‘Ta’Nova, Sin’Doren, Merelen, Taligor, Kalgate, Anvilglen.’

The words flowed low and deep beneath the clamour of the taproom, like waves onthe ocean. Ignored by all, but one. 

Ralir stepped up to the table, more dried ale than wood, and paused. He sized up the stranger beyond the half-empty pewter mug and discarded plate. Something within willed him to keep walking. Perhaps the man's intimidating frame, or some ominous aura that had left all the tables around him empty. Such was life in small towns and villages like Elturath. When you saw danger or heard the growls of beasts and monsters at night, you barred your door and shuttered your lantern. That is how you lived.

With that thought clear in his mind, Ralir still stayed.

A whisper of intrigue. A familiarity of words. They stuck in his ear, echoing just beyond the edge of his conscious mind, like an old forgotten secret awaiting a clue to bring it to life once more.

The stranger acknowledged the pause and raised his face to Ralir, nodding to the chair opposite with a flicker of warmth. He was weather-worn and his exposed skin was heavily scarred. Much of his face was hidden beneath the impressive growth of a white unkempt beard. Though behind the facade of a beggar, the man's eyes shone, like those of 'Light Warriors' from tales of old. 

Ralir slid onto the chair, placed the two mugs he held onto the table without a sound, and inspected him without meeting those eyes.

What had once been fine and polished armour was marred with chips and cuts. Its care long neglected. In places, the red-silvery metal was held together by make-shift leather straps. A soiled and torn cloak hung from his sagging shoulders, once a fine material, now not even fit for this tavern’s tables. Ralir flicked a glance at the long sword and impressive kite shield, worn like his armour. It bore an unfamiliar crest to him, a crimson flower with specs of violet starlight upon its petals.

The flow of words cut off and the man stretched out a hand. Ralir flinched, dragging his chair across the stone floor and drawing a few glances from others within the Hound’s Hunt. The man paused and cocked a silvery-tinted eyebrow, gesturing at Ralir’s hand. 

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered and pushed a mug forward. The stranger took it and nodded his thanks.

“Av you journeyed far, sir knight?” The man paused, the mug almost to his lips and smirked. 

“Aye, that ist the truth. Though I have ever been here.” Ralir cocked an eyebrow at the cryptic response but pushed on.

“What brings you to Elturath. Never seen that mark before,” Ralir gestured to the shield and its sigil. The man didn’t turn to look where he pointed.

“Everlast. Tis the mark of the protectors. Those who defend this world.”

“And you’re one of them?” The man’s eyes clouded, as he gazed into something beyond Ralir’s understanding. He nodded.

“I was… am.”

“Never heard of em, and… those words you said. What were they?” The man tilted his head, his eyes staring through Ralir. He looked away and coughed uncomfortably. 

“My failures,” he growled.

“They caught my ear. Something familiar. What was it… Talidor? Anvilglen?”

“Taligor,” he corrected.

“Yeah, that one!” Ralir said, leaning forward, a twinge of excitement alight in his chest. “What is it?” The man watched a moment longer before answering.

“A settlement.” The word was like a puzzle piece slamming home. Ralir jumped from the chair.

“Yes! That’s it. A…” he paused, his voice dropping “... a ruin.” Others spared him a puzzled look before returning to their conversations. He slumped into his chair. “And Anvilgate… was on the other side of the Darrows. It was consumed, decades ago, by the mist….” The colour drained from his face as he took in the man, eyes wide. His jaw fell open, “...Harbinger.”

The man flinched. His knuckles whitened against his mug's handle, but he made no movements.

“You’re him.” Ralir choked. He wanted to run, but his legs had no strength. “Why… Why us?” He sighed.

“I don’t know.”

“Y… You don’t know?” Ralir struggled to speak, but his disbelief came across. “Y… You’re Harbinger. Death Bringer.” The man known as Harbinger, gritted his teeth. Pain clear on his face.

“I died millennia ago, but cannot lie. A curse of outside malevolence rests upon me. I wake beyond the borders of settlements and am driven in. Then cometh the mist. I fight the horrors that swell and swarm, but ever in vain.” He was standing now, and other patrons were trying hard not to stare. Ralir could do nothing else. “I fail, again and again. Torn asunder. Ripped to my soul. Only to be made anew to suffer again.” His voice died down as he unclenched his huge fists and took a calming breath. “No! I am not he. I am not this ‘Harbinger’ you tell tales of. I suffer greatest, though I can never lie. To give up, would doom thine world again. So I fight to live, and suffer for it.”

Ralir felt a surge of rage rise to meet this man’s and stood too.

“You could have warned us! Helped us flee!” The man looked down upon Ralir, as if seeing him again for the first time and his voice cooled.

“Wouldst thou run, if I’d commanded it? Wouldst thou leave all? Thine kin, lover and pet?”

“I… I guess not…,” Ralir stuttered, falling back into his chair and taking a mouthful of ale.

“Then what use is it to know thine fate. If thou will do nought to change it? The old man slumped back against the wall, and Ralir wasn’t sure if the inn shifted with him. Ralir took another mouthful, unsure of how to fill the silence and froze.

Mist slid along the darkened window panes behind Harbinger. Frost cracking across the soiled glass. 

“It… it…,” he stammered, pointing. The man nodded.

“Tis here.” 

A scream of primal fear cut through the taproom’s cheer and all turned to the door.

“I can’t… I… Save us. Please,” 

“I will do what I can. All I have ever done. But doth take warning to the flame mountains if thou live. Find the defenders. Tell them Kailin Stoneheart fights still. Tell them I remain chained.”

Ralir nodded, his gaze flicking towards the door and the screams of horror from without. Footsteps thundered upon the hardwood as the patrons charged for the door. Though a few sat, too dumbfounded, or drunk, to move. Kailin grabbed Ralir by the collar and hoisted him to his feet as if he weighed nothing. Ralir’s eyes locked onto the old man’s face. His eyes began to glow with white fire.

“Stay with me. If thou see a chance. Run.” He turned, hefting his sword and great shield then waited a beat for the  crowd to funnel out. Kailin turned to Ralir, raised his hand and squeezed his shoulder. 

The man was a giant. Ralir hadn’t noticed while he sat, but he had to duck to fit through the door and was as wide as two normal men. He shook himself from the stupor as he watched him duck through the door and was gone.

Ralir swallowed and failed to suppress a shudder that nearly shook him from his feet. Then followed the Harbinger into the mist.

Light flashed like lightning and the inn shook as if rocked by thunder. Those who remained sobbed in uncontrolled fear with each such instance, until they faded to nothing. Mist seeped through cracks in the windows and slid beneath the doors. The screams dwindled and ceased until silence descended upon the village once and for all.

A figure broken and beaten pushed itself to its feet and swayed. It planted a large sword in the ground and steadied itself. Through the dark boles of mist-enshrouded trees, rolled the hum of words, like rock on steel.  

“Ta’Nova, Sin’Doren, Merelen, Taligor, Kalgate Anvilglen,” there was a pause as if the world took a breath. “... Elturath.”