Mark wakes up once again. He goes to the mirror and stares at a face that still isn’t his own.

  Being in this world, in this town, has been exciting, interesting even. The life he is living is one that he never would have imagined having. Time on the farm never allowed for those kinds of thoughts. Chores, animals, crops, the weather, all those kinds of things always occupied the mind of a farmer more than flights of fancy.

  He stared at the face that still hadn’t changed. It’s perfect features, unblemished from even the past few months of time spent outdoors, stared back. Time in the sun should have done some tanning, time outside should have done some weathering, time in general should have given him back a little of the familiar wrinkles and spots that he had never noticed but now missed with every fibre of his being.

  A splash of cold water on that face removed the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. It wouldn’t do to keep ruminating on this. There was a bit of work still to be done.

  The axe that had become a comforting weight on his back was lifted and shouldered. No time to waste.

  -------------

  Tim idly flipped the golden disk with his thumb as they sat. They were resting on one of the benches in the Cup and Crow, feet outward, back against the table. The shiny metal rotated through the air and their eyes followed it as it went up and down.

  “Fifty to one.” They thought as his dwarf body made the thick wooden bench he was on sag. “Fifty gold pieces to one Nib.”

  What could they do with this? They’d handed out the spoils, including one of the four remaining gold pieces to everyone else.

  Mark had been nonplussed about it, just pocketing it before giving Tim a nod.

  Francis had been all like, “Gotta keep a memento of the first heist.” Which Tim had thought was odd because they had been fighting for their lives down in the dungeon, not stealing anything.

  Paul however had been giddy as anything. Relishing the little bit of gold and saying “Our first proof that we’re adventurers.”

  The gold piece completed it’s last revolution and tinked into the palm of their hand. It’s flat surface moved up to be pinched by their fingers.

  “Wonder what it tastes like?”

  Tim decided to re-enact what they believed was the Bite and Nib minting process and brought the coin up to their mouth. Shiny white quartz teeth bit through the soft metal and the small chunk rolled across their tongue.

  “Huh, it’s like butter.”

  -------------

  Paul, aspiring wizard that he was, lamented the fact that he didn’t know a spell to protect from the weather.

  Sure he could cast something like [Protection from Energy (Cold)], but that was a third level spell. He shuddered to think about the pain and headache he would have to suffer to cast and maintain that. All for merely a single hour of not feeling the cold.

  It was really a small miracle that he was covered in gray fur. His elf body shivered in the winters chill. There would be a fire in the common room but getting out of bed to go there was it’s own difficulty.

  He was currently swaddled in a heavy fur blanket. The only part of him poking out was the tip of his nose. It’s little black fox skin currently pointing straight up.

  That same nose twitched several times as the scent of food wafted through the air. It seeped under the door, up the bed, and beckoned to the olfactory senses of the elf. It was a most enticing scent that he hadn’t smelled in quite some time.

  Bacon. Or at least the local equivalent of bacon.

  Mark had been talking about how certain animals don’t make it through the winter, for various reasons. And apparently one of those reasons was because they were delicious.

  There was an internal struggle, a brief one, about whether getting up was worth it. In the end, the stomach and brain overrode the objections of cold skin.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The fur cocoon he was in broke open to reveal the pressed down matted fur of Paul. Robes were donned with haste, and with bleary eyes he shuffled out into the common room.

  -------------

  Francis was in his element.

  Sure it wasn’t a high stakes art robbery, but not everything had to be.

  The ‘not a pig but it sure tasted like it’ animal meat was sizzling in the pan. He had just thrown an additional log into the oven to keep the heat up. Even just this one oven was enough to heat up the kitchen he was in. But it wasn’t the only oven currently going.

  “Behind ye.” Greta, the innkeeper of the Cup and Crow, said as she pulled out a tray with the numerous loaves of bread people would be eating today.

  “Aye.” Francis didn’t move backwards.

  Steam rose off of the buns almost clouding the entirety of the kitchen in it’s heady yeasty aroma. This, paired with the cooking meat, promised a sumptuous meal for everyone this morning. Such promise that even his own stomach made itself known with an audible grumble.

  “Get ye self a couple o’ slices and loaves.” Greta used a wooden spatula to chisel free the loaves from the pan. “Breakfast for yourselves then back here tae serve.”

  “Can do, will do.” He was quick with his knife.

  The cut of meat on the pan was incredibly thick already. So the knife made short work of three sides. Getting at the already cooked sections and revealing fresh untouched muscle for another searing in the pan.

  Those slices got flipped onto plates, then paired with loaves of bread. Finally, a cup of warm water into a wooden mug to round things off.

  Francis stuck the three plates onto a tray and hefted the whole thing up over his head, all three feet tall of it. Everything stable, he walked out into the common room.

  -------------

  Sitting at the table were Mark and Tim. They were habitual early risers in their lives. Mark being a farmer, Tim being a park ranger, they were often up and awake with the rising of the sun.

  “Foods up!” Francis the halfling announced, tray over his head containing three plates with steaming hot servings of food. “Sorry Tim, still nothing for you.”

  Waving away the concern, Tim the dwarf held up their gold piece. “No worries, still got something this morning.”

  “You’re eating yours?” Francis nudged the tray onto the table with a practised head motion. “Not hanging onto it?”

  “It’s got an interesting flavour.” To drive that point home, Tim licked the bitten portion causing the teeth marks to bend.

  Francis had to pause at that display. “Ya know, hadn’t really thought about what a rock based tongue would look like. Now that I know, I’m going to have nightmares.”

  Mark chuckled as he grabbed one of the plates.

  Paul, looking like a fluffy stuffed toy that had been sat on for weeks, appeared from around the corner. His fuzzy nose twitching with attempts of inhaling every single particle of scent on his way to the table.

  When he arrived, and was able to blink a bit more of the sleep away, he looked at the relatively simple meal with a bit of saliva pooling under his tongue.

  “Thanks Greta!” Paul shouted through the open kitchen door. He got a wave from the wrinkled hand in response.

  Francis hauled himself up onto the bench and started tearing into his own food. “Bit of some whole body bed head huh?”

  Paul just picked up his knife and cut a small slice of the meat. “The perils of having so much hair.”

  The four of them tucked into their food. The only sounds coming from them was cutlery scraping on plates, chewing, and guttural grunts of satisfaction. It was a good breakfast.

  -------------

  Three and a half full stomachs later, the four of them were relaxing. They had just eaten, the room was warm, and Paul was about to provide a little bit of entertainment.

  “[Prestidigitation]!” The furred and clawed fingers of Paul wove through the air. Those precise mystical movements generating the magical rune rings the colour of blue. Said rings travelled down his arms, around his wrists, and hovered briefly in the air as they left his hands.

  The floating blue rings hung suspended in the air for a brief moment, a bit of magical potential.

  “Clean, comb and straighten my fur!” Paul announced the intent behind the spell to the open air.

  Flipping around with frightening speed, the blue ring shot back at Paul’s head. Forming a halo over the tallest point of his ears, it then flowed down over the entirety of his body. Little sparks of lightning touching at parts of his body the entire time before the magic circle grounded itself on the floor.

  Paul stood there, frozen in place. Each and every strand of fur on his gray coloured body was now stuck straight out. He was the fuzziest porcupine, the fluffiest of foxes. The yellow robes he was wearing were also puffed out as the fur underneath had also been treated to the same effect.

  “Ow.” he twitched.

  Francis guffawed, the others cracked a smile.

  “You’re like as if the Michelin had been covered in fur!” Francis couldn’t keep it quiet. “I bet there’s some pomeranian out there who’s super jealous right now.”

  With the noise of a thousand little static electricity snaps, Paul patted and combed down the fur around his face and head. “Might have to work on my wording.”

  Francis had another quip on deck, but at that moment he was interrupted by someone barging into the inn.

  The winters chill seeped into the room as the newcomer held the door open. A wild look of fear in their eyes and their breath coming in pants as if they had just finished running.

  “Skeletons!” They announced to the room as a whole. “There’s skeletons attacking the town!”

  Mark, Paul, Francis, and Tim glanced at each other. They had just spent several days clearing the dungeon of skeletons. Did they cause this?