The door creaked open as Liam pushed it with his shoulder.
"Wait here," he told the adventurers. "He doesn't like being surprised."
With that, he slipped inside, bare feet padding quietly on the old wood floor. The adventurers stood in the doorway, taking in the house.
The place looked like it had been strong once. Thick wooden beams, high ceilings, and wide windows that now barely held their glass. But time had chewed away at it. Cracks split the walls, and a section of the ceiling had a bucket underneath it, already half full with yesterday's rain.
Merys frowned and whispered, "This is the village chief's place?"
"Maybe he runs the village by falling ceiling beams," Harlan muttered.
Ryden stepped forward, resting a hand lightly on the doorframe. "No… this place has age. Not weakness. There's a difference."
Just then, Liam came back, waving them in. "He'll see you. But don't be weird."
They followed Liam through a short hallway into a small room off to the side. Unlike the front, this room was better kept. Still old, still worn, but there was a rug on the floor, a few shelves filled with books, and a fireplace that had clearly been used not too long ago.
The sofa creaked as Ryden and Merys sat down. Harlan took a spot in the wooden chair nearby, his eyes moving across the room, noting everything from the chipped paint to the dented teapot on a side table.
Then the old man entered.
Eldric was in his sixties, though the way he moved made him seem older. He wore a faded robe that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a while, and his white beard was unevenly trimmed. But his eyes—sharp, steady—gave off a quiet strength.
He nodded to the adventurers and sat across from them without saying a word.
Liam entered behind him, carrying a small wooden tray. On it were slices of something golden brown and flaky.
"Brought some pancrust," he mumbled, mostly to himself.
He placed the tray on the table and took a spot in the corner of the room, dragging over a small stool. With a piece of sweetbread already halfway into his mouth, he sat down sideways, legs swinging.
Eldric cleared his throat. "You're the ones who's been walking around, asking the questions what don't belong to you."
Ryden blinked. "Uh... yes. We are. Thank you for seeing us, sir."
"I'm not a 'sir,'" Eldric replied. "Just an old man with too many books and not enough of peace."
Liam squinted at him. "You mean not enough peace, Grandpa. You added a 'the' again."
Merys exchanged a glance with Ryden. "Does he always talk like that?"
Liam nodded solemnly, then struck a dramatic pose. "Fear not, for I, Sir Stringsworth, shall decipher the ancient tongue of Eldric the Obscure!"
Eldric gave Liam a flat look but continued on. "You're sayin' there's monsters what's crept too close in the woods northeast, aye?"
Harlan whispered, "Did he just say 'what's crept'?"
"Indeed," Liam whispered back, "which in Common translates roughly to 'monsters have been spotted northeast of here.' You're doing great."
Ryden straightened up. "Yes. We've seen signs—tracks, patterns. It's unusual."
Eldric rubbed his chin. "Ain't the first time we seen trouble shufflin' its boots through them trees."
Liam raised his eyebrows. "He means: 'Trouble's come from that forest before, but this feels different.' It's like charades but with more syllables."
Eldric turned to Liam with narrowed eyes. "Boy, I'll be sweepin' your head out the chimney if you keep flappin' your gums like that."
"I believe that was a threat and a promise," Liam said cheerfully, popping a piece of sweetbread into his mouth.
Ryden tried again, slower. "We're offering help. No tricks. We just want the village to be ready."
Eldric folded his arms. "Help's got prices, just like a horse got legs."
There was a pause.
Merys blinked. "What—what does that mean?"
Liam, deadpan: "It means yes, help always comes with a cost, and also horses tend to have legs. That part might've just been for flavor."
Eldric sniffed. "Flavor's what you put in stew, not words."
Liam nodded. "And yet, your words are frequently stewed."
Eldric turned slowly toward Liam. "I've been considerin' converting that stool you sittin' on into firewood."
"See?" Liam said to the others. "Warm. Welcoming. Full of splinters."
Eldric sighed, then leaned back in his chair. "Y'all can stay the night. We'll chew the rest of this nonsense after supper's took hold in our bellies."
"Translation," Liam said, raising a finger. "You're staying the night. He'll listen more after we eat."
Ryden gave a quiet laugh. "I think I'm starting to get the rhythm."
Merys whispered, "Are we sure this guy used to run a village?"
"I think the village ran around him," Liam muttered. "Like a rock in a stream. A very cranky rock."
Eldric stood, groaning as he did. "And no more of your Sir Swingstring nonsense after dark, boy."
"Stringsworth," Liam corrected with dignity. "And that was a compliment, actually."
He straightened, gave a sweeping bow to the adventurers. "I shall now fetch blankets with all the grace of a forest elf raised by nobility and wolves."
"Blankets first," Eldric muttered. "Elf nonsense later."
As Liam left the room, cape-flapping on an invisible wind, the air seemed a bit easier. The adventurers sat in confused silence until Ryden leaned toward Merys.
"…I think I like them," he said.
"I think they might be insane," Merys replied.
"Same thing in a place like this," Harlan said with a shrug.
............
The scent of root stew and baked turnip filled the room as evening crept in, softening the hard lines of the old house. Shadows stretched long across the floorboards, and the fire cracked in the hearth, casting flickering warmth that softened even the chipped walls.
Eldric moved more slowly now, setting down a worn ceramic bowl at the center of the table. Liam followed behind with a basket of hard rolls under one arm and a battered ladle in his other hand.
"Sit," Eldric said gruffly, waving at the table. "If you're going to be stayin' under my beam-top, best ye chew with the rest."
Ryden blinked. "Sorry—under your what?"
Liam, already halfway into a roll, raised a finger. "That means we're guests now. And if we don't eat, he'll think we're plotting something. Or dying."
Harlan frowned. "Is that really what he said?"
"No," Liam said proudly. "I translated from Old Man."
They took their seats again, this time with a little more ease. The earlier tension had dimmed, though it still lingered at the edges of the conversation like smoke from an old fire.
Liam dropped into his stool with a theatrical sigh. "Behold, the royal feast of cabbage and crushed roots. Fit for kings and condemned men alike."
Merys raised an eyebrow. "Is it too late to pick condemned men?"
"Too late by two bites," Liam said through a mouthful.
Eldric's lips twitched again, just slightly.
As bowls were passed and spoons clinked against ceramic, Ryden finally spoke. "We saw something two nights ago. In the woods."
Eldric didn't look up, but his spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.
"A raccoon monster," Ryden continued. "Bigger than any I've seen. Smart, too. It nearly got the drop on one of us."
Eldric glanced at Liam.
Liam swallowed hard and set down his spoon. "It went for me. Would've gotten me, too, if they hadn't shown up."
"I hit it with an arrow," Harlan added. "Steel-tipped. Took it through the shoulder."
"And Liam cast something," Merys said, frowning as she stirred her stew. "A seal. By instinct. No incantation, no circle. It just… happened."
Eldric finally set his bowl down.
"Show me thine grippy meat," he said.
Ryden looked alarmed. "His what?"
Liam held up his palm with a sigh. "He means my hand. 'Grippy meat' is—uh—an Eldric-ism. They get worse."
Eldric took Liam's hand, turning it over gently. "Hm. Glyph's still itchin' the air. Seen that once on a root-herder down in Brask. She exploded."
Liam blinked. "Thanks for the comfort."
Eldric leaned back, letting out a breath that wasn't quite a sigh. "Power like this? Gotta be steered proper. Else you'll end up singin' to your bones in a swamp."
Merys glanced sideways. "I'm sorry—what?"
Liam lifted his chin, donning a mock-serious face. "It means if I don't learn control, I'll get myself killed. Or swampified. Happens more than you think."
"I also broke my only pair of shoes yesterday," Liam added. "Balance."
The table chuckled—Eldric included this time, the sound soft and scratchy but genuine.
"Shoes can be mended," Eldric said. "But your magic's a candle in a storm-snore. Bright, but twitchy."
Ryden stared. "A… storm-snore?"
Liam gave a knowing nod. "Ah yes. That's an ancient poetic phrase meaning... no one has any idea. Just agree and nod."
Ryden chuckled. "Right. Nodding."
Eldric pushed back from the table, standing slower than before.
"You'll bunk-sleep the night. Tomorrow we wag tongue about tracks and beast-scratch."
Merys whispered, "Is he even saying words now?"
Harlan leaned toward Liam. "Do you still speak Eldric?"
"Fluently," Liam said, puffing up. "He said we can stay and we'll talk tomorrow. Or possibly that his tongue is wagging and he needs boots for bed. Could go either way."
Eldric paused at the door to the hallway, casting one last glance at Liam—who was now juggling a bread roll between his hands like a hot coal.
"And boy," he added, "no more 'Sir Stringsworth' after dark. Makes the shadows jealous."
Liam grinned. "Then I shall become—The Night Stringsworth! Champion of shadow jealousy and herald of moonlight honor!"
The door shut behind Eldric with a faint thump.
Ryden leaned back in his chair. "That went better than expected."
Harlan nodded. "Still think the ceiling's going to fall on us."
Merys cracked a smile. "If it does, I'm blaming the knight with no shoes."
Liam threw up his hands. "A small price to pay for greatness."
Then, with sudden drama: "Fear not, my dear companions! For I shall translate the elder's wisdom until dawn's first yawn!"