The first stitchchild went missing a week later, well after word of the new cook at Quincy’s Lodge had made its way through the town, resulting in its tavern being packed to capacity for several nights in a row with no sign of slowing down. She introduced the townsfolk to a variety of starters that were not just a novelty to them, but the food had that special quality, flavor and satisfaction that made one crave more.

From fried potato skins loaded with skyr, melted cheese and bits of pork belly to an onion fried in oil and served with a magical tangy sauce which everyone thought was a staple in the Reith royal court thanks to a bit of gossip that spread amongst the townsfolk, the bar food at Quincy’s became a topic of conversation at every street corner and shop counter.

On the same night the stitchchild went missing, the Two-Headed Trout tavern across town started to lose its first batch of loyal customers to Quincy’s Lodge.

Like all of the patrons that had made the tavern by the Frostfroth river their new ‘home away from’, they had originally been patrons at Quincy’s until convenience won out over quality.

It wasn’t ideal, but concessions could be made because it meant a shorter commute. And in the minds of these stitchfolk, if they really wanted a better meal they could always eat at Quincy’s on weekends when they didn’t have to wake up early the next morning and trek to their shifts at the mine or in the forests.

But all the glowing talk of the food was genuine news to people and those bored with the bland and over-priced food and watered-down ale at the Two-Headed Trout got curious.

Nay knew the exact moment these return customers showed up because she got a Quest Complete prompt.

---

[Quest Complete!]

[Entice Last Customers Back Completed!]

[Congratulations!]

[You have been rewarded with Vigor Points]

---

After the Bouldershield Brothers had established something took the child from his bed in his family’s home, and by some thing they meant something not human, which they had surmised through a bit of evidence they had found they weren’t publicly discussing, word spread that there was a monster visiting Lucerna’s End.

Nay and Quincy were sitting in the empty tavern mid-morning in one of the empty corners, going through numbers while drinking pepper tea and eating rock cakes, when the Gloom Ranger strolled in, his entrance bringing with him a cold wind and flurry of snow.

The scant and hungover breakfast crowd glanced up from their continental breakfast munchies and from their cups of tea, and did a double-take at the human man cloaked in what appeared to be crow or raven feathers.

To make his appearance more unsettling there were actual bird heads poking out of the cluster of feathers on his shoulders. Two black hand-crossbows hung on either side of his waist and there was a smallsword hilt poking up out of a scabbard strapped to his back. His hair was the color of the feathers he wore and his skin was as pale as the freshly fallen snow.

Quincy rose from his chair and greeted him. “Martygan! Got bored of shooting at birds in Scarwatch?”

Martygan smiled a wicked grin and marched up to Quincy and clasped his hand and beat a tattoo on his back. “I figured visiting civilized folk could do me some good. But I decided to stop here and warm myself in front of your hearth first!”

The men laughed and unclasped each other.

Martygan moved in front of the hearth and warmed himself before its glow, sighing. “I’m so accustomed to the cold, sometimes it’s the heat that truly hurts.”

“When you took your vow at Scarwatch you became a child of the frost. But that doesn’t mean you should deprive yourself of a good hearth every now and then. You’re still a man, after all.”

Martygan grunted. “The man part of me is trying. You don’t happen to have any of that hot cider that you had last time?”

“Indeed, I do,” Quincy said.

He went behind the bar and took a tin pot off the burner. He poured the hot cider into a wooden mug and walked back and put it in Martygan’s hands.

The man took a sip and closed his eyes, enjoying the hot drink on his throat. Nay thought she saw some color return to his cheeks. There was a feral intensity about the man.

“Let me introduce you to Nay,” Quincy said. “The Lodge’s new cook.”

Nay wasn’t sure if she should stand and try and shake this man’s hand -- this man who came in from the wilderness looking like he communed with animals -- or stand and do a curtsy. She wasn’t sure what protocol was for greetings here and she was thrown off by the man’s good looks and primal presence.

So, she settled for a polite smile and curt nod.

“Because of her food,” Quincy said, “the Lodge has had its most profitable week in a very long time.” He handed Martygan a rock cake. “This goes great with the cider.”

Martygan took the rock cake and glanced at it like it was some foreign luxury whose purpose confused him. But he bit into it and washed it down with more of the cider. “How quick the sweet tooth comes back. No matter how long I deny it, it always finds ways to remind me that part of me will always enjoy a good sweet.”

“A man can’t live off raw wild game and water trickling off a leaf alone, my friend,” Quincy said. “These excursions back to civilized society are good for you.”

Martygan’s eyes found Nay and for some reason she felt like she was under a lens. There was something about his gaze that made her self-conscious. She felt out of place but did her best to look comfortable. “Did you bake these cakes? It’s very good.”

She must have stared at him wide-eyed without saying a word.

Quincy brought her out of her reverie. “Nay? Did you hear that? He asked you –“

“I’m sorry, no,” Nay said. Dammit, was she blushing? “I wish I could say I did. These are from a baker and sweets vendor in town we’re quite fond of. Her name’s Nisse. I worked out a deal with her to supply us pastries for our breakfasts here.”

He considered this, finishing his rock cake. “You have a mind for enterprise then. Smart of you.”

“You think these are good?” Quincy said. “Come by at dinner and try the food. I just might have to stop you from whisking her away to Fort Nixxiom to cook for the Rangers.”

“I will if my duties permit,” Martygan said. He turned back to the hearth and nursed his cider.

Nay couldn’t believe she was acting like this. She was usually composed, cool and collected. Men rarely caught her off-guard and made her feel this way. She found herself intrigued and intimidated by this man. She was usually so focused on her work she never had time to date back in Los Angeles, aside from the random hookups that would happen, but those usually never meant anything, involved a lot of alcohol, and were often a mistake at worst and a blip on the radar at best.

She felt weird to even be thinking about this stuff. But there was a mystique about Martygan. He didn’t seem real. But here he was, real as the rock cake in her hand.

“The business with this missing child,” Quincy said.

Martygan nodded. “There are more tracks and monster activity than usual along the range. Our scouts say there was another outpouring from The Scar.”

Quincy cursed under his breath. “Last time that happened you and your brothers and sisters kept the trouble away from the town and settlements.”

“That’s the plan this time as well, but it seems like something slipped past our guard,” Martygan said. He lowered his voice then. “I tracked it here. And I will finish it here.”

“What is it?” Quincy said.

“That’s what I intend on finding out,” Martygan said. “The signs it’s leaving behind don’t point to anything I recognize. All I know is it’s somewhere it’s not welcome and I must stop it before more people suffer.”

“Scarwatch must not be taking any chances if they’ve sent you,” Quincy said. “You’re the best of their trackers.”

“It weighs heavy on the conscience on everyone at Fort Nixxiom that we’ve let something from The Scar slip into Lucerna’s End. Our whole presence along the Spineshards is to prevent that very thing from happening. Yet, it’s happening.”

“Don’t blame yourself, lad,” Quincy said. “You lot have it hard enough as is. We’ve had no warning something was here lurking in the shadows. The sheriffs and the town watch have seen nothing.”

“Which is why I want you to keep your eyes open for me here,” Martygan said. “Something might be blended in with the men and the stitchfolk.”

“Something taking the form of man?” Quincy said.

“Maybe,” Martygan said. “I mustn’t rule anything out.”

“That kind of monster is at least a Tier 4,” Quincy said. A disturbed look dawned on his face. His eyes went to his battle-axe, Gertrude, hanging over the fire. Then he turned towards Samuel, the massive and scuffed crossbow, hanging over the bar. “Maybe Gertrude and Samuel should come out of retirement for a little while.”

“It’s been a time of peace for you,” Martygan said. “I don’t see that changing, but it never hurts to know that your old friends are within easy reach.”

Quincy looked around the tavern, making note of the faces in here. Putting them to memory. “I can maybe hire a town watchmen to be in the tavern when it’s busy tonight. It could help to have one of them around, watching for anything out of the ordinary.”

“How often do these outpourings happen?” Nay said.

“The last one was four years and three months ago,” Martygan said with no hesitation. “They don’t come at regular intervals where we can predict them. Usually we deter the creatures from wandering too far on our side of the Spineshards.”

“Where are they coming from in The Scar?”

“That’s the great mystery,” Martygan said. “Our records go back almost a century and all we have are theories. Some think it’s another world or plane of existence. Some think it leads to the center of our world. Still others think it goes straight to the nether realms. But the men of Scarwatch are men of the arrow and claw, not so much men of lore. We are too busy tracking, hunting and slaying to have our noses buried in books and scrolls. Although some of my ilk have a ken for knowledge.”

“I’ll tell you who has deep lore and records that go back,” Quincy said. “ The Veritax. They have churches and outposts and men all over the world. It’s always been that way. Making their logs, recording. They’ve had eyes everywhere longer than anyone. There’s men and women in the Veritax that know more than they let on.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Martygan said. “I find that religion…incompatible with my own beliefs and way of life.” He finished his cider then and set it on the bar. “Thank you, Quincy. When I return, I hope it’s just to have more drink and a meal.”

“Me too, friend,” Quincy said. "Me too." He patted the ranger on the shoulder as the man of the wilds headed towards the exit.

He turned to say one last thing.

“May this hunt come to its conclusion."

As his eyes passed over Nay, she felt that charge again, as if a fuse had been lit inside her.

He disappeared through the doors and she shivered as a chill blew into the tavern.

She exhaled, glad for the chance to bask in cool air.