NIVLA VILLAGE
I
(he's running)
(there's nowhere left to go)
(the trees burn)
(the world cries)
(the gateway opens)
II
Gavin Tunyiel awoke with a cry. His hands went to the side of his bed, grasping for his dagger. His hands closed on the smooth, metal hilt of his sword. It was cold, always cold. Even now, in the hottest days of the summer, Chakram was icy. It was this cold, the familiar freezing of his knife that made you feel like you had just gone for a walk in Nesaak without any armor, that seemed to snap Gavin back to reality.
It was a dream, he thought to himself. The dreams-or rather, nightmares-had been happening ever since the eldest Tunyiel child had left Central Nemract to seek adventure in the great forest to the west, Nivla. So far, the only "adventure" Gavin had found involved an oddly pinkish-colored sheep and a traveling nomad who had mistaken Gavin for a thief and chased him off.
You could still go back, he pondered. You could make it back in four days time, if you hurried. Yet Gavin knew he wouldn't. If only to prove something to his family, Gavin would keep traveling, keep adventuring. So what if the nightmares kept plaguing him? It was a small price to pay for freedom.
Gavin slowly sat up on the bed and looks out the window. The sun's rays had just started to break through the tree-cover of the forest and were illuminating the small village Gavin had made his impromptu home for the previous couple days. Gavin spotted a villager selling homemade jewelry out by his house-Always up early, Gavin remarked in his mind, and smiled. The community in the village was...nice. Warm. The inhabitants had taken him in as one of their own, and only for a small hunting fee at that.
Speaking of hunting, he thought. I better get started before all those nomads steal my meat. Internally smirking at his own thoughts, Gavin made a note of the joke. It would make some of the older folks in the village-those that had been adventurers before the dry-rot had gotten to their joints and the rust had gotten to their weapons-smile a bit, give a hearty laugh...and maybe buy Gavin a Nemract Whiskey or two once the daily hunt was over.
Gavin slipped Chakram into its leather sheath, attached the sheath to his belt, and changed into his hunting-finest fabric a dead pig could purchase, Gavin could assure you-although you wouldn't notice, what with the blood and dirt of six successful hunts. He rifled through his pack to make sure it contained all the essentials-food, water, and...
Gavin paused when his hands touched a small sheet of paper with a set of words engraved on it
(ȩ́́n̵̷͢҉̨s͢҉i͏ń̴̀)
and withdrew his hand from the pack. Feeling dangerously nauseous, Gavin shut the bag and closed his eyes. One deep breath...two deep breaths...on the third breath his eyes opened and he pulled the bag across his back.
The paper was forgotten.
III
Gavin pushed the door of his room-nice and oak, like everything in Nivla-open and heads for the stairs down to the ground level of the village. He passed by two bridges-presumably to other rooms at the inn, maybe a shop or two-before he made it to the way down.
Once he made it to ground level, Gavin waved at a couple of villagers and headed east to begin his daily ritual.
It would be his last for five months, by which time there was pretty much nothing left to hunt.
Nothing living, at least.