Chapter 3: The Call of Inspiration

The road from Suntails Hollow opened to the bustling gates of Silverhill, the town's stout walls bristling with banners that fluttered in the midday breeze. The large wooden doors stood open, allowing the flow of carts, merchants, and townsfolk to move in and out. As Dorian's wagon approached, he caught sight of two familiar figures at the gate.

"Lo and behold! It's the Hollow's pride and joy," boomed Leonis, the burly human guard with his signature gray-streaked beard.

Standing beside him, the elven guard Anira rolled her eyes. "Careful, Leonis. Their egos won't fit through the gate if you keep that up."

Dorian grinned and waved. "Morning, Leonis, Miss Anira! Got some fresh farm goods for Silverhill!"

"Fresh, huh? Let me see," Leonis said, strolling up to inspect the wagon. His eyes glinted as he spotted a basket of corn, its golden kernels shining in the sunlight. "How much for one of these beauties?"

"For you? Two coppers, but only if you promise not to roast it until we're halfway back to the Hollow," Dorian teased.

"Two coppers is a bargain. You should charge him double!" Anira said, pulling her own coin pouch. She handed Dorian a small stack of coins. "I'll take a dozen eggs and a sack of potatoes. They'll keep better than his roasted corn."

"You'll regret not joining me at the fire later," Leonis said with a chuckle, pocketing his purchase as he stepped aside to let the wagon through.

"Thanks! See you later!" Dorian called as the wagon creaked forward into the town.

Silverhill's main market square burst into view—a patchwork of colorful stalls and steady crowds bustling about, haggling, trading, and chatting. Everywhere, scents mingled: the sharp tang of metal at the smithy, the sweetness of pastries wafting from bakeries, and the earthy scent of fresh produce piled high at various booths.

Dorian stopped the wagon in a shaded area and jumped off. "Time to get to work!" he declared.

First up was the bakery, a familiar stone building with painted shutters. Mistress Hearthcrown, the gnome baker, greeted them with flour-dusted hands and an eager grin. "What have you brought me today, young master Highspire?"

"A basket of eggs, two sacks of flour-ready wheat, and a crate of corn!" Dorian said as Lucas and Ryssa began unloading the goods.

Mistress Hearthcrown nodded approvingly. "Always the freshest from Suntails Hollow. Let me fetch your payment." As she counted out coins, she leaned forward conspiratorially. "Say, you haven't heard about those northern traders selling 'magic yeast,' have you?"

Lucas snorted from behind the wagon. "Magic yeast? What's that supposed to do?"

"Claim it makes bread rise faster and last longer. They were trying to sell it to me for ten silvers!" She wrinkled her nose. "But I've been baking for fifty years and don't need shortcuts, magic or not."

Dorian grinned. "Papa says deals like that sound 'too good' for a reason."

"He's a wise man, your father," Mistress Hearthcrown replied, handing Dorian his payment. "And a fine family of farmers."

Their next stop was at Gleaming Goods, a tidy stall run by Mayrick Tallfeather, a halfling trader whose sharp eyes scanned the bustling market like a hawk's. "Ah, my favorite sellers!" he said, clapping his hands. "What have you got for me today?"

"A little of everything, Mister Tallfeather," Dorian replied. "Apples, carrots, some late-season strawberries, and eggs."

Mayrick picked up a ruby-red strawberry, inspecting it like he was appraising a gemstone. "Perfect as always. Payment as agreed!" He handed Dorian a pouch heavy with coins. "But I'll tell you, there's a peddler by the fountain selling strawberry plants he claims grow fruit all year round. Tempting, but it smells of nonsense."

"Year-round strawberries? That sounds delicious," Ryssa said, her tail swishing thoughtfully.

Lucas rolled his eyes. "It sounds fake. Dorian, would your dad trust it?"

"Papa would say it's trouble waiting to happen," Dorian replied with a laugh.

With their prearranged sales completed, they now turned to the crates that hadn't been spoken for: a basket of apples, a sack of corn, and a few other odds and ends.

"We'll take these to the open market," Bogo suggested, pointing toward the row of unassigned stalls near the square.

Dorian nodded, and they quickly set up shop. He took his position behind the wagon while Ryssa and Lucas called out to passing shoppers. "Fresh goods! Last batch from Suntails Hollow!"

"We'll make you deals so good, you'll think we've gone mad!" Ryssa added, her tone gleefully exaggerated.

As customers stopped to browse, Ryssa turned into a salesperson extraordinaire. A human woman hesitated over the sack of corn, and Ryssa leaned closer with a bright smile. "You won't regret it, ma'am. This corn? Perfect for roasting. It practically tastes like butter already!"

They sold out quickly. A wandering knight passed by and bought the last of the apples, tossing them into his satchel and leaving a silver coin as payment.

Dorian clutched the pouch of earnings with a satisfied grin. "We're done!" he said.

"Finally!" Ryssa said. "Time to play before we head back."

As the group packed up, a ripple of noise caught their attention from deeper in the square.

"Sounds like something's going on," Lucas said, craning his neck to look.

"Let's check it out!" Dorian said, already on the move.

They followed the sound to the square's central stage. A crowd had gathered around, all eyes fixed on a single figure. Standing tall and confident was a bard draped in a vibrant green cloak, a golden harp resting against his chest.

"Lo, brave heroes on distant seas!

Their legends call on winds and breeze!"

With each word, his deep, powerful voice commanded attention. The harp's melody seemed almost alive, weaving with the bard's words to conjure shimmering illusions in the air above him.

The audience gasped as a spectral ship appeared, its billowing sails cutting across stormy waves. Mighty knights clashed against shadowy foes while banners streamed above them. The performance was larger than life, every word and note painting a new piece of the tale.

Dorian's eyes widened as he stood frozen in place, the crowd's energy fading into the background as his focus remained locked on the bard.

It wasn't just the spectacle; it was the way the bard told the story. Every note seemed to speak a language he had always known but never heard.

"This is it," Dorian whispered, his voice barely audible over the harp's haunting melody. "This is what I want to do."

"Do what?" Ryssa asked, nudging him.

He turned to her, his face alight with wonder. "Tell stories like that. Show them… not just speak them."

For Dorian Highspire, the world of stories had always been home. But for the first time, he had glimpsed a path he'd never imagined.

———…———

The child stood still, his chores forgot,

As melodies spun a wondrous plot.

"Lo, brave heroes on distant seas!

Their legends call on winds and breeze!"

———…———