Chapitre 1: Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Tavern
The tavern's hearth flickered with a welcoming glow, sending long shadows dancing across the stone walls. The warmth of the fire, mingled with the chatter of weary travelers and the clinking of mugs, offered a comforting reprieve from the chill that hung in the autumn air outside.
The Rusty Lantern was known for this — a small, unassuming tavern tucked on the edge of the forgotten town of Veilbrook, where the roads met but few travelers passed through anymore.
Jon sat in the corner, away from the noise, his hood pulled low over his eyes. His hands, scarred from years of battle, rested on the hilt of his sword — an intricately carved blade that seemed to shimmer with a faint crimson light in the fire's glow. Jon wasn't like the others in the tavern. His eyes, though sharp, held something beyond human—something darker. A part of him that no one knew about or would understand. He was half-demon, a secret that lingered like the shadows that danced on the walls.
Across the room, the tavern's owner, Marta, worked behind the counter, pouring drinks and keeping a watchful eye on her patrons. She was a stout woman, no stranger to trouble, her sharp eyes missing nothing. As she wiped down the counter, she glanced at Jon, a question lingering in her gaze. He had been sitting there for some time, not drinking, not speaking, only waiting.
Jon felt her gaze but said nothing. He had learned over time that speaking too soon only brought more questions. He wasn't here to socialize. He had come because he had heard rumors — whispers of a dark presence growing in the woods outside Veilbrook, and he had learned long ago to follow such whispers. Darkness was familiar to him, more familiar than the warmth of a tavern's fire.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a cold wind blew in, carrying with it the scent of the forest — damp, earthy, and tinged with decay. The noise of the tavern died down for a moment as a man in a long, tattered cloak entered. His eyes, wild and frightened, darted around the room until they settled on Marta.
Marta frowned. "What is it, Karl?" she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.
Karl stumbled forward, knocking over a chair in his haste. "It's—it's the woods, Marta. The shadows are movin'. I swear it. Somethin' ain't right out there!"
Jon's ears perked up. Shadows moving? He straightened in his seat, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. This was what he had been waiting for.
Marta narrowed her eyes at Karl. "You've been drinkin' too much again, haven't you? There ain't no such thing as shadows movin'."
Karl shook his head vigorously, his hands trembling. "No, Marta, I swear it on the gods. There's somethin' out there. Somethin' evil. It's been watchin' me, I know it."
Marta sighed, but before she could respond, Jon stood up, his presence commanding the room's attention. He was taller than most, his dark armor glinting faintly in the firelight. His hood still shadowed his face, but his voice was firm and clear.
"Where did you see these shadows?" Jon asked, his voice low, but it carried across the room with an intensity that silenced the remaining conversations.
Karl blinked, surprised to be addressed by the stranger. "I—uh, near the old grove, beyond the river," he stammered. "I was gatherin' wood when I saw it. It's not natural, whatever it is."
Jon nodded, his mind already turning. The grove beyond the river. It had been years since he had ventured that way, but if what Karl said was true, it was worth investigating.
Without another word, Jon turned and headed for the door. Marta, seeing his intent, called after him. "You ain't seriously thinkin' of goin' out there, are you? In the dead of night?"
Jon paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "I've seen worse in the dead of night."
Marta hesitated, then nodded. "If you're set on it, take care. But before you go..." She reached up and unfastened the amulet hanging around her neck. It was a simple thing, a small silver pendant engraved with a symbol that Jon didn't recognize, but it pulsed faintly with a magic of its own.
She handed it to him. "This was my husband's. He was a man of the sword like you. Take it. You'll need all the help you can get."
Jon took the amulet and slipped it around his neck without a word. He didn't believe in good luck charms, but he wasn't one to refuse a gift freely given. With a nod of thanks, he stepped out into the night, the cold air biting at his skin as he pulled his cloak tighter around him.
The forest loomed ahead, dark and silent, and Jon's footsteps barely made a sound as he headed toward the river, his sword at his side, and the weight of the unknown ahead.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone