stayed on the winding path ahead. Every jolt met quiet control, every shift answered instinctively. She kept them moving, a rhythm that held the group together, even in silence.

But, even within this fragile calm, the forest felt... watchful.

Leaves whispered overhead. Branches groaned softly in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, a lone bird called, its song too sharp to comfort.

The wagon rolled on, steady, almost hypnotic. Low murmurs drifted between the travelers, blending with the dull thud of hooves against the earth.

Still, the quiet did not feel safe. It felt held, stretched thin, like a breath waiting to be released. And somewhere beyond the treeline, just out of sight, something lingered. Patient enough to wait.

The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the forest in warm afternoon light.

Morrigan leaned back slightly, a cheerful smile on her lips as she glanced over her shoulder.

"Nice to meet you guys."

Azariel gave a small nod. "Hello."

"I'm Morrigan. What are your names?" she asked, her gaze moving between them.

"Azariel. A sage from the Faraway Lands."

"Vorath." The man beside him shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Just a nobody. I need the money."

Morrigan let out a soft laugh. "Same here. Though I'm in it for the adventure. What about you, Azariel?"

Azariel leaned back, his eyes drifting toward the canopy above.

"I'm comfortable enough financially. I just want to experience new things. Knowledge, mostly."

Morrigan nodded. "Fair enough."

"Although..." Azariel added, his gaze sharpening slightly, "I don't know what we're transporting. We'll find out soon enough."

"And you, Miss Elf?" Morrigan turned toward the corner of the wagon, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Who are you?"

Aruna didn't look up at first. Her eyes stayed on the page, fingers tracing the worn lines of the book.

"Aruna. I'm not interested in chit-chat."

A brief silence followed. Vorath cleared his throat, glancing her way.

"Oh. Right."

He shifted slightly, unsure whether to laugh or drop it.

Suddenly, arrows tore through the air.

The first guards dropped before they could shout, steel punching through armor and flesh. At the rear, one of the rangers spun, panic flashing across his face.

"Run! There's an ambu-"

The warning died with him. A black-feathered arrow struck his neck, cutting him off mid-breath. He staggered, choking, blood spilling through his fingers before collapsing into the dirt.

Everything hit at once, impact, silence, confusion. No time to think. No time to react. In a heartbeat, the forest became something else. And from the shadows, the goblins came.

A goblin suddenly lunged into the wagon where the heroes stood.

Aruna didn't hesitate.

"Witch Bolt."

A brilliant streak of lightning erupted from her, snapping through the air and striking the creature mid-leap. The impact threw it backward like it had been ripped out of motion itself, slamming it out of the wagon. It never even landed properly, just collapsed mid-flight, lifeless.

For a heartbeat, silence followed. The others froze, staring, not in fear, but disbelief. None of them had expected that kind of power.

Then Vorath and Azariel moved.

They vaulted out of the wagon, blades drawn, meeting the swarm head-on. Vorath fought with raw force, each swing carving through goblins that came too close. Azariel moved differently, measured, precise, every strike landing exactly where it needed to.

Steel clashed through the forest. Arrows hissed past them, spears followed, but neither of them broke rhythm.

Then the pressure shifted.

From the shadows, two hobgoblins pushed through the swarm, towering over the lesser creatures. Their armor was crude but heavier, their weapons brutal and deliberate.

Vorath met the first head-on. Steel screamed as his blade locked against a jagged cleaver, neither giving ground.

Azariel moved toward the second, striking fast, but the creature forced him back with heavy, relentless swings.

Above the chaos, a guttural voice cut through the noise. A goblin commander barked orders, tightening the swarm's formation.

And behind him, half-hidden but unmistakable, the goblin leader watched.

Sharp eyes tracked everything. Patient. Calculating. Cruel.

Before the shock could settle, another goblin scrambled up the side of the wagon.

Morrigan reacted instantly.

"Seriously?!"

She snapped her hand forward. Fire erupted from her fingertips, a Fire Bolt cutting through the air and striking the goblin mid-climb. It ignited in a flash and dropped back into the chaos below.

"Yeah, no. Not today," she muttered, already turning as the wagon jolted violently.

Meanwhile, Aruna landed lightly on the forest floor. Her eyes locked onto the Goblin Leader, taller than the rest, still barking orders into the chaos. Calmly, she raised her hand.

"Toll of the Dead."

The air shifted. A deep, unnatural toll echoed through the space, like distant bells ringing from beneath the world. Shadows thickened at her feet, twisting as spectral hands clawed upward from an unseen depth.

The Goblin Leader's eyes widened in terror. He tried to move, but it was already too late. The phantom grasp seized him and dragged him screaming into the void beneath reality. In an instant, he was gone.

Only silence remained, heavy, unnatural, wrong. The remaining goblins froze. Fear spread through them. What they had just witnessed wasn't battle, it was something they couldn't understand.

Then they scattered. One by one, they turned and scattered into the trees, vanishing in blind panic.

And just like that, the four travelers were left in the sudden, uneasy quiet.

Vorath and Azariel stood still, catching their breath, their eyes fixed on Aruna.

They had fought before, seen blood, chaos, death, but nothing like that.

Aruna met their gaze calmly, unshaken, as if what had just happened was nothing more than a passing inconvenience. Yet the air around her had changed. Something closer to caution lingered in the silence she left behind.

Slowly, the forest settled again. The distant creak of wagons returned, along with the soft rhythm of hooves as the horses were brought back under control. The immediate threat was gone. For the first time on that stretch of road, there was stillness.

The four travelers finally exhaled. The tension eased, but no one spoke. With the remaining guards, they began to regroup, straightening the wagons, calming the animals, and gathering the fallen.

Vorath left a heavy sigh, "This... this job is going to cost more than just sweat, isn't it?"

Azariel set another fallen guard down carefully, his voice steady. "It's the risk you take. But we survived. That's what matters."

Morrigan cleared a path for the horses, glancing at the others. "Well... at least the worst of it is over. For now."

Aruna didn't look up. Her eyes stayed fixed on the treeline, still scanning the shadows between the trees. "Keep your eyes open. The forest isn't done with us yet."

Time passed quickly. When the last of the bodies had been collected, they climbed back into the wagon. The horses, still tense, set off again down the winding road. Phandalin waited somewhere ahead.

Vorath exhaled slowly. "I didn't think I'd see the day where a goblin fight would leave me this tired."

Azariel allowed a faint smile. "We've survived worse. And we've learned we can handle more than we thought."

The wagon settled into motion once more, its rhythm steady against the road. But the memory of the battle lingered, especially Aruna's power, still sharp in their minds.

The forest had only shown them a fraction of what it could hide.

(Time skip - Phandalin)

The city gates groaned open, spilling them into clattering carts, flickering lanterns, and the smell of smoke and fresh bread.

The wagons were handed over to the guards, who gave curt nods before leading them away. Safe, for now.

Vorath stretched his arms as the tension finally began to leave his body. "Finally... a warm bed and a pint."

Aruna's voice cut through the moment. "Don't get too comfortable." Her eyes moved across the crowded streets, lingering on the narrow alleys between buildings. "You never know who's watching in places like this."

They wound through cobblestone streets until the glow of lantern light revealed an inn at the end of a narrow lane, The Inn of the Rising Star. Its sign creaked softly in the evening breeze. From within came laughter, the clink of mugs, and the faint scent of roasted meat drifting into the street.

"This looks promising," Morrigan said with a cautious smile as she pushed the door open.

They stepped inside. Warmth washed over them, but it didn't settle right. Lanterns cast a soft amber glow across worn wooden tables, yet the air smelled more of old smoke than fresh food.

Conversations dipped as a few patrons glanced their way. Then, almost immediately, eyes turned away again, quickly, deliberately, as if attention itself was something to avoid.

The innkeeper, a burly man with a permanent scowl, barely looked up from polishing a mug. "Rooms, food... or do you not know the difference?" he spat.

Vorath stepped forward, jaw tight. "Two rooms. And something to eat."

"Wine, if you've got it," Aruna added. Her eyes lingered on the innkeeper more than her words.

The man grunted, sliding a stack of mugs across the counter.b"Take whatever table's free. Rooms upstairs. Now, move."

Vorath exchanged a look with Azariel, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. "Yeah... this place isn't exactly welcoming," he muttered.

"Yeah... no," Azariel replied. He pushed his chair back from the bar and stood. "Let's not waste time. We split up, cover more ground. Maybe find something better."

With that, they left the stale warmth of the inn behind and stepped into the cool night.

The city streets stretched ahead, lantern light flickering across wet cobblestones.

"Half an hour. Same meeting point," Vorath said with a nod. "Don't wander too far."

"Got it," Aruna replied, a faint grin cutting through her irritation. I can use this time to gather information... complete my mission, she thought to herself.

"Let's hope the next inn has better manners," Morrigan laughed, nudging Azariel lightly.

With that, they split apart, melting into the streets. Each moved with a different purpose, scanning the city for something worth a hot meal and a decent bed.

Azariel soon found himself in a quiet square. At its center stood a stone statue of the town's god. For a moment, he simply watched it, then lowered his head in silent prayer, lingering longer than he meant to.

Morrigan drifted through winding streets, peering into taverns and lit windows, searching for somewhere warmer, and of course, less hostile than the last inn.

Vorath moved through a nearby district at a slower pace, alert eyes tracking signs and doorways as he searched for a place to rest.

Aruna, meanwhile, slipped through narrower streets, her steps measured and quiet. She asked for directions sparingly, taking only what she needed before moving on. After a few dead ends and polite refusals, she finally reached her destination.

A wooden sign hung above the entrance: Mayor's Office.

She stepped inside without hesitation. The room was lined with bookshelves and scattered papers, the scent of old parchment hanging in the air. Behind a heavy wooden desk sat an elderly man, absorbed in a book. His white hair caught the window light, and deep lines marked his face, the kind that spoke of years lived and knowledge earned.

Aruna cleared her throat softly.

"Excuse me... do you happen to know where the mayor is?"

The man looked up slowly, his gaze meeting hers without hurry. "You're looking at him."

Aruna blinked. Realization flickered across her face. She straightened slightly. "I'm looking for information on necromancy," she said carefully. "A book, a ritual... or perhaps someone who practices it."

The mayor leaned back, fingers steepled. His eyes, sharp despite his age. He studied her in silence. "Necromancy," he said at last, as if weighing the word. "A dangerous path." His gaze hardened slightly.

"Why do you seek it?"

Aruna didn't look away. "I have my reasons. Knowledge like that... it could save lives."

A faint smile touched his lips. "Few ask with such honesty," he said. "There are texts, hidden, guarded. Rituals older than this city. And those who walk that path choose their company carefully." His finger tapped once against the desk. "If you are serious, I can guide you. But once you step onto that path, there is no turning back."

Aruna swallowed, but didn't waver.

"I need the information. All of it."

Silence stretched between them.

"Knowledge is not given freely," the mayor said at last. "Not for curiosity alone. I will help you, but only if you help me first."

Aruna's brow tightened. "With what?"

"The goblins," he said. "They multiply too quickly. They raid too often. Their numbers grow beyond reason. I need to know why."

Aruna crossed her arms.

"You want me to risk my life dealing with goblins... before you tell me what I came for?"

The mayor's eyes sharpened.

"You think this is a request?" A pause.

"It is a condition. Help me, and whatever you find in the place I send you... it will be yours."

Silence settled heavily between them. Aruna studied him, the firelight flickering across her focused expression. Finally, she nodded.

"Fine. I'll help. But I expect full disclosure once this is done."

The mayor inclined his head slightly, his approval restrained but present. "Agreed. The source of the goblin raids lies deeper than you imagine. Find it, and the rest will follow. Help me... and you will have your knowledge."

And just like that, the deal was made.

Aruna returned to the city as dusk began to fall, the streets quieting beneath the glow of lanterns. The Inn of the Rising Star waited at the end of the lane, unchanged, familiar, and just as unwelcoming as before.

Inside, she found the others seated around a table. Firelight flickered across their tired faces, stretching long shadows over worn wood.

As she approached and sat down, all eyes turned toward her with quiet curiosity.

"So... were you the lucky one who found another inn?" Vorath asked, exhaustion still in his voice, curiosity slipping through.

Aruna exhaled softly. "No. But I found something better." A faint smile touched her lips. "The mayor has a job for us. And it pays well."

Vorath's expression shifted immediately. "Seriously? That sounds... perfect."

Morrigan and Azariel exchanged a look, the tension of the day easing as curiosity took its place.

"What kind of job?" Morrigan asked, leaning forward slightly.

Aruna straightened, her tone turning more serious. "He wants us to find out why the goblins are multiplying so quickly and raiding his lands," she said. "We're to trace the source before it gets worse."

Silence followed. But it didn't linger.

The four of them ordered food and drinks, letting the warmth of the inn slowly settle back into their tired bodies. The clatter of plates and low murmur of patrons faded into the background as they began to process what had just been decided.

As the meals arrived, small smiles returned, along with quiet laughter. For a little while, they let themselves breathe. Each sip of ale, each bite of bread, pulled them back to the present, reminding them they were still alive, still together.

Vorath leaned back in his chair, a grin tugging at his lips. "Well... if this is what adventure tastes like, I could get used to it."

Azariel chuckled softly. "We've earned it. And soon enough, the real work begins."

Aruna picked at her food, her expression thoughtful but steady.

"The goblins won't wait for us," she said quietly. "We need to be ready."

The group exchanged glances. No one argued. A quiet understanding passed between them. For now, they ate in peace.

When the meal was finished, they made their way upstairs. The girls shared one room, the boys another.

For the first time since the ambush, the night finally grew quiet.

Morrigan fell into bed almost immediately, sleep claiming her before she had time to think. Aruna settled into a chair by the window, pulling out her book. Familiar lines traced under her gaze as she tried to quiet her thoughts.

Azariel knelt beside his bed, eyes closed in silent prayer. He sought guidance and protection for whatever lay ahead.

Vorath slipped quietly back downstairs. Curiosity and a hint of mischief drew him into the dim inn. He kept to the shadows, moving carefully, searching for anything worth noticing... or taking.

Then he saw it.

Whatever the innkeeper was doing was wrong. His stomach turned. He recoiled at once, stepping back into the corridor. A moment later, he was on the stairs again, moving quickly but quietly, boots barely muffled against the worn wood.

He found Azariel first and grabbed his arm."Quick. We need to warn the girls," he whispered, voice tight.

Azariel didn't question him. He nodded once.

Together, they moved quickly down the hall. Vorath pushed open the door to the girls' room.

Morrigan, pulled from sleep, sat up instantly confused, disoriented. Aruna lifted her head at once, already alert.

"Something's wrong with the innkeeper," Vorath said, breathless. "It's... wrong. You need to hear this."

Morrigan rubbed her eyes, still half-caught between sleep and awareness, but instinct took over. Aruna's gaze sharpened, locking onto him.

Silence filled the room. Vorath's words settled between them. Whatever fragile calm the night had offered was gone, replaced by something colder. The inn no longer felt right.

All four of them stood fully awake now, tense not from fear, but from what they had just been told. Something in the air had turned sour, like the place itself had been stained.

Morrigan blinked fully awake. "What do we do about this?"

The question hung for a moment. They leaned closer, voices low but sharp. Ideas came quickly, stripped of hesitation. No one debated whether something should be done, only how.

When it was decided, they nodded once. Their hands met in the cente, no ceremony, no words, just a quiet, shared understanding.

This wasn't about safety anymore. It was about what they had seen. And what someone would answer for.