As Toben promised, they arrived at their destination not long after first light. Unlike Mistelein, Orenmar could fairly be described as a hamlet, as all told, the town and its surrounding farms were home to less than a hundred souls. Only thirty or so actually lived in the village proper, and since the four had stocked up on supplies before leaving, they opted not to spend any time in the tiny town. Toben took the time to send one of the fishermen on the dock to fetch a village elder, with a message that the Giltenhardt clan had brought guests on their way to the Northern Front. They made tearful farewells with the boatman, and even Toben rubbed a few specks of dust from his eyes. 

Once the catamaran was on its way, the four took in their surroundings and the small crowd that had gathered near the dock to nose about. Rory and Jack began inventorying their supplies, while Layla helped Erin don the rest of her armor, all with the intention of waiting for the elder to eventually make his way to the dock. No sense in causing a panic by tromping into the town square. According to Toben, Orenmar was largely devoid of powerful warriors, though his definition of “powerful” was likely different than the Chosen’s, and thus the village would be wary of an armed party arriving suddenly. The villagers kept their distance from the four, as even peasants in such a remote area knew enough of the world to avoid angering strangers bearing clearly magical arms and armor. Finally, the crowd parted and a white-haired human in a clean tunic and breeches approached them.

“I am elder Graefston. Orenmar is honored to receive such esteemed hunters. Had Mistelein sent word sooner, we would have lodgings already prepared for you,” the elder’s nervousness was betrayed by a slight tremor in his voice.
“We don’t intend to stay the night. We’re headed north, across the Front. Our thanks for your hospitality all the same” Rory flashed his disarming grin.

The elder exhaled an abrupt relieved sigh, the power of Rory’s absurd Charm skill obliterating his anxiety in a single sentence and a million-watt smile. The wave of relief spread across the crowd of villagers as Rory’s supernatural charisma salved their fear of the unknown warriors.

Layla: What the fuck just happened?
Erin: It was like someone let the air out of them. Did you do that Rory?
Rory: While you lot were lounging around Toben’s or sleeping your way through the village, I was leveling. Charm is at +18 now. Unless they have a Skill to resist, they can’t really help but trust me.
Jack: That’s higher than my Blades, Rory.
Layla: Hell, his Charm is higher than MINE. Also, I was leveling.
Rory: Well, there are a lot of very obstinate shopkeeps in Mistelein for some reason. Probably had to up their resistance to keep Toben from haggling them out of house and home.

“In that case, hunters, is there anything we can offer you for your trip?” the elder had put his best politician face on.
“Not unless you’re in the market to buy healing potions made in Mistelein,” Rory replied.

One of the better dressed, middle-aged villagers stepped out of the crowd a foot or so before asking, “How many have you to sell, and what is their grade?”
“Three hundred twenty of the second weave, forty-five of the third” Rory smiled wryly.

The other three Chosen turned almost simultaneously, Jack and Erin blurting a “WHAT?!” at the same time. Layla snorted at their reaction.

Layla: So that’s what you’ve been doing in the market every day.
Rory: Simple supply and demand. I leveraged the capital I already had to secure a loan from Toben, then stood by the northern gate for a couple days, buying up every herb used in healing potions from the gatherers at 90% of the market rate. They got paid immediately and didn’t have to haggle with the alchemists or walk to the south side of town where the apothecaries are bunched up. Then I traded the healing herbs to the wealthiest among the alchemists for finished healing potions, allowing them to create a supply imbalance on the herbs and profit by upselling to their competition. In exchange for a reasonable discount on the conversion rate, of course. I paid Toben’s loan back in high-grade healing potions, which he graciously accepted. The rest I kept to sell in Moryven, where I expect to make roughly 250% profit based on Toben’s estimate.
Erin: So, how much money is that?
Rory: At roughly 5 per tier 2 and 40 to 60 per tier 3, I’d guess around 3500 gold. It’ll vary based on what I can get away with in Moryven. It’s apparently a large city, so I suspect the Merchants there will be high enough level to put up a solid scrum over the prices.

Erin had pulled her water skin from its ring on her backpack and taken a sip, which she promptly spit all over Jack, then choked on what was left, “Did you say fucking three thousand!?”
“No, I messaged it,” Rory replied dryly.

“Kind hunter, if you are ready to continue, I will purchase ten of the second tier for one crown each. The village has need of healing when the outer farms suffer the occasional attack by roaming beasts,” the villager winced a bit as he interrupted their conversation.
“No, you won’t,” Rory smiled.
“Your pardon? I thought you said you wished to sell the potions,” the man replied.
“Oh, I do mate, but you’ll pay eight apiece, since you didn’t even offer me what your village pays Toben,” Rory’s smile had faded.

The man’s face contorted, both a grimace of exertion as Rory’s supernatural presence bore down on him like a drill and a sliver of fear at being caught in the deception.

“Oh, don’t shit yourself. Five each,” Rory sighed.
The man visibly deflated, “Thank you, hunter. I apolog-”
Rory cut him off immediately, “Shut it. I’d have done the same. You just got caught.”

Rory summoned his Arcane Storage and pulled two odd woven reed carriers from within, each carrying five of the blood-red healing potions. He hefted the two and waved them vaguely at the other Chosen. 

“Neat, eh? This is how they pack them. Just spongy reeds woven a bit,” he mused.
“Riveting, Monopoly Man. Could ya finish up so we can get goin?” Layla fussed.

Rory handed over the potions as a young girl ran up to the crowd and pressed a cloth bag into the villager’s hands. He thanked her quickly and counted out the gold, including three thick square plates of the same metal. Rory explained to the others the plates were worth ten gold coins each, generally used for large transactions. The tension of the interaction seemed to have thinned the crowd significantly, and they noticed the elder exhale another sigh of relief as the Chosen began packing up to head out.

Once they finished their preparations, the four walked north along the beach until they were out of the village. According to Toben, the coast of the Vylornes Sea on their left would continue all the way to the Astara River delta, which marked the eastern edge of the Greenbough, an alliance of elven city-states under the rule of the Twin Kings of Verdantes, over eight hundred miles from Mistelein. At the time, Layla had remarked that Verdantes had been one of their available starting locations. Toben had laughed and told them the state religion of Verdantes was the worship of Ilani. They’d have been welcomed as heroes in the Greenbough, instead of hunted as demons in the Empire. All the same, he was thankful they’d chosen poorly.

-----

They stopped for lunch around noon, the tropical sun beating down on them from above. Jack and Erin eventually agreed to two shifts of marching, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, with a few hours break during the heat of midday. They had encountered a handful of sandy-colored vargr that more resembled spotted hyenas than the bulldog-like brown vargr of the Empire’s forests. The beasts proved to be just as aggressive as the ones they’d become familiar with, but the four were shocked by how easily the bulky creatures went down.

“You think they’re lower level?” Rory asked absently.
“Nah, check your panel. They’re higher level than the ones we fought between the Compass shrine and the river where we met Toben. We’re just a lot stronger now,” Layla replied.
“It’s wild. These things can’t even hurt me,” Erin chewed a mouthful of her lunch. “These are great. Where’d you get lettuce?”
“It’s not really lettuce,” he pulled out the rolled-up fronds he’d used. “More like… crispy elephant ears.”
“You eat elephant ears? There’re no elephants in Texas, Jack. You’re full of shit,” Layla wrinkled her nose at him.
“No, it’s a plant that grows all over back home. Like, giant lily pads but not in the water. I don’t think you can eat em, though,” he smiled. “This stuff grows around Mistelein, and they use it sorta like spinach. So I figured I’d make lettuce wraps with our smoked fish and some salt and oil.”
“Whatever it is, it’s bloody delicious mate,” Rory mumbled around his bite.
“Thanks, ya’ll,” he smiled again.

They finished dinner and lounged in the shade for a while longer, then finally struck camp and started north again. 

“We have a hell of a hike in front of us,” Rory sighed.
“As long as we’ve got each other, bud, every step brings us closer to home,” Jack grinned.
“Ugh, you two are like a Hallmark card about a buddy comedy,” Layla grimaced.
“I think it’s sweet,” Erin smiled.
“You would, lifetime movie barbie,” Layla snarked back.
“Couch potato.”
“Gym rat.”
“Homebody.”
“Meathead.”
“Three-toed sloth.”
“Jock.”
“Love you too, El.”

=======================
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