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“So,” Phyr says, looking up at the morning sunshine, “To the guilds?”
“No, Jim told us to come see him,” Pannych reminds him. “He’s the town elder, it’s probably important.”
They ask a guard where to find Jim the elder, and are directed to the town hall, which is half an hour’s walk away, at the head of the square in the center of Noob Town.
The square is an open, grassy field, with a grandstand at the North end, right in front of the town hall’s main entrance. The square is large and well-kept, but also clearly well-trod; the grandstand is made of wood, stained and sealed but built for simple sturdiness more than looks; the town hall is large and functional, in the style of a simplified Tudor manor.
Pannych and Phyr enter and ask to see Jim the elder; they are immediately ushered to his office, where they are greeted by one of his “assistants,” who sends them right in.
“Ah, Pannych and Phyr. We meet again, and again, and again.”
“Come again,” Phyr asks.
“Of course,” Jim says with a chuckle. “Have a seat, you two. Can I get you anything before we begin? Tea? Crumpet?”
“Of course they have tea and crumpets,” Phyr says to Pannych. “Do you even know what a crumpet is?”
“Yeah, it’s an English muffin,” she replies flatly. She’s wrong, but that’s what she thinks it is, so that’s what it is in this world. She turns to Jim and says, “What’s up with that? Everyone seems to know our names, but they’re acting very strangely about it.”
“Yes, yes,” Jim says, nodding. He gestures to his assistant, who then brings a tray with tea and “crumpets” around. “Everyone knows the prophecy of Pannych and Phyr, the destined heroes foretold by Tom the prophet to dispel the darkness and despair that has befallen us. What wasn’t in the prophecy was just how many of you there would be.”
Pannych and Phyr regard each other for a moment, before looking back to Jim, who continues: “You see, destined heroes have been coming to Noob Town for months on end now. Always in pairs, always named Pannych and Phyr, always carrying Orbs of Destiny. Until you two came last night.”
Pannych sips her tea and asks, “Orbs of Destiny?”
“Yes,” Jim says, “Our head enchanter even authenticated them. We were very impressed, at first. Thankful, gracious, hopeful. But then, two by two, they began dying.”
“How vey bi,” Phyr asks anxiously through a mouthful of “crumpet.”
“Grayl,” Jim says gravely. Pannych and Phyr stare at him with the universal expression of I don’t know what that means but go on. “Few have seen him and lived to tell the tale. At first, destined heroes just started disappearing without a trace... but then other adventurers claimed to see a fierce warrior in a grey cloak roaming the wilderness around Noob Valley, slaying destined heroes with a spear. Or a scythe. Some manner of polearm, at any rate. And lately, he’s been getting bolder. Some of the townsfolk have seen him inside the town walls late at night, prowling around inns and taverns.”
“Hey, we got attacked at the Last Inn, late last night,” Pannych says. “Or early this morning, I guess. But there were two guys in grey cloaks, not one.”
“Oh, by the dead gods,” Jim says, dropping his head into his hands. “I hope they’re not multiplying, too!”
“So... do you tell this to all the destined heroes,” Phyr asks after everyone’s had a moment to contemplate.
“No,” Jim says, composing himself. “As I said, the others have all had Orbs of Destiny, but you two are the first not to wave them around like idiots, and you claim to be a goddess and a lord. The other destined heroes all look different from each other, but they speak and act very similarly, all ‘destiny’ this and ‘heroism’ that. It gets old.”
“I believe it,” Pannych says. “How many of these destined heroes have there been?”
“I don’t know,” Jim says with a shrug. “We haven’t been keeping track, honestly. Definitely dozens, probably hundreds, possibly a thousand? We just make sure they pay for whatever they use, and then we manage our own affairs, whatever happens to them.”
“But you’re doing something different with us, right,” Phyr asks nervously. “Because we’re different, right? And you wouldn’t blithely send us to our deaths, right?”
“Right,” Jim says. “I’m sending you to see Tom the prophet. He lives along the road to Leetsburg, just a couple miles from the crossroads where poor Vincent met his end.” Pannych glares at Phyr, he glares back at her, but they both pass a Performance check for Jim not to notice. “If anyone will know how to proceed here, then it’ll be Tom. Prophecy isn’t much good for us regular folk, but when it comes to matters of destiny, it’s never wrong.”
Pannych and Phyr conclude their business with Elder Jim and leave the town hall, receiving 3 XP each for completing a quest step. They purchase some traveling supplies - a canteen, sandwich, and fresh fruit for each of them - and leave town to go visit Tom the Prophet. The Sun is climbing high in the sky when they pass through the gates of Noob Town.
They don’t talk much as they walk, wanting to conserve their limited water. They pass by the crossroads without comment, the scorched earth the only remaining sign of yesterday’s altercation.
The pair arrive at the house of Tom the prophet right about noon. Tom’s house is a rustic log cabin set back a couple hundred yards from the road along a gently winding cobblestone path, with a painted wooden sign at the road hanging under his mailbox reading, “Tom the Prophet.” Smoke is coming out of the chimney. The adventurers walk down the path to a short wooden gate in a fence surrounding his garden.
“So,” Phyr says, “Is this one of those things you ‘need to do by yourself’?”
“Dunno,” Pannych says. “I’ve never talked to a prophet before.”
“I think I should stay out here, just in case,” Phyr says. “You never know when some grey-cloaked assassins might show up.”
Pannych nods her assent and opens the gate, saying, “See you in a bit, I guess.”
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