Delores stared at the official parchment Corin Stonehide held out, the elegant script and royal seal of Elarvain swimming slightly before her eyes. Baroness Delores Von Pixieheart of the Green River Valley. It felt like a line from a particularly outlandish bardic tale, not her actual life. Barin was still looking utterly bewildered beside her, and Rael seemed to be intently studying a particularly interesting patch of dirt near his boots. With a sigh that felt far too heavy for her small frame, Delores accepted the quill Corin offered. Her hand trembled almost imperceptibly as she signed her name at the bottom of the document. The ink, dark and official, seemed to seal a fate she hadn't chosen but could no longer ignore.
Corin nodded curtly as he took the signed parchment back, rolling it neatly and tucking it into his saddlebag. "It is done, Baroness. Provisional, of course, but recognized by the Crown." He then gestured with his chin towards the one remaining conscious bandit, still tied securely near the ruined gate. "Now, as for this one. Justice must be served. He'll be taken back to Elarvain's nearest outpost to answer for his crimes against these lands and the Crown's peace."
Two of Corin's soldiers moved forward, efficiently hauling the glaring, spitting bandit to his feet.
Delores hesitated. "He… he won't be simply executed on the road?" she asked, a flicker of her Guild-instilled aversion to summary justice surfacing.
Corin regarded her with a moment of surprise, then his expression softened slightly. "No, Baroness. Elarvain prides itself on due process, even for scum like this. He'll face a magistrate. Though," he added with a grim honesty, "given Grok's reputation and their deeds here, I doubt the outcome will be favorable for him."
Barin snorted, resting his hand on the pommel of his falchion. "Waste o' good rope and food, Commander. One swing, problem solved permanently. Saves the Crown the trouble."
Corin shot Barin a stern look. "That is not Elarvain's way, Guardsman, however expedient it might seem. Law, even out here, must be respected." He turned back to Delores. "Again, Baroness, on behalf of King Theron and the people of Elarvain, thank you for your decisive action here. You've saved us considerable effort and likely lives." He offered her a crisp, formal salute, which his troops mirrored. "We shall take our leave. May your stewardship of the Green River Valley be… uneventful." With a final nod, he wheeled his warhorse around and, with a sharp command, began to march his troops, and their prisoner, back into the forest, heading west.
Delores, Barin, and Rael watched them go, the sound of their disciplined march fading into the trees until only the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant gurgle of the river remained. The clearing felt suddenly very large, very empty, and very much theirs.
Delores let out a long, shaky breath. "Well," she said, turning to her companions, who were both staring at her with a mixture of awe and utter confusion. "That was… unexpected."
Barin scratched his scarred head, looking thoroughly perplexed. "Baroness, eh? Of this whole bleedin' valley?" He gestured around the somewhat squalid bandit camp. "Don't look like much of a barony to me."
"It's provisional," Delores reminded him, though the word offered little comfort. She felt the weight of the title, of the land now supposedly under her protection, settling on her shoulders like one of Barin's oversized pauldrons. "Still. We need to decide what to do next. And," she added, a practical thought cutting through the bewilderment, "it's going to be dark soon."
Rael finally looked up, his golden eyes thoughtful. "Oleg should be informed of these developments. He is, for all intents and purposes, now a citizen of your… barony, Baroness."
The title still sounded strange on his lips.
"Agreed," Delores said, nodding. "He deserves to know what happened, and that the immediate threat is gone. And frankly, I could use his wisdom on what being a 'provisional baroness' even entails." She looked at the crude dam the bandits had built upstream. "We should also try to dismantle some of that dam before we leave, get the river flowing properly again, if we can."
Barin grunted. "Good idea. Poisoned water ain't good for nobody."
With a shared sense of purpose, if still a degree of shock, the trio set about their tasks. Barin, with his immense strength, made short work of the crude log dam, sending a welcome surge of cleaner water rushing downstream. Delores and Rael gathered what few useful supplies the bandits had left behind, mostly some tattered blankets and a small cache of dried rations, and helped Barin secure the remaining unconscious bandits, deciding to leave them for Corin's patrols to find later if they hadn't already woken and fled. Looting Grok's tent had already yielded the mysterious blank book for Delores and the warning note about the "flame-walker."
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges, they began their trek back towards Oleg's homestead. The journey, which had felt long and fraught with uncertainty on the way up, now felt remarkably swift. They moved with a shared purpose, the events of the day replaying in their minds. Full darkness had fallen by the time they crested the rise overlooking Oleg's valley. The warm, welcoming lights of the farmhouse windows glowed like beacons in the night. Delores felt a surprising sense of relief, almost like coming home, though it was a home she was now, in some bizarre way, responsible for. She led the way down the slope and up to the sturdy wooden door, Barin and Rael close behind. Taking a deep breath, Delores knocked, ready to deliver some truly astonishing news to her first, and currently only, subject.
The moment her knuckles rapped against the sturdy wood of Oleg's door, it swung open. Oleg stood there, his round face wreathed in a relieved smile, a lantern held high in one hand casting a warm, welcoming glow.
"No need for that knocking nonsense, Delores!" he boomed cheerfully, his eyes twinkling. "Or you, Master Strongsunder, Master Rael! Come in, come in! I've been keeping the stew warm, hoping you'd all return before the wolves got too bold." He ushered them inside, his genuine gladness at their safe return palpable. "You are always welcome here, to come and go as you please, far as I'm concerned. No formalities needed under my roof." He chuckled at his own jest, clearly still processing the idea.
The familiar comfort of the farmhouse enveloped them again; the scent of woodsmoke, herbs, and simmering stew. Oleg quickly ladled out generous portions, and soon they were all seated around the large wooden table once more, the weariness of the day settling into their bones. Barin attacked his food with his usual vigor, while Rael ate quietly, his golden eyes flicking between Oleg and Delores.
Oleg waited patiently, a knowing look on his face, until Delores had taken a few restorative spoonfuls of stew. "Well now, Delores," he began, his tone gentle. "It seems you've had quite the day. Tell an old farmer everything that transpired."
Delores took a deep breath and began her tale. She recounted their approach to the bandit camp, her attempt at diplomacy, Grok's violent reaction, and the unexpected surge of her own compelling magic. Barin interjected with a gruff, "She made 'em stand there like stunned sheep, she did!" when she described mesmerizing the guards. She detailed Rael's incredible spell that had transformed Barin, and Barin himself, with no small amount of pride, described his giant-sized takedown of Grok, glossing over the part where the half-giant had nearly beaten him senseless first. Rael remained silent, occasionally nodding or offering a quiet hum of agreement when Delores mentioned his contributions.
Finally, Delores explained the arrival of Knight-Commander Corin and the Elarvain troops, and the astonishing declaration that had made her the provisional Baroness of the Green River Valley. Oleg listened intently throughout, his expression shifting from concern to surprise, to awe, and finally to a kind of thoughtful contemplation. When Delores finished, placing the official-looking parchment Corin had given her on the table, Oleg leaned back in his chair, stroking his white beard slowly.
"A Baroness," he mused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, I'll be. Delores Von Pixieheart, Baroness of the Green River Valley." He chuckled. "Has a rather nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
Barin, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during Delores's recounting of the Elarvain decree, narrowed his eyes at Oleg. "Ye don't seem too surprised, old man," he grunted suspiciously. "Havin' some stranger suddenly ownin' yer land and all. Most folk'd be a bit more… put out."
Oleg chuckled again, a warm, genuine sound. "Surprised at the how of it, Master Strongsunder, certainly! Didn't expect our young musician to become nobility quite so… dramatically." He winked at Delores. "But am I upset? Not in the slightest. For years, this valley has been a quiet backwater, largely ignored by the distant kingdoms. Better a kind-hearted, resourceful gnome Baroness who's already proven she can handle threats better than some grasping lord appointed by a faraway king, or worse, bandits like Grok claiming it by force. Or a lich," he added with a shudder. "Or something even worse than that. No, I'm honestly happy it's someone like you, Delores. Someone who clearly cares."
Delores felt a warmth spread through her at his genuine words, easing some of the apprehension the new title had brought. "Thank you, Oleg. That… means a lot." She then remembered the warning note. "Speaking of threats, Oleg, while we were at the camp, we found a notice. It mentioned a… 'flame-walker' or 'burning beast' in these woods, causing trouble for other bandit crews. Do you know anything about such a creature?"
Oleg frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. He shook his head slowly. "A flame-walker? No, can't say I've heard any whispers of such a thing around here. The woods are old, deep… they hold secrets, certainly. But nothing like that has troubled this valley in my lifetime, nor in my father's, from what he told."
Rael, who had been silently absorbing the conversation, finally spoke up, his gaze lifting from his stew. "If it is a creature of magical origin, as the description implies," he said, his voice gaining a touch of academic interest, "its presence would likely leave… arcane residues. Traces. With the proper incantations and focus, it might be possible to track such an entity." He paused, then added, almost shyly, "I possess some theoretical knowledge of such divinations. If I were to… prepare a ritual overnight, focusing on the concept of unnatural fire and its manifestations, I might be able to discern its general location, or at least confirm its presence."
Delores's eyes lit up. "You could do that, Rael?" This was exactly the kind of resourcefulness she needed. The warning about a fire creature felt too specific to ignore, especially with the bandit problem now resolved. "If you can figure out where this 'flame-walker' is, or even if it's a real threat, then we have a plan for tomorrow. We can investigate."
Rael nodded slowly, a flicker of excitement in his golden eyes at the prospect of applying his theoretical knowledge. "I will attempt it, Baroness. Akrion favors the unveiling of truths, and this creature, if it exists, is an imbalance."
"Excellent!" Delores declared, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. First, bandits, now a mysterious fire beast. Her life as an adventurer and a Baroness was certainly shaping up to be anything but dull.
The hearty meal and Oleg's reassuring presence had done much to soothe the frayed nerves of the day. As the last of the stew was eaten and plans for the morning solidified, a comfortable weariness settled over the group. Oleg bid them all a good night, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of gratitude and amusement at his valley's new, unlikely ruler. Barin grunted his own goodnight before lumbering up the stairs, clearly eager for his cot. Rael offered a quiet, polite nod and followed, already looking preoccupied with the arcane calculations for his tracking ritual.
Delores lingered for a moment in the warm main room, the scent of woodsmoke and herbs a comforting balm. Then, she too headed upstairs to her small, neat guest room. The responsibility of being a Baroness, even a "provisional" one, felt like a heavy cloak she wasn't quite sure how to wear. So much had happened, so quickly.
She unbraided her vibrant red hair, letting it fall freely around her shoulders, and carefully changed out of her reinforced battle dress, folding it neatly. The simple nightshirt Oleg had provided felt soft and comforting. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls, she pulled the mysterious leather-bound book with the gilded 'V' from her satchel.
It was still completely blank. Perfect. She needed to vent, to process the whirlwind of the past few days, and there was no one here she felt entirely comfortable burdening with the full extent of her anxieties. A diary, then. A silent confidante.
Dipping the quill Oleg had left on the small nightstand into the inkpot, Delores began to write.
"Day… well, I've lost track of which day it is since leaving Cerindor. Three? Four? It feels like a lifetime. Today was… a lot. We dealt with Grok. Barin was terrifyingly effective, especially when Rael… well, Rael made him enormous. I still can't quite believe that worked. And my own magic… that compulsion thing with the music, it was stronger than I expected. Unsettling, almost. But it saved us from a bloodbath, I think. So that's good.
And then Knight-Commander Corin showed up. An ORC Knight-Commander of Elarvain! And now, apparently, I'm a Baroness. Baroness Delores Von Pixieheart of the Green River Valley. It sounds utterly ridiculous. Me, a Baroness! My parents would either laugh themselves sick or have simultaneous strokes. Probably both.
What am I even supposed to do with a barony? I don't know the first thing about governing, or collecting taxes, or whatever it is Baronesses are supposed to do. I just wanted to play my music and maybe help a few people along the way. Now I have… responsibilities. Land. Oleg seems to think I'm capable, which is kind, but rather optimistic of him. I hope I don't let him down. I hope I don't let everyone down.
And tomorrow, we're apparently hunting a 'flame-walker'. Because of course we are. One problem solved, another immediately appears. Is this what adventure is? Just an endless string of problems needing to be fixed by people who are mostly just making it up as they go along?"
She paused, rereading her last lines, then sighed, dipping the quill again.
What am I supposed to do now?
She stared at the question on the page, the ink still glistening wetly. It was directed at herself, at the empty pages, at the quiet night. Just writing it down, getting the words out, felt like a small release, a tiny bit of the pressure easing from her chest.
Feeling a little lighter, if no less uncertain, Delores carefully blotted the ink, closed the book, and placed it on the nightstand. She blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. As she settled under the covers, her thoughts drifted from baronies and bandits to the mysterious flame-walker. What could it be? An elemental? A magical beast? Or something else entirely? Sleep eventually claimed her, but her dreams were filled with flickering flames and the weight of an unwritten future.