Sten waves Sylfir away, and she follows Artur into the inn. She's presented with a tavern foremost, though, the round tables and chairs hosting more inanimate objects than people. It's a mess, but an organised one, it seems, as people move boxes of their belongings from those chairs and tables upstairs to the rooms above.

Some tables are occupied by those with food and drink, however, with barmaids moving hither and yon to tend to their needs. Most of them seem to be down-on-their-luck locals instead of travellers, and most of them turn their gazes her way the moment she steps into the room.

It's the golden-haired, golden-eyed half-elf behind the bar, however, that speaks upon catching sight of her, smiling with thin, sharp lips sitting pretty beneath a rounded, flat nose.

"You've the look of a bounty hunter, lass."

Sylfir nods. "Sent by Skaris."

The half-elf laughs, turning to the man sitting on a stool in front of her bar, a slight, narrow-shouldered human with a short-cropped black afro and striking, pale blue eyes that look at Sylfir through spectacles with thick lenses. They rest on the bridge of his wide, upturned nose, his softest feature compared to his narrow lips and gaunt cheeks. The grey hairs at his temples and fine lines on his mahogany skin mark him as a middle-aged man and a fairly well-off one at that, judging by the quality of his well-tailored linen clothes.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says, "Someone actually took the bait."

The half-elf tuts. "Alfie! Don't be saying it like that. This is honest work."

"Honest work that's scant on details."

"Come on in, lass," the half-elf says, her smile crinkling the caramel skin around her slanted, monolided eyes. She waves to get one of the barmaid's attention.

"Nia! You wouldn't mind getting Old Joe and Ivan, would you?"

The tired barmaid drops whatever she's doing and goes upstairs without a word. Sylfir can't help but feel sorry for her. She and just about every other barmaid look exhausted.

Artur and Sylfir weave through the chairs and tables to reach the bar.

The half-elf nods to Artur. "It's good to see you, lad. Your daddy not coming today?"

Artur shakes his head. "Oh, you know him. Never wants to leave the house."

The half-elf hums and nods slowly, dropping the matter. She turns to Sylfir again. "I'm Lorys, by the way. No doubt you've already heard if you know Skaris. This here is Alfred Moore." She nods to the blue-eyed man.

"Just Alfie," he says.

Sylfir nods. "A pleasure."

"Just to let you know, we had her horse stabled down at yours," Artur says.

"That's just fine," Alfie says with an amiable smile.

The sound of footsteps on creaking floorboards draws Sylfir's attention to the staircase beside the bar. The very wood seems to protest as the barmaid appears, but it's the man behind her who seems to be the source of the sound. As he steps into clear view, it grows apparent that he's obscenely tall and broad at the shoulders, a mountain of a man with bulging muscle softened by a healthy layer of fat. The blunt, broad planes of his face share a distinct likeness with Jim's, though he's far more rugged, with wrinkled and leathery skin. 

There can be no mistaking it, Sylfir thinks. This is Annabel's father. His wispy dark grey hair seems to avoid the top of his head at all costs, relegated to a ring that stretches from ear to ear, and as he turns to the bar, his bushy brows rise to reveal pleasantly surprised brown eyes.

He steps forward with his hand extended, and Sylfir looks up at him as she takes his hand. It's clammy and twice as large as her own, with fingers like sausages, and as he shakes her hand, she almost feels like her shoulder will pop out of its socket.

"A bounty hunter, eh? A pleasure! The name's Joe. Glad to see me coin reeled ye in."

"Our coin, you mean."

The velvety bass of the voice has Sylfir looking past Old Joe to the staircase again. As soon as its owner emerges, Sylfir knows him to be Wolff's eldest son, looking at her with wide-set eyes the colour of a stormy sea and hair like liquid gold, tumbling well past his shoulders in gentle waves. Like his father, he's tall and broad-shouldered, his skin tanned from days working under the summer sun and hidden beneath a billowy beige shirt and leather breeches. He's a far cry from the unappealing sight Old Joe makes, a picture of a youth in his prime, and he wears an easy smile on his lips as his gaze lingers on her. She quickly wipes Old Joe's sweat from her hand as he reaches out for a handshake.

As he takes her hand in his, he grips it tight and shakes, strong and firm. "A pleasure. The name's Ivan."

She mirrors his smile. "Sylfir, but you can call me Sylf."

"Come to know more about the bounty, have you?" he says.

She nods.

"Let's get to it, then," Lorys says.

Ivan takes the barstool next to Alfie, while Old Joe drags a chair from a free table. As he takes a seat, the wooden chair whines as if to protest, and Sylfir grows tense as she waits for it to buckle, though it never does. Artur takes a seat beside his brother, just as Sylfir takes the seat beside him.

"Aren't you supposed to be heading back to the farm?" Ivan says, looking at Artur with a subtle furrow of his brow.

Artur snickers. "Father told me to make sure you didn't get distracted." 

Lorys grins, flicking her gaze to Sylfir, who feels she missed the joke. Ivan doesn't seem to find it amusing, though, and only rolls his eyes.

Alfie clears his throat. "Anyway... let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

"Right," Lorys says, plucking something from under the bar. She produces a map of the village and the surrounding forest, littered with marks, connected by a hectic path. Sylfir immediately recognises it as the beast's path of destruction.

"The beast showed its face three days past, coming from the forest near the fallows. Wiped out a good chunk of Alfie's livestock on its way to the village, where it razed half the houses to the ground. Went all the way to the Wolffs before destroying maybe half the crops on their land—no doubt you saw it on your way in."

"I did," Sylfir says.

"And I'm sure its tracks made your brow furrow," Lorys says, "Nobody can agree on any one appearance for the beast. Some say it has the head of a wolf—that checks out with the wounds Alfie's livestock suffered. Makes some folk want to call it a werewolf, but it was far too big and feathery for that."

"And there's not just its appearance we have to worry about. There's the man behind this beast," Alfie says, "Every time the thing's been spotted, he's been there. At first, I thought I was seeing things, but the drow saw him with her own eyes, too. Sharper than mine could ever be."

"Just about everyone in this village has sharper eyes than you," Ivan says, a wry grin spreading across his face. Artur chastises him with a rough nudge, though he struggles to suppress his laughing smile.

Alfie shakes his head. "Always been a cheeky lad, haven't you?"

But Sylfir is too taken by her curiosity to laugh. "The drow, is she the travelling cleric?"

"Aye," Old Joe says, "Saved me boy, she did. Never seen someone work magic like that."

"I sensed magical warding as I approached the boundary of the village. Might she be the reason for that?"

"The lass is warding the village as we speak," Lorys says, "Some priests are helping her, but what we need are materials for the spells. We'd find them out in the forest, but folks are too scared to even look at the trees, let alone venture past them. At this point, the wards won't be finished by the time the beast brings fang and claw down on our village again."

Sylfir nods. "I have no qualms venturing into the forest. Tell me what you need."

Old Joe fills the inn's tavern with raucous laughter so loud it almost makes Sylfir jump. "She's not lackin' confidence, I'll give her that!"

"Why should I be? I was born and raised in the forest. I've faced gnolls and orcs and owlbears, and I've walked away unscathed... for the most part."

"Always like a bold lass," Lorys says, "But this thing would have even a seasoned veteran shaking in her boots, and you've the look of a young one, at least for your kind. I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt out there."

Sylfir shakes her head, a wry smile on her lips. "You ask for a bounty hunter, and when she arrives, you forbid her to hunt. You're too kind-hearted for your own good."

Lorys shrugs. "Famed Summerfall hospitality."

"I say we let her hunt," Ivan says, "If she wants for protection, then Khaliss can go with her."

"Not going to volunteer yourself?" Artur says. He turns to Sylfir with a broad grin, just as Ivan frowns. "He's the only one in the village to land an attack on the thing."

"Besides my boy," Old Joe says.

"Except Ivan didn't get carved up for it."

Old Joe glowers at Artur, but it's obvious he doesn't care. Ivan, on the other hand, appears bashful as he flicks his eyes Sylfir's way, and she can't help the teasing smile that plays on her lips. She tilts her head like a curious cat. "Is that so?"

"Yes, but only because I used my bow," he says, softly shaking his head. "But my skills are better suited to hunting game. I'm no fighter."

"A shame. I could have used a partner."

Ivan's lips part, but the words seem lodged in his throat. Sylfir slides off the barstool, dusting herself off. "The warding takes priority over anything else. I should see the cleric."

"Let me take you to her," Ivan says, getting to his feet. "She's not far."

"Don't be thinkin' ye can take ye time, laddy," Old Joe says, "Ye've still got to help me youngest at the church."

"I don't mind doing that," Artur says, "Was having a slow day today anyway, and I haven't seen Rosie in a while."

Old Joe presses already thin lips into an even thinner line, and Artur smiles with mischief as he slides off his barstool and leaves.

Alfie's shoulders shake with laughter and, once again, Sylfir feels she's missing out on the joke. "To think he was so sullen not a day before. Now he seems terminally happy."

Sylfir hums. "That might have something to do with the cat."

Ivan looks at her with shock. "No... Tom survived?"

Sylfir nods with a humorous smile.

He laughs as he shakes his head. "That thing is unkillable. I've got to thank you. I thought Artur would be moping around the house forever."

Sylfir shrugs. "You're welcome, though I feel Tom found me more than I found him."

"Come on," he says, flicking his head toward the door. "Wouldn't want to keep Khaliss waiting."

"You might as well ask her to tell you more about the mysterious man while you're there," Lorys says, "Last time we spoke she said she was coming up with a plan to deal with the crook."

"Noted," Sylfir says.

Lorys nods.

"We'll see you later," Ivan says, turning on his heels. Sylfir follows him, and they emerge onto the dried mud of the main village road.

"This way." He leads her around refuse and rubble that has yet to be cleared. "I'm guessing you came in from the west of here?"

"Yes, from the town of Wynn's Hold. I've come to you fresh off a bounty."

"Oh? Any blackheart I would've heard of?"

"Ralf... Bonecrusher. Suffice it to say, he won't be crushing any more bones."

Ivan shakes his head. "Can't say I've heard of him. Suppose he never travelled this far."

"Be glad that he didn't. Never met someone so morally challenged."

"Brought him in alive, or...?"

Sylfir nods. "Yes, I brought him in alive so that the aggrieved could see him hang."

Ivan hums. "Wouldn't want to get on your bad side."

Sylfir chuckles. "I'm not the kind to string you up for a couple of missing coppers, if that's what you're worrying about. And I've been known to let an unworthy bounty go if I deem it unjust."

"Someone who uses her head and her heart," Ivan says, chuckling. "You and Khaliss will get along."

They skirt the south side of the village now, farthest from the forest to the north, where the trampled village ground gives way to the green summer grass and its frail blossoms. Sylfir gazes out to the watermill she spotted from the hill earlier.

"That's Old Joe's home and brewery in the distance. He's got apple and orange orchards behind those, too. Nice and far away from all the carnage. The beast didn't so much as look its way."

Ivan doesn't bother to hide the disdain in his voice. Sylfir turns her gaze to see that disdain reflected in his eyes as he looks across the green grass to the watermill.

"No love lost between the two of you?" she says.

"No love lost between Old Joe and a lot of people in this village. It's a shame. The rest of the Tappers are agreeable enough... well, maybe not Tim."

"What's so bad about Old Joe?"

"You saw how he boasted about how his coin went into the bounty, but he was the last to cough up his share. Maybe he thought he didn't need to, seeing as he didn't even see the beast that carved up the village responsible for his wealth. Even now he tries to use this tragedy for his own gain..."

Sylfir frowns. "Oh..."

Ivan's eyes widen with realisation a he flicks them toward her. "Ah, look at me, distracting you. Better you concentrate on the bounty, the village has handled the likes of Old Joe for years. We always keep him in check."

Sylfir can't help turning her gaze back to the watermill. She turns when she feels the soft tap of knuckles on her bare shoulder, however, to see Ivan watching her with warm eyes. "But enough about the village. We're not far from Khaliss. Think you could squeeze in one of the many stories you've doubtless picked up on your travels before we reach her?"

He grins, and Sylfir finds herself mirroring the expression until she's chuckling, but she shakes her head. "I'd need more time to give any story I could tell justice."

"All right, then. You can come see me in the Wanderer—I'm there most nights if my father isn't working me to death."

The offer seems sudden, but she finds that it's not unwelcome. Still, she doubts it will come to pass. "Judging by the state of your farm, you'll be spending little time in a tavern."

Ivan hums, low and deep. "I can make a little time for you."

Sylfir laughs, more from surprise than humour, as a sly, lopsided smile spreads across his face. She looks at him sidelong, though she can't help smiling right back at him.

Still, she suppresses it, tearing her gaze away from him and looking forward. "Hmph. I wouldn't be so sure. I know your father works you hard—Artur made that apparent."

"What? He really said that?"

Ivan's easy charm gives way to an almost childish excitement, taking Sylfir unawares. "...Yes?"

He throws his head back in laughter. "He would never admit that to my face."

Sylfir laughs. "Sibling rivalry—a universal phenomenon."

"Have any yourself?"

"Two. An older sister and brother."

"You're the youngest, then? Easy living."

Sylfir scoffs. "Think what you like."

Ivan only laughs, though.

They're moving farther from the most densely populated regions of the village and to the outskirts now, where it becomes easier to spot a noticeable individual like the one Sylfir catches sight of now.

She immediately identifies her as a drow—tall for her kind—her long, silver hair bound in a ponytail. Her back is turned, clad in a silvery breastplate, and at her hips sits a formidable longsword in a worn leather scabbard. Her head is bowed and her arms are bent at the elbows, her hands likely held together in front of her in prayer as she faces out to the flowery meadow. She's standing in front of a kind of shrine, though it's empty, save for meagre offerings barely worthy of being called such.

She turns around as Sylfir approaches her with Ivan by her side, raising her striking lavender eyes, sharp and bright. Her angular face is a picture of ethereal beauty, strangely alluring owing to the juxtaposition of her high cheekbones, sharp but delicate jaw, and straight nose with her soft, bottom-heavy lips. She smiles as she flicks her vibrant gaze from Sylfir to Ivan.

"I see you've brought a friend with you," she says, with a voice like music to the ear.

"Khaliss, meet Sylfir. Sylfir, meet Khaliss," Ivan says, gesturing between the two.

Khaliss bows as she looks at Sylfir. "I am glad for our meeting. As he says, my name is Khaliss. You are a bounty hunter, I take it?"

Sylfir nods. "I am, and you can call me Sylf. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm surprised someone got here before me—I came from the closest town almost as soon as the bounty came in."

"The bounty had yet to be sent when I arrived. I came upon Summerfall because I am consigned to a life of wandering as a cleric of Eilistraee. One could call it serendipity."

Sylfir hums. "I see."

Khaliss turns her attention to Ivan. "I trust she has been informed of our difficulties with the ward."

"She has. She's offered to help."

"I am grateful," Khaliss says, bringing her gaze back to Sylfir. "I dare not venture into the forest and leave this village undefended, but there are things there that I require to complete the warding ritual." She reaches into her pack, producing neatly folded parchment. "Here is a list. You may not be able to procure everything, though the game meat and the resin of the balsam fir are essential. Do not spend any more time in the forest than you need to."

"Understood." Sylfir takes the parchment from Khaliss. She looks it over. Most of the list pertains to herbs and berries and, of course, the resin and game meat. She raises her eyebrows when she finds the request for a chunk of amber and the odd crystal.

"As I said, you need not retrieve everything on the list," Khaliss says, "I need the essential components quickly—too many days have passed since the initial attack for my liking. Eilistraee is graceful enough to see the need for brevity. She will bestow me with power enough to complete the ritual with the bare minimum."

Sylfir frowns. "You would beg a goddess for aid, but the gods have been deathly silent of late."

"It is true. In the wake of what people are calling the Second Sundering, they have been quiet, but I must have faith... or would you have me consign these villagers to their terrible fate?"

Sylfir hums, acquiescing with a bow of her head. "I take your point."

"There was also the matter of the mysterious man," Ivan says.

"That can wait," Khaliss says, "When Sylfir returns from her duty we can speak more on the matter."

"Wise." Ivan turns to Sylfir. "Looks like you have your work cut out for you, then."

She hums. "Indeed."