Test(1)

Talk - " "

Think + abilities/passives names - [ ]

System - ( )

Author thought - [[ ]]

Action - * *

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"So why did you quit?" Artin inquired, her curiosity prompting Vulwin to shake his head in response. A solemn expression crossed Vulwin's face as he began to explain the reasons behind his decision to retire from his esteemed profession as a blacksmith.

"I'm old, and my own son didn't want to follow mine or his mother's footsteps. I tried to find students, but I found no one to my liking," Vulwin admitted with a tinge of sadness. Once renowned as one of the greatest blacksmiths in the elven kingdom, age and the absence of a suitable apprentice/heir compelled him to step away from the forge, leaving behind a legacy that echoed with the lost artistry of his craft.

Vulwin's tale unfolded, revealing a trail of potential apprentices who sought to learn from the renowned blacksmith. However, the journey was fraught with challenges, as many either quit prematurely or faced rejection due to their egos clashing with Vulwin's uncompromising standards. Despite numerous attempts by nobles and powerful people to secure lessons for their children, a quick assessment by Vulwin revealed that many lacked both the innate talent for smithing and the patience required for his rigorous teaching methods.

The cycle of aspiring apprentices passing through, only to fall short of Vulwin's expectations, became a defining aspect of his later years. It spoke not only to the high standards he held but also to the scarcity of individuals truly capable of embracing the artistry and discipline demanded by the craft of his way of blacksmithing.

Vulwin's store, once renowned as "Old Roots," stood as a testament to a bygone era when it was a thriving hub for purchasing exceptional weapons. However, the passage of time and Vulwin's decision to close its doors a couple of decades ago had left the establishment shrouded in a quiet, dusty stillness. No longer a bustling store, the only entities permitted entry were Vulwin himself and the persistent dust particles that settled on the remnants of his craft.

The once-popular emporium now stood as a poignant reminder of the blacksmith's legacy, a place where echoes of the past lingered amidst the forgotten weapons, tools, and memories that adorned the interior.

Forced to reopen his store at the behest of his wife Merry, Vulwin found himself contemplating the contents of "Old Roots." The weapons that once adorned the shelves were now in various states of disrepair—rusted and broken, bearing the weight of years gone by. Knowing that these items were unsuitable for sale, Vulwin resolved to first clean and rejuvenate the store, breathing new life into the space that had long been untouched.

Meanwhile, Trebor had a different story taking place.

Trebor strolled through the bustling town of Mosshorn with Merry, he found himself enchanted by the lively atmosphere and the vibrant tapestry of life unfolding around them. The medium-sized town, steadily growing, mirrored the quintessential charm of a fantasy setting, complete with its own unique character and diverse population.

The streets bustled with activity as people went about their daily lives, merchants peddled their wares, and the pleasant hum of conversation filled the air. Trebor took in the sights, from the various shops displaying their goods to the lively interactions between townsfolk. Mosshorn exuded a sense of growth and vitality, painting a picturesque scene that reflected the heartbeat of a thriving community.

As Mosshorn was on the outskirts of elven territory, near the border to the Whispering Forest, Trebor found himself in a town marked by a unique blend of elven elegance and military precision. The population was predominantly composed of strong-looking elves, their keen eyes, and graceful movements suggesting a connection to the natural world. These elves bore an air of vigilance, and among them were soldiers of the Fauna Kingdom, standing tall and proud in their armor, a testament to their duty as guardians of the people.

The streets resonated with the clinking of armor and the measured steps of disciplined soldiers. The elven architecture is seamlessly integrated with the military presence, creating a harmonious blend of ethereal beauty and strategic fortification. Elven archers perched on high vantage points, keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding forest, their arrows ready to defend against any unseen threat.

In this town on the border, most soldiers and adventurers, regardless of race, walked with a sense of duty. Armor adorned their bodies, weapons were close at hand, and a collective resolve emanated from their determined gazes.

Trebor realized that this wasn't just a typical elven town; it was a strategic outpost, a bastion of defense standing sentinel against the mysteries concealed within the depths of the Whispering Forest. The convergence of elves, soldiers, dwarves, demi-humans, and other beings showcased a united front, ready to face the unknown and protect the town of Mosshorn and the Fauna Kingdom from whatever decides to be foolish.

In the shadow of looming dungeons and a death-infested forest to the north, the town of Mosshorn lived on the edge, teetering between danger and opportunity. The constant threat of hordes of beasts attacking the town had become a predictable, albeit challenging, part of life for its resilient inhabitants. It was a town that had learned to adapt and thrive amidst adversity.

The forest to the north, shrouded in an eerie atmosphere, earned its ominous reputation for harboring creatures that struck fear into the hearts of many, the whispering forest. The monthly onslaughts from these formidable beasts were not just a peril to be endured; they became a peculiar source of sustenance and growth for Mosshorn.

With every horde that descended upon the town, a frenetic dance of survival unfolded. The townsfolks, soldiers, and adventurers, armed and vigilant, fought back against the onslaught, their defenses tested but never broken. It was a grim necessity, a monthly ritual that bonded the community in shared adversity.

Strangely, it was the aftermath of these battles that brought unexpected prosperity to Mosshorn, other than the mines. The carcasses of the defeated beasts became a valuable commodity, attracting merchants from far and wide. They sought the exotic materials, rare organs, and enchanted remnants that these creatures possessed. Mosshorn had unintentionally become a hub of commerce, with merchants setting up shop to trade in the spoils of these perilous encounters.

The town's economy thrived on the demand for beastly remnants. Merchants, alchemists, and blacksmiths flocked to Mosshorn, turning it into a bustling marketplace fueled by the risk and reward of the surrounding dangers. The town's growth became synonymous with the ferocious battles it faced, a paradoxical cycle where danger bred opportunity.

As Mosshorn continued to expand, its architecture adapted to the circumstances. Defensive structures adorned the outskirts, while the heart of the town buzzed with the activity of traders, craftsmen, and adventurers seeking both profit and glory. The resilience of the people, coupled with the strategic management of the monthly threats, transformed Mosshorn from a vulnerable settlement into a beacon of prosperity amidst the perils that surrounded it. 

As Trebor and Merry strolled toward the center of Mosshorn, Merry shared intriguing details about the town's history. The revelation caught Trebor off guard – Mosshorn had faced the relentless challenge of combating massive hordes of beasts on a monthly basis.

This perpetual struggle stemmed from the numerous hidden dungeons beneath the earth, brimming with mana and triggering a surge in beast spawn rates, which somehow get passed through the sensors that are specifically made for detecting these kinds of events.

The revelation painted a vivid picture of Mosshorn as a town constantly at odds with the untamed forces lurking beneath its surface. The courageous inhabitants, predominantly elves, stood united in the face of these recurring threats, turning the town into a bastion of resilience and fortitude. Trebor couldn't help but be captivated by the town's resilience.

Arriving at the heart of Mosshorn, Trebor and Merry found themselves standing before a grand mansion that drew in individuals from all walks of life. The continuous flow of people entering and exiting hinted at the significance of this establishment—it was a branch of the Adventurer Guild.

The mansion, with its imposing facade, seemed to be a central hub where adventurers of various races and backgrounds converged to undertake quests and seek opportunities. The diverse crowd painted a vivid tapestry of characters, each bearing their own stories and aspirations. Trebor, intrigued by the bustling activity, couldn't help but feel the palpable sense of adventure that permeated the air around the Adventurer Guild.

As they approached the entrance, the prospect of exploring the guild and perhaps uncovering new quests or allies added a layer of excitement to Trebor's journey through this new world.

Soon they made it to the massive wooden doors of the Adventurer Guild that were constantly opened, revealing a bustling interior that echoed with the chatter of adventurers sharing tales of conquests, challenges, and the allure of the unknown. Trebor and Merry stepped into the heart of Mosshorn's adventurer haven, greeted by the warm glow of torchlight and the scent of ink and parchment.

The main hall of the guild was a spectacle in itself. A large bulletin board, adorned with parchments featuring sketches of fearsome creatures and cryptic symbols, stood prominently at the center. Adventurers of all shapes and sizes gathered around, scrutinizing the available quests, their eyes gleaming with determination and anticipation.

The guild's interior was a hive of activity. Tables were scattered across the hall, occupied by groups of adventurers huddled over maps and strategy discussions. A cacophony of different languages and accents filled the air, a testament to the diverse backgrounds of those seeking fortune and glory within Mosshorn's perilous surroundings.

Trebor observed as a group of elves discussed a mission involving the taming of magical creatures from the neighboring Whispering Forest. Meanwhile, a burly dwarf, adorned in sturdy armor, exchanged hearty laughs with a group of half-elves recounting their recent victory over a particularly elusive dungeon dwelling beneath the town.

Approaching the reception desk, Trebor and Merry were greeted by a knowledgeable guild receptionist. The reception area buzzed with activity as adventurers filed paperwork, received payment for completed quests, and eagerly accepted new assignments.

The old elven receptionist, his silver hair cascading down to his shoulders, looked up from the stack of paperwork with a wearied expression etched on his wise face. His eyes, ancient and tired, spoke of countless encounters with adventurers and their sometimes chaotic paperwork. A slight frown adorned his features, a testament to the frustrations he had endured.

As Trebor and Merry approached the desk, they could sense an air of exasperation lingering around the old receptionist. The desk was cluttered with scrolls, quills, and ink bottles, as the old elf meticulously recorded the completion of various quests. He mumbled to himself about the incompetence of some younger adventurers who seemed to lack the understanding of proper documentation.

Just as the old elf was about to finish the tedious paperwork, Merry smoothly slid a black metal medallion onto the desk. The medallion bore a chilling symbol—a skull covered in moss and flowers, an emblem that radiated an aura of mystery and danger with a giant gold 'S' on the skull's forehead. The sudden appearance of this ominous token startled the elven receptionist, causing him to jump in his seat and nearly spill the ink he had.

The old elf's astonishment lingered as he processed the revelation before him. The sudden recognition of the insignia's significance brought a mix of reverence and surprise to his features. His eyes darted to the giant gold 'S,' a symbol that spoke volumes about the adventurers standing before him – an S-Rank adventurer from the renowned 'Hunters of the Earth' company.

But before the old man could say anything, Merry just said "We need to speak with the Enus, I have a favor to collect." In the world of adventurers, achieving S-Rank status was no small feat. The old elven receptionist, his demeanor shifting from bemusement to a newfound respect, understood the weight of the request that lay ahead. He nodded in acknowledgment, recognizing that the favor Merry sought likely held considerable importance.

As the old elf closed his station, Trebor and Merry were led up to the fifth floor, where the branch master office awaited. The journey through the Adventurer Guild's inner workings revealed the intricate machinery that kept the bustling hub of quests and camaraderie running smoothly. The upper floors were adorned with tapestries depicting the heroic exploits of legendary adventurers, creating an atmosphere of reverence for those who had risen to the highest ranks.

Arriving at the branch master office, the door swung open to reveal a spacious room adorned with maps, relics, and trophies from countless adventures. At the desk, a figure of authority awaited – Enus, the branch master of Mosshorn. With a glance, it became evident that this seasoned adventurer had accumulated a wealth of experience and wisdom.

Merry wasted no time and got straight to the point, "Hello Enus. I have a favor to collect."

The old elven receptionist, who had accompanied them, gave a courteous nod before leaving them to convey their request. Enus, with a keen gaze, acknowledged their presence, inviting them to his office and offering them a seat.

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Yo thanks for reading. Soon, im going to make some AI images of our characters.

Comment on any mistakes.