Chapter III Another undying hassle in the Albion Fields Crown Lands

I woke up beneath the moon's luminous glow, its silver radiance bathing the night sky in a celestial dance of stars. The vast expanse above resembled an orchestra of galaxies, an intricate tapestry woven with stardust. But enough of the poetic stuff. How did I end up in this open field? Under the moon's brilliance, the night seemed surprisingly well-lit. I meandered through the field, the grass and tiny flowers brushing against my legs. The moonlit glow kept everything visible, just like I mentioned earlier.

Walking further, I found myself facing a dense forest. I glanced back at the open field, perplexed, and scratched my head. Why am I here? There's an odd sense of familiarity about this place, yet I can't quite place it. Maybe there's a purpose to my being here. Who knows? I shrugged off my confusion and entered the lush thicket without hesitation. There's definitely something I need to uncover, although what that might be, even the gods wouldn't know.

Amidst the trees and shrubs, a rustling of leaves interrupted my thoughts. Oddly, there was no wind blowing at the moment. As I prepared to step through another thicket, a sharp object sliced through my peripheral vision, cleaving a path through several trees. Swift reflexes and my backsliding skills saved me from its deadly trajectory. What I saw next was utterly unbelievable. It was that towering goat monstrosity again – Faunus Ubelziege. I instinctively reached for Gramr, only to realize I didn't have any of my gear. What in the world is happening? Frustration welled up as Faunus Ubelziege growled, wielding his sword-ax menacingly. I backslid once more and lobbed five stones at him, fueling his anger further.

I sprinted through the forest, my footsteps echoing amidst the trees and shrubs. Then, a glimmer amidst the shadows caught my eye – the same light that led to the open field I'd been in earlier. Without hesitation, I dashed toward that faint flicker, determined to escape the forest's clutches. Just as I burst through the forest's edge and into the open field, a thunderous impact echoed behind me. The malevolent goat creature had jumped from the forest, landing before me. It was a trap – he'd outsmarted me. He raised his sword-ax, the moonlight gleaming off its blade. Yes, I notice even the tiniest details. There's no time to pause; I had to face him head-on. Bolting towards him, he swung his weapon, missing by a hair's breadth – for the same reason as my encounter with the Dark Child Gang. Just as his attack whiffed, I leaped toward him, my fist aimed squarely at his grotesque face.

And then, I woke up.

Damn it, that was just a dream. Well, if you can even call it that. It seems like I was on some kind of astral journey last night. I guess I was in that creature's lair and somehow it sensed me. Is that evil goat some kind of psychic or what? And why can't I use my astral projection skills for some harmless fun, like peeking on the ladies around here? Nah, I'm just kidding. Seriously, I haven't even considered that. It would be a waste of my unique ability if I don't at least give it a shot. Again, just joking. Moving on, I dragged myself out of bed, took a refreshing shower, and got ready to face the day. Downstairs, I ordered a hearty breakfast, gave Paulette a generous tip, and headed to the town square to see if there were any interesting jobs available. Freelance adventurers like me, who don't answer to guilds or organizations, often gather in the town square to find paying gigs and quests. I also needed to drop by the bureau where I used to work and deliver a message.

As I approached the gate of Avalon's Imperial Intelligence Ministry, a familiar face came into view – Ron Patubal. He was the one who tasked me with delivering that ultra-secret information. I helped him carry a letter to a Rhymester named Elias Mourndread. I can still recall the exact conversation we had about a week ago. Let me give you a taste of it, I'll italicize it to show you that it's a blast from the past. Haha!

"Where the heck is that guy? I don't... ugh! Where...? He's gotta be somewhere around here, I guess... pffft."

"What's the problem?" I chimed in, sensing a potential money-making opportunity.

"Oh, it's just... This dude sent me to deliver something, but I can't track down the recipient. Ugh! That jerk. He assured me I couldn't miss him, but here I am, clueless. I should've insisted on the exact location. I mean, if I don't find him, my reputation will take a hit for not completing this delivery. And I still have other things on my plate, you know? Sigh."

"Need a hand?" I raised the question with the kind of confidence that usually seals the deal on a job offer. "By the way, name's Rasleigh. Finding missing folks is one of my specialties. Heck, I'm a damn good investigator, the best around."

"Yeah, sure, it'd be a huge relief if you could lend a hand. Let's see, I've got to deliver this letter to a Rhymester named... Oh, right, Elias Mourndread! I've scoured every nook of this town for someone fitting the description of a Rhymester, but I'm coming up empty-handed. If you manage to locate him, please let me know right away. My office is over at The Bailiwick's Tailor Shop. Actually, he might have already left the city, and since you're offering your expertise, I guess it's your mission now. I really hope you can track this guy down ASAP."

"Got it. I'll update you once I find him," I assured him, fully on board with the task. "Alright then, thanks for stepping in," he said, walking away with a wave of his hand.

Well, turns out the guy wasn't some regular delivery fellow; he was probably a spy. That office address he tossed my way? It happened to be the hush-hush hideout of the Avalon Imperial Intelligence Agency. Sneaky, huh? Anyway, let me dive into a little backstory from a different timeline and then seamlessly weave it into the main plot. Ready for this? Alright, let's roll!

So, day in and day out, I went through the usual routine of hunting for jobs and putting my tracking skills to good use. I hopped around various corners of Albion, collecting information about my target. Some of these breadcrumbs led me straight to a significant figure named Iakin Koralstein, a Terpsichorean and Dance Mistress hailing from Tandaya. Now, getting there was a whole adventure in itself. I had to traverse Albion's sprawling western fields, part of the vast County of Cymry. Trust me, it's quite the expanse, and you could easily get lost if you're not a skilled tracker like yours truly. But there was one thing I sorely lacked: a steed to ride on. Those critters in Metropolitan Aigleterre cost a fortune, and I wasn't about to cough up half a million drachma just to get around.

Eventually, I landed in the county capital known as Paintgarden. And to make matters more interesting, there weren't any mounts available for purchase there. Undeterred, I continued my journey and swung by the neighboring Atolee Village, a substantial settlement that seemed like the middle-class hub of the county. I suppose the von Topaz Family had quite the knack for segregating their populace, because just a stone's throw away was the LeFam de Li nestled along the road to the Valkyrie Hills. This particular nook catered to the less fortunate souls.

After days of trudging along, a serene lake came into view, embraced by the lush forest that enveloped it. And smack dab in the middle of that lake sat an island, connected to the shore by a slender strip of land. It wasn't your typical human village that adorned this island, though. This was the famed Blobdorf, a settlement that was home to the jolly and wobbly race of Blobs. Just as I was considering circling the lake to reach the other side, my gaze snagged on a colossal gelatinous creature resembling a Blob. This had to be the Blob King, the talk of adventurers far and wide. Imagine a Blob supersized and bedecked with royal regalia—crown, scepter, and even a sword lodged in its wobbly form. And get this, the creature even boasted a majestic red furry coat, strikingly reminiscent of the Emperor of Avalon's attire. Adding to its unique charm, King Blob sported a prominent scar slashing across its visage and a dash of gray facial hair, lending it a distinguished air of age.

True to its Blob nature, King Blob conjured a horde of the lower Blob breeds, like BloBlobs and Blobdrops. This little scenario jogged my memory back to my run-in with the Spukblob—yet another variant of the Blob family. But rest assured, that one's long gone. I managed to off it back in the Gungnir Mountain Range, though it cost me my life in the process. Yep, you heard that right. It knocked me down for the count. But enough of that detour, let's get back to the matter at hand. King Blob was hell-bent on avenging its fallen Blob brethren, an endeavor that usually went down in flames, considering it's still, well, a Blob. Oh, by the way, I'd say you didn't see this coming, but I went ahead and jabbed that gelatinous beast with my Jagdkommando dagger right in the midst of this tale. Surprise, huh? Haha!

Alright, back to the grind. My journey led me through the Valkyrie Hills, where I was hoping to snag myself a trusty steed. Arriving at Fort Svanhild, I was met with a sight to behold—Zandyagow Steeds aplenty, tended to by stable hands. But alas, these magnificent beasts weren't up for sale; they were scooped up by Countess Nealyam Al-Rozzid to form her very own cavalry. So much for that plan. Carrying on with my travels, I ventured into the Southern Borderlands. Villages lined my path, some teeming with friendly faces while others held more reserved inhabitants. When I reached Schweinsborough, I made a beeline for Count Harrison de Costodi's palace. The palace guards recognized me without a hitch, granting me passage onto the palace grounds.

Within those walls, I reconnected with an old buddy of mine—the Count of the Southern Borderlands himself. We spent hours catching up on all sorts of topics. But with time being a pesky constraint, I got right to the point and inquired about a spare Zandyagow Steed. "I'll just buy the damn horse," I quipped, and we shared a good laugh. Turns out they did have an extra in the stable, courtesy of his sister, Lady Maraiko. This skilled huntress and sharpshooter was currently stationed in Coreandale, serving as the Lord Commander of the Hunters Guard for the King of Joseon. With a chuckle, the Count handed the steed over, mentioning it hadn't been ridden since his sister left it there. "I'm betting this one's tusk can still pierce a desert storm, right?" I jested, earning another round of laughter. "Absolutely, it's still got that magic in it," he confirmed. Bidding my farewells and expressing gratitude, I left the Lord of Schweinsborough and continued on my journey. Off I went, trotting through the Sahel—a sultrier section of the Ziggurat desert, now under the watchful eyes of the Southern Borderlands. This was a surefire sign that I had reentered the Kingdom of Alsahra, my birthplace. My steed carried me through the desert expanses that fell within the Duchy of Sahara's domain. Three days of travel brought me to the gates of the imposing City of Cartagena, a stronghold within the Sandtable territory. There, a familiar face awaited—Lady Heidlynglad, an old friend. "Lord Rasleigh! It's been ages! Come in, welcome back to Cartagena!" she exclaimed, her commands prompting the palace gates to swing open. Fresh from a hunting excursion, she reveled in roaming the desert sands. "Thank you, Lady Heidlynglad. I was just planning to stock up on supplies before heading out to the Gobi."

She scoffed. "Nonsense. It's already late afternoon. You can set off tomorrow. We've got a lot of catching up to do." With that, the matter was settled. I spent the night within the confines of Sandtable's Castle, embarking anew the next morning after bidding adieu to Duchess Heidlynglad of House Sandtable. "On the sands, we ride. I wish you good fortune, old friend. Keep safe." She offered her well wishes, to which I replied, "And I will, for our Sandstorms shall be their reckoning if they dare try." Amid her laughter and waving hand, I resumed my journey across the Ziggurat Desert.

Through the Lands of Gobi and Arabia, both duchies under the dominion of the Sand King, I journeyed on, passing their bastions—the City of Khanatestadt and Levantston—ruled by Duke Heliazahar Anayanus and Duchess Rizjayne Khaganduke, respectively. These Sandlords were no strangers to me; they had been my childhood comrades. Fun fact: Arabia is a standout among the sandy stretches, boasting a majority of non-sandy terrain. The mighty Lake Danao occupies 80% of its expanse and serves as Alsahra's primary water source. Why haven't I visited them, you ask? Well, maintaining my schedule takes precedence. I'm a busy man, after all. Haha!

Navigating the towering Chasewalker bridges brought me to the Duchy of Iberia. As for the name, sharing it with the bridge I'd just crossed? I'll unravel that mystery in another chapter of this tale. Haha! Onward I journeyed, threading the Calicoan Beach to the Linao Lagoon Cave, plunging into its damp darkness. My destination: the City of Eternal Paradise. Now, why they called it that, I couldn't fathom. Eternal Paradise for gamblers, traffickers, smugglers, and gangsters, perhaps? Good riddance, I'd say. Haha! It was under the cloak of night that I reached Las Cuevas. Alas, my trusty steed had breathed its last. The rigors of crossing the desert had proven too much for the aging horse. "Rest easy now. Thank you for the safe journey," I murmured as the stallion's final neigh echoed, marking its transition to the other side of existence. But I wasn't about to let this noble beast go to waste. I eventually sold its remains to a Rimas Colon District ghetto. From there, I inquired about my target's whereabouts from the individual to whom I'd sold the horse. He pointed me in the direction of the Catballowgun District. Thanking the informant, I followed his directions to the indicated spot. Inside the shop, I found Iakin Koralstein amidst a chaotic display of assorted odds and ends that littered every available shelf space. It was a veritable collection of 'I-have-no-idea-why-I-bought-this' items. Pondering this eccentricity, I approached her, hoping to glean some information. But in Las Cuevas, nothing came free, and to make matters worse, I discovered that Iakin was the head of yet another gang in this tangled web—specializing in smuggling and racketeering. Perfect.

Her proposition offered me a choice: either cough up 500,000 drachmae to buy a Rock Statue, the purpose of which eluded me, or face a thrashing from her thugs, stationed both inside and outside her shop. Well, I opted for the more exhilarating path. Swift movements and flawless dodges propelled me into action. My left hook landed squarely between the eyes of the thug on my left, blinding him momentarily, while a deft maneuver with the hilt of my Jagdkommando dagger rendered the thug on my right unconscious. Meanwhile, the trio of thugs behind me poised their blades, primed to strike. Swift as a sandstorm, I somersaulted, positioning myself behind them and executing a pair of lethal backstabs. I then slid out of the shop, engaging tunneldrive mode to slip away from their clutches.

The remaining thug emerged from the shop, befuddled and disoriented, a perfect target. A deft thrust of my blade met his skull. After concluding this flurry of action, I returned to the shop, finding Iakin still standing, now armed with a bow and arrow.

"Stop right there! Don't take another step, or I'll put an arrow through your head," she warned, bow at the ready. Oh please, I'm as agile as they come. Her arrow was released, but I deftly sidestepped it, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. In the blink of an eye, I stripped her of her weapons and armor with a hint of magic. Her stunned expression was priceless. These nifty skills were the gems I picked up during my time with the Rogue Mafia. I grasped her upper arm and pressed her against the wall. My gaze met her intense, angry eyes. And then, in a twist that will make you question the sanity of this story, I kissed her on the lips. I know, it's a head-scratcher, but yes, it happened—no kidding. Now, back to the plot.

Our lips met with passion, her resistance melting away to my romantic advances. Her legs lifted as her back met the wall, the intensity of our kiss fueling the moment. Just as things were heating up, I released her legs, and she tumbled onto the floor, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Springing to her feet, she slapped me hard across the face. "What the hell was that?!" she exclaimed, a mix of astonishment and fury.

"Ma'am, let's keep it professional. I need information about Elias Mourndread, and I'm not about to buy that ridiculous rock statue you're peddling. Got it?" I retorted, arms folded in a display of casual confidence.

"Fine! Let's get back to what we were doing a minute ago, and I'll spill the beans on whatever you want to know," she huffed, turning her back to me.

"Sounds fair to me," I quipped. Seriously, it's much better than forking over half a million drachma for some useless trinket. She took my hand, and we ascended the stairs to her room, our impending escapade overshadowing the lifeless bodies strewn outside her shop. Two of the thugs were sprawled unconscious inside, as if napping on the job.

After a night of romantic escapades at Iakin's place, I made my way back to Aigleterre on the Zandyagow Steed I conveniently 'borrowed' from her earlier that morning. Yeah, I know, not the most honorable move, but at least I left her with a smile on her face even though I had to deal with a few of her goons. Now, what's a Zandyagow Steed, you ask? Imagine a horse with a pair of petite wings attached to each of its four legs, making it the speedster of Avalon's horse breeds. The Chivalric Order of Avalon, the Guardians of the Midgard Cross, and even the Imperial Cavalry utilize these incredible mounts. Rumor has it that they're descended from Odin's legendary steed, Sleipnir, after it got friendly with the Four Mares of Diomedes. But here's the deal: without 'borrowing' this horse, I'd still be wandering Avalon on foot for weeks, or even months. Talk about a journey! Anyway, if it seems like I'm fast-forwarding my tale a tad, it's because not much happened during those days—just the usual traveling across the expansive lands of Avalon, hunting for meals, and snoozing under the open sky. Quite the adventurous life, huh? And yeah, I did revisit the Gungnir mountain range, where my unfortunate encounter with the Spukblob led to my untimely demise. Yep, I'm kind of backtracking and mixing up the chronology here, overlapping events as they happened. Still with me? Awesome, let's keep this narrative train rolling!

Back in Albion's fields once again, the city walls finally came into view on the horizon. An hour later, I found myself in Cymry, passing through Avarga after paying off some customs fees—yeah, I know, still dealing with bureaucracy here. You see, in this version of the story, I hadn't yet slain the Orblatte, which means I'm without my badge of authority and Avalon imperial seal ring. Are you still following all this? Great, you're a trooper! Haha!

Straight to the point, I headed for the Bailiwick's Tailor Shop, navigating through the bustling and congested streets of the city. And yes, you've guessed it—we're now back in the thick of the main storyline. As I pushed the door open, Ron Patubal looked at me with a mix of surprise and confusion before launching into a conversation.

"Hey, you're back. Still no luck finding Elias Mourndread, huh? Give me a heads-up if you do manage to locate him, so I can finally get that darn letter delivered," Ron Patubal remarked, adjusting his glasses and neatly folding a silky cloth he had in his hands, placing it on the table.

"Ron, cut the crap. Where's Damien Saddamy? I need to talk to him," I snapped, losing patience.

"Whoa, hold on. How do you even know our boss?" Ron's eyes widened, clearly surprised.

"I used to be an Ex-Field Intelligence Officer, way back when this agency was still called the 'Murder of Crows'. The name's Rasleigh Chasewalker." Yeah, The Murder of Crows, that's the covert intelligence and secret service outfit of Avalon, directly under the command of the Adamantean Table. They specialize in stealthy operations and execute black ops, espionage missions—the whole nine yards. Made up mostly of Rogues and Assassins, it's basically the precursor to what we now call the Avalon Imperial Intelligence Agency.

"Wait, you're the Rasleigh? The legendary one? Damn, when you introduced yourself, I just figured you might have the same name. Never thought you were THE Rasleigh Chasewalker. Heir to the Sand Thro—"

"Yep, that's me. But cut the fanfare. I need to speak with Damien as soon as possible."

Then, out of nowhere, an office door swung open, revealing Damien Saddamy, the big boss himself—the Director of the Avalon Imperial Intelligence Agency. "Rasleigh, my friend, come on in." I promptly entered his office, leaving Ron behind, dumbstruck. "I'm sure you've got a load of questions," Damien said as we settled onto the couch in his office.

"Absolutely. It's about Elias Mourndread, the Duke of Dreadlaugh. During my stint in the City of Las Cuevas, I had him under surveillance. An informant there filled me in on everything—smuggling, human trafficking, the whole sordid affair. Turns out he's the mastermind behind smuggling a guy named Sandrew, and there's more to it. Sandrew actually undermined a royal operation a while back. If you remember, Maye Matutzki, the Cardinal, was supposed to perform an exorcism on the Emperor's three sons, with the assistance of another Cardinal, Fraile Damaso, at a secret ceremonial site. But the exorcism was a flop; all three princes were killed instead of saved. Get this, an opened vial of poison was discovered at the scene, and guess where that poison hails from? The far-western regions—most likely Mittelmeerwuste."

"Mittelmeerwuste..." Damien muttered, clenching his fist in anger. The Director is no stranger to the challenges posed by our rival nation, but he's careful not to escalate things. From the investigation, it's apparent that this isn't just foul play, it's a full-fledged international crime. "You deserve to know that all those tasks we had you do were part of a grand plan to nail Sandrew's guilt. Once we confirmed he was a Mittelmeerwuste spy, we arrested him. Problem was, we lacked the concrete proof needed for proper punishment, so we let him escape. Our intention was to tail him and gather the evidence we needed. That operation nabbed his entire network, thanks in no small part to your assistance. Sorry for keeping you in the dark, but it was crucial for the plan. And please, accept this token of our gratitude," Damien said, handing me 50,000 drachmae. "Thanks, Director. Anything for the Empire," I replied, pocketing the reward.

"And about the intel on Elias Mourndread, we'll send some of our operatives to our Londinium Field Satellite Office. The Oasenstadt one was razed to the ground when Surtr, or Sitan Infierno, as he went by there, broke out of his underground prison, destroying the city in the process. I reckon it's high time we bring the long arm of the law to Las Cuevas and challenge its 'eternal paradise' status. The city's been a haven for miscreants for decades, and recent political turmoil and extrajudicial killings have taken a massive toll. You're well aware of that, right?"

"I wouldn't hold my breath. Tourism there is still booming thanks to its autonomous status. I like to think of it as my Sin City. But make no mistake, Elias Mourndread is no saint. That Rhymester might be playing a double game, collaborating with Mittelmeerwuste to secure the city's independence from Avalon," I shared.

"Sounds plausible, considering the circumstances. But we can't nab him without irrefutable evidence. Right now, we're armed with information, not proof. And remember, he's a council member both for Las Cuevas and Tandaya at large. He's likely in cahoots with another council member, the Ghasterton Duke, and profiting from protection money coursed through gangs and syndicates," Damien explained as he lit his cigar, inhaling deeply.

"Rasleigh," the Director said, extinguishing his cigar in the ashtray, "I need you to dig deeper into Elias Mourndread's operations and gather evidence if you can. And, if the opportunity arises, I want you to eliminate that bastard."

I was taken aback by his request. "If I find myself in that neck of the woods and can claim official business, I'll weigh your request. But for now, I need a break from bureaucracy. Time to live a little before I bite the dust," I declared, rising from my seat and opening the door. "Farewell, Director Saddamy. May Odin's blessings be with us." The Director nodded, and with that, I stepped out of the Bailiwick's Tailor Shop, melting into the throngs on the bustling street.

So, when I finally made my way back to the cozy Drunk Tikbalang Inn, the owner himself, Duko Malaganso, waved me over to join him and his wife at a table that had all their attention. Confused but intrigued, I settled in as requested, my curiosity piqued. Something was definitely up; the inn seemed strangely devoid of its usual patrons, and the staff had an air of anticipation about them. To top it off, a group of knights stationed themselves outside the establishment, and there was a rather posh-looking wagon parked just outside. Oh, and in case you're worried, we're not ending the story here and jumping to another chapter—I'm not that cruel! Haha!

I took a seat beside the inn's owner, awaiting an explanation for this peculiar situation. "Rasleigh, my friend," he began, "I have a proposition for you. My family and I are planning to return to Maharlika, and I've been mulling over selling this place. Now, I've got a bunch of potential buyers who want it on the cheap, and that's just not what I'm aiming for. You see, the estate value here is around 450,000 drachma, but I'm looking to get a bit more for it. The thing is, I need the funds to secure a piece of land for farming in Barrio Mahiwaga, Puerto Intramuros. That's gonna set me back over half a million, not to mention the expenses of getting from Hafenstadt to there." Duko seemed a bit anxious, as though he feared I'd shoot down his proposal.

As luck would have it, I was actually thinking about investing in a place right here in Aigleterre, so his offer couldn't have come at a better time. Plus, the inn was already up and running, so the prospect of turning a profit was looking quite promising. "Alright, here's my offer: how about I buy this place from you for 600,000 drachmae? Does that work for you?" The sheer audacity of my bid left Duko flabbergasted, and he practically shouted, "Deal!" as he eagerly shook my hand. He handed me the deed to the inn, and in return, I reached into my satchel and pulled out the 600,000 drachmae, passing it over to him.

"Excellent," I replied, nodding appreciatively. "You're all set for your departure tonight. Your quarters are mine to use in the meantime. Don't worry about a thing; we've got it covered. Take care of yourselves on your journey, and farewell." And with that, he and his family bid adieu to the Drunk Tikbalang Inn. A waiting wagon stood by, flanked by a squad of knights. I was quite surprised to see that they were all packed up and ready to go already. It's kind of surreal to think about what might have happened if I had declined his offer, but in the end, it seemed like a golden opportunity—one I had the means to seize.

The caravan began its journey, and the staff of the Drunk Tikbalang Inn gathered outside to bid their farewells. Of course, I joined them, because let's be honest, a bit of drama never hurt anyone! Haha! With that scene wrapped up, I figured it was time for a hearty dinner, seeing as I was starving after my eventful day. I called over Paulette, the chef, and asked her to sit with me as we dined. After all, I had a bit of business to discuss regarding the inn.

As the spread was laid out—a roast meat adorned with a homemade sauce, a platter of steamed fish, and a bundle of steamed corn—we dove into the conversation. I invited the rest of the staff to join us for dinner as well. It was time to feast and strategize, all in one go!

"Alright, spill the beans about this joint," I said between mouthfuls of corn on the cob, munching away while holding the cob with both hands.

"Sure thing. Well, let's start with the basics. The Drunk Tikbalang Inn was actually set up about three years ago by this guy named Duko Malaganso. He used to be a merchant based in Puerto Intramuros, but he moved here and just recently headed back to his old stomping grounds last night. As for the name, it's got a bit of a fantastical origin—it's inspired by these creatures called Tikbalangs, which are sort of demonic-looking bipedal horse beings that supposedly lead travelers astray. You know, typical folklore stuff. Anyway, the inn itself is housed in a three-story building. The ground floor plays host to the tavern area, the kitchen, spots for the staff to crash, and of course, storage. The second floor is where we've got eight rooms up for rent for folks passing through, and then there's the third floor—that's where your luxurious digs are, complete with all the fancy perks a bachelor like you would want. Oh, and just so you know who's who, I'm the one running the show around here, overseeing everything. Old Man Jenkins, the dude with the culinary magic, is our head cook, and Tommy Lou's got his back as the assistant cook. You've probably spotted Rorry Lolita, the petite powerhouse over there—she's my trusty assistant bar wench. And the burly giant next to Old Man Jenkins? That's Fuzzy-Jack Beargrinder, our jack-of-all-trades."

"Got it. It's sounding like you've got a good handle on the bar and operations, plus the added bonus of being a wizard with the books and ledgers. Here's the deal—I'm a bit of a jet-setter these days, always on the go. So, I'm hoping I can rely on you to keep the wheels turning smoothly when I'm away. Just shoot me weekly updates through the Kaloyskie, alright?"

"Absolutely, Boss. You can count on me." With that, another scene wrapped up, and the rest of the evening was dedicated to celebrating with my amazing staff. Well, okay, I might have made it sound a bit too dramatic there, like a movie or something. Haha! We all kicked back and had a blast all night long. Cheers to new beginnings and a thriving inn!