Hearing the bells tolling non stop, people from all walks of life have made their way to Dargem. The road south of the town twists and turns, cutting through small patches of forest teeming with both life and inky darkness. In it travels a young man named


Nagga would not normally test the wildlife out here at night. This night, however, he carries precious cargo- a wagon filled to the brim with the accessories of war, headed to a Keep which would be the last bastion for the people north of the river Hinge. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it turns out the road is quite dangerous for him. After stumbling upon two bears squabbling over a boar they both want to eat, the bears decide Nagga might be just as tasty. One bear tears into Nagga’s chest, leaving sickly crimson lines across his chest, collapsing one of his lungs. Breathing raggedly Nagga wonders if this all he was meant to do. A cleric and acolyte of Thrym, the God of the Frost Giants, he knew it might have been the point to send him into harm’s way on a whim. Thrym was not kind to fleshy humans like Nagga, and may have wanted the fun of the kill. But what of the wagon? Was he not on a mission to serve Thrym, Host of War? Would he not be better served by arming those who heard the bells? Along the road behind him came Nagga’s salvation; two travelers following the bells. A young Dragonborn distracted the bears while a half elf woman rushed to Nagga’s side.


Helvetica tried in vain to hold the man’s chest together, perhaps through sheer willpower. Appearing to use all the strength he had left, the husk of a man lifted his arm, pointing to the wagon’s load. “Pink…” The word was an almost unintelligible whisper from the frail man. Looking through the crates in the wagon, Helvetica found the ‘pink’ to which the man was referring: A corked flask, filled to the brim with a neon pink potion. While Dragneel occupied the bears, Helvetica worked quickly, picking up the flask from its hay packed crate. She uncorked it and poured some of the potion on the man’s wounds and into his mouth, which was agape with pain and shock. Flashing with brilliant, shocking colors, the man’s eyes darted from her to his wounds to the flask and back again to her. He lunged out, grasping Helvetica’s arm and began to wail, looking mortified and in great pain. Helvetica could not look away from the scene on his chest: The skin stitched itself, side to side, sewing him shut again. A great rushing wind filled his chest, and the blood all boiled away. The man was whole once more.


Having dispatched the bears, Dragneel took a closer look at what Helvetica had risked their lives to save; A smooth skin wailing and thrashing about. He tried not to take it personally, but it was hard. Dragneel hated always feeling this way, threatened merely by proximity to smooth skins. “What do we have here, then? Do you seek the bells, smooth-skin?”

In the confusion, the horse that had been pulling the wagon seems to have fled. Nagga hopes to find him later, but humbly requests the help of Dragneel and Helvetica to tow the cart to town, since they are all headed to Dargem anyway. The two agree, but Helvetica has her doubts about Nagga. In town, they find and hitch up Naga's horse. Helvetica takes the opportunity to steal the wagon and steed, instructing Dragneel to drive and then knocking Nagga flat on his back, leaving him behind in a cloud of dust. Nagga then made his way to an Inn, deeply dissatisfied by the turn of events. After a bad night's sleep on brittle hay, he awoke in a puddle of Orc drool that had collected below him after dripping from the ceiling. Nagga collected what little he had left and decided to head home. If life as he knew it was ending, that might actually be okay.