At the Merton tavern, Eugene sat in his usual spot, with a pint of beer. His red, curly hair hung over his round, cheerful face. Eugene’s gentle, hazel eyes watched merrily as more and more people flooded in. For a small town tavern, it was impressively busy.

  ***

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  The village was littered with wounded villagers, blood, and weapons. Logan’s head throbbed. Her usually soft, blonde hair hung stiff from the blood. She and a comrade, Demitri, had been passing through the small village of Acrine when a group of 20 to 30 goblins suddenly ambushed. The battle was over, but Logan could not find Demitri.